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Ogilvie leaves Whitaker sitting on the toilet like a man who’s just been personally betrayed by his own body.
Whitaker doesn’t look up when Ogilvie straightens up, already halfway out the bathroom door.
His elbows are braced on his knees, paper towel crushed in his hands breathing shallow and careful like he’s afraid a full breath might start the whole thing over again.
"Don’t go far," Whitaker mutters.
Ogilvie pauses just long enough to glance back.
"I won’t, try not to vomit on anything else well I'm away."
Whitaker flips him off without lifting his head, Ogilvie takes that as permission to proceed on his quest.
The hallway outside the bathroom feels too quiet after all that noise from Whitaker, the hospital’s morning rhythm hums along like nothing’s wrong, carts roll on by.
A nurse laughs softly at something a tech says to her, somewhere down the hall a monitor beeps in a steady reassuring pattern.
Ogilvie walks like he’s got all the time in the world, phase one he thinks to himself, data collection.
And Whitaker is his unknowing subject.
The supply room is two turns down, past the nurses’ station where Dana stares at him down like she knows something is up.
He nods absently at her and pushes through the door, already scanning the shelves for what he needs.
The pregnancy tests are stocked alongside urine cups, gloves, and specimen bags all neatly labeled, all very ordinary.
Ogilvie reaches up grabbing two tests instead of one because you can never be to thorough as he tucks them into his pocket.
Besides it's better to confirm twice, biology is a tricky bastard.
He’s reaching for a clean specimen cup when a voice cuts in from behind him.
"Well," Robby says, "this is mysterious even for you."
Ogilvie doesn’t even jump, he doesn’t even turn around right away.
He finishes selecting the cup, checks the lid setting it carefully on the counter.
Robby leans against the doorframe like he’s got nowhere better to be arms crossed, eyebrows lifted with open curiosity.
He’s still in his scrubs from the night before, coffee in hand looking far too awake for this hour of the morning.
Ogilvie finally turns towards him, "Morning to you?"
"You’re not usually a ‘lurking in the supply room alone’ kind of guy," Robby says, "Especially not with that face."
Ogilvie blinks at him, wondering what exactly he means by that, "What face?"
Robby gestures vaguely, "That one, the calm one, the one you get when something’s about to be extremely annoying for you."
Ogilvie hums noncommittal, as he reaches for a pair of gloves.
Robby watches his hands, "Pregnancy tests," he says lightly.
Ogilvie doesn’t react in the slightest, because he's protecting Whitaker's privacy.
Robby’s smile widens, "Huh?"
Ogilvie moves past him setting the gloves and cup on a small rolling tray, he reaches up for disinfectant wipes methodical and unhurried.
"You know," Robby continues, "when people specifically staff of said hospital grab pregnancy tests not for patient use, there’s usually gossip attached, at least a hint of gossip if you will, a vibe as people say nowadays."
Ogilvie peels open the wipes container, "Is there? A vibe, I mean."
"Oh yeah," Robby says, "And you're giving me absolutely nothing, which is suspicious even for you."
Ogilvie finally looks at him, "You’ll survive without knowing, because as far as I'm aware it doesn't concern you. At least I hope not."
Robby laughs, "You wound me."
James rolls the tray toward the door, "I also need clean scrubs, I haven't learned the way of the land yet, and you're ancient so you probably know where they're located."
That gets Robby’s attention, his eyebrows lift a little higher curiosity sharpening.
"For you? Because where I'm standing you're pretty clean." Robby asks.
Ogilvie shakes his head, "No, obviously it's not for me."
Robby follows him out into the hall coffee forgotten, "Okay, so let me get this straight, pregnancy test, clean scrubs, and the bathroom earlier sounding like someone was being exorcised."
Ogilvie stops walking and looks at him.
Robby raises his hands, "Thin walls this hospital has."
Ogilvie considers him for a second then says, "Robby, where are the scrubs?"
Robby points down the hall, still watching his face for any clues, "Laundry’s been restocked recently, third door on the left."
"Thanks."
Ogilvie starts walking again, well Robby keeps pace with him.
"You know I'm going to figure this out eventually, right?"
Ogilvie just shrugs at that, "Probably."
"You could save us both time and just tell me."
Ogilvie doesn't give nothing away as they reach the laundry room, he pushes open the door scanning the shelves sorting sizes in his head.
Trying to remember what size Whitaker is.
"What size are you looking for?" Robby asks, as he leans against a counter.
Ogilvie pauses, still trying to remember. "Medium, and the pants with the drawstings."
Robby snorts because that gives him no information, pretty much everyone who works here is a medium well except mister string bean that is Ogilvie who's a large.
"Not very specific."
Ogilvie grabs a folded set of scrubs that everyone is wearing today including himself, they're blue, clean, and untouched.
Robby notices this little detail, "Wow," he says, "You're being so professional about this it's actually unsettling to witness."
Ogilvie stacks everything neatly on the tray, "Anything else you wanna bother me about?"
Robby tilts his head like he's trying to mind read or something, "You're not gonna tell me are you?"
"Nope."
"Not even a hint?"
Ogilvie meets his eyes, "Still a no."
Robby sighs dramatically at this, "You're killin' me Smalls."
Ogilvie pushes the tray out the room, "You'll live."
"Did you grab a male or female pregnancy test?"
Ogilvie slows just enough to stop walking, turning to look at him, knowing exactly what he's doing.
But he'll play along.
"Is there a difference in them sir?" he asks calmly.
Robby blinks, knowing he's not going to get any information this way either but he'll play along too because maybe Ogilvie will slip up. "Wow okay, this is one of the first things they teach you in medical school, so you should absolutely know the difference."
"Should I?" Ogilvie asks, "Why don't you enlighten me?"
Robby makes this gesture at him like what he's about to explain is obvious, "Male tests detect beta hCG in a slightly different concentration range, female tests are calibrated for uterine hormone patterns, everyone knows this."
Ogilvie just nods slowly, like he's learning this for the first time, "Very interesting."
Robby lights up, thinking this is his moment to get Ogilvie to slip up.
"So which did you grab?"
Ogilvie considers the question for exactly five seconds, "Both work honestly."
Robby's smile falters, "That's not..."
Ogilvie interrupts him, keeping calm, "But if a cis gendered male comes back positive on a female pregnancy test, it usually means testicular cancer."
Robby freezes in his tracks.
Ogilvie continues completely unbothered, "The tumor secretes HCG, which triggers the test, it's actually one of the earliest red flags."
Robby just stares at him, because honestly he should have seen this coming because Ogilvie is no Victoria.
"And," Ogilvie adds, "if a woman comes back positive on a male pregnancy test, it means the test is functioning correctly and you’ve learned nothing new except that you bought the wrong box like an idiot."
There's this long awkward silence.
"...I'm not getting anything out of you, am?" he asks.
Ogilvie just continues on his mission, not even looking back at Robby.
"No," he says, "You're not."
Ogilvie finally manages to lose Robby getting back to the bathroom where Whitaker was hiding in, he's currently just standing outside the door trying to school his expression back into something neutral.
Because Whitaker needs the calm right now.
He pushes the door open, and Whitaker is exactly where he left on him, he's hunched forward elbows on knees staring at the floor.
His scrubs are stained and damp, he looks up when Ogilvie comes in, eyes tired but sharp.
"Took you long enough."
Ogilvie carefully sets the tray down on the counter looking over at him.
"I was being efficient and I was also trying to lose Robby."
Whitaker's eyes go to the items on the tray, the cup, the tests, and the clean scrubs.
His mouth twists, "You're really helping me with this."
"Yes."
Whitaker just swallows, feeling all his nerves setting in the pit of his stomach.
"And you promise me that you didn't tell anyone."
Ogilvie's eyes finally lock on Whitaker's.
"No, not even Robby who wouldn't stop following me around like a dog."
As he speaks he hands over the folded scrubs, so that he can change out of the vomit covered ones.
"Change after you pee in the cup, before you start stinking."
Whitaker snorts weakly, taking them carefully from him.
"You're a saint James, but your bedside manner needs practice."
"Don't start Dennis.
He snaps on gloves before picking up one of the tests, checking the expiration date like this is any other patient of his, like it's just another normal morning.
Phase one of three, he thinks to himself.
Whitaker watches him for a second, hands clenching, as fear, nausea, and what might be hope all tangled together.
Ogilvie seeing him just standing there awkwardly just tries his best in comforting Whitaker.
"We do this one step at time, together okay?"
Whitaker just nods listening as the fluorescent lights hum around them, bright, sterile, and slightly unforgiving with it's brightness at the moment.
He snaps out of his thoughts as Ogilvie holds out the cup.
"Whenever you're ready."
Whitaker takes it from him going into a stall, doing it carefully his jaw clenched, eyes fixing on this crack in the title like if he looks anywhere else he can escape from his current situation.
Ogilvie stands a polite distant away he's turned half toward the wall hands folded and his posture is relaxed in a way that feels deeply unfair given the current circumstance.
"Don't stare at me," Whitaker mutters.
"I'm not, I promise," Ogilvie says, "If anything I'm supervising."
Whitaker finishes up before just shoving it at him.
"There, you happy now?"
Ogilvie takes it without comment setting it on the counter opening the test kit, he moves with practiced ease explaining nothing unless Whitaker asks.
Which he isn't doing at the moment, he's learning back against the sink arms crossed tight over his chest, stomach still rolling.
The bathroom feels smaller now it's too bright and quiet.
He just watches as Ogilvie dips the test before setting it down on the counter looking at his watch.
"Three minutes," he says, "Then we look."
Whitaker just laughs at this, it's this sharp and humorless sound.
"Of course we have to wait that long."
Ogilvie gestures toward the scrubs he brought him, "You should change while we wait, you can't be possibly comfortable."
Whitaker looks down at his scrubs, that are both somehow crusted and damp, he grimaces at the.
"Yeah, you're right. Thank you again for the clean scrubs."
He turns his back heading towards an empty stall peeling the top layer off as he walks shoulders tensing up, there's a moment where he just stands there for a second bare backed scrubs bunched in his hands his breathing uneven.
Like it's all just now hitting him at what possibly could be happening to him.
Ogilvie doesn't say anything, he just keeps himself busy with cleaning up from wiping down the counter to disposing of the gloves.
He gives Whitaker the space he needs right now.
Whitaker pulls the scrub top on then the pants pulling the drawstrings until the pants are tight enough, he pauses putting a hand on his stomach fingers splaying like he's trying to feel anything just through sheer will power.
He swallows feeling stupid in this moment.
"This is stupid, it's probably going to come back negative and I just ate something I shouldn't have."
Ogilvie glances at the test, the line is already showing up it's very clear and definitely not something he could miss.
Ogilvie exhales through his nose, running a hand through his curls. "Dennis."
Whitaker immediately turns around, knowing it's bad the minute Ogilvie said his first name.
Ogilvie just picks it up to show him, instead of speaking it into existence, and Whitaker just stares like his brain is refusing to translate what his eyes are seeing.
Then he just bursts out laughing.
"Oh, oh that's funny."
Ogilvie says nothing letting him process knowing he's probably going into shock in this moment.
"That's a joke," Whitaker continues, voice climbing, "That's....you grabbed a bad test, or I'm hallucinating, because there is no way any of this is happening right now."
Ogilvie just watches him, deciding it's best to be careful with his words in this moment.
"It's positive."
Whitaker stops laughing at those two words, his face going pale, then flushed, and then somehow pale again.
"No, no, no, no, no."
He takes a step back bumping into the automatic dryer.
"That's not....I can't..."
Ogilvie just reaches out grabbing him by the elbow to steady him.
"Please sit, you're in shock."
Whitaker doesn't fight it this time, he just sinks down onto the floor staring down at his sneakers hoping the floor will open up and swallow him whole.
"I'm pregnant."
"Yes, it appears so."
"I'm actually pregnant."
"Yes."
"With a baby?"
"Well we hope so?"
Whitaker runs a hand across his face, "Oh my god I'm gonna throw up again."
Ogilvie hands him an empty trash bag just in case, because he's not going to grab him another pair of scrubs.
"Take your time."
Whitaker just breathes in and out, he doesn't throw up which he's thankful for, but he looks like he's gonna leave his body entirely.
Which Ogilvie completely understands, but of course he has to open his big stupid mouth.
"So, who's the father?"
Whitaker lifts his head wondering if he's serious right now, like the question he just asked is the most stupidest question ever.
"...Are you serious right now?"
Ogilvie just frowns, wondering what he did it's a very good question.
"It's relevant, because you need to tell them. Is it Santos's?"
Whitaker let's out this laugh at the idea of having Santos's baby, because he seriously couldn't imagine it.
Because one Santos is definitely in something with Garcia.
And two she's like a sister to him especially after she took him in.
Ogilvie stares at him wondering what exactly is so funny?
"What? What's so funny?"
Whitaker gestures wildly at him, wondering how he hasn't put the pieces together yet.
"You, you're the father, not Santos, not anyone else you cook up. It's yours."
Ogilvie opens his mouth before closing it, for once not having something smart to say.
"Oh."
Whitaker stares at him for that one, because that's all he gets from him.
A simple oh.
"Oh?
Ogilvie runs a hand over his face really trying to remember when exactly this happened, because you'd think he'd remember this incident.
"Okay, let's....let's establish a timeline here."
Whitaker gives him a strangled sound in response.
"I'm going to have your baby, and all you can say is we have to establish a timeline?"
Ogilvie doesn't understand why that's crazy, because he thinks it's pretty rational.
At least for him it is.
"Dennis."
"You're 6'4," Whitaker snaps, "Do you know what that means for my body? I'm gonna give birth to a giraffe."
Ogilvie winces at that image alone, but he knows that isn't possible, I mean scientifically yes his size does play a part in the making, but Whitaker's genetics will regulate it.
"You know genetics don't work like that."
"They absolutely do," Whitaker says, "Your head is huge."
Ogilvie frowns harder, not listening to him anymore on that subject his mind instead going back to on how he managed to knock up Whitaker.
He went over and sat with him on the floor.
"So we...."
Whitaker reaches over and smacks him gently on the arm not hard at all, but just to get a point across.
The point being how stupid could he possibly be for forgetting, it's not like they were that drunk.
"Halloween, Santos's party? Ring any bells?"
Ogilvie freezes as it slowly but surely comes back to him.
"You were dressed as the Terminator," Whitaker continues, "The cop one from Terminator two, you wouldn't stop following people around."
Ogilvie's eyes unfocus for a second as he remembers that faithful night, then he starts smirking about it.
"Oh, right that party."
Whitaker smacks him again for the smirk alone.
"Don't smirk about it."
Ogilvie chuckles at his reaction as he tries to remember exactly what Whitaker was dressed as.
"You were dressed as...."
"Let's just say a bad idea," Whitaker says, "I was dressed as a bad idea that got me pregnant by you of all people."
Ogilvie's memory finally clicks back into place about that night, about how nice that night was.
He can't believe he forgot it.
He snaps out of his thoughts as Whitaker stands abruptly and starts pacing.
"Oh god it's gonna come out asking for coffee and correcting people."
"Dennis?" Ogilvie says trying so hard not to laugh at this very inappropriate moment.
Whitaker rounds on him, "This isn’t funny in the slightest."
Ogilvie stands up going over to him trying to get him to stop.
"It's a little funny."
Dennis runs his hands through his hair as he starts pacing again his breathing fast. "I can’t do this, I can’t....I don’t..."
"You don't have to have it, it's your body not mine." Ogilvie says carefully, not sure if he needs this information right now.
But it works in getting Whitaker to stop pacing and panicking for a second, he turns slowly towards him, eyes sharp.
"That's not the point James."
Ogilvie hesitates with what he's thinking about saying.
"Then what is it?"
Whitaker opens his mouth before closing it again looking down at his hands as he takes a deep breath.
"The point," he says, voice shaking, "is that this is happening, and I have no idea what that means yet and you're just standing there offering me an out like this a deflective appliance that we're debating on returning which isn't helping me."
Ogilvie just absorbs that information, he nods once thinking what to say next.
And all he comes up with is...
"Okay."
Whitaker exhales, some of the edge leaving him.
"Okay."
Ogilvie starts to clean up, throwing away the test looking at it one last time the two lines have gotten darker.
Which makes this even more real than before, as he throws it up, he speaks once again.
"This is still preliminary, we should do a blood test to confirm. If you want?"
Whitaker knows that's protocol but that doesn't mean he's not tired, he doesn't want to confirm what's obviously right there in his face.
But he just nods.
"Okay, after we clean this I'm not leaving this for the janitorial staff."
And they do, well mostly Ogilvie because Whitaker only lasted exactly three minutes before vomiting in the nearest toilet.
At least he made it this time, Ogilvie eventually went over and rubbed his back.
"Not helping Jim," Whitaker says, as he retches.
Eventually Ogilvie is holding the door for him making sure there's no noisy Nancy's around before gesturing for Whitaker to come on out.
They walk side by side down the hallway, it's pretty quiet at the moment, the hospital's fluorescent lights hum around them mixing in with the sound of the machinery.
Halfway there, Ogilvie glances over at him.
"Just to be thorough, are you sure it's not Robby's?"
Whitaker stops dead in his tracks staring at him for a second wondering if he's serious or not.
"Say that again and I will deliberately throw up on you, for your information he was dressed up as the Kool-Aid man and I'd have to be black out drunk to sleep with the Kool-Aid man."
Ogilvie holds up his hands, remembering that now because Robby completely sober by the way tried to smash through a wall, well yelling the slogan.
If Ogilvie remembers correctly Abbot had to make sure he didn't concuss himself well dressed as Mark Sloan from Grey's Anatomy.
Now that's an interesting thing to imagine, Santos probably wrote something on Ao3 about it.
Not that Ogilvie knows what Ao3 is.
"I was just checking."
Whitaker starts walking again as he says. "I mean I would if I could, but I'm pretty sure him and Abbot are a thing, they came out of a supply closet together."
"Ah the infamous sex closet," Ogilvie mumbles, which earns him one last smack in the arm, as they make it to the lab.
The lab smells like alcohol wipes, it's making Whitaker nauseous again but he takes a deep breath.
Whitaker sits in the chair rolling his sleeve up, staring very hard at a poster about hydration like it might ground him and keep him from vomiting everywhere.
The phlebotomist is efficient, cheerful in that way that feels slightly cruel when your life’s quietly imploding.
Ogilvie stands by the door hands in his pockets, posture calm and unintrusive.
Whitaker looks at him, wondering why he's still here, "You can go, you don't need to stay."
Ogilvie blinks like he's surprised Whitaker doesn't want to stay and keep him company, "Oh I'm fine staying."
This phase two of three, so he has to stay for this.
"I’m not," Whitaker says, "Go back to whatever it is you do when you’re not ruining my life."
Ogilvie studies his face for a moment, then nods deciding not to argue.
"All right, I'm going.
Whitaker exhales, relieved that he's leaving him alone, "I’ll be fine."
Ogilvie pauses at the door at that, "I’ll check on you later, okay?"
Dennis waves him off, not in the mood at the moment because of his nausea, "Go."
Ogilvie closes the door just as the needle goes in, Whitaker barely feels it just focusing on his breathing and not spiraling out.
He focuses on the quiet hum of lab equipment until it's over, he watches as the bandage goes on.
"Results in a few hours," the phlebotomist says, smiling at him. "Take it easy doctor, I know that a hard word for you."
Dennis nods putting on a smile as he pulls his sleeve down standing up.
When he steps back out into the hallway he expects it to be empty.
But no of course not.
Ogilvie is leaning against the wall across from the lab two small cartons of apple juice in his hands like he’s been there the whole time, like he never actually left when Whitaker told him to.
He looks up as Whitaker comes out.
"Oh hey."
Whitaker stops short wondering why he didn't go back, "You didn’t go back?"
Ogilvie shrugs and holds one of the cartons out. "Apple juice, because you just gave blood."
Whitaker stares at it, then at him wondering if he's serious right now.
"You didn’t have to wait seriously."
"I know, I just strangely wanted to."
Whitaker hesitates before taking it from him, his fingers brushing Ogilvie's for half a second longer than necessary.
They stand there, sipping quietly together.
If anyone they know walks by, they're gonna think they've lost their marbles.
Ogilvie eventually breaks the silence.
"When we have time, I’ll do an internal ultrasound on you."
Dennis chokes slightly because of course he wants to do that on him, he's probably gonna use it as a learning experience or something.
"You’re very casual about that and I hate it."
James tilts his head, thinking about doing a dirty joke but he decides against it because he doesn't want to get smacked again.
"Would you prefer dramatic?"
"No, please no dramatic."
"Then casual it is," Ogilvie says. "It’ll tell us how far along you are, if it really was the Halloween party."
Whitaker just nods, eyes on the carton knowing for a fact he got pregnant then.
"Okay, but I know for a fact it was Halloween."
Another very awkward pause later.
"I’ll have the results in a few hours by the way," Whitaker says. "They’ll call me."
Ogilvie just nods. "I’ll be around, you know where to find me."
They don’t quite look at each other after that, there's something fragile settling between them, it's unspoken but there.
Whitaker finishes the juice and crushes the carton absently.
"I should… go now."
"Yes," Ogilvie says. "You should, Robby is probably looking for you."
They walk a few steps together it's slow and awkward, Whitaker eventually turns down one hallway well Ogilvie stops watching him go
"Dennis."
Whitaker looks back, wondering what he wants now.
Ogilvie hesitates for a second, then says simply, "Take it easy."
Whitaker just nods.
"You too James."
They part each walking away at an unhurried pace both glancing back once when they think the other isn’t looking something quiet and uncertain beginning to take shape between them.