Work Text:
Whitaker is suppose to be working right now, he's got charts open, tablet in hand.
He's even sitting at the desk like someone who isn't about to self implode, shoulders squared chewing on his pen as he reviews notes trying so hard to relax and not think about little Ogilvie-Whitaker growing inside him.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other occasionally, frowning at something on his tablet before jotting something down.
Trying so hard to do work especially when his eyes keep finding him.
He tells himself it's fine, Ogilvie is tall you really can't miss him in a crowd of doctors but then again he's been telling himself a lot of things lately.
He continues attempting to read the same sentence for the third time, still having no idea what it's saying.
Across the room Ogilvie is laughing at something Joy did or said, he really can't tell from where he's sitting it's probably the second one knowing Ogilvie.
He looks down at his work trying so hard to focus as the minutes tediously tick by.
Whitaker eventually can't help but look up again, and now Ogilvie is talking to Dana leaning over the nurses counter tilting his head like he's actually interested in whatever it is she's saying, Whitaker wishes he knew what they were saying because whatever it is Ogilvie is smiling ever so slightly.
Which is making Whitaker stomach flip and it's not from the nausea this time, it's something way worse that he's been burying long before he ever got pregnant.
He eventually drags his gaze back gripping the edge of the desk like it might anchor him back to this planet.
He needs to fucking get it together.
"Whitaker?"
He flinches nearly jumping out of his skin as he looks over to see Santos standing there with her arms crossed, eyebrow raised in a way that tells him she's been attempting to talk to him for awhile now and he's just now tuning in.
"What?"
She points at the tablet, "You gonna finish that, or you planning to absorb it through osmosis."
Whitaker looks down at his tablet, trying to remember what exactly he was reading in the first place.
"....Yes?"
Santos goes to him crouching at his sitting level to see what exactly he's staring at because despite Whitaker's best effort they go right back to Ogilvie in which Santos looks over at Ogilvie.
Then her eyes go back to Whitaker as she points to Ogilvie.
"Oh, so that's what happening?"
Whitaker immediately stiffens at that accusation, because nothing is happening between him and Ogilvie.
Of course the little clump of cells currently sucking the life out of him would say otherwise.
"What? Nothing is happening."
"You've been staring at him for like ten minutes," Santos says tapping her watch, "I was timing it."
"I have not been staring."
"You absolutely have."
Whitaker runs a hand across his face knowing he's been caught, and now he's either gotta fess up and tell the truth or just continue doing what he's been doing.
"I'm not staring."
"You're definitely staring," she says, "All puppy dog eyed and everything, which is worse."
Whitaker groans, knowing he's so fucked right now.
"Can you not refer to my staring as puppy dog eyed?"
Santos at this leans one hip against the desk.
"So you do admit to staring, what's going on with you?"
"Nothing."
She snorts knowing exactly what facial expressions he makes when he lies, his face unfortunately is very telling, he would definitely suck at poker.
"You wanna try that again?"
Whitaker opens his mouth before closing it glancing across the room again, catching Ogilvie mid turn before looking away too quickly like a teenager who's been caught staring at their childish crush.
Santos watches this whole odd interaction with interest.
"Okay, so that's new."
Whitaker exhales, knowing he's busted at least for having something between Ogilvie.
"It's not new."
"Since when have you and Ogilvie been a thing?"
Whitaker shrugs, wanting so badly to tell her everything and how confused he is about it.
But he just can't.
"Since.....whatever it doesn't matter, we aren't a thing at the moment."
Santos tilts her head at this information, because she can't believe she managed to miss Ogilvie and Whitaker of all people together like that.
"You look like I'm asking you to confess to a crime or something."
Whitaker laughs at this, it's strained because right now he is wishing he had commit some crime so he could actually have the confidence to talk to Santos.
"Relax."
"Dennis, I feel like I should be telling you to relax."
He looks at her, wondering if he's just that obvious, he watches as she softens at the face he's giving her.
"Seriously, you're pale, distracted, and if you keep staring at Ogilvie like that he's gonna realize or worse Robby will realize and I'm just saying Robby noticing is way worse."
Whitaker winces at the idea of Robby in his business especially right now, he doesn't need his thoughts or opinions on the matter.
"Please don't say his name."
"Oh this must be bad if you don't want Robby knowing, because you want him knowing everything."
Whitaker swallows at that, wanting to glare for that comment but decides against it as he feels the words pressing the back of his throat it's loud, impossible, and demanding to be said to someone else other than the other piece of this fucked up puzzle.
I'm pregnant, just thinking about it makes him terrified, his heart starts to race in his chest.
Santos picking up on this mostly because his face shifted, she watches as concern comes across his face.
"Hey? Seriously what is it?"
Whitaker just shakes his head, even though the truth is right on the tip of the tongue.
Because she's like a sister to him and lying is so hard.
"You sick or something?"
I mean technically he is, of course this sickness lasts for about however many months he has left, and he gets to take the sickness home for eighteen years, maybe longer who knows depends on the kid.
If he even has this so called sickness, he's not sure yet.
Santos's expression changes the minute he didn't answer.
"Oh, is it serious?"
Whitaker immediately panics at that, because he doesn't want her thinking he's dying or something.
"It's not serious, and I'm not dying I promise. I also promise it's not contagious as far as I'm aware."
"That's not reassuring me any."
But Whitaker isn't listening again, his eyes are right back to Ogilvie, thankfully Ogilvie looks up this time meeting Whitaker's eyes giving him this questioning and concerned look.
Whitaker looks away again, looking back at Santos, he starts to picture what would happen if he told her right now, she'd have to keep that secret, and if he told her it stops being his and Ogilvie's problem, it becomes real in a way he's not ready for just yet.
So he can't not yet anyway.
She stares right back at him, hoping maybe he'd just tell her what's eating him.
"That's the dumbest excuse you could have given me, and you've given me a lot since we've become roommates."
Whitaker just shrugs helplessly because he's stuck between a rock and a hard place right now.
"It's what I've got right now."
Santos studies him for a long moment, Whitaker holds his breath waiting for her to push, to pry, to see right through him.
But she doesn't, instead she just sighs.
"I don't buy it, but I'm not your mother, or your therapist, I'm just your worried roommate."
Whitaker laughs at that, happy for her more than she knows.
"So," Santos says, straightening, "You get a pass this time, but you're gonna tell me eventually when you're more ready to."
"Thanks Trinity."
"But," she adds, interrupting him, "If something is seriously wrong, you don't have to implode quietly by yourself, you're very bad at it."
He smiles faintly watching as she pushes off the desk and starts walking away, glancing at Ogilvie before shaking her head like she's keeping an eye out on him or something.
Whitaker eventually looks back down at the chart he's working on, his other hand going to his stomach without realizing.
He's just gotta focus, just keep working, just breathe. He can't fall apart, not now, not here.
---
Halloween in Santos's apartment smells like cheap vodka she probably bought at Walmart and artificial fog which there's way to much in the air, and it can't be good for any of their lungs.
Santos's apartment is also packed wall to wall with Halloween decorations and way to much glitter, this is what happens when him and Santos decide to raid a Spirit Halloween with a credit card and a dream.
The music is pulsing from a speaker that is mostly likely dying and needs to be charged, Langdon spilled something neon and fruity in the kitchen, he didn't clean it up before leaving something about Abby needing him to wrangle the children for trick or treating.
There's a plastic skeleton currently spinning around on the ceiling fan because of Victoria, the fan is currently rotating slowly which makes it just a little more funny.
Whitaker is standing between the kitchen and living room dressed as Sarah Connor complete with the tank top, combat boots, and fingerless gloves.
All which he stole from Santos's closet, he's even got a toy gun that he got at Spirit Halloween but he keeps knocking it into door frames or almost smacking someone in the face.
He's even got eyeliner on, Santos got so excited when he told her she could help him with it.
He actually looks really good, but of course somehow he's matched with Ogilvie who's standing very still and creepily in a Los Angeles police uniform like it's so accurate, that it makes Whitaker wonder what cop he stole it from, he's even got the a name tag "Austin" and a cops utility belt.
The only thing he's missing is a real gun but other than that you'd think he was the terminator what with that unmistakable flat, assessing stare, he's even slicked back his hair, his entire face is void of emotions, he even moves like him.
It's very unsettling, Whitaker of course gets snapped out of his staring by Robby walking past him wearing a massive red foam costume.
"Oh yeah," Robby shouts, bursting into the kitchen scaring poor Victoria again, he's been doing that through every doorway.
The only plus side is if he stops they know something is wrong.
But of course Abbot is following behind him, he's dressed in dark blue scrubs wearing a Seattle Grace Memorial lab coat complete with a badge that says Mark Sloan, he apologizes to Victoria again.
Hilariously enough he matches with Santos who's dressed as Derek Shepherd.
"Slow down, you're going to hurt yourself and I can't go that fast," Whitaker hears Abbot tell Robby as well as the tip tap tap sound of his prosthetic, he's surprise Abbot has been able to keep up with him all night, of course on crutches he can keep up with him as well, so Whitaker isn't exactly sure what he's thinking about.
Robby grins at him. "Worth it."
Whitaker just starts laughing because he had no idea Robby took Halloween so seriously, he's currently sipping from a red cup that definitely contains more vodka than mixer.
Santos is leaning against the wall near the couch, she's just watching the chaos well glancing at Whitaker because she sees him staring at Ogilvie.
"You having fun," she calls over.
Whitaker just nods lifting up his cup.
"Obviously."
His eyes go back to Ogilvie as he starts following around Mel and not in a normal way it's this slow, steady, and very unsettling glide, weaving around Cassie and Dana not even breaking eye contact with Mel, he doesn't even fucking blink.
Mel eventually turns around and nearly jumps out of her skin.
"Stop doing that Ogilvie."
"I'm not doing anything," Ogilvie says flatly.
Whitaker just watches the two with a grin that he tries not to let it get too obvious that he's smirking at Ogilvie.
The music shifts, Cassie starts dancing in the living room with Victoria eventually roping Dana in, it's all really bad, but they're having fun so Whitaker doesn't comment, but he nearly does say something when Robby attempts to start a conga line.
Whitaker eventually let's Cassie drag him into the crowd, laughing as Victoria trips over his boots he of course catches her helping her balance.
He makes sure she's all good before he joins the crowd in the bad dancing, he tilts his head back genuinely happy in that fleeting, fragile way that only happens when you forget to guard yourself.
Santos sees it, she just starts smiling, Ogilvie sees it as well, mostly because he too is staring in that creepy terminator way.
Later, Whitaker finds himself back in the kitchen at the counter refilling his drink, the alcohol in him makes everything warmer, and louder.
Ogilvie steps up beside him.
And up close Whitaker now realizes he's wearing sunglasses, his uniform smells faintly of cologne and something else Whitaker can't name, his expression still neutral but when he glances at Whitaker it becomes a glint of something else less machine more man.
"Sarah Connor," Ogilvie says.
Whitaker smirks at him, "Liquid metal."
"You really committed," Ogilvie says, nodding towards the eyeliner.
"So did you," Whitaker replies. "You've been stalking everyone here for the past forty minutes."
"It's character work."
Whitaker laughs, taking a sip. "You're insufferable."
Ogilvie leans one elbow on the counter, closer now.
Their shoulders brush against each other, it's subtle but an intentional move from Ogilvie.
The music swells in the living room, the kitchen seems to get smaller around these two as they talk, about nothing much just the movie and the characters they're dressed up as, about how Ogilvie has a bet with Cassie that Robby is going to concuss himself before midnight, and how Santos throws killer parties.
And with all this talking drinks turn into more drinks, and at some point Whitaker realizes they're standing too close.
At some point, he stops caring mostly because Ogilvie's voice has dropped lower, and Whitaker can feel it in his chest more than he hears it.
"You're staring," Ogilvie murmurs.
Whitaker doesn't deny the charges.
"You started it," he says.
There's this suspended moment between them, as the music shifts again it seems to have gotten slower or maybe it just feels that way as Whitaker leans his head.
And as Ogilvie's hand finds his waist like it's always known where it belongs.
They lean in, mouths meeting in this soft not cautious in the slightest, no it's heat, vodka, and something pent up neither could name out loud in that moment, Whitaker's fingers curl into his uniform as Ogilvie pulls him closer.
"Oh yeah!"
The wall inbetween the kitchen and living room shakes as Robby attempts to smash through the wall.
Abbot lunges forward immediately nearly faceplanting because in that moment all he cared about was Robby, "Jesus, Michael what the fuck, Michael, just look at me, how many fingers?"
Robby blinks at him a little disoriented from the wall, and not because he's drunk, actually he's completely and utterly sober so why he decided to do this will remain a mystery.
"Eight?"
"That's not...I'm not even holding up....you know what never mind."
Santos is doubling over from laughter, as tears stream down her face. "I told you not to do that, I said wouldn't it be funny, not please destroy my apartment sir."
Whitaker jerks away from Ogilvie just as startled before he starts laughing as he hears the chaos in the living room, he laughs harder than he has in weeks.
Ogilvie looks absolutely annoyed for a half second before he joins in on Whitaker laughing.
The chaos interrupted their moment, but it did keep Santos from noticing as Whitaker slips down the hallway with Ogilvie following after him.
---
And now present day smells like antiseptic, which Whitaker is smelling more of at the moment actually it's the only thing he can focus on as he stares at the lab results in his hands.
The numbers don't lie, even as he reads them once, and then twice just to be sure.
Beta-hCG levels consist with early pregnancy.
And there it is all clinical and unavoidable.
He lowers the paper slowly as his stomach drops.
"Oh," he whispers to himself.
He barely makes it to the nearest trash can before he's throwing up again, it's sharp sudden and kinda humiliating especially because people are definitely watching as his hands grip the edge of the bin like it's the only soild thing in the world.
"Whitaker."
Dana's voice is calm and steady.
He straightens too quickly at her voice, wiping his mouth.
"I'm fine."
She doesn't look convinced in the slightest, she never does.
She steps closer, eyes flickering to the paper he's holding in his hand, then to his face.
"You don't look fine," she says.
"Just a bug."
"Mmhmm."
He tries to fold the paper casually without Dana noticing but that ultimately fails, as Dana gently takes it from his hand before he can stop her.
He opens his mouth to protest but it's too late as she scans the numbers once and twice just like he did.
Her expression changes, it's not shock, it's not even judgment, it's recognition.
"Oh," she says quietly.
Whitaker freezes as she figures it all out, well the part about him being pregnant, not him getting pregnant by Ogilvie of all people.
"I....it's not..." he starts.
She looks over at him.
"You're pregnant?"
He laughs weakly at that accusation slash question.
"That's ridiculous."
Dana raises an eyebrow at him attempting to lie to her.
"Did you forget I have two daughters, so I've been pregnant before and I know that look you're giving me, because I've worn that look."
He falters having forgotten that fact, he's gonna chalk that up to lack of sleep and not the fact he's already having pregnancy brain.
"It's that nauseous panic look, hell the way you're holding yourself is a dead giveaway."
His hand drifts unconsciously to his stomach which isn't helping his case any, but once he realizes what he's doing he drops it.
"It's just hormones," he says. "From stress."
"Dennis."
His throat tightens at her using his first name instead of last.
"I didn't...I wasn't..." he tries again.
Dana gets closer to him, lowering her voice.
"Hey it's okay, I'm not gonna say anything."
The gentleness in it cracks something inside him, he looks down so he doesn't have to see her face.
"It wasn't supposed to..." he whispers.
"I know that happens a lot, and it can be a lot to process when it happens so suddenly."
He swallows hard at that.
"I don't even know what I'm doing."
"You don't have to know yet," Dana says. "You just right now focus on breathing."
His eyes start to sting as he nods once all shaky, Dana just rests a hand on his shoulder it's warm, steady and grounding at that moment which he needs.
"You're not the first person to be terrified of being pregnant, I was terrified too and I was married," she says softly. "And guess what you and me won't be the last, we see pregnant people in the ER as terrified as you everyday."
Whitaker lets out a slow breath he didn't realize he was holding as she said this.
He just presses his lips together and nods again.
"Okay," he says.
Dana just squeezes his shoulder once again trying to make him feel better.
"Okay," she agrees.
---
It takes a bit for him to get himself together but eventually he goes looking for Ogilvie who he finds near the back corridor where nobody ever lingers.
Ogilvie looks down at him wondering what the results were.
"Well," Ogilvie says, reading his face immediately.
"You have results."
Whitaker just nods, for a second just standing there shoving his hands into his pants pocket like he needs a distraction from everything that's happening.
"It's confirmed," he says. "From the blood test I mean."
Ogilvie absorbs this information without blinking, wishing he'd just get to the point either they're tied together forever or not.
"Okay, so what was the results?"
Okay, Whitaker almost laughs at that word and how professional Ogilvie sounds.
"I'm pregnant," he says, thinking maybe if he says it enough times it'll become real.
"Yes I figured as much," Ogilvie replies, softer this time.
After that silence settles between them, it's not awkward just heavy. Ogilvie gestures down the hallway.
"Come on, let's see how pregnant you are."
They move quietly after that, deliberately, not secretive in a suspicious way if anything it's careful because this isn't something either of them want overheard.
The exam room they choose is dimmer than the hallway cooler and more clinical if that makes any sense, the ultrasound machine is in the corner like it's waiting patiently for them.
Ogilvie stands by the door.
"I'll step out so you can change," he says, going to the cabinet grabbing a folded gown before handing it over to Whitaker.
"It's open in the back."
Whitaker snorts weakly, knowing what he's doing in trying to ease him a bit and to be honest it worked just a little.
"Of course it is."
Ogilvie's mouth almost twitches into something of a smile.
"I'll be right outside."
He then leaves well Whitaker stands alone in the way too quiet room which is why Ogilvie most likely chose it in the first place.
Whitaker changes slowly putting his stuff on a tray so he doesn't lose it, he's got butterfingers when it comes to the ties in the back, the whole gown feels exposing but he takes a deep breath as he folds his scrubs putting them neatly on the chair like this is just another day at work.
Except it isn't, but he ignores that thought as he climbs onto the exam table and stares at the ceiling just as Ogilvie knocks.
"Ready?" he calls.
Whitaker exhales, now or never. "Yeah."
Ogilvie comes back in his expression neutral but eyes softer than usual, he wheels the machine closer all efficient and controled.
"You know the drill, scoot and put your feet in the stirrups," he says gently as he puts the stirrups up.
Whitaker just sighs heavily feeling ever women and guys pain that he's told that to in his short medical career.
"You know I hate that sentence."
"I know, believe me I know every one of us on the planet has been in this position once or twice including me so take one for the team and scoot."
Whitaker adjusts himself with reluctant compliance, staring determinedly at the opposite wall not even wanting to look at Ogilvie.
Who is working with quiet competence like this is just another routine pregnancy check and not Whitaker, he snaps on some gloves before gelling the probe, making sure he gets it into the right position carefully.
"I'll try to make this as comfortable as possible," he says.
"Define comfortable in this situation."
"Clinically tolerable."
Whitaker snorts at that, he needed that little laugh especially as Ogilvie gets the monitor on its all static at first, grainy shadows, and movement because Ogilvie is trying to get the correct position.
He adjusts the probe slightly, super focused on this.
"There," he says suddenly.
Whitaker looks and on screen is a small, indistinct shape, a tiny bright edged blur against darker grey. A blob if you will, he knows that's not the right medical term in the slightest but whatever because he stops breathing, feeling as the room falls away.
As his mind goes back to Halloween, Ogilvie's hands on his waist, his curls under his fingers, the music pulsing in time with their heartbeats.
The kissing, the heat, vodka, and reckless laughter as Ogilvie kissed down his body.
His hands everywhere they could be, the heat from it all, breathless grins shared between them.
"You're going to regret this in the morning," Whitaker had said, well spreading his legs more for Ogilvie.
Ogilvie had just smirked as he grabbed Whitaker's right leg before thrusting carefully inside. "That's very unlikely."
"Dennis."
The present comes crashing back as the blob pulses faintly on the screen. He knows Ogilvie is talking all calm as he explains something about gestational sacs, measurement, and viability windows.
But to be honest with you Whitaker barely hears him because all he sees is the tiny flicker and that night, that choice he made, the moment that felt nothing more than adrenaline and stupid courage.
Now it's....led to this.
"You're still within the window," Ogilvie says carefully. "If you decide you don't want to continue and have an abortion."
Whitaker doesn't respond, he just watches the screen as it shifts slightly because Ogilvie adjusts the angle.
"That's the yolk sac," Ogilvie adds, defaulting to information when emotion gets complicated.
"Development looks consistent for early gestation."
Whitaker just swallows as he remembers Ogilvie's mouth at his throat as he thrusted, biting gently trying so hard not to leave a mark on his skin, the way he whimpered in his ear like he'd been waiting for that moment for a long time, Whitaker remembers how he felt reckless, alive, and entirely certain he'd deal with any consequences later as he tightened his legs around Whitaker's waist urging him deeper.
But now later is here.
"Dennis."
Ogilvie snaps his fingers lightly in front of his line of sight which makes Whitaker blink dragging him back into the room.
"Sorry," he says automatically.
"You're about six weeks," Ogilvie says, "Give or take a few days."
Six weeks, which tracks for it being that faithful night, so Whitaker just nods slowly trying to process it.
"Okay."
"Heart activity is detectable," Ogilvie continues.
"Which is good."
Good, Whitaker isn't exactly sure what that means just yet, because he's still just staring at the screen because the blob doesn't look like much, it doesn't look like a giraffe or a disaster waiting to happen.
It looks so small, well he's staring at the screen Ogilvie is studying his face.
"You don't have to decide anything today," he says quietly.
Whitaker just nods again because he doesn't trust his voice right now, well Ogilvie pauses contemplating if he should ask this or not before clearing his throat slightly.
"Do you want a picture?"
That pulls a startled laugh out of Whitaker before he can stop it.
"A picture?" he repeats.
"Yes."
"You're unbelievable."
"It's standard practice," Ogilvie replies, trying to make it better.
Whitaker at that looks at the screen again, at the tiny shape sucking the life out of him.
".....Sure," he says finally. "Yeah, okay."
Ogilvie's mouth curves faintly, he reaches over pressing a button, the machine whirs and prints.
Whitaker adjusts as Ogilvie finishes up, removing the probe with careful professionalism.
Whitaker swings his legs down once he knows Ogilvie is all done, he watches as Ogilvie retrieves the printed images
Ogilvie glances at them, then at Whitaker before walking over and hands them to him with exaggerated ceremony.
"Here, mommy."
Whitaker glares immediately. "You never call me that again."
Ogilvie raises an eyebrow at that. "Noted."
Whitaker looks down at the photos, the word lingers anyway. Mom, he doesn't actually hate it per say, he just isn't sure if he's ready for it.
He feels as Ogilvie sits beside him on the edge of the exam bed, close but not touching.
They stare at the ultrasound pictures together, the room is quiet at that moment as Whitaker traces the edge with his thumb.
Six weeks, their blob, their beginning, and for once Ogilvie doesn't say anything else.
He just sits with him, shoulder almost brushing his, both of them staring at the small, impossible proof that everything has changed between them.