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The nurse who had removed his drains and IV had just left, and Dennis sat on the edge of his bed, a smile that almost hurt his jaw spreading across his face. He had only seen his new chest for a few minutes, just long enough to remove the drains, take a photo, reapply the bandages, and put the compression binder back on. His chest was covered in bruises of various colors, still a little swollen, and the stitches around his nipples gave them a slightly strange shape for the moment, but Dennis felt like he was 6 years old again, feeling exactly what he had felt 20 years earlier when he ran bare-chested through the fields on August evenings to bring the cows in at sunset, filled with a carefree spirit and freedom that Dennis had always assumed he would never find again.
This thought, which moved him as much as it made him nostalgic, gave him a twinge of sadness. He would never return to the cow fields of Nebraska, especially not after his top surgery. That time was over now. He had been preparing himself psychologically for several months. His top surgery was synonymous with a new beginning, the true start of his life, his own life, which he had begun building a few months earlier when he arrived at the Pitt.
Lost in his thoughts, he barely heard the soft knock. The door opened slowly and Robby's familiar tall frame appeared in the doorway. He seemed to hesitate as he entered, as if he had walked into a sacred place, afraid of breaking some fragile balance in the room.
Dennis looked at him incredulously at first. Robby was wearing jeans, Converse sneakers, a white T-shirt, and a denim jacket. The lack of scrubs seemed strange, as if it wasn't the same man standing in front of him, looking at him with a mixture of concern, relief, and... emotion?
“Hey Whitaker, how you feeling?"
He smiled at him and his voice was full of kindness.
“Dr. Robby, T-thank you for coming, and I'm fine!”
“We're not at work, you can call me Robby, Whitaker.”
Dennis nodded, knowing full well that he wouldn't be able to do it.
There was a silence.
Dennis looked down briefly, and it was then that he realized he still hadn't put anything on since the nurse left. Oh, Lord. It wasn't professional to be shirtless in front of his boss, was it? Old reflexes made him feel ashamed, and he crossed his arms to feel a little less naked and vulnerable.
Robby must have noticed his discomfort because when he spoke, there was such nonchalance in his voice, as if this whole situation was the most mundane thing in the world, that Dennis found himself relaxing a little.
“Did you bring some clothes with you? Catching a cold now would be bad timing.”
Dennis nodded furtively and got up to retrieve his bag, but in three long strides Robby had already reached it and was handing it to him.
Dennis grabbed the button-down shirt he had brought with him—the one Trinity had specially bought for him at a thrift store for this big day—and unbuttoned it. If Robby noticed his hands shaking slightly, he didn't mention it.
“That's a nice shirt,” Robby commented simply.
Dennis put it on carefully, a shy smile appearing on his lips.
“Trin gave it to me. It's her « yeet dem tiddies » gift, as she said.”
Robby smiled back.
“Trinity was right, button-downs are going to save your life during these 10 days.”
Dennis wondered how Robby knew about that. He didn't have time to think about it further; there was another knock at the door and his surgeon entered, tablet in hand.
“Dr. Robinavitch, I didn't expect to see you here!", he exclaimed, surprised.
They exchanged a warm handshake.
“Well, I'm here to take Dr. Whitaker home,” Robby replied amiably. “We're colleagues.”
At the mention of Dr. Whitaker, Dennis couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride in his chest.
The surgeon asked Dennis a few questions before explaining once again the precautions to take during his recovery and the signs to watch for.
Robby asked several fairly pointed questions in turn, as if he were particularly knowledgeable about the procedure and its healing process. Dennis was becoming increasingly confused, but fatigue was beginning to set in, so he decided not to think about it for the moment. In any case, it was just a detail. Perhaps Dr. Robby had already had a patient in the emergency room who had informed him, or perhaps he had done his own research on the subject.
The surgeon handed Dennis's prescription to Robby before leaving, not without asking him to say hello to Jack for him.
Robby guided Dennis through the hospital corridors, carrying the boy's bag. He was careful to walk slowly beside him, and after a few yards, he put a hand on Dennis's shoulder as he began to sway a little. The touch was firm without seeming insistent or heavy. It was natural, like when he put a hand on his shoulder during a shift.
He remembered how much Jack had hated that whole recovery period, during which he had felt so useless and incapable, weak and vulnerable. Robby had done everything he could to help him maintain his dignity, letting him do what he could on his own, repeating that it was only temporary, that Jack would have done the same for him, that his body needed to heal and that it wasn't a sign of weakness, quite the contrary.
The fact that Jack had already gone through a long period of convalescence after the accident that had taken his leg hadn't helped, reviving painful memories he was trying to forget.
When they finally reached the car, Robby opened the door for him and got behind the wheel. Dennis looked absolutely exhausted, and Robby's heart sank. He knew it was the anesthesia, the medication, and his body's need of rest after what it had been through, but he couldn't help feeling a wave of protectiveness toward the young man.
He started the car and turned on the radio, which was connected to his phone. The audiobook Robby had been listening to began to play in the car. After a few minutes, Robby could see Dennis's eyes starting to close. His head nodded forward twice, but the young man jerked upright each time, trying to keep his eyes on the road.
“Tired?”
Robby tried to keep his tone light.
“No, I'm fine, it's just—I didn't sleep well last night. They gave me a bunch of pills to take in the middle of the night, and I didn't eat anything with them, so I got nauseous.”
Robby nodded. It happened with Jack once. But he also knew Dennis must feel embarrassed about falling asleep in his boss's car and accepting that he needed rest.
“Hey, you can rest if you want. I'll wake you up when we get there, alright? Your body needs it.” And then he added, ”Don't worry about me, I have this wonderful audiobook version of Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment to keep me entertained."
There were a few seconds of silence during which Robby thought Dennis had finally succumbed to sleep, but then his tired voice rose.
“It's Russian, right? I tried to start it, but I got confused with all the characters' names.”
Robby laughed heartily.
“Yeah, when you're not used to the sounds of Eastern European names, it can take a little while to get used to them. I actually started with the Russian version, but I quickly realized that my level wasn't good enough to appreciate it so I went with the English translation.”
Dennis let himself be lulled by the words coming out of the car's slightly crackling speakers and didn't notice when he fell fast asleep, his head resting against the car window, under Robby's watchful gaze.
The doctor stopped at the first pharmacy he came across. He checked that Dennis was still asleep and that his head wasn't in an uncomfortable position that would give him a sore neck before getting out, leaving the keys in the ignition in case he woke up.
He picked up all his prescriptions and then dialed the ED. Dana put him through to Trinity, who was apparently next to her, busy finishing her charting. He had promised to keep her informed of his friend's condition.
“How is he?” she exclaimed on the other end of the phone with unusual seriousness.
Robby smiled.
“Santos, everything's fine. He's very tired, though. He's sleeping like a log in the car.”
There was an exhalation. A silence. She swallowed.
“I-I won't be back for a while.”
Robby heard the concern in her voice and understood what she was asking without her saying it. She didn't want him to spend the day alone in the apartment. He would probably sleep a lot, forget to drink or take his medication, and probably not have the strength to heat up anything to eat. Robby was worried too.
“He can stay with us today. We have time and space. We're happy to help.”
“Thank you. It-it means a lot. Keep me updated ?”
“Of course.”
As he hung up, Robby thought to himself that he had rarely heard Trinity sound so worried. She really cared about Dennis.
He then called Jack to inform him of the situation.
All that was left was Dennis's approval. He would have the final say. He was old enough to know what he needed, and Robby wanted to avoid acting like a paternalistic jerk. He knew he sometimes had that tendency. He was trying to improve.
After telling his attending that it was okay with him (the idea of staying alone made him nauseous), Dennis felt the weight of guilt brought on by his selfishness pressing on his chest for just a few minutes before he fell back asleep.
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The car had barely pulled up in front of the townhouse when Jack opened the front door and stepped outside.
“Hey Whitaker, we're here,” whispered Robby, gently shaking the young man's shoulder, afraid of hurting him.
He opened his eyes, disoriented, and took a few seconds to remember the latest events. Oh right. He was in front of Jack and Robby's house. Wait. No. He hadn't accepted that offer, had he? He couldn't ask them that. Robby had already done way too much.
But Jack had already opened the trunk, grabbed his bag, and flashed him a smile before heading back to the door, exclaiming that the welcome would have to wait because he had a chicken in the oven that he had to keep an eye on.
Dennis sat there for a few more seconds, incredulous, the front door still open, as if inviting him to come in.
It was Robby who snapped him out of his thoughts by opening the door on his side and asking him if he needed help getting out.
Dennis thanked him before refusing.
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Robby and Jack lived in a small red brick townhouse. Dennis climbed the outside stairs leading to the front door and was surprised when he entered. He didn't really know what to expect, but he certainly didn't expect such a warm and welcoming place. There was hardwood flooring and rugs. The walls were painted in earthy tones, and to his tired mind, their dark red sofa seemed like the most comfortable thing in the world.
He took off his shoes and was led to the sofa, where he sat down, and sure enough, it was as comfortable as he had imagined. He looked around the living room, where several green plants were hanging and displayed. The low wooden table was also covered with stains and rings left by coffee cups. He could imagine the two men coming home from their shift and eating on the sofa in front of a TV series, too tired to actually sit down at the table.
He was lost in thought when he felt someone gently shaking his shoulder and calling his name. That's when he realized his eyes were closed.
“Dennis, you with me, buddy?”
“Mmh?”
Jack's voice was strangely soft, as was his grip on his shoulder. He hadn't seen Jack much, only at handover. The only time he had really seen him in action was the day of PittFest, and he had felt intimidated by his commanding presence, his coolness, and his obvious talent. Since that day, his image of Dr. Abbot as someone serious and tough had remained, and Dennis would never have imagined that such a voice and such gentleness could belong to him.
“I think it would be good for you to eat before you sleep so you can take your medication. How does that sound?”
Every cell in Dennis's body was crying out for rest, but he wasn't going to act like a child, so he nodded before slowly getting up, his back bent over by the binder. It was true that he was starting to feel sore and that some painkillers sounded like a good idea.
When Dennis entered the kitchen, the table was set and the plates were already filled.
“Thank you for everything, really. It's delicious!” exclaimed Dennis, taking a bite of mashed potatoes.
It had been a long time since he had eaten a hot meal that tasted good. Before his operation, Trinity and he had been living mainly on ramen, and the hospital food over the last three days had not been very good.
"I hope everything’s to your liking. And don't force yourself to finish your plate. I remember I didn't have much appetite after my top surgery," Jack said simply.
Dennis almost choked on the mashed potatoes he had just swallowed and managed to avoid the coughing fit that would have aggravated the pain from the bruises scattered across his chest.
Had he heard correctly? It couldn't be possible. The medication he had just taken must be starting to take effect. Yet he was sure he had only taken 500mg of Ibuprofen.
At the same time, Jack shot an inquiring look at Robby, who showed no emotion.
“Robby, Jesus Christ, you didn't tell him anything? Seriously?!” Jack exclaimed.
Robby went back to cutting his piece of chicken as if nothing had happened.
“It wasn't my place to tell him. It’s like the first rule of the Fight Club,” he said simply.
Jack smiled, then remembered that he was standing next to a still very confused Dennis. He owed this poor kid an explanation.
“Dennis, I'm also a trans man. I had surgery with the same surgeon as you, that's why we know him,” he explained gently, as if afraid of upsetting him and causing him to choke again.
But the shock had passed and Dennis had now stars in his eyes.
Jack Abbot, Lieutenant Jack Abbot, the epitome of masculinity in the ED, the man who was never fazed by anything, who kept a cool head in all situations, who had been shot, whose leg had been blown off, who was one of the best doctors Dennis had ever seen in his entire life, and who had literally continued to save lives while donating his own blood, the bag taped to his leg, was a trans man, like him?
Wow. Well, he hadn't seen that one coming.
But now that he thought about it, it was true that Robby had shown some signs, notably his extensive knowledge on top surgery and the recovery process.
The conversation quickly turned into Jack giving advice on how to survive the first few days: how to strategically place pillows to sleep comfortably on your back, what to do when the binder itches too much.
Then Dennis talked about what he had been through in the last few days. It felt good to be able to talk about it with someone who had been through the same thing.
“When I woke up, it felt like someone had hit my chest with a meat tenderizer before wrapping it up too tightly and throwing me into a bed,” Dennis exclaimed.
The two men in front of him laughed.
“I had the same feeling. I tried to discreetly look under the bandages to see if it was true because part of me still couldn't believe it. But that feeling goes away the second you look at your flat chest for the first time, right?” he said tenderly, as if reliving that moment in his mind, still firmly anchored in his memories.
Dennis nodded and smiled. Damn. His chest was flat. It still seemed crazy to him.
After another ten minutes or so, Robby and Jack noticed that the young man was starting to nod off. Robby glanced at his partner to let him know that he was going to do the dishes and leave them alone.
“Hey Dennis, d’you want to go back to the couch? You'll be more comfortable there,” he said softly.
Dennis got up almost mechanically, his eyes already half-closed, and Jack guided him to the living room where he strategically placed pillows on the couch so that he couldn't roll over onto his stomach, while making sure that sleeping on his back was as comfortable as possible.
The young man laid down and fell asleep before Jack could even put a blanket on him.
He looked at his slightly pale, relaxed face. He looked so young lying there on the sofa. Jack's heart ached at the thought that he could have been all alone at home. He was glad he had agreed to spend the day with them.
Jack didn't know Dennis well, but he knew enough about him to know that he was a good doctor and a good person. That he was compassionate and reliable. Hell, he had managed to get Robby back on track during his breakdown in peds. Jack had been the only one able to calm Robby down. Now there was Dennis too, and he had been impressed but above all grateful when Robby had finally told him about it.
So Jack didn't know him well, but they shared such a profound life experience in common. It filled him with joy to be able to give advice and share what he had learned during those many years of transition with someone younger.
He adjusted the blanket he had draped over Dennis, then joined Robby in the kitchen.
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Dennis woke up before opening his eyes. The first thing he felt was discomfort in his chest. Everything was tight, it was squeezing him too hard, he was having trouble breathing. With his eyes still closed, disoriented, he raised his arm and pressed on the area that was bothering him. A burning pain made him close his eyes even tighter and he bit his cheek. The whimper that passed his lips couldn't be stopped.
Then panic set in. He didn't know where he was. The surface he was lying on was unfamiliar. The smell of the room was unfamiliar. And still there was pain, oppression. He could feel sweat running down his neck, his temple. He was too hot. He wanted to breathe. He was suffocating.
Suddenly, he felt a presence at his side, and a terrible thought crossed his mind. He wondered if he was back at the farm. Was he in Nebraska, and was his father there, waiting for him to wake up? Was he in so much pain because he had just been beaten again? The belt, surely. The diffuse but stinging pain when he touched the wounds could only come from the belt.
A hand was placed on his forehead and Dennis jumped violently, overwhelmed by a wave of panic. A small muffled cry escaped him and he realized with horror that a tear was rolling down his cheek.
“Hey, hey Dennis, everything's okay. Can you open your eyes for me? You're at Robby's and mine. You're safe, buddy.”
The young man finally opened his eyes, breathing heavily, and came face to face with Jack, who was crouching beside him. One of his hands brushed back the strands of hair stuck to Dennis's damp forehead. He looked at him with such kindness that Dennis felt a growing sense of shame at having believed for a second that he was his father.
“Dennis, Dennis, look at me. There you are. On a scale of 1 to 10, can you tell me how much pain you're in, please?” His voice was still calm but firm.
He had to answer. But Dennis's brain couldn't function. He felt like he was suffocating, he was in pain. Everything was muddled in his mind.
“Okay, it's okay, kid. Let's start by breathing slowly together, yeah? I'm gonna put your hand on my stomach and you're gonna follow me as best you can. You alright.”
Dennis closed his eyes tightly several times, and each time Jack told him to look at him. Jack’s gaze seemed confident, giving him the impression that the situation was under control, that he was somewhat anchored in the present, which seemed so confusing at the moment. He finally managed to gradually focus on Jack's slow inhalations and exhalations, until he no longer felt like he was suffocating.
“There you are. Are you feeling a little better?” Jack asked softly.
Dennis managed to nod, then he asked him again how severe his pain was. Since he could breathe a little easier, his chest wasn't burning as much, but the pain was still constant. It felt like his skin was being pulled and his chest was tight. His back hurt too, and it stung like he had small cuts. It made him feel nauseous.
“S-seven,” Dennis managed to stammer quietly, his hands now shaking.
He grabbed the blanket until his knuckles turned white.
“Okay, thank you for telling me. You're doing very well, Dennis. Dr. Coleman prescribed stronger medication for the first two days in case the pain became too uncomfortable. We'll give you that, alright?”
Dennis didn't answer, but the hand on his forehead hadn't moved, and he relaxed a little. It kept him in the present.
A few seconds later, another familiar face appeared at his side. Robby was holding a small bottle of pills in one hand and a glass of cold water in the other. He was struggling to hide the concern that was showing on his tense face.
“Okay, Dennis, we’re gonna help you take a few sips of water, and then you're gonna let this tablet melt on your tongue. They probably gave you something similar at the hospital. This one is less strong, though, it’s not Fentanyl,” Jack explained calmly.
Dennis had a vague memory of a pill. At first, he had thought it was nothing special, since the pill tasted like orange juice, but after a few minutes it had taken effect and he had realized how strong it was. He had tried to ask them what the hell they had just given him. Trinity had teased him because he was apparently high as a kite. He had fallen asleep not long after.
Jack placed a hand under his neck as Robby held the glass to the young man's lips and he took a few sips. He realized how dry his mouth had been before.
Then Robby handed Jack the pill.
“That's the good stuff. It'll relieve you in no time, but you'll feel a little weird. You may feel tired, and if you need to sleep, don't fight it. You need it. We won't leave you alone again, okay? Don't worry.”
Dennis took the little pill and let it dissolve on his tongue, staring at the ceiling. Now that he was no longer in a state of intense panic, he could feel embarrassment taking hold of him. His superiors had seen him in this state. Like a poor scared kid panicking and whimpering in pain. Well, fuck him. Maybe he should have refused the offer to stay with them and live through this humiliating moment alone in the apartment. But that thought dissipated almost immediately. The idea of waking up alone in this state seemed far worse than any humiliation he was currently feeling.
Slowly, gently, the sharp edges of the pain, of his thoughts, of reality softened. Jack and Robby had not moved from their positions and were whispering words he could barely understand.
His eyes felt heavy.
Jack's hand on his forehead began to run through his hair.
He felt other hands repositioning the pillows around him and the blanket. His socks were removed. Strangely, it made him feel like he could breathe better.
Perhaps he had said this out loud, because a soft laugh escaped from beside him.
“Sleep, kid. We're not going anywhere. You alright.”
Dennis let sleep take him.
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Trinity arrived in the evening, still wearing her scrubs. Her hair was a mess, she had dark circles under her eyes, and all she wanted to do was check that Dennis was okay. Then collapse into bed.
Robby had called her a few hours earlier to tell her that Dennis had woken up in a panic and in pain. They hadn't really been able to determine whether the pain was mainly caused by the panic, or if he was experiencing severe post-op pain. It could also have been post-op complications.
They had given him a prescribed dose of morphine in tablet form, then Robby had hurried to call the surgeon to make sure there were no complications. Jack had quickly examined him to make sure nothing serious was happening, and Dr. Coleman had reassured them that everything seemed to be in order.
Trinity rang the doorbell, her body tense, her arms crossed, her left leg tapping anxiously.
It was Robby who greeted her with a slightly shaky smile. Huckleberry was definitely winning a place in everyone's hearts, she thought to herself.
As she entered, she didn't look around. She barely noticed Jack, who was fast asleep, sitting in an armchair opposite the sofa as if standing guard. Trinity joined Dennis's sleeping form, stretched out on the sofa, surrounded by far too many pillows and snuggled comfortably under a warm blanket. His eyes were closed. He was fine. He seemed calm, peaceful. She breathed in, breathed out.
“He's doing okay,” Robby said gently. “I don't think he'll wake up for a while.”
Trinity tried to smile mockingly, but it came out a little shaky and didn't reach her eyes.
“Yeah, he's such a lightweight.”
“In the meantime, you can stay and grab a bite to eat if you want. I don't think a sandwich was enough.”
How did Robby know that she only ate a sandwich during her shifts? Sometimes just a protein bar?
Trinity sighed (a sigh that sounded almost bored, jaded) and pretended to think about it, but as if her mind was already made up.
Robby was convinced she was about to refuse the offer.
Indeed, Trinity was about to say no. But for once in her life, Trinity said to herself, “Fuck it.” She was hungry. She was tired. She had been worried sick all day. She was behind on her charting. Again. It had been a long, hard day.
Robby had proven more than once lately that he was trustworthy. And she would never admit it to herself, but deep down she envied Dennis a little for having people who were so protective toward him. Who took care of him.
She didn't want to go back to the apartment without Dennis. She didn't want to be alone. She...she really wanted one of his hug.
When she spoke, it was in a detached tone, as if she didn't care and didn't give a damn. Her gaze was fixed to the side, as if they were having a discussion that didn't really interest her.
“Yeah, why not.”
But Trinity's heart was filled with something she hadn't felt in too long, and it made her clear her throat because a lump was starting to form in there.
Robby gave her a sincere smile, and she could see in his eyes that he was truly happy she agreed to stay.
She looked away. She wasn't going to cry.
A few minutes later, she was sitting in a chair next to Abbot, Robby, and Dennis, with a plate full of leftover chicken, broccoli, and mashed potatoes reheated in the microwave. The food on the plate wasn't evenly heated, but she wouldn't have wanted it any other way. It reminded her of the school lunches her mother used to make for her.
No one spoke for a long time. Jack and Dennis were still asleep.
“You're a good friend, Trinity. Dennis is very lucky to have you in his corner,” Robby finally said.
The young woman didn’t answer, looked away.
“And we're also very lucky to have you with us. I hope you know that.”
Robby stood up and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, squeezing it briefly.
“I'll get the guest room ready if you want to stay tonight. It's getting late, and I don't think Dennis will have the strength to walk to the car.”
Trinity didn't answer. She focused on the feeling of the knot in her stomach loosening. On the warmth she could still feel, left by the hand on her shoulder.
The next day, when she woke up next to Dennis still fast asleep, the smell of waffles and coffee hung in the air.
She crossed her arms behind her head and stared at the ceiling, enjoying these few moments of calm while she could simply exist.
She smiled. A real smile, this time.