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It’s been two weeks, Two weeks of pretending nothing’s different with him.
Two weeks of counting the days in his head, of calculating how long he has before he has to makes a choice, of standing in the shower with one hand braced against the tile staring at nothing.
Two weeks of still not deciding, it's barely five in the morning when the smell hits him.
And you might be wondering what's the smell? Well it's eggs, at least he thinks it's eggs it could be the kitchen sink farting again.
Don't ask something is severely wrong with the plumbing, Santos just says it's quirky which is her code for being afraid to talk to the landlord about it.
But anyway he smells the butter, the sulfur, and the salt it's thick enough to curl under his bedroom door.
Whitaker groans into his pillow, as the smell intensifies in his nostrils.
He rolls over hoping that helps some even pressing his face into the mattress, and breathing through his mouth instead of his nose.
It doesn’t help with the morning sickness, he sits up slowly as his heart starts to thud without warning.
From the kitchen there’s the soft scrape of a spatula against a pan and Santos humming some song she probably heard on the radio or Garcia.
Whitaker swings his legs off the bed and shuffles toward the kitchen like a man approaching his own execution.
Santos is standing at the stove in oversized pajama pants and a T-shirt hair pulled up messily, she's more awake then the sun is and the sun hasn’t even started bleeding through the windows yet.
She glances over her shoulder and smiles at him, "Morning."
Dennis squints at her wondering why she's making breakfast this early in the morning, "Why? Is Yolanda here?"
"No, it's because we have a twelve hour shift and I’m not trusting hospital vending machines with my life."
The smell intensifies in Whitaker's nostrils, he swallows hard. "You’re using butter."
She looks offended and rightfully confused. "Obviously, what am I gonna use lard?"
His stomach flips violently he clamps a hand over his mouth which makes Santos notice immediately.
"Oh Huckleberry you okay?"
Whitaker barely makes it past the hallway, hell the bathroom door barely gets shut before he’s on his knees retching into the toilet with painful force, it's is sharp, immediate, and very humiliating.
"Dennis," Santos calls already moving after taking the pan off the stove.
"I’m fine," he manages between heaves.
"That’s not convincing in the slightest."
She pushes the door open and kneels beside him without hesitation she starts running her fingers through his hair, well rubbing his back with the other, he doesn't even protest because he doesn't have the energy at the moment.
His whole body shakes as another wave hits, Santos just rubs his back in slow circles through it.
"Okay, okay, just breathe."
He gags again spitting into the bowl before coughing.
"Eggs," he croaks out.
She winces feeling awful in that moment, "Yeah?"
He leans his forehead against the cool porcelain, "Yeah, they smell disgusting like a rotting corpse left in the sun."
"That's a little dramatic."
He dry heaves, which actually works in getting his point across.
"Okay maybe not dramatic," she amends.
Eventually the worst of it passes, he sags back against the tub pale and sweating well Santos hands him a damp washcloth.
"You’ve been like this for two weeks now, you wanna talk about it yet?"
He avoids her eyes because he couldn't lie looking at her, "Stomach bug."
"Dennis."
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "It’s going around or so I've heard."
"For the past two weeks? I would have gotten it at this point, it if that was the truth."
He doesn’t answer her, which makes her study him for a long moment.
"Okay don't tell me then, but I’m go turn off the stove now," she says finally, "And I'm also making you some tea."
He nods weakly at this not even arguing because tea sounds like a good idea.
---
He's sitting at the kitchen table with a mug wrapped between his hands while Santos eats her eggs on the opposite side of the kitchen trying to be as far away from him as physically possible.
She chews while deep in thought, eating on autopilot.
"You can’t even look at them," she observes.
"Don't."
She raises her hands, "I'm just pointing out the obvious."
He sips the tea, it helps settles his stomach, a little but it doesn't help with the silence stretching between them.
"You’ve been weird," she says casually.
He stares into his mug if his face was any closer he'd need a snorkel, "I’m always weird."
"Different weird."
He doesn’t respond to that, which makes Santos tilt her head, "You wanna finally tell me what's going on?"
He opens his mouth automatically, before closing it he's so tired of the lies, of almost saying it, so he just stares at the steam rising from the cup.
"I’m pregnant," he says.
It lands in the room softly, like something fragile set down between them, and this makes Santos blink at him making sure she heard him correctly.
"You’re having a little boysenberry?"
Dennis looks up slowly and of course she's grinning at him like the damn Cheshire cat.
He just stares at her for a long beat then lets out a helpless huff of laughter under his breath, "Did you just call my fetus, little boysenberry?"
"Yes I did and I have no regrets huckleberry."
He shakes his head still laughing faintly despite himself, "You’re unbelievable."
She sets her fork down, the humor fades just enough, "You’re dead serious, this isn't some prank right?"
He just nods, as her eyes scan his face like she’s looking for the punchline.
"You’re not joking?"
"No."
There's another decently long pause.
"Trin?"
She leans back slowly trying to process the fact that her roommate slash best friend has gone full Juno, "You’re serious?"
"Yes."
"Oh my God."
He takes another sip of tea, watching as she slowly starts to go through every human emotion that she possibly can.
"You’re actually pregnant?"
"Yes."
"With an actual baby."
"No, with a chestbuster from Alien."
She squints at him trying not to laugh at his joke, "Who?"
He hesitates for half a second contemplating if he should actually tell her or not.
"Ogilvie."
Santos stares at him in disbelief before bursting out laughing, it's this loud, sharp, disbelieving sound.
"Shut up."
"I'm not lying."
"You have to be lying because nobody looks at the tall freak of a man and go 'Yea I'd do that.'"
"I'm not I swear."
She searches his face again waiting for him to burst out laughing and say 'Ha I got you' but that never happens instead he doesn't break, and the laughter dies in her throat.
"Oh my God," she repeats quieter now. "You’re serious."
He nods, watching as she leans forward putting her elbows on the counter, "You and Ogilvie did the forbidden cha cha slide?"
"Yes and please never phrase it like that again."
She blinks trying to put the pieces together in her head, "Halloween?"
"Yes."
She rubs her hand over her face at this confession, "I leave you alone for five minutes and you go tree climbing."
He snorts at that analogy, "You were busy laughing at Robby leaving a Robby sized dent in our wall."
She points at him as he brought that back up again, "That wall cost me money with the landlord, who by the way didn't believe my story."
He smiles faintly at that as silence settles again it's heavier this time.
"What are you going to do?" she asks gently.
He looks down at his mug tapping his fingers against the ceramic.
"I’m pretty sure I know what I’m gonna do," he says slowly, "But obviously I’m going to talk to Ogilvie about it."
She nods immediately, there's judgment or pushing.
"Okay."
He glances up at her confused because that's it?
"That’s it," he asks. "No lecture."
She shrugs, "You’re not stupid, you're just… occasionally reckless."
"Comforting."
"I try my best."
She stands moving closer leaning against the table, "If you have it, you can take my room."
He looks up sharply at that statement, "What?"
"The master bedroom," she says, "It’s bigger, you'll need the space for you and the baby."
"Trin."
"You can turn the master closet into a nursery," she continues, "It’s basically a small apartment in there."
He laughs sudden and bright, "You’re insane wanting to put my kid in a closet."
"I’m practical and besides it's better than a dresser."
"You love that closet though."
"I do," she agrees, "But I love you more."
That hits harder than he expects it to, he shakes his head smiling helplessly, "You’re ridiculous."
She nudges his shoulder gently, "And you're having a little boysenberry with a string bean."
He groans, "Stop calling it that."
She grins, "Never, I'll be calling them that until they go off to medical school."
He looks at her for a long moment, she's steady, solid, but also infuriating, loyal, and especially impossible but that's what makes him love her like blood.
"Thank you Trin for being my best friend," he says quietly.
She just waves him off at that, "It's nothing, we'll figure this out together if Ogilvie bails, and if he does there's a Meatcleaver with his name on it."
Whitaker in that moment feels so dumb for not telling her about his pregnancy two weeks back.
Because if all fails, he'll have her through thick and thin.
He also wonders why on earth she has a meat cleaver.
---
Robby and Abbot’s house sits at the end of a quiet street lined with identical mailboxes and aggressively trimmed hedges, Whitaker is not sure how Robby ever agreed to live here of all places.
He wonders if Abbot dragged him here kicking and screaming.
Whitaker is currently standing on the porch he's been standing there for a good ten seconds now.
He doesn't know what he's doing here to be honest with you.
What he does know is he couldn't sit in Santos's apartment another hour thinking in circles.
He's tried everything in helping him figure out what to do, nothing has helped.
He knocks again and not even ten seconds later the door swings open.
Abbot stares at him so confused, wishing Robby would stop giving their house address to random people they work with.
There's a long pause between them mostly because Whitaker is expecting Abbot to say something well Abbot is expecting Whitaker to say something.
Whitaker blinks once at him taking in his expression and the fact that he's clearly not Robby.
"....Why," Abbot says slowly, "Is one of the pittlings standing on my porch?"
Whitaker huffs totally forgetting that was a nickname Robby gave him, "Don't call me that."
"It's not my nickname for you," Abbot replies evenly, "It's my husbands."
"Speaking of your husband, where is he?"
"Out with the girls."
Whitaker squints knowing Robby is either going crazy right now or is completely at their mercy, "I hope not on that motorcycle of his."
"Robby with our children on his motorcycle," Abbot says, shaking his head at the sheer idea, "I'd like to see him try."
He then moves back gesturing for him to come inside, "But come on, get in here before I change my mind."
Whitaker hesitates only for a second before crossing the threshold, the house smells faintly like laundry detergent and crayons.
There's shoes by the door it's a mixture of kid sneakers and adults, there's a lopsided pink backpack on the wall, family photos line the hallways.
Everything from Robby grinning like an idiot to Abbot standing soild beside him, as well as their four girls at various stages of life.
Abbot closes the door after Whitaker comes in he moves carefully but confidently across the hardwood floor, his prosthetic visible beneath his jeans, he doesn't hide it.
He never does because it's apart of him.
He gestures towards the couch, well heading into the kitchen. "You want coffee or tea?"
Whitaker stares at him blankly at the sheer mention of tea, mostly because Santos bless her but she's been a little tea crazy as of late.
It's only been three days since he's told her, and she's been taking him on a tea world tour trying to find something to help him not puke.
It's sweet, very sweet indeed but it's getting a little out of hand.
"....Juice if you have it," he says in response.
Abbot snorts, "Of course, I hope you don't mind Capri Sun 'cause that's all I got."
Whitaker watches as he makes it over to the fridge opening it, digging around for a second tops before he makes his way back to the living room holding a Capri Sun pouch.
He tosses it to Whitaker lightly, who catches it automatically.
Abbot lowers himself into Robby's armchair across from Whitaker, adjusting his leg with a small, practiced shift, "So," he says, "Why are you here?"
Whitaker at that just stabs the pouch with more force than necessary, he could ease Abbott into this situation like he did with Santos except he doesn't.
"I'm pregnant."
Abbot stares at him trying to process this, because the last person who told him was those two words were Robby ten years ago and he had that same look on his face.
There's a beat and then another before Abbot manages anything.
But of course before he could actually get a word out, Whitaker starts talking again as he takes a sip of juice.
"I found out a couple weeks ago," he continues words just flying out of him, "It's Ogilvie's in case you were wondering, I mean obviously you're not, but you know now. It happened at Halloween, you know the party Robby almost smashed through a wall, it's a really long story about how me and Ogilvie ended up well you know. But that's not the point."
Abbot decides not to interrupt because he needs to get it out.
"I'm six weeks, well scratch that eight weeks now probably Ogilvie gave me an ultrasound. It's a blob you know? It has heart activity, Santos offered me her closet."
Abbot blinks trying to keep up, "Her closet?"
"It's large and better then a dresser."
"I'm sure."
Whitaker runs a hand through his hair, "I don't know what I'm doing,"
Abbot just studies him quietly.
"What are you going to do?" he asks.
Whitaker shakes his head, "I don't know, I'm on the fence."
He squeezes the juice pouch like a stress ball as silence stretches for a moment.
Abbot just leans back slowly, gaze shifting somewhere past Whitaker's shoulder.
"I had an abortion before I joined the military," he says.
Whitaker freezes looking over at Abbot who's voice is steady at this moment, there's no shame just factual.
"It was a long time ago," he continues, "Different life, I was a completely different person then, I wasn't ready and besides I wouldn't have been a good parent back then. It was Robby's in case you're wondering, I never told him because what was there to tell."
Whitaker just swallows listening to him, wanting to listen to him.
"You know I don't regret it," Abbot says, "At least in the way people expect."
He gestures vaguely towards the hallway where pictures of their girls at every age hang on the wall.
"Because in the end I gave birth to two perfectly healthy girls many years later, and Robby gave me two more," he says. "We built this life on purpose not because we had to."
His hand taps lightly against the arm of the chair.
"But sometimes," he adds quietly, "I do wonder how different my relationship and life with Robby would have been, had I gone through with that pregnancy."
Whitaker just stares at him, happy he trusts him enough to share this part of him.
"Not because I think I chose wrong or something, my decision was very much right," Abbot clarifies, even though he doesn't have to Whitaker understands completely.
But still Whitaker's throat tightens, he blinks rapidly it's just the hormones he tells himself just hormones.
But Abbot still notices.
"You're allowed to be scared Dennis," he says gently, "Either way you go be scared about it, because it means you're doing something right."
Whitaker nods once a little too quickly.
"I just don't want to mess it up," he admits to him.
"You will," Abbot says plainly.
Whitaker stares at him wondering what he means by that.
"Everyone does," Abbot continues, "That's not the question."
"Then what is?"
"The question is, whether you can live with the decision after."
Whitaker looks down at the crumbled Capri Sun in his hands trying not to get emotional again.
"I keep thinking about that night," he says quietly, "Like it was just suppose to be.... fun. And now it's all this."
Abbot just nods understanding where he's coming from, because at one point in his life he was Whitaker.
"Do you want it," he asks.
Whitaker hesitates at that question, because he's pretty sure he's got an answer to that question but he still is absolutely terrified.
"I think," he says slowly, "I might."
His voice cracks on the last word, he hates that because he doesn't want to be this terrified at the idea.
Abbot doesn't react to it knowing he doesn't need that right now, he just watches him steadily.
"What does Ogilvie think?" Abbot asks curious.
"He's trying to be supportive," Whitaker says, "In his own strange way."
"That's something considering Ogilvie."
Whitaker laughs weakly at that, "Yeah."
Silence settles between them again, Whitaker looks up finally wanting his opinion on what he should do.
"What should I do?"
Abbot's expression doesn't change at that question.
"It's not my choice to make," he says.
Whitaker waits for what he has to say.
"It's yours," Abbot continues, "You're the one who has to carry it, you're the one who has to live in your body, in your life. Not me, not Robby, not Santos, not Ogilvie. You, you have to live with either choice and not regret it."
Whitaker can feel his eyes starting to burn from the tears starting to collect.
"What I'm saying is you need to go with what your hearts saying," Abbot says quietly.
That's it, that's what finally breaks him the tears coming fast, stupid, and absolutely impossible to stop, he laughs through them completely embarrassed as he wipes at his face with the heel of his hand.
"Sorry," he mutters under his breath.
"Don't be sorry," Abbot says.
Whitaker tries to get it together but that absolutely fails, he nods shakily.
"Thank you for talking to me."
Abbot gives him a small, steady smile, "Anytime and besides Robby probably wouldn't have been much help."
Whitaker eventually stands after a moment of just sitting on their couch trying to collect himself, he wipes his face again.
"Tell Robby I stopped by," he says.
"I will."
"And tell him to knock it off with the pittling nickname."
Abbot smirks knowing for a fact that even if he talks to him about it, Robby isn't going to stop if anything he's going to do it more.
"No promises."
Whitaker huffs out a weak laugh at that before heading for the door, when he steps back out into the quiet street the air feels different somehow.
It's not lighter, just clearer as he stands there for a good second, hand resting unconsciously over his stomach before he takes a breath
"What am I gonna do with you?"
He then starts walking to where he stashed Santos's car, not sure if he's going to head home yet or not.
So Whitaker doesn't go towards Santos's apartment, he doesn't even thinking about turning on the exit, he just keeps driving.
By the time he realizes where he's heading Ogilvie's street is already coming into view.
The house is quiet, all the lights are on which makes sense some of the curtains are drawn well others are half drawn, from where Whitaker's parked it looks lived in and not staged like Ogilvie exists here in a way he doesn't at the hospital.
Whitaker grips the wheel thinking about it for a second before taking the keys out of the ignition and walking up the driveway.
He gets to the front door before knocking once shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets waiting for Ogilvie to answer which takes him a couple minutes.
And once he opens that door Whitaker just lets himself in like he owns the place.
Ogilvie looks terrible not Whitaker terrible more like wrecked, like he got hit by a bus.
He's almost as pale as Whitaker is, his curls slightly disheveled, he's got dark circles under his eyes, there's a heating pad draped across the back of the couch.
Dennis puts the pieces together and then bursts out laughing.
Ogilvie narrows his eyes knowing exactly what he's about to say, "Don't even say it."
Whitaker tries to keep himself from making a remark but he just can't, because it's poetic.
"It's that time of the month, isn't it? God the Pitt is not gonna be ready for you tomorrow Mr. PMS."
"Shut up please, that's not even funny."
Whitaker just pats his shoulder before shrugging off coat putting it in the coat pile Ogilvie has going on at the front door because he doesn't believe in a coat rack.
Meanwhile Ogilvie is making way back to the couch, before just throwing himself onto it like he can melt into the upholstery.
Whitaker watches him for a second all fond and amused, well also realizing how domestic this feels especially as he walks into the kitchen like he's been here a hundred times.
When in reality he's been here once after driving him home after a long shift, and he may have helped himself to a pizza bagel bites and a coffee before leaving.
"You still have those sour patch kids Langdon threw at your head?" he asks.
"Yes in the candy drawer which is the drawer close to the oven," Ogilvie replies flatly, "Why?"
He goes to make a comment about him having a candy drawer but decides against it deciding to just go look for it, and he finds it quite easily having to open the oven to open the drawer.
He digs around for a second before finding the unopened bag, victory.
He then proceeds to raid to the fridge, as this craving came over him.
"Also where's the ketchup?"
There's a pause as Ogilvie tries to remember if he owns ketchup at the moment, he rolls over from his stomach onto his back mostly to stare at the ceiling.
"May I ask why?"
"Just answer the question."
There's a beat.
"If I have any it should be in the pantry next to the pasta sauce."
Whitaker freezes mid step making sure he heard him correctly, he slowly turns towards the living room.
"Did you say pantry?"
"Yes, why?"
"You're one of those freaks that doesn't put ketchup in the fridge."
"It doesn't need refrigeration unless it's been open."
Then Whitaker who's now in the pantry looking at the half empty ketchup next to the roasted garlic pasta sauce could be heard saying.
"It's been opened Jim."
Ogilvie just blinks at the ceiling realizing how domestic this all is, well in the pantry Whitaker is realizing the same thing as he grabs the ketchup tossing it from hand to hand.
He's also wondering if Robby and Abbot were like this in the beginning.
He eventually returns to the living room with his goodies and a sauce holder, which makes Ogilvie look at him with one eye open wondering what the fuck he has planned.
Whitaker eventually sits on the floor in front of the coffee table popping open the ketchup bottle and dumping a good amount into the sauce holder.
Ogilvie opens both eyes at this, slowly rolling over to see where this was going, "Don't do what I think you're going to do."
Whitaker just calmly opens the sour patch kids with his teeth not even answering Ogilvie as he grabs one and completely dips it in the ketchup.
Which has Ogilvie gagging like a cat with a hairball.
Whitaker at that just pops it into his mouth chewing thoughtfully.
"...Okay this actually kinda incredible, you wanna try?"
Ogilvie looks personally offended like Whitaker ate his grandma or something, "Why are you like this?"
Whitaker shrugs before dipping another, which has Ogilvie studying him for a bit as he ate his snack.
"Why are you here?"
Whitaker stops chewing at that question, he swallows after a few seconds.
The humor drains out of the room gradually as Whitaker pushes his snack away for later, because he didn't just come here to raid Ogilvie's kitchen.
"I actually came to a decision about the baby I mean," he says.
Ogilvie doesn't ask what it is just yet, he just shifts on the couch making space so if Whitaker wanted he could lay with him.
Whitaker hesitates for only a second before standing and laying with him on the couch, a little to close for comfort.
Because the last time he was this close to Ogilvie he ended up pregnant, but he doesn't touch him not right away instead just laying there as stiff as a board.
He could smell Ogilvie, he smells faintly like peppermint and something medicinal which makes Whitaker stare at his hands 'cause he shouldn't be focusing on Ogilvie's scent.
"So I talked to Santos," he says, "And Abbot on accident, I wanted to talk to Robby but I got Abbot instead."
Ogilvie just nods once knowing he needs to talk and not hear his stupid opinion for once.
"And before you say anything, I've been thinking long and hard about this decison for two weeks now. I even made a pros and cons board about this decision."
Another nod from Ogilvie, he's completely slient which makes Whitaker's chest tighten in a good way because nobody has ever just listened to him other than Santos of course.
"I think," he starts, then stops.
Ogilvie surprisely just waits, he doesn't rush him, he doesn't say anything, he just stares at Whitaker breathing slowly which makes Whitaker swallows hard.
"I'm gonna have it, I'm going to have a baby."
There it is that big scary sentence that's heavier than the word pregnant could ever be.
Ogilvie thank god doesn't react dramatically, he just exhales slowly.
"Okay, you're having a baby."
Whitaker laughs weakly at that knowing Ogilvie doesn't want to assume that he'll be allowed in this child life but the thought of keeping this baby away from Ogilvie makes the laughter break.
"Okay, we're having a baby."
Whitaker's vision blurs as he says that before he realizes what's happening to him.
"Oh no, not again," he mutters, as the tears come fast, sudden, and uncontained.
Ogilvie doesn't even hesitate as he wraps an arm around Whitaker pulling him in.
Whitaker just folds against him immediately forhead pressing into his chest like that's where he's always belonged.
Ogilvie's hand comes up to the back of his head fingers threading gently through his hair.
"You're gonna be a mom," Ogilvie says softly.
Whitaker freezes mid sob at that pulling back just enough to stare at him wide eyed.
"Oh God you're gonna be a dad."
Ogilvie looks a little offended at that, because have some faith in him but he still manages to huff out a laugh.
"Yes," he says. "I am, don't need to sound so worried about it."
Whitaker immediately searches his face for doubt, hesitation, maybe even fear but he finds none of that or maybe it's there, it's just buried under all that mess he uses to hide himself.
He lets Ogilvie pull him closer.
"I'm going anywhere Dennis."
Whitaker breathes him in, listening to his heart thump in his chest.
"You better not."
"I won't."
They lay there tangled around each other as Whitaker's breathing evens out, Ogilvie is now resting his chin lightly against the top of Whitaker's head.
It's all so terrifying, enormous, and real.
But for the first time Whitaker knows he's not alone in this moment, and he never would be.