Archive of Our Own

In the few months that Dennis has been living almost full time in the Abbot-Robinavitch household, he’s managed to spend most of his time wearing clothes that do not belong to him. 

Which is not an issue, not in the slightest, because there’s something deeply satisfying to both men to see their partner dressed in their clothes, whether that’s draped in one of Robby’s T-shirts, the fabric loose as the collar slips towards his shoulders, or in Jack’s sweatpants with the waistband all bunched up and the legs rolled, it’s something that both of them like. A lot. 

It’s not like he hasn’t got space for his clothes, they’ve cleared a drawer, and there’s space in the wardrobe, but he hasn’t really put… much in there. 

He’s got one pair of ratty-ish blue jeans, a handful of underwear and some socks, three T-shirts, a button up shirt, and a sweater. 

And what Jack and Robby can’t understand, is why he hasn’t brought any more of it round. Because it’s… worrying. It’s worrying that maybe he’s not as serious as they are, that he doesn’t want to bring too much stuff… just in case. 

But in case of what? 

They haven’t got to the point where they can ask him to move in permanently, as much as they desperately want to, because at the very heart of everything is the fact that Dennis needs to have his own space. For as much as he loves them and they love him, and as much as they’re happy and things are good, they’ve not been together that long and they are still twice his age and they are still his bosses and there is still potential for all of this to go tits up. 

They can’t take his space away from him, what right do they have to even try? Dennis doesn’t spend much time at Trinity’s, but he pays for his rent and that space is his. 

And he ought to keep it. 

Or — that’s what they think. 

It’s not that Dennis deliberately hasn’t told them about the circumstances leading him to Trinity’s spare room, the topic just hasn’t really… come up. 

They’d strayed very intentionally away from it when Dennis had first come home with them post-diagnosis, when everything had been turbulent and scary and Dennis had been so unwell with it all, bringing up the fact that he technically lived elsewhere when they’d been trying so hard to keep him in their care… well. Looking back, it’d been entirely selfish, their desire to keep Dennis there, somewhere safe for them to look after him and care for him and help him to manage his new diagnosis, but… it had worked. Dennis had stuck around, and then everything that had happened had happened and now they had him here with them basically full time. 

But for as much as they’ve tried, and they still do, the very fact that Dennis technically doesn’t live full time with them is very much a thing. 

As, as they discover, is the fact that Dennis doesn’t seem to have any connection with his family. 

Or not any connection they can find. 

When Dennis first collapsed at work, after he’d been gotten up into a bed and they’d started the insulin infusion and gotten him settled, Robby had taken it upon himself to ring the number linked to Dennis’ employee file. 

There’d been no name, just the same mobile number listed under both next of kin and emergency contact. 

Robby’s not sure what he’d been expecting, a parent, a partner, a sibling… but he knew for a fact that he had not expected the familiar tone of Trinity Santos. 

“Hello? Who is this?” 

“Dr Santos?” Was all he’d been able to say, still staring at the form before him.

“Uh — yeah? Who’s asking?”

“It’s uh — sorry, it’s Dr Robby, I was just calling Whitaker’s emergency contact to let them know what happened but…”

“Oh.” Trinity had seemed genuinely taken aback by the knowledge that Dennis had listed her, so evidently this wasn’t something that had been discussed. “Okay. Um — I don’t know anything about his family or anything so…”

“Uh… yeah. Well, I’ll let you go Dr Santos. I’ll see you on the Pitt floor in a matter of minutes I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

When she’d hung up, Robby had found himself staring at the receiver in his hands, for just a little bit too long. 

Rationally, he could explain the reason behind Trinity being Dennis’ emergency contact. They live together, they commute in together, Dennis isn’t from Pittsburgh so it’s not like any family would be able to come if he needed, and as far as Robby’s aware he’s not in any kind of relationship committed enough to have a partner ready to drop everything for him. 

But still. 

Something just felt… off, with it all. 

Nothing they could press though, especially not in the situation he’d first come home to them in. 

And then not again when they first started dating, because at what point do they bring up the possible childhood trauma? At what point do they dig into that? It’s not exactly an early relationship conversation topic, especially not when Dennis hasn’t brought it up. 

And obviously it’s his business, obviously they have no fucking right to know any of it ever.

But…

It’s starting to wear at Robby. 

Just a little. 

And he knows it shouldn’t. He knows it’s nothing, and it’s not as much the fact that Dennis doesn't trust them enough not to tell them because he very much doubts that that’s the case of it (although he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t a tiny nasty bit of it that he’s been doing his best to suppress). No. It’s more just the fact that Dennis has suffered, maybe at the hands of his parents, maybe not, but he has faced adversity and he has hurt and there is nothing Robby can do about that. 

He can’t undo the trauma inflicted on him throughout his life, he can’t fix every bad thing that’s ever happened to his beautiful wonderful perfect boyfriend because he’d have fucking done it for his wonderful perfect beautiful husband if he could. 

It kind of destroys him, in a way, the fact that no matter what, the people he loves will have suffered, and for as desperately as he can try to protect them from anything else ever happening to them, he can never change what came before. 

Or during. 

Or will come. 

There are things out of his hands, out of his control, things that will affect the people he love and he’s powerless against that.

It’s stupid. 

He needs to go to therapy. 

God he knows that. 

It’s not like he hasn’t tried. 

Or maybe it is? 

Because he’s been through more than he can count, but every time it’s like he just shuts down further as soon as they start to pry. He can’t open up to them, can’t even begin to work his way through the vast plethora of issues he’s accumulated over the years and so inevitably it just doesn’t work out. 

He knows for a fact that it’s probably the biggest point of contention between him and Jack, and he knows that because they’ve fought so many times over the years about it. It’s kind of a recurring bit at this point, where every few months he’ll do something stupid and Jack will point it out and they’ll argue again. 

The thing is, Robby doesn’t even know why he argues. 

He agrees with Jack, he always has, but it’s like he’s waging a war against himself where the small part of him that so desperately wants to fix all this bullshit inside his head is just drowned out by the need to be the strong one, to just keep pushing through. 

He’s been pushing through for so long that it feels like if he even tries to stop then it’s all just going to fall apart. 

And it’s fucked up, he’s so fucked up. 

And for some stupid, stupid reason, the fact that he doesn’t really know anything about Dennis’ life before the Pitt makes him feel… bad. 

Bad in a way that he can’t explain.

Or rather — one he can if he thinks about it, but it’s like pressing on a bruise, that nauseating sort of throbbing pain that Robby actually cannot bring himself to think about. 

So he doesn’t.

And he doesn’t even when Dennis mentions offhandedly during a patient case that his brothers always picked on him as a kid, and even though Dennis is smiling and Santos and McKay both laugh, Robby can’t stop the way something bitter rolls through him. 

And when he lies in bed at night, Dennis curled up to his chest, fast asleep in the security of his arms… it just… makes him feel so fucking much. 

And yeah, maybe he internalises it, maybe he holds it all as tight to his chest as he can because he’s made it clear that he’s not going to push. And maybe the magnitude of it all is starting to make him feel…

Something. 

And Jack’s noticed, because of course he has. 

He’s not brought it up though, not really, and that’s kind of driving Robby insane because he knows he wants to. Every time he catches that lingering, searching look from his husband he knows what he wants to say.

But he hasn’t. 

And he knows this is insane. He knows this is something ridiculous and stupid and crazy of him.

He knows that. 

It just doesn’t seem like there’s anything he can do about it. 

It’s been one of those rare occasions where Robby has had a day off by himself, and where normally he’d be able to entertain himself getting on with whatever needs going, he’s found himself just… waiting. Waiting for Jack and Dennis to come home. 

He does do stuff, but none of it means anything really. He feels… lost, in a weird way, powerless in a way he hasn’t felt since Jack came home, and unlike all the other weird feelings he’s been having, he actually can’t place the direct cause of this one. 

To be completely honest, he’s felt… disconnected, spacey and yet far too uncomfortably aware of every single thing touching him and every single sound in the house. Fuck, the street. 

He puts on his music, then turns it up as loud as he can bear. What does it matter if it seems to drown out literally everything else? It’s not like he’s got to worry about waking or disturbing anyone, and he knows the neighbours can’t hear it. So it’s fine. 

It’s fine. 

He’s fine. 

And yeah, maybe when he tries to get dressed, he’s suddenly kind of nauseatingly aware of the fact that his cargos are starting to fit a little snug around the thighs, and when he tugs on a familiarly soft tshirt, it hugs his stomach a little bit. 

And maybe kind of is the wrong way to put it. 

Because he’s not just a little bit aware. 

He’s actually really overwhelmingly aware of it. 

And as he fists at the fabric, it makes his stomach churn at how little it gives, at how the increasing generalised softness he’s been valiantly ignoring is now staring him right in the face. 

And maybe when he changes, both the shirt and the pants get tucked very carefully into the deepest darkest depths of his drawers, as far away as he can get them from his body, and maybe he very deliberately chooses to tug on the old stretched out sweatpants that he’s been meaning to throw away and one of the biggest baggiest T-shirts he owns, and maybe he chooses not to look in the mirror when he ducks into the bathroom, and maybe he ignores the redness of his skin where he’s pushed a little too forcefully at its ever so unforgiving squishiness. 

And maybe he skips the second slice of toast, when he makes himself breakfast. 

He didn’t want the first one anyway. 

And when finally, finally the missing pieces of his heart walk back in, exhausted and wrung dry from the depths of the Pitt, he finally feels like he can breathe again. 

And if maybe the horrible unsettling anxiety he’s been tamping down all day finally eases, then it’s nothing he really needs to think about. 

He’s on the couch when they emerge, and Jack practically deposits Dennis onto his lap, which Robby gladly takes advantage of to wrap him up in his arms. 

“Hey Mouse, how was your shift?” 

Dennis wriggles happily, situating himself in a more comfortable position before he plasters himself around Robby, pressing his face into his shoulder. 

“It was okay.”

Robby hears something clatter in the hallway, before Jack sticks his head around the door. 

“Tell him the truth pup.”

There’s something in his expression that makes Robby worry, and he gently pushes Dennis back enough to see his face, bringing a hand up to cup his cheeks as he searches for any sign of something being wrong. 

Thankfully, there’s nothing immediately concerning, just Dennis’ bright blue eyes staring up at him as he pouts. 

“Tell me what?”

Dennis sighs, and he drops his gaze as he bashfully rocks back where he’s sitting straddled across Robby’s thighs. “It wasn’t my fault, but —“

He hesitates, and Robby feels himself frown, his grip on Dennis tightening just a little. 

“Yeah?”

Dennis groans, and Robby can see the way a flush of pink begins to spread across his cheeks. 

“I almost gave myself a really big bolus of long-acting insulin instead of short acting earlier, Jack caught me before I actually did it. I didn’t mean to, I just… I dunno, brain fart.” 

Robby nods, releasing Dennis’ face in favour of smoothing his hair back off of his forehead. 

That’s okay. It’s not good, but accidents happen, and it’s a welcome relief from the angles his mind was taking. 

“Okay, but you’re alright otherwise?” He asks, and Dennis nods quickly. 

“I’m fine, promise. It was just a silly mistake.” 

It’s obvious he’s embarrassed about it, and he’s got no doubt that Jack’s given him a talking to about being careful, but he still had to bite back the instinctive urge to lecture him about the risks. 

It’s not like Dennis doesn’t know already. 

He does, of course he does. 

“As long as you’re okay sweetheart.” Robby tugs Dennis in against his chest, busying himself with kissing all over his boyfriend’s soft cheeks until Dennis grabs him and kisses him properly. 

That finally settles the worst of the lingering turmoil in his chest, and Robby allows himself to relax into it, the two only separating when Jack returns, kicking his husband’s leg as he flops down next to him on the couch. 

Dennis doesn’t put up too much of a fight being pushed away, instead snuggling up to Robby instead, laying his head lazily on his shoulder. 

Robby can feel the gentle whisper of his breath against his skin, and he rubs Dennis’ side. 

“How was work?” 

Jack shrugs, eyes closing as his head lolls back against the cushions. 

“Fine.” 

That’s answer enough. So Robby reaches out, slings the arm not supporting Dennis’ weight around his husband’s shoulders, hand settling on the top of his arm as he gives it a brief squeeze. It’s an awkward angle, but it makes Jack smile. 

“I can cook dinner,” he says after a moment, and Dennis hums happily at the idea. “Any requests?”

“Breakfast.” Comes Dennis’ immediate response, and Robby frowns, rubbing his side. 

“Breakfast?”

“Mmhm… all I wanted this morning was eggs and bacon ‘n stuff.” Dennis mumbles against him, before he pulls back a little. “Please?”

It makes about as much sense as most of the meals they eat in the house with their schedules, so when Robby looks over at Jack who nods, he shrugs. 

“Sure. Breakfast for dinner then.” 

Jack disappears upstairs to shower while Robby cooks, but Dennis joins him in the kitchen, happily plastering himself up against him at every occasion he gets. 

It’s very sweet, how cuddly Dennis is when he comes home, and Robby’s more than happy to indulge him every single time he slots himself up against him and demands a kiss or a hug or just to be near him. 

It’s not like Jack isn’t like that, but he’s not as clingy to the same extent that Dennis is, and sometimes Robby does need the touch, as much as he likes to pretend otherwise.

Dinner breakfast ends up consisting of scrambled egg on sourdough, with some avocado Robby discovers at the back of the fridge which he dresses up with a little olive oil and some sesame seeds, as well as a pile of the kosher turkey bacon they’ve all seemed to have decided on being the superior brand, some fried mushrooms for the sake of having some vegetables, and two chicken apple sausages Jack found in the freezer just to boost Dennis’ protein intake. 

It’s one of the best ways to keep his blood sugars stable overnight that they’ve found (obviously not always, but it’s been pretty much a game changer… that and eating as early as possible), and after the past few months of eating right and finally not sleeping rough (and the tennis and runs and gym visits with Jack), Dennis is finally starting to put on some muscle. 

Which they’re definitely not complaining about.

Not in the slightest. 

After they eat, Jack insists they watch some episode of some series they’ve been binging that Robby hasn’t paid any attention to any point, and they all pile up on their still too-small couch. 

They’ve not gotten round to replacing it yet, but they will. 

They really need to, one of these days they’re going to sit down and it’s going to just splinter into pieces. 

Dennis is curled up between them, in a position that somehow looks luxurious and also deeply uncomfortable, his socked feet tucked under Jack’s thigh. 

Robby’s not sure why he asks it, but he can’t help himself all of a sudden. 

“Hey uh — Trinity’s your emergency contact, isn’t she mouse?”

Dennis nods, leaning back to look up at him. 

“Mhm, yeah.” 

“Would you want me to change it to both of us when I go in tomorrow morning?” 

Dennis hesitates for a moment, and there’s a brief second where Robby thinks he’s overstepped, before he nods. 

“Yeah… that probably makes more sense than having Trin… I’m not sure she was thrilled about it being her anyway.” 

Dennis just snuggles back down contentedly against Robby, seemingly keen to let the topic pass, but surprisingly Jack is the one who steps in, reaching out to squeeze Dennis’ shin. 

“Mouse, can I ask you something?”

There’s something about his tone of voice that obviously makes Dennis immediately a little wary, and Robby can see it in the way his eyebrows furrow just for a moment, blue eyes suspicious as he nods. 

“You uh… you’ve never really talked about your family before, to us… but I heard you telling that lady today about how you grew up praying for a way to escape…” it’s not exactly the most tactful way of bringing it up (although Jack’s rarely as tactful about emotions as he intends to be), “and I realised you’ve never really talked much about your life… before the Pitt, really.”

Dennis nods again, this time a little more slowly. 

“And you’re our boyfriend, Mouse, you’re our boy and we love you and… I’m… worried that we don’t know much about you.”

It’s probably not the best way to go about it, with how Dennis stiffens a little, but Robby squeezes him a little tighter, and after a long moment, Dennis sighs. 

“I don’t… like talking about it.” He murmurs, pressing his face into Robby’s shoulder, “I… Trinity… she kinda made me realise that my childhood wasn’t so good, and…” he shrugs. 

Jack shifts, lifting Dennis’ feet out from his thigh, instead draping them across his lap. He rubs a broad hand across Dennis’ shin, turning his attention to their partner. 

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, pup,” he says softly, but Dennis shakes his head. 

“No — I… I want to, actually.” He shifts, pulling his face out of Robby’s shoulder enough to look between the two of them, “I just… things kinda sucked, for a long time, for me.” 

 He takes a deep breath. 

“Growing up on a farm… there was always stuff to do, and being the youngest I… I always had to do everything, and I always had to work my ass off and…” 

He falters, and Robby nods. 

“It’s okay sweetheart.”

Dennis sighs, pushing up so he can draw his knees to his chest, resting his chin against his forearm. 

“My dad was… traditional, I guess. And I was the youngest by several years, which meant when my brothers were growing up and starting to get serious with girls and stuff that they started acting like I… like I had no excuse to slack, like — ever. So as soon as I could, I applied for colleges so I had an out, which my dad hated. My brothers though… they were good — they are good, they all were gonna stick around anyway so they defended me being able to get out… but…”

Dennis scrubs a hand over his face. 

“I went back for a bit, after I did my theology degree, ‘cause all my brothers had had kids and stuff by that point, but my dad… when I said I was gonna leave for good and go study medicine, he… he lashed out, said I didn’t care about him or the family and I wasn’t welcome back if I left…”

He smiles, but it’s something grim and bitter, barely more than an upward curve of his lips. 

Robby’s never seen Dennis like this, and it really does break his heart to see, to see the trouble brewing behind those perfect blue eyes as he remembers his life. It’s not fair on him. It’s not fair that his childhood wasn’t something soft and perfect and pure. 

“Oh sweetheart,” he murmurs, withdrawing the arm draped over Jack’s shoulders in favour of gently brushing his fingers through sandy curls. “I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that.” 

Dennis huffs a humourless chuckle, “yeah… still hard to believe that. I was always kind of the black sheep… my brothers always made fun of me for being too soft and sensitive as a kid, and then when I realised I was gay there was literally no way I was ever going to be able to tell them. Not ‘cause they’re homophobic, I think… I think they love me too much for that, but because…” he shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t — I don’t like thinking about it.” 

“Yeah, of course. We don’t have to talk about it… not now, not ever again if you don’t want to,” Robby says quickly, and Jack nods. 

“Yeah, fuck, Mouse, I’m sorry.”

“No — no, don’t be.” Dennis shakes his head, blonde curls falling over his forehead. “It just fucked me up, and then medical school was awful, what with trying to find my feet as a gay man for the first time, and adjusting to the pressure of it all, and then loosing my car and then my housing situation,” Dennis rambles, rubbing at his forehead. “It was so much pressure and not really being able to go home and have my family behind me just made it… worse. And the thing is I want to have a relationship with them, but I know they don’t want to have a relationship with me, so why should I try? Why should I fucking bother if they don’t love me enough to support me? I mean — I’d take it if they were homophobic, honestly, ‘cause I can hide that, I can box being gay away just to see them. It’s not like it’d be frequent or anything, they live too far to be going up every weekend so it’d be easy to just deflect about relationships. But that’s not the case, the truth of it is that they think I’ve — I don’t know, that I’ve betrayed them or some bullshit just by going and pursuing what I want, and not staying around in the ass-end of nowhere forever, marrying some girl I’ve grown up with and carrying on the family tradition of never leaving the state. It’s not — fuck.”

He heaves a deep ragged breath, before he pushes himself up out of Robby’s lap and stands. He’s not crying, not that they can tell, but he looks troubled, face twisted unpleasantly. 

“I’m gonna go grab a water.”

Jack nods. “Of course pup, go.” 

The silence that follows is kind of smothering, and Robby can’t bear to look at his husband. 

He can tell he’s looking at him, can feel those eyes burning into his neck, but he’s not sure he can bring himself to acknowledge what Dennis has just unloaded on them. 

And so he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t look at Jack even as Dennis returns, a half-drunk glass of water in his hand. Not even when Dennis sits on the armchair instead of back on the couch with them. 

He can’t. 

He’s not sure what to say, because Dennis doesn't actually look as upset as he’d feared he might, although given the magnitude of it all it seems like he’s had a fair while to come to terms with it all. He opens his mouth to speak anyway, to try and comfort him or something, but Jack beats him to it.

“What did you mean about your housing situation?” 

Dennis blanches, his grip tightening until he’s white-knuckling his water glass, and he opens his mouth but nothing comes out of it. 

Whatever excuse he’s trying to formulate obviously dies in his throat, before he manages an awkward “uhhm.” 

Suddenly, as quickly as he’d gone pale, he flushed pink with… shame? Embarrassment? And he scratches uncomfortably at the back of his neck. 

“So uh… I… there was like a period of time where I didn’t really have anywhere… stable? To live.” He admits awkwardly, looking anywhere but at them. “I — yeah.”

Robby can feel the way Jack’s looking at him, can feel how desperately his husband is searching for his acknowledgment in this, but he’s not sure what he might do if he looks at his husband, because he can’t even really process what Dennis is saying to him.  

“You — Mouse, were you homeless?” Jack asks, and Robby can hear the hint of desperation in his voice, the need to reassure himself of his fears. 

Dennis still doesn’t look at them, he just sort of seems to shrink down into himself, still gripping onto the glass of water. 

“I…”

They wait for the denial, but it doesn’t come. 

“I didn’t sleep on the streets for… very long…” he eventually whispers, voice cracking, and Robby feels a little bit like he’s going to be sick. 

“Sweetheart,” Jack whispers, and he sounds just as heartbroken as Robby feels. “How long ago was this? When did you — was it —?” He can’t bear to ask it, but they need to know. 

Was it something they could have helped? 

Was it during his time at PTMC? 

Was it something they somehow missed? 

Dennis swallows. 

“I found… I stayed — I found places to stay.” He whispers. “I was… I was up on the 8th floor… for uh… for a while. Trinity found out… She — after Pittfest —“

That does it. 

Dennis was homeless, actually homeless, while working for them.  

While working for him. 

He was homeless and Robby didn’t know? He was homeless and Robby only just found out? 

Beside him, Jack shifts, and Robby can almost hear his husband’s brain ticking. 

“Jesus.” 

Is all either of them manage, at first. 

And Robby can’t help it. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” He asks, and it comes out a little sharper than he intends, and he knows he’s fucked up in the way Dennis flinches back automatically. 

“I—“ Dennis starts. “I don’t know, I just… it’s a difficult thing to open up about, and I didn’t… I didn’t want you two to feel like you had to take care of me even more than you do! Trin saved me, it’s not like I’m homeless anymore.” 

Jack puts a hand on Robby’s knee, the warmth stopping him from speaking again as he cuts in instead. 

“Pup, it’s okay, thank you for telling us now.” He says softly, “I’m glad you’re safe now.” 

Dennis nods, expression soft. 

But it’s not. 

It’s not. 

“Why wouldn’t you tell us?” Robby asks again, voice tinged with disbelief. “It’s not okay, Dennis. It’s not okay that you were fucking homeless under my care.”

“I was homeless for not even one day under your care, and so what? I got myself out of that situation! It wasn’t your problem to fix.” Dennis snaps, “maybe if I’d have still been homeless for longer, then I’d have told you, but I wasn’t.” 

“But why didn’t you tell us? You — we — we’ve been together for several months now, and we’ve been here for you for longer, why wouldn’t you tell us?”

Dennis groans, dropping his face into his hands. 

“Because I was scared! Do you have any idea what it’s like? Being homeless through med school and rotations? I lost everything, and even thinking about it makes me fucking — ugh! I don’t know, it sucks, it sucks so much and it feels horrible to think about and I don't want to talk about it. Trinity and I don’t talk about it, because I just — can’t, okay?” 

Robby shakes his head, clasping his hands together. “We have to do things that we don’t want to, Dennis, why wouldn’t you tell us? We’re supposed to be here for you for stuff like th—“

“Mike, enough.” Jack says suddenly, squeezing Robby’s knee. “Stop. It’s very clear that Dennis doesn’t want to talk, so stop.” 

Robby takes a sharp breath, he wants to argue, but he can’t, because Jack’s right. 

Robby’s never seen Dennis look like this, and he feels guilty immediately. Dennis is so gentle and kind and forgiving, all the time, he so rarely gets angry, so rarely gets upset, so rarely gets angry. 

He never looks like he does now. 

“I’m going upstairs.” He says suddenly, pushing up off of the armchair as he looks at Jack and Robby. “I’m going to sleep in my room tonight.”  

The room is silent as he leaves, both Robby and Jack listening to the rhythmic tread of his feet up the stairs before the sound of Dennis’ door shutting brakes their trance. 

Robby knows he’s wrong. Of course he does, but the anger still bubbles through him, turbulent and acrid. 

He’s furious that he didn’t know, and he can’t tell who he’s even angry at. Dennis. Himself. The world. Everyone, maybe. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

“You fucked up, brother.” 

Robby doesn’t look up from where he’s undressing, facing the wall as if he’s got anything to hide from his husband. 

He can hear Jack settling down into bed behind him, no doubt leaning against the headboard with his arms over his head. 

He can’t look at him. 

“I know.”

“The fuck were you thinking, Mikey?” 

Robby turns then, because he’s always been weak when it comes to his husband, and he shrugs. “I got angry. At myself. At us. At him.” He admits, crossing over to sit on the edge of the mattress. “Felt for a minute like I was getting that call all over again.” 

Jack sighs, and reaches over, grasping Robby’s shoulder with a warm hand. 

“Come to bed, idiot.” 

The one thing Robby’s never been able to truly open up to his husband about is the call that had come in in the early hours of the morning, the unwavering calm of the man who told him Jack had been hurt and that they were doing everything they could to save his life. 

It’s a memory he keeps locked in the smallest most secure box he has in his brain, one he can’t bear to ever access, because he can never feel like he did then. 

The not knowing had actually become bearable, in some respects, because as long as Robby didn’t know if Jack was dead or alive then it was okay, because whatever the reality was there was nothing he could do about it. Schrödinger’s fiancé, or whatever. 

But actually knowing something? It was awful. The fear of maybe finally losing Jack had kept him awake for nearly three days straight, until they’d called him again and said that everything looked good. 

And even then, the weeks that had followed had been worse than when Jack had finally come home. 

It’s a time of his life he still can’t talk about, one that Jack doesn’t ask about because really when they look at it, it stands out as the worst time in both of their lives. 

Easily. 

Robby shifts, swinging his legs up onto the mattress before he collapses against his husband’s warm side. 

“You fucked up.” Jack says again. 

“I know.” Robby replies, again. 

“He’ll forgive you.”

That, Robby doesn’t answer. 

“Talk to him, Mike.” 

Yeah. He will. 

Jack holds him even though he doesn’t deserve it, but he still stares up at the ceiling until sleep finally takes him against his will. 

He doesn’t know what he’s feeling. 

Thankfully, when a rhythmic beeping drags him out of what little rest he’s managed to get at around two-ish, he doesn’t have to know. 

He doesn’t matter right now, because he knows what that sound means. 

Robby pushes himself up, and he feels Jack stir next to him. He’s quick to placate him though, rubbing a gentle hand over his shoulder. 

“You sleep, Yankl, I’ll check on him, okay?” 

Robby grabs his phone off of the nightstand, clicking onto Dennis’ cgm app as he slips out of their bedroom and down the hall to Dennis’ room. 

It’s still dark in their, which means either Dennis is treating his low without any light, or he’s still asleep, and Robby’s fears trend towards the latter as they always do. He’s terrified that one day they’ll wake up and Dennis will be unconscious, or worse, seizing, and they’ll have missed all the usual signs of an imminent drop. His cgm is good at alerting them, but it’s not 100%, and Robby’s terrified of the day that something goes wrong and Dennis suffers for it. 

He doesn’t bother to knock on Dennis’ door like he normally would, just gently cracks it open as he peeks inside. 

There’s no obvious movement, not even as Robby slips in and pads over to the bed. 

No, Dennis is sleeping soundly still, blissfully ignorant of the alarm alerting only inches from his face.  

At least — Robby can only hope he’s sleeping, but he’s reassured as he flicks on the lamp that Dennis’ lips aren’t blue, and his chest is rising and falling steadily. 

He shoves a straw into one of the juice boxes they keep on the bedside table before he gently reaches out, and starts rubbing circles into Dennis’ back. His phone is open on his leg, and he can see how quickly Dennis has dropped, from 136 to 61 in only a matter of minutes, and so he really needs him to wake up so they can correct it before he drops any lower. 

Thankfully, Dennis begins to stir, screwing his face up as he starts to resurface. 

Robby takes the opportunity to snag the juice, and he gently slides the plastic straw between Dennis’ lips. 

“Here, just drink. I’ve got you, sweetheart.” 

Dennis swallows obediently, not even awake but online enough to understand what he needs to do. His eyelids only flutter open once as he works his way through the juicebox, and it’s only once it’s empty that he seems to actually properly wake up. 

He blinks blearily up at Robby, instinctively reaching out for him with a warm hand. “Mmmhgh…?”

“You’re low, sweetheart,” Robby murmurs, bringing the hand from Dennis’ back up to stroke the hair out of his face. “You feeling with it enough to have some fruit snacks?” 

Dennis nods, and Robby gently props him up a little more before he feeds him the candy, Dennis hardly putting in much more energy than what it takes for his jaw to move up and down. Robby’s not complaining though, now certainly isn’t time for talking. 

It doesn’t take awfully long for Dennis’ sugars to start climbing back up again, almost as quickly as they’d dropped, and once his gaze has finally sharpened again, and the awful pallor has disappeared from his cheeks, he sits up. For a moment, he looks at Robby, before he sags forwards and crumples into his arms, tucking his face into his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and Robby immediately shakes his head. 

“Don’t be sorry for anything mouse, you have nothing to apologise for.” He assures, but Dennis shakes his head. 

“No I — I shouldn’t have argued with you earlier,” he says, and it’s Robby’s turn to shake his head. 

“Hey, mouse, no. I’m the one that should be apologising to you, I shouldn’t have gotten mad, I was just… worried.” He drops his face into Dennis’ soft curls, inhaling deeply his familiar sweetness before kissing all over his crown. “I didn’t like the idea you felt you couldn’t tell us.” 

Dennis makes a weak noise. “That wasn’t it…” he mumbles, almost too quiet for Robby to hear. “I just —“ he stops, takes a deep breath, and starts again, this time a little louder. “Please can this not be a thing?” He asks miserably. “Please. I don’t — I can’t — I don’t want to talk about it again.” 

“Yeah, of course, of course,” Robby murmurs, kissing his head again. “I’m sorry, Mouse, I really am.”

“ ‘s’ok…” 

Robby squeezes him, and Dennis sighs into his collar. 

“You wanna stay here? Or do you wanna come join me and Jack,” he asks after a moment, and Dennis hums sleepily. 

“Wanna join you and Jack… only came here ‘cause I was mad.”

Robby nods. “Yeah, that’s okay. You want me to carry you?”

“Mmh… please.”

It’s easy enough to scoop Dennis up into his arms, for as much as Robby does not go to the gym, his partner really doesn’t weigh much, and it’s not like Robby doesn’t do enough lifting and handling of patients not to keep him sharp. 

He’s beyond relieved Dennis has agreed to come back and join them, because this way he’s able to keep a close eye on him, and the awful burning knot of tension that has sat heavy in his chest since their argument has finally begun to unravel itself with his boyfriend’s forgiveness. 

Robby settles Dennis down in between himself and Jack before he even tries and gets himself comfortable, letting him snuggle up in the most appropriate spot. He’s so warm, even with the lingering stickiness of the post-low sweats, and Robby just has to cling onto him. 

He can’t let go, not right now. Not after everything. 

“I really am sorry, Mouse.” He whispers, and Dennis sighs. 

It’s not frustrated, though, nor angry. Just tired, soft. 

“Noo…” he whines, pressing his face into Robby’s forearm. “I just… don’t wanna talk about it.”

Robby nods. “Yeah, yeah, of course. You sleep, mouse, okay?”

He stays awake for another hour, until he’s certain Dennis’ sugars are staying up, before (unlike earlier) he finally allows himself to sleep. 

The next morning, everything feels okay, if a little weird, but Dennis doesn’t seem angry or upset, he seems good, and things seem good. 

Their weird sort of argument seems to have passed without issue, really. 

And clearly all they need to do is just let it go. 

Except… 

The thing is, is Robby cannot shake it. 

He can’t. 

How the fuck is he supposed to? 

How the fuck is he supposed to cope with the knowledge that in the time he’s known him, his Dennis, his incredible wonderful Dennis Whitaker, was homeless? 

How the fuck did he not know that during his first day, that fucked up awful fucking day, Dennis had soldiered on with the knowledge he had nowhere to go afterwards? That he had no home, no family, no friends? That he had just been ready to take himself upstairs to the 8th floor and live there until… until what? 

It’s awful. It’s fucking awful and terrible and of course Robby can’t let it go. 

Every time he looks at Dennis, even though they’ve entered this sort of weird phase of just not acknowledging it and pretending everything is fine, it’s all he can think about. 

And maybe everything is fine, maybe Dennis and Jack are just normal about this and are able to cope where Robby can’t, maybe he’s just the freak who can’t get over this but how is he supposed to get over this? 

Dennis is his normal self, he’s exactly the same person he was before Robby found out, but he can’t look at him the same way right now. 

Not because he’s upset. Or rather he is — but not at him. 

Or maybe he is? 

Because he’s angry Dennis didn’t tell them. And he’s angry Trinity didn’t tell them. And he’s angry at everyone and everything that ever meant Dennis felt he had to sleep rough instead of asking for help. 

Because why didn’t he? 

Robby can’t understand why Dennis wouldn’t tell them. 

Except he can, but he also can’t. 

Is it a them problem? 

Does he not make Dennis feel safe enough to tell him things like this? Is he the problem? Does he put to much pressure on him? 

He can’t bear it, he can’t cope with it, he can’t. 

But he’s trying. He really, really is. He’s really desperately trying to be normal about this, but it’s always consuming just a little bit of his brain. 

Maybe he’s passing off as normal, maybe he’s not, he can’t tell, but suddenly it feels like it’s consuming him. 

And everything else just feels… off. 

And maybe it’s all starting to grate on him a little more than normal. Maybe all his clothes feel too tight, and maybe he’s started skipping lunch at work again, and maybe his skin doesn’t quite feel like his own right now. 

He hides it, of course, but apparently not very well. 

Because Jack notices. 

It’s not a big deal, it shouldn’t be, except Robby can’t help but feel like a naughty child when after a long and miserable shift, he comes home and Jack’s waiting for him. 

Dennis is out, staying at his apartment with Trinity for some much needed ‘girl time’, so it’s just the two of them. 

Which means Jack doesn’t hold back. 

As soon as he’s slumped down into his armchair, his husband is looking at him with that scrutinising searching expression that he hates. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Jack asks, and the bluntness of it makes Robby cringe, just a little. 

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. What’s up with you, Michael?” 

Robby reaches a hand up, dislodging his glasses as he scrubs at his face. He doesn’t want to talk about this, because unlike in most aspects of his life, he doesn’t know what to say. He can tell families that their loved ones are dying, can walk interns through complex procedures, can explain the anatomy and physiology of weird obscure parts of the body, he can educate patients about conditions terminal and not, can do so fucking much but he can’t talk about his own feelings. 

He can’t. 

Not to Jack, not to a therapist, not to anyone, really. 

“Like I said, Yankl, there’s nothing wrong with me.”

Jack groans, and Robby can hear his frustration. 

“Don’t lie to me, Mike. I can see that something’s bugging you. You’ve been weird since Dennis opened up to us. You think I don’t know how you act when something’s on your mind? Spill.”

The thing is, is obviously Robby knows Jack knows. 

They’ve spent the past twenty three years together, they know one another inside out, so of course he’d be able to pick up on the fact that he’s still being weird, but bizarrely it just kind of pisses him off. 

“Does it fucking matter?” 

Jack scoffs, “does it matter? Of course it matters, something is up with my husband and I’d like to know what it is so I can help him.” 

Robby can’t help it, he groans, throwing his head back. “Just fucking leave it alone, will you? I don’t want to talk, because there is nothing wrong.” 

There’s a long beat of silence, before Jack nods his head a little too sharply. 

“Fine. Whatever. Go shower or something if you don’t want to talk to me.” 

The guilt is immediate, but the anger is still there, still white hot and bubbling under his skin, and so Robby does go upstairs to shower. Not because he really wants to, but because he doesn’t want to see Jack. 

Not right now. 

Dinner is weird, and awkward, and they don’t really talk to one another, but food does help the sharp swill of frustration curling around the back of Robby’s teeth. 

Jack doesn’t pry, not while they eat, but he gets that look again as they head upstairs. 

Robby’s very clearly not getting out of this evening without talking about his feelings somewhat. 

And he’s right. 

As soon as they’re under the covers, Jack strikes again, although this time a little gentler. He reaches out under the duvet, finding one of Robby’s hands with his own.

“What’s going on?” 

The urge to deny everything is instinctive, but this time Robby swallows it back, focusing instead on the grounding touch of Jack’s calloused palm against his own, the familiar whorl of every fingerprint, the hands that he would recognise any place and any time, intertwined with his own. 

He should talk to him. 

He needs to talk to him. 

He’s his husband, for fuck’s sake. 

“Michael.” Jack whispers again, “talk to me, please.”

“I don’t know what to say.” He confesses, voice cracking just a little. 

“Then start at the beginning, one step at a time.” 

The words come… also, and clumsy, at first. It’s hard, piecing together the enormity of his feelings, he can’t really explain himself, not properly, but Jack listens. 

“You really need to see my therapist.” He whispers, when the words stop coming, gently rubbing circles into Robby’s hip with the pad of his free thumb. “Brother, please, you have to stop torturing yourself like this.” 

Robby sighs, and he drops his forehead to Jack’s, squeezing his eyes tight shut against the dim light of their room. 

“I can’t. Conflict of interest.” 

“Ah… I think he’s willing to put aside that for you, you’re more fucked up than me.” 

Robby chuckles, something dry and empty. “Always have been, haven’t I?” 

Jack hums, “yeah… something deeply wrong with you.” 

They lie there for a moment, before Jack speaks again. “But seriously, you need to talk to someone. A therapist, Dennis, me, Gloria — fuck, some stripper you’ll never see again, anyone. You can’t live like this.” 

He’s right, of course he’s right, but Robby just… can’t. 

“I know… but… Y’know.” Is all he manages. 

“I do know. I do know so fucking much, Mike, and you know how much I hate it?” Jack asks, his grip on him suddenly fierce. “So much, so fucking much, because when you get like this then I start to worry that maybe this time I’ll actually lose you, because you’re too stubborn to tell anyone that you’re loosing a battle against yourself.” 

The intensity of it makes Robby draw back, and he blinks at his husband. There’s something fierce in Jack’s gaze, and it’s powerful enough that for a brief moment, Robby feels like he’s been compelled. 

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll talk to someone.” 

Jack’s relief is almost tangible, but there’s still an air of suspicion to him as he nods. 

“You mean it?”

“Fuck Yankl, I mean I’ll try.”

Jack nods, once, then twice. 

“Okay, okay. Fine.” 

Robby sighs, pressing his forehead firmer against Jack’s. 

“I’m sorry, I love you,” he whispers, and Jack smiles. 

“I love you too, I love you so much, you dick.” 

Robby squeezes Jack’s hand. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising to me, just stop this, okay? Stop letting this get to you.” 

“Yeah… yeah, okay.” 

— — — — —

Dennis is fairly sure that Robby’s insecure. 

Not about work, or his competence, or their relationship, none of those things. Dennis hopes. 

No. 

He’s fairly sure Robby’s insecurities are (mostly) around his body. 

Which Dennis personally thinks is insane, but the more time he spends with the guy, it’s getting kind of harder not to see it. 

It’s only subtle, really, but now that Dennis has noticed it’s so hard to stop. 

He’s kind of known for a while, really.

The first time he’d noticed, they’d been in the bathroom, waiting for the water to heat up so they could shower together. Dennis had been distracted by peeling off his about to expire sensor and rubbing all the tacky gunk off of his skin with an alcohol wipe, when he’d caught sight of Robby behind him. 

It wasn’t immediately obvious, what was going through his head in that moment, big hands splayed across his stomach as he stared down at himself. But then he’d caught the way he was pinching at the fat over his hips, pushing stubbornly at the softness of his skin, and more than that he’d seen Robby’s expression. 

He looked… frustrated, sad, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he regarded his own body with disdain, forehead furrowed and brows knitted. 

He’d stopped as soon as Dennis had caught his attention, and they hadn’t talked about it, hadn’t even acknowledged it, but it had lingered in Dennis’ mind. 

Because then he started noticing more and more. 

Still, always only subtle, never obvious, never Robby outwardly confessing the truth of what was bugging him, but obvious enough now that Dennis picked up on it. 

And now..? Now it seems… more. 

Ever since their sort of argument/Dennis’ sort of freak out, Robby’s been even weirder. 

They should probably talk about it, but the truth is, is that Dennis is… embarrassed. Deeply so, actually. 

He’s embarrassed that he got so upset, he’s embarrassed that he let himself argue, because Robby was right to push like that. He was right to demand answers from him because really what the fuck was he thinking? 

He should have told them ages ago, should have let them understand the depth of his situation.

He shouldn’t have walked away mad like he did, shouldn’t have shut himself off from them. 

In some weird respect, he’s glad he ended up going low and he’s glad Robby was the one to come and help him, because he’s not sure how he would have dealt with all of… that, otherwise. 

And things have both simultaneously been fine and also… not. Because on the surface, everything is great. Nothing has changed. 

But Robby’s changed. 

These insecurities he has, Dennis has noticed that in some ways they’re almost kind of tied to his mental state. 

When Robby’s stressed, or angry, or upset, he takes it out on his own body. 

But what just doesn’t make sense is he isn’t overweight. He isn’t fat. Not that there would be a problem if he was but he just isn’t. He’s a tall guy, and he’s pretty average build. He’s muscular, and yeah, there’s a bit of softness to his stomach and his hips and his legs, but he's a middle aged man. Whatever he sees in the mirror is some distorted version of reality, because the way he pokes at and prods the thin layering of padding over him, it’s clear that he can’t see what Dennis can. 

And what Dennis can see is someone so fucking sexy. 

Robby’s body is insane, even if there’s a lack of any real definition to it. He just — he makes Dennis’ mouth water, with how badly he wants him. Every time he gets undressed, every time he stretches up and his scrubs ride up enough to expose a little bit of tummy, every time he moves or bends or twists and Dennis gets to see anything at all, it’s like he’s gone feral for him. 

It actually wouldn’t surprise him if he already had. 

And that’s why he doesn't get all of this. 

Doesn’t get it when he sees Robby frowning at his reflection. Doesn’t get it when he sees him deliberately tugging on long-sleeve undershirts when it’s 72 degrees outside, just so he can hide as much of his skin as possible. He doesn’t understand why every so often Robby comes home and buries himself in the biggest sweater he can find, rather than one that fits him properly. 

Except of course he does, because there’s something Robby’s insecure about. 

And he knows Jack knows. He knows because he’s seen the way he directs Robby’s punishing hands away from his stomach or thighs while they’re in the shower or in bed, interrupting his unconscious spiral of kneading at soft skin. He’s seen the way Jack frowns when Robby serves himself just slightly too-small a potion, and deliberately adds another scoop of whatever to his plate when his back is turned.  

But he can’t bring it up.

And he can’t bring it up, because the truth is that he’s scared it’s because of him. He’s scared that his opening up about his homelessness has sent Robby on a spiral, and he really can’t have another conversation about it all. This is something that just needs to be swept under the rug like how he and Trin manage it, by which he means that they don’t because they do not talk about it. 

And he’s scared because if this spiral is because of him, then he doesn’t know how to fix it. Is it that Robby’s mad at him? He hasn’t been acting like it. Is it that Robby’s not mad at him but mad at everyone else? Is he still upset about Dennis’ upsetting childhood? He doesn’t know, he just doesn’t. 

It’s weird. 

It’s weird and it doesn’t make sense because everything’s just kind of fine. 

Is he just making it all up? Is Robby insecure for other reasons and Dennis is being selfish by assuming it’s his issues that have sent his partner spiralling? Is the reason they haven’t talked about it because there’s nothing to talk about? 

Fuck. 

The Pitt is chaos. As always. 

It’s a Tuesday morning, just a regular weekday, and they’ve already had a ridiculous influx of patients. There’s some issues up at the lab, so all of the blood results are taking ages, which isn’t helping the general mayhem of it all, and (just like normal), it seems the patience of their patients is beginning to wear thin. 

Dennis is with Langdon in Central thirteen, with some older lady with chest pain. They’ve already ruled it non-cardiac, so she’s stable, and also fairly grumpy about it. 

“You know, I used to work here at PTMC.” The lady sniffs, watching Langdon down her nose as he draws repeat bloods. 

Langdon just nods, too focused on what he’s doing, but Dennis engages. 

“Oh yeah? What did you used to do?”

“I worked in admin, dealt with everything HR and public relations. All the patient complaints, they came through to me, and I dealt with them.”

Langdon raises his eyebrows just a smidge, finally looking up at her as he deposits the bloods into their plastic bag. 

“Well, I’m sure you’d have spent a lot of time with us lot.” He says, “I can imagine the ER got the most complaints.” 

She graces them with a tight smile. It doesn’t look happy though, as much as it’s deeply critical. 

“Well, naturally. It’s a poorly run department with ridiculous wait times and staff who can’t keep their attitudes right.”

Dennis’ polite smile falls. 

For as much as he respects everyone who works in the hospital, clinical or not, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t really irritate him when other staff members seem to refuse to acknowledge how difficult working in the ER is. Always complaints about wait time and lack of physician contact, and yet refusing to acknowledge how understaffed and underfunded the department is. He can understand the whining from patients, but staff should understand why the ER is the way it is, especially when working with the doctors and nurses themselves. 

Still, he nods, unable to let his manners slip. 

Clearly this lady isn’t above complaining about them. 

Behind him, the curtain shifts and he twists to glance at it as they part. 

Robby steps in. 

He’s got his dark green underlayer on today, the one that drives Dennis just a little bit insane when he sees it. 

There’s something about the way it clings to Robby’s muscled forearms that just makes him want to bite him. 

Or drag him into a supply closet and fuck him. 

“Everything okay in here?” He asks, and Langdon nods. 

“All good,” Langdon says. “Mrs Thompson here was just telling us she used to work here.”

Robby glances at the patient, and Dennis sees a flicker of recognition. 

“Ah, Dr Robinavitch.” She says, “they haven’t fired you for insubordination yet?”

Robby rolls his eyes. “No, and they won’t. Where else are you going to find an Attending Physician with twenty odd years of experience? Especially one that’ll stick around.”

She smiles that same tight smile again at him. “Dr Abbot still here?”

Robby nods. “Still me and him. Day and night.” 

She clasps her hands. “Well, I hope your patient satisfaction scores are good enough to justify having kept you on. If I had it my way I’d have had Gloria fire you years ago.”

Robby snorts, and he’s still smiling, still keeping his typical easy-going posture, but Dennis can see the flickers of tension in his expression. He doesn’t like this lady, that much is very clear. 

“You know I was always Gloria’s favourite. Right. Well, I have other people to check on, but you two, just shout if you need anything.” 

He directs that last part at Langdon and Dennis, meeting their eyes. 

“Yeah, ‘course.”

As Robby steps towards the door to leave, the lady clears her throat pointedly. 

“You’ve put on weight, Michael. I told you your lifestyle would catch up with you.” 

Robby’s jaw flexes, his teeth clenching as he dips his gaze to her chart, then turns to look at the patient. 

“Always a pleasure to see you, Mrs Thompson.”

And with that, he leaves. 

The rest of their time in her room passes by in silence. Or rather — silence from Frank and Dennis. 

The patient rambles on about something, her time at PTMC probably, but neither of them listen.  

It’s not until they leave that either of them acknowledge it, and it comes in the form of a frustrated groan from Frank as he pulls off his gloves. 

Langdon mutters under his breath, “What an absolute—”

Dennis clears his throat before it turns into something less professional. “Yeah. I know.”

“How dare she?”

Dennis just nods. He doesn’t want to engage in this, not when there’s a chance Robby can hear them, and he doesn’t know what to do about it yet. 

Because he saw the flicker of upset in Robby, saw the hesitation, the uncertainty, he saw that her comment affected him, even if he managed to squirrel that hurt away almost immediately. And Dennis… doesn't know what to do with it. Robby’s been weird lately, and he knows that this isn’t going to help, but he already feels so powerless when it comes to Robby’s insecurities, so how can he fix this? 

But then… maybe Robby’s fine. Maybe snide comments from patients don’t get to him? Dennis knows it’s rare for any insults thrown at him by patients to stick, because he knows they’re either not in their right minds or just being dicks for the sake of being dicks. It doesn’t really get to him, and Robby’s been doing it for so much longer than he has so maybe it doesn’t get to him either. 

Maybe he shouldn’t bring it up. 

Maybe he should. 

He doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t know. 

It’s Langdon who brings the situation up again though, a couple of hours later when they’re cleaning up after ortho has taken an open bilateral tib/fib fracture, nudging him as they deposit the blood soaked gauze into a biohazard waste bag. 

“You uh… gonna bring what happened up to Robby?” He asks, and Dennis sighs. 

“I don’t know.” He mumbles. “I don’t know if it was actually as bad as it seems, he might have just brushed it off.” 

Langdon shrugs. “It would’ve bothered me. Insults from patients are one thing, but body comments? Especially from someone you used to work with?”

He has a point. “Ugh, yeah I know. But Robby seemed like he hated her anyway, maybe he’s used to just ignoring her bullshit.”

Dennis twists a clean sheet of gauze between his fingers.

“I don’t want to make it worse,” he continues quietly. “What if he is fine? What if I bring it up and make it a thing?”

Langdon shrugs. “Or what if he thinks you didn’t notice or don’t care.”

Dennis hadn’t thought of that.

He’s not sure if Robby has wanted any of this stuff brought up, because the general vibe of it has seemed like he hasn’t. 

But Dennis doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know anything about what Robby’s thinking, at any point. 

Outside the glass doors of the trauma bay, he sees Robby walk past, his eyes meeting Dennis’ as he flashes him a quick smile. 

He looks… okay. 

He looks fine. 

But Dennis has learnt even way back from Pittfest that when it comes to Robby there’s a difference between fine, and functioning, as almost indistinguishable as they are. 

And he doesn’t know what this is. 

He doesn’t get to bring it up during their shift. There’s no good moment, no natural segue. They hardly get a moment to see one another, let alone have any sort of non-patient related conversation. 

Robby’s so normal for the rest of their shift, seemingly completely unbothered but her comment, but Dennis can’t stop replaying it in his mind. 

He wants to say something, but every time he tries to formulate it it feels clumsy in his mouth. 

Hey are you okay? 

Did she upset you? 

I’m sorry she said that. 

It all feels… wrong, tactless, almost. 

Because What if Robby just shrugged it off the second he walked away?

What if Dennis is just projecting?

What if bringing it up is what makes Robby feel bad, or self-conscious, or like Dennis thinks he’s fragile?

It’s ridiculous, but he doesn’t know. 

So he says nothing.

And Robby says nothing.

And their shift goes on.

And everything stays being fine. 

Robby holds Dennis’ hand on the drive home, kisses Jack against the kitchen counter when they get back, cooks dinner with the music on, humming along to every song. 

He teases Dennis when he drops the bag of onions all over the floor, then sneaks a hand under his shirt when he pulls him in for an apologetic kiss. 

It doesn’t seem like his mental turmoil has gotten any worse. 

He really does just seem… fine. 

While they’re getting ready for bed, Dennis lingers in the bathroom doorway, tugging absently at the hem of his shirt as he watches Robby brush his teeth. 

Jack’s massaging his stump on the bed, so he’s distracted, and Dennis almost brings it up then, in the gentle lull of the moment. 

But as soon as he opens his mouth, his breath hitches in the back of his throat, and that same doubt he’s been carrying all day rises back up. 

What if he really, genuinely is wrong. 

What if Robby turns and says, It was nothing, Mouse. I’ve heard worse.

What if Dennis has been carrying this all day and Robby genuinely forgot about it it five minutes after it happened?

He doesn’t want to drag it back out of nowhere.

But then —

But then what’s the issue if Robby does say that? What does it matter if Dennis asks and Robby says he’s fine? 

He’s working himself up about it, he knows it, so instead he just crosses the bathroom tile, and wraps his arms loosely around Robby’s waist from behind.

Robby hums softly in surprise.

“Hi Mouse.”

Dennis presses his cheek between Robby’s shoulder blades. Squeezing his eyes tight shut. 

“Hi.”

Robby bends and spits, rinses, then turns around slightly in his arms.

“You okay?” he asks gently.

Dennis almost laughs. “I’m fine,” he murmurs. 

Robby searches his face for a second, then he leans down and kisses him, slow and unhurried. He tastes like mint, and it’s a little intense but Dennis doesn’t complain, melting into it as Robby slides an arm around his waist. 

“I’m okay too,” Robby whispers quietly as he pulls back. 

It’s not a direct answer, but it’s not not one either.

Dennis nods. For now, that has to be enough. 

They can talk tomorrow. 

When their alarm goes off at five the next morning, everything feels okay. Robby deposits himself over Dennis, wrapping a broad arm around him as he insistently snuggles him as close as he can get, which Dennis happily accepts until Jack reminds them of the time, and he’s kissed thoroughly by both of his partners before he even makes it to the bathroom. 

Jack’s off again, so he gets up with them so he can go for his early morning run, and as they get dressed for work, he pulls on some thin shorts and a top, then watches them as they fuss about finding their bits and pieces. 

Unlike Dennis, Robby doesn’t wear the same vending machine scrubs. He has his own set of scrub tops, the same as Jack, so he arrives at work already in his kit. 

Dennis goes in in just a tshirt and jeans or whatever, stuff he can shove in his locker to change back into after he returns his scrubs to the machine, although frankly he’s a little jealous that Robby gets the ease of already having his uniform. 

But then again… he’s learnt by now that he can’t really be trusted, with scrubs, so maybe not having one set for the day is the better option. 

Robby goes for his dark grey underlayer today, but after he pulls on his black scrub top, he reaches for another layer. A thin zip up, not for warmth as much as for just a layer, before he snags his green fleece. 

Dennis feels his stomach churn, just a little. 

“That’s new,” he says lightly, and he tries for casual but he misses it, gaze fixed on the zip-up

Robby glances down at himself. “It’s chilly.”

“It’s like… 60 degrees.”

“Exactly.” He smiles. Easy. Quick. And he doesn't meet Dennis’ eyes. 

And Dennis can’t help himself. For the first time since he noticed all of this, he looks to Jack.  

And Jack looks… Jack looks worried. 

It’s only subtle, the furrowing of his brow, the downturn of his mouth, but it reassures Dennis, in a way. Because if Jack is worried, then he’s right to be, which means he ought to talk to him. 

No one in the universe knows Robby better than Jack, and Dennis sort of feels silly that he hasn’t gone to him already. 

He should have talked to him as soon as he noticed Robby’s body-focused behaviours, should have just asked or said something or — something. 

And he didn’t. 

But he will. 

Just not now. 

Robby does eat breakfast, but neither of them eat much. Dennis is trending high this morning, and he’s always more resistant to insulin first thing, so he’s a lot more careful with his dosing. 

Jack makes eggs, but Dennis turns down the toast. He doesn’t need to fuck with his sugars anymore, just needs to focus on bringing them down. 

It’s a kind of weird morning. 

The drive to work is fine though, and as they walk into the Pitt’s welcoming mayhem, Dennis forgets about it just a little. 

Their shift is crazy, as always, and Dennis can’t focus on his worries for long because it’s one of those days where everyone in Pittsburgh seems to have decided that it’s a perfect day for a cardiac arrest, so he’s dragged from patient to patient without room to breathe, let alone to worry about his boyfriend. 

Still though, Robby keeps his zip-up on the entire shift. 

The green fleece migrates to his chair as it always does, but the zip-up stays. 

When they get home, Robby seems quieter than usual. 

He disappears upstairs straight away, and Dennis wants to try and distract himself but the concern for his partner overwhelms him and so after a moment or two, he follows him up. 

Jack’s out running an errand, Dennis isn’t sure what, so it’s just the two of them right now, which means that if it is all finally coming out, Dennis isn’t sure he’s going to be able to handle it all on his own. 

He sort of needs Jack here. 

The bedroom door is open, and as he hesitates in the doorway, he sees it. 

Robby’s pulling on a sweater Dennis has never seen before. 

It’s oversized, a grey thick knit that kind of swallows him. It’s obviously too big, although it doesn’t look silly or anything like that. 

It just hides him. 

Which is clearly the aim. 

Robby catches sight of him, and he looks over, raising an eyebrow at Dennis in the doorway. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” He replies, shaking his head as he pushes off of the walk and into the room. He needs to change too, wants something soft and comfortable to relax in for the evening rather than jeans. 

He settles on shorts and one of their college tees. They have a small collection, and it seems neither know which was originally whose, because every picture Dennis has seen of them from back then, they seem to have alternated. 

Apparently, pretty much all of their clothing was shared back then. No distinction between anything other than that Robby’s pants a little longer in the leg, and Jack’s shirts a little broader in the chest. 

Robby waits for him, before they go downstairs, settles his broad hands around his waist and tells Dennis how pretty he looks in his shirt, and Dennis says nothing about it. 

Again. 

They curl up together, Robby with his legs outstretched on the ottoman, and Dennis shoved as tightly into his side as he can manage, and Robby flicks through what’s on TV. 

There’s nothing good, but they end up on some police show called ‘Motorway Cops’, which is just bodycam and dashcam footage of New Jersey sheriffs chasing bad drivers. 

It’s entertaining enough, and mindless enough that it’s easy to forget the stress of the day. 

That’s how Jack finds them maybe a half hour later, and he sets down his bags as he looks at them for a moment, expression unbearably fond. 

Until…

Until he notices the sweater. 

He’s so expressive, so bad at keeping a poker face anywhere other than at work, and Dennis can see the way his expression twists. His brows lift slightly, eyes widening before he squints. 

“Hey you two… new look, Mikey?” 

Robby shrugs, picking absently at the fabric. “Found it at the back of the closet, wasn’t sure if it was yours or mine but it looked nice.” 

Jack squints at him for a second longer, but he doesn’t push. “Looks nice on you. You better be careful or Dennis’ll steal it from you as soon as it comes off.” 

Dennis can’t help it, he grins at that, especially as the arm around him squeezes. 

“Mmh, you will, won’t you pup?” Robby looks down at him, peering over his glasses. “You’re such a little clothing thief. As if you don’t have enough of your own.”

It’s the first time they’ve veered into any kind of territory even relating to Dennis’ previous homelessness, and it feels so good that they’re being normal about it. 

He wants Robby to be normal, wants him to feel like he can tease him about stuff like this without any of them ever having to think about the time before. 

So he nods, gleefully wriggling against him. “Mhm, your clothes are better.” 

Jack laughs, and he crosses the room to scrub a hand over Dennis’ head, petting him like a dog. “That why you insist on robbing us of everything we own? After everything we’ve bought you?” 

“We spoil you pup, that not enough?” 

Dennis shakes his head again. “Nope.”

That makes them both laugh, and Robby squeezes him as Jack bends and catches him in a rough kiss, his stubble scrubbing against his soft cheeks. 

“I love you.” He murmurs as he breaks away, and Dennis chases him, pouting when he doesn’t get kissed again. 

“Love you too.” 

Jack clasps his hands together as he steps back, before glancing over at the bags of groceries on the floor. “What do you want for dinner? I got a whole bunch of shit.” 

Robby shrugs, turning his attention onto Dennis who thinks for a moment. 

“Rice bowls? But like — the Mexican ones you did last time.” 

Jack nods approvingly. 

“Rice bowls it is.” 

Jack humbly refuses any help with the cooking because it’s really not a difficult meal to prepare, and Dennis and Robby stay cuddled up on the couch. Dennis takes advantage of the time to pre-bolus, barely shifting from where he’s cuddled up as he injects insulin into his stomach. 

By the time Jack calls them through, he’s starving. 

“Cilantro and lime rice,” Jack says proudly, gesturing to the bowl before him, “although actually it’s half rice, half lentils for you pup, but I mean — we all need more protein and fibre in our diets. Then uh there’s chicken, some of last nights beef, beans, veg, and sauce. Oh — and tortillas if anyone wants one.” 

It looks amazing, and it smells even better, and Dennis happily grabs and kisses Jack’s hand as he sits. “Thank you.” 

“Psh, don’t thank me pup, it was my day off, what better do I have to do then spoil my favourite men?” 

The food is really good, and they talk about nothing in particular as they eat. Jack lays out all the things he’s been up to on his day off, while Robby shakes his head in disbelief at just how active his husband is, then the conversation veers into some silly hypothetical Jack saw on Tiktok, and it feels like everything’s normal and good. 

Except for the fact that Robby is still wearing that sweater. 

He excuses himself after dinner to go and shower, leaving Jack and Dennis to wash up, and as soon as he walks out the tension shifts. 

When they hear their bedroom door click, Jack turns to him, setting the dish he was washing back down into the sink. 

“Talk to me, pup.”

Dennis hovers uncomfortably halfway across the kitchen floor, before he sighs and comes and sits up on the counter next to Jack, staring into the sudsy water. 

“I’m… I’m worried about him.” He says softly. 

“Why?” 

“Um — yesterday, there was this patient. She uh… I think her name was Mrs Thompson? Apparently she used to work in HR and did like patient complaints or whatever?” 

Jack nods. “Juliette, yeah I remember her. She was around when Mike and I first became attendings… Mike mentioned she came in, actually.” 

Dennis nods. “Yeah. Um — she was… she was a bitch, honestly, and when Robby was leaving she made this off-hand remark that he’d put on weight.” He hesitates for a moment. “And… I’ve been kind of noticing that sometimes he gets… a bit insecure over his body? Like — I’ve been noticing it for a while, but it seems like it’s been worse recently.” 

Jack’s been watching him attentively as he speaks, but when he stops he turns away, staring out of the kitchen window as he processes that. 

“Mike is… fuck, I’ve never met a man who needs to go to therapy more. He… the body issues started a while ago, probably — fuck, a decade ago? It comes back, every so often, and we kind of talk about it and kind of don’t talk about it, and then he gets normal again for a while, but…” Jack shakes his head. “Yeah, he’s been worse recently. I think… you know that conversation we had, last week?”

How could Dennis forget? 

Jack looks at him then, turning so he’s facing him fully. “He blames himself, for not knowing. I think he probably blames himself for the very fact you were homeless in the first place, somehow.” He reaches out, settling a slightly damp hand on Dennis’ bare knee. “I’m glad you told us, and I understand why it took you so long to work up the courage, but Mike? He… he’s blaming himself, I think. He’s worked it up in his head that you didn’t tell us sooner ‘cause of him and he’s internalised it into some stupid fucking mess.” Jack sighs, “It is not your fault though, okay Mouse?”

Dennis nods slowly. Everything Jack’s saying makes complete sense, but fuck if it doesn’t hurt to hear. Of course Robby would internalise all of this, because that’s all he seems to be able to do. Dennis saw him during Pittfest, he should have known this would be the case. 

“Oh…” is all he manages. 

“He’ll get over it,” Jack starts again. “I know him, and he will, but I’m sick of him fighting through his own battles and refusing to talk to me —  to us. I’ll talk to him, tonight… but do you want to?” 

He frames it as a question, but Dennis can infer that Jack thinks he should. And he agrees. 

It’s not fair that Robby’s doing this to himself, not when it’s Dennis’ cross to bear in the first place, and it’s not fair that it’s manifesting itself as their beautiful partner hating his body. 

“Yeah. Do you — do you think he’s mad at me?”

Jack’s eyes widen, for a moment, surprised by the question, before he shakes his head. 

“No Mouse, of course not.” 

Upstairs, the water stops running, and Dennis takes this as his chance to slide off of the counter. 

“I’m uh… I’m gonna talk to him.” 

“Okay,” Jack outstretches an arm and Dennis steps right into his embrace, leaning his cheek against his chest as Jack hugs him. “I love you, don’t take anything he says to heart.”

“Mhm… I love you too.” 

Upstairs, Robby’s in just a pair of boxers and some socks when Dennis pushes open the door, and he smiles when he sees him. 

“Hey sweetheart, you alright?” 

“Mhm… um — can we talk?” 

Robby looks a little surprised, but he nods, then glances down at his body. “Should I… put on clothes?” 

Dennis wants to say no, but given the direction the topic is going to go, he feels like he can’t be the reason Robby feels more insecure. “If you want.”

Robby pulls on a tshirt, then sits on the bed, patting a space on the mattress before him for him.  

Dennis sits cross legged, their feet pressing together as he looks down at his partners bare legs. 

“I um… I’ve  been thinking about yesterday.”

Robby’s hands flex, the muscles in his shoulders tensing for a moment. 

“I’m fine, Mouse.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, but —“

“You were going to.”

This isn’t going how he’d expected. Yeah, okay he’d expected some push back, but not like this. Not immediate. He’d sort of hoped Robby might hear him out first. 

He exhales, slow and controlled. “The comment that that patient made—“ 

Robby’s shoulders tense again. “It doesn’t matter Dennis, seriously.”

“But it does matter! It matters to me.” He protests. 

Robby looks at him then, and there’s something guarded in his expression. It’s not angry, not really, but it’s something he doesn’t recognise. 

“Dennis. I’ve worked in medicine for twenty odd years. People have said far worse things to me in my life, one comment doesn’t matter.” 

“I know.”

“So why are we still talking about it?”

Dennis sighs, frustrated. “Because I thought it was a rude comment for her to make, and I think that no one should comment on your body because you’re really handsome and attractive and the fact that she said that was nasty and mean.” 

There’s a pause, then Robby reaches out and pats his knee. “Thank you Mouse, but like I said, it is not a big deal.”

“But—“ 

“Dennis, I don’t want to do this,”  Robby snaps then, tone suddenly sharp.

“Do what?”

“Turn one stupid comment into a whole thing.”

“I’m not trying to make it a whole thing. I just—”

“Just what?”

Dennis hesitates. “You’ve been weird ever since I told you that I used to be homeless, and I don’t get it. I don’t get why you’re so upset?” 

Robby’s breath hitches in the back of his throat, and he looks away, crossing his arms uncomfortably over his stomach. 

“Please, please talk to me,” Dennis shifts, tucking his legs under his thighs as he leans forwards, breaching into Robby’s space a little more. “I really am sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner about everything, but it… being homeless was hard, and my life was so awful, and moving in with Trin finally gave me an escape from it all, and I could finally move on.” He starts softly. “And then I got sick and you two took me in, and for the first time ever I had two safe spaces to be… and I… just couldn’t bear to remember what my life was like before. Because now that I’ve been diagnosed with diabetes, looking back at it makes it even worse because I felt so awful all the time and now it’s like… I think about it and I was homeless and sick and so poor and now I’m not any of those things…” he shakes his head, gently reaching out to take Robby’s hand. “And you’re upset about it and I don’t… I don’t like that…” 

Robby heaves a deep breath, his chest shaking as his fingers curl around Dennis’.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, his voice weak as he starts, then stops. “I—“

Dennis doesn’t interrupt, just squeezes his hand as he waits. He knows Robby needs the space, knows he shouldn’t push. 

“When I was told Jack had been injured, it terrified me. And it terrified me, because I was suddenly so aware of all the things I couldn’t have done for him, and how much… shit had happened to him since he’d left.” He takes a deep, ragged breath. “He’d sent me letters whenever he could, but he’d only told me about the good things when he wrote them, because he didn’t… he didn’t want to scare me with the truth. So every letter was just the downtime, the friends he’d made, the interactions he’d been having with all the civilians… he never — he didn’t —“ 

Robby stops himself. Then shakes his head. 

“Finding out he’d been injured reminded me that his deployment wasn’t just him being… somewhere else, it reminded me that he was out there fighting for our country, fighting to survive, and that the whole risk of him dying away from me wasn’t just some insane hypothetical.” 

Robby swallows, and his grip tightens on Dennis’ hand. 

“I’d done everything in my power to forget about what he was really doing there, and to just delude myself into focusing on all the harmless things he was telling me about… and when they called me — when they called me, I didn’t even know if he was actually alive. All they said was that he’d been involved in an accident, and they were doing what they could… they didn’t tell me he’d lost his leg, didn’t tell me how many men had died, just told me… that. I didn’t find out what had happened for a week, and by that point they… they told me they weren’t sure if he’d make it, the drop site they’d been in had been too dangerous for extraction, so he was being kept alive out of desperation.” 

His breath hitches. 

“I didn’t know you, when you were homeless,” he says quietly. “But I do know you now, and finding out what you were going through, and I couldn’t help, it… it felt like… then, all over again. And I… I reacted poorly, I’m sorry.” 

“Mike…”

“I don’t… I’m sorry for being weird, Mouse, I was angry that you didn’t know but it wasn’t directed at you, I was just… angry, and upset, on your behalf. I felt like — I feel like PTMC failed you, because no intern or resident or anyone should be homeless, not while working here, and I’m glad that Trinity offered you an out but I couldn’t stop thinking about what if she hadn’t? What if you’d still been living up there when you went into DKA? What if you died and I couldn’t have helped—“

Dennis hugs him. 

It’s clumsy, and awkward, and more him throwing himself into his partner’s arms and lap, but Robby welcomes it. 

“I’m sorry, Dennis,” he whispers, voice thick, and Dennis shakes his head. 

“No — no, stop. Please. Just — stop.”

Robby nods, and Dennis grips onto him a little tighter. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I was just.. I was so scared.” He whispers. “Being homeless it was… it was terrifying, every day. When I found the 8th floor it felt like my prayers had been answered, like god was finally giving me some penance for my sins but…” he shakes his head. “I didn’t want you to know. It was scary and embarrassing and it was bad enough having Trin know. I’m sorry.” 

Robby laughs then, something soft and he nuzzles the hair above his ear. 

“I’ll try and be less… whatever, okay Mouse?” He says softly, and Dennis nods. 

“It wasn’t your fault I was homeless, and there was nothing you could have done, okay?”

Robby sighs. “I know—“

“Do you?” 

He pulls back, regarding Dennis for a long moment as he brings a hand up to cup his face, palm warm against his cheek. 

“I’ll try.” 

Dennis holds his gaze for a long moment, before he nods. 

“Okay. Okay. Good. And just — talk to me next time, please?” 

Robby brushes the pad of his thumb over his cheekbone, brown eyes searching Dennis’ expression for a long moment before he nods too. 

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence, for a moment, before Dennis sighs, pressing into his palm. 

“I uh — I wanna talk about... well, y’know… the sweater and all that? I know you’re —“ he starts, but Robby cuts him off.

“— Dennis I can’t talk about it, okay? Please.” 

Robby’s brown eyes meet Dennis’ blue, and there’s something so desperate there, pleading with him not to push and Dennis can’t really say no. 

They’ve talked a lot tonight, he’s not going to push any further, not if Robby’s not ready. 

“Okay… sorry… but can I talk to you?”

Robby hesitates for a moment, then nods. 

“Sure.”

He has no idea what’s about to come out of his mouth, but they’ve come so far and Dennis can’t bear to let this all go without having addressed it even just a little. Because it isn’t fair Robby thinks he’s fat or ugly or whatever, because he isn’t, he just isn’t. And it’s Dennis’ job to make sure he knows that. 

“Okay, okay.” Dennis shifts, lifting his other leg so he’s straddling both of Robby’s thighs instead of just the one. “When I first met you, I thought you were the sexiest man I’d ever laid eyes on,” he says softly, hands settling on Robby’s shoulders. “And Trin can attest that I was like — obsessed with you. I can't tell you how many fucking times I woke up hard after a dream about you touching me or something.” He lets his hands trail down, fingers tracing over the length of his ribs. “And the more time I spent with you, the more I found myself falling harder and harder for you… and then… Y’know, you brought me home, and I saw you in clothes that weren’t scrubs? And fuck. It was so hard not to jump you and just beg you to fuck me over whatever piece of furniture was closest.”

That draws a smile out of Robby, and Dennis bends in to kiss it. 

“And then we started dating, and I got to see you naked, and I got to touch you and I look at you and Jack every day and I see the two most perfect men alive.” He grins, giving Robby’s pec a teasing squeeze. “I know you’re struggling with your body image, but whatever you see in the mirror it’s not… it’s not what I see, or what Jack sees, or what anyone sees, okay? You’re so stupid handsome and attractive and I still want to jump you and get you to fuck me over all the furniture.”

He bends in, pressing a kiss to the corner of Robby’s mouth, then the tip of his nose, then both of his cheeks. 

“I love you more than words can express, Michael, and Jack does too… and… I think… I think you should try going back to therapy.”

Robby doesn’t move, for a long moment, but then he nods, and he wraps his arms around Dennis and pulls him in close, tucking his face into his neck. 

“Okay,” he whispers, voice thin. “Okay Mouse, I’ll go.”

Thank god. 

Dennis relaxes into his embrace, wrapping his own arms around Robby’s shoulders as he leans his cheek against the top of his head. 

“Okay, good. Good. I’m glad, I’m really glad.” 

They sit there until Jack finally joins them, peeking round the door at the two, hesitating. When Dennis gives him a thumbs up though, he visibly relaxes, and he comes up to the side of the bed they’re still sitting on. For a moment, he doesn’t do anything, but then he steps in and hugs both of them, and even though it’s awkward with him standing and them both sitting, it doesn’t matter. 

All that matters is this weirdness is going to change. 

It’s not fixed, but it’s a start. It’s not like they can undo years of insecurity in one conversation, but Robby’s agreed to go to therapy and to actually try this time, and that’s as close as they’ll get in one evening. 

And when they settle down to sleep, Robby ends up in the middle for the first time, firmly encircled by both of his partners. 

He doesn’t complain. 

None of them do.