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Dennis had never committed a crime before.
Aside from crimes of fashion if you took Trinity Santos seriously.
He hadn't even done senior skip day in high school.
Ultimately, he was a rule follower.
So why was he now standing in the ambulance bay doors, fiddling with pocket-knife his dad had given him for his 16th birthday, planning the best way to commit a felony by slashing the tires on the motorcycle parked in the hospital parking lot.
It was crazy.
Right?
But every time he went to put the knife back in his pocket, he remembered the look on Robby's face when he said those words:
"And if I don't come back, you have a swinging bachelor pad."
It hadn't felt like a joke, even if it had the cadence of one.
He'd looked too much like that day in pedes, covered in blood and sobbing. Something similar on his face.
Dennis didn't know what good he could do, but if he could just stop him leaving tonight, maybe...maybe they'd have time to do something.
As felonies went, Dennis could do worse, he supposed. The ambulance bay was silent for once and he took his chance, jogging over to the parked motorcycle with purpose. He walked around to the far side from the bay doors and crouched down. He was trying to figure out the best way puncture the tires, when a hand landed on his shoulder.
"What are you up to, Whitaker?"
Dennis squeaked in surprise and fell over, meeting the questioning eyes of Dr. Abbot.
"Uh...would you believe I was checking the tire pressure?"
"Didn't know Swiss army knives had an attachment for that, kid."
"Uh..."
"What did he say to you?" Abbot said, crouching down next to Whitaker by the bike. Dennis saw the multitool in Abbot's hand and slowly realized they were here for the same reason.
"Made a joke about not coming back when he asked me to house-sit....you?"
"Didn't have to say anything. He couldn't meet my eyes when I told him he had to come back. I've seen that look before."
"What do we do?"
"Well, we're both doctors, kid. We could put him on a 72-hour hold, probably, not sure it would stick based on the evidence though. So we make sure he's stuck...just long enough. We just need..." Abbot trailed off.
"More time" Dennis finished for him.
"No guarantees it will work. He's down deep. He can't even see the light from down there. Anyone else, he'd tell them to get a therapist. Get their head shrinked."
"Doctors never take their own advice." Dennis said.
"Especially not Robby." Abbot muttered. "Anyway, a flat tire is a start. You do that, make sure it's a slash, not just a puncture. He can patch one of those. I'll see what else we can fuck up in a hurry." He slapped Dennis's shoulder and moved to the front of the bike.
Dennis picked up the knife he'd dropped and set up work. He sank the knife into the sidewall of the tire, thanking his past self for keeping the knife sharp.
"Hope we have long enough before he comes out...if he catches us..." Dennis said.
"Don't worry, Dana is keeping him occupied."
"She knows?"
"Kid, Dana knows everything."
Dennis chuckled nervously. "Within reason at least, right?"
Abbot looked at him over the engine compartment he'd opened and raised an eyebrow.
"Everything, kid. Including that little crush you've been harboring. Though that doesn't take a genius to see, honestly."
Dennis blushed.
"Don't worry kid. If Robby wasn't so far underwater, he'd be right there with you." Abbot said, turning back to his work.
Dennis squeaked out a high pitched "what?"
"You didn't think he offered you his house at random, did you. Far gone as he is, he wants to take care of you...wanted you in his bed in the only way he thought would ever happen."
Dennis felt his face flush even through the thick July heat.
"I'm not saying jump him, kid. He's got a lot of shit to work on, we've got a lot of work ahead of us. But eventually...well I'll give you my blessing. Even if Gloria and HR definitely won't. But screw them anyway."
He put the engine cover back.
"There, he can't fix that in a hurry." He pocketed what were probably important parts.
“Robby is going to be pissed.”
“Better pissed than dead,” Abbot said, not bothering to soften the truth, Dennis flinched. “He already give you his keys?”
“Yeah.”
Dennis fished them out of his pocket automatically, the metal jangling softly in the quiet garage. The familiar weight of them suddenly felt heavier than it had when Robby had handed them over.
Abbot eyed them, then looked back at Dennis.
“Good.”
Dennis frowned. “Good?”
Abbot got to his feet with a bit of a struggle, giving the disabled motorcycle one last assessing look.
“He’s going to figure out what we did in about thirty seconds,” Abbot said. “Maybe less if he notices the tire before he tries the ignition.”
Dennis could already picture it. Robby straddling the bike, turning the key, that little furrow appearing between his eyebrows when something didn’t work the way it should.
Dennis swallowed.
“Then what?”
“Then he’s going to be angry,” Abbot said simply. “And embarrassed. And probably a little grateful, but he’ll hate that part most of all.”
Dennis rubbed the back of his neck.
“Great.”
Abbot shifted his weight and nodded toward the keys still clutched in Dennis’s hand.
“Go to the apartment.”
Dennis blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Dennis looked at the bike, then back at Abbot.
“You want me to… break into his place after sabotaging his motorcycle?”
“You’re not breaking in,” Abbot said patiently. “He gave you the keys.”
Dennis hesitated.
“He’s going to know it was us.”
“Of course he is.”
“And he’s going to come upstairs and yell.”
Abbot snorted softly.
“No, he’s not.”
Dennis frowned.
“No?”
“No,” Abbot said. “He’ll come down here, he’ll see the bike’s not going anywhere, and he’ll realize exactly what we did.”
He paused, then added more quietly, “Then he’s going to be very tired.”
Dennis shifted uneasily.
“And?”
“And then he’ll go home,” Abbot finished. “And sit there by himself, and then he’ll get angry and do something stupid.”
The thought made something twist uncomfortably in Dennis’s chest.
Abbot watched him for a moment, his expression softening just a fraction.
“You being there might make that a little harder.”
Dennis stared at the keys in his hand again.
“What do I even say?”
Abbot shrugged.
“Nothing, maybe.”
He started toward the hospital entrance, then stopped and glanced back over his shoulder.
“Just make sure he’s not alone tonight.”
Dennis stood there for a moment after Abbot disappeared inside, listening to the quiet hum of the parking lot lights and the faint hiss of the ruined tire finishing its slow deflation.
Then he pocketed the knife, tightened his grip on the keys, and plugged in Robby's address on his GPS.
⸻
Robby’s apartment was only ten minutes away.
Dennis had never been there before. The building was older than most of the new glass-and-steel developments around the hospital, a squat brick structure tucked between a corner deli and a closed laundromat.
The key slid into the lock easily.
Dennis hesitated for a second before turning it.
The apartment inside was dim and quiet. The lights from the street filtered through the tall windows, painting long stripes across the hardwood floor. He entered the security code on the panel next to the door and felt relieved when it beeped in recognition.
It looked… lived in, but not cluttered. A couch that had clearly seen a lot of late-night collapsing after shifts. A bookshelf packed with medical texts and a few battered novels. A half-finished mug of coffee abandoned on the kitchen counter.
Dennis stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
For a moment he just stood there, feeling faintly like an intruder.
He supposed he was one. He'd been invited under a certain pretence and then made sure that pretence couldn't happen.
He set his bag down on the chair near the door and wandered a few steps farther into the living room.
Dennis sank down onto the couch, elbows resting on his knees.
“Great job, Whitaker,” he muttered to the empty apartment. “Committed a felony and broke into your attending’s house.”
The silence didn’t argue with him.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
Dennis wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there when he finally heard footsteps in the hallway outside the apartment.
The key scraped softly in the lock.
Dennis sat up.
The door opened.
Robby stepped inside, still in his scrubs, helmet dangling loosely from one hand.
He stopped when he saw Dennis on the couch.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
“You slash my tires,” Robby said finally, his voice tired but not angry, “and then break into my apartment.”
Dennis lifted the keys slightly.
“Technically, it’s not breaking in. You gave me these and the alarm code.”
Robby studied him for a long moment.
“Did Abbot help?”
Dennis hesitated.
“…maybe.”
Robby let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh if it had a little more energy behind it.
“Figures.”
He set the helmet down on the counter and rubbed a hand over his face in a way Dennis had seen him do countless times.
Dennis shifted on the couch.
“You figured out the engine too, huh.”
“About five seconds after the tire,” Robby said.
Silence settled again, heavier this time.
Dennis cleared his throat.
“Dr. Abbot said you couldn’t promise you’d call, couldn’t promise you’d come back.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Robby’s hand froze halfway through pushing his hair back.
Dennis forced himself to keep going.
“And that thing you said about the apartment… that didn’t sound like a joke.”
Robby lowered his hand slowly.
Dennis met his eyes.
“You scared us.”
For a long moment Robby didn’t say anything. “You scared me.” Dennis added. “A lot.”
Robby glanced toward the door, like he could somehow see the hospital from here.
Robby looked down at the keys still dangling from Dennis’s fingers.
He walked over and dropped heavily into the armchair across from the couch, the kind of exhausted movement that came at the end of a shift that had lasted far too long. Dennis didn’t think that shift was anything to do with the hospital.
“You didn’t have to vandalize my motorcycle,” he said after a moment.
Dennis shrugged.
“It was that or a 5150, this seemed less drastic.”
“Well, thanks for that at least."
Another small silence passed.
Then Robby leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes briefly.
“…you staying?” he asked.
Dennis nodded.
“Yeah.”
Robby didn’t open his eyes, but something in his shoulders eased just slightly.
“Good,” he said.
Outside, somewhere in the city, a motorcycle engine roared past on the street.
Neither of them moved.
And for the first time that day, Robby wasn’t alone.