Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Oh, great, this fucking guy.” Dennis mutters under his breath.

“Whitaker!” he hears beside him, “so good to see you again, man.” 

Dennis looks at his side as Michael Robinavitch stands there, tall, proud, and with a sardonic smirk plastered on his fucking face.

“You two know each other?” Doctor McKay asks as they gather around the PTMC Emergency Department’s entrance, index finger pointing at the space between them both.

“Unfortunately.” they both say at the same time, Dennis with a groan and a roll of his blue eyes and Michael with that defying smirk painted on his thin lips.

“Is this gonna be an issue?” Dr. McKay asks them both, a frown forming in her face, as the other two newbies look at each other, the other MS, Victoria, if Dennis remembers correctly, looks at the scene with wide eyes and the intern, Santos, folds her arms across her chest as she sees them with an amused smile.

“Not at all, doctor McKay.” Dennis shakes his head with a sigh.

“Not an issue at all.” Michael smiles at her and Dennis almost takes the smile as sweet.

“Alright then,” the resident eyes the four of them for a second, then bobs her head, “let me show you around, welcome to the pitt.”

Dennis is on the last leg of his fourth year of medical school, the last stretch, the final leap that will lead him to get that proverbial diploma, a sweet sounding MD after his name and leave him in copious amounts of student debt; it’s the first day of his last rotation as a student and of course, the program left the best for last; the six week rotation course on emergency medicine.

Dennis has been all but foaming at the mouth since he found out UPitt would send him six weeks into an actual emergency department in a level one trauma center, it’s almost the ambition of his life, to help those who can’t help themselves, it’s what he dreams of doing since taking a leap of faith and deciding to go to medical school.

And he is fucking nervous, he’d be crazy not to be, but he feels the excitement overcoming the nervousness, and he can’t wait to begin.

The only downside is having to share, again, yet another rotation with Michael Robinavitch.

It’s like the guy’s been following him from rotation through rotation, throughout the entire year; they’ve done pediatrics, obgyn, internal medicine, and general surgery and now, once again, Dennis has to face the guy to share another one.

And well, he didn’t always hate the man, he isn’t sure he actually hates him, but once he got a glimpse of the real Michael Robinavitch, only sour, unpleasant feelings rose in his chest.

It’s the first day of Dennis’ pediatrics rotation at UMPC Children’s Hospital and he’s so nervous he thinks he’s gonna pass out in front of the resident who’s welcoming them, or maybe puke on the guy’s shoes, or both.

And he feels grateful about not being the only fourth year student to start rotating there though, because he doesn’t know how he could’ve endured a clinical rotation without someone near him that at least understands how heavy it is in the last year of med school. As they go through introductions, a tall, handsome, lean, clean cut-type guy introduces himself as “Michael Robinavitch, MS4.” with a small, tight lip smile.

Then the group looks at him expectantly, and he stutters out, “Dennis Whitaker, also MS4”

And the other S4 looks at him and gives him a relieved smile, so they begin, the resident introduces the bunch to their attending, to other senior residents, some interns and the nurses and Dennis feels himself vibrate with energy when they go around the rooms looking at the kids admitted and throw around differentials and potential diagnoses.

And this Michael guy? Dennis can feel the intelligence radiating from his head, he responds to almost every question they get asked, even some ones that aren’t asked directly to him, which can be weird, but Dennis doesn’t blame him, everyone is excited, and he can admire when someone can hold their own against the pressure of a clinical rotation, so he knows he and Michael can make a great team if they so please.

The first days are challenging to Dennis, as he’s having to get used to an already established rhythm in the hospital on top of having to be ahead of his school work to keep the scholarship, but he finds a rhythm, and he and Michael get to work together on some cases.

Sure it’s a hurdle, the final year rotations tend to be harder and more specialized, but on the first few days he and Michael sort of team up to help each other on the hardest procedures.

And it starts to be also rewarding, because Dennis is good with kids, and he does enjoy being around them.

“Robinavitch,” the attending all but corners Michael on the second week, he’s standing next to Dennis on the hallway as they compare notes on the patient they just saw, “I got a two month old to watch before a CT scan, you up for it?”

And Michael stutters, “uhm, I’m not really good with babies.” he scratches the back of his neck and Dennis steps in.

“Uh, I can do it, doctor Charles.” Dennis raises his hand, next to Michael, who stares at him, the older doctor looks between the two of them then nods.

“Alrighty, c’mon.”

Dennis doesn’t notice Michael’s confused frown as he walks next to Dr. Charles and into the patient’s room, leaving the other student behind, alone in the hallway. Dennis is already focused on sitting next to the bassinet and smiling candidly at the mother.

And the staff notice how Dennis makes the kids smile and giggle and how he can calm a crying baby with a warm hand to the belly or a hum of his voice.

“Are you like a baby whisperer or something?” Michael asks him a little too sourly at the end of the second week, Dennis just calmed a weepy two year old and so they’re finally conducting an EKG under the tired, wondering eyes of the kid’s mother. Dennis scoffs and shakes his head.

“You have kids, Whitaker?” the nurse who’s assisting them asks under her breath.

“No,” Dennis blushes, “but I have seven nieces and nephews so… that helps.”

“Seven?” the mother asks behind them, Dennis smiles at her and nods.

“We’re a big family,” he shrugs, “I’m the youngest of four.”

“Oh, your poor mother.” the nurse clutches at the stethoscope around her neck in sympathy, which makes Dennis’ smile wider and Michael frown.

“All men, too.” Dennis shrugs. That also gets a reaction out of the women, which deepens Michael’s frown into a sort of scowl.

“They’re doctors like you?” the mother asks and Dennis shakes his head.

“I’m kinda the only one who got the chance to go to college,” he mutters sheepishly, “my brothers stayed in the farm.”

“Oh, they must be so proud of you.” the mother asks before the toddler starts wiggling on the bed, Dennis reaches to take the kid’s hand.

“You’d have to ask them.” he replies, his words directed at the mother while he looks at the kid, they both smile at Dennis, and Michael feels like his blood is boiling.

On the third and last week of the pediatrics rotation Dennis and Michael are working on setting an IV line into the arm of a crying five year old who only calms the wails and screams once Dennis starts telling him about farm animals.

When they step out of the room, Michael turns to Dennis with a smile that looks too smug to Dennis, “you were surprisingly delicate in there…”

Dennis furrows his brow, “thanks?”

“You practiced all this with the animals in your farm?” Michael asks, his hands shoved into the pockets of his scrub pants. Dennis feels heat rise to his face, he lifts his eyebrows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dennis crosses his arms over his chest, Michael shrugs.

“Is just a question, Whitaker, you do this like you have previous experience.” 

“Yeah,” Dennis nods a few times, “three years of medical school, like you, asshole.” 

The jab makes Michael scoff a laugh, while Dennis just shakes his head and walks away.

The thing with Michael Robinavitch, as Dennis has now gotten to see, is that the guy seems to really believe he deserves to be there, and sure the guy is smart and he’s well read and he understands the procedures on the first go, and has hands dextrous enough to perform and he’s good at it, but also he behaves like he’s the one doing the hospital a favor by being there. 

Michael saunters around the halls with his hands shoved in the pockets of his scrubs, as if he knows he’s handsome, and well, yeah, he is, Dennis can’t deny an objective truth, and neither can some of the nurses; the guy has it going for him, he’s tall, lean bordering on skinny, good-looking, has great hair, a nice warm voice and the clean shaven face that makes him look at least two years younger than he is, he wears nice scrubs and even has a Littman stethoscope with his initials engraved, but he also acts like he knows everything sometimes (most times) and always stands up eye level to the residents and the attendings, and even dares to question instructions, like he knows better. Even when Michael’s attitude doesn’t reach the patients, he doesn’t drop it with the staff.

And that doesn’t really go well with Dennis.

Not even mentioning the whole schtick Michael runs around with to hold over Dennis the fact he grew up in a farm, or his family being large, or him looking younger than he is, even when Dennis has learned he’s actually like, four months older than Michael.

Michael and Dennis end up on not so friendly terms once the pediatrics rotation ends, and they think they won’t get to see one another again. Ever.

Until obgyn rotation starts at the UPMC Magee-Women’s Hospital and again, for three weeks, they have to work together.

And they do work together; Michael finds it very frustrating how well they work together, as if they can somehow read each other’s minds or maybe they belong to a weird kind of hive mind. 

They assist on a birth on the first week, and the baby gets stuck by the shoulders on the mom’s pelvic bone and before the resident gets his sterile gloves in, Dennis and Michael both get one hand around the baby’s body and work together to rotate his tiny body as Michael starts quoting some article he just read and Dennis focuses both on Michael’s instructions and on calming down the mother.

The resident congratulates them both on quick thinking and rapid acting after both mom and baby are wheeled out to the recovery room and Michael and Dennis just nod, avoiding each other’s eyes.

“Hey, Michael?” Dennis calls him after the resident left them to clean up, Michael hums in acknowledgment, “would you text me that article you were talking about?”

“Sure, I’ll print it out for you.”

Dennis furrows his brow. “yeah, thanks.”

A beat.

“Was it your first time at a birth?” Michael asks, not looking at him, Dennis does look at the guy, takes in the lean complexion of his arms, the lanky frame of his back and idly wonders if he could tackle him, sure the guy’s like half a foot taller than him but Dennis knows he has that silent strength going for him.

“Human, at least.” Dennis mutters, knowing exactly the reaction he’s going to get.

“Knew it, farm boy.” Michael snorts and walks out of the room.

“Dick…” Dennis bites under his breath.

He’s fucking infuriating.

By the time the obgyn rotation ends and they start on internal medicine at PTCM, Michael and Dennis give each other tight lip, fake smiles and once-nods every time they stumble upon each other in the halls.

They stop comparing notes on patients and only talk to each other if it’s absolutely necessary. Mainly over the bodies of patients they’re working on, or when the team is doing rounds or when the resident and student team get scolded by the attending because someone fucked up.

They’re working on a case with one of the residents, looking onto the labs and scans of a nineteen year old with stage four kidney failure due to an autoimmune disease, and Dennis tries to talk to the kid so they can see how well he’s getting taken care of at home, but the kid just stares at Dennis like he’s got something on his face and says “I don’t care, man, I just want the new kidney.”

“Have you checked the black market lately? I heard there’s porcine kidneys on sale at the moment…” Michael asks the teenager, who looks up at him with a frown, Dennis and the resident stare daggers at him, and Michael knows the resident is about to pull him from the case before the kid smiles and chuckles.

“That’s cold, man,” he whispers, smiling wide through the oxygen mask, “maybe they’d give me a discount, two for one,” Michael chuckles, sitting next to the kid on the wheeled stool.

“You understand why we’re asking all these questions, right?” Michael asks, the kid scrunches his nose but nods, “you’re on the list for the transplant, man, but while you get to the top you gotta take care of yourself,” Michael points, his voice isn’t rough but isn’t kind, either, “we can help you do that.”

A beat, the kid shrugs, “fine, a’right,” he rolls his eyes, “what do you wanna know?”

After they get all the information they need and the resident gives the teenager and his mom, who rushed into the room apologizing for being late, the necessary instructions for proper at-home care, they walk out of the room. The resident slaps Michael on the back with a smile.

“You connected great with the patient in there, Mike,” he nodded his head at the closed door, “kinda unorthodox but achieved the goal.”

Michael shrugs, “it’s nothing.”

“Don’t undermine your effort,” the resident points out, “how did you know it’ll work?”

“I was an angry teenager too.” Michael mumbles with another sheepish shrug.

Dennis, besides him, snorts, tries to hide the sound under a cough, and Michael rolls his eyes.

See, Michael doesn’t hate Dennis, he just can’t stand him.

Can’t stand the way Dennis keeps his head down and thanks the staff every time he get assistance on a procedure like he’s actually grateful to be there at all, can’t stand the way the guy smiles to the patients and somehow always tries to find exactly what words of encouragement or soothing a patient needs (success rates might vary, though) with those puppy blue eyes of his, and that wide toothy smile and that midwest tang in his words that seems to enchant every woman, grandma and child that hears it. 

Michael can’t stand how Dennis immediately rises to his feet when someone calls for help, not even caring if he needs to scrub in for a procedure or just has to carry some boxes for the nurses with those fucking strong arms he hides under baggy scrubs, and how fucking smart the man is or how on every rotation the guy gets farewell hugs from the nurses and offers for letters of recommendation from the attendings.

Michael can’t stand to look at him. 

Because Dennis is his competition. And Michael is a mean contender.

The general surgery rotation at Mercy General is no different, if at all, makes it worse.

It begins with an appendectomy they both get to assist on, and it’s going as smooth as a routine open appendectomy can go, the resident asks them direct questions as Michael and Dennis wait on the sidelines, waiting to get their chance at suturing.

Until the resident asks them both a question.

“Appendix is out,” she asks, “next steps?” she doesn’t look at any of them or says their names, so it’s safe to assume it’s free for grabs.

“We have to send it to pathology.” Michael replies, eyes fixed on the open abdomen in front of him, she nods.

“For what?”

“To look for any carcinoid tumor.” Dennis adds, she tilts her head.

“Just carcinoids?”

“Also to look for neoplasms like mucinous cystadenoma or adeno—” Michael lists.

“—adenocarcinoma or maybe parasitic infestations, rupt—” Dennis cuts in, lifting fingers.

“—ruptures, lesions that signal chronic illnesses—” Michael and Dennis are looking at each other with frowns that the resident notices with a raised eyebrow.

“—or just to identify the gross inflammation to prevent complications in recuperation.” Dennis finishes, raising his voice a notch to talk over Michael, who narrows his eyes at him.

The OR falls silent for a beat.

“Good,” the resident sighs, handing Michael the kidney tray with the clamped appendix, “fix it, send it, write the report,” then looks at Dennis, “update the chart and order the recovery antibiotics.”

They both nod and turn to walk out of the OR, at the same time, Michael stands by the door as Dennis walks towards the charting station and just stares daggers at him.

“You’ve got a problem, Robinavitch?” Dennis takes off the gloves and pulls his badge to pull out the patient’s chart.

“You’re my fucking problem, Whitaker.” Michael mutters through the mask, Dennis scoffs.

“You need me to tell you where the formalin is?” 

“Fuck off,” Michael lets out, a bit rough for his own normal tone of voice, “you just had to take it away, didn’t you?” he walks towards the supply cabinet and takes a plastic container and a brown bottle.

“What, did I steal your thunder?” Dennis rolls his eyes as he types.

“Are you insane?” Michael leans on the counter, “they’re already suturing, genius,” he mumbles, taking the extracted organ and dropping it unceremoniously in the empty container and uncaps the bottle to fill it with clear liquid, “it’s your fault we’re not the ones doing it.”

Dennis looks at him with raised brows, forgetting the suturing at all.

“You do know you were supposed to drop the appendix into the liquid, not pour the liquid onto the appendix, right?” he points, Michael drops his shoulders.

“Fuck.” he whispers.

“Genius.” Dennis mumbles under his breath, turning back to the computer.

“Would you shut the fuck up?” Michael brushes a hand through his head, taking off the scrubcap. Dennis can’t stop himself from chuckling.

“So now you’re the only one that gets to be an ass and I don’t get my turn?” Dennis shakes his head, “not very team player of you.”

Michael doesn’t utter a word, he screws the lid on the cup and scribbles something on the lid, leaving it on another tray, “whatever, man.” he lets out under his breath as he walks out of the room.

Dennis sighs, rolls his eyes and clicks ‘save’ on the chart, standing by the window to see how the team closes up the patient.

Then it evolves when they both get to assist on an emergency c-section and there’s amniotic fluid on the floor and before Dennis can finish cutting the rest of the amniotic sack so they can take out the baby, he slips and drops the scissors on the floor. The resident looks at him, annoyment all over the face, before Michael, not even paying attention, leans down and picks them up.

“Oh, fuck.” Michael mutters under his breath.

“Outside!” the resident yells out, “both of you, goddamn children, get the fuck out of my OR!”

“Sorry, ‘m sorry.” Dennis mumbles as they both, at the same time, walk through the doors as the resident keeps going about sterile fields and having to tie up students.

Dennis looks at Michael with narrowed eyes, “seriously?”

“Was an honest mistake…” Michael just shrugs as they both take off the gloves and the gowns.

“A rookie mistake,” Dennis shakes his head, “that’s what it was.”

“Oh,” Michael lets out a fake laugh, “sorry mister perfect,” he throws away the scrub cap, “Hippocrates personified here I see.”

“Are you always this unpleasant?” Dennis asks as they walk into the hallway.

“Are you always this stuck up?” Michael rolls his eyes.

“Aha, look who’s talking,” Dennis scoffs a bitter smile, “you tell me, you’re the king of stuck up land.”

“You’re a fucking child.” Michael points a finger at Dennis, dangerously close to the blond’s sternum.

“Go ahead,” Dennis looks up at him, widening his arms, “touch me,” Michael scoffs at him, dropping his hand. “that’s what I thought.”

“I can’t wait to stop working with you, farm boy.” Michael turns around and flips him off over his shoulder.

“Fucking likewise.”

But life is a funny thing, it does it’s own thing so of course they have to find each other again, back at PTMC.

Dennis immediately feels his bile rise when they walk next to each other as doctor McKay shows them around the emergency department, they reach the nurses station right at the center of the place and they circle around a tall, black man.

“Welcome, guys,” his voice is warm and his lips form a gentle smile that settles Dennis’ nerves for a second, “my name is doctor Montgomery Adamson, I’m the chief attending here at what we endearingly call the pitt,” doctor Adamson looks around at the new faces and when his brown eyes fall onto Dennis’, Dennis feels warmth, “you can call me Monty, though,” he smiles, “long names in an ER are a nightmare.”

Dennis looks at Michael, who drops his gaze to the floor.

“Here to my right we have doctor Melissa King, she’s an R2, straight out of the VA.” he points at a woman next to him wearing thick rimmed glasses and braided hair.

“Everybody calls me Mel,” she says, smile wide, “‘m so happy to be here.” 

“Please, introduce yourselves.” Doctor Monty looks at the girls, first.

“Trinity Santos, intern.” 

“Victoria Javadi, MS3.”

Dennis breathes in when it’s his turn, “Dennis Whitaker, MS4.”

“Michael Robinavitch, MS4.”

“Ah, a long name,” Monty notices, looking at Michael, the doctor drops a hand on the student’s shoulder, “shorten it, so we don’t trip over it.”

Michael nods, “I can go by Mike.” he says with a shrug.

“Mike it is.”

Dennis looks at the sheepish expression on Michael’s face and burrows his urge to roll his eyes.

“These are your residents,” doctor Monty points at a group of people on Dennis’ right, “doctors McKay, Mohan, Collings and Langdon,” they all wave to the group of newbies, “you report to them, they report to me,” the man nods, then points to the gray-scrubbed people buzzing around the nurse’s station, and a short, blond woman with glasses raises her head, “that’s nurse Dana Evans, she’s our charge nurse and the ring-leader of our circus,” the woman waves to them and gets pulled away by a ringing phone, “always listen to the nurses, they run this ER, got it?”

They nod, all but enraptured by the warm voice of the attending, then, he asks the question Dennis was waiting for.

“Right, to our students,” he turns to the three youngest, “who here’s aiming for an emergency medicine residency?”

There’s two hands in the air.

Dennis’ and Michael’s.

Who look at each other and scowl.

“I see, both fourth years, if I’m not mistaken?” they both nod, Michael’s frowning, Dennis is about to roll his eyes, “well, I wish you both the best of lucks, then,” they turn to look at the attending, both baffled, “work together as a team, and you’ll get there,” he nods with a warm smile before clapping, “alright, let’s go same lives.”

The group disperses around them and for a moment, maybe a fraction of a second, Michael and Dennis stand there, in the middle of the ER, looking into each other’s eyes, just waiting for the other to say something, anything, before being pulled away onto opposite sides so they could start learning.

As Michael assists on a case of peritonitis and lists the labs and scans he and doctor Langdon would need before deciding on treatment, he rakes his head to find a strategy.

He didn’t know Whitaker also wants the residency he’s chasing, if at all, his first guess for the guy would be something like pediatrics or surgery or something where he doesn’t have to look at the man that makes his blood boil and his bile surge, but now that he knows, he’s going to do whatever it takes to get it for himself.

Because he wants it, God, he deserves it. Michael has put a lot if not too much effort on going through med school, enough that he knows he deserves to match in the residency he wants, enough to honor the ones he couldn’t save when it mattered the most. He can’t let some farm boy that has ragebaited him for the entire year steal the spot that has his name and last name written all over it.

For a moment Michael stands there, fingers over the keyboard, eyes glazed not focused on the screen; there must be something he can do that ensures he’ll get the spot, without potentially putting patients at risk or killing some of the staff.

Then, after he and Langdon walk out of the room and into another with a kid who broke his leg, Michael snorts.

“You good?” doctor Langdon looks at him with an amused smirk, Michael nods, pulls the curtain open and looks at the nasty bruise on the leg; the only thing he can do to gain the spot is be better than Whitaker, and that is as easy as setting a broken leg.

Michael stumbles upon Doctor Monty as the attending walks out of a room where he just intubated a really old man; the doctor smiles sadly at him and slaps him softly on the shoulder as he leaves and Michael stands on the doorframe for a moment, looking at the man; he’s restrained to the gurney, his delicate frame wrapped by a heavy blanket, his fuzzy white hair translucent under the fluorescent. The two people standing near the gurney, holding each other and crying at the sight of the poor old man make his chest tighten, they don’t notice he’s standing there looking at the scene, they don’t notice the way Michael’s face contorts and his mind goes back thirteen years in time to the date to remind him of that night he cried in a hospital room with his bubbe holding him together.

He shakes his head to make the memory disappear and jumps on the first trauma he sees.

“Wait really?” Is a few hours into the shift when Michael hears from one of the nurses as he walks out of trauma one and takes hand sanitizer, “poor kid.”

“And on his first day, too.” the other nurse with the hijab replies.

Michael is about to ask what happened when a sweaty Whitaker rushes past him towards the locker hall, finding Santos on the way.

“Hey, you good?” she asks him, Whitaker frowns, “I heard you killed a patient.”

Michael widens his eyes, focusing unabashedly on the two of them.

“Mister Milton had a heart attack,” Dennis whispers, “Monty let me go the mile beyond but…” he drops his gaze to the floor, “we lost him, doctor Monty called it.”

“Ah,” Santos wraps an arm around Dennis’ shoulders, the guy winces at the contact, “c’mon Huckleberry, that happens, you did everything you could,” Dennis just nods, and she leaves him to walk towards the lockers, then, she turns to Michael, “what?”

“Huckleberry?” he asks, biting his lower lip and leaning on the hub’s counter, Santos rolls her eyes.

“He’s from bumfuck, Nebraska,” she shrugs, “fuckin’ Huckleberry.”

Michael laughs, looking towards the locker hallway, seeing Dennis disappear at the turn of the wall.

Dennis tries his best to hold his tears at bay; he fucked up, he fucked up bad. How could he not know? he was supposed to know, he studied every night so he could know.

Rationally, Dennis knows he tried his best, and that the standard of care didn’t direct him towards checking mister Milton for the signs of a heart attack. But emotionally, Dennis feels as if he was the one who stopped mister Milton’s heart with his bare hands.

Dennis leans against the lockers, taking the silver cross that hangs around his neck from under the shirt and prays, asks God for forgiveness, asks God for guidance, asks him if he’s still there at all.

Then he sighs, swallows his tears, and goes back to work.

A few hours fly by in a blur, there are so many patients Dennis feels like it’s gonna take him days to process everything he’s been seeing, feeling and doing, his feet hurt already and he has gotten quite a lot of fluids on him so he’s had to change his scrubs like… three times.

And Michael sees him with blood all over his blue machine-issued set of scrubs and has the fucking nerve to say “alright Jackson Pollock.” which makes Santos cackle next to him.

Dennis goes to triage to maybe regain some sense of dignity and doctor McKay smiles at him and shows him the ropes; they’re in the process of debriding a burn when she puts a hand on his shoulder and softly asks “so what’s the deal with you and that Mike guy?”

Dennis scoffs with a shake of his head, eyeing the patient, who seems lost in her phone as the burn is numbed and she can’t feel a thing.

“He’s an asshole,” Dennis shrugs, eyes glued on the charred skin, McKay hums next to him, “we’ve landed in the same rotations maybe five times now and he’s a pretentious, arrogant, self-centered gunner.” he murmurs.

“Really?” she asks, Dennis nods, “well he wants the residency here next year.”

“He can keep wanting.” Dennis smirks.

“And that’s not arrogance?” doctor McKay crosses her arms and smiles down at him, “cut a bit more near the thumb,” Dennis gives her a toothy smile as he directs the shears and cuts, “good.”

“Not arrogant, doctor McKay,” he shakes his head, dropping the piece of dead skin onto a plastic tray, “I know I’m smart, I know I can get it.”

“Well,” she tilts her head to look at his process, “if you wanna go through the competing route,” her hand is on his shoulder again and the warmth of it reminds Dennis of his ma, he should call her, “just make sure to keep your eyes open,” she leans closer to his ear, “he might’ve started running already.”

Dennis looks up at her with a bemused glance, and gives her a nod before she goes to the next chair; she’s right, of course she’s right.

If Dennis is privy of something is the way Michael Robinavitch acts on rotations, how the guy shows up every new shift with a new article read, with information on procedures and standard of care; he’s a classic overachiever, and for some reason has no difficulty getting his hands into medical journals from all over the world, which makes Dennis kind of turn green in envy, if only envy weren’t a deadly sin.

For a moment, as he dresses the burn after cleansing, Dennis wonders how much reading he’d have to do to keep up with Robinavitch’s efforts, if at all. He knows Michael’s smart, but he can’t be smarter than him, can he?

As he tells the patient to wait for a nurse for the discharge papers and her prescription of antibiotics and pain meds, Dennis finds enough trust in himself to understand that if Michael wants to compete for the residency spot, he’d let him, but he’d be fighting alone, because Dennis knows he doesn’t need to do anything else besides being his own damn self, right as God has created him.

Dennis goes back inside the ER and struggles to pick a patient, all while Robinavitch runs around from room to room, it makes him itchy under his skin, seeing him almost frolic unbothered as if nothing affects him at all.

Michael notices the hesitation, for a moment his ego tells him he’s winning, that if whatever the hell is going on inside Dennis’ head is heavy enough then maybe the guy will realize the ED is not for him and then Michael is gonna earn the spot; but then, against his own better judgement, he feels a wave of empathy towards Dennis, must be fucking hard to loose a patient like that.

It isn’t until Michael works on the case of a little girl who drowned saving her sister that he utterly understands; he put so much of himself on compressing Amber’s chest and following doctor Monty’s instructions and yet she died, and Michael has the mother’s screams tattooed inside his brain.

This rotation is gonna be hard.

“Oh my god!” Michael hears a scream and then screeching, there’s a fucking dog in the ER and the dog has a rat in his mouth, theres a commotion and then, in front of everyone, Whitaker takes a blanket, throws it over the dog and the rat, pushes the dog away and kills the rat with his bare hands.

“Holy shit.” Michael mutters under his breath.

“Way to go, Huckleberry!” Santos chuckles behind him, Langdon fucking claps and Dennis dares to give a small bow at everyone who watched.

“Did you learn that on the farm, Huckleberry?” Michael asks with a smirk as Dennis walks past him towards the ambulance bay, Dennis just looks at him with a scowl and walks away.

“Hey,” Michael feels a push on his back, he turns to look at Santos behind him, “only I can call him that.” she’s looking at him like she’s gonna bite his head off, so he raises his hands in surrender and steps back with a mocking smile on his face.

Behind him, doctor Langdon stops him by the shoulders, Michael turns to look at the guy, who has a smirk plastered on his face and his unsettling blue eyes focus on him a little too much.

The crowd disperses and Langdon nods his head to the direction Dennis ran to “what’s with you and Whitaker?”

Michael frowns at the resident, “nothing…”

“I know when I see a rivalry,” Langdon smiles, “you two going for the same residency and start heckling each other on the first day? classic.”

Michael rolls his eyes, “it’s not the first day for us,” he crosses his arms, “we’ve been on the same rotations the whole year,” Langdon raises his eyebrows and nods, “he’s a stuck up who can’t take a joke.”

Langdon tilts his head, shrugs and then says “have you thought maybe the joke’s not funny?” and walks away.

Michael sighs at himself, before being pulled away for another case.

Then PittFest happens.

Everything is chaos all of the sudden, even more than usual.

Michael can feel the tension in the air increase as the nightshift attending walks in and he and Monty start explaining the mass casualty incident protocol; there are so many things to look for, so many details to not miss, and so many things that could go wrong, that the only thing Michael can do in his haste to keep up with all the information they’re being handed is look at Dennis just to see if he’s also freaking out.

Dennis looks scared, and that, for some reason, makes Michael feel less alone.

Michael and Dennis are assigned to work the yellow zone with doctors King and Santos and the sirens are so loud outside, and the patients begin to arrive like the first wave of a tsunami, the ER fills quickly with people; there’s screaming, rushing bodies and blood everywhere, the acidic rusty smell sticks to Michael’s skin as he hops from bed to bed, fastening tourniquets, applying pressure on wounds, trying to figure out status without labs or scans or ultrasound.

Dennis looks as frazzled as Michael feels, checking on IVs, trying to comfort patients over bloodied gauzes, with even bloodier hands.

They work together in tandem, almost wordlessly as they stabilize oozing wounds and try their best to staple skin together, but Dennis can see Michael’s hands start to shake.

“You good?” he asks in a low voice over the wounded leg of a patient, Michael nods without a word.

A woman arrives with a wound on the groin and Dennis, along with Michael and Mel try their best to stop the bleeding, but there’s so much of it despite the tourniquets, she keeps bleeding through the bandages and they keep having to replace them and the hole in her leg oozes and oozes redness all over their hands and the smell of rust and iron and broken skin permeates through the space and Michael feels so dizzy he has to step away despite Mel’s call of his name and Dennis’ blue eyes boring onto his head.

Michael wants to hide, he wants to find a hole in the ground and jump in and never let anyone find him; the blood in his hands is still warm and he pulls the gloves off with difficulty. He finds a door to push, a curtain to draw, and a wall to lean against and he closes his eyes and for a moment he allows himself to fall apart.

Inside his head he can hear the sound of sirens, the screams, two gun shots going off, he can feel the warm blood on his hands, his own cries for help, a rushed call to 9-1-1.

Michael tries to open his eyes and regain sight of where he is; he’s in the pediatrics room, and there are gurneys next to him and on the gurneys there are bodies, dead people, and in Michael’s chest rises a sob, then another, and he covers his eyes because he’s crying so hard he can’t breathe, and he can’t hold himself together.

It’s the same day, it’s the same day happening all over again but instead of fourteen he’s twenty seven and he can’t stop it; two gun shots, screams, blood, blood fucking everywhere, his hands not big enough to put pressure on two wounds at the same time, bodies next to him, his throat dry and hoarse from screaming, his eyes swollen from crying, sirens, sirens, sirens, blood in his hands, blood in his shirt, blood on the carpet, blood. Red, red, red.

Dennis finds Michael on the floor, rocking from side to side with his hands on his face, he’s muttering something unintelligible. Dennis feels a heavy pang settle in his chest at the sight of him. In that moment, Michael Robinavitch becomes a human being in need of comfort. Dennis walks closer and crouches in front of him, he can see Michael’s trembling fingers holding a star of David’s golden pendant that hangs from a chain around his neck and stutters for a second.

“Robi—Michael?” Dennis puts his hand on Michael’s knee and the other man jerks away, mumbling something under his breath, “hey,” Dennis whispers, trying again, this time Michael doesn’t move, “hey it’s okay…”

“No, no, no,” Michael cries out, looking into Dennis’ eyes, “no—not fine.”

There’s something Dennis’ sees into those deep chocolate eyes of his; pure fear.

“Alright, let’s go,” Dennis stands up, extending his hand for Michael to take. The other man looks at Dennis, then at the hand, “c’mon, we’ve work to do.”

“I can’t.” Michael chokes out.

Dennis lets out a sigh, “I—I know it’s hard,” he whispers, “but the patients don’t care, Michael,” he mutters, Michael looks at him, “they need you, they need us.”

That seems to do the trick, Michael sighs deeply, takes the hand presented to him and Dennis hauls him up, idly thinking that the guy is lighter than he previously had thought. Then Michael shoves him back by the chest with the same hand that took his.

Dennis gets the message, he nods and turns to grab a blanket, “see you out there, man.”

Michael stares at Dennis as he leaves and then stares onto the space he stood long after he left; he’s breathing hard, and still shaking.

He doesn’t know why Dennis helped him, at all, and for a moment, the fear of Dennis ratting him out to Adamson rises into his chest and overpowers the hollow of dread that he felt before, but then he remembers the way Dennis looked at him, the way his blue eyes glimmered with something tender inside, and then Michael knows that if there had been someone else, anyone else who found him on the floor, he’d be done for, he’d get kicked out and his chance at the residency he’s willing to fight tooth and nail for will be taken from him.

But this thing in Dennis’ eyes after he shoved him keeps coming back to the front of his mind, this weird glint of something akin to understanding, something that felt warm despite always having Dennis looking at him with coldness. It reminds him of the first time they met, months and months ago, in the colorful halls of the children’s hospital. Before they turned sour to each other.

Michael wipes his tears away, rips the disposable gown off and walks out of the makeshift morgue. He needs to get back to work.

It’s apparent that after almost three gruesome hours the influx of patients is decreasing, and the CMO gathers everyone around to tell them the shooter killed himself and no more ambulances would be heading the hospital’s way, she kind of congratulates the staff, which makes Michael roll his eyes in a weird combination of annoyance and disbelief, but the air around him is tense, and people look at doctor Monty expectantly until the man claps somberly once and tells everyone to get ready to open back to the public.

Everyone moves around Michael, and he stands in the middle of the hall for a few seconds too long before a new trauma rolls in and Michael gets wiped away for it.

After witnessing doctors Shen and Monty have at it with the patient’s parents, who trust google more than the doctors working on their son, Michael glances at doctor King and nods to the back door, she frowns but nods, so he slides out of the room towards the hall, stumbling over Dennis, as the guy walks out of the elevator.

“Oh, shit.” Dennis mumbles out, stepping back to avoid the apparent collision, and eyes him from head to toe and back to the head.

Michael feels an itch, and decides to scratch it.

“Hey,” he mumbles, looking at the sides to check if anyone is paying attention, “you got a minute?”

Dennis frowns, confused, but nods.

Michael walks towards the opposite wall so a brown cylindrical pillar conceals them both, and Dennis asks, “what’s up?” as he folds his arms across his chest.

Dennis can see the way something weighs on Michael’s shoulders, and he notices how the words he wants to say get stuck behind his lips, so he waits, doesn’t push.

“I just—I wanted to…” Michael drops his gaze to the floor for a second and Dennis feels odd, he has never seen him do that in front of anybody, as if he feels shame, “wanted to thank you for—for what happened before.”

Dennis doesn’t scratch the itch to touch him, instead he says, “ah, yes,” Michael looks up at him with wet eyes, “your moment of silent reflection.”

Michael scoffs, lip trembling, then, he looks straight into Dennis’ eyes, “are you gonna tell an—”

“No,” Dennis shakes his head resolutely, and Michael nods once, taking his word for it, “don’t worry about it,” he looks into Michael’s eyes and remembers the low, mumbled chant he heard when he walked into pedes, “what was the thing you were reciting?”

Michael purses his lips trying to disguise a sheepish smile, “it’s called the shemá prayer,” he mumbles, “I’m jewish, it’s kind of like a declaration of faith.”

Dennis hums, narrows his eyes and looks at Michael as if he’s deciding something, then he mumbles, “even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall…” Michael feels himself straighten up, taken aback by the sudden words spoken to him in a low, almost careless tone, “but those who hope in the Lord, will renew their strength, and they will soar on wings like eagles,” Dennis lifts a corner of his mouth, “it’s Isaiah forty.”

“Do you go around reciting bible verses?” Michael tries a jab, but falls more like a query, Dennis bites his lip and shakes his head.

“I was an undergrad theology major,” he blinks a few times, then takes a step back, “I don’t know why I said that.”

Michael scratches his cheek and gives Dennis a smile, “I don’t know if I actually believe in God, y’know?”

Dennis tilts his head, hums, “well, either way, he believes in you.”

Then he turns around and leaves Michael standing in the middle of the hall, head reeling, trying to figure out how he’s supposed to feel after that conversation and the meaning of it.

Doctor Monty releases the day shift and those who came in on their days off from duty after what Dennis would describe as the saddest speech ever.

“Hey, Huckleberry,” Santos grabs Dennis by the shoulders and almost jumps onto him, it makes him laugh, but he drowns it and morphs it into a groan, “c’mon I’ll give you a ride.”

“I’m good, Santos, thanks.” they walk out through the ambulance bay doors. Michael is there, bag hung on one shoulder, leaning the other against the farthest wall, smoking a cigarette. Dennis didn’t know he smokes, the sight of the man, tired beyond his years, half-lit by the fluorescents on the ER entrance while he holds the recently-lit stick to his lips and breathes in, makes something twirl inside Dennis’ chest. Michael closes his eyes and throws back his head against the wall as he exhales and the cloud of smoke curls around the space and frames his face and Dennis needs to fucking leave.

“I won’t take no for an answer, Huck” Santos whispers next to him, it almost makes Dennis’ bones jump out of his body, Michael hears them or feels them or notices them and he just stares at them.

“Okay, fine.” Dennis nods, letting himself be guided by Santos towards the employee parking lot, the feeling of Michael’s brown eyes still stuck in the back of his neck.

Michael follows Dennis and Santos with his eyes until they disappear behind a wall and inhales the nicotine. There was something there, in Dennis’ eyes, as they looked at one another.

He doesn’t want to address how it makes him feel.

“Hey,” a man with short, curly hair, dressed in the same black scrubs he’s wearing walks towards him, “can I bum one?” he points to the cigarette in his hand, Michael shrugs and takes the pack out of the pocket of his scrub top along with the lighter, “you okay?” he asks, lighting the cigarette “that mass casualty was something.”

“It sure was,” Michael takes back the pack and sniffs, “do you work here or…”

“I’m a MS3,” the guy points at the ER doors, “I’m rotating night shift, though.”

“Cool,” Michael nods, pushing himself off the wall, taking one last drag of the cigarette on his hand, he drops it to the floor and stumps it with his shoe, “Michael Robinavitch.” he extends his right hand.

The guy puts the cigarette between his lips and takes Michael’s hand “Jack Abbot.”

Dennis gets into the passenger seat of Santos’ car and she brings the engine to life, “what’s the deal between you and Mike?” she asks, not even turning to spare him a glance, Dennis rolls his eyes.

“He’s an asshole.” Dennis mutters out his reply, looking out the window as she drives onto the road, the night feels cold and darker than usual, and Dennis feels weary and tired and could probably sleep ten hours if he had the next day off.

“That’s it?” she asks, slowing down to a stop on a red light, she turns to see him, “there’s something else there, I know it.”

“Nothing else, Santos,” Dennis shrugs, holding his bag closer, “take a right here.”

She does, then chuckles, “what’s with all the tension, then?” she glances at him, “you two fucked or something?”

“Jesus, no!” Dennis’ face dismorphs in disgust and she lets out a head-thrown-back laugh.

“Then you want to?” she snickers, Dennis chokes on his own spit.

“N—no!”

“My radar tingles around you, Huckleberry.” she sing songs.

“Take the next exit,” he mumbles, turning to look at her with a confused gaze, “your radar?”

“My gaydar…” she wiggles her eyebrows at him and speeds through several green lights, Dennis groans and squeezes his eyes shut, “what, is it a secret?” she has the decency to look a bit fretted.

“Not a secret,” Dennis mumbles, playing with one of the straps of his bag, “just not… loud.”

“Ah,” she relaxes, “that’s so Huckleberry of you.” she jabs, making Dennis laugh.

“Can I tell you something?” he lets out.

“Shoot.”

“The nickname’s growing on me,” Dennis mutters, Santos lights up and slaps his knee with her right hand, “ow?”

“Yes! I knew you’d like it!” she all but screams, Dennis laughs.

“Now, like is a strong word…”

“Shush, Huckleberry, let me have this!” she groans, Dennis laughs louder.

“But seriously,” Dennis wipes an errant tear from the corner of his eye, Santos looks at him for a second, “it’s better than farm boy or any variant of that.”

“Who calls you that?” her eyebrows furrow, “Mike calls you that?” 

“Sometimes, yeah,” Dennis clears his throat, “I met him on my first rotation of the year,” she hums, “he kinda gets a kick out of the whole farm motif.”

“What an ass…” she bites out, Dennis snorts.

“Told you…”

“Uhuh…”

“Take the next left,” he points, she nods, “the green house by the end of the street.”

She stops in front of a small, one story house. It looks more like a cottage than a house, it looks too dark if so for a faint blue light that filters out the window, the lawn is unkept and there are two mismatched lawn chairs by the door that have definitely seen better days, she frowns at Dennis, “you live here?”

Dennis nods, “yeah, with a friend from school,” he gives her a noncommittal shrug, “thank you, for the ride.” he smiles at her sheepishly and aims for the door.

“Wait,” Santos makes a quick move of locking back the car and trapping Dennis inside, “seriously?” Dennis looks bashedly at the house and nods, “sorry Huck but this looks like a shithole.”

Dennis snorts, “it is, but it’s all I can afford.”

Santos looks at him like a new head just grew out of his neck or like he just told her he wants to marry her and take her to Nebraska to live on the farm, and he doesn’t tell her that the only reason he has this shithole who at least provides some roof over his head is because when his mom found out he was sleeping in shelters and park benches, she sent him all her money despite his better arguments and he has to stretch it as much as he can so she doesn’t go in debt for him. Her green eyes narrow and glint against the mercurial lights on the street and she shakes her head.

“Nah, man,” she looks back at the shack and slaps him on the arm, “go grab your shit, you’re coming with me.”

“What?” Dennis frowns, covering the spot where she just hit him.

“I have an extra room and it’s not big but it’ll be better than this…” she rolls her hand trying to come up with something, “medieval hut.”

“Santos, I couldn’t possi—”

“Huckleberry!” she takes his shoulder, “this is a one bedroom house, where the fuck are you even sleeping? the couch?” he doesn’t dignify her question with an answer, “I have an empty room with a bed and a bathroom for yourself, go grab your victorian sad boy clothes and let’s go!” she groans.

“Victorian bo—Santos, I can’t pay yo—”

“You don’t have to, man,” she levels him with a stare, and Dennis thinks that for a woman with such pretty eyes they sure can stare daggers into someone, “you’ll pay me back when you start making the big bucks,” she presses the button to unlock the car, “you’ve five minutes before I get bored and leave without you.”

Dennis blinks once, twice, then nods and rushes out the door.

It takes him four minutes and seventeen seconds to pack his stuff and say goodbye to his roommate before dropping the key on the kitchen counter and bolting back towards Santos’ car, engine still running.

She waits for him to buckle his seatbelt and speeds away.

Santos drives a bit too recklessly for Dennis’ liking, but she turns on the radio and she’s humming along to some song about karma and crashing cars. He leans back on the seat and looks through the window.

He’s so damn tired he could just drop to the floor once they enter Santos’ apartment; Dennis is sure she’s telling him something about a copy of the key and the downstairs neighbors and a leaky showertap but he just wants to pass out and sleep for whatever the hell amount of time before his alarm blasts and he has to rise and shine and rinse and repeat.

Santos guides him to the room that is now his and Dennis mumbles another apology and another thanks before she leaves him there and he just drops on the bed.

The mattress is firm, the pillows smell dusty and the sheets are a bit scratchy but Dennis doesn’t care, he just toes off his sneakers, shimmies out of his scrubs and falls asleep to the image of Michael Robinavitch blowing smoke at his face.

Michael doesn’t want to wake up at all.

Yesterday drained the shit out of him.

If not for the unwelcome panic attack, for the fifteen hours he spent on his feet, running and rushing trying to keep up the pace.

But he smells bacon and his stomach grumbles and he opens one eye to look at his phone, it’s five past six.

He goes through the motions of showering and getting ready for what he considers to be another gruesome day in the pitt, if not gruesome, at least exhausting.

Twenty minutes later he’s sitting next to his bubbe all but engulfing the eggs and turkey bacon on toast she made, while she sips on the tea he fixed for her.

“Went to the cemetery yesterday…” she murmurs, like throwing the phrase out on the table for him to do whatever he wanted with it.

“You went alone?” he asked, sipping on his orange juice to undo the knot in his throat. She nods.

“Are you going to come home late again today?” she levels her brown deep eyes on him through the thick rimmed glasses, Michael shrugs.

“‘dunno,” he slurps some coffee to annoy her, “why, you wanna do something?”

“I’ll wait ‘till you get a day off,” she waves a hand dismissively, stands up and rakes a hand softly through Michael’s wet hair, “I left a stone there from you…” she sighs, Michael can only nod, “I’ll go back to bed, be good today.”

“Always.” he smiles when she slowly leans to leave a kiss on the crown of his head and follows her as she shuffles at the slow pace that gives away her age out of the kitchen.

Michael looks at the spot she just disappeared through, brows furrowing as he feels a heavy twinge in the middle of his stomach, he doesn’t want to think about his bubbe’s age, or how slow she moves, or how he’s been so immersed in his job and school and everything that the woman had to go alone all the way to the cemetery on the anniversary of her son’s death. He tries to bury deep all the thoughts, so he finishes his breakfast, rinses the dish and sprints out to the house, bag strapped tightly on his shoulders.

As he walks into the pitt, Michael gets the tiniest glimpse of the pedes room out of the corner of his eye and his step halts. He can’t go in there. He needs to avoid it at all costs.

Dennis and Santos both walk in towards the hub and Michael feels another twinge, different than the one he felt earlier, tighter, it’s not pain, but is something he hasn’t felt in a while now; he doesn’t need that, he doesn’t need to feel anything for Dennis Whitaker.

It’s not like Dennis expected anything to change, at all. But when Michael steps into the day shift team huddle and doesn’t even look at him, he notices.

Alright then, they’re not gonna talk about it at all.

Dennis can do that. In fact he’s an expert at it.

The rest of the first week of ER rotation isn’t as chaotic as the first shift, by the divine grace of god, but it’s still heavy.

And despite their better wishes, Michael and Dennis get paired up for a lot of traumas; doctor Monty heard from someone upstairs about the internal medicine rotation they did months prior, and decided that, as they got great reviews from their instructors, they’re gonna work together as much as they can, so they can learn together.

Michael wants to punch something when he finds out.

But he knows there’s no room for him to fail, he really needs to win the residency spot.

So he shoves any distasteful remarks and goes on with his work.

Dennis kinda laughs when he notices the pattern. Of course they’re paired up, it’s like destiny is playing a sick, twisted game with him.

But he’s endured worse, so he grinds on.

In the second week they assist doctors Monty and Langdon with a burn victim; Teddy Miller, who burned about ninety percent of his body while transferring gas at his farm.

While Monty speaks to Amy, the patient’s wife, Michael follows Dennis’ unsure movements, a bit surprised by the demeanor he’s exhibiting. 

In all the months he’s been rotating with him, he could count with the fingers of one hand the times he’s seen Dennis that nervous; yeah he can get twitchy at times, but never restless, and as they work on intubating Teddy, Dennis has a pained expression on his face that only gets concealed by the mask he has on his face.

Teddy looks like his eldest brother Jacob, and not only physically, although the resemblance is scary, Teddy has a baby on the way and the last time he talked to his ma, she told him Jacob and his wife are now expecting their third child.

Dennis can’t help but feel a connection to him, and to Amy, who steps out of the trauma bay once they finish the intubation and then stands there, unsure, scared. Dennis wants to hold her but refrains, she’s there alone, she looks so small and she looks so lost.

He can’t help himself from talking to her, to tell her they’re doing everything they can, because they are; to assure her he’s not in any pain, to let her know that he’s getting the best care possible.

Jesse gives Amy Teddy’s ring in pieces and she cries at the sight; Dennis tells her he had to cut it because of the swelling and she asks him if he has a best friend, because Teddy is hers since they were fifteen.

Dennis thinks about his answer, ponders if he should go with the safe one and tell her about his three older brothers, who tortured him growing up and never defended him against their father; or maybe he could tell her about his last roommate, who charged him a hundred bucks a month so he could sleep on the couch in the living room and always ate his cereal; or maybe he could tell her about the other student he’s been having a latched on competition for the whole year; or the girl who saw the pigpen he lived in and decided to kindly but begrudgingly open the doors of her house to him.

He doesn’t answer, instead asks “highschool sweethearts?”

“We were just a couple of nerdy aggies who fell in love,” she smiles through the tears, “sorry, I—”

“No,” Dennis tries to smile at her, “it’s fine,” she wipes her tears away, “I’m actually a third generation Nebraska farm kid myself.” he tells her, hoping to ease her embarrassment. Amy widens her eyes with a sad smile.

“Well, if you ever homesick you should come by our farm sometime.”

Dennis tries his best to give her a smile, he’s so fucking homesick he feels lightheaded sometimes. He’s been in Pittsburgh for over three years and he spent another four in Lincoln while in undergrad and with every pass of month after month, of the years, Dennis increasingly feels like he can’t fucking breathe. He misses the fresh air, the wide fields, he misses the feeling of the sun shining directly onto his freckled skin, he misses his ma, he misses his home, he misses reading on the hayloft and lying down by the driveway to look at the stars.

And he knows it’s more about the concept of home than the house itself, he knows he needed to get out as soon as he could or his inner light would be dimmed by his father’s actions, his mother’s silence and the responsibility of tending to the farm, but, and this is something he would never dare to tell to anyone, when he left Broken Bow he hated the city; he hated the smog-saturated air, the noise, the people who can’t seem to bear an ounce on empathy for others, it was so overwhelming; he learned to find things to enjoy, like food or bars or specific people to talk to. But for the first year outside his hometown, he wanted nothing but to go back home.

“That’s very kind.” he musters, because it is. Because he thinks of saying yes but he doesn’t want to abuse the kindness he’s just been offered.

Then Teddy’s breathing starts distressing and Dennis and Michael both get to participate in his escharotomy but Dennis can’t allow himself to feel the satisfaction of a well-done procedure because he just sees his brother’s face there, charred and mangled.

Michael just looks at him, confused. But part of him recognizes that glint in Dennis’ eyes, that apprehension; he understands the subtle lift of the eyebrows in cognizance. He has seen the gestures in his own face in the mirror. The patient reminds Dennis of someone, someone important.

When the ICU comes to get Teddy, Amy thanks him, and Dennis promises to stop by the ICU to check on them, and she leaves after reminding him of dinner with them at the farm.

Doctor Langdon and Michael stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

Dennis knows the statistics, he has read enough books and articles to know the percentages, and Langdon reminds him of them once the trauma bay is empty except for the three of them, “his chance of dying in the next week is over ninety percent.”

Dennis can’t stop himself from defending his own biased belief “he’s young, he’s strong, maybe he’s the ten percent.”

Michael shakes his head beside him, and Langdon sighs.

“Maybe,” the doctor shakes his head, “but he’s a lot more likely to die of sepsis before his kid is born.” and he turns around and leaves.

Dennis lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes glued to the door the staff just wheeled Teddy through.

Michael stands beside him with his arms crossed over his chest, “you know he’s not gonna make it, Whitaker.”

Dennis frowns, “we’re not sure of that.” he mutters without looking at him.

Michael tilts his head.

A beat, then, “yeah,” Michael bites his lower lip, “yeah we are.”

Dennis turns his head so fast Michael winces, “gain some fucking empathy.”

Michael’s brow shoots up and he scoffs, “the fuck did you just say?”

“You heard me,” Dennis mumbles, his face hardening, and Michael can’t stop himself from taking a step back, “don’t be an asshole, not on this.”

Then he turns around and walks out of the bay.

Michael stares at the ER through the glass doors, mouth agape.

When their shift ends, Michael hears Dennis tell Santos he won’t need a ride, that he’s going to the ICU to check on the Millers.

A side of Michael thinks is stupid and a waste of his time; why would Dennis spend his evening in the room of a patient he just met? why would anyone? 

Another side, the one who’s spent more time than it’s fair in hospital waiting rooms, feels some sort of longing; he never got a hospital person to sit with him in anticipation of news.

He wonders why Dennis feels so compelled to go there, and thinks maybe it has something to do with the kind of person Teddy is; a farmer, a family man, something that Michael himself has never experienced or had, but Dennis has, and he gets it, kinda.

He just hopes Dennis doesn’t get too attached.

Teddy dies three days later.

Michael overhears doctor Monty telling Langdon, and he wonders how Whitaker is taking the news, but he doesn’t have to wonder for long.

Dennis is a mess.

Never outright so the patients can notice, but he’s absentminded, his gaze gets lost in the space whenever he has a minute free, he snaps at people, not blatantly, because he’s midwestern and that’s not in his blood, but he’s sour and short-witted.

“Hey,” Michael walks towards Dennis at the hub, it’s the last day of their third week, Dennis is charting while eating a protein bar, Michael leans his elbows on the counter, “Monty needs you in south twenty, Huckleberry.”

Dennis drops the half-eaten bar on the desk, turning to look at Michael with a hardened stare, “don’t call me that.”

Michael blinks twice, frowning at the voice tone, he didn’t know Dennis voice could go that low, for deflection, he chuckles, “alright, jeez.”

“Everythin’ good, kid?” Dana asks him after Dennis stands up and walks away, Michael takes a deep breath.

“Yeah, Dana,” he nods, “just Whitaker being his charming self.”

Dana hums, “take it easy on him, Robinavitch, he’s had a couple of days.”

Michael snorts, eyeing the board, “who hasn’t?”

Hours later, Dennis and Michael assist doctors McKay and Mohan with a stabbed patient; they answered all the questions, they followed all the instructions, they even got to stitch a couple of sutures each, but Dennis still talks with this edge in his voice that everyone recognizes yet no one dares to address.

It’s getting old really quick.

Michael corners Dennis in the break room after they hand off the patient to the surgical team.

“How much longer are you gonna be this pissy?” 

Dennis turns with a deadpan expression, “excuse me?”

“You’ve been snapping at everybody for days,” Michael shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants, “what’s the issue now?”

Dennis scoffs, “I’m not talking to you about this.” he aims to leave.

“Is this about that burn victim?” Michael asks, Dennis stops in his stride with wide eyes and a grimace, Michael sighs, “why are you acting like this? he’s not even your first patient to die, Huckleberry.”

If someone, in the future, asks Michael to describe exactly what happens next, he wouldn’t be able to do so.

Dennis’ face flushes bright red, he darts towards Michael, grabs him by the scrubtop and shoves him against the wall of the break room, Michael lets out a hiccuped noise that makes him cringe, “didn’t I fuckin tell you to stop calling me that?” Dennis mutters through gritted teeth, nostrils baring, “are you deaf or purposefully obtuse?”

“Let go of me,” Michael wraps his hands around Dennis’ wrists and tries to undo the hold, “let the fuck go.”

Dennis’ eyes water, he narrows his gaze and gives him a final push before letting go, it fucking hurts, and Michael feels like half the air got knocked out of his lungs. Dennis stares at him with one hand pressed against his mouth, and Michael notices again that glimmer he saw back in pedes.

Dennis drops his hand, and he seems like he wants to say something, but he closes his mouth and bolts out of the room.

“Fuck.” Michael presses a hand against his sternum, his chest stings.

Michael walks out of the break room with a soon-to-be bruise on his chest and the too familiar ache of guilt clinging to his skin. He really needs to learn to shut the fuck up.

Dennis is freaking out.

He just grabbed and shoved a classmate against a fucking wall because he can’t seem to get over the death of a patient.

He just assaulted a classmate.

Not any classmate, fucking Michael Robinavitch of all people.

Dennis is sure he’s going to get kicked out, and for the next couple of hours, he works with the certainty that doctor Monty is gonna approach him with a displeased shake of his head and escort him out of his ED.

But that doesn’t happen.

And Dennis finishes his shift with no more incidents and he walks out with Trinity by his side, getting a glimpse of Michael as he talks animatedly with a redheaded man by the elevator door.

“And why do you keep calling him that anyway?” Jack asks with a snort, Michael shrugs.

“It’s funny, I think.”

“Do you even know what it means?” Jack mumbles out. Michael stares at him with an unimpressed gaze.

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me either way…”

The thing about Jack Abbot is that he’s direct. They’ve known each other for three weeks and Michael already feels like he could ask this man to help him bury a body or rob a bank, and Jack would help him. There’s this bluntness to him that makes Michael feel like he could tell him all of his secrets and Jack would either take them to the grave or forget about them the second he focuses on something else. And he likes that about him. Also the fact that he takes no shit and gives less than; something that he got drilled into him in the army’s basic training.

“It can either be two things,” Jack mumbles, leaning down a bit to scratch his right leg, right on top of where Michael knows his prosthetic leg joins his residual limb, “for the right one you’d have to ask Santos but,” he narrows his hazel eyes and tilts his head, “can be from Huckleberry Finn or the plant.”

“There’s a plant?”

“Jesus Mike, this is why you get it handed to you,” Jack chuckles in feigned exasperation, Michael rolls his eyes, “there’s this berry that grows in the midwest, like in the forests and bogs and shit, that’s huckleberry.”

“I—” Michael hums, “I thought it was because of Mark Twain.”

“Of course you did,” Jack shrugs, “you assumed it because for you, Whitaker is just some farm boy tryna steal something from you,” he slaps him on the shoulder, “that’s so Pittsburgh of you, man.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Michael asks as Jack walks away towards the hub.

“Go home, Mike.” Jack throws him a peace sign over his shoulder.

They’re in the middle of the fourth week when something snaps again; Dennis has been feeling better about Teddy’s death, he has been texting with Amy a few times and she reassures him she’s doing as good as can be.

They’re in trauma two working in a twelve year old who got run over by a car, her lung collapsed and doctor Monty is guiding Dennis through the steps to secure a chest tube while Michael keeps bagging from an oxygen mask.

“Good,” doctor Monty nods, “now secure with two stitches,” Dennis nods, “alright we’ve got A, B, C and D down, Mike, go ahead with E.”

Michael nods and walks around to grab the pair of shears to cut the girls pants, “bruises on the legs,” he palpates, “non tender, none obvious fractures,” Monty nods and Michael moves to grab her right arm, bumping onto Dennis, “would you move?” 

Dennis grunts, finishing the first suture, “I’m busy here.” Michael scoffs.

“Okay, focus, please,” Monty looks at the pair, “work around each other.”

Michael sighs and reaches from behind Dennis, palpating the girl from the clavicle down the arm, “displaced fracture of the right humerus,” he calls, as Dennis lifts his head and almost hits him on the chin, “Jesus, Huckleberry.”

“Don’t call me that.” Dennis mumbles, cutting the last stitch and sliding away through the side, Michael frowns, he can feel the nurses and doctor Monty looking at him; heat creeps into his neck as he walks around the gurney and palpates the other arm. When he finishes he moves to the ribs on the left side.

“I feel two ribs moving,” Dennis stands next to him, he has the sonogram array on his hand and presses it in the middle of the girls chest, Michael takes a glance and before he can think about what he’s doing he mumbles, “nothing on the pericardial.”

“Jesus Christ…” Dennis groans, looking at him in obvious irritation, Michael rolls his eyes and Dennis continues sliding the array down to the right, “a little fluid on Morrison’s,” then to the left, “nothing on the splenorenal,” and finally down the abdomen, “no fluid in the suprapubic.”

“Good,” Monty sighs, “Princess, let’s get radiology in here for chest and arms, and page Garcia to see if we need a thoracoscopy,” the nurse nods and doctor Monty turns to look at them, “Whitaker, Robinavitch, a word?”

Michael drops his shoulders as the attending walks out of the trauma bay, they peel off their gloves and their disposable gowns and follow doctor Monty towards the stairwell.

“Doctor Monty, I—” Michael starts, the attending lifts a hand to shut him up.

“I’m no stranger to the rivalry you two have going on,” Monty says, his arms crossed over his chest, Dennis feels himself deflating, “but it would be a mistake of me as the chief of this department to let it affect patient care.”

Dennis scrambles to say, “It won’t happ—”

“I’m not done.”

“Sorry.”

“When you two started your rotation I told you to work together,” he eyes at the two students in front of him, the stare doesn’t lack warmth but is stern, strict, “because emergency medicine is all about team work and team effort, so whatever differences you have with each other, leave them outside this ED,” they nod somberly, Monty lets out a sigh, “you both are some of the smartest students I’ve had in a while,” he grins at them, Michael doesn’t dare to drop his eyes off the man, “I’d be lucky to have any of you on our residency program next year,” Dennis feels himself light up, “but act professionally and accordingly, you’re not in a playground, got it?”

“Got it.” they say in unison. Monty gives them a satisfied nod.

“I’ve seen how you work,” he tilts his head, “you act quick, you know how to prioritize and you both care about the patients,” he points at them, “but together you’re a force to be reckoned with…” Dennis glances at Michael from the corner of his eye, Monty notices and conceals a smirk, “figure out your shit, kids.”

Dennis raises his eyebrows in surprise, Michael drowns a gasp, their eyes follow doctor Monty as the man re-enters the ED.

Neither of them pronounce a word. A fine mist of tension falls down between them as they stare at each other. It’s like they want to say something, Dennis feels his hands twitch and Michael’s head is reeling to find words.

“Two weeks to go.” Michael looks into Dennis eyes, trying to find that glimmer he knows he holds inside those deep blue pools.

Dennis’ face does something complicated; his brows curl in a frown, his lips purse then rise up slightly. The glint is there, Michael recognizes it and suddenly his chest feels lighter.

Dennis doesn’t understand why Michael is looking at him like that, like he’s searching for something; his warm brown eyes are roaming around his face and he can notice the tired bags under his eyes and the wetness he remembers from that conversation they had on their first shift.

“Two weeks.” Dennis concedes with a nod.

They don’t shake on it, but it feels like a truce.

They shut it down, Dennis tries his best to not roll his eyes or snort at whatever commentary Michael makes around the pitt, he tries his best to stop himself from groaning whenever Michael says or does something that shows how little streetsmart he has; and it works. They don’t really talk to each other, they just work around one another.

Michael forces himself to stop calling Dennis names, he stops trying to snoop in his business or saying out loud his opinions on him, and it’s quiet between them, it’s almost peaceful.

Until the last shift.

Dennis feels antsy, he feels his entire body vibrate as the clock strikes seven in the afternoon; he’s excited for what’s next, and he sure has made it real clear that he’s going to be applying for the residency spot next year.

He’s not the only one, though.

Doctor Monty approaches them both in the locker hallway, they’re emptying their respective ones.

“Michael, Dennis,” they turn to look at him, Dennis turns to Trinity, who’s waiting for him at the exit, and she shrugs, “you guys got a minute?” they nod in unison, Santos snorts behind them, “doctor Santos, somewhere to be?” doctor Monty asks, to which she widens her eyes and raises her hands, slipping out through the double doors.

“I’ll wait in the car.” she mumbles.

“I just wanted to thank you,” doctor Monty smiles at them, “you were a great asset to this ED, and I hope you got to learn as much as we tried to teach you.”

“Thank you, doctor Monty,” Dennis smiles up at him, “it really means a lot, coming from you.”

“Before you ask me,” the older man lifts a finger and with the other hand produces out of the back pocket of his scrub pants, two white envelopes with the PTMC emblem on the left corner and hands them to each one, “a no brainer.”

“Holy shit,” Michael whispers as he takes the one being handed to him, “sorry I—” doctor Monty chuckles, “thank you, really.”

Dennis takes his almost reverently, “I can’t thank you enough, doctor Monty.”

“No need,” the older man puts one hand on Michael’s shoulder and the other on Dennis’, “and whoever I get to see next year, I’ll be happy to.” he squeezes his hold and gives them a nod, turning to disappear through the hall.

Dennis frowns, looking down at his letter.

Michael freezes in his spot.

Whoever I get to see next year.

“You’re seriously applying?” Michael seems to regain movement, taking his bag, sliding in the letter and slinging it on his shoulder, Dennis follows the movement and blinks a few times.

“Yeah,” Dennis shakes his head as if the question was baffling to him, “why wouldn’t I?” he shoves the envelope in his bag and then tightens the straps, turning to walk towards the door, Michael follows him.

“You really think you can handle it?” he questions again, making Dennis scoff, “all this?”

“Do you?” Dennis gets out onto the parking lot and tries to remember where Trinity parked the car.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Michael’s voice lowers as he stands behind Dennis, and Dennis turns.

“Take it as you will, Robinavitch,” Dennis sighs.

Michael looks perplexed, “this ain’t for the faint of heart, Whitaker,” he mutters out, Dennis looks at him with wide eyes and a sardonic smile that Michael has never seen on him, “Monty said so, remember? and you—”

“I wasn’t the only one that broke in that ED,” Dennis shakes his head, Michael lets out an indignant, low, poorly concealed gasp, Dennis studies him, blue eyes going up and down the other man, “for a smart dude, you’re such a hypocrite, Robinavitch.”

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Michael steps closer to Dennis, “I’m not the one breaking ethics codes by fraternizing with patients.”

“Well excuse me for finding friends in this fucking town,” Dennis gritts out as he opens his arms, “sorry you don’t have any.”

“Yeah, call it friends,” Michael steps even closer, invading Dennis’ space, “I call it weakness.”

Dennis bites back a smile, and Michael notices the hardening of his eyes, “weak, huh?”

“Yeah,” Michael nods.

“I wouldn’t call me weak, though,” Dennis mumbles, looking up at Michael to stare him down as he tightens his jaw, “not when I’m certain you’ve been intimidated by me since the first fucking time you saw me.”

“Intimidated?” Michael lets out a bemused chuckle, “how could I be intimidated by you? you’re just a farm boy from bumfuck, nowhere who’s scrambling around trying to make mommy proud…”

Dennis’ nostrils flare, he feels himself flush, “what can I expect from a goddamn trustfund kid,” he raises his hands and pushes Michael by the chest to make him step back, “not empathy that’s for sure.”

Dennis steps farther back and aims to turn so he could find Trinity’s car, he feels too hot and too raw edged to keep talking to Michael Robinavitch.

“Sure, whatever, run away, Huckleberry.” Michael mumbles in a low voice, but Dennis hears, and then, Dennis sees red.

Dennis drops his bag on the floor and fists Michael’s hoodie, almost tackling him as he pushes him back until the hardness of a wall stops his assault, Michael scrambles to get away from his hold but Dennis strengthens it and pins Michael to the concrete by pressing his forearm against Michael’s chest.

“Let go, fuck.” Michael tries to push back.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Dennis growls against Michael’s face, “why you never fucking listen?”

Michael moves his leg to kick Dennis in the shin, making him slack the hold. Then the roles reverse and Michael takes the lapels of Dennis’ open jacket to turn him around and pin him back against the wall.

“It’s a fucking nickname,” Michael groans, Dennis puts his hands on Michael’s shoulders to push him away, “stop being a little bitch about it!”

“Not for you,” Dennis pushes harder, and slides his foot against Michael’s to gain a bit of leverage, “you use it as an insult.”

“You used to be nicer,” Michael keeps tightening the hold on Dennis’ jacket, Dennis lifts a knee, aiming to press it against Michael’s chest so he can push him away, but Michael presses himself closer to Dennis and his knee brushes against his crotch, instead, “the fuck are you doing.”

“Get the fuck off me,” Dennis groans, “I was always nice,” Dennis pants out, “you’ve been on my case since the fucking start of the year.”

Michael shudders at the contact Dennis’ knee makes against his groin, “no I haven’t.”

“Uhuh,” Dennis rolls his eyes, his hands sliding to wrap around Michael’s wrists, “and what about the whole farmboy schtick? huh?” they struggle again and Michael presses him harder, “and you always wanting to one up me?”

“You started this!” Michael groans against him, and Dennis pushes back again.

“I didn’t do shit!” Dennis tries to lift his knee again, fails, “you’re just a self-absorbed ass! why you think everything is about you?” Michael feels the knee against him and another bolt of heat runs through his spine, he frowns down at Dennis, whose face is flushed and his temple is sweating and there’s this fucking glimmer in his eyes that makes him look all starry eyed, “you were the one who hated me from the start!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“No!” Dennis keeps trying to push back, “you’re such a fucking gunner always trying to get the pr—” Michael shuts him up.

He doesn’t even register he’s kissing Dennis until Dennis’ hold on his wrists tightens.

But Dennis kisses him back. Gently, for a second, then it turns aggressive. Dennis opens his mouth to lick at his lips and pulls a grunt out of him, which encourages him.

Dennis is seething, this asshole provokes him all year and ends up kissing him in a parking lot after a fight? He has never met a man with more audacity.

Michael licks his lower lip and Dennis drowns a moan; and little by little, Dennis does inventory of everything he’s feeling from toes to head; Michael is standing with his legs bracketing him, he’s pressed against his hips and his chest and he’s still holding him by the jacket as they kiss, his shoulders hurt and his head is pounding from the anger but Michael keeps kissing him and lapping at his mouth, and it’s been so fucking long since Dennis has been kissed like this, it feels like it was years and years ago and he’s getting hard, so Dennis gives in and moves his knee again and Michael shudders against him, and starts slightly grinding against his leg.

Michael moves to nip at Dennis’ jaw, and Dennis feels like he’s been lit on fire.

“This is what you wanted, right?” Dennis whispers against the shell of Michael’s ear,

“Sh—shut up.” Michael scrapes his teeth against the skin of his neck and Dennis bites his lip to drown another moan, he presses his knee up and Michael sighs.

“Take it, then,” Dennis closes his eyes, Michael keeps leaving wet kisses along the line of his neck and down to his clavicle, grinding against him, “go on, take it.”

Michael’s brain is completely fried as he moves to kiss Dennis, he’s not sure this is exactly what he was aiming for but Dennis is not complaining, so he kisses and grinds his hardened cock against Dennis’ thigh, sliding a hand down Dennis’ chest to cup him over the scrubs.

“Jesus,” Dennis sighs against his lips, it’s insane, Michael knows in the back of his mind that he definitely lost his mind, “shit.”

Michael feels the imminence of his release building in his lower back, he didn’t think he’d feel it but he’s now chasing it as he sets a rhythm as he keeps palming Dennis and kissing him senseless, he doesn’t want this to end, he really doesn’t, but his body betrays him and he comes inside his pants like a fourteen year old.

“Fuck.” Michael mumbles, leaning back from Dennis’ mouth and looking down at his crotch.

Dennis drops his hands, and Michael undoes the hold, “did you just—?”

“Yeah.” Michael drops his shoulders, his hand going through his hair.

“Huckleberry!” they hear Santos’ voice echoing through the parking lot, Dennis straightens up and looks at Michael.

He doesn’t smile at him, he just takes in his disheveled state, gives him a nod and walks towards his bag to pick it up from the floor.

Michael leans against the space on the wall where he had kept Dennis pressed and follows him with his eyes.

“Good luck in the match.” Dennis mumbles, Michael notices the bulge in his pants, and nods.

“You too.”