Chapter Text
Dennis Whitaker had a key to Dr. Robby’s house, the alarm code memorised, and a general description of the layout.
Standing on the doorstep, though, he found himself hesitating, because none of it quite felt like explicit permission to go in. Logically, it made sense to enter, because he had a key and house-sitting from the pavement would certainly have practical limitations.
But permission was a complicated thing. If it wasn’t implicitly spelled out, how was he supposed to know he was doing it right?
And being good was the most important thing in the world for one Dennis Whitaker.
The sun was already dipping when Dennis reached the house, backpack slung over one shoulder, his steps slowing as his gaze lifted to the number beside the door.
Even after checking the address three times, he still felt like he was trespassing as he approached the front door.
The house itself didn’t help matters; it was a brick townhouse, the kind of place that looked expensive without showing off. There was a small garden out front, neat if not particularly cared for.
Dennis unlocked the door and took one step inside, and stayed there for a second longer than he needed to, hand still on the handle. It felt strange being here on his own.
Selfishly, he found himself wishing Dr. Robby had left tonight, instead of first thing this morning. Especially with the hallway ahead sitting dark and unfamiliar.
Between last night on the roof and a long, relentless day at work, he hadn’t really had time to process what he’d agreed to with the house-sitting.
Surprisingly, Trinity had taken it well. If anything, she’d seemed pleased at the prospect of a temporary upgrade in roommates.
“Honestly, Huckleberry, this is kind of perfect for me. Three months with someone who actually pays rent?”
It had stung a little, but he knew this is how she got. He’d miss her too.
But then she’d looked at him again, tilting her head and something sharper slipping into her smile.
“Three months in daddy’s house, huh?”
Yeah, no, Dennis had very quickly decided they were done talking about that.
He closed the door carefully behind him and stayed near it, not moving too far into the space just yet. The quiet settled quickly, heavier than it should have been, pressing in around him. He slid his bag from his shoulder and put it softly on the floor against the wall.
He hadn’t really accounted for this part. Being here, on his own, with no one to follow first. He felt dread bloom under his ribcage. It wasn’t the house itself so much as what came with it; every small decision suddenly felt loaded.
What if he got something wrong? What if he touched the wrong thing, used the wrong room, made himself too comfortable too quickly?
He’d thought he’d be more excited to see what Dr Robby’s house was like, and yet the feeling never quite arrived. Maybe it was the dead plant by the door, or more likely, Dennis’s stupid overthinking brain that was going into overdrive now he was finally inside.
The alarm rang out, loud and sudden.
Dennis yelped and nearly jumped out of his skin.
Shit, shit, shit.
He should have turned it off straight away before it could trigger and now he was dealing with the consequence. He fumbled for the keypad, hands clumsy, heart racing, trying to remember the code he’d been given.
After he punched in the code, the alarm cut out at once. The silence that followed settled thick and oppressive, like it was waiting for him to do the next thing wrong.
Dennis didn’t move. He stood there, half panting, with his shoulders drawn tight, listening for something, waiting for something to happen next.
Waiting for the second shoe to drop.
His mind filled the silence for him.
The alarm company flagging the incident, calls being made, police sent out to the address, Robby notified, his trip ruined - everything unravelling, fast and awful, all of it landing back on Dennis. Exactly the kind of thing that got you told not to come back.
It settled into something uncomfortably familiar, that quiet, sinking certainty he was about to be told to leave by people he cared too much about.
He did a bone -deep sigh and pushed the hair from his forehead. It did little good to think about his family. It was silent again for now and he’d just have to deal with it.
Slowly, his breathing eased, the panic losing its edge. Especially when his eyes caught on something hanging up on the wall further down the hallway. He moved towards it without thinking, drawn in by it in a way the rest of the house hadn’t managed.
He paused in front of it, taking it in properly. It was Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot together, smiling at the camera, at some kind of event. Dennis hadn’t realised they were this close, at least, close enough that Dr. Robby had it hung up in an otherwise empty hallway. There were no other photos nearby, nothing else competing for space, just this one.
Dennis stared at their smiles, something settling over him, calm, for the first time all day.
He let his shoulders drop a fraction.
When he moved on, it was slower, his attention shifting outward at last, taking in the space properly for the first time. He edged further down the hallway, his steps quiet without him meaning them to be, until the space opened.
The room opened out into a wide, quiet lounge, an L-shaped sofa tucked along the wall by the front window. It dominated the space without trying to, all deep cushions and soft corners, the kind of thing you could sink into and not get back out of for hours.
Beyond it, the kitchen sat slightly set back, open enough to be part of the same space but clearly its own, centred around a wide island with stools tucked neatly underneath.
At the far end, past the kitchen area, a set of double doors opened out onto a back garden that looked pretty big, though the fading light made it harder to take in properly. The room itself had already started to dim with it, the last of the evening settling in through the glass and leaving everything softer, quieter.
Dennis reached for the main switch; the overhead light snapped on, too bright, washing the room in a flat, clinical glare that stripped it of anything soft.
The shift made the back door stand out, in particular, a small square of yellow catching his eye.
He hesitated a second, then drifted over anyway, curiosity getting the better of him.
A post-it note, stuck to the glass.
Backdoor gets stuck, give it a shove.
The sight of the note, written by Dr. Robby, settled something in him immediately.
He turned the key in the door then reached for the handle and tested it. It resisted, just like the note said, then gave with a bit more pressure. He frowned at it for a second longer, attention narrowing on the latch which was slightly off, not enough to stop it working but clearly enough to cause a fuss. He was pretty sure he could fix this with a screwdriver.
Dennis turned back to the kitchen, then stopped again.
There were more notes.
One on the coffee machine, another by the oven. Small, practical instructions written in familiar handwriting. Something in his chest lurched at the thoughtfulness of it all.
Ogilvie had joked about it, but Dr. Robby did indeed have a fancy coffee machine. But if Dr Robby thought he was touching that expensive coffee machine then he could think again. It was way too nice for Dennis to even consider using.
Pods in top drawer – press top button twice to turn on.
Was the note for him? Surely it was, but then again, maybe it was just a reminder for the man.
Not wanting to second guess every tiny thing, Dennis walked away and rubbed his eyes.
The tiredness had crept up on him without much warning, settling in behind his eyes and dragging at his shoulders, everything from the day catching up now there was nothing left to keep it at bay. It all felt a bit too much at once. The house, the quiet, wanting desperately to get everything right.
He hadn’t even gone upstairs yet and part of him didn’t want to, he felt a little overwhelmed with everything.
His gaze landed on the sofa again, and this time he didn’t look away. He wandered over, taking it in.
It was even worse up close. Big, soft, the cushions deep enough to swallow you down into them, the fabric worn just enough to suggest it had been used, properly used, not just kept for show. It looked irresistible.
He perched on the edge first, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight, like he could still pretend this didn’t count.
Then he shuffled back and leaned back.
The cushions gave instantly, soft and deep and entirely unfair, and something in him loosened with it, the tension of the day slipping out all at once.
Maybe this was okay.
Maybe just for a moment, to let everything settle. He was overwhelmed and tired and stopping questioning everything for a moment felt too tempting to resist. He let his head rest back on the back cushions, letting his eyes fall shut.
The doorbell rang.
Dennis shot upright, the sound tearing him out of it so fast it left him dizzy, his heart jumping hard into his throat. He shouldn’t have closed his eyes, sat down on this ridiculously expensive sofa.
Oh god, he was going to be kicked out. The sofa was off limits. Oh no, the alarm. It was the police to check in. Dr. Robby would be furious and angry and oh god-
He was already moving, too quickly, breath catching as he crossed the hallway, hand slipping slightly on the front door handle before he yanked the door open, breathless.
And blinked.
“Dr. Abbot?”
Dennis blinked. It hadn’t occurred to him that the night attending might actually show up; he’d taken it as nothing more than a polite offer the evening before.
“You gonna let me in, kid?”
“Oh – sorry, yes, of course,” he said quickly, stepping back and pulling the door open wider. “I didn’t realise, I mean, I wasn’t expecting -”
“Yeah, I got that,” Dr. Abbot said, already moving past him as if it required no further discussion.
He kicked his shoes off and walked down the hallway, moving further into the house without hesitation, already making himself at home in a way Dennis hadn’t managed yet.
He followed Dr. Abbot into the kitchen and stopped by the counter, drumming his knuckles lightly against the edge, the habit slipping out before he could stop it.
While Dennis was relieved at the thought of company, he’s a little tangled up in the sheer awkwardness of the situation.
“You settling in okay?” Dr. Abbot asked, dropping a shopping bag onto the counter like he’d been here a hundred times before. Given the photo hung in the hallway, maybe he had?
“Er - yes, sir,” Dennis said, catching his lip between his teeth.
“Call me Jack when we’re not at work, kid. You’re making me feel old.”
The man didn’t wait for a response. He was already moving through the kitchen, opening drawers, pulling out glasses, setting things down with easy familiarity, like none of it required permission.
Jack set the oven without asking, sliding two pizzas onto a tray easily.
Dennis stayed where he was, hovering at the edge of the room, watching, not quite sure where he was supposed to fit into any of it.
“You don’t have to stand there,” Jack said, not looking at him, already reaching for a cupboard.
Dennis shifted slightly, moving towards the stools at the kitchen counter. He held onto the back of one of them, but didn’t move to sit down.
Jack shut the cupboard and turned back, taking him in properly this time, the way he was still hovering, hands awkwardly still, like he hadn’t quite figured out where he was allowed to be.
“Sit,” Jack said, nodding towards the high stool.
Dennis nodded but his thoughts felt slow, tangled somewhere behind everything else, and he hated how obvious it probably was. Last night he’d been all mouth and impulse on the roof, and now he could barely manage a normal response.
Caught up in his own thoughts again, he didn’t notice until Jack is right in front of him.
“Christ, Whitaker.”
Dennis looked up just in time for Jack to step in, hands landing on his shoulders, firm and easy, steering him around the rest of the way, then down onto the stool like it wasn’t even a question.
Heat rushed straight through him, sharp and immediate.
“Sorry,” Dennis said quickly. “Long day in the ER…”
Still, something in him eased. Being told what to do, being moved like that without having to think about it, it cut cleanly through the noise in his head. It was kind of restful. Robby did it often enough at work and it always seemed to ground him.
“There,” Jack said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Was that so hard? Or do you need me to do everything for you tonight?”
Yes please.
“No – no, you don’t, I’m sor-“
“It’s a joke, kid. Relax.”
Jack threw the food packaging into the bin and then leaned back against the counter, easy, like he had nowhere else to be. He tilted his head, taking Dennis in properly now, and something about the way he looked at him made Dennis suddenly aware of everything. Where his hands were, how he was sitting, whether he looked as out of place as he felt.
“All that last night,” Jack said, leaning forward, “and this is what I get?”
Dennis frowned faintly.
“You, slashing tyres like it’s nothing,” Jack continued, a small smile tugging at his mouth, “and now you’ve gone all quiet on me.”
Dennis huffed a quiet breath, an awkward laugh that didn’t quite land. “I just didn’t want to get anything wrong.”
Jack hummed at that, considering him. He looked relaxed and Dennis was very envious.
“Where’d all that confidence go, hm?”
It’s a good question, a great one even. Dennis didn’t have an answer for him. He felt overwhelmed with everything this evening and can’t help disappearing into his head without meaning to.
“Don’t tell me that was a one-off.”
Dennis glanced up again then quickly shook his head. “Just tired, sir.”
Jack pursed his lips, rubbed the back of his neck, losing eye contact for a moment.
“How about a little dinner, a glass of Robby’s finest and then I’ll back off and let you sleep, huh?”
Dinner and a drink, what could Dennis have done to deserve this? And in such a nice house too. If Jack hadn’t been staring at him so intently, head tilted, then Dennis would pinch himself.
He did not deserve all of this.
Jack was pretty sure he messed up.
He’d come over thinking it would be easy enough to pass the evening, keep the kid company, have a little flirt, maybe get a rise out of Robby while he was at it. He’d expected the kid from last night.
Instead, he’d literally had to manhandle Whitaker into actually taking a seat. The standing, staring combo had made him feel just a tad too uncomfortable.
He turned back to the oven, buying himself a second to think, to recalibrate.
Maybe this hadn’t been as harmless as he’d assumed. Heck, maybe the kid didn’t want him here at all. At first he’d assumed there would be some first night nerves but now he had the suspicion there was something else.
He might have to face the uncomfortable truth that he was overstepping and making the kid uncomfortable. Once he’d made the food he’d back off, as promised.
A voice pulled him from his thoughts. “You come here often?”
Jack nearly spluttered. He paused, a faint huff of amusement catching in his throat. Right. Yeah. The kid definitely didn’t hear how that sounded. At least he was talking, without prompting. That was progress.
“A couple times,” Jack replied casually. It wasn’t a lie, per say. In reality he’d all but lived here when he and Michael were in a relationship. Instead of going down that alley, Jack focused on the olive branch of a conversation Whitaker had extended. “How you feeling about being here for three months?”
Whitaker had nodded, but eye contact was suddenly lost. Jack wouldn’t mind snooping in that head of his.
“Big hot tub outside, in case you haven’t discovered it yet,” Jack said, nodding towards the back doors.
The kid swivelled on his seat and looked in that direction. “Really?”
Jack smiled. “Yeah, probably dirty as anything, but I can come over and clean it in a few days if you want?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
Polite or a dismissal. Hard to tell with this kid. He needed to know if it was him the kid was uncomfortable with or if he was just too damn polite for his own good.
“It’s no problem, we could make an afternoon of it?” Jack said, pushing for the last time, ready to back down and out at a moment’s notice.
Whitaker, however, had shot him a small smile and a nod.
With some confidence that he wasn’t entirely overstepping, Jack rubbed his hands together.
“Now, how about that drink?”
Without waiting for an answer, Jack walked over to the wooden unit in the lounge and raided the liquor cabinet. He knew for a fact there were a very nice couple of bottles in here.
“Whiskey okay?” Jack asked, holding a bottle up.
“Oh, um, sure, if that’s okay?”
Jack noticed the nerves again.
“Of course, kid. You earned it after last night.”
Grabbing two of the nice whiskey glasses, Jack made his way back to the kitchen and set them on the counter.
“We’ve got to celebrate that stupid bike getting what it deserved,” he said, half under his breath as he opened the freezer in search of ice.
A breathy noise behind him, which might have been a laugh, caught Jack off guard.
“Yeah?” Jack asked, looking over his shoulder with a smile. “You hate it as much as me, huh?”
Dennis nodded, smiling. “Yes, I hate that thing.”
Jack laughed out loud at the honesty. Finally, the kid was opening up. “Tell you what, when he gets back how about we disassemble the whole thing?”
Dennis let out another laugh.
Something in Jack positively lit up at the sound.
“Yeah?” Jack coaxed again, smiling. Boy, he understood why Mikey liked the kid so much. Hard to get him to open up but once you get through it feels good.
Jack dropped some ice cubes into the whiskey glasses and reached for the bottle, pouring a moderate amount in both glasses.
“We shouldn’t disassemble his bike,” Dennis said, his expression pinched in thought, almost endearingly serious. “He’d just put it back together again. We should just burn the bike and be done with it.”
Oh, Jack really liked him.
He was also pretty sure he never wants to piss him off. Dennis Whitaker had a dark side and as much as he’d love to discover it, maybe not in this context. Nor tonight.
Dinner, once it was finished cooking, shifted things into another gear, again.
Something as simple as a couple pizzas proved to be another challenge Jack didn’t quite understand.
Whitaker didn’t reach for anything. Didn’t serve himself, didn’t even seem to register that he was supposed to. Jack ended up doing it for him without really thinking about it, sliding food onto his plate just to keep things moving.
It was strange.
One moment there was that flash of something sharp, something reckless, bold, fun, and the next he was back to this. Quiet, careful, like he was trying not to take up too much space. What was that all about?
Tonight wasn’t the time to push, but Jack was keen to understand some of these weird quirks over the next few months.
Instead of sitting next to Dennis at the counter, Jack dragged the stool to the other side so they’d be opposite. Mostly to keep a bit of distance between them, not just because he wanted to admire the pretty sight.
Ten months.
That’s how long Whitaker had been at the Pitt. There’s no denying that he’d had the glow up of his life. Mullet, arms, a flicker of confidence that came and went but, when it was there, was very hard to ignore. It was easy to understand why Michael always spoke about him far more than the others.
Speaking of, he’d text Michael hours ago and now, later into the evening, he’d be lying if he wasn’t slightly agitated by the lack of response. Earlier he could ignore it, he would have likely been still on the road. But now? It’s late. Dark. Michael had promised to check in. Daily. And day one he was already misbehaving. Go figure.
After finishing dinner and draining the last of his whiskey, he checked his phone again, his attention lingering on the unanswered message as he gave a faint, disbelieving shake of his head.
Jack was nothing if not petty.
He pushed himself off the stool and crossed back to the alcohol cabinet, this time bypassing the cheaper bottles without a second glance before pulling out the most expensive one. Let him get told off. He just wanted a reaction.
On the way back he swiped Whitakers empty glass, topping him up too.
He set the bottle down then pulled out his phone.
Jack (8:12pm): Nice whiskey, brother
He followed it up with a photo, expensive bottle clearly on show, sitting behind two glasses.
He purposefully didn’t get any shot of Dennis in the background. No crumbs for naughty boys who ride off without contact.
Jack slides Dennis’s glass back, ignores the tumbling thank yous in return, then eased back into his seat, settling in properly this time, glass loose in his hand. The ice shifted with a soft clink as he tipped it back, letting it roll over his tongue.
Man, what a whiskey. Honey and oak straight away, a bit of vanilla on the back of it, and then that slow, smoky heat kicking in a second later. Clean, expensive, the kind you let sit on your tongue before swallowing. Certainly worth the telling off.
“Oh!” Dennis said softly, hand suddenly reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone, a sudden smile breaking across his face.
His whole paycheck.
Jack would bet his whole paycheck that was Robby now suddenly, miraculously, checking in. With the kid instead of him. Regardless, a win was a win and besides, it was endlessly amusing that Robby was clearly actually jealous that he’d come over to check on the kid.
“Robby messaged! He’s in Chicago!” Dennis said beaming, as he waved his phone at Jack.
Such a sweet innocent little fawn caught in the crossfire.
“Hm,” Jack mulled, twisting the glass in his hand, inspecting the whiskey, choosing his next words very carefully. “That’s decent progress for a day. Sure is a good job he got those tyres sorted last minute.”
Out the corner of his eye he could see Dennis lower the phone slowly and look over, such big eyes visible even in Jack’s peripheral.
Sure enough, when Jack glanced over Dennis was wide eyed and biting his lip. He ignored the guilt for moving the conversation in this direction. He’d bring Thai food over this week to make up to the kid.
“Do you – Do you think it cost a lot?” Dennis asked quietly, unblinking.
Come closer, little fawn. Just a few more steps, it won’t hurt. It’ll be gentle enough the snare won’t even feel like one.
“I mean, last minute? Probably,” Jack said casually, turning his glass in his hand as if his attention was elsewhere.
“Oh god,” Dennis said, dropping his phone and pushing his fringe off his forehead. “It’s my fault, I need to – oh god, it’s going to be so expensive –“
The frantic tumble of it was almost too easy on Jack’s ears, and before he could think better of it, he cut in, “I can think of a way you can make it up to him.”
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and for a moment they just sat there. A long moment of stark silence followed, sharp enough that a pin could have been heard drop.
Then, as expected, the kid latched onto the words, nodding quickly. “Yes, anything. Anything. I’ll do anything to repay him.”
Jack rubbed his chin, easy, like it was nothing. “You should message Mikey that.” He took a slow sip, then looked over again, letting the pause stretch. “Those exact words.”
It’s cruel. It’s mean. Jack should not be using the kid like this.
Dennis didn’t even question it or even note the connotation that I’ll do anything could possibly mean to a pervy old man like Robby. He just obediently picked up the phone and tapped away.
Jack leaned back into the chair further, lifting his glass for another slow sip, smug satisfaction spreading like the whiskey in his bloodstream. God, he hadn’t felt this sudden spark of fun in a long time.
And sure enough, right on cue, his own phone finally buzzed. He basked in the feeling, of forcing a response from Robby, before checking it.
Robby (8:16pm): Stop encouraging him.
Jack’s first instinct was to text back something like, Nice to finally hear from you. It’s what he would have said in the past, but it had never worked. New times called for new tactics, such as a bit of bait. A sweet, unguarded, blue-eyed bait who was entirely unaware of the part he was playing.
Jack (8:17pm): Don’t blame me. Poor kid is so eager to please… You should see him right now, Mikey.
Jack ran his tongue over his teeth, fighting back the smirk that kept threatening to surface. He was having fun. Sue him.
Jack (8:18pm): Big blue eyes. Practically begging to be good.
Maybe he could get Whitaker in the hot tub later this week. Get him nice and relaxed, coax a smile out that pretty little mouth. If Michael was a good boy and checked in, he’d even consider sending a picture of the fawn, all drowsy in the bubbles.
Robby (8:19pm): I swear to god Jack.
Robby (8:19pm): Stop involving Whitaker in whatever game you think this is.