Chapter Text
Dennis mutters curses, pacing his new room. After settling into Trinity’s spare bedroom with his few belongings, his thoughts unravel. His first ED shift was nothing as he’d imagined. The mishaps leading to repeated scrub changes, the mayhem, the panic, and, of course, him.
Dennis wasn’t a stranger to infatuation at first sight. He remembers middle school: his first crush felt like a kick to the chest, setting off his first crisis of faith. High school brought flurries of attractions to swoopy hair and strong arms. In college, after finally leaving his small town, he fell hard for his first boyfriend during orientation—just a pun and a steadying hand away from a relationship. So, Dennis wasn’t surprised by how fast his mind started fantasizing about the newest person to catch his eye. What bothers him is who his thoughts keep returning to—Dr. Michael Robinavitch, chief attending physician, his boss. It was inappropriate. Childish. It was…
Dennis groans, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes and falling backward on his bed. In self-preservation from reliving the more medically unsettling moments from the day, his mind kept cycling through flashes of emotionally torturous ones. The firm, calloused grip of Dr. Robby’s hand and how it enveloped around Dennis’ own. His voice - confident and gentle when talking with patients, yet assertive and guiding when assisting Dennis. The swoop low in Dennis’ stomach when he had to look up to make eye contact with Dr. Robby, and seeing his expression reflect a moment of being impressed or proud of Dennis’ actions and skill. Dr. Robby’s determination and resilience, yet vulnerability, especially during that moment in the peds room. God, that moment; Dennis had wanted nothing more than to provide physical comfort to him. To hold him tight and press Dr. Robby’s ear to his chest so he could hear Dennis’ heart beating, grounding him. Dennis imagined what his hair would feel like if he were to run his fingers through it.
Dennis prays that this stupid crush would dissipate the longer he spent time in the ED and alongside Dr. Robby. That just maybe, the adrenaline of the day was causing him to confuse hero worship with romantic infatuation. But he knows himself better than that. He knows this isn’t going to go away any time soon. Dennis was fucked. Truly and utterly fucked.
══════════════════
It takes every ounce of control to keep his face neutral. “He has a girlfriend?” he asks.
“I don’t know what to call it. The... the farmer who got burned last year, the day of the mass cas, his widow, Amy,” Santos answers, thankfully not catching on to the real reason her attending wants to know.
“Oh, he died?” That’s it, general curiosity. Nothing more.
“Yeah, he had burns on 90% of his body. His chance of survival was very slim.”
“Okay, so I’m an optimist.” Just like how I am optimistically hoping there isn’t a girlfriend. Not that it changes anything.
“The sun doesn’t always come out tomorrow, Annie,” Santos replies sarcastically, and Michael knows she has no concerns over him having this conversation.
“Wait, wasn’t she pregnant?” Michael asks. Does he want kids? His mind adds.
“No, she was a young orphan.”
“No, not Annie. Amy,” Michael says. Damnit, Santos.
“Yes. Yes, very pregnant and young.”
“Whitaker is now seeing this, Amy?” Keep it cool, Robinavitch.
“And her baby. He got really close to the family when the husband was dying. He really believed that the guy would pull through. He helped her through the loss of her husband, and then again when she had the kid, and now he spends almost every weekend at the farm.”
“Huh.” Fuck.
“Plus, he’s on the street team, and he just wants to help everybody. And I just don’t want to see him taken advantage of, you know? He’s just a fucking Huckleberry.” The concern in Santos’ voice is clear. Michael feels the possesive need to protect Dennis surge through his chest.
“Yeah, but he’s our fucking Huckleberry. I’ll talk to him.” Keyword, ours. Not yours, Robinavitch.
“Hey, your call,” Santos shrugs, and Michael is in the clear. She is convinced he is doing this all for her.
“Strong deflection. Well played.”
Michael knew it was not good to get wrapped up in this situation. He tells himself he is doing it for his residents' well-being. I would do it for any of them, he thinks, but he knows it's a lie. He outwardly tries not to show favoritism. Tries to provide the same level of support, mentorship, and experience for all his students. But there are always breakthroughs. First, it was Langdon. He had been such a shining star. Michael had seen him as someone he could be his equal. But that had been different; that was strictly professional favoritism. Then there was Heather. That had been fun, until it wasn’t. They wanted different things out of a relationship. They were closer in age. It didn’t start when she was a student. But now, there was Dennis Whitaker. One of the few reasons he didn’t hate coming into The Pitt each day, and one of the reasons he was running away.
“Really great work earlier today, Doctor.” Michael lights up inside as a blush rises to Dennis’ cheeks.
“Huh. Oh,wow. You can just call me Whitaker.” He is so cute when he’s sheepish.
“Not a chance. You earned that. I’m proud of you. We all are.”
"Thank you." God, I could eat him up. Michael quickly pushes that thought aside and refocuses on the conversation.
“Busy day.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“So you’re a very empathetic soul.” Smooth, real smooth.
“Yeah, I’d like to think...”
“I’m not finished yet. And you want to be there for all your patients.” The microexpression Michael sees flash across Dennis’ face after being interrupted does something to him. He likes to follow directions, to be good, his mind supplies.
“Don’t you?”
“Shh.”
“Sorry.” And God, Dennis looks at Michael through his lashes, and for a moment, Michael’s mind goes blank.
“So this relationship that you’re having with this woman, um, the widow of the burn victim who died last year.” This is a totally normal conversation between a boss and an employee. Don’t overthink it. Michael tells himself.
“Amy. Santos tell you?” Michael lets out a mental sigh, thankful that Dennis doesn’t see his own selfish reasons for bringing this up.
“I understand you’re helping her out.” Please tell me that’s all this is, his mind begs.
“Yeah, on the farm. I grew up on one, and Amy’s... Mrs. Miller is getting pressure to sell, so I’m just helping out.” A slew of very unhelpful visions of a shirtless Denis lifting haybales and leaning against a fence, wiping sweat from his brow, flash through Michael’s mind.
“What about her friends and family?” Or a new boyfriend, who isn’t you, he adds silently.
“Yeah, they’re around.” So why are you? Michael needs to know.
“Supporting her?”
“Yeah, I think they try to, but, mostly, she’s just leaning on... me...” There he is, blushing and sheepish again. It’s killing Michael that he doesn’t know if that is because Dennis has romantic feelings toward this woman or if he’s just embarrassed by the implications of his friendship with her.
“I’m sure she’s really grateful for everything that you do, but it’s important to have boundaries.” Something Michael has to remind himself of daily when around Dennis.
“Yeah.” It is just then that either a brilliant or very idiotic idea comes to Michael’s mind.
“Hey, you want to do me a favor?”
“Yeah?”
“You want to house-sit for me while I’m gone? You’d actually be helping me out, and you could save some money on rent.”
“Are you being serious?”
“No smoking, no parties, no pets, no babies, yours or anybody else’s.”
“I don’t have a baby.”
“No, but she does. I was going to ask Abbot, but he does nude yoga at sunrise, and I don’t think some of my elderly neighbors would survive seeing that.” Plus, the thought of you in my home, my space smelling of you, might be the one thing that ensures I come back.
“Yeah. Yeah, t-that would be amazing... the house-sitting, not seeing Abbot’s naked yoga.” The excitement in Dennis’s eyes makes Michael feel like he just won the lottery. I wish I could be the reason you smile like that all the time, he thinks.
“If I don’t come back, you got a swinging bachelor pad.” He means this to come out as a joke, but Dennis seems to catch some of the real consideration behind Michael’s statement.
“Okay.”
“Come find me before you leave. I’ll give you my keys and the security code.”
“Okay.”
══════════════════
Dennis is exhausted. His limbs hurt. His brain hurts. He is operating purely on autopilot by the time he clocks out. As he reaches the ED exit, Santos gives him a wink and walks away. It takes Dennis a moment to realize why they aren’t leaving together.
“Whitaker, you going to come take these keys or not?” Dr. Robby teases, leaning against the wall just outside the exit doors. Dennis blinks a few times to allow his brain to catch up, then walks over.
“Yeah, sorry, I started heading home out of habit. My home, obviously, I almost forgot I’m supposed to be going to yours. For house-sitting.” His nerves cause him to emphasize the last part in clarification, as if Dr. Robby could possibly be thinking he’d be going to his house for any other reason.
“It’s been a long day, no need to apologize. So here are the house keys. I’ve written the security code on this paper - do not lose it and get rid of it once you are there. I don’t need anyone trying to steal my TV.” Dr. Robby lets out a small chuckle as he hands over the items. Their fingers brush, and Dennis isn’t sure if his brain is making time go slower, or if, in reality, they both linger there a little longer than needed. Either way, he feels a blush creeping up his neck.
“I don’t know where your house is,” Dennis says with the sudden realization.
“Oh, right. Well, I really should be off so I can give you the address if you want to put it in your GPS, then you can drive on over.”
“I don’t have a car.” Dennis ducks his head awkwardly. He knows it's not uncommon for medical students to rely on public transportation, but he is a resident now. He doesn’t want to keep being viewed as some pathetic kid. Especially not by Dr. Robby.
“Oh.” Dennis looks up at Dr. Robby, watching him think. His dark eyes scan Dennis’ face, and he seems to struggle with whatever he is contemplating, his brow slightly furrowed. With a sigh, he turns toward the parking lot. “Well, are you coming?” Dr. Robby shouts the question over his shoulder. Dennis’ eyes go wide, and he scurries to catch up. He is aware that he probably resembles a lost puppy following a stranger home. Dennis sends a silent thank you to the universe that there is no one else around to witness it.
The pair walks up to Dr. Robby’s motorcycle, and Dennis’ heart races with yet another instance of gay panic for the day. If Dr. Robby is driving him home on his motorcycle, Dennis will have to sit behind him and hold on. He also knows that Dr. Robby has no helmets, as Dana has been giving him shit for it all day. This ride will kill me, Dennis thinks, one way or another. Dr. Robby starts the bike and gives Dennis a pointed look, telling him to get on, or he will leave without him. Dennis manages to swing his leg over and sit down without falling and making a complete fool of himself. He tries to wrap his arms around Dr. Robby’s middle without him noticing how badly his hands are shaking. As soon as they pull onto the road, Dr. Robby speeds off, making Dennis hold on tighter. Dennis swears he sees Dr. Robby smirk at his reaction. He wonders if he can feel how fast his heart is beating through the layers of clothes separating them. He wonders if Dr. Robby can tell it's him making his heart race, not the motorcycle.
After a quick tour of the house, a rundown of what days the trash and recycling are picked up, and where things are in the kitchen, Dennis awkwardly follows Dr. Robby to the front door. He panics, unsure how to say goodbye to someone when he is staying in their home. He also can’t ignore the uneasiness he feels about all the “jokes” Dr. Robby has made about not coming back. “How do I contact you if something goes wrong?” he quickly asks. Dr. Robby freezes his hand halfway to the door.
“Give me your phone.” Dr. Robby holds his hand out, and Dennis places his phone, unlocked, in his open palm. He proceeds to tap away at the screen, not saying a word, then Dennis hears a quiet buzz from Dr. Robby’s pocket. “There, now you have my number, and I have yours. You can call or text me if there are any house emergencies.”
“Great,” Dennis replies, looking at the open text message. The name Michael Robinavitch is clear as day at the top. “And you can text me when you are on your way back. You know, so I know when to expect you, so I can get outta your hair when you get here.”
“Yeah.” Dr. Robby says hesitantly. “Listen, Whitaker...”
“I know, no smoking, no parties, no babies.” Dennis smiles, looking up through his lashes. “See you when you get back.”
“And no girlfriends. Significant others. Or whatever Amy is.” Dr. Robby adds, with a strange expression on his face.
“I can absolutely promise that.” Dennis chuckles. No girlfriends to worry about here, that’s for sure.
“Good.”
“Can you promise me something then?” Dennis asks quietly, managing to gather what little courage he had in the moment. Although he looks away, unable to make eye contact. “Will you please promise to pick up a motorcycle helmet before leaving town? I just don’t want... we’ve what can... I... we need you to come back safe, Dr. Robby.” There is a long, silent pause, and Dennis is afraid he has severely messed up and overstepped a boundary.
“Michael.” Dennis looks back up, and their eyes meet.
“W-what?”
“We aren’t at work. You’re living in my house... temporarily. You can call me Michael, Dennis.” His name has never sounded so enticingly dangerous as it did in that moment. An electric shiver rolls up Dennis’ spine, and he is sure Dr. Robby... Michael... notices.
“O-Okay. Michael.” Dennis tests it out, a little breathless.
“I’ll be back,” Michael says with a nod. It’s not just a statement, it’s a promise. Dennis nods back and watches Michael walk out the door.
══════════════════
It’s still dark when Michael pulls into his driveway. He cuts the engine quickly, respectful of the neighbors who are still probably sleeping. Despite the early hour, he expects he will find Dennis awake and getting ready for his shift. He had sent a text saying he would be home tomorrow, but decided to head back a day earlier. He turns the key in the lock and opens his front door to find the townhome still and silent. Setting down his things, he notices the single source of light coming from the living room and follows it to find Dennis lying on the couch, a book open on his chest and a forgotten mug of tea on the coffee table. As if pulled by an invisible tether, Michael quietly walks over and examines the scene. Dennis looks softer in his sleep. The worry and concentration lines are gone, although the dark circles remain, his curls are lightly plastered to his forehead, and there are creases from the throw pillow he has laid on across his cheek. Light puffs of air escape through his lips as he exhales. Beautiful. Michael thinks.
“Dennis,” he whispers, both trying to wake him and praying he doesn’t. Dennis doesn’t stir, encompassed fully by the depths of sleep. It is then that he notices the earbuds in Dennis’ ears. He smiles, taking another moment to watch Dennis’ slow breaths, longing to brush the curls from his face. Stop being a creep, Robinavitch, he chides himself.
Dennis wakes up and stretches, cringing at the series of pops that are released from his spine and shoulders. He makes his way to the restroom, and then, upon leaving, he notices a series of lights on that he definitely turned off last night. He takes out his earbuds, his concern steadily growing. He quietly walks down the hall and listens. First, he hears banging in the kitchen and a muffled curse under someone’s breath. Then he hears water running. Finally, as he approaches, then as he is about to turn the corner, he hears... sizzling? The clear sounds of someone cooking hit his ears, and the relief that it is not a burglar settles his shoulders. But who the hell else would be here? With a deep breath, he rounds the corner.
“Dr. Ro... M-Michael?” He asks, startling the older man. The name feels foreign in his tongue after not using it for weeks.
“Holy shit!” Michael exclaims as he turns around, spatula in hand. “Dennis, you’re awake.”
“Uh, yeah, I just woke up. I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow.” Dennis’ mind continues to short-circuit as it takes in the picture of domesticity that is Dr. Michael Robinavitch cooking breakfast. He is going to have a lot to unpack later.
“I thought you were working today,” Michael replies as he turns around to flip an egg.
“I switched shifts with Trinity; she had something come up that she needed a day off for.” Dennis suddenly feels defensive about why he is in the home he has been watching and living in for the last few weeks.
“How is Santos?” Michael asks, removing the egg from the frying pan and placing it on a plate at the same time, bread pops from the toaster.
“She’s fine. Should I...? I’ll gather my things. Get outta your way.” Dennis suddenly feels like he is intruding. Despite being asked to be here, he feels out of place now that he isn’t alone.
“Sit, Dennis. Don’t be ridiculous.” Michael brings two plates over to the kitchen island, placing one in front of himself and the other across the island. He gestures to the empty barstool, and Dennis, like the damn golden retriever he is, follows the direction and sits down. He looks at the plate holding two fried eggs, toast, and fresh fruit, unsure what to make of it. “It’s not poisoned.” Michael chuckles as he sets down a fresh mug of coffee, somehow with the exact amount of cream Dennis usually adds.
“I didn’t... I know!” Dennis can feel the stubborn pout form on his lips as he grabs the coffee mug, taking a sip before he can further embarrass himself. Michael leans over, elbows on the island, and crooks an eyebrow, amusement apparent on his face. “So tell me about your trip.”
The two fall into a nice rhythm of conversation as they eat. Once Dennis relaxes, it feels natural. Logically, he knows this is a one-time occurrence. However, he can’t help but think how nice it would be to have regularly. His mind conjures a world in which Michael cooks breakfast on their days off, and Dennis cooks dinner, the afternoon spent relaxing on the couch or adventuring around the city together.
After a second cup of coffee, Dennis clears their plates, insisting that he leave this place as he arrived, which means “no dirty dishes, Michael.” He gathers the few things he has brought over during his stay and prepares to leave.
“Thank you for watching the place for me, Dennis,” Michael says, for what Dennis thinks is probably the third time that morning, but this time, he emphasizes it with a firm hand on Dennis’ upper arm; a gentle squeeze emphasizing his name.
“Thank you for coming back,” Dennis replies softly. He looks up at Michael through his lashes and swears they were not this close a moment ago. He watches as Michael studies his face as they both just stand there, his hand still resting on his arm. Dennis feels lightheaded, probably from holding his breath, maybe from the proximity to his very attractive boss, whom he hasn’t seen in weeks, who he swears somehow got hotter. Then he swears he hallucinates from lack of oxygen because there is no way Michael’s eyes actually darted down to his lips and back up. Dennis stutters a rushed goodbye, mentions seeing him at work, and quickly exits the home. While the final moments were a bit of a blur, Dennis is confident that there was a motorcycle helmet sitting on top of Michael’s duffel bag next to the front door.
══════════════════
“Can’t believe you’re fuckin’ leaving, Huckleberry!” Santos throws an arm around Dennis’ shoulders. Michael leans his back against the bar, taking another sip from his beer. He watches the two converse while Garcia saddles up next to Santos, her arm winding around the other’s waist. The noise from the bar drowns out the rest of their conversation, so Michael turns back to face the bar.
“So,” Dana starts, appearing right next to him.
“So?” Michael echoes, earning himself an exaggerated eyeroll.
“You gonna tell the kid?” She asks, nudging Michael’s elbow with her own.
“Tell him what exactly?” Michael asks, trying to play it cool.
“Oh, you know exactly what.” Dana turns to face him, her back to Dennis and the few others still lingering from the Bon Voyage party. “Don’t think you're so secretive and stoic. The past four years, I’ve watched you flirt and have flings, no relationship ever lasting over seven weeks, and none of the people on the receiving end of that exchange were looked at in the same way you look at that boy when you think no one is watching.”
“Dana,” Michael warns.
“You’re allowed to want nice things, Mikey. You deserve ‘em.” Dana pats him on the back and walks off, making her way to bid Dennis her own farewell. After a few minutes, Michael throws back the last of his beer and is about to leave when someone joins him at the bar.
“Michael, I didn’t expect you to stay the whole time.” Dennis leans an elbow on the bar, looking directly at him.
“Well, it would have been rude to leave without saying goodbye, and everyone else kept you pretty tied up for a while.” Michael shrugs.
“I’m glad you came out with us. I-I really wanted a chance to thank you for everything.” Michael watches as Dennis fights the emotions welling in his eyes. He thinks Dennis must have teared up through a few goodbyes this evening.
“You don’t have to thank me for anything. You are a great doctor. You accomplished that through your own determination, resilience, and skill. I saw it in you day one.” Michael takes a breath to steady himself so he doesn't say anything out of line. “I’m sorry we aren’t keeping you here at PMTC, but I know you will do amazing things in Austin. Just know, you always have a spot here if you want it. Hell, I’ll take a pay cut to make room in the budget to hire you if ever it comes to it, kid.” A moment of silence passes between them, and Michael finally turns and makes eye contact with Dennis. Instead of finding tearful eyes like before, he sees frustration furrowing his brows. Fuck, I went too far. Michael thinks as he tries to come up with a way to fix whatever he said wrong.
“I’m not a kid,” Dennis mutters under his breath.
“What?” Michael asks, shocked. Because that is not the part he assumed he got wrong. That was the thing thrown in at the end to try to cover up his true thoughts and feelings.
“I said I’m not a fucking kid!” Dennis snaps and quickly covers his mouth. “I-I’m sorry. That was... I’m just so tired of everyone seeing me as just some kid or some fumbling med student. Especially, you.” Michael watches as Dennis closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s not sure what Dennis wants to hear. “I should go. My ride is probably here. Thanks for everything, Dr. Robby.” Michael watches as Dennis grabs his backpack and heads to the door. He is frozen in place for a moment, then his brain finally catches up, and he quickly follows him.
“Whitaker, wait!” Michael calls once he is out the door, but Dennis doesn’t turn around. Just keeps walking down the sidewalk to the other side of the parking lot. “Damnit... Dennis!” That does it, Dennis turns around and freezes Michael in place again with a stare.
“Yes?” He asks impatiently.
“Michael.”
“What?”
“You called me Dr. Robby again... It’s Michael.” Michael can hear the pleading tone in his voice and worries he sounds desperate, but this isn’t the casual, friendly goodbye he was shooting for.
“Right...” Dennis says, clearly irritated. “Goodbye, Michael.” Dennis turns away from him to begin walking again. He can’t leave like this. I can’t leave it like this.
“I know you’re not a kid,” he says, and Dennis turns around again. “God, I haven’t thought of you as a kid or fumbling med student in a very long time, Dennis.”
“Then why...”
“Because I’m not good at this.” Michael chuckles with self-deprecation as he gestures to everything and nothing in particular. “I’m not good with change. I’m not good at goodbyes...”
“Okay.”
“And Lord knows I’m terrible with feelings.” Michael sighs, exacerbated. He’s now opened the floodgates and doesn’t know how to stop. “Because you are... special. Really fucking extraordinary and...” Suddenly, there is a pull on the front of his jacket and pressure on his mouth, forcing him to stop talking, and Dennis is kissing him. Michael kisses back, his hands gliding up to hold Dennis's upper arms. Dennis deepens the kiss, a contented sigh escaping, and Michael’s brain suddenly comes back online. Gently pulling him back to separate them, Michael studies Dennis’ face. “Dennis...” Michael is suddenly at a loss for words.
“Michael,” Dennis responds, slightly breathless, but with a newfound cockiness and confidence underneath.
“You... you don’t want to do this. You’ve been drinking.” How the tables have turned, Michael thinks as he now falters under insecurity.
“I’m stone cold sober. Been drinking just soda all night.”
“I’m... not exactly young anymore.”
“And we just established I’m not a kid anymore.” Dennis has the audacity to actually put his hands on his hips, and fuck, does Michael want to replace them with his own hands.
“When is your flight?”
“6 AM.” Michael’s lips pinch together as he checks his watch.
“It's only midnight.”
“Guess, I’ve still got some time to kill.” Dennis teases, and the look he gives Michael is positively devilish as he twirls one of Michael’s hoodie strings around his finger. Cocky little... Michael would be annoyed if he weren’t so turned on.
“Can you cancel your ride?” Michael asks. Dennis pulls out his phone and checks the ride-share app.
“Well, would you look at that, I guess I forgot to order one.” His smile is impish, and Michael can’t help it. He pulls Dennis back in, claiming his smart mouth with his. Breathless, they pull away just enough to rest their foreheads together.
“You knew I’d follow you.” Michael isn’t sure if that is a statement or a question.
“I hoped you would,” Dennis replies, looking up through his lashes with his devastating blue eyes.
══════════════════
Dennis quietly slips his jeans back on, watching to make sure he doesn’t wake Michael. He didn’t plan on falling asleep. He had lain there, running his hands through Dennis’ curls as his head lay on his chest, and asked if he could drive him to the airport. Dennis had agreed, but now as he watches the slow rise and fall of Michael’s chest, his words from earlier replay in his head.
“I’m not good at goodbyes.”
Dennis makes the heart-wrenching choice to let him sleep and slip off into the early morning. This night had been everything he’d dreamed of and nothing like it. Yet, here he was, leaving for a job in another state, unsure of when or if he would be back. So, he decided to let everything that occurred be their goodbye. He scribbled a final “thank you” on a scrap of paper in his pocket and left it on Michael’s nightstand. With a final look, Dennis tries to commit every detail to memory. Then, he, with tired eyes and a heavy heart, leaves.