Archive of Our Own

Day 36 

“Do I have to be here?” 

Dennis Whitaker has never gotten used to wearing a tie. It’s always too tight, or too loose. It always seemed to fit him weird, like he could never truly be formal. He feels foreign in his own skin. 

And now he’s here. Standing inside a law firm, with Jack Abbot and Dana Evans of all people. 

“You’re being summoned.” Jack simply says, his eyes wandering down to his neck tie, “Your tie is crooked.” 

Dana doesn’t say anything, just moves her fingers to his neck. The fingers are cool against his neck, fiddling with the tie. She reties it with ease. Up close, Dennis can’t avoid staring. She looks as if she’s aged more in the last thirty days. There’s heavy bags under her eyes, her cheeks are a bit more hollow, her eyes still red rimmed. 

Dennis doesn’t begrudge her for it. He feels as if he’s aged ten years since that day. He hasn’t cried, hasn’t shed a singular tear. 

“We’ll be here.” Samira breaks the silence that has lulled them, something that always happens when it's the three of them these days. Wherever it is, it always seemed to be the three of them. 

Samira is sitting on a bench in the hall, Jack has to bend a little to kiss her head and Dennis has to look away before he keels over envy in the middle of the law firm hall. Beside her, Trinity is sitting but not speaking. She gives Dennis a small nod and Dennis appreciates it more than anything. 

“For Robinavitch?” 

They all look up at the echo of the name. It bounces against the walls. 

A man is standing with a file in his hand. He’s dressed in a blue suit, and a black tie. There’s a smile on his face that’s so familiar to Dennis. It’s the same smile he gives to families of loved ones, the same smile he gives when he knows the patient is not going to make it. 

“This way for the reading of the will.”

Day 05

“I can’t do it.” 

Trinity is staring back at him with red rimmed eyes. 

Dennis wonders when he’ll be able to cry. Maybe it’ll make him feel better, feel lighter. Maybe with every tear, every emotion he feels would vanish as well. He hopes this is the case. 

“I know, Huckleberry.” She says with sympathy, “But we’ve got to.” 

“I don’t have to go.” Dennis answers petulantly. 

Trinity turns him over by the shoulder to look him in the eyes. It’s the first time Dennis sees her since she's entered the room. She’s wearing a black dress he’s never seen before and it makes him wonder if she bought it specifically for this occasion. 

She doesn’t say anything, just takes the lint roller on his hand and rolls it on his dark sweater. The sweater is bigger in the shoulders, longer in the arms. It’s not his to begin with. Trinity folds the arms two times, her arms coming up to brush some of his curls away from his face. 

Her fingers pause on the gold chain on Dennis’ neck, before she reaches gingerly under his shirt, pulling it out and placing it on top of the shirt. The star and cross clink together as it’s set free. 

Robby had handed it to him before he went on sabbatical. For safe keeping, he had said with a fond smile.

“You have to go.” Trinity finally says, “If you miss it, you will regret it for the rest of your life.” 

“I already have so much to regret in my life.” Dennis spits back. 

Trinity doesn’t even seem taken aback by the anger, she just shrugs, and looks him dead in the eyes, “You will go and I will go with you. I will hold your hand. You can cry or you don’t have to cry. But you will go and you will say your goodbyes.” 

Dennis crumbles under her kindness, “I am not ready.” 

Trinity straightens up, giving him a shaky smile, “I don’t think anyone can ever be ready for this, Dennis.”

Trinity holds out her hand for him to take, Dennis stares at it. It reminds him of drawn animals on the wall, bloody suits and the shema prayer. 

“Huckleberry.” Trinity calls out when time stretches for too long. 

Dennis takes the hand outstretched in front of him. 

Day 45

“What do I do with the house?” Dennis asks, the hot steam of the tea in front of him is comforting. 

Dana’s house is quiet. If Dennis strains his ears hard enough and he thinks he will vaguely hear the pitterpatter of footsteps on the wooden floors where her daughters took their first steps, or the scratching of the pencil that was used to indent their heights growing up on the door panel. 

Right now, it’s quiet and dark. The curtains are drawn back with a slither of sunlight coming through. 

“What do you want to do with the house?” Dana asks back, her own tea being stirred with sugar in front of her. 

“I wanna burn it down.” Dennis replies back bitterly and Dana laughs unexpectedly. It’s a foreign sound nowadays, laughter. So Dennis soaks it in, even lets himself smile a little. 

“It’s yours, Jerry.” Dana says, calling him by her handpicked nickname for him, “You can do whatever you want to do with it.” 

“So if I burn it down, you think Jack would kill me?” Dennis asks, genuinely asking for his own sake. 

Dana smiles at him, though it seems so different to the one she used to give him in the ER, “I think Jack will kill you for letting go of a good piece of land in the economy we’re having. But I don’t think Jack will kill you for— for whatever reason you have for not wanting the house.” 

Dennis stares at his cup of tea. Stirring it and watching as it spirals into a small hurricane. They sit in silence for a bit, watching as time passes them by, the only sound that fills the room is the clinking of their cups against their spoons. 

“It’s too quiet.” Dennis finally breaks the silence and he doesn’t clarify. He already knows that Dana knows what he means, “I think I am going to lose my mind if I keep living there all by myself.” 

Dana hums to herself, she’s staring far over and when Dennis tracks her line of sight, he ends up staring at the mantel above her fireplace. There’s a dozen pictures, from the girls in their early ages to high school prom pictures. Wedged in between laughter and bright smiles is a younger picture of Dana, blonde hair let down. She’s wearing an older set of scrubs and beside her, an even younger face smiles back. Dennis knows the face even without the wrinkles and the beard and the time that has been etched on his face. 

Dennis looks away. He thinks it’s better this way. He hopes it happens quicker. Dennis would take it as a blessing if he could forget what Michael Robinavitch looked like in the next thirty minutes.

“How many rooms are there again?” Dana asks, setting her cup down. 

“Four.” Dennis thinks, “There’s the master bedroom.” 

Dennis avoids that one like the plague. Dennis thinks opening that room would actually kill him. 

“The guest room, the office and an empty storage room.” 

“I heard Javadi has been wanting to move out.” Dana nods, “And I am sure Mel would also like to have a place of her own especially since Becca has moved out.” 

“And the last room?” Dennis asks. 

Dana turns to him with a knowing look, “Trinity misses you like a limb, though she’d never say that.” 

Dennis nods. He doesn’t know why he never thought of that. He thinks of his friends— his people in the house. Maybe it’ll finally stop the grief growing on the walls, maybe it’ll finally make the floor stop creaking with the ghost of the person who lived there before him. 

“Don’t burn it, kid.” Dana throws out, and Dennis doesn’t mention the fact that she sounds like she’s pleading, “Make it into your home. Make new memories.” 

Dana stands up, and Dennis watches as she goes over a familiar box. It was a box given to her by the lawyer. Dana gets a box, Jack gets a key to a storage room, and Dennis gets the deed for the fucking house. 

When she comes back, there’s tears in her eyes. Dennis desperately wants to cry with her, wants to sob in her arms like a child. He wants to be petulant and wail and ask for things that not even God can grant him. She quietly hands him a picture. 

“This is yours.” 

The picture is curling at the edges, a bit yellow from age. It’s a picture of a young man. He’s holding a bunch of keys and there’s a bright beam of smile on his face. He's standing in front of the house that Dennis now owns. 

Somewhere in Dana’s house the heater shakes against the vents, and Dennis hates that it sounds so much like the drumming of his heart in his chest. 

He clutches the picture to his chest and meets Dana’s eyes.

“It’s mine.” Dennis whispers, he doesn’t specify what he's talking about but Dana smiles nonetheless. 

“He’s yours.” 

Day 01 

“Hello?”

Dennis isn’t sure what the fuck is happening. It’s been raining on and off for the last few days. Dennis doesn’t think of Robby and the way the rain glistens against the roads. Instead, he clings on to older traditions. Takes out a bunch of beads and prays fifty-three Hail Marys. Again and again. 

“Can I help you with anything?” 

There’s a police man in front of Robby’s porch. Dennis loves Robby’s front porch. There’s a small step coming up to it, and a potted plant beside the door.  A yellow light emits from the front porch light. It’s nothing like his home in Broken Bow. He didn’t think he’d ever find comfort in the city, but it seems like Dennis has finally found it. Or maybe— it’s just the person who lived in it. 

“This was Michael Robinavitch’s last listed address, is that correct?” 

Dennis nods, half-awake, half-asleep. He hugs his— Robby’s— cardigan closer to his body. 

“Are you his partner?” 

Dennis blinks awake, gawking at the man. 

“Am I his—? What— What is this about?” 

His phone rings against his hand and Dennis looks down to see Jack Abbot’s name flashing on his screen. 

There’s this thing his mother used to tell Dennis when he was growing up. The first time Dennis Whitaker experienced death, he was seven. He remembers it vividly, like it happened yesterday. There’s this cow who Dennis loved so much, his Eugene. Dennis milked him, took care of him, fed him. And then, one day, Eugene was just gone. Something about being too sick and medication being too expensive. 

Dennis didn’t understand it then. 

And when Dennis started medical school, he finally faced death face to face. This time Dennis is the one who’s warding it off, trying his best to keep death at bay. Dennis feels accomplished with every heart he restarts, he feels proud with every bone he mends. 

Death— Dennis still didn’t understand it. 

The phone is still insistently vibrating in his hand as the man speaks to Dennis. He’s speaking in a low voice, it’s soothing and comforting and Dennis knows he’s heard it before. Robby’s used it to tell families that their loved ones are gone. Robby’s used it to talk to them after a patient dies, and they all stand still to take a moment of silence. 

The man is still speaking. Something about slippery roads and motorcycle collisions and—

There’s ringing in Dennis’ ears. He doesn’t know if it’s his phone, the man’s voice or his mother’s voice telling him— again and again and again as a cow leaves, a pig leaves, a chicken leaves, another beloved farm animal leaves— 

Death is the only thing you can be sure of in life. 

Day 62

There’s boxes piled up everywhere. There’s footsteps in the living room, heavy and familiar— It’s probably Jack pushing another box of books for Victoria. In the kitchen, Dennis can vaguely hear a kettle whistling quietly. The sound blends in with the current pop artist who’s singing— only because Mel drew the longest straw and got to be the one to choose music. You’d be surprised with how much of a mixed bag her music is— but lately it’s been purely love songs. Though, Dennis chalks that to whatever she’s doing with the now divorced Dr. Langdon. There’s clinking in the room right across Dennis, Trinity’s opening a box of jewelries— groaning and grunting about tangled necklaces and bracelets as Samira giggles about something. 

The house is easy to move into. 

Dennis should’ve noticed that when he first moved in. 

The kitchen is complete with necessities. A kettle, a toaster, an airfryer. Pans, utensils, plates. So is the living room which was complete with a couch and a television set. The same goes for the few bathrooms and showers. 

The master bedroom is sparse. There’s a few knick knacks left behind. A few sweaters, a few shirts, a bottle of perfume, a plant. It’s signs of being alive, signs that you shouldn’t be concerned, signs that someone will come back. 

Dennis hasn’t entered the master bedroom since day one happened. But he’s here now. It was bound to happen. It is his room to be.

There’s barely anything to pack away, Dennis knows this because he’s been to the storage place that Jack forced him to visit. Robby has already packed everything for them. His whole life, all packed together in boxes and put in a storage place. 

Dennis gingerly packs a few scrubs in the box. Dennis thinks— hopes— that one day, he’ll be able to open the box and not feel like someone reached a hand inside his chest and pulled his heart right out.

At the very back of the closet is a familiar Carhartt jacket. It’s zipped up and hung carefully. Dennis stares at it, remembers the man who was wearing it when he was handed the keys to the house. Dennis thinks back to that night often, and thinks of what he could've done differently. 

With shaking hands, Dennis pulls the jacket out. As he removes the jacket off the hanger, a folded piece of paper slips out of the pocket. 

Dennis stares at it for a second too long. It’s folded into a square, enough to fit the jacket pockets and when it lands facing up, Dennis sees his name scribbled. He plops ungracefully on the floor, the jacket forgotten and crumpled on his lap as he rushes to open the piece of paper. 

There are no letters. 

Jack has admitted to him late one night when they’ve ripped open Robby’s alcohol cabinet with a hammer because they cannot find the keys to it. Jack had looked and looked and looked. He has shaken the storage room from bottom to top, looking for something. A closure, a goodbye, a fucking letter. 

That night, they drunkenly shaken the house to look for letters. There’s a shaky wooden floor in one of the bedrooms because Jack had ripped it apart in hopes that Robby would have a hidden floor compartment. 

Dennis opens the piece of paper, heart pounding on his chest. 

In the absence of letters, there is a list. Dennis runs his eyes on the folded paper. 

to do before sabbatical: 

• rent a storage room so house isn’t too messy
• talk to langdon do that when you come back
• buy shaving cream and maybe granola bars?
• trim rose bushes 
• update will just incase 
• call that therapist. ask jack. 
• grow some balls and maybe ask dennis out or something 

There are no letters. There were never gonna be any letters. 

Dennis doesn’t know what sound he makes when he finally cries for the first time in sixty-two days since he found out that Michael Robinavitch was dead. But it’s loud enough that there's a crash in Trinity’s room before she comes barrelling into the room with a frantic look in her eyes. 

“Huckle—“ She freezes on the spot, Samira right behind her when she finds him on the floor sobbing. 

Dennis is clutching the list to his chest, jacket tight in between his arms as he looks up and sees a blurry version of his best friend. 

“He didn’t kill—“ Dennis tries, but his voice cracks all around itself, “Robby didn’t kill himself.” 

“Den—“ Samira starts, gently settling down beside him. 

“No.” Dennis shakes his head sobbing as he hands her the list, “No, look. Mira, look.”

Samira takes the note, Trinity reads behind her shoulder. 

“Oh, Dennis.” Samira lets go of the note, inching closer to get to him. 

“He’s just gone.” Dennis whispers, like it’s a secret that’s never meant to be told, “Robby’s just gone. And he left me his house, his necklace, and this note. Robby’s just gone. He wanted to ask me out.” 

Trinity goes around them, wrapping an arm around Dennis and Dennis holds on to her like he’d float away if it wasn’t for her. He sobs on her shoulder, and the sound reverberates around the empty room, “I would’ve said yes. I would’ve said yes again and again.” 

“Shhh.” Trinity sniffles, hand already brushing through his hair. Samira’s hand is drawing comforting circles on his back, “It’s okay, Den. It’s okay.” 

“How is this fair?” Dennis almost wails, hands clutching the jacket on his lap, “How is any of this fair? I just want more time, Trin. I just want more time.” 

Dennis doesn’t know how much time passes as he sobs on the floor of that room. He knows that at some point the girls and Jack find them there— Dennis isn’t sure if it's the sounds of his chest-wracking sobs or if it's the rambled babbling of pleading that caught their attention.

Dennis falls asleep like that, in a fetal position, head on Trinity’s lap as he sobs like a child. He cries himself to the point of exhaustion and he doesn’t even care. He’s surrounded by doctors who could revive him if needed to. 

Dennis dreams of Robby for the first time that night. 

For a couple of hours, Dennis doesn’t feel anything. He could only feel Robby’s hand in his, and the quiet reassurance that Dennis will love him long after he is gone. 

Day —

In the cruelest twist of fate, life goes on. 

Samira and Jack get married at some point. Mel and Langdon do as well. Dana retires after they appoint Jack as the new Chief of Emergency and she’s enjoying her free time by teaching a few nursing classes. 

Trinity never moves out, instead she settles in and sets her roots in the house with Dennis. They joke about lavender marriages, and getting married for tax reasons. She dates Garcia, which ultimately doesn’t work out, then dates Ellis which ultimately works out. Parker doesn’t question the friendship, she moves into the house halfway through the relationship and fits right into their dynamics. 

Victoria stays as well. She took a gap year after moving out of her parents house, to see and find what she likes. When the year ends, she comes home to PTMC with a happy heart. It’s where she belongs and to find that on her own was all she’s wished for. 

Dennis doesn’t stay in the ER. Instead, he goes four floors up and proudly wears the pink scrubs of Pediatrics. He finds joy in the laughter and the innocence. There’s a pack of stickers on his pocket and he hands it out gleefully to children whose smiles mend his broken heart. 

Once in a while, Dennis gets called home and he rides the elevator down to the familiar halls of the ER. He says hello to the familiar faces, jabs jokes with his roommates, helps the children in the familiar pedes room. 

It comes in waves— in small measures and then in bigger measures— his grief. There’s people to hold on to so the waves don’t wash him away. 

“How do you move past something that was never yours?” Dennis has asked Jack and Dana on the night of Robby’s first death anniversary. 

They share a knowing look, before Dana breaks into a big laugh, shortly followed by Jack. Dennis glares at them, as the two fold into each other with laughter. 

“Oh, Jerry.” Dana has sighed once the laughter seizes, “Robby has always been yours.” 

Jack reaches over his neck, and pulls out the familiar necklace from underneath his sweatshirt. Jack pats the necklace like it’s a familiar friend he’s missed, maybe it was. 

“Always.” 

Dennis doesn’t fall in love again. He does try. Valiantly, might he add. He lets the nurses and doctors set him up with a few men who're a bit older than him, sometimes with a beard, sometimes without, always with a kind smile. Dennis feels as if he’s cheating when he goes home and he measures the men up against Robby. 

Robby wasn’t perfect— not by a mile. He was crass and hurtful at times. There’s a hardness to him that time has brought on, a defensiveness that was built to protect himself. Underneath it all, Dennis sees who he was as a person. Kindness that ran him to the ground, a heart too big that had failed way too many times, a softness that left him bruised. 

There’s barely anything to measure. However, Dennis still does, still looks for Robby in every man he dates or sleeps with. 

So Dennis stops dating altogether. He pours all his time to the kids at his work, to his friends, to tending his home, to making lists. He hopes that one day his heart will heal enough to welcome someone else and if it never truly does, then Dennis Whitaker is gratified over the fact that he’s given his heart to Michael Robinavitch. 

Time will pass— as it always does.

But for now, Dennis tucks the clinking necklace underneath his pink scrubs as the elevator opens up to the familiar ER halls. He passes the framed pictures and pauses for a minute to stare at the familiar face smiling down at him. 

There’s a million things in Dennis’ mind, a million things he wants to ask and say. Vividly, Dennis can still hear Robby’s voice in the back of his mind. He wants to ask if he’s alright, wants to ask if he’s proud of Dennis, wants to know what he's been up to.

Someday, one day, Dennis believes he’ll get his answers. But that’s not today. He’s got a life to live, a few lives to save. 

Instead, Dennis smiles up at the love of his life. 

“Hello, Robby.”