Chapter Text
It had been 8 months since Trinity found Dennis dancing to funk music in an abandoned wing of the hospital. 6 months since they watched their first episode of Grey’s Anatomy together, which then caused a new era in their bond. Nearly every night, they would watch exactly two episodes- one was never enough- and she would yell at their medical mistakes while he would sit back laughing. 3 months since Trinity used the word “friends” to describe their relationship, sending Dennis into a state of shock. It wasn’t that he thought they weren’t friends, but there was something particularly heavy about stating it out loud- especially to their attending and in earshot of half of the PTMC.
It had been 14 hours, however, since Robby’s new prodigy, the one and only Dr Whitaker, had grazed- well, perforated is more like it, the bowel during a surgical procedure that should’ve been routine, in the first hour of their shift.
2 hours since that patient died of fatal sepsis; 2 hours that Dennis Whitaker had not spoken at all. Not while finishing charting, not on the car ride home, and not as the duo entered their two-bedroom apartment.
Trinity ran through all the possible things she could say to break the silence- ultimately deciding on not saying anything at all.
Dennis scratched the back of his neck and looked down, kicking off his sneakers.
She set her Trader Joe’s tote bag down by the door and watched him stumble onto their couch. She had to say something- she knew she had to. But actually doing so was a lot harder than expected.
“You want something to eat? I think we have leftover pasta.”
“Uhm, no, I’m not really hungry,” he said, his voice sounding rough and dry.
“Okay, yeah, are you, uhm, thirsty?” She asked him, but she would’ve forced a glass of water down his throat no matter what he said.
“I’d like some tea, thanks.”
Of course, he’d “like some tea”. He is such a huckleberry. She trudged over to the kitchen, rolling her shoulders in an attempt to shrug off the weight of a 12-hour shift. There was no need to ask him what kind of tea he wanted. His answer was consistently raspberry mint. She clicked on the stove and began to boil a small pot of water. As the pot was heating up- slowly, but surely- she made the executive decision to check on him.
Plopping down next to him, she mumbled, “Grey's Anatomy?”
“Not tonight.”
“It’s been like two weeks since we watched it. Might be a record.”
“The show sucked once most of the original group left.”
“...fair.”
There was a long stretch of silence before a few sniffles came from Dennis, then a few tears.
Trinity hesitated before inching closer to the man and wrapping her arm around his shoulder. Quite possibly the most contact they’ve made since they hugged on New Year's Eve. This possibility was made a fact once Dennis Whitaker, a 27-year-old ex-farm boy, leaned his head against 28-year-old Krav-Maga practitioner, Trinity “angriest person you’re ever going to meet” Santos. Quite the odd sight. And yet, the two stayed there for nearly 20 minutes.
“Y’know, when I was little and in a bad mood, my mom would sing to me. Lullabies and whatnot.” He grinned at her.
“Huckleberry, there is no way I am singing to you right now.”
“Fine. I still feel guilty about the patient, though.”
“Yeah. I know,” she paused for a moment, “when I was 17, a really good friend of mine passed away. In the weeks after, I really beat myself up over it. Like, I kept wondering what I could’ve done. I still do. But that’s not the point. The point is, on our first day, I got a patient who acted really similar to my friend did before she, you know, died.”
Dennis nodded along before she continued, “And this time, I was able to do something and get him help. He ended up living.”
“And your point is…?”
“Sometimes mistakes are inevitable, and they help us learn for, oh, I don’t know, the future.”
Trinity scoffed and went on, “You know I have to check on your tea, right?”
“Do you really have to?” he wiped his cheek as he spoke.
“I mean, do you even want the tea?”
“Not really, no. I just assumed you’d force me to drink something no matter what, though.”
“Yeah, I would’ve.
She shifted to face him, disrupting their conversation and position, embracing him in a hug.
“...thanks, Trin.” He mumbled over his words.
She didn’t let him get anything else out, however, as she grabbed his shoulders and forced them apart.
“Go sleep, Huckleberry. I don’t want you going nonverbal again. It was lonely without you annoying me 24/7.”
“Alright, alright!” He laughed and walked over to his bathroom to get ready for bed. She did the same- shortly after turning the stove off, of course.
Trinity paused at her bedroom door before doing a 180 and walking towards Dennis’ bedroom instead. She turned the handle slowly before creaking the white-painted wooden door open, finding pretty much what she expected. Dennis curled onto his side, still and sleeping. She closed the door partially and tiptoed her way to his bedside. She watched as his chest rose and fell with his breath, how the blankets were kicked almost fully down to stop the early summer heat from getting to him.
She ruffled his dark blonde curls and sighed. She knew what was coming. The truth was, from the moment he asked her she knew it was coming. She didn’t have it in her at the moment to deny a request of his, let alone one that would make him feel better- safer.
She kept her voice low as she hummed.
“Close your eyes
Have no fear
The monsters gone, he’s on the run, and your daddy’s here
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy”
She sang slowly and gracefully.
He peered his eyes open a smidge.
“You know I’m not asleep, right?”
“Yeah, and if you ever tell anyone I did that for you, I’m kicking you out,” she swallowed, “I mean, not actually, because who else will I watch medical dramas with, but still.”
“I get the point.”
“I know you do.”