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Mrs Crowley
Robby could say to himself, or even to other people, that he was biting himself up by jealousy. Although, for sure, he knew that it was better to leave this sentiment inside his own head – and his poor cheek, already tired of so many bites.
It was quite obvious that he couldn't express what he was feeling (and seeing and hearing), since the object of his jealousy was none other than Dennis Whitaker, his medical resident, who was born in the late 1990s and wasn't even 30 yet. For many, that wasn't a problem.
For Michael Robinavitch, however, it was a huge problem, as big as the age difference between them. It wasn’t just the age difference itself that was the problem, but the power imbalance between them. Of course, he had dated Collins, his resident, before, but the smaller age gap had made him feel less guilty.
Not with Dennis.
So he let himself be bitten by jealousy.
Literally.
And this particular day would be no different.
Aline Crowley, a 65-year-old woman, arrived at the emergency department complaining of chest pain. Given her age and family history, it was almost certain that she was having a heart attack, in this case, the onset of one. Not long after she was admitted to a room, her son, a man in his late 30s, arrived to stay with her.
He was an… elegant man, Robby had to admit.
With beautiful brown eyes and well-behaved golden curls.
And it was at that very moment that Whitaker decided to join Robby, using the excuse that things were slow in the ER that day. His resident asked Mrs. Crowley’s son, who, not ironically, was named Robert, a few pertinent questions.
“You can call me Robby,” he said with a smile filled with so white and aligned teeth, and a smug look in Dennis’ direction.
Robby – the doctor, not the son – bit the inside of his cheek and he was almost on the verge of giving himself up to other forms of automutilations by seeing his precious Whitaker blush.
Oh, for God’s sake, he wasn’t even that handsome!
He was just tall, well dressed, had a deep voice and, possibly, a good financial return.
“Okay, then,” Whitaker cleared his throat, “Robby. You’ll need to keep her under your watch, okay? We were lucky to catch the heart attack early on, so we won’t need to resort to anything as invasive as surgery. We’ll keep her under observation for a day, and after that, it’s up to you, okay?”
“No worries, doc, I’ll observe her very well.”
There was a smirk on the son’s patient face.
Whitaker opened his mouth wide, like a fish, but nothing came out before Mrs. Crowley herself uttered a few words that would haunt Robby—perhaps both of them—for the rest of their lives.
“Young man, you look like you could be my next son-in-law, and maybe my last.”
“Mom!”
Robby, the doctor, didn’t know it was possible to blush on someone else’s behalf, but at that moment he saw it happen. He had blushed for Dennis, for the blood had drained from his face, leaving him as pale as milk.
“C’mon, son, be brave at least once in your life and give your number to him.”
Robby, the son, said nothing, and Mrs. Crowley sighed, snatching her purse from beside the bed. From inside of it, she took out a notepad and a pen, writing the number of her son right after. She tore off the paper and gave it to Whitaker, who caught it with a confused frown.
“There it is,” she said with a big smile on her face, “I really hope to see you again.”
Robby bit the inside of his cheek, this time with so much violence that he felt the iron’s taste take all over his mouth. He almost felt like a vampire, with blood in his mouth and completely dead inside.
He left the room, murmuring some excuses under his breath.
He didn’t know how long his cheek would survive without necroting.
Nurse John
Robby couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy gossip.
Every moment in that hospital, his ears were treated to wild or shocking stories, whether from patients, nurses, doctors, or students. Sometimes it was unintentional, like when he saw Dr. Mohan cleaning Jack’s wounds; other times it was quite intentional, stopping by the nurses’ station while filling out patient charts and listening to Perlah and Princess gossip in Tagalog as if no one would know.
At that moment, he did the same, except this time he wasn’t listening to his beloved nurses, but rather to his beloved residents, gossiping loudly about a certain Nurse John. His cheeks felt as if they were about to fall off when he heard a certain word.
“I can be a lesbian, Huckleberry, but I’m not blind. Nurse John is pretty!”
To Robby’s surprise, Whitaker just rolled his eyes but said nothing. A moment of silence passed until Trinity brought up the subject again; this time, Whitaker joined in with whispers—irritated whispers.
“Trinity!”
“What?!”
If Robby were a mature man who acted his age, he wouldn’t meddle in youthful affairs. However, Robby couldn’t contain his eagerness to hear the gossip—and learn about his potential rival.
He stopped writing, leaned back slightly in his swivel chair, and turned his gaze toward the two of them.
“What are you guys talking about?”
Whitaker’s eyes widened, a blush spreading from his neck to his face, while Santos already had a mischievous little smile on her face, suggesting a bombshell was about to come out of her mouth.
Acting as if nothing were wrong, she shrugged and turned her attention back to her computer screen. Robby even thought she wasn’t going to say anything, but seconds later…
“Nothing too important, Dr. Robby, just our Dennis here that doesn’t accept there is a man, just like nurse John, completely head over heels for him.”
“Trinity.”
“What? It 's true! Don’t be such a huckleberry, I know you want h-”
She was cut off mid-sentence by a groan of pain, as if something terribly painful had happened—Robby looked down when his favorite resident stepped away—to her feet. Santos wasn’t going to let that slide, that was for sure.
And, well, Robby wasn’t going to let his cheek escape the pain either.
He could feel his cheek tissue between his teeth as he put on a blank expression.
“Oh, interesting. Who is this handsome man that I don’t know of?”
There was a little bit of venom in his voice and he chastised himself internally.
“Oh, trust me, you’ll know when the nurses and the doctors get crazy.”
An hour later, Robby confirmed the obvious.
The nurses began whispering among themselves, and Robby looked away from the patient information board to see what all the commotion was about. He twisted his mouth, holding all his anger in check.
Nurse John really was a heartthrob.
Tall, athletic, with dark skin, eyes of a golden hue he had never seen before, and dreadlocks. Robby looked him up and down, feeling a surge of anger inside as he saw the direction the embodiment of the god Xangô was taking.
The doctor couldn’t contain his rage and slammed his thermos down on the counter, startling Dana, who was on the phone and looked at him as if a second head had grown on his neck.
“What the heck is wrong with you?”
Robby walked in the opposite direction from Nurse John, huffing and cursing.
He knew exactly what was wrong.
Or rather, the reason why.
Secret admirer
Robby took a deep breath before heading toward the locker room.
It was just another day at work, another day he’d spend 12 hours or more on the job, watching people come and go from the ER with cases both simple and complex. It would also be a day he’d spend entirely alongside Whitaker. He muttered curses under his breath when he saw exactly who he didn’t want standing next to his locker.
Don’t get him wrong, Robby loved having his resident around, but lately, every day spent with him had been torture. He wanted him the way a tree wants the sun; he wanted him so badly that he could have bitten his own cheek every time he saw him interacting with other men—who also wanted him.
Robby was just trying to protect himself from another possible bout of jealousy and the potential necrosis of his mucous membrane. So he was going to walk past Whitaker, just mutter a “hi” and keep going, but something caught his eye: a letter.
A letter, in Whitaker’s hands.
A letter full of heart stickers and pink paper.
His nostrils flared, and he couldn't help but walk over to the resident, using the excuse of putting his backpack in the locker.
“Good morning, dr. Whitaker.”
“Oh, good morning, dr. Robby.”
He mentioned putting the paper away in his locker, but Robby, in a burst of courage or impulsive stupidity, couldn’t resist asking:
“What is it?”
He couldn’t say he’d even tried to hide the dryness in his voice.
The resident’s ears turned red, and he looked away, scratching his temple in an attempt to shake off his embarrassment. Robby, on the other hand, clenched his jaw, and his teeth naturally pressed against his cheek.
“There’s someone leaving these letters inside my lockers,” he explained, “sometimes I find sweets even, but I have no idea who that could be. I would like to thank them.”
Robby could even see two little devils on his shoulders. One was urging him to pull Whitaker toward the stairs and kiss him until his lips turned red, and the other was urging him to track down whoever was sending those letters and tear him to shreds like the paper they were written on.
However, Robby didn’t give in to his deepest desires.
He simply opened the locker, tossed his bag inside, and slammed the metal door shut with all his might, causing not only Whitaker to jump and widen his eyes, but also the rest of the employees, who looked at him as if he needed to be committed to a psychiatric ward.
Robby deigned only to walk out without saying another word.
Very mature of him.
But fuck it.
He was eating himself up with jealousy.
Literally.
Langdon
It was still midday when he found himself feeling hungry.
He hadn’t had a proper breakfast—just a piece of bread with jam and a cup of coffee to get him through the workday. Luckily, he’d made a hearty sandwich the night before to have for lunch; he was just looking for a chance to take a break for at least five minutes and eat in peace.
“Dana,” he grumbled.
“You can go, Robinavitch, I can keep this standing for five fucking minutes.”
Robby sighed with relief, picked up the container with the sandwich, and headed to the break room. To his surprise, Whitaker was already there, sitting at the table, eating a turkey sandwich from the vending machine. He had no idea how the resident could swallow such a dry sandwich without at least some liquid to go with it.
“Whitaker.”
His face lit up, and Robby even felt guilty about the way he’d just walked out on him earlier that day. He needed to come up with a decent excuse that would make Whitaker believe he wasn’t a complete jerk.
However, unfortunately, his attempt was interrupted by none other than Langdon. He couldn’t say the two were on good terms; they only spoke when strictly necessary and always about work.
On the other hand, Robby could see, could feel, the bond between Whitaker and Langdon. Maybe it was nothing more than a friendly relationship between two colleagues; maybe it was just his jealousy clouding his judgment. Maybe it was anything.
But Robby felt his teeth clench in preparation for the inevitable.
And he tasted blood the moment Langdon bumped fists with Whitaker, just as Robby did with both of them.
That was his position.
He who should be doing that.
His fists who should bump against Whitaker’s.
That was his resident.
He felt himself shake entirely.
He couldn't stand the thought of losing what was his, especially to Langdon.
Still, he knew that nothing there was truly his. His shoulders slumped under the weight of resignation, and he stood up, the chair squeaking against the floor as he left his sandwich behind.
Once again, that day, he would come across as a jerk.
And his cheek was one step closer to necrosis.
Handsy patient
Robby prayed to every higher power he could think of for that day to end as quickly as possible. And no, nothing out of the ordinary had happened in the emergency room—nothing he wasn’t already used to.
The reality was just one thing: Dennis Whitaker.
Dennis Whitaker and his puppy-dog eyes. Dennis Whitaker and his blond curls. Dennis Whitaker and his ability to bring out the best and worst in Robby.
He just wanted to act like a normal guy, someone his age, mature enough to deal with his feelings. But no, it wasn’t possible. He was as immature as a 14-year-old, if not worse.
He was running away from Dennis like the devil runs from the cross.
Running away from anything that might trigger his jealousy.
Fuck, he could feel his cheek throbbing from biting it so hard to suppress his negative feelings. He didn’t know how much longer he could take it without exploding; he was already being a total jerk, and he didn’t want to be any worse during that shift.
He sighed, massaging his head, and enjoying a few seconds of silence and solitude at his desk, until an ambulance siren was heard in the distance and Robby tensed up completely.
Realmente, seria um dia difícil.
To make matters worse, Whitaker was the first to reach the door to check in with the paramedics. They were going to have to work together, whether Robby liked it or not.
“What do we have?”
“Forty-five year old male, found unconscious on the sidewalk. Normal vitals, but presenting spatial disorientation and mental confusion.”
Robby shone the clinical flashlight into his eyes; his pupils were reactive. It was most likely a case of alcohol intoxication, in other words, a drunk.
“Whitaker, what do we do?”
He asked as he wheeled the patient to an empty bay that Dana had pointed out.
“Toxicologic test to confirm the alcohol levels and to discard other drugs in his body system. Electrolytic panel, ALT, GGT, intravenous saline and glucose, B1 reposition and, if necessary, IV electrolytes.”
Robby smiled with affection, proud of his ex-student and now resident.
That atmosphere between the two, however, vanished immediately after the patient was placed in bed, with tests completed and the necessary medications administered intravenously. Whitaker was preparing to do a neurological exam when the son of a b- the patient put his hands on the resident’s face, stroking his skin.
Robby huffed audibly.
Whitaker eyeing between Robby and the patient.
“Who is this angel helping me?”
His resident laughed awkwardly.
“Sir, I need you to follow my instructions.”
“Just say it, doc, it’s beyond impossible not to follow what leaves this beautiful mouth of yours.”
His hands were still on Whitaker’s face, and Whitaker tried gently to pry them away, to no avail. The strength of a drunk man could be otherworldly. Robby pressed his lips together, trying at all costs to be a consummate professional, and, of course, not to bite his cheek.
“I’m serious, sir. I can only do this test without your hand here,” he pointed to his jaw and the drunk man took his hand off immediately, but there was still a libertine atmosphere around him.
Whitaker performed the examination and noted a slight decrease in reflexes, consistent with alcohol intoxication. Before jotting down his findings in the medical record, however, the patient cast aside all inhibitions and gave his resident a hard slap on the butt.
Dennis, his precious Dennis, gasped in pain and surprise.
Robby was truly impressed by his own self-control, as he wanted nothing more than to jump on that slacker’s neck. Unfortunately, he was still a doctor and the drunk was a patient.
He took a deep breath.
“I can take over from here, Whitaker, take a break, okay?”
The resident nodded and left.
Robby stood next to the grinning drunk, caught between the medical chart and his jealousy.
Obviously, he wasn’t happy about what had happened to Dennis.
Far from it, he was furious.
But he was still jealous of that drunk for having touched his face first.
He bit his cheek.
“Fuck!”
Jack Abbot
Technically, his shift had ended about ten minutes ago.
For the first time in a long while, he really wanted to go home, to the comfort of his own home, and sleep through the night. Unfortunately, there were still medical charts to be completed and patient handoffs to be made for the night shift staff.
He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face.
He was tired, dirty, hungry, and sleepy.
Not to mention, of course, bitten by jealousy.
Thankfully, nothing serious had happened after the drunk patient, for his own good and for Whitaker’s, who was clearly upset by the slap. Of course, healthcare professionals would face harassment from patients at one time or another, but it should never be accepted as normal. He spoke with him shortly afterward, encouraging him to discuss the matter with HR.
Deep down, Robby would have liked to give him a hug, stroke his head, and whisper words of comfort, to tell him that everything would be all right and that he would always be there to support him—but, of course, he would be the reason Whitaker ended up in HR, not the patient.
He grunted, a twinge in his forehead signaling a possible migraine in the near future.
“Brother, you look done.”
Robby shot him a glare, as if he didn’t realize he looked just like a soldier fresh from the war. At the same time, despite his irritation, he was grateful for his friend’s presence; the burden of the shift would finally be shared.
“Tell something I don’t know.”
Abbot looked around, a small smile on his face. Robby looked in the same direction and clenched his jaw, trying to hide his discomfort, but to no avail.
“When are you going to take the first step, brother?” Jack muttered, low enough for just the two of them to hear.
Robby squirmed in his chair, annoyed. The night shift doctor was observant and wouldn’t let anything flee from his eyes, including Robby’s huge crush on Whitaker.
“Don’t you hear yourself, Jack?”
“It’s you who don’t hear yourself, or better saying, you lie to yourself everyday. You like him, what’s bad about it?”
“He 's 27, Jack!” he hissed.
Abbot rolled his eyes.
“Just keep giving yourself this poor excuse and you’ll lose him.”
Robby was absolutely certain that Jack would have continued the conversation, had it not been for the fact that Dr. Shen, with his cup of iced coffee, had just happened to bump into the very topic of his conversation with the man he called a friend. All the liquid spilled onto his resident, who was already having a rough day.
Fluids definitely had a way of finding Dennis.
That thought took a dangerous turn in his mind, and he shook his head, trying to shake it off. Jack, on the other hand, had that damn smile plastered on his face—the smile of someone about to do something, and, to his despair, Abbot began walking toward Whitaker.
Robby cursed under his breath before standing up.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t quick enough, and he saw with his own eyes Jack’s strong, steady hands on his resident’s shoulders, guiding him toward the locker area. Robby felt like he was on fire, and, of course, it was inevitable that his teeth would meet his cheek.
This time, she put aside all her thoughts about the age gap, HR, morality, and immorality, and followed after the two of them. To his surprise and increasing rage, Dennis was smiling as he took off his scrub top and put on one of Jack’s old shirts, still wearing that irritating little smirk.
That should be his shirt.
Dennis who should be his.
And would.
“Jack!”
Dennis jumped with the intensity of his voice, Jack kept smiling, dismissive.
“Have you thought about what I said already?”
“Get out” he hissed.
Abbot just nodded and walked out, saying nothing more, but understanding everything. Dennis, on the other hand, had a frown on his face and his blue eyes were half-wide with surprise at the turn of events.
“Did I do something wrong, dr. Robby?”
Robby let his shoulders relax and shook his head.
“Can you come with me, please?”
“Sure.”
A wave of relief washed over him when he touched Dennis's shoulders for the first time that day. He led him to the stairs, the only place besides the roof that offered any privacy. He closed the door behind him and gently pushed the resident against the wall. His large blue eyes looked confused.
Oh, he had spent so long suppressing and running away from his feelings that Robby now simply admired him in silence. He would take a shot in the dark right then and there, because he knew how he felt about Dennis, but he had no idea if the feeling was mutual. He would set aside his principles, his morals, his guilt—all for him. He would beg for his affection, if that’s what it took.
He caressed his face, his blue eyes now surprised by the affection.
“I was a jerk to you today, forgive me.”
“What are you talking about, dr. Robby?”
“Michael, Dennis, call me Michael, Mike, whatever you want. But just don’t call me doctor, I don’t want to be anything other than myself to you.”
Dennis’s eyes softened, his whole body relaxed, and his face tilted toward his hands. Robby smiled tenderly, caressing his skin with his thumbs. His heart was pounding, and his cheek was finally forgotten.
“It’s okay, Michael.”
Hearing his name leaving that mouth was better than any song sung by the finest singer in the world.
“I was a jerk,” he reiterated, “but this was the only way that I found to protect myself from my own feelings. Well, in the end, I couldn’t protect myself or you.”
“It 's okay.”
Robby shook his head.
“It isn’t. It is not normal to want a person so much. It looks like everyone can have you, but me. I know it’s wrong but I can’t suppress what I’m feeling anymore.”
Dennis smiled, holding one of the hands on his face and kissing its palm.
“It’s not wrong,” he said, “and I don’t want you to suppress yourself. I don’t want you to do it ‘cause I feel the same, I just thought it wasn’t possible.”
Michael laughed, but a laugh full of relief and not incredulity.
This time, he surrendered himself to his deepest desires.
“Please, be mine. Be mine, Dennis.”
Dennis didn’t respond, and Robby thought he must have misread it all, until he felt warm lips on his own. He felt a shiver run through him; he felt cold and hot at the same time, as the kiss deepened and said exactly what he had held back for so long. He grabbed the resident by the waist, trying with all his might to pull him closer.
Unfortunately, they had to catch their breath, so they stepped back, panting, but not too far—they pressed their foreheads together.
Robby felt happiness wash over his entire body.
“You know, with you I found out I’m jealous.”
Oh.
Dennis Whitaker was also jealous.
He kept going.
“There was one particular day when I spent the whole day with a metallic taste in my mouth from biting my inside cheek so much.”
“Oh, Den, if you knew…”
Suddenly, the door burst open, startling the new couple.
“Ha! I told you I would win the fucking bet.”
Not only Trinity was there, but Jack and Dana.
“Can I know what’s happening here?” Robby asked.
Jack Abbot, the son of a bitch, still had that damn smile on his face.
“Well, the bet was on how long you could resist the kid.”
“I thought you were stronger than this, Robby,” Dana muttered.
For sure he wasn’t.
Robby was completely and utterly weak (and bitten) by Dennis Whitaker