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Robby’s pissed. Not at him, but at someone. Is hissing down the phone at whoever’s on the other end of the line. Dennis pretends he can’t hear. Works on his last chart, pushes through the last ten minutes of his shift. Might even get out of here on time. A miracle if he’s ever seen one. Abbot and his night crawlers have already come in to take over. The day shift is working on closing out charts and finishing handoffs. Dennis handed off his cases already, has like, two more sentences to finish, and then he’s home free.
“Then we’ll bring them up ourselves,” Robby snaps, slams the phone into the receiver.
“Boss?” Dennis asks, looking up from the chart he’s working on.
“Come on, Whitaker, we’re going on a field trip.”
“Dr. Robby?”
“ICU can’t spare someone to come and collect Central 19, so we’re making a delivery.”
So much for getting out of here on time. But Central 19 had been his patient, and Ellis has her hands full, so he doesn’t mind taking her up. Caitlyn Monroe, twenty-five-year-old female. Came in at ten this morning. Rapid breathing, SAT of 86 percent, confusion. Her roommate found her, brought her in. Severe pneumonia. Has been hooked up to supplemental oxygen, fluids, and meds since then, waiting for a bed in the ICU to open up. Doesn’t mind helping to get her up there. She seems like a nice girl. Has been a little more aware since the oxygen and fluids have kicked in. Is in college, lives with Julia, the roommate who brought her in. He's glad she’s getting a room.
Taking her up goes fine. Him and Robby maneuver the bed through the halls and into the elevator. He smacks the button for the ICU. The ride up is quiet. The handoff to the ICU team is smooth. Caitlyn and Julia thank them both for helping them. Dennis offers his best comforting smile, can only imagine how freaked out they both are. Thinks how freaked out he’d be, if he came home to Santos, on the floor and barely breathing. They file back into the elevator, Robby hits the button for the ED.
That’s when it all goes to shit.
Somewhere between the fourth and fifth floor, there’s a jolt. They both lose their balance, backs crashing into the wall. And yeah, ow, metal railing to the spine is unpleasant. That’ll bruise for sure. Robby looks equally as startled as he feels. There’s another jolt, and then, darkness. The overhead lights flicker once, twice, and then go off. The room is plunged into darkness for three seconds before being bathed in low light, the emergency lights flickering to life. Him and Robby look at each other, eyes wide. Well, now he’s definitely not getting out of here on time. Should have known better than to even think it.
Robby pulls his phone out, and he does the same. No signal. Yeah, figures. Robby’s must not have one either because he slides it back into his pocket. Goes to the panel on the wall. Puts his glasses on so he can read the instructions. Dennis ignores the way that makes him feel a little hot under the collar, sweat on his hairline. Now is not the time to be thinking about how hot his attending looks in his readers. Get it together, Dennis, that’s an at-home thought. He presses a button on the panel, waits. And waits and waits.
“Maintenance,” a voice that sounds about twelve says.
“Hello, this is Doctor Robinavitch from the ED. Dr. Whitaker and I are currently stuck in the west elevator.”
“Oh shit.”
“That does sum it up nicely.”
“I’ll get someone up there as soon as I can Dr. Robinavitch.”
“Can you let the ED know where we are?”
“You got it, Doc.”
“Thank you.”
No more words come through, so guess the conversation is over. Robby sighs, heavy. Takes his glasses off, and Dennis tries not to feel too sad seeing them go. Still not the time. Robby looks around, sighs again, lowers himself to the floor, stretches his legs out. And the grunt he lets out as he does makes Dennis think thoughts better left to late nights and showers. So he sits down too, opposite Robby. Straightens his legs out. Tries not to pay too much attention to the fact that their legs are interlocked. His right foot in between Robby’s legs, Robby’s right foot in between his. Pays no attention to the way the sight makes his heart race.
Thunks his head back into the wall behind him. Pulls his phone out just to check the time, puts it away after. Realizes his shift ended twelve minutes ago. Hopes Santos doesn’t wait for him. No reason they should both be exhausted tomorrow. Let her go home and sleep. He’ll catch up, eventually. Thinks that sleep sounds pretty good right now. What he wouldn’t give for a nap. This wasn’t the worst shift he’s ever had, doesn’t think anything could beat his first day in the ED, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t bone tired anyway.
Keeps his head against the wall, looks at Robby. He’s not looking at him, thank God. Isn’t sure what he’d do if he looked over only to find him already looking. Well, that’s a lie. He knows exactly what he’d do. Turn red enough that Santos teases him and calls him tomato boy for the rest of the day. Because it’s happened before. Dennis’ eyes finding Robby across the ED, drawn in by some magnetic force he can’t explain, only to find Robby already looking at him. Turns him bright red every time, like the worst sunburn he’s ever gotten, only Robby is the sun. Wants to avoid that now, if he can. Because on a normal day, he can scurry away before Robby sees his inflamed cheeks. Can’t exactly do that in a six-by-ten elevator.
Robby tips his head back further, eyes locked on something on the ceiling. The move shows off the scruff on his neck and Dennis suddenly feels a little lightheaded. Is struck with the urge to crawl into his lap and rub his cheek against it. Wants to lick the drop of sweat he can see making its way down the side of his jaw, too. Can’t concentrate on anything else but that until Robby tilts his head back down. Makes eye contact with him and Dennis offers a smile. Hopes that none of what he was just thinking is visible on his face. Hopes there isn’t some neon sign above his head that says I want to jump your bones, please. Cause he would say please, it’s only polite. Would beg for it, if that’s what Robby wanted.
Not the time, so not the time.
“Sorry for dragging you into this, Whitaker," as his eyes go back to the ceiling.
“Nothing to be sorry for, Dr. Robby. Not like you knew this would happen.”
“Even still. I’m sure you’d much rather be home right now than stuck in here with me.”
Rolls his head from side to side as he says, “It’s okay, I don’t mind being stuck with you.”
Thinks maybe he’s done something wrong, because Robby’s eyes snap to him. Look him up and down, assessing. It’s that same expression he gets when a new trauma rolls in, like he’s trying to pinpoint what’s wrong. Doesn’t like that look directed at him. Makes him feel exposed, flayed open. Like every inappropriate thought he’s ever had about the man is laid bare, on display for him to see. And there’s been a lot, too many if he’s honest. Wonders if he said too much, saying he didn’t mind being stuck with him. Did that give him away, does Robby know now. Has he ruined everything.
“Are you okay?”
“’m fine.”
“You’re slurring your words.”
“No ’m not.”
“You are. And you’re pale. Really pale.”
“’m always pale.”
“Paler than normal,” Robby leans forward, like it’ll help him determine what’s wrong better, “When was the last time you ate?”
Dennis opens his mouth to answer, pauses, closes it. When was the last time he ate? Lunch. No, no, he didn’t eat lunch. Was going to, but then Mel needed help with a cast and Langdon pulled him into a trauma and Mohan wanted his opinion on the case in North 3 and he’d just, never gotten to it. Breakfast then. Except, no, he hadn’t eaten breakfast because him and Trin had been running late. Dinner last night, then. But, wait, no, he’d been so tired when they got off the night before, a twelve that turned into a sixteen that he’d gone right to bed. He ate a granola bar yesterday afternoon, he’s pretty sure.
“The fact that you can’t immediately answer that is concerning to me. Your sugars are crashing; you need to eat.”
“I will, soon as we get out of here.”
“No, now.”
He looks around, hopes his expression conveys eat what Dr. Robby we’re in an elevator. It must, or at least close enough, because Robby reaches into a pocket. Pulls out a half-eaten packet of M&Ms. Holds them out to him, shakes them back and forth when he doesn’t take them right away. Dennis leans forward enough he can snatch them. Tries once, twice, three times to get the edge so he can pry it open. Isn’t coordinated enough, fingers feeling too large, movements too disjointed. Gives up after a second, makes a frustrated noise in his throat.
“Here, let me help.”
Robby moves closer, stops in front of him. Opens the packet, and he expects him to dump them into Dennis’ hand so he can eat them. But that isn’t what he does. No, he dumps them into his own palm. Uses a finger under Dennis’ chin to tip his head back. Lets a few M&Ms fall from his hand and into Dennis’ mouth. Gives him time to chew and swallow before giving him more. And Dennis is thankful for the paleness offered by the hypoglycemia, is very glad he can’t blush right now. Because he thinks this might be the most erotic thing that’s ever happened to him. Which is ridiculous, because there’s absolutely nothing sexy about it. Except that Robby’s hand is still holding his chin, and he has no choice but to look into his eyes and, well, Dennis has always had a pretty active imagination.
“Should start feeling better soon,” Robby says, once the bag is empty.
“You have pretty eyes,” Dennis replies, before he can process, “I mean, yeah, yes, I should. Thank you.”
“You need to take better care of yourself, Whitaker.”
“Yes, Dr. Robby, I will,” doesn’t add because you want me to out loud because his filter is at least partially back.
“Good.”
They lapse into silence then, but it isn’t uncomfortable or awkward. Just quiet. He expects Robby to move back over to the other wall. He doesn’t. Just shuffles until he’s next to Dennis in a parody of how they were in Pedes, only this time without the panic and the tears. Just a companionable quiet. Makes Dennis think for a second about what it’d be like if they could have this all the time. Not stuck in an elevator, but sitting side by side on the sofa after work. Beers in hand, maybe he’d be able to rest his head on Robby’s shoulder. Because not all his inappropriate thoughts involve beds and no clothes. Some of them are even more obscene than that. Like snuggling on the couch and wearing Robby’s sweatshirts to bed.
They both jump, a little, when the emergency lights overhead turn off. Another three seconds of darkness, and then the elevator jolts, and the normal lights come on. Robby gets to his feet, and in another parody of Pedes, reaches down a hand to help haul Dennis to his. He lets him. And unlike Robby that day, he doesn’t push him away after. Robby keeps a hand on his elbow, like he’s worried he’s going to collapse. Which, yeah, is fair, he supposes. But he’s good now, the M&Ms helped. Not that he mentions that, because he kinda likes when Robby has his hands on him. And right now is no exception to that.
The doors to the elevator open, and the normal racket of the ED washes over him. Ah, it’s good to be home. Glances at the clock on the wall, checks the time. They were only in there for an hour. Not as bad as it could have been, all things considered. Wonders what happened. Realizes he really doesn’t care. It’s over now. Time to finish those last two sentences and then go home. Santos is likely long gone, or at least she better be, so he’ll have to take the bus. But, he might walk. Thinks the fresh air after being in a metal can for an hour will be nice. Refreshing.
“Go home, Whitaker.”
“Have a chart to finish, and then I’m out, Dr. Robby.”
“Finish it tomorrow.”
“It’s almost done. I’ll just do it now.”
“What did I just say about taking care of yourself? I’ll close out the chart for you. Go home.”
“You don’t have to do that. I can finish it, really, it won’t take more than a minute.”
“Good, then I can knock it out before I head out. Goodnight, Whitaker.”
“Goodnight, Dr. Robby.”
“Oh, and Whitaker?”
“Yes?”
“You have pretty eyes, too,” and he walks off before Dennis can even think about responding.
Yeah, Santos is never letting him live this down. Maybe he can get away with not telling her. Here's hoping.