Archive of Our Own

Dennis is one brush-off away from ripping off his badge and walking right out of the Pitt. 

He had thought he’d be met with tense glares, clipped tones and sharp language. He hadn’t expected to be ignored entirely. 

Dennis doesn’t know how arguments with Robby go yet, he supposes. He should have expected he would be avoidant rather than confrontational. 

It doesn’t make it sting any less when Robby won't even look at him as he presents a patient. Or when Dennis’ heart clenches every time he turns to look at the man, before remembering.

Dennis still doesn’t believe he’s in the wrong. 

Robby wouldn’t hear it. Not even when Dennis admitted that cash was tight, that on top of student loan payments and groceries and necessities his monthly resident paycheck was barely cutting it. Working a few double shifts was a necessary evil. 

Robby had listened right up until Dennis tried to justify the extra shifts. Then it had become the same argument, playing on repeat.

Sleep.

Burnout.

Health.

As if Dennis didn’t already know. 

It came to head two nights ago when Robby discovered, despite Dennis’ effort to keep it under wraps, that he’d worked three consecutive shifts. Robby knew he’d be staying for the night shift. But he didn’t know that Dennis had been there for the previous night shift as well. Not until Dennis, after agreeing to come to Robby’s in the morning for their day off, fell asleep on the bus home and accidentally rode the bus to termination. When he’d finally arrived home two hours late, dead on his feet, Robby had been ready at the door to confront him. 

“Are you trying to work yourself to death, Dennis?” he’d asked, arms crossed firmly across his chest.

“I’m fine,” Dennis had insisted.

“No, no, you’re not, Dennis. You need to sleep, you’ve been awake for three days! I’ve noticed it on days, too. It’s affecting your performance– your hands are shaky, you’re unfocused, you snap at people… you can’t keep doing this, Dennis. I can’t keep signing off on these doubles.” 

That lit an anger in Dennis, sparking deep in his chest and rising through his lungs until he was yelling, grabbing his things and getting right back on the bus to Trinity’s. 

Considering that Dennis is the one who’s supposed to be mad, the cold shoulder he’s receiving feels a little ridiculous. 

Robby doesn’t look at him during rounds. Only speaks to him when necessary. Dennis only notices now just how often Robby usually touches him, and the absence of contact is enough on its own to put him off kilter. Dennis barely remembers to shove some food in his mouth during a moment of inactivity without Robby’s usual knowing glance. He wonders if Robby even brought himself lunch, or if he’s abandoned the habit Dennis has been trying to ease him into.

He’s pissed, of course. He’s angry that Robby is the one giving him the silent treatment. He’s angry that Robby doesn’t trust him to take care of himself and his career. He’s angry that he’s still behind on loan payments and can’t afford to replace the nice hair product Trinity had gifted him despite the ridiculous hours he’s been pulling. He’s still broke. Now he’s just broke and exhausted and fighting with Robby. 

But all the morning does is make him sad. Untethered. Like there’s a faint chill that’s settled over his bones– a thrum of anxiety under his skin that’s almost made worse by the fact that it’s barely noticeable. The bone deep exhaustion in his body, even after a frankly ridiculous amount of sleep, still lingers and he’d like nothing more than to go complain about it to Robby. Be fussed over a bit. Spend a quiet few minutes in the break room together. 

Which is, obviously, not an option right now. So Dennis pulls himself up by the bootstraps and keeps moving, even though it feels like his whole world is a little bit backwards. 

He makes his way to check on one of his patients, a nine year old boy named Peter who’d arrived overnight with a nasty stomach bug. When Dennis enters the room, he looks significantly brighter than he did several hours ago, bent over an emesis basin. The IV fluids seem to have begun to do their job, and Dennis checks him over as he chats with the boy's mother. She’s a high school history teacher with a remarkable sense of humor about the whole situation, which nudges Dennis’ mood ever so slightly in the right direction. 

He leaves the room with a promise to be back soon to begin the discharge process once the IV has had more time to run its course. The boy gives him a small wave and a shy smile as he leaves, which pulls at his heartstrings a bit. 

Dana still mumbles something under her breath about looking like a kicked puppy as he crosses the floor. 

“Hey,” Trinity calls out from behind him, tone hushed and urgent. Dennis rolls his eyes and picks up speed as if he hadn’t heard her. He knows better than to believe it will be enough to divert her. She’s at his side, walking next to him in seconds.

“Listen, I know you said you didn’t want to talk about whatever happened with your mystery man but-” 

“I did say that,” Dennis replies in a tense whisper, “and I’m about to say it again. Just leave it, Trinity.” 

“Right. Except you’re still moping around. So if there’s anyone I need to have a talk with…” she trails off, raising an eyebrow. Dennis scoffs. 

“You’re speaking like the dad in every old Western.” Dennis rounds a corner, dodging a gurney being wheeled by. 

“I just want to know what this guy’s intentions are with my daughter,” she responds, and it coaxes a laugh out of Dennis. Trinity looks pleased with herself when he looks at her over his shoulder. Her face softens, and the expression is gone as soon as it comes, wiped off with a roll of the eyes. “I’m just saying. Might be good to talk about. I’m at liberty to say it even though I know you won’t listen.”

“Yeah. Maybe later. Thanks, Trinity,” Dennis sighs. He gets a good natured pat on the back from her as she peels off to duck into a nearby patient room. 

Dennis just stands there for a minute. Not exactly appropriate in the middle of a busy ER hallway, but his exhaustion is all encompassing and it takes a minute for him to get his feet to move again. 

“Hey, Whitaker, mind giving me a hand with-” Langdon calls out, somewhere down the hall and Dennis picks up his pace, eyes landing on the room of one of his patients he needs to check in on. 

“Sorry, give me ten?” he calls out, and the man startles a little before nodding. A pang of guilt settles in his chest, and he shakes it off as he approaches the door. 

Sliding into his patient's room, Dennis exhales and shakes his head a bit, trying to force his body to wake up. 

The man in the bed, Adam Ferris, had come in early in the morning after a vehicle collision with a Blood Alcohol Content of .20%. He was admitted with a few minor injuries and alcohol poisoning, and while imaging showed no signs of internal bleeding or traumatic brain injury, the man had been largely incoherent and in and out of consciousness for the last few hours. 

The other driver he’d hit was a bit worse for wear. The young woman had needed surgical intervention to repair a skull fracture and would soon be moved to the ICU. They weren’t able to get a hold of any emergency contacts. 

Dennis swallows down the brief surge of anger that prickles through his body at the sight of the man laying in the bed, asleep and largely unharmed. He glances at the man's vitals, all normal and non-concerning. As he snaps on a pair of gloves, Dennis glances at the man's chart before speaking softly to the man. It’s something they’re trained to do, even when they’re not sure if a patient can hear them. 

“Alright, Mr. Ferris, my name is Dennis, and I’m the doctor in charge of your care for today. I’m just stopping in to grab some vitals and check in on your progress,” he rattles off, approaching the bed to check the levels of various IVs hanging around the man. 

There’s a part of his body that begins to calm itself. The comfort of routine, of familiar actions seems to bring Dennis back to a more stable state. It’s always admittedly something of a weight off his shoulders to not have to make small talk with patients, to just be able to worry about his job and explain what he’s doing without pushing out a professional, friendly tone. 

Dennis calmly checks the man's airways, breathing, and adjusts a few of the various monitors hooked up to the man's body. Pulling a pen light out of his pocket to check the man’s pupils, he leans over the bed. 

As he raises the penlight in his hand, a frantic beeping sound begins to sound from the monitor behind him. Turning his head and squinting, Dennis sees that the man’s heart rate has begun to pick up from where it's been resting in the low sixties. 

Before Dennis can rise to turn the monitor’s volume down, there are large, unyielding hands clasping around his shoulders.

The man, Adam, shoots up from his spot violently, a few monitors ripping from his chest in the process. His eyes are panicked, unfocused as he scans the room and his eyes lock on Dennis. The man doesn’t produce words so much as he just grunts incoherently, brain clearly unaware of his surroundings or situation. 

“Mr. Ferris, you’re alright. You’re in the hospital-” Dennis tries to maintain a calm, authoritative tone as he reaches shaking hands up to where the man is grabbing him, trying to gently ease them away. The contact, though, seems to provoke the man further, and his arms fly up, catching Dennis on the cheekbone on the way. He is quick to curse as he shoots up from the bed and rises to his full height. And, well. 

Dennis had seen the man’s statistics as he skimmed his file, six foot four and 230 pounds, but the sheer size of the man had largely been obscured as he lay in a hospital bed. Now, fully unfurled and looming above Dennis, a pang of fear shoots through him. Dennis isn’t helpless by any means. He can throw a couple punches and hold his own pretty well. 

But Dennis is all too aware that he’s no match for this man.

“Sir,” Dennis forces out, inching to the side and preparing to book it to the door and call for help, which should be nearby based on security protocol. Dennis had seen the warnings on the man's chart, and logically should not have come in here alone. He was just so damn desperate to get away from Langdon that he forced himself inside anyway. 

The fear in the man's eyes turns to aggression as soon as he fully zeroes in on Dennis, who he probably perceives as some sort of danger. The man lunges at him, and Dennis curses as he scrambles out of the way. The man raises a hand, swinging it towards Dennis’ head, but Dennis gets an arm up in time to block it. Ducking away, Dennis starts towards the closed room door. Before he can push aside his embarrassment and scream for help, his head is meeting the wall with a painful thud. He winces as he sees an IV ripping from the man's arm, the needle left dangling from the IV pole. An arm shoves its way against his throat, pinning him against the wall as he sputters for air, hands flying up to grasp at the arm. 

“Who the fuck are you,” the man grunts out, jostling Dennis with the words. Dennis claws at the arm on his throat, mouth opening and closing rapidly in attempts to suck some air in and speak. His fear turns into full panic when he realizes he really can’t get a single breath in, head already beginning to spin. 

He tries to think logically, think of the smartest course of action. It’s difficult to force his own hands away from his throat, bringing them down to shove at the man’s chest. When he doesn’t budge, Dennis tries to wind up a particularly forceful thrust of his fist to the man’s sternum. The hit jostles him a bit, and Dennis rapidly tries to use the lapse to slide away, but a fist collides hard with his ribs. 

He feels his diaphragm uselessly try to spasm at the blow as a sharp, shabbing pain radiates through the area. 

“Man, I already asked you. Who the fuck are you,” Adam cries out, voice rising in volume to a degree Dennis hopes is audible outside of the room. 

Dennis’ vision begins to spin, and the words barely penetrate his brain. He can feel himself fading fast, and the burning in his useless lungs is climbing, climbing up his chest and into his throat. A droning ringing picks up in his ears, and the sound of the rapidly beeping monitors roars under it, protesting their terminated connection. 

Layered on top of the muddled sounds is what seems to be a woman's voice, heavy with an intense emotion Dennis cannot identify. A gaggle of voices joins hers, and Dennis knows he must be nearing unconsciousness because they’re the only two people in the room. 

A blob of black and green crosses Dennis’ vision, covering the middle of Adam’s chest. Adam’s body lurches sideways, and a chorus of shouts erupts from the room. Dennis clocks a few security officers entering the room and rushing past him. And suddenly, the arm around his neck wavers as a new face enters his vision, jumbled and blurry but it takes less than a second for Dennis to place, even with the state he’s in. 

Clean air rips through Dennis’ lungs as he sucks in a gasp, legs buckling beneath him. There are arms sliding under his, hauling him up against something solid and warm and Dennis lets his head fall forward. He pulls in another breath and his senses are filled with that familiar, woody smell, and he lets his body droop against Robby’s. 

Dennis still can’t quite make out the words being muttered against his hair as he’s gently pulled up by arms hooked around his torso. He can’t understand them, but he knows the timbre of the voice to be Robby’s. He’s speaking quietly, gently and seems to be repeating a series of distinct sounds over and over. Dennis opens his mouth to try and push words out, to tell Robby he can’t understand, but his voice betrays him when he only manages a small groan. The voice by his ear just shushes him softly, and he feels a shaky hand come to experimentally brush against the back of his head as his senses finally begin to sharpen. 

Sucking another breath in, Dennis’ vision finally clears, and the ringing in his ears fades as the sound of various voices returns. His legs wobble beneath him, but he experimentally puts a bit more of his weight on his feet, hands steadying himself on Robby’s arms. As soon as he’s up, Robby’s hands are gently easing him to lean his weight partially against the wall.

Robby’s hands are on his face, warm and cautious as he runs a thumb over Dennis’ cheekbone, which, Dennis imagines, has some sort of cut or abrasion based on the sting the action produces. Robby whispers an apology, eyebrows drawn with concern. The array of emotions filling his eyes takes a moment for Dennis to puzzle together. It’s a mix of panic, worry, and anger, which doesn’t mean anything to Dennis because he’s just so damn glad Robby is finally looking at him. The fussing and prodding would usually have Dennis protesting, but he’s missed the man so much that he just sighs and allows it. 

“Robby,” he whispers, feeling the words tumble from his lips and glowing at the familiarity of the sound. 

“Fuck, Dennis, what the fuck happened,” Robby replies. “Did you hit your head?” 

Dennis thinks back to the initial impact– the smack of his head against the wall. He considers omitting the information, small of a bump as it was, but abandons the idea when his silence is met with a challenging look from Robby. Dennis nods slowly. 

“Fucker,” Robby mutters under his breath, and for the first time Dennis’ eyes are drawn to the hospital bed where Adam is struggling against a handful of staff and security attemping to pin him down and sedate him. Dennis winces as the man flails an arm out that catches a nurse across the face. Robby follows his eyeline and reaches a trembling hand up to gently tilt Dennis’ face away from the scene. 

“I need you to tell me everything that happened, alright? Anywhere you could be hurt. Don’t leave anything out,” Robby orders, and Dennis can tell he’s already formulating a way to get them some privacy. 

“Uhm, well. He shoved me against the wall and my head knocked against it a bit. No damage, I think. Got his arm against my throat for… I don’t know how long. A minute, maybe? Punched me in the ribs pretty good, but that’s it.” 

Robby curses under his breath after Dennis finishes, dropping his head. He seems to want to say something, but quickly looks around at the busy room and stops himself. 

“Fuck. Alright, think you can walk?” he asks, coming to Dennis’ side to slip an arm around his torso. Dennis nods and takes a few slow steps as Robby motions to someone behind them. 

Dennis lets himself be led along aimlessly before they locate an empty room. 

As soon as the door is closed, Dennis feels arms closing behind his back and pulling him flush to Robby’s chest. Dennis wavers a bit before tucking his chin over Robby’s shoulder and placing his hands at his hips, mindful of the stinging pain still winding through his ribs. Robby exhales deeply into his hair, and Dennis feels the tension he’s been carrying over the past days seep away. 

Robby’s breathing is shaky as his hands grasp at Dennis’ shirt, clenching and unclenching around the fabric. Adrenaline is still thrumming through Dennis’ body, but the grounding arms around him are beginning to quell the feeling. A faint tremor shakes through his hands, and Dennis bristles with frustration when he finds he can’t stop the movement. 

They stay there for a minute, Robby wordlessly tracing his hands soothingly up and down Dennis’ back. He presses a kiss to the top of his head and gives Dennis an awkward little pat on the back with an instruction to sit down. Dennis can’t help but grin as he walks to the empty bed. 

The silence that hangs in the room is palpable. Still, there seems to be an unspoken agreement between them. That whatever’s been going on between them can be dealt with later.

It doesn’t mean the tension has disappeared, though. 

Dennis sees it in Robby’s shoulders as he draws the curtains. The set of his jaw as he sits down, bringing his chair to settle in front of Dennis, in between his knees. 

Dennis meets his eyes, and there he finds a discomfort– a quiet sadness, tinged with guilt around the edges.

There’s an odd sort of feeling in the space. The kind that comes with something shocking, a shared experience that lingers long enough to leave you to sit in it. A sort of mutual resignation to the fact that wow, that sucked. A quiet, shared acknowledgment, laced with exhaustion and emotion. 

Dennis shifts uncomfortably on the bed.

It’s enough to bring Robby back to him, and Dennis offers a small smile when those big, sad eyes come to meet his. Robby sighs heavily, bringing a hand up to Dennis’ face to, once again, run a thumb along the abrasion on his cheekbone. Gentle and soft, an easy contrast to the man who’d wrestled Dennis away from Adam moments ago. This Robby belonged only to Dennis.

“Are you alright,” he asks slowly, and Dennis almost laughs at the tardiness of the question before Robby continues, a finger tapping against Dennis’ head, “up here?”

Dennis stills. Thinks of the feeling of an arm pressed against his throat. Of trying and trying to fruitlessly gasp for breath. Not being able to call out for those few minutes, wondering how long it would take for someone to come and find him. 

Then, he looks at Robby, into his kind, open eyes. Feels the hand, gentle on his face. And he nods. 

Robby’s face falls a bit as he tracks the movement, eyes falling on the angry red marks on Dennis’ throat that are beginning to turn purple at the edges. The tension returns to his face as he drops his head against Dennis’ shoulder, hand rising to thread gently through his hair. 

“Fuck, Dennis,” he whispers against his neck. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there and I’m sorry about this whole thing that’s happening. It was a shitty move for me to ignore you like that. Dangerous, too-” 

“Hey, hey,” Dennis interjects. “It’s alright. I’m alright.” Dennis considers Robby’s other apology and continues. “Yes, yes, it was pretty shitty-” 

“I know, Dennis, and I’m sorry I-” Robby interrupts, and Dennis groans with frustration. It stops Robby in his tracks, an awkward silence falling over the room. 

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?” Dennis murmurs after a moment, eyes trailing over the room's blank walls. 

Robby seems to turn this over in his mind for a few seconds, before begrudgingly nodding his head. He shifts in his seat, straightening up and raising a finger in front of Dennis’ face. 

“Follow,” he instructs, moving his finger across Dennis’ vision as his eyes track the movement. 

Halfway through the motion, Robby’s hand pauses. 

“Jesus,” he whispers.

“What?”

Robby swallows and shakes his head.

“Nothing.”

His thumb reaches up to briefly brush over the bruise on Dennis’ throat before he seems to remember what he’s doing. 

“Keep following my finger.” Dennis closes his eyes for a moment, then nods and begins again.

Robby slides his stethoscope under Dennis’ scrub top, a hand at his knee stroking absentmindedly as he moves the cold metal around Dennis’ chest and listens. As he retracts the stethoscope, he switches the object to his other hand and lets the former linger, fingers brushing over Dennis’ sternum, moving to hover over his heart. Freezing, Robby clears his throat and pulls his hand away. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, shaking his head.

“Don’t be.”

Robby lowers his head and swallows, sighing before looping the stethoscope back around his neck.  

“This might hurt a bit,” he mutters, raising his hands towards Dennis’ neck. 

“I know.” Dennis smiles a bit, despite himself. 

Robby’s fingers hover over the bruising for a second before making contact.

“How long was he choking you?” Robby asks with a grimace, applying a slight pressure around Dennis’ windpipe. 

“I don’t know,” Dennis dismisses, voice thin as he tries not to twitch at the feeling of someone’s hands on his throat again. 

“Dennis,” Robby replies sternly, questioning. 

“I already told you, I really don’t know. Maybe a minute?” 

Robby lets out a sharp breath. 

“Jesus Christ.” After a moment: “At least that means your blood flow probably wasn’t restricted.” Dennis just nods along awkwardly.

Robby stands and crosses to the computer, booting it up as he begins to type. 

“Any dizziness, nausea?” Dennis shakes his head. “Light sensitivity?”

“No.” 

“Tiredness?” 

“No.” 

“Dennis,” Robby says again, more exasperated this time. Dennis looks up, and Robby’s expression softens. “You promise me you’re being honest?” Dennis nods shyly, pursing his lips.

“Difficulty breathing or pain when swallowing?” Robby continues.

“The ribs hurt a bit when I breathe, but I can still get a full breath in. Swallowing is fine,” Dennis admits. The honesty sees the sharp line of Robby’s shoulders relax.

Robby rattles off a few more mindless questions before he comes to sit in front of Dennis, hand coming to rest on his knee. 

“Alright. No concussion, and I’m not concerned about any internal bleeding or damage but we’ll keep an eye on it. Ribs are bruised, not broken. I’m ordering brain and neck MRIs though, to rule out hypoxic injury or damage and any tearing or injury in the neck.” 

Dennis begins to protest at the last sentence but Robby cuts him off with a stern glare. 

“I’m scheduling you now,” Robby insists, typing rapidly at the computer. 

“Robby-” 

“It’s not up for debate.” Dennis sighs, shaking his head at the tone, and Robby winces. “Sorry.” He rubs at his forehead, voice dropping. “I know I don’t get to tell you what to do. But just please do this for me, Dennis?” 

There’s a raw honesty in his voice, and when Dennis looks up, he sees the exhaustion and stress laced in Robby’s expression. It makes him ache, and he finds he desperately wants to fix it. Robby’s clearly very worried, and Dennis knows him well enough to know that he needs to fuss over him a bit before he feels better about it. 

A sort of silent communication stretches out between them. Dennis finally offers him a sincere little smile, tilting his head. 

“Yeah. I’ll do the scans. Sorry,” he says, then takes a deep breath. “Sorry to be… dismissive. I know you’re just helping.” 

Robby looks to him, to the drawn curtains, and back to him. Then, he brings a hand to Dennis’ face and quickly presses their lips together. Dennis smiles and makes a satisfied sound into the kiss, briefly running a finger through the hair at the nape of Robby’s neck. 

They part after a moment, and Robby’s eyes settle on Dennis’ for a moment. Then he stands, pressing another kiss to the top of his head. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Something warm and comfortable squeezes around Dennis’ heart. 

“I missed you too,” he replies sincerely. 

As Robby leaves with a smile, telling him someone else will be in shortly, there are three more words that almost slip through Dennis’ lips before he catches them. 

His first visitor is, unsurprisingly, Trinity. Dennis makes a show of flopping his head back on the pillows when he sees her face. She squints at him a moment, hands on her hips. 

“Jesus, Huckleberry. Not like you to get into a fistfight with a patient,” she remarks, nudging Dennis’ legs over to make room to sit. 

“Okay, not a fistfight, thanks. Glad to see you too,” Dennis replies. 

“Yeah, whatever. Glad you’re okay, sorry it happened or whatever,” she mumbles, but Dennis takes no offense at the mock sincerity. He knows her well enough to know there’s layers there. She sighs performatively, eyes darting to watch Dennis’ reaction to her next words. “I’m surprised Robby didn’t take the guy out himself. He’s out there giving security hell for leaving that guy unsupervised. Practically walking around with a gray storm cloud over his head.” 

Dennis just hums non-commitally and shrugs. Trinity sighs again, adjusting herself so she’s facing him fully. 

“Do you know another funny thing about Robby?” she asks, and Dennis’ eyes widen as he slowly shakes his head. “Something very funny happened earlier, Dennis. I had just heard about your little adventure and, good friend that I am, decided to come check on you. Doctor Robby had just led you in here, so I figured I’d pop in. And what do I see?” Dennis’ eyes must be wide as saucers now as he shrugs. 

“Someone,” she continues, and Dennis slides a hand over his eyes. “Is getting awfully comfortable with our very own Doctor Robby! Now, Dennis, I found this all very strange considering I was previously led astray by you after I saw who I swore was Doctor Robby picking you up from the bar.

“I somehow allowed you to convince me that no, your mystery boyfriend is not our boss, and I believed you. So, Dennis, I’m finding this situation quite shocking! What the fuck, dude?” 

Trinity finally settles back, having gotten her extensive confrontation monologue off her chest. Dennis sits and nods for a moment, before looking up at her and shrugging. Her eyebrows practically shoot off her forehead. 

“That’s it? Dennis, this is bad. Like actually bad,” she exclaims. 

“I don’t know what I can say. I’m choosing to say nothing.” 

“Okay, great. Fine. Wait- does this mean Robby’s the one you’ve been fighting with? He’s the reason you’ve been pouting? Shit, do I need to have a talk with our boss? It can happen, Dennis. I can make that happen.” 

“No, you do not need to have a talk with Robby. Petty fights happen. To couples, not to Robby and I,” Dennis responds. 

“Fine. Fine! I’m gonna get you to say it somehow, asshole,” she spits out, rising from the bed. It puts a smile on Dennis’ face. “Ugh. Robby pushed you up the wait list, by the way. Someone will be in soon to take you for your scans. Or whatever.” 

“Thanks, Trinity,” Dennis calls out, laying back against the bed. He raises an eyebrow as she stops halfway out, an exaggerated shudder running down her spine. 

“Sorry, I just,” she let out a fake gag, “remembered all of the things you’ve been telling me about– eugh– this guy. I can’t believe you’re fucking Robby.” She finally reaches the door. Turns back around and shudders again. “Wait– does that mean… that story? About the beard burn? That was–” she turns around and coughs out a gag that might actually be real. 

“Bye, Trinity!” Dennis calls out as the door slams shut behind her. 

Per Trinity’s words, it wasn’t long before Dennis was whisked off for his scans. When he’s brought back to his room, there’s a handful of magazines, a few protein bars, and a thin paperback sitting on the bed. A blue post-it note slapped on top of the stack reads ‘-Dana’ in rushed, slanted handwriting. His phone has found its way into the room as well, alongside a pair of headphones propped against several extra pillows and blankets that weren’t there when he left. 

Dennis settles himself in, flipping mindlessly through a magazine as he tears his way through a protein bar. His eyes begin to droop closed about halfway through his fourth outdated celebrity gossip column, and he sighs as he plops the magazine down on a nearby chair. 

Drifting pleasantly in that fuzzy space between sleep and wakefulness, a soft knock sounds from the doorway. Sitting up in the bed, he sees Robby softly closing the door behind him. 

“Tired?” he asks in lieu of greeting, smiling as Dennis nods with a yawn. “Wonder why,” Robby mutters, and Dennis playfully slaps at his arm as he approaches the bed. 

“MRIs both came back normal.” Robby checks his watch, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “It’s a little past two now. Think you can hang out until shift change?” Dennis props himself up further, and Robby reaches back to adjust the pillows behind him. 

“So you’re not gonna let me get back to work?” Robby’s eyebrows raise as his eyes widen. “I know, I know. Still, I’m perfectly fine to work. I can go find somewhere else to wait, too. To free up the room.” 

“No, you’re not working with bruised ribs and a purple neck. You can stay here. Don’t worry about it. You’re my patient, not a freeloader. Maybe you can get a nap in?” Robby suggests as he leans forward to examine Dennis’ neck bruising again. 

Dennis would usually reject the idea of sleeping half of the day away, but the mountain of sleep debt he’s sitting on combined with the prospect of five empty hours to fill makes the idea pretty appealing. 

“Yeah. I could probably sleep up until seven, if I’m honest,” he admits, and Robby shakes his head lightheartedly. 

“For your sake, I’m not responding to that.” Robby stands from the bed, and Dennis really would like to tell him to come back before he continues speaking. “How's the pain? Ribs still sore? Any pain on the neck?” 

Dennis shifts experimentally, and a small, sharp pain presses against his abdomen. Robby winces sympathetically. 

“The ribs are still a bit sore, yeah. The neck only hurts if I press on it,” Dennis answers. Something lights up a bit behind Robby’s eyes, and Dennis knows where the excitement is coming from before his next words. 

“I’ll be right back with a cold pack and some Tylenol, alright? Hang tight,” he instructs, slipping through the door with a grin. 

There’s no small part in Robby, Dennis imagines, that’s a little thrilled about getting to be his doctor today. 

“You probably could have gotten someone else to do that, you know,” Dennis calls out when Robby re-enters the room, hands full. Robby just looks at him thoughtfully as he hands Dennis a small pill cup and water. 

“Someone got vomit on the wall outside. Somehow. I’d rather hide out in here for a few minutes while that gets sorted,” Robby responds, wrapping a cold pack before peeling down the blankets enough to situate it over Dennis’ ribs. Dennis swallows the pills and quickly downs the small cup of water. “Thirsty?” 

Dennis nods sheepishly. 

“You’re not bringing me water, though. Don’t you have a department to run?” Dennis jokes.

“You could say that. I’ve got more pressing concerns right now, though,” Robby replies, voice growing fond with the last words. Seeming to remember something, Robby perks up, patting around his pockets before slipping a hand inside and pulling out a tube of ointment. “Arnica. For your bruising,” he explains when he catches Dennis squinting to read the label. 

“Seriously?” Dennis barks out a laugh. “Don’t you have patients?” 

“Again, you are my patient. Hold still.” Robby’s ears are faintly pink as he avoids eye contact.

Robby carefully spreads a small bit of ointment over a darker bruise. The touch is almost absurdly gentle, and Dennis watches him for a moment as he squints with concentration. 

“You know, for someone who spent all morning pretending I didn’t exist, you’re being awfully attentive.” Robby’s hand pauses as he shoots a glare up at Dennis. “Seriously. I think you’ve checked my neck like, five times.” 

“Only four.” Dennis snorts out a laugh. “I counted.” Dennis stares at the man, and Robby quickly turns his head away. A flush is creeping up the back of his neck. 

“Oh my God,” Dennis laughs. 

“Don’t,” Robby warns as he continues to spread the arnica, but the stern effect is somewhat mitigated by the shy smile creeping across his face.

“You kept track?” 

“Leave it,” Robby orders, and Dennis mock surrenders with a laugh. 

Robby is fully grinning by the time he stands, and he hesitates for a moment before ducking down to press another kiss against Dennis’ lips; like he can’t help himself. 

Robby pulls back after a few seconds, and Dennis finds himself chasing after the kiss for a moment before he sits back against the bed. Robby’s face is covered in a faint flush as he goes to wash his hands. 

“Do you do that with all of your patients?” Dennis asks after a moment, and Robby laughs over his shoulder. 

“Try and get some sleep, okay? I’ll be in to check on you, but I won’t wake you until it’s time to go home,” Robby says, leaning down to press a quick kiss against Dennis’ forehead before heading towards the door. Dennis nods and lays back against the pillows.

“Wait,” he calls out, Robby stilling at the door. “You never answered the question. Robby?” 

Robby just chuckles as he closes the door behind him, flicking the light off as he goes.

“Dennis, baby,” a voice whispers gently, fingers running through his hair. “It’s seven. Time to go home.”

Dennis wearily opens his eyes, Robby’s face blinking into focus above him. There’s a soft little smile on his face, and Dennis feels a matching one stretch across his own face at the sight. 

“Hi,” he whispers, rubbing a hand over his eyes and sitting up. Robby laughs fondly and reaches a hand up to smooth over Dennis’ sleep-mussed hair. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Robby murmurs. “Have a good sleep?” Dennis nods dopily, beginning to untangle himself from the blankets. 

“C’mon,” Robby continues. “Let’s get you home.” 

It’s a relief to finally breach the entrance of Robby’s home, even though he’s only been away for two days. The house just settles Dennis in a way he can’t explain– slotting something into place every time he steps through the door. 

“C’mon. Get yourself showered and changed. I’ll order in; your pick tonight.” Robby nudges Dennis towards the back hallway. Dennis has picked their last few takeout orders, so it definitely should be Robby’s turn by now, but Dennis doesn’t mention it. 

“Mmm… Indian?” Dennis suggests, dropping his bag and shuffling down the hall. 

“You got it, baby,” Robby calls out from the kitchen, phone in hand. The term makes Dennis feel lighter, and he’s relieved to hear that the word still rolls off his tongue as naturally as it did a few days ago. 

The shower is wonderful and much needed. Dennis stands under the heavy spray much longer than he normally does, relishing in the feeling of the hot water easing the ache in his bones. He uses Robby’s shampoo, despite his own bottle standing beside it, just so he can carry the familiar woody smell with him a little longer. 

His neck has settled into a faint covering of bruises, not nearly as angry as they had looked when they first appeared. He pokes at them curiously before pulling a sweatshirt over his head. 

When he re-enters the living area, the smell of Indian takeout already fills the space. Robby is dishing out food from the containers already (something Dennis has tried to tell him is unnecessary, to no avail) when he looks up at Dennis with a tender smile. Dennis’ stomach pangs hungrily at the sight of the full plate in front of him. 

He moves to bring the food to their usual eating spot on the couch, but Robby hooks an arm around his waist and steers him to the dining table.

“Come on, you promised me we were gonna talk,” Robby encourages, returning to the kitchen to grab his own plate. Dennis groans as he plops down at the table, hurriedly stuffing his mouth with food as Robby returns. 

“This is weird. I can’t believe you’re encouraging talking about our feelings. Did you hit your head?” Dennis probes as Robby settles himself in the chair across from him. Robby deadpans at him, a stern sincerity that has Dennis dipping his head to poke at his food. 

“No, I didn’t. Just trying to have an important conversation.” 

“Alright. Sorry. So,” Dennis swallows, inhales. “How do we…” 

Dennis isn’t sure how this goes with Robby. They haven’t gotten to the sit and talk about our feelings point in their relationship yet. Haven’t even disagreed on anything until now. Robby, however, seems to have already thought it through. He nudges Dennis’ shin with his foot, settling his leg to lean against Dennis’.

“Well, I’d like it if you told me your full perspective– everything you think I should know. You don’t have to apologize and you don’t have to try and please me. And I’ll listen, just listen, until you’re done. Then I’d like to share my side, and then we’ll figure out where to go from there,” Robby explains, and Dennis tries to tamp down a smile as he raises an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic therapy buzzwords that riddle the sentence. Robby’s face reddens as his lips twitch in a similar smile. “I’ve, uh, been talking to Jack. About this. If you couldn’t tell.”

“I don’t know,” Dennis admits, reluctant. It feels weird, the idea of laying his feelings out on the table for discussion. It feels like they’re the stars of a corporate video on conflict mediation, and there’s a small flicker of embarrassment in Dennis’ chest. 

Robby just looks at him silently. Waits. The silence crawls across his skin. Dennis makes a noise, somewhere half between a sigh and a groan. Sets down his fork. 

“Money’s been tight, I guess. So, the extra shifts help. With the extra hours I put in last month, I actually had a bit to buy some of the things I usually have to put back.” Dennis looks up at Robby to gauge for a reaction, but the man is just nodding along respectfully, as promised. Dennis shrugs, as if that’s all he has to say. It is the core of the problem, really. 

And Robby just continues to look at him, and it’s really starting to piss Dennis off. So he goes on, voice increasing in volume a bit as his eyebrows furrow. 

“You know, it’s embarrassing to go into a grocery store and walk around with your calculator app open. And sometimes they label prices wrong, so you realize at the register, with a line full of people behind you, that you have to go run to put something back. Then all of the people behind you groan or roll their eyes, but you can tell they would never understand because their carts are full of expensive, name brand shit they don’t even need. If I can get by on a couple protein bars a day, so can they,” Dennis mutters, and Robby’s face immediately changes. 

“Dennis.” 

“See? You say things like that but then you get pissed when I work doubles? Robby,” Dennis says, anger rising in his voice as the other man starts to speak again, “Robby. You said you were going to listen.” There’s a moment of conflict in Robby’s eyes before he sighs and nods, keeping his eyes focused on the table. 

“And it– it feels sometimes like you think I’m stupid; that I can’t take care of myself. I know what’s going on, Robby. I’m just trying to keep myself afloat.” 

Dennis scratches at the back of his neck as he forces himself to look up at Robby. Robby’s eyes are locked firmly on the table, his jack clenched, eyes scanning as if he’s searching for something to say until they finally settle on Dennis. 

“Why didn’t you tell me,” he says under his breath, and there’s a level of hurt and confusion that kind of makes Dennis want to scream. Or hide his face in shame. 

“Because it’s embarrassing,” Dennis reaffirms, slumping back in his chair. 

“To who?” 

“To me.” 

The words are raw and true, perhaps more than Dennis had intended them to be. It brings about another bout of silence, as Robby looks at him with concern riddled in his eyes. 

“I didn’t know things were that bad, Dennis,” Robby admits, and Dennis hears the guilt, written in subtext. 

“It doesn’t really… happen here. Mostly when I’m at Trinity’s,” Dennis says, trying for reassuring but it only makes him wonder how bad things would be if he wasn’t living with Robby part time. 

“I know you’re an adult,” Robby begins, and Dennis raises an eyebrow. “Don’t.” 

“I didn’t do anything,” Dennis chuckles breathlessly, an easy indicator of guilt. The corner of Robby’s lip twitches.

“You made a face. I didn’t make faces while you were talking,” Robby refutes.

“No, you just interrupted.” Dennis smirks.

“Which is what you’re doing right now,” Robby grins, and Dennis falls silent. Robby inhales and starts again. “I know you’re an adult. I know you can make your own decisions. I just- hate watching you lose yourself.” He pauses, and Dennis shifts uncomfortably in his seat, Robby’s eyes burning holes in the top of his head.

“You fell asleep on a bus, Dennis,” he continues. “You got on a bus alone and missed your stop by two hours because you were that exhausted. And I looked at you and just… didn’t know how to fix it for you. So I was shitty and controlling, and I’m sorry.” 

It settles well with Dennis. Makes sense, as much as it would be easier to be angry about it. So he looks at Robby, schools his face into the most accepting expression he can muster, and nods.

“God, we sound like… Alcoholics Anonymous, or something,” Robby mutters, and his hands rub over his face. Dennis snorts at the comment, and they spend a silent few moments eating as the words settle. Dennis settles a bit when he realizes that most of the storm is past them. 

“So,” Robby begins. “You’re right. You’re an adult, and you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. And I’m sorry that I hurt you. I shouldn’t have threatened to cut off your shifts before we had a conversation.” 

“Thanks,” Dennis mutters, and it really feels like they’re in couples therapy, but they seem to be making headway, so he mirrors Robby’s contribution. “I’m sorry I didn’t… talk to you about it. Would have saved us some trouble.” 

“I don’t exactly have much room to get on you for bottling things up, but. That’s why we’re talking about it now.” Robby abandons his plate, now empty, as he sits back and tilts his head thoughtfully. 

“How about this: I know you don’t want me to pay for things for you, even though you know I would. But why don’t you let me take care of a few of those things: the groceries and necessities. Just so you can focus on putting money towards those loans and build up a bit of a cushion, yeah? In exchange, you would humour me by cooling it with the doubles.” Dennis’ brows furrow, ready to interject about how much this sounds like mooching, before Robby holds his hands up. “And don’t act like you’re some kind of freeloader around here. You’ve taken over like half of the house work since you’ve started sleeping here. You don’t even let dishes sit in the sink for more than ten minutes.” 

Dennis nods, sits back. It would be nice to not have to worry about the little expenses– the little purchases that add up as they go until he realizes he has to fill his near empty shampoo bottle with water again. But it still rubs him the wrong way. 

“Sounds a bit like charity,” Dennis mutters. Robby just scoffs and looks Dennis in the eye. 

“If I wanted to give you charity, I’d give you charity,” Robby contests. Dennis blinks.

“That’s not any better.”

“What would make it better?” Even Robby looks surprised at the words coming out of his mouth. Dennis tries to think, he really does. But every amendment he makes seems to add more things onto his plate. So he just shrugs. “Then why don’t we just try? See how it feels, and maybe you’ll find that you don’t go up in flames if you let people do things for you.” Dennis sighs, yielding.

“We can try that. For a while at least, until I get back on my feel and then I will start paying for my own things again, I promise-” 

“Whatever makes you feel better, sweetheart,” Robby replies, standing to clear his and Dennis’ plates from the table. He watches Robby leave, and quickly sees the action for what it is: Robby escaping and downplaying the conversation.

“Robby,” Dennis calls out, and the man turns his head with a quirked brow. “I’m glad we figured it out. Thanks for talking with me.” 

Robby just shakes his head with a little, self-conscious smile as he ducks his head to scrub at the dishes in the sink. 

“Not a problem,” he dismisses, even though it was a problem and Dennis would like to get him to acknowledge the progress he’s making. 

There’s a question still wiggling in the back of Dennis’ brain, though. A final confirmation.

“Are we… okay?” Dennis asks, and no small amount of surprise passes over Robby’s face before he smiles with recognition.

“Of course we’re okay, Dennis.”

Dennis is slumped against Robby’s side on the sectional couch, TV screen scrolling through the end credits to a sitcom that’s largely served as background noise for a few long bouts of wandering hands and distracted kissing. 

Dennis’ hand is splayed against Robby’s thigh, resting under the loose fabric of the lounge shorts he’s changed into. As Robby palms the remote and shuts the TV off, Dennis resumes his stroking up and down the skin. 

The man makes a small sound, almost a warning. Dennis just hums happily, turning his head to press an opened mouth kiss against Robby’s neck. Robby’s hand comes to his hair, playing with a strand with his fingers as he sighs and settles his head back against the cushions. 

The movement opens his neck up enough for Dennis to get his lips on more skin, raking a hand further up his thigh. He makes a little sound in his throat, content and unguarded. Robby’s hand drifts from his head down to hook under Dennis’ chin, pulling his mouth up into a kiss. 

It’s completely innocent, a kiss simply for the purpose of being as close as physically possible. It’s clear from the way Robby’s hands come to Dennis’ thighs, pulling him up and onto his lap, that Robby has missed him too. 

Dennis flops his head onto Robby’s shoulder with a sigh, where he finds himself continuing to press small kisses against his neck. Robby’s hand slides under his shirt, tracing at the warm skin underneath as he makes a contented sound in his throat. 

And it shifts something in Dennis. Just sitting here, surrounded with warmth and affection. The thing that’s been wrapping itself around his heart, soft and golden, has begun to bloom in his chest. 

And for the first time in a long time, Dennis realizes he’s truly and simply, happy. He feels understood and satisfied and safe. And, at this moment, very very brave. 

Teetering on the edge of something completely unfamiliar, Dennis leans back to look Robby in the face. 

Sitting back, Robby looks at him with unbridled affection. Through the thumping of his heart, Dennis cups his face with an unsteady hand. 

“I love you, Robby,” he whispers.

The look on Robby’s face is remarkably unsurprised, like he’d heard Dennis’ words before they left his mouth. He just smiles, kind and open as he speaks.

“I love you too, Dennis,” Robby murmurs, leaning forward to press a short kiss against Dennis’ lips. 

Dennis can’t help but laugh into it, because what a day he’s had. He feels Robby’s mouth split into a grin at the sound. 

“Thank you,” Dennis replies quietly. Robby just raises a brow and smiles.

“For what? Saying I love you?” he chuckles.

“No. Well, sure, that too I guess. But, I meant thank you for today. For taking care of me,” Dennis explains, and there’s that familiar twinkle of satisfaction in those deep eyes. 

“Of course, sweetheart. I’d do it again, any day. Speaking of, it’s time for more arnica. Be right back.” Robby taps at Dennis’ thigh, and he swings a leg off to let Robby rise from the couch with a stretch and a smile thrown over his shoulder as he exits the room. 

Dennis: Okay fine

Trinity: ???

Dennis: The thing we talked about earlier

Trinity: Oh I know what you’re talking about. I want you to say it

Dennis: Fine

Dennis: Robby and I are together

Dennis: We just said I love you

Trinity: I fucking KNEW I saw you guys kiss

Trinity: Can’t believe I let you talk me out of it

Trinity: Wait I LOVE YOU? How long has this been happening

Trinity: Dennis…

Trinity: CALL ME

Call lasted 12:04