Archive of Our Own

Tiny.

He looks so tiny. Which isn’t a word Robby ever thought he’d use to describe Dennis, and yet here he is. Small, yes. He’s shorter than Robby by a good six inches, a fact that he’s always adored because it means he’s the perfect height. Means he’s just the right height for forehead kisses. Means he fits in the curve of Robby’s body just so, fits under his chin when they lie on the couch together. Means he’s exactly the right height for Robby to stand behind him, to rest his chin on his shoulder, to whisper in his ear. Dennis is smaller than him, yes. But he’s never thought of him as tiny until now. But here, in this moment, he does. Dwarfed by wires and surrounded by white hospital sheets, he looks tiny.

It’s been two days.

He’s been asleep for two days. The heart monitor beep, beep, beeps. A reminder that he’s alive. Tiny but alive. Robby keeps having to stop himself from checking for a pulse. Has to remind himself that the whole point of the machine is to let him know his heart is still beating. That he doesn’t have to check for one, it’s there. That’s why it’s beeping. Checks for one anyway. Counts the beats, double-checks that the machine is right. It is. Of course it is. He knew it was.

It’s been two days.

Sighs, leans forward. Presses his forehead into the edge of the hospital bed. Doesn’t close his eyes because he knows what he’ll see if he does. The same thing he’s seen every time he’s closed them for the last two days. Dennis, on the floor, pool of blood forming under him. Took a header trying to change a fucking light bulb of all things. Doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget the way his body felt, completely limp, in his arms. Had ridden to the hospital with the EMTs, in his pajamas, because he hadn’t bothered to get dressed yet. Not that that mattered to him, then or now. All that mattered had been Dennis and the fact that he was bleeding from the head, and he wouldn’t fucking wake up.

It’s been two days.

Robby’s not in his pajamas anymore. Bless Jack and his spare key for bringing him clothes. Clothes and toiletries. His phone charger. Has been covering his shifts too, along with Shen, because Jack is his best friend and Shen really wants the holidays off this year. Thinks after this he’ll even give ‘em to him. Owes him, for ensuring he can be up here with Dennis. Can be here when he wakes up. Ignores the voice in his head that says if he wakes up. Because he will. His CT, MRI, and all his blood tests came back normal. He has a concussion, not even a major one in all honesty, and a laceration on the back of his head. Nothing that won’t heal given rest and time.

It’s been two days.

He’s going to wake up any time now, and when he does, Robby isn’t going to let him out of his sight for at least two weeks. Thinks Jack and Shen could cover him, if he took that long off. He’ll give Shen Thanksgiving and Christmas, in exchange. Will even throw in New Year’s too. And Jack, well, he’s always bothering him to use his PTO. Has a feeling he won’t mind covering for him. And maybe he’ll buy him a nice bottle of whiskey too, to sweeten the pot. Yeah, that’ll work. He’ll talk to them about it as soon as Dennis wakes up. Because he’s going to, any second now. He will. He has to. Because Robby won’t accept any other outcome.

He’s so lost in thought, in catastrophizing, that he doesn’t notice it right away. The change in beeping, the steady beep picking up pace, just slightly. The first indication that he’s waking up. Only notices when he feels the mattress next to his head shift. A small twitch, barely anything at all. But more than there’s been in two days. Sits up, stands when he notices Dennis’ eyes roving under his lids. Fills a cup with water, pops a straw in. Figures his mouth’ll be dry, after two days with nothing to drink. Stands vigil as Dennis slowly comes to.

“Where am I?” is the first thing he asks, squinting at the ceiling.

Robby doesn’t answer right away, gives him a second to figure it out on his own. Dennis blinks his eyes open, slow and dazed. His brow furrows. Robby watches as he takes in his surroundings, brow still wrinkled. He looks to the monitor first, no doubt drawn there by the noise. Then, to the IV in his arm, felt the tug when he moved, most likely. Stares up at the ceiling for a second after, like he’s piecing it together. Connecting the dots and realizing where he is. Sees the moment the pieces click together, and he glances around the room. Looks at the plain walls, the privacy curtain, the uncomfortable chair by the bed that Robby’s spent the last two days camped in.

“Hospital,” Dennis answers his own question, before his eyes land on him, “Dr. Robby?”

Dr. Robby. He called him Dr. Robby. He hasn’t called him Dr. Robby in months. But he called him Dr. Robby. Dennis coughs, a little, before he can answer. Offers him the water in his hand, because it gives him a second to freak out instead of responding. He called him Dr. Robby. Not Robby, which is what he calls him when they’re in front of others. Not baby, which is what he calls him when they’re alone. Not babe, which is what he calls him when he’s trying to be annoying. Dr. Robby. He called him Dr. Robby. Dennis takes the water from him, takes a few sips. Flashes him a grateful look.

“What happened?” he wonders, handing him back the cup, “Was there a hula hoop?”

A hula hoop. He thinks he was hurt at work. That a patient did something to put him here. He thinks a patient did this, and he’s calling him Dr. Robby and is wondering why Robby’s here. An uneasy feeling twists in his stomach. Doesn’t like the picture this is painting. Tries to keep calm, though, because he could be wrong. Doesn’t want to jump to conclusions. Doesn’t want to assume. Needs to remember that the important thing is that he woke up, the rest is just details. Set dressing. The rest can be worked out. He’s alive and awake, and that’s what matters.

“What do you remember?” Robby asks, instead of answering.

“Uh, that trauma came in? Dale Stevens? The car crash with the compound leg fracture? And then you told me to go to North Two to help Mel, but I don’t remember anything after that.”

Robby remembers that trauma. Dale Stevens, thirty-one-year-old male. Brought in by EMTs post car crash. Compound leg fracture, but scrapes and bruises otherwise. Had been bright-eyed and alert. Cracking jokes while they worked to stabilize him enough to hand him off to surgery. Remembers it because he kept making Dennis laugh, and Robby always liked when Dennis laughed. He also remembers it was over a year ago.

A year. He’s missing a year. And the doctor part of his brain reminds him that he has a concussion. Amnesia isn’t abnormal with head trauma. Isn’t likely to be permanent, will likely come back as the concussion heals. But the rest of his brain is ignoring that part, too busy freaking out because, a year. He’s missing a year. He’s missing the entirety of their relationship. Is missing every day of what has been the best year of Robby’s life. Tries not to let his internal distress show on his face. Doesn’t want to scare Dennis.

Knows he failed when he asks, “What? What happened? What aren’t you telling me?”

Has no idea what to say. How to answer. Because how does he say so funny story you fell off our kitchen island trying to replace a light bulb and now you’re missing a year of your life, yes, our because we live together and have been dating for a year. Has no idea where to even begin. Opens his mouth to start, only to close it again when no words come out. Decides to do what he does best, run.

“I should go get your doctor.”

“Not before you tell me what happened.”

“They’ll want to know you woke up.”

“Dr. Robby, what happened?”

Can see that his refusal to answer is causing Dennis more distress than any answer he gives possibly could, so he decides to just go with the truth.

“You fell off the kitchen island trying to replace a light bulb.”

“Trinity doesn’t have a kitchen island?”

“The kitchen island at our place.”

Watches the words sink in. Watches as he mouths our place with a tilt of his head that reminds Robby of a confused puppy. Like it’ll all make more sense at a forty-five degree angle. Evidently, it doesn’t, because his brow pinches. He can see it, him trying to recall memories. Trying to force pieces of a puzzle that don’t exist right now to show their faces. Wishes there was something he could do to fix this. Like, replace the damn light bulb himself. Can only watch, helpless, as Dennis tries to remember anything at all. Can only watch as he looks more and more lost instead.

“I’m going to go grab your doctor.”

Doesn’t wait for a response, just flees the room. Flags down Dr. Robles, sends her in to talk to Dennis while he stands outside the door and tries not to have a panic attack. Can hear Robles inside, asking Dennis all the questions he should have asked when he woke up. Any nausea, dizziness? Do you know where you are? Who is the president? What’s the day's date? Hears Dennis hesitate before he answers the last one, like he knows even before he says it the answer he’s about to give is wrong. Like he knows he’s missing time, even if he doesn’t know yet how much. Feels like the biggest monster on the planet for dropping all that on him and then leaving like a coward. Moves a little further down the hall, just so he doesn’t have to listen to the rest of what they say.

“Robinavitch? He’s asking for you,” Robles says as she leaves the room, however long later.

He nods, so she knows he heard. Hesitates for ten, twenty, thirty seconds before moving back down the hallway and into Dennis’ room. He looks over at him when he enters. Rakes his eyes up and down his frame, and Robby suppresses the urge to turn and book it as fast as he can. Reminds himself this is still just Dennis. Returns to the same chair he’s been calling home for the last two days. Feels Dennis’ eyes on him the whole time. Settles into the seat, forces himself to make eye contact with him. Doesn’t let himself look away, even when the guilt he can feel eating away at the lining of his stomach wants to. Feels the corner of his mouth twitch, an attempt at a smile, when Dennis tilts his head to the side again. Narrows his eyes at Robby, like he’s something he can’t figure out but wants to.

“She said that you stayed the whole time.”

“I did.”

“Two days.”

“Yes.”

Dennis bobs his head. Seems to take in that information, chews on it. Like if he keeps it, tucks it in the corner of his cheek long enough, it’ll start to make sense. Robby lets him think. Can only imagine how confusing this is for him. Has no idea what’ll help, what’ll make it worse. Decides his best bet is to just answer questions, when he has them. Be honest, but not offer too much information unprompted. Doesn’t want to overwhelm him. Remembers something about assisting with memory loss, thinks that’s what you’re supposed to do. Be calm, patient, don’t push, don’t get upset when they can’t remember. He can do that. For Dennis, he can do that.

“How long?”

“How long?”

“How long has it been our place?” He emphasizes our.

“About six months.”

“And how long have we been we?”

“A year, little less technically.”

Another nod. More information to take in. To chew on. Wants to tell him everything. Has the urge to remind him of every single second of the last year. From their first date (not that either of them had been brave enough to call it that at the time) to now. Doesn’t, because he knows that’ll do more harm than good. Knows bombarding him with information isn’t going to be helpful. Overwhelming him won’t help the memories surface faster. Will only upset him more, because he can’t remember. Frustrate him, because there’s pieces missing where there shouldn’t be. Bites his tongue, lets Dennis ask at his own pace.

“You love me.”

“I do,” He answers, even though he could tell it wasn’t a question.

“And I love you.”

“You say you do.”

Dennis laughs at that. And Robby can’t help but chuckle along. Has never been able to resist Dennis’ laugh. Especially not when the full force of it is directed at him. No, he’s always been weak for that. Always will be, he thinks. Sees no problem with that. In fact, he thinks it sounds pretty damn perfect. Spending the rest of his life getting to listen to the sound of that laugh. Getting to see those eyes light up. Those lips stretch into a grin. Those cheeks dust pink. Sounds fucking perfect to him.

“Okay,” Dennis says, when his laughter fades, like it’s that easy.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“You don’t, have more questions?”

“Nope. The memories’ll come back, probably. I’m not worried.”

“But-”

“Oh no,” Dennis says, deadpan, “The hot guy is dating me, whatever will I do.”

Robby wants to argue with him. Because he’s being too, too calm about all this. Is taking this entirely too in stride. And maybe it’s because if all this was happening to Robby, he’d be freaking out, even more than he is right now. If he woke up with no memory of the last year, and Dennis was telling him that they were not only dating but living together? MI, instantly, for sure. Doesn’t understand how Dennis can possibly be so, so chill about all this.

“I also saw this,” Dennis interrupts his thoughts to show him his phone.

Flashes the background to Robby. It’s a photo of them. A selfie, taken by Dennis two months ago. The two of them, in bed. Neither one of them has a shirt on, Dennis’ head on Robby’s chest. Robby’s face visible over the top of his curls, glasses perched on the end of his nose. Doesn’t even remember now why the picture was taken. Probably one he sent to the Pittling group chat to show how he was spending his night. And to get Santos to respond with vomiting emojis because he always thinks it’s funny when she does. Had made it his background because you look good in your glasses, damn.

“We look happy,” Dennis muses, voice low, as he turns the screen to look at the photo.

“We are.”

“That’s enough for me. The rest’ll work itself out.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

And maybe it is that easy.

***

They let Dennis go home three hours later, near six in the evening. No reason not to. They rescan, just to be safe, and it all comes back normal. His labs, too. And ICU always needs the beds, so they cut him loose. He changes into clothes Jack brought for him, that first day. The ones he slipped into the bag along with Robby’s because he’s Jack and thinks of everything. Robby turns what he can only assume is a violent shade of red when Dennis just starts, undressing. Sputters out something that’s meant to be words and spins to face the wall. Hears him chuckle from behind him, mutters nothing you haven’t seen before. Which, yes, is true. But still. It feels different now, when Dennis can’t remember. He isn’t sure why. But it does.

“You can turn around now.”

“Are you decent?”

“No, but I’m dressed if that’s what you mean.”

Robby turns, sends him an unimpressed look. Dennis just beams at him, keeps on smiling until Robby cracks and grins back. Shakes his head. Grabs the duffle, slings it over his shoulder. Dennis grabs his discharge paperwork. And then they’re off. His car is in the parking lot, because Jack really does think of everything. Drove it over for him so they’d have a way of getting home since Robby came in with the ambulance and hasn’t been home since. Told him where he parked it, down by the ED entrance, since he did it on his way in that first night. Wishes there was a way to avoid going through the ED to get to it, but there isn’t. Hopes it won’t be overwhelming for Dennis.

The elevator ride down is fast, and then they’re spilling out in the chaos of the ED. It’s loud, always is. Someone is screaming about how they’re never coming here, an alarm is blaring, someone is barking orders. It’s home. Sweet, insane home. No one notices them at first, and Robby is grateful. Hopes that they’ll be able to just slip through. Make it to the car and home before anyone even realizes they were there. Isn’t so lucky, of course, but he hopes anyway.

“Huckleberry,” is screamed loud enough that everyone in the general vicinity looks over.

“Trin,” Dennis answers, equally as loud, even though he knows it must hurt his head, concussion and all.

“You’re awake,” Santos says as she approaches before turning to him with a glare, “You were supposed to call when he woke up.”

“You’re working.”

“So call the hub, Dana would have told us. We’ve all been worried.”

“You have?” Dennis asks, like the idea that people care about him is a foreign concept.

“Duh. Are you good? Everything still clean?”

“Still clean,” Dennis confirms, pauses, “Except for the amnesia, but that’s fine.”

“Amnesia?” Santos’ voice goes up three octaves, one for each syllable, which is kinda impressive.

Dennis just shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Santos’ eyes flick to Robby’s, concern clear. Robby shrugs too. Has no idea what to make of his reaction anymore than she does. Isn’t sure if he’s just genuinely unconcerned or faking it. Knows he has enough memory intact to know that amnesia post brain trauma is normal. To know that it often resolves on its own. Knows that he may actually just be that relaxed about it. Also, knows there’s an equally likely chance that he’s losing it on the inside and just playing it cool on the outside. Robby can’t tell. Wants to think he’d tell him. Knows the Dennis of three days ago, before the accident, would have. Isn’t so sure the one of a year ago would, though.

Santos must be thinking the same thing, or close to it, because her eyes go back to Dennis. Dart around his face. Has no idea what it is she’s looking for. But he knows they’re close, practically siblings. Knows that she’ll find whatever it is she’s looking for, if there’s something there to find. Dennis lets her look, which Robby finds encouraging. Doesn’t shy away from her, doesn’t try to hide. Just lets her look, examine, assess. It’s over in a matter of seconds, and whatever it is she finds she must be happy with, she just nods.

“What all are you missing?”

“Bout a year.”

“Damn.”

“Eh. Could be worse.”

He isn’t wrong about that; he could still be asleep. Or dead.

“Headed home then?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re, okay with that?” She says it slow, voice low, like she doesn’t want Robby to hear.

Sees her eyes dart from Dennis’ to Robby and back again. Fast, barely there. Just enough to send a message. A clear, and you’re okay going home with him. Feels something like appreciation swell in his chest. Is grateful that she’s looking out for Dennis, is double-checking that he's okay, is comfortable. Is happy, so fucking happy, that he has people in his life who care enough about him to make sure he feels safe. Knows it doesn’t say anything about the way she sees him, thinks of him. It’s not about him, it’s about Dennis. About making sure he’s comfortable during what is a stressful time.

“'Cause I still have a spare room, and you can always crash with me until-”

“I’m good. Exhausted, actually.”

Santos examines, assesses again, nods, “Well then, you better get going.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am, you aren’t my type. And you,” she rounds on Robby, “better take good care of him.”

“Of course. Always.”

“Ugh, you two are disgusting. Go, get out of here before I throw up.”

She turns on her heel, marches off to go do whatever it is she was doing before she spotted them. Dennis shakes his head fondly, continues on. Robby trails behind him. A few people wave as they pass. Mel flashes a thumbs-up with a questioning expression, beams when Dennis returns it. Langdon, next to her, smiles with a dip of his head. Mohan catches his eye as she talks to a patient, raises an eyebrow. Juts her chin in acknowledgment when he sends her a thumbs up, too. Jesse and Perlah pat him on the back as they pass with meds in their hands, say a quick good to see you up, Whitaker.

“And there’s our bloodhound,” Dana calls, when she sees them.

Sweeps him into her arms, and he goes with it. Let's her hug him, pinch his cheeks with a roll of his eyes. Still lets her do it, though. Dana asks him questions, rapid fire. He answers them all, just as fast. Robby watches the exchange with what is probably too affectionate a look on his face. For both of them. Thinks about how Dana and Jack are the closest thing he has to family, these days. Thinks how nice it is to see Dana, who is practically his sister, fawning over his boyfriend. Makes something in his chest go warm and gooey, not that he’d admit that to anyone ever. But it does.

“Hey kid, how you feeling?” Jack’s voice booms loudly from behind him, and he doesn’t jump at all, thank you very much.

“Good. Scans are clean.”

“So everything’s all good?”

“Perfect,” Dennis replies, continuing when Robby pointedly clears his throat, “Other than the amnesia, but it’s fine. It’ll come back.”

“Right,” Jack says, looking at him with that same gleam in his eye Santos’ had, must find what he’s looking for cause he goes on, “Headed out then?”

“And plan to sleep for at least a day, I’m exhausted.”

“Good. It’ll help you heal,” Dana tells him, looking close to fussing again.

“Well, we won’t hold you up. You boys have fun.”

“Jack,” Robby intercepts, before he can walk away, “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“For you? Always, brother.”

“Do you think you, Shen, and Al-Hashimi can handle it here for two weeks? Thinking of cashing in on some PTO.”

Robby expects a lot of reactions to that question. Doesn’t expect the way Jack fumbles the iPad he was going to pick up. Doesn’t expect the way Dana’s head whips to him so fast he hears her neck crack. Doesn’t expect Princess, who happened to be walking by, to drop whatever it was she was carrying before cursing in Tagalog. Even Dennis sends him a look, an expression he assumes someone seeing a unicorn would make. Has no idea what to do with any of that. Because he was expecting reactions, but not those.

“You want to take time off?” Jack asks, like he’s sure he must have misheard.

“Just two weeks. I think being home is what’s best right now,” and his eyes jump to Dennis and back before he can stop them.

“Yeah, no, yeah. We should be able to handle that. Have Al-Hashimi on days, me on nights. Shen can float to cover days off. He’ll hate it, but should work out just fine.”

“Tell him he does it, he gets Thanksgiving and Christmas. New Year’s too, if he wants it.”

“You really want the time off, huh?” 

“I really do.”

“Then we’ll make it happen. Put in the PTO paperwork, tell ‘em we have it sorted. I’ll work it out with the others. Don’t worry about it, we’ve got you.”

“Thank you.”

“Now get him home, boy looks ready to fall asleep standing up.”

“I’m fine,” Dennis insists, like his eyes aren’t half lidded already.

Though, that may be because of how bright the ED is. Concussion. Right. Home. Clasps Jack in a hug, Dana too. Tells them to call if they need him. Chuckles when they both answer, we won’t at the same time. Dana hugs Dennis again, and Jack pats him on the arm. They escape the ED, then, emerging into sunlight and the noise of Pittsburgh. The car is right where Jack said it would be. He bundles Dennis into the passenger seat. Jogs to the driver’s side, starts the engine, merges into traffic, and then they’re on the way home.

The ride is uneventful. Dennis tips his head back, and Robby’s almost certain he falls asleep. Is proven wrong when he sits up as the car pulls onto their street. He’s undoing the seat belt as soon as the car is in the driveway, climbs out. Robby follows suit, grabbing the duffle from where he tossed it in the backseat. Follows after Dennis, who leads the way, like this isn’t new to him. Which, he supposes, it isn’t. Even if you take away the last year, Dennis did call his house home for three months. Makes sense, he’d have some level of comfort, familiarity here, even without the last year’s memories intact. He turns to Robby, who tosses him the keys, so he can open the door. Which he does, shoulders it open because it sticks if you don’t.

Presses his fingers to the mezuzah as he goes through the door, brings his fingers to his lips. Pauses, after. Tilts his head, that same forty-five degree angle. Like, he isn’t sure why he just did that. Spins on his heel, looks at the mezuzah. Blinks at it, like he’s trying to piece together what compelled him to do that. Robby doesn’t push it, tries to see if he’ll remember on his own. Knows why he did it, wants to see if it comes back to him or if he’ll need to help him. Feels affection in his chest, at the fact that the muscle memory of it was strong enough for him to do it without remembering why.

“I, I lived here for three months and never did that before. Why did I do that?”

“Muscle memory.”

“I know what it is, but I never…” He trails off, so Robby decides to help him out.

“This house was my Grandmother’s, I inherited it when she passed. She put up the mezuzah. I watched her touch it every morning when we left and every day when we got home. I did too, because she did. Became habit, after all that time. I still do it, mostly-”

“Mostly because it makes you feel close to your Bubbe. It’s your way of saying goodnight to her,” Dennis finishes for him.

Not that he doesn’t do it for the traditional reason, too; he does. To show respect for God’s protection and love. To show respect for the home. To thank him for another day well lived, as his Grandmother always used to say when she’d kiss it at night. And to thank him for letting us wake up today, she’d say as she kissed it in the morning, as they were leaving for school and work. He still does it to this day, more out of habit than anything else. Does find himself thanking God for another day more often, now that he has Dennis. Finds it’s easier to appreciate the days he gets when he isn’t facing them alone. But mostly, mostly he does it because it makes him feel close to his Bubbe. Makes the missing her easier, when he can tack on and goodnight Bubbe after his to thank him for another day well lived.

“And I, I started doing it because I wanted her to like me,” Dennis says, like he isn’t sure, like he thinks he may be making it up.

“You did,” Robby agrees with a laugh.

“You said I didn’t have to, but I insisted. Because it’s part of you, and I wanted to be part of that part of you too.”

“You did.”

Robby has a, complicated relationship with his religion these days. His religion ties him to his mother, to the woman who abandoned him. Who left him behind like he was something easy to discard, to forget about. But it also ties him to his Bubbe, to the woman who loved him more than anything. Who he loved more than anything right back. He goes to synagogue, on High Holidays. He keeps kosher, ish. Doesn’t eat pork or shellfish, at least, which is as kosher as his Bubbe kept, so he figures it’s okay. He kisses the mezuzah by the door every time he goes through the frame, thanks God for another day, for letting him wake up. Thanks him for Dennis now, too. For not having to be alone. Still isn’t sure he believes in God, but he believes in his Bubbe and in Dennis, and for now, that’s enough. Is still working on the rest.

“I remember you telling me, about your Bubbe. And the mezuzah. I remember it.”

“Progress.”

Dennis flashes him a smile, moves into the house. Robby follows, kisses the mezuzah as he passes, like he has every day since his mom left him here when he was eight. To thank him for another day well lived, and for Dennis waking up. Goodnight Bubbe. Has a sudden memory of being eight years old, and having to stretch to reach it. Used to have to almost jump to be able to touch it. Has no idea where the memory comes from, but it makes him smile all the same. Closes the door behind him, slips off his shoes. Dennis’ are already there, and the sight of them side by side makes his heart clench. It always does, but after the last two days, it squeezes extra hard. Because he came so close to losing this. To losing his shoes by the door and his respect for his religion, his love for a woman who he’ll never meet. A woman he loves because she raised Robby. A woman he wants to make like him, even though she died the same year he was born.

“You should rest,” he says.

Dennis opens his mouth, no doubt to agree, he looks like he’s about to pass out, when his stomach growls, loud enough to echo. His face goes pink right after, blush crawling from his neck to his hairline. Ears flushing to match. Makes a face, as if to say oops. Lifts a shoulder, like he isn’t sure how else to respond. Robby wants to kick himself. Of course, he’s hungry; he hasn’t eaten in two days. Should have picked something up on the way home. Sandwiches or Italian or something. Has no idea what food they even have here. Something, though, they’ll have something, for sure.

“Food?”

“Food.”

Dennis leads the way into the kitchen, and Robby thinks he just might have to kiss Jack next time he sees him. Because the blood and the broken bulb that had been on the floor when they left the other day are gone. There’s no trace of it, like it never even happened. Doesn’t stop Robby from being able to picture it clearly, though, if he looks too hard. Dennis, limp and not breathing correctly. Blood, spreading around his head like the most fucked up halo ever. Broken glass shattered around him like tiny stars. He’d ended up with it in his hands, not that he’d noticed at the time. Hadn’t registered it until a nurse at the hospital was offering to clean him up, while Dennis got his scans done.

Shakes his head, slips past Dennis, heads to the fridge. Decides he’s definitely kissing Jack when he opens the fridge to see a Pyrex dish with a note on top. 350 for 20 – Jack. Pulls out what looks like stuffed shells. Yeah, he’s kissing him. He really did think of everything. Wonders if that’s a leftover military thing or just how he is. Doesn’t matter. Is grateful for it either way. Turns on the oven to preheat. Grabs them both water, watches Dennis look around while they wait for the stuffed shells to reheat. Observes him as he takes in all the details, all the things that are different from what he remembers as the last time he was here.

There’s two mugs by the coffee machine now, not one. Robby’s “world’s okayest doctor” mug, a gag gift from Dana, sits next to Dennis’ “Emotional Support Twunk” mug, a gag gift Santos got him. There’s a case of Monster by the back door, clearly Dennis’. On the counter is a box of the protein bars he likes, next to a box of the ones Robby prefers. There’s dishes in the sink. Two plates, two cups, two forks. The ones from breakfast, the day of the accident. Proof that two people had eaten together, before it all went to shit. Visible from the kitchen, though not in it, is Dennis’ favorite book. He’s been rereading it, battered copy on the coffee table next to Robby’s medical journals. None of it is anything major, but it all comes together to paint a picture of the life they have. Together.

The oven timer dings, and he pulls the shells out. Plates some, follows Dennis into the living room to eat. Muscle memory. Because they never use the dining room table. Is even more committed to kissing Jack now because the shells are fucking delicious. Or maybe he’s just really hungry. Realizes he hasn’t eaten in the last two days either. Oops. He meant to eat. He thought he did. But as he digs in, it becomes clear he didn’t. All well. Too late now. Dennis eats just as fast, and before he knows it, their plates are cleared. He throws them in the sink to deal with in the morning. Is too tired to worry about it right now. It’s been a long two days, and sleep sounds amazing. Thinks Dennis will agree, if the way his blinks are lasting just a few seconds too long is any indication.

“Bed?”

“Bed.”

***

It isn’t until they’re in their bedroom that the reality of the situation hits Robby like a speeding train. Seems to hit Dennis, too, if the way he stops three steps into the room is any clue. Stops and stares at the bed like he’s never seen it before. Hasn’t, now that he thinks about it. Slept in the guestroom, all those months ago. While Robby was off gallivanting across the country, trying to hold himself together long enough to find a reason not to fall apart. Is seeing this room, their room, for the first time. Is seeing even more proof of the life they have together.

Dennis’ phone charger, on his side of the bed. A different book next to it, a new one, not one he’s read a million times before. A half-drunk glass of water on Robby’s. A new medical journal he’s been annotating next to an alarm clock. Dirty clothes on the floor, two sizes of scrubs strewn about. The closet door is open, displaying both their clothes, mixed together. In the en suite, visible through the door, two toothbrushes are in the holder next to the sink. Robby’s beard oil next to Dennis’ curl cream. Two robes on the hook by the shower.

“You can sleep in the guest room,” Robby offers, “and I’ll sleep in here.”

Alone. He’ll sleep in here alone. It’s been a long time since he slept in here alone. Six months, consistently. More than that, because Dennis still slept here several days a week even before they were living together. It’s been a long time since he didn’t have him in bed with him. Didn’t wake up to snores in his ear, little puffs of breath on his skin. Since he didn’t fall asleep curled around him, limbs tangled together. But he’ll do it. Because Dennis doesn’t remember any of this. So he won’t push it. He can sleep alone. He can turn the TV on, like he used to. It’ll be enough, he thinks. He’ll be fine.

“It’s fine.”

“Or I can sleep in the guest room, the mattress is the same one, so it’s no problem.”

“I said it’s fine.”

“We don’t have to shar-”

“We’re dating, it’s fine. Besides, I might not remember sharing with you before, but I do remember wanting to, so it’s fine. Trust me.”

Dennis moves before he can respond. Goes over to the dresser he keeps his pajamas in, opens the drawer. Hesitates for a moment, like he isn’t sure how he knew where they were. Shakes it off, pulls out sweatpants and a t-shirt. Goes to the bathroom to change. And Robby is very grateful that he doesn’t just start stripping again. Doesn’t think he’d be able to handle him doing it a second time. He may be missing memories, but Robby isn’t. Can remember in vivid detail every time Dennis has taken his clothes off in this room. For mundane and more, uh, athletic reasons. Doesn’t think he has the willpower to turn away from him. Not in their own room. Not when this is where he’s used to being able to look. Is glad he doesn’t have to try.

Gathers his own clothes while Dennis is in the bathroom. Hears him doing his nightly ablutions through the door. Hears other sounds too, cabinets opening and closing. Cracks a smile at the idea of him snooping in his own home. Trying to remember what he can. Lets him take his time, after all, you never know what will jog a memory. Swaps places when he comes back out. Changes, goes to the toilet, brushes his teeth. Knows he should shower, they both should, but he can’t be bothered. That can be tomorrow’s problem. Goes back into the bedroom. Dennis is on his side of the bed, curled towards the center, like he is most nights.

Robby tosses his clothes into the hamper. Climbs in too. Turns off the light, turns off the alarm. No reason to be up early if they don’t have to be. Settles down. Feels the bed next to him shift as Dennis does the same. Feels him wiggle like he can’t get comfortable. Again and again and again. Goes still for a few minutes, only to start up once more. Rolls from one side to the other and back. Restless, fidgety in a way he’s never seen him before.

“I can go to the guest room, it’s really not a problem.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Robby asks, rolling onto his side to face him.

“I,” a pause, “This isn’t normally how we sleep, is it? Apart like this? Not touching?”

“It’s not.”

“It’s like my body knows this is wrong or something. Can’t get comfortable.”

Robby decides to take a chance. A calculated risk. Prays he isn’t horribly bad at math. Reaches out, hooks an arm around Dennis’ waist. Pulls him back into his front until they’re spooning. It’s one of the ways they fall asleep most. This or Dennis on his chest. Sometimes Robby is the little spoon, but he’s taller, and it makes his back hurt trying to tuck himself into Dennis, so they don’t do it often. As much as he loves it, and he does more than breathing, it only happens on Very Bad Days. Days when Robby needs to be held, needs the pressure to keep him from completely shattering.

Dennis tenses for half a second, and Robby thinks maybe he’s worse at math than he thought. And then Dennis melts, relaxes into the hold like he does every other night. Shifts, snuggles back into him, just a little. Brings a hand up, tangles his fingers with Robby’s where they rest over his stomach. Wiggles once, twice, and then goes still. Sighs, long and content. Like a dog that’s finally found the perfect place to lie down. Robby smiles, takes another chance. Presses a kiss to the back of his head. Squeezes his hand. Feels him squeeze back.

“Mmm, better.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to-”

“Shh, time for sleeping now.”

And so that’s what he does.

***

It always amazes him a little, how in sync they are. Whether they’re falling in step while walking through the ED, sharing patient information. Or reading each other's minds over a trauma to coordinate care flawlessly. Or making breakfast, barefoot in the kitchen at nine in the morning. No matter what they’re doing, they always manage to be perfectly in tandem. Moving around each other seamlessly. Handing each other what they need, whether that’s a laryngoscope or an egg. Staying out of each other's way while simultaneously being right where the other needs them to be. Moving around each other like a dance, no matter what.

Dennis flips a pancake, shakes his hips a little to the song playing through the Bluetooth speaker on the counter. Winks at Robby, as he shifts it from the griddle to a plate. Pours more batter. Robby rolls his eyes, turns to the coffee pot. Fills their respective mugs, puts too much of the fancy creamer Dennis likes in his. Leaves his own black. Maneuvers around Dennis and his dancing to place them on the counter. Takes the plate he hands him, sits at the island. Dennis doesn’t, leans on the counter instead. Wags his head to the music, even as he shovels bites of pancake into his mouth.

It’s been a week since Dennis was discharged. It has probably been the slowest week Robby’s ever had. Ever. Even when he was on sabbatical, he never really slowed down. Never took it easy. Was too busy running. Running from his demons, running from himself, running from everything. It’s nice, just lounging around. Sitting on the couch and doing nothing with Dennis. Reading to him, because trying to focus long enough to do it makes his head hurt, courtesy of his concussion. Answering his questions, clarifying memories, when they pop up. It’s been nice. It has.

But, there’s a lot of reasons people like them go into emergency medicine. And one of those reasons? The need to always be moving. Always on the go. Constantly jumping from one disaster to another, one case to the next. Only pausing long enough to scarf down a protein bar, or take a piss. Maybe. If there's time. If you're lucky. It’s part of what he loves so much about what he does. And it’s been great, wonderful having this slow time with Dennis, just the two of them. But he’s also starting to go a little stir crazy. Relaxing all day when he’s used to running himself ragged is starting to get to him.

“What’s on the schedule for today?” Dennis asks, like he can read his mind.

“We can finish that book we started yesterday.”

“Wrong. I am going to take a soak in the tub, and you are going to go for a walk.”

“I am?”

“You are. You need to get out of the house. Don’t tell me you aren’t going insane, I know you are.”

Maybe he can read his mind.

“You need some air. Take a walk.”

“I’m okay.”

“You aren’t. Don’t argue. I want to take a bath; you might as well do something while I do.”

“Are you sure?”

“I might not remember everything, but I do remember how nice that tub is. Now go on, get.”

He makes a shooing motion with one hand, while he gathers the dishes with the other. Robby decides it’s best to just do as told. And a walk does sounds nice. Goes to the bedroom, changes into some jeans and a t-shirt. Grabs his AirPods, might as well listen to some music, too. Dennis and him cross paths in the hallway, and he gets a kiss on his cheek that definitely doesn’t turn his face red. Nope, not at all. Shoves his feet into sneakers, heads out the door. Puts on his morning walk playlist, the one he listens to on the way into work. Isn’t used to listening to this alone anymore. Usually him and Dennis both have one earphone, alternating whose turn it is to put on the music.

Takes a deep breath as soon as he exits the house. Feels it burn his lungs, just a little. In that same way, it does after leaving the ED after a shift. Too long indoors, too long confined. It’s nice, being outside. The air is crisp, the breeze light. Decides to do a lap of the neighborhood. Waves to Mrs. Burgess, who waves back from her front porch in her robe. At least it’s tied today, small mercies. Kicks a soccer ball back to a group of kids when they accidentally kick it across the street, so they don’t try to cross. Notices that the Martins painted their front door, again. It’s green, again. Gets pulled into a conversation with Mr. Rowe about the Penguins.

Returns to the house feeling much better. Lighter. Feels a little less stir crazy. A little less like the walls are closing in. Slips his shoes off. Tosses his AirPods on the table by the door. Hears Dennis in the living room, hears the swish that tells him he has one of the photo books out again. Wonders which one it is today. Sometimes it's the one from Robby’s childhood, photo after photo of a chubby-cheeked Michael. Sometimes it's the one from med school, back when he was only a little younger than Dennis is now. Most often, though, it’s the one from the last year.

The one Robby put together from the Instagram posts Dennis made, from the pictures he took, from the random candids their friends sent him. Had thought it might help jog his memory. Having physical pictures to look at, especially since he still can’t look at screens because of his concussion. Might help to get things going, if he had reminders he could flip through. Snapshots of them, of their memories. And it has been helping, little by little. Has helped him get some of the last year back. Not all of it, not yet. But some. It’s enough.

Sure enough, that’s the one he’s looking at when he comes into the living room. Robby smiles at him when he looks up, gaze going gooey and fond when Dennis beams back. Moves to the kitchen to get some water. Hears Dennis close the book, sets it on the table. Hears the couch creak, turns around to see him watching him over the back of the sofa. Robby waits, knows that he does that sometimes, after he’s been looking at the book. Looks at him as he tries to piece things together, sew the fragments of his memory back into a cohesive thing. Waits for him to make the first move, just sips his water.

“What are you thinking for lunch?”

It isn’t what he’s expecting, but he answers anyway, “Hmm, Sergio’s?”

“No. Last time we went there, I wasn’t impressed.”

It takes Robby a second. It isn’t until Dennis lifts his chin and he sees the shit-eating grin on his face that it clicks. The last time they had Sergio’s was two weeks ago. Dennis had lasagna and got upset because they changed the recipe. Two weeks ago. The closest memory to the accident he’s gotten back since. Doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but has a feeling based on his expression that it’s okay to let his hopes climb, this time. Sets his water down. Takes a cautious step forward.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yeah, baby?”

Staggers the few remaining steps to the couch. Dennis rises to meet him. Ends up on his knees on the sofa, leans over the back to catch him when he all but falls into him. It’s been a week since he’s heard Dennis call him that. A week that has felt like a lifetime. But he’s calling him baby again. Is tilting his head down so he can press their lips together. Is laughing into the kiss that’s really more of an uncoordinated mash of lips than a kiss. Because he called him baby. He remembers. He’s back, his sweetheart is back.

They kiss like they haven’t kissed in a week because they haven’t. Dennis, kneeling on the sofa. Robby, bent over the back to reach him. His back is going to kill him later. He can already tell. And Dennis, his sweet Dennis, will offer to massage it for him. And after a week of sharing a bed and some chaste kisses on the cheek, he already knows that massage isn’t going to stay PG for very long. He can’t wait. But for now, he’s content to keep kissing him like he needs it to live. Because he does. After a week without it, he needs it more than air. Never, ever, ever wants to go another day without it again. Not ever.

Only pulls back when his lungs remind him he does actually need to breathe. Gasps, tries to catch his breath. Judging by the way Dennis is panting, he also forgot bodies need air to function. Leans forward, thunks his head into Robby’s shoulder. Takes great heaving breaths. Robby copies him, kisses the top of his head. Brings his arms around him. Hugs him as best he can with the back of the sofa between them. Because he can. Because he remembers.

“You remember?”

“I remember.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Dennis just nods, head still pressed to his shoulder. Feels lips through his shirt. Squishes him, jiggles him back and forth. Because he can and because it makes him giggle. Has heard that laugh a lot in the last week, but it’s different now. Knowing that he remembers, that they have all the same memories of the last year again. Makes that giggle sound that much sweeter. Wants to bottle it, carry it with him so he can hear it whenever he wants.

“Baby?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” calls him sweetheart because after a week of only calling him Dennis again, he thinks calling him anything else will kill him.

“What are we doing for lunch, though?”

And the giggle that Robby wants to bottle erupts from Dennis once more when his answer is to pull him into another kiss.