Work Text:
Dennis has no idea how long he’s been sitting here.
Too long. He knows it’s been too long. Has tried to stand a few times, keeps ending up here. Back to the wall, choking on blooms. It hurts, it hurts so fucking bad. Hasn’t had full flowers come up before this. Has only had petals until now. Peach colored and soft to the touch. Annoying, but easy to hide. Easy to cough out quickly in between patients. Knows full flowers will be harder to hide, not just because they take longer to come up. Roses, peach ones.
They have thorns.
Jagged and prickly. They catch in his throat. Dig into his trachea. Make it so the flowers don’t just slip out, nice and easy, like he’s seen happen to others. No, they burrow in as they come up. Get tangled and caught, so he has to rip them out. Ends up choking on his own blood, drowning in more than just the blooms. His throat is torn up, he knows it is. Knows if he tried to talk right now, it’d sound like he’s been smoking ten packs a day for the last fifteen years. Has no idea how he’s going to explain it. Has been able to hand-wave the coughing as seasonal illness. Waved the few bloody tissues the others have spotted, petals carefully tucked inside, away as nose bleeds from the dry hospital air.
Work. He needs to go back to work. Needs to get up off the floor of this bathroom and get back to it. Because the patients don’t care that he’s dying. Not when they are too. They need him. And if he’s going to die, he might as well help who he can before he goes right. Be useful while he still can. Tips his head back against the wall. Takes as deep a breath as he can. Notices that it isn’t that deep at all. Wonders how much time he actually has left. Not long, if there’s full blooms now. He knows the science, knows the progression. He’s a doctor, after all. Knows how this works.
“Whitaker?”
Jumps at the sound of another voice. Didn’t even hear the bathroom door. Opens his eyes, didn’t realize he closed them. Looks up to see Dr. Robby looking at him with what he can only describe as horror on his face. Knows what he’s seeing. The flowers in his lap, the blood no doubt streaked down his chin. How sweaty he is, how pale. Wants to say something, anything. It isn’t what it looks like. Except how can he say that, because it’s exactly what it looks like.
“How long have you been like this?”
Dennis has no idea if he means how long have you been in here or how long have you been sick. Maybe he means both. Doesn’t matter. Either way, the answer is the same. Too long. He’s been like this too long. Shrugs, because he doesn’t have the energy to answer. Robby’s face does something complicated, a series of emotions that he doesn’t even bother trying to keep up with. And then he’s moving. Goes to the sink. Wets a paper towel, comes to kneel next to Dennis. Takes his face in his hand, gentle. Uses the paper towel to wipe at the blood caked there.
He wishes he wouldn’t have.
Because the action triggers another coughing fit. Turns just in time to avoid coughing directly in his face. Curls forward. Hacks and sputters. Gasps and wheezes. Chokes until the bloom is far enough up his trachea, he can reach in and get it out. Knows he should be more careful, more gentle. Doesn’t bother. He’s already dying anyway. Who cares if he speeds up the process? More blood comes up with it, splashes down his chin. Undoes all the work Dr. Robby was attempting to do. He whines, a little, he thinks, because it hurts. Not the paper towel, just the everything else. Hears Dr. Robby make a soothing sound back. It’s more comforting than it should be.
Reaches up with the paper towel again, wipes off the fresh blood. It doesn’t trigger another fit, thank God or who the fuck ever. Doesn’t think he has the energy to do it again. Not when just breathing hurts, throat raw, and still bleeding. Opens his mouth when Dr. Robby asks him to. Lets him look with his pen light. Judges by the way his brow pitches down, that it must look bad. Could have guessed that. Certainly feels bad.
“I’m fine,” he says, voice sounding like hell, copper on his tongue.
Dr. Robby doesn’t answer with words, just shoots him a look clearly meant to mean like hell you are. Feels a hand on his wrist, counting his heart rate. Knows between the pain and the fact that Dr. Robby is so close to him, it’s probably too high. That fact is confirmed when he sees Dr. Robby’s eyebrow lift for a second, before he frowns down at him. Wants to tell him not to worry about it. Knows he will anyway, given what he just walked in on.
“Give me five, and I’ll be out,” is what he says instead.
“The only place you’re going is to a room.”
“I have patients.”
“Not anymore, you don’t. I’ll page surgery down to-”
“No.”
“What?”
“No. No surgery.”
Dr. Robby pulls back, shock on his face. Isn’t sure if that’s because he’s refusing the surgery or if it’s because this is the first time Dennis has ever told him no. Has always done what he’s said without question. He has you clicker trained, I swear, Trinity has teased him on more than one occasion. Knows she isn’t exactly wrong. Has always come when he calls, has always done as told. As long as it was Dr. Robby giving the command, he did it. Never pushed back, because there was no reason to. Until now. Because he won’t get the surgery, even if Dr. Robby wants him to.
Ironic, given Dr. Robby is the reason he’s in this mess.
No, that’s not fair. He can’t blame this on him. It’s not his fault Dennis is a pathetic mess who went and fell in love with the one man in the world who would never love him back. HR nightmare aside, there’s no way Dr. Robby could ever feel the same way about him. Dr. Robby is… Dr. Robby. A successful, handsome attending. Dennis is, Dennis. A farm boy who only isn’t homeless and starving because someone he barely knew at the time has a heart too big for her body. He isn’t stupid, he knows that there’s no way Dr. Robby feels the same.
It’s why he hasn’t told him. Knew as soon as the first petal came up, he had three options. Surgery, which he ruled out immediately. There’s assistance programs to help people with Hanahaki pay for it, so the cost wasn’t a factor. He’d still decided against it. Because, even though he knows Dr. Robby will never feel the same, the thought of Dennis not feeling like he does right now isn’t something he can deal with. Isn’t something he can handle. Option two: tell Dr. Robby and hope he feels the same. Ruled that out immediately, too. Because he knows there’s no way he feels the same. And he isn’t gonna let him live with the guilt of not being able to save him, of not being able to love him. Knows he’ll carry it, even if he shouldn’t. It’s not his fault Dennis is so unlovable.
Which left, dying. Letting the disease take its course. So he decided to do just that. To help as many people as he could before he went. To spend as much time with the people who love him as he can. Has made sure to say yes every time Trinity asks him to go out with her. Every time anyone asks him to have a drink after work. Makes it a point to tell those around him that he appreciates them. Knows it’s starting to freak everyone out, a little. Has already had Dana pull him aside for a you okay, kid talk. Had assured her that he was fine, aces. Isn’t sure she believed him, but he tried. Thinks Trin knows something isn’t right, even if she hasn’t said anything yet. Knows she hears him coughing at night. Gasping for air he can’t get when lying down, sleeps sitting up now. It helps, a little. Not much, but a bit.
“What do you mean, no? You have to or you’ll-”
“Die? I know.”
“So I’ll get you into a room and then page surgery down to consult. It’s not too late.”
“And I said no. I’m not doing the surgery.”
“Dennis.”
Dr. Robby doesn’t use his first name often. Ever, really, if he’s honest. Certainly, never says it in that tone. Like he’s breaking his heart. Like he’s near tears. Is glad for it, because it triggers another round of coughing. The next bloom comes up the same as the other ones had. Tears its way out of his throat, bloody and violent. He collapses back into the wall after, pants for air he knows he won’t be able to get enough of. Never can, anymore. Dr. Robby watches with an expression he can’t read. Looks, pained. Like Dennis hurting hurts him too. Which is ridiculous. Why would he care?
Dr. Robby reaches out to pick up the flower from where it fell in Dennis’ lap. Examines it. A peach rose. He’d taken a few of the petals to a florist, the first time he coughed some up. Had asked what they were from. Wanted to know so he could look up what they meant. Admiration, excitement, desire. Gratitude, sincerity, appreciation. Remembers thinking they were a little too on the nose. Thinks it even more now, as he watches Dr. Robby fiddle with the bloom in his hand.
“I assume whoever it is didn’t, doesn’t…” Dr. Robby trails off.
“You assume I told him.”
His head snaps up at that, so fast he hears his neck crack. Wants to take the words back. Because he can see it, that glimmer of hope. Knows what happens next. Dr. Robby’s gonna push for a name. Is gonna try to get him to confess. Mistakenly thinks that there’s a chance the person he loves feels the same, or might if he knew. But he knows better. Knows there’s no chance of that. Knows there’s no point in trying. Will only hurt them both, in the long run. No, it’s better for Dennis to just, not. To just let the disease do what it does. Easier that way. Has the same end result either way. Either way, Dennis dies, so why hurt more people than just him.
“You have to tell him, if there’s a chan-”
“There isn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You don’t,” Dr. Robby drops the flower, reaches out to lay a hand on his knee, “Anyone would be lucky to have you, Dennis.”
Fuck, not again. Curls forward, hacks and gasps. Feels Dr. Robby’s hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles. Wishes he’d stop, doesn’t think it’s helping. Thinks it’s making it worse, actually. Can’t help but lean into it anyway, just a little. Because it feels nice, even if it makes him wheeze and choke. Finally gets the flower out. Wonders how many more times he can do that before the damage to his trachea kills him. Can’t be too many times, he doesn’t think. Feels like his whole throat is on fire. Like he swallowed lava. Feels Dr. Robby reach for his neck, like he’s going to examine him. Pulls back, winces when his head smacks the wall behind him.
“Please don’t. I can’t, I can’t do another one, not now.”
Knows he’s saying too much. Knows Dr. Robby is a smart guy. Knows he’ll be able to piece it together. Sees his brow crease, knows the medical textbook section for Hanahaki disease is flashing in front of his eyes. Contact, physical or otherwise, between the infected person and the cause of the infection can cause flares in symptoms, including but not limited to coughing, flower production, and acceleration of the disease. Watches as Dr. Robby puts it together. As it clicks, that every time Dennis has had a flare-up since he came in, it's been because of something he did. Touching him, talking to him, being near him in general. Watches in real time as he realizes that he’s the reason Dennis is sick.
“Dennis.”
No, please, no. Not his name again, in that same tone. Another round of sputtering, another rose. Wishes it would just kill him already. Just let it be over. Dr. Robby’s there the whole time, hand on his back. Wants to tell him to stop, that he isn’t fucking helping. Is making it worse, in fact. But he can’t because it feels good, the comfort. Has been alone in this, this whole time. It’s nice, having someone else know. Even if the person trying to help is the only person capable of making it more agonizing. He makes shushing sounds, says it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, I’ve got you. And he can’t help the laughter, slightly hysterical, that bubbles up after the flower is out.
Because this is exactly why he didn’t want to tell him. Why he didn’t want him to know. Cause now he thinks it’s his job to save him. To fix him. To make it better. Can’t, but he’s gonna try anyway. Is gonna beat himself up because there is no saving him. He’s already dead, his body just doesn’t know it yet. It’s why he didn’t want to tell him. Because Dr. Robby thinks this is gonna be okay. Thinks there’s another outcome when there isn’t.
Slumps forward, can’t bring himself to care when he feels Dr. Robby’s arms come around him. Is just glad it doesn’t cause another attack. His throat feels like hell, honestly doesn’t think he could handle another rose, not right now. Knows another one will happen, it’s inevitable, but hopes he gets a bit of a break. Dr. Robby shifts, sits on the floor next to him. Keeps his arms around him, so Dennis shifts with him. Ends up leaning into his chest, while Dr. Robby leans against the wall. Pants, tries to draw as much air as he can. Feels Dr. Robby stroke a hand up and down his back.
“It’s gonna be okay.”
“It’s really not.”
“It is.”
“Dr. Robby, please, don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend.”
“Who said I’m pretending?”
Dennis opens his mouth to argue, because he is, he knows he is. Knows he has to be. Because he’s him and Dennis is Dennis. Gets cut off by Dr. Robby taking his chin in hand. Makes him look up at him, forces him to look into his eyes. Holds the contact, doesn’t look away. Leans in, just a little. Like he’s, like he’s gonna kiss him. But that can’t be right. Because he’s Dennis, and there’s no way Dr. Robby would want to kiss him. Thinks maybe that last rose did do him in, and he did die. Thinks maybe this is all some hallucination brought on by his dying brain. That can happen, right? He’s pretty sure it can.
Stops giving a shit as soon as Dr. Robby’s lips meet his. Should he stop calling him Dr. Robby now that they’re kissing? Probably. Doesn’t really care about that either. Only cares about the fact that he’s kissing him, holy shit, he’s kissing him. Realizes it can’t be good for him, what with the blood all down his chin. Tries to pull back, can’t because Dr. Robby’s, no just Robby’s, hand is in his hair. Holding him there while he kisses him like it’s the only thing he wants to be doing. Teases at his lips until he parts them, and Dennis makes a noise in response that he’s pretty sure isn’t human. Would be embarrassed by it, except he can’t think of anything other than the way Robby is licking into his mouth.
Whines, can’t help it, when he pulls back. Leans forward, tries to chase his lips. Feels his face go red when Robby chuckles at him. Feels a hand cup his face, opens his eyes. Looks at him, at the wrinkles on either side of his eyes. Rivers that only exist when he’s really smiling. Loves to see them. Knows that means he’s really happy. Reaches up before he can talk himself out of it, traces a finger over them. Robby, he thinks it’s okay to call him that since he’s had his tongue in his mouth and all that, grins wider in response.
“Do you get it now?” Robby asks.
“Get what?”
“It’s gonna be okay, because I love you too.”
Jerks back, or attempts to. Because that can’t be true. Wanting to save someone, wanting to kiss them, isn’t the same as loving them. And he can’t love him. He can’t. There’s no way. He’s not, he’s not worth all that. He’s not. Dennis is just, Dennis. Just the farm boy who’s only alive because someone took pity on him. No, no, he doesn’t mean it. He can’t. Robby doesn’t let him pull back, even though he tries. Holds him in the same place. Presses a hand to his chest, like he’s waiting for him to realize something. He’s so busy trying to get away that it takes him a second to notice.
He can breathe.
Actually breathe. Not the stuttering half-breaths he’s been doing. Or the winded sucking of air he’s been calling breathing for weeks now. He can breathe. Full, deep breaths. He can breathe. But that’s not possible. Unless. Looks to Robby. Sees the naked affection on his face. The happiness radiating off him, like this is the best day of his life. He has blood smeared on his own chin, from kissing Dennis, but he’s grinning like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. The sight makes Dennis laugh, and once he starts, he can’t stop. Because he saw telling Robby going a lot of ways, but not like this. Never like this.
Knows his laughter hedges into hysterical, it goes on that long. Can’t bring himself to care. Especially not when Robby joins in. Because just a few minutes ago, he was dying. Actively. And now he isn’t. Has never felt so alive, in fact. Because he’s in love and the person he loves loves him back. It’s, it’s incredible. Best feeling ever. Pulls Robby into another kiss because he can. Because he’s not dying and he can breathe and he wants to so he does. Robby returns it with enthusiasm, all but drags him into his lap. Knows they should be more careful, they are still at work after all. But he can’t bring himself to care. Not right now. Not when Robby’s kissing him like it’s the most important thing he’ll do today.
“Robby? You okay in there?” Dana asks, pounding on the door.
“Yeah,” he calls, pulling back, “Yeah, I’m good. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Alright. You seen Whitaker?”
“I’m okay too,” Dennis calls, knows the grin on his face is clear in his voice.
“Alright.”
Hears her mutter, why are they both in there, to herself as she walks away, which only serves to send them both into another round of laughter.
Yeah, it’s gonna be okay.