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This might be the worst idea that Dennis has ever had.
Well, no, that’s a lie. The worst idea he ever had was peeing on the electric fence when he was five to see what would happen. The short version, ow. Ow happened. But this, this comes in at a very close second. Turns out doing stitches on yourself is nothing like doing it on someone else. Who could have known that? Everyone, everyone could have known that. Including Dennis, if he’d thought about it for longer than three seconds. Which he had, and had concluded that he’d be able to do them himself.
He’s starting to reevaluate that conclusion.
The angle is all fucking wrong. Which he knew it would be, but it’s even worse than he expected. Can’t use both hands, since the cut is on his upper arm. Can’t really stitch with only one hand, though. Can’t get the tension right. Is gonna scar something awful, if he can manage to stitch it, which is fine. He’s not vain, he doesn’t care about that. What he does care about is making sure they don’t open later. Which he thinks they might. Assuming he can get them in at all.
And yes, he is aware he works at a hospital. Is sitting in it right now, in fact, doing stitches in the on-call room that no one ever bothers to use because the bed in here is harder than the floor. Which is why he picked here to do his stitches. Or try to do them at least. Is failing pretty miserably, if he’s honest. Is doing his best not to panic about that, because he doesn’t have time to do that. Has to badge in in exactly thirty-two minutes. Has that long to get this wound closed and the room cleaned up before anyone realizes he was in here. No pressure or anything.
“Whitaker?”
Jumps at the sound of Dr. Robby’s voice. Yelps, when the motion makes him jab himself with the needle. Robby takes in the scene for half a second before closing the door behind him. Clicks the lock shut. Dennis tries not to show his panic at the motion. Great, I’m bleeding, and I’m about to be fired, wonderful. Without a word, Robby comes over to the table he’s set himself up at. Pulls a pair of gloves from somewhere. Snaps them on. Stands next to him, gestures for him to drop the needle driver and thread. He does, braces for the yelling.
“You clean this?”
“What?”
“Did you clean this?”
“Uh.”
He was going to, clean it, that is. But he figured he didn’t have the time to clean and stitch it. Was gonna just slap some antibiotic ointment on it after and hope for the best. Knows that’s also not the best idea he’s ever had. Knows it falls somewhere between peeing on the fence and trying to do his own stitches in terms of stupid things he’s done. But he’d been, still is, on a time crunch. Didn’t want to waste any time cleaning it when he needed all the time he could get stitching it closed.
Robby scoffs, spins on his heel. Leaves the way he came. Dennis sits there for a second, unsure what just happened. Shrugs, picks the driver and the thread back up. Goes back to attempting to do the stitches. Is concentrating so hard he doesn’t hear the door open again. Only realizes Robby’s back when he announces himself. Makes an ah-ah noise that startles him into dropping the driver again. Hums, like he did the right thing, and Dennis pleads with whoever may be listening not to let his face get red right now.
Robby comes back to the table, drags the other chair to be next to him. Throws some stuff down before taking a seat. An irrigation kit, saline, and a towel. Folds the towel, shoves it under Dennis’ arm. He shifts, just enough to clamp it to his side so it won’t fall. Robby picks up the irrigation kit. Rips it open. Pulls on gloves, again, sucks some saline into the syringe from the kit. Squirts it into the wound. Dennis flinches, a little. That makes Robby pause, pull back. Looks from Dennis’ face to his arm and back again.
“You, you did numb this already, right?”
“Umm.”
“Dennis, tell me you numbed this before you tried to do your own stitches.”
And see, he was going to. Except he didn’t want to take the time for the lidocaine to kick in. Time crunch and all. Besides, it’s fine. When he was ten, he fell on an old paddock fence and needed stitches. His Pa did them at home without any numbing agent, and he was fine. Sure, it hurt, but he was fine. Figured he’d be okay skipping it this time, too. Was gonna just pop some Tylenol to take the edge off. It’d be fine, he’s sure. He was before. If ten-year-old Dennis could handle the pain, he’s sure twenty-nine-year-old Dennis can too.
“It’s okay, Dr. Robby, I don’t need-”
Robby makes a noise that he can’t even classify. A scoff and a scream and something like horror all at once. Rises from the table, leaves again. Dennis doesn’t move while he’s gone this time. Because Robby clearly doesn’t want him to, and he can be good for him. Jesus Christ, Dennis, down boy. Robby’s only gone for like a minute anyway. Comes back with a syringe of lidocaine. Pops the cap off as he approaches, warns him with a this is gonna suck before he’s injecting it into the wound. Dennis hisses, because yeah, that hurts. Shit.
Satisfied, Robby leaves again, no doubt to throw the syringe in a sharps bin. Comes back, returns to the chair. Looks over what Dennis brought in here with him, like he’s checking that he didn’t leave anything else important out. Knows he didn't. Has a suture kit, bandaging for after. Only left out the things he knew he didn’t have time for. Like proper cleaning and pain relief. Robby hums, that same you did good hum from earlier, and Dennis feels something race up his spine. Not the time, you can think about it later when you’re alone, or in the shower.
“How’d you know I was in here?” He asks, because he needs a distraction.
“Saw the light under the door. Thought someone left it on by mistake. Was gonna turn it off.”
“Can’t do stitches in the dark.”
“No, only without pain relief.”
“Har har, he’s got jokes.”
It slips out before he can think of all the reasons why he shouldn’t. The first and most important being this is Dr. Robby, his boss. Looks over with wide eyes. Feels some of the panic settle when Robby only grins at him in response. Offers a smile back, tips his head to the side. Robby’s smile widens even more, the lines next to his eyes springing up like tiny rivers. He adores those lines. Always knows a joke he made really landed when those lines come out.
“Let’s try this again, shall we?” Robby says, a few minutes later, and Dennis realizes they’ve spent that time just staring at each other.
Dennis nods. Right, stitches. That’s why they’re here in a rarely used room of the hospital. Because Dennis needs stitches. Not to stare at each other. I wish that was why we were here. Still not the time. Robby puts on more gloves, where is he getting them from, is he producing them, and picks the syringe back up. Starts irrigating the wound again. Dennis doesn’t flinch this time. Pain relief is a wonderful thing, actually. Not that he didn’t know that already. But still, the occasional reminder is nice.
“Jagged.”
“Yeah.”
“How’d this happen anyway?” Robby asks, as he puts the syringe down.
Pulls a new suture kit from his pocket. Pops it open. Pulls out a fresh needle, fresh thread. Yeah, that’s fair. The old one isn’t exactly clean anymore. Robby reaches into his pocket, pulls out his glasses. Slips them on. Dennis hates his glasses. No, that’s not fair. He loves his glasses. It’s just that seeing him in them does dangerous things to his heart rate, his blood pressure. So he hates them, if only because he forgets how to think whenever they come out. Not great, in emergency situations. Usually forces himself to look at literally anything else. But this isn’t an emergency situation, so he lets himself look. Just a little.
“Whitaker? How did this happen?”
Stop staring before he notices.
“Accident.”
“Yeah, I figured that. But what happened?”
Robby slides closer still, leans in so he can get a good look at the wound. Leans far enough into Dennis’ space that he can smell him. Sandalwood and cinnamon, his cologne, he’s pretty sure. Something floral, too. Lavender, maybe. His laundry detergent, perhaps. Robby examines his arm, nods once. Picks up the driver and thread. Makes eye contact with him, asking permission to start. Dennis nods, too high on sandalwood and cinnamon to care what he’s doing. Thanks to the lidocaine, he sees the first stab of the needle, but he doesn’t really feel it.
“So?”
“So?”
“How’d it happen?”
Right. He wants to know how he ended up with a three-inch-long, two-inch deep laceration on his arm. Makes sense. If he was Dr. Robby, he’d want to know too. Wants to tell him, since he’s being nice enough to help him with his stitches. Is taking time out of his day to help him. He knows how busy the man is. Always running around, running himself into the ground, trying to help everyone else. The least he can do is give him a funny story for his troubles. Even if it does make him look like a fool.
“So, there was this cat stuck in a tree.”
“No way.”
“I got him down fine, he just needed help to a lower branch. But it rained last night, and I, I slipped on the way down. Caught my arm on one of the branches as I was falling.”
There’s a pause. One second, two, three. And then Robby is laughing. A real laugh. Deep and from his belly. Is laughing in a way that Dennis has never heard him laugh before. Decides that it’s his new favorite sound. Will happily fall out of a million trees if it means getting to hear Dr. Robby laugh like that. Is smiling too. That bright, happy smile. The one that Dennis swears makes rain clouds evaporate. Finds himself smiling back, because he can’t not smile when Robby looks that happy. Loves when he looks that happy. Wishes he did more often.
“So,” Robby goes back to stitching, still chuckling, “Do you make it a habit of saving distressed creatures?”
“Just the cute ones.”
“You think I’m cute?”
Robby sends him a look then. A little smile, like they’re sharing some secret. Dennis tilts his head, because he doesn’t know what the secret is. Feels like he’s missing out on some inside joke he’s meant to be in on. You think I’m cute. Takes him a minute to realize Robby’s talking about what he did for him, that day in Pedes. For him to realize Robby is the distressed creature he saved, not the cat, in that instance. Forgets, sometimes, that he does this. Will reference his moment of silent reflection, sometimes, but only when they’re alone.
Makes self-deprecating jokes about it, mostly. Usually, when Dennis is trying to check in, trying to get him to share some of the massive weight he knows he carries on his shoulders. Atlas, bending under the weight of the world. Don’t worry, Whitaker, I’m still standing. Or careful, Whitaker, don’t want to end up like me. Never says it where others can hear. Always laughs after too, like what he’s saying is funny. Like Dennis is supposed to laugh along with him. Like it doesn’t worry him. Like it doesn’t make him want to shake the man, shout it’s okay for people to worry about you, let me worry about you until he gets it.
Robby’s looking up at him from under his lashes, small smile playing at the corner of his lips. Winks, when Dennis makes eye contact. Huffs a laugh, even as he continues stitching. And if Dennis didn’t know better he’d think, he’d think Robby is flirting with him. Wonders if maybe he hit his head falling out of that tree. Didn’t think he did. But he must have right. Because there’s no way Dr. Robby is flirting with him. No, he must be concussed, confused.
Robby snips the last stitch. Reaches for the bandages. Clicks his tongue so he’ll extend his arm. And Dennis is a little ashamed of how fast he moves to do as he asks. Hears that hum again, that same good job hum from before. Robby leans in to do the bandaging, to make sure the tension is correct. Leans in further than he really needs to. Close enough he can feel his breath on his face. Looks at Dennis from under his lashes again. And Dennis, he has to be concussed because there’s no way Robby’s eyes just flashed to his lips. It was only for a second, before going back to his eyes, and then back down to what he was doing. There’s no way. No, it was a trick of the light.
But then it happens again. And a third time. Every time Robby looks up at him while he works, checking for discomfort no doubt, his eyes drop to his lips for just a fraction of a second. Even licks his own, at one point. Dennis may not have a lot of experience in this area, but he isn’t a virgin either. He knows what someone who wants to kiss him looks like. Wonders if he really did hit his head. But no, he didn’t. He knows he didn’t. Wouldn’t explain everything else either. The leaning too close, the looks, the kinda flirty comment. Thinks, thinks maybe Robby is flirting with him. Decides, as Robby is shoving everything into the empty suture kit for disposal, to take a chance.
Has already looked like a fool today, what can it hurt, really.
“I do.”
“You do?” Robby says back, clearly not paying attention.
“Think you’re cute.”
Robby freezes where he was heading to the door. Turns towards him. Narrows his eyes, darts them around his face. Has no idea what he’s looking for. Just looks up at him, hopes the honesty in his words shines through. Puts the ball in Robby’s court. In case he misread him. Doesn’t think he did. But like he said, he doesn’t have much experience with this. Could be wrong. Is fairly confident he isn’t. But he might be. Leaves it up to Robby what happens next. If anything happens at all. Just looks up at him with an expression that he knows is too open, too fond. Too adoring. Knows if Trin was here, she’d say something like so how you always look at him.
“Don’t get that wet today.”
“I won’t,” resists the urge to call him Sir, even though he really, really wants to. Dear Lord, calm yourself, Dennis.
“And meet me outside the ambulance bay after shift.”
“Why?”
“'Cause I think maybe we have some things we need to talk about.”
With another wink, Robby is gone.
Dennis is so screwed. But he can’t really find it in himself to care.
It’s gonna be a long twelve hours, though.