Archive of Our Own

Robby had spent years convincing himself that he was one bad day away from blowing up his life, and somehow three months of freedom hadn't resulted in a motorcycle accident, an arrest, a regrettable tattoo, or a new seven-week itch. Progress, he supposed.

The motorcycle never made it to Alberta. Hell, he never made it to Alberta.

He still took the sabbatical, giving him plenty of time to try new things that weren’t as self destructive. There had been cabins and state parks and enough cheap motels to satisfy whatever itch had originally convinced him he needed to disappear. He'd gone fishing a handful of times. He'd been terrible at it. He also visited more museums than he'd ever admit to publicly. 

Some retired guy at a woodworking class had taught him how to make a birdhouse. The birdhouse looked like shit, but it was still standing. Which was more than Robby could say for some of his previous coping mechanisms.

He also took a pottery class that Dana still laughed about whenever she remembered it. The mug he'd made sat in his kitchen, also ugly as sin. One side higher than the other, the handle slightly warped. He still used it every morning. Somehow creating something with his own hands felt different than destroying himself with them. Funny how that worked.

The point was that he'd survived three whole months without trying to kill himself accidentally. Or intentionally.

A lot had changed in those three months. The Pitt certainly had. And tonight, sitting at a crowded bar surrounded by people he cared about far more than he liked admitting, Robby found himself quietly taking inventory.

The Pitt hadn't burned down while he was gone, thankfully. Dana hadn't staged a coup. Jack hadn't launched himself off the roof. The residents continued to become better doctors. The nurses continued carrying the entire hospital on their backs. Life moved forward.

It felt oddly comforting that things had continued steadily during his absence. If anything, it was the recent changes that made him uncomfortable. Mohan heading into geriatrics. Javadi making the jump to psychiatry. Both looked simultaneously thrilled and terrified which was usually a good sign, but Robby felt a surprisingly powerful sense of sadness over their departure. He was thankful to have been invited to the bar to give them a proper send off after their last shift in the ED.

Dana had lasted exactly one drink before exclaiming that she was too old for this shit. But Robby knew she was just avoiding the heartbreak of a prolonged goodbye, and he understood avoidance better than anyone. 

Al-Hashimi hadn't lasted much longer. Shen needed some assistance with Jack out, so they had swapped shifts. She couldn’t drink anyway with her medication, so she was the most fit to cover. Robby watched her disappear through the front door before shaking his head into his drink. A few months ago, he would've happily bet money that the two of them would never be able to coexist peacefully.

Now? Now he found himself respecting her. Even liking her, though he still needed time before he could openly admit it. The memory of their fight still sat heavy in his stomach sometimes. The threat he'd made to expose her condition. The line he'd crossed. The look on her face. One thing Robby knew about himself was that he was all talk. Always had been. He liked to puff up. He barked. He growled. He bared his teeth. But when it came down to it? He rarely bit, thankfully.

Across the room, Jack and Mohan were making absolutely no effort to hide what was happening between them. They stood detached from the rest of their party, cozying up near the dart board, but neither of them had attempted to throw a dart in twenty minutes.

Jack said something. Mohan laughed, and he immediately looked like he'd won the lottery. Robby snorted into his drink. His attention drifted further, finding Javadi and Mateo. Finding the way their shoulders kept brushing together. The way neither seemed inclined to move.

Emma had swapped shifts with Mateo so he could come celebrate. She was a sweet kid, and Robby really hoped they didn't lose her to nights permanently. Dana had taken a shine to her, which meant she'd probably be protected for life.

Robby turned his head just in time to catch McKay disappearing out the door with someone whose name he didn't know. Good, maybe she'd finally stop complaining about her sex life during working hours. He was happy for her.

His gaze continued wandering, finding Langdon and Mel. Something was happening there, Robby was absolutely certain of it. The evidence wasn't dramatic. No grand declarations. No lingering touches. Just a hundred little things unique to them. Robby tried to be happy for Langdon, he really did. Happy for whatever that was.

Then his eyes landed on Whitaker, and everything else became background noise. Dennis sat at the far end of the bar beside Santos, laughing so hard at something she'd said that he nearly spilled his drink. 

His curls had gotten longer over the past few months, and even sported some shaved sides that gave him a pseudo-mohawk mullet. He noticed the way the curls at the top still fell over his forehead. The way he pushed them back absentmindedly. The way they always seemed slightly unruly by the end of a shift. The length suited him, not that Robby should have opinions about that.

Santos, meanwhile, had somehow managed to attract what appeared to be several of Pittsburgh’s most attractive women. Whitaker looked so out of place surrounded by the gaggle of ladies chirping at them, seeming to try his best at being an effective wing man, not that Santos needed it. 

Robby chuckled to himself as he watched him get flustered, swallowing down a big gulp of his drink along with the butterflies threatening to flutter up. Three months. Three stupid months. That was how long it had taken for Dennis Whitaker to quietly work his way into nearly every corner of his life. One day to worm his way into his brain, but three months to fracture it completely. 

It started innocently enough. Still agreeing to house sit, even though Robby was never gone for too long. Plant-watering. Checking the mail. Normal things.

But then there were the nights Santos had company. The nights Dennis ended up occupying Robby's spare room because neither of them particularly wanted to know the details of her intimate life.

Some nights, they would leave the hospital together and immediately go to their separate rooms and pass out. Other nights, they occupied the same couch watching movies or horrendous reality television that Dennis insisted was popular. On their shared nights, they would toggle between takeout or a meal cooked in Robby’s very own kitchen that never saw any action otherwise. 

Somewhere along the way, Robby stopped thinking of Dennis as a guest. He eventually grew to like their odd little routine while Robby wasn’t active chief of the ED. But as of late, mostly since he returned from sabbatical, Dennis hadn't been around much. Life happened. Schedule changes, the hospital chewing through everyone's free time. It didn’t really matter the reason, all Robby knew was that his home felt quieter. 

The spare bedroom stayed empty. The coffee maker only brewed for one person. His kitchen sat cold and unused. Even sitting on the couch felt off. Robby swallowed the rest of his drink, the burn in his throat giving him a moment of distraction.

Missing company in his home was one thing. Missing Dennis specifically? That was another problem entirely, a much bigger one. As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Dennis looked up from the bar. Their eyes met briefly.

Then Dennis smiled and abandoned Santos to slide into the empty stool beside him. Robby's heart did something profoundly annoying. Robby liked to think he was a reasonably self-aware man. Not healthy or emotionally stable by any means. Not particularly good at making decisions that benefited his long-term well-being. But self-aware? Usually.

Usually he knew exactly when he was making a mistake. The problem was that Dennis never felt like one. That was how they ended up talking for nearly an hour without Robby noticing the time slipping by, accepting drink after drink that were sent over their way by some of the nurses. Through all of it, Dennis remained beside him, one elbow propped against the bar as they quietly dissected the lives of their coworkers. Not maliciously, just enough gossip to be entertaining.

"Something has definitely happened between Princess and Perlah." Dennis looked entirely too pleased with himself, flushed and pretty.

Robby snorted. "You think so?"

“If not, it’ll happen eventually.” He nodded. “Wanna bet on it?”

"You spend too much time with Santos."

“Well here I am trying to spend more with you.” That earned a reluctant laugh. Dennis grinned triumphantly into his drink. “Plus, you couldn’t pay me to go back over there.”

Robby shook off the prior comment, not letting himself fully bask in the opportunity for more time with his resident. It made him feel flustered, like a teenager being flirted with for the first time. But the kid didn’t seem to realize what he had said, and the scary thing it did to Robby’s heart. If Dennis Whitaker knew the effect he had on people, he'd probably apologize for it.

"You know what?" Dennis continued, glancing across the room. "I think she's currently juggling five separate conversations."

Robby followed his gaze. Santos stood between five intoxicated women carrying on all five conversations simultaneously. "Only five?" He huffed. "She's losing her touch."

"She said she’s going home solo tonight though. She’s trying to make things more serious with Ellis.” Dennis laughed into his glass.

The sound settled warmly somewhere beneath Robby's ribs. His laugh. His sleepy morning voice. The excited rambling that happened whenever he got invested in something. Robby had collected an album of Whitaker-sounds all without meaning to.

“Ellis is a good one.” He nodded. “She would treat Santos right. She deserves that.”

Dennis smirked at him, eyes dropping to the drink in his hand. "You should probably slow down, boss."

"Oh?"

"You’re getting sentimental."

Robby couldn't help laughing. The ease of it surprised him. The fact that he couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so genuinely as he had when he was around Dennis. Maybe before the sabbatical. Maybe longer. His eyes lingered on Dennis afterward, probably too long to be normal. The alcohol made it harder to look away.

When Dennis leaned closer to tell him something over the music, Robby found himself doing the same. When Dennis laughed, he waited for it.

When he disappeared briefly to grab another drink, Robby tracked him automatically through the crowd. By the time Dennis returned, cheeks slightly pink from alcohol and warmth, Robby had already decided he needed to stop thinking.

Unfortunately that was around the same time he opened his mouth. "What about you, Whitaker?"

Dennis paused mid-sip. "Hm?"

"Any lucky takers tonight?"

The question landed between them. Dennis blinked, then immediately started snickering. "Uh, no. I think we might be the only two people here not getting laid tonight."

The honesty caught Robby off guard. Enough that he barked out a laugh. Dennis looked pleased by the reaction.

"You might be right about me. I'm past my prime.” He snorted. “But you, you’ve got options.” 

“I don’t think so.”

“The farm wife?” Robby teased, satisfied by the way his face twisted. He knew he didn't spend as much time at the farm as he used to, but it was easy bait. “Amy right? I’m sure she’d be willing.”

"I don't believe for a second you're past your prime." Dennis ignored him, casting out his own bait. "Not seeing Miss Hastings anymore?"

Robby felt warmth crawl up the back of his neck. "Careful, Whitaker."

Dennis smiled into his drink. Not quite shy, not quite confident. Something in between. "I drank too much to be careful."

Neither spoke for a moment. The noise of the bar seemed suddenly distant. Dennis stared into his glass, turning it slowly between his hands. When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter. "Amy is careful. I don't want careful."

“Nothing wrong with being careful.” Robby gripped his glass a little tighter. Dennis gave him a look he’d never seen on the kid before. The teasing behind his eyes was gone, his lips tight with determination. Robby stared at them for too long. 

“I don’t want careful.” He repeated, firmly, before he finished the rest of his drink and set the glass heavily on the bar. 

☆ ☆ ☆ 

Later, Robby would struggle to remember whose idea it had been to step outside. Maybe Dennis had suggested air. Maybe Robby wanted a cigarette, even though he was trying to quit. 

One minute they were sitting at the bar, surrounded by noise and people and the comfortable chaos of hospital staff slowly trickling out. The next, they were standing behind the building beneath a flickering light, the muffled bass from inside vibrating faintly through the brick wall.

His hand found the wall beside Dennis's head. The other settled instinctively at his side, keeping him close even as every alarm bell in his body screamed at him to stop. He caged him against the wall, getting all too familiar with the expanse of his mouth too quickly.

It felt euphoric and sick at the same time. Dennis tilted his head and followed every movement instinctively, and the simple eagerness of it made something ache inside Robby. Dennis always trusted him. The guilt of it lingered faintly in the back of Robby’s mind as he sucked greedily on his tongue. 

Dennis trusted him with everything. His fears. His grief. His confidence. His future. And Robby… Robby was currently kissing him behind a bar like he'd lost every shred of common sense he'd ever possessed. Dennis's fingers tightened in his shirt. He only pulled back long enough to gulp down some air. His forehead brushed Robby's and for one terrible second they simply stared at one another through half-lidded eyes.

Then Dennis leaned forward again eagerly, and Robby let him. Just once. One more brief, reckless moment to slide their tongues together again before he planted a hand firmly against Dennis's chest, using just enough force to push him away. 

"Enough, Den." The words came out rougher than intended, the name slipping out before he could rein it back in.

Dennis froze, eyes blown wide with confusion, lust, and alcohol. “Did I do something wrong?” Then suddenly, he looked stone-cold sober as his brain caught up and the color drained from his face. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The urge to crush him right back against the wall was nearly overwhelming. To shut him up. To erase the panic from his face. To kiss him until he stopped apologizing. Instead Robby forced himself to stay exactly where he was. "No. No, you didn't do anything wrong. I shouldn’t have—"

There were a lot of things that Robby shouldn’t have done. Shouldn't have offered to let Dennis housesit even after he’d changed his plans. Shouldn't have offered the spare room whenever Santos had company. Shouldn't have looked forward to those nights. Shouldn't have noticed how naturally Dennis fit into his space. Shouldn't have let himself get so attached.

Definitely shouldn’t have shoved his tongue down his resident’s throat. 

"I'm sorry." Dennis said again, his breathing still too fast, either from the adrenaline from kissing or from the anxiety of being pushed away. Maybe both. 

“Don’t be.” Robby exhaled heavily through his nose. Dennis looked unconvinced. Robby resisted the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. "We've both had a lot to drink."

“Yeah.” Dennis nodded, looking a tad bit calmer. “Trinity always says I’m a lightweight.”

“I’m sure.” Robby laughed awkwardly, still unable to prevent stupidity from leaving his lips. “You normally make out with people when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk, just very tipsy.” Dennis corrected. “And no, this is a first.”

Robby wished that answer didn't affect him as much as it did. He cleared his throat, trying to find words, but they were lost on him. The noise sounded too loud in the silence. "You’re not driving home, right?" The question came out abruptly. Practical, safe. Something to focus on other than the obvious.

"No. Trin and I are gonna call an Uber. Are you—"

"I'm gonna walk." His hands disappeared into his pockets, because if he left them out, he might do something stupid like reach for Dennis again. "I live close by..." He grimaced. "Which you know, obviously." Jesus Christ, he needed to stop talking. "Actually, I'll probably head out now."

“Oh, okay.” Dennis kicked at the ground, making no attempt to move when Robby finally backed away from him. “Um, we’re okay though, right?”

"We're okay." He nodded. The tenderness that swept through him was immediate and painful.

Dennis visibly relaxed. Not completely, but enough. Enough that Robby felt his own shoulders loosen. 

Dennis offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow, then. If I’m not hungover."

“Thought you were just very tipsy.”

The smile on Dennis’s face brightened a little more at the quip. “Like I said, lightweight over here.”

“In that case, good luck.” He huffed, thankful that some of the awkwardness between them began to dissipate. “Just text me when you’re home safe, please.”

Dennis looked shocked by the request, but nodded obediently. Robby fought the urge yet again to shove him back against the wall. The kid had a softer look on his face, one he'd worn across kitchen counters and hospital hallways and the couch during late-night movie marathons. "Goodnight, Doctor Robby."

Robby swallowed at the title and forced a small smile. He rested a gentle hand against Dennis's shoulder, just long enough to steer him back toward the door. Back toward the noise, toward somewhere safer than here. Music spilled into the alley and warm light washed across Dennis's face before he disappeared inside.

And just like that he was gone, leaving Robby alone.

The walk home was miserable. It wasn’t long, a route he could probably navigate blindfolded. But it still gave him entirely too much time to think. Every block brought back another memory.

Dennis asleep on the couch after movie night before Robby woke him to usher him to the guest room. Dennis watering his plants. Dennis standing in his kitchen making coffee. Dennis laughing. Dennis kissing him wet and needy.

By the time he reached home, his head hurt. The silence waiting inside didn't help. Robby tossed his keys into the bowl near the door and stood motionless across from the kitchen for several moments. Staring at nothing yet thinking about everything. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been swaying there on dead feet before his phone buzzed.

Dennis: Home safe. 

Robby stared at it for longer than necessary. Then, not trusting his ability to put words together, he sent back a thumbs-up. Coward.

The response delivered and the screen went dark, and all of the light both in and around Robby faded in an instant.

☆ ☆ ☆ 

That was weeks ago.

Long enough that Robby should have stopped thinking about it. Long enough that whatever awkwardness should have followed had either exploded into chaos or settled into something somewhat tolerable.

Instead, it simply... vanished.

Neither of them brought it up. Dennis never mentioned it. Robby certainly never mentioned it. And somehow, against all odds, things felt normal.

The first shift afterward had been torture. Robby spent the entire morning waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for Dennis to avoid him. Waiting for an awkward conversation. But nothing happened.

Dennis showed up with a coffee in one hand and a half-eaten breakfast bar in the other. He immediately launched into a story about Santos attempting to cook something at three in the morning that had nearly set off their smoke detector.

That was it. No weirdness, no hesitation. Just Dennis. By midday, Robby found himself relaxing. By the end of the week, he almost believed they were fine. And maybe they were. Maybe whatever had happened behind that bar existed in its own strange little universe. A moment created by alcohol and poor judgment and emotions neither of them were particularly interested in broaching.

That was probably for the best.

It didn't stop him from looking for Dennis whenever he walked onto the floor. It didn't stop the little rush of relief whenever he spotted those ridiculous curls moving through the department. 

Even though things seemed to be fine between him and Dennis, the department felt different lately. Javadi was gone. Not gone gone but gone enough. Robby still saw her occasionally whenever Caleb got called down for a psychiatric consult. Every time she appeared, she somehow looked more confident. Like she'd finally found the place she belonged. He was proud of her.

Mohan was worse. Robby only saw her when the Pitt crew managed to gather for drinks. Or during the increasingly frequent occasions where he accidentally became the third wheel on one of her dates with Jack.

He was genuinely happy for them, but there was also that small ugly thing he kept trying to ignore. The envy nipping at him that he struggled to force down. But it wasn't really about them, it was about watching everyone move forward. Watching everyone find something. Watching everyone leave.

The Pitt had always changed. People came, people went. That was the nature of teaching hospitals. Residents moved on. Attendings retired. Nurses transferred. Life continued. Yet lately it felt different, like things were happening too fast. Like every time Robby got attached to someone, the universe immediately started preparing to take them away.

He should have been used to it by now, but it didn’t make the pain hurt any less.

☆ ☆ ☆ 

He wasn't even trying to eavesdrop. He was passing the nurses' station when he heard Dennis laughing. The sound immediately caught his attention, it always did. 

Before he could stop himself, he slowed. Dana stood beside Dennis, who leaned against the counter. Both looked too relaxed for the middle of such a hectic shift, Robby was almost jealous. He told himself that he was hovering to eventually scold them.

"...still think I'd like rural emergency medicine."

Robby paused, eyes locked on them.

Dana raised an eyebrow. "You're serious? Back to Nebraska?"

"Maybe. Not too sure about that yet." Something unpleasant twisted inside Robby's chest. Dennis kept talking. "As much as I love Pittsburgh... I don't know."

Dana looked playfully offended. "You don’t like it here?"

"It’s not that, I swear." Dennis laughed. "Just looking for somewhere where I can make more of a difference."

The conversation continued, but Robby missed most of it. All he could think about was Dennis leaving. Not tomorrow, not next month, not even next year. But eventually. Inevitably. Residency would end, and then he'd go. Blissfully unaware that we was already making a huge difference right where he was. But of course he'd go. That was how this worked. Residents left, that was the entire point. 

"...you can visit." Dennis's voice pulled him back. He looked up.

Santos had apparently joined them. "Visit?"

"Wherever I end up." Dennis grinned. "You'll always have a place to stay."

“Don’t make me smack you.” She pointed at him threateningly. "You are not allowed to leave me for a farm again, Huckleberry."

"I'll even let you stay free of charge!"

"Oh, wow." She pressed a hand dramatically against her chest. "The generosity."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." Her smug smile faded slightly. "Don't leave, that would suck. Majorly. Who is going to fix shit in the apartment when it breaks?"

Everyone laughed. Robby didn't. Despite the light snickers, Santos looked sad. Dana looked sad. Even some of the nurses nearby looked sad. The mere idea of Dennis leaving the department filled the place with despair. Robby could feel its suffocating weight from where he stood.

Dennis noticed immediately. "Oh c’mon, guys!"

“Way to go, dummy.” Santos scoffed. "You’re making us preemptively mourn you."

"I’m not dying, Trin. And nothing has happened yet!"

The word hung there. Yet.

Something inside Robby twinged painfully. The thought of a shift without Dennis felt wrong. Borderline impossible. Like imagining the department without Dana. Without Jack. Without noise. Without purpose.

Dennis belonged here. With them. With—

Robby shut the thought down immediately. The rest of the shift passed in a blur.

☆ ☆ ☆ 

Unfortunately, the conversation refused to leave him. Over the following weeks, it got worse. The thoughts constantly loomed over him, and he found himself more hyperaware of his resident than usual.

Tracking every time Dennis laughed across the department. Every time he disappeared into a patient room. Every time Robby caught sight of him helping someone, teaching someone, comforting someone. A bitter mix of pride and sorrow swirled in his chest. 

The countdown started. Residency had an expiration date, and suddenly Robby couldn't stop seeing it. The realization embarrassed him, that he was mourning someone who was never more than ten feet away from him. Dennis wasn't leaving, not yet. 

Yet somehow Robby found himself walking the ED with a sour taste of regret in his mouth for all of the time he’d lost. The weekends away during his sabbatical when he could have been sitting on the couch with Dennis instead. The times he woke Dennis up to move him to the guest room when he could’ve watched him sleep peacefully for just a bit longer, curled safely on the worn cushions. Like he belonged there.

The television murmured in the background as Robby sat there alone. The trashy reality show the kid had put him on was not nearly as interesting without his commentary. Robby put it on anyway. His ugly pottery mug sat beside him. The spare bedroom door remained closed.

Dennis fulfilled something. A space, a need. A loneliness that Robby hadn't properly acknowledged until recently. And it terrified him. Because everyone left eventually. His parents. His partners. His patients. His coworkers. Eventually everyone left.

He knew he was being ridiculous. Over fifty years old and apparently incapable of handling the thought of people moving on. He'd spent so long trying to keep Dennis at arm's length because he was afraid of getting attached, and now he was moping because he'd wasted precious time. He got too invested before he even realized it. The kind of self-inflicted stupidity that should've been studied in medical journals. 

He felt restless from the moment he arrived for each shift. He kept looking toward places Dennis usually occupied. It was pathetic.

The decision wasn't really a decision at all. One moment he was standing in a freshly empty exam room pretending to review lab results, and the next he was moving. His feet carried him through the department before his brain had a chance to argue. There wasn't a plan. No carefully crafted reason for approaching him. He just wanted to see him. Wanted to hear his voice. Wanted to be near him. 

Dennis was finishing charting when Robby stopped beside him. The younger man looked up immediately, his eyes lighting up in a way that could’ve brought Robby to his knees. "Hey."

"Hey." Robby shoved his hands into his pockets. "You busy tonight?"

Dennis looked surprised. "Not particularly."

"Good." The answer came out too quickly. Dennis's eyebrows climbed higher. Robby ignored the hammering in his chest. "You should come over. For dinner, if you want."

Dennis blinked, clearly confused.

"It’s just been a while, you know? My plants miss you.” Robby shrugged, trying to play it cool. “And I know how to cook more than three things now."

That earned a grin. "Oh yeah?"

"Don't sound so skeptical."

Dennis laughed. The sound immediately made everything feel lighter. For a second, Dennis simply looked at him, a flicker of confusion still in his eyes. Then he nodded. "Yeah, okay. Sounds nice."

And for the first time in weeks, Robby felt like he could breathe again.

☆ ☆ ☆ 

Robby regretted inviting Dennis over almost immediately. Not because he didn't want him there. Because he wanted him there entirely too much. It was driving him mad.

The invitation had slipped out during a lull between patients. One impulsive decision among thousands he'd made throughout his life. Dennis had agreed easily, smiling that sweet smile of his before returning to charting so that he didn’t fall behind. Always so on top of things, Robby wondered what it would take for it all to come falling down. Robby scoffed at the idea that Dennis needed to set more boundaries when he was so excited to have him back in his home. Robby had spent the rest of the shift unable to focus on anything else.

Now it was his day off, and he was cleaning. Again.

His place was already clean, but that wasn't stopping him. A rag moved aggressively across an already spotless kitchen counter. The counter remained spotless. Robby continued anyway. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cleaned before having company over. Whenever a casual friend would be coming over, he would simply hide any dirty laundry and make sure there were no dishes in the sink. But here he was trying to return the grout in between his kitchen tiles to white. He scrubbed harder in frustration. 

"Dumbass." The empty residence offered no argument.

The kitchen gleamed, the dishes were done. The floors had already been mopped. The bathroom had been cleaned twice. His laundry was finished and put away neatly. The pillows on the couch had been fluffed. The birdhouse sat crookedly on the windowsill where he'd abandoned it months ago.

Everything was fine, oddly sterile actually. He didn’t understand how Dennis was able to keep things so tidy but still make the place feel so warm and homey. Robby found himself wandering from room to room looking for flaws, the same way he'd spent years searching for signs people were about to leave him.

There they were again, the abandonment issues. Just thinking the phrase made him cringe. Like something Caleb of Kiara might write on a whiteboard during an evaluation. But that didn't make it untrue.

Loss became familiar. Expected, even. Robby adapted by convincing himself he didn't need anyone. Not even Jack, who was likely the only person in his life that he was sure would never leave him, even if the Pitt crumbled. 

It was easier to not get attached. To not rely on people. But the truth was that Robby got attached constantly, and he needed to rely on his people. Jack. Dana. Langdon. Even Al-Hashimi now.

Dennis.

Everyone in his fucked up little family. He loved them. 

Most attendings didn't catalog memories of their coworkers like treasured possessions. Robby apparently did. He remembered every resident, for better or worse. But no one, not even his closest colleagues, had haunted every waking thought like Dennis had.

Someday, Dennis would leave. Maybe back to Nebraska. Maybe another small town. Some rural emergency department lucky enough to get him. And then all of the fond memories of Dennis would nestle themselves painfully in his mind. He already had the ghost of Adamson living there, he wasn’t sure if he could handle making room for another. 

Wherever Dennis ended up, people would love him. Envy bit harshly at him again. With Dennis gone, there would be a void Robby that had spent years filling with work, which is why he’d taken his sabbatical in the first place. He just didn’t know how many woodworking and pottery classes he had left in him.

His phone buzzed. Robby nearly launched himself off the couch. Of course it was Dennis.

Dennis: Running a little late. Trinity accidentally dumped oil down our kitchen sink and now our pipes are screwed. We’re fighting about who is going to call the building manager.

Robby stared at the message and chuckled at the image in his head. The tightness in his chest eased instantly, like someone had loosened a knot. His thumbs moved before he could stop them.

Robby: Tell Santos she's banned from my kitchen.

The response appeared almost immediately.

Dennis: Too late. She says she's already packing her bags to take the guest room. Is your couch still available for me?

Robby smiled. 

Robby: All yours, anytime.

☆ ☆ ☆ 

The universe, apparently, had a sense of humor. Robby was standing in his kitchen preparing garlic butter for a fancy bread he’d picked up when his phone buzzed again.

Dennis: I’m so sorry. Need a rain check.

Utter disappointment filled Robby so quickly it almost made him laugh.

Dennis: Apartment's kind of falling apart. Literally. The building manager is coming and Trin's freaking out, so I'm gonna stay here with her until they get everything sorted out. Sorry :(

Of course. Of fucking course. Not the apartment falling apart, that part genuinely sucked, he supposed. The part that felt painfully, aggressively Dennis was the fact that he was staying to take care of it. Because Trinity was worried. Because Dennis Whitaker had apparently never encountered a burden he wasn't willing to help carry.

Robby: Apartment emergencies outrank mediocre cooking. We can reschedule for whenever is good for you.

Dennis: Your cooking isn't mediocre.

Robby: Liar.

A laughing emoji appeared on his message.

Dennis: I'll make it up to you, promise.

Robby stared at that one longer than necessary before setting the phone face down on the counter. It felt somehow quieter.

It was becoming embarrassing. The food suddenly seemed excessive. The clean rooms felt ridiculous. The candles he'd considered lighting became outright humiliating. He leaned back against the counter and scrubbed a hand across his face.

Dennis stayed. Not because anyone asked him to, but because he couldn't help himself. How many times had he seen it now? Patients everyone else had given up on. Dennis stayed. Family members screaming at staff. Dennis stayed. Residents (and attendings) having breakdowns. Dennis stayed. Santos panicking because her plumbing exploded. Dennis stayed.

He never left people alone with their problems. Robby wasn't sure Dennis even realized he did it. The kid gave pieces of himself away constantly. Robby could never ask him to stay, it wouldn’t be right. It would be the most selfish thing Robby had ever done.

But would he stay?

Before he made yet another impulsive decision at Dennis’s expense, he pulled up Jack’s contact. The phone rang several times before connecting. "If this isn't a medical emergency, I'm going to kill you."

"Hello to you too, sunshine. Glad you’re awake." He smirked.

"I was asleep."

"You answered pretty quick."

"You’re emotionally unstable, I have a special ringtone for you."

"Fair enough." He hummed, only feeling somewhat guilty. “Sorry to wake you then.”

“Whatever, man.” Jack yawned. "What happened?"

Robby found himself staring at the untouched dinner sitting on his stove. At his empty home. At the second place setting he'd already arranged before realizing how pathetic that was. "I don't want to be alone right now."

Multiple decades of friendship made certain explanations unnecessary. "I'll be there in twenty."

The line disconnected. Jack arrived twenty-five minutes later carrying takeout. "Thought we could compare your cooking against professionals."

"You're such an asshole.” Robby scoffed at him.

"I know." Jack kicked off his shoes. He looked around briefly, pausing before reaching the kitchen. He swiveled his head around, inspecting each corner of the place. Robby knew what he was going to say before it left his mouth. "You cleaned."

"No I didn't."

"I’m not blind."

"I always keep the place clean."

"You vacuumed the baseboards." Jack burst out laughing. "You vacuumed the baseboards."

"Get out."

"Someone’s got you whipped."

"Leave."

"Who was coming over, the Pope?"

"I’m Jewish."

"You know, I should be offended. You never clean up like this for me."

Robby grabbed a dish towel and threw it at his head. Jack ducked, still laughing. “Fine. You can tell me what the hell is going on when you’re ready.”

“Nothing is going on.”

"You vacuumed the baseboards." He said again. Unfortunately, Jack was impossible to argue with when he was right. “Something is going on. C’mon. Let’s eat, Mister Clean.”

“He’s bald, I’m not.” He chuckled, grateful for the deflection. 

“You’ll get there soon enough.”

The first hour passed easily. Food, beer. An old football game in the background that neither of them was particularly interested in. Eventually, they migrated to the couch. The same couch that had been feeling so empty as of late. Even with someone else, someone as close to him as Jack, it still felt off.

Jack watched him carefully. "How bad is it?"

Robby shrugged. "How bad is what?"

“I could be catching up on some much-needed sleep right now, you know.” Jack stared. Robby stared back. Jack continued staring. He shook his head, lifting his beer in defeat. "Fine."

The silence sat heavily between them, even with the noise from the television. Neither rushed it. That was one thing Jack had gotten better at over the years. He learned out to deal with Robby better than anyone, knowing just how much to push. 

"I don't want him to leave." Robby admitted, hating the way his own voice sounded so small. 

Jack nodded slowly. "Okay."

"That's it?"

"What else am I supposed to say?"

"You’re not even going to ask who?"

"I’m not a damn idiot, Mike." He scoffed, offended. Robby laughed weakly. Then immediately felt tears prick unexpectedly behind his eyes. "Hey."

"I'm fine."

"You've been saying that since 2003."

"I don't want him to leave." The words sounded even smaller the second time. Robby looked down at his beer. The label blurred slightly. Jack remained quiet, letting him talk. Holding space for him. "You told me to find someone. You told me to find someone to dance through the darkness with."

Jack groaned. "I knew I should've copyrighted that."

"It was good advice." Robby smiled through his tears. "But he belongs somewhere else. Eventually."

Jack nodded. "Probably."

"He should go."

"Probably."

"He'll be happy."

"Probably."

Each repeated answer felt like a knife to the chest. He wished Jack didn’t agree so easily, but Robby knew he was right. Dennis deserved that future. The life he'd always talked about wanting. The tears streaming steadily down his face felt humiliating. "I don't want to hold him back." The words broke halfway through.

"I know."

"And I don't even know if he would stay if—" He shook his head. 

"I know."

"I wouldn't ask him to."

"I know."

The tears came harder. Damn it. “No offense, buddy. But I don't know if this place would feel like home without him anymore." This place. My home. The Pitt. This city. My life.

The confession sat heavily between them. Jack didn’t look surprised, just sad. After a long silence, he leaned back against the couch. "I guess this is my fault."

Robby wiped aggressively at his face. "What is?"

"Telling you to find someone to dance through the darkness with." His tone was soft, just a hint of teasing. "I didn't think it'd be him of all people."

Neither had Robby. Not in a million years.

"But it makes sense now." Jack continued. "Residents though? We’re the worst."

"Oh, fuck off."

“Hey, I said we. Not my place to judge.” He smirked. “You like the kid. So what?”

"It's complicated."

"Everything with you is complicated." Jack shook his head. Robby thought back to when Jack had first warned him about messing with Heather. He wondered why Jack wasn’t doing the same now. 

Everybody loved Heather. She was brilliant, beautiful, funny, compassionate. She deserved somebody extraordinary. And Robby had spent years trying and failing to become that person. Heather and Robby understood each other perfectly, which turned out to be a problem. Neither knew how to fill the spaces the other left empty. They simply mirrored them, magnified them even. When Heather retreated, Robby retreated. When he buried himself in work, she did the same.

And here Robby was, practically admitting that he had complicated feelings for another resident. Jack should've been warning him again. He should've been losing his mind. Instead he just looked vaguely amused. Jack clearly saw something that was different from his past with Heather. Which meant he probably wasn’t the only one who saw it.

The way Dennis fit into his life. The comparison felt unfair. Heather had been wonderful, the failure of that relationship wasn't her fault. Some people simply weren't built for one another. Not like Dennis was built for him. Robby let the thought come without immediately pushing it away. Heather and Robby were too similar and too different all at once, an impossible match. Dennis was just right, like he was the missing puzzle piece to Robby's life. 

Robby laughed, hiding his face in his hands. "You know, at least this is your first offense with a resident." He gestured vaguely toward himself. "I'm fucked."

"Acknowledgement is the first step." He raised his beer again in a mock cheers. "Will you take the damn therapist's number now?"

“You’re such an asshole, man.” Robby said fondly as he watched him dig in his pocket and type on his phone. Robby’s phone buzzed in his pocket a moment later. 

Jack looked unbearably smug. "There. For when you’re ready." 

When he finally looked at the contact information sitting in his phone, Robby surprised himself by saving it. Jack watched him. Robby flipped him off without even looking up. Jack accepted it with the sort of dignity that made Robby fight back a smile. The football game droned quietly in the background.

Jack leaned back into the couch cushions, studying him in that infuriatingly perceptive way he'd developed over the years. Not as a physician, but as his friend. The man had spent decades watching Robby self-destruct in increasingly creative ways.

"You know something..." Jack said quietly, eyes not leaving the game. "I didn't think I'd ever get this far, after Oliva died."

Robby glanced over. Jack was staring at the television, not really watching it. Just looking somewhere. Somewhen. "I thought that was it. I thought I'd gotten one great love story and that was all life was giving me."

Robby didn't dare interrupt him.

Jack smiled faintly, a sad yet fond one. "I loved her. More than anything. I couldn't imagine ever loving anyone else." His fingers tapped absentmindedly against the beer bottle. "I definitely couldn't imagine somebody loving me."

Jack had always seemed so certain. So grounded. So much more emotionally functional than Robby. But they both knew better. Just two old men who had spent too many evenings on one roof.

"I was terrified. Honestly, I still am." He swallowed. "As happy as Samira makes me..." Another warm smile broke out on his face, like he couldn’t help it whenever he thought about her. "Some days I wake up convinced something terrible is going to happen. I'll call her, and she won't answer." He shrugged. "And suddenly my brain is convinced she's dead, and that I’ll be alone again. I know it’s irrational, but that dread never really goes away."

Jack looked over at him. "I spent a long time learning how to live without somebody. A really long time. You know that, you were there. Part of me will always be waiting for the other shoe to drop."

That was exactly it, the looming sense of doom that Robby always felt. The waiting. The preparing. The constant expectation of loss.

Jack sighed, then smiled. "But I don't let fear make decisions for me anymore."

"How?" The question escaped Robby before he could stop it.

"I take it day by day." A shrug. “Nothing is promised to us. We need to go for what we want, before it’s gone forever.”

“Easier said than done.”

"Not saying it’s easy.” He huffed. "But I enjoy the good moments while they're here." His expression softened. "I let myself love her. I let her love me. And when things aren't bright and fuzzy..." He chuckled to himself before rolling his eyes. "...I dance through the darkness with her."

"That was just starting to get inspiring." Robby swallowed down a fresh wave of tears.

Jack nearly choked laughing. The sound filled the apartment. Despite himself, Robby laughed too. Jack leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "You should talk to him."

“Mhm.” He nodded noncommittedly, not trusting his voice.

Jack read him better than anyone. "Why won't you?"

Because Dennis deserves better. 

“Seriously, you should talk to the kid. Tell him how you feel.”

“I can't do that to him, Jack. He feels enough pressure from everyone else to always be there. He doesn't need that from me.”

“Don’t pretend this is about sparing him.” The words felt like ice water pouring over him. “Ever think that maybe he wants to be there for you? Even if you let him leave, you don't think hearing that you'll miss him would mean the world to him?”

Robby opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He'd never considered that possibility, not really.

"You keep talking about Whitaker like he's some hostage. He isn't. He's a grown man who can make his own decisions." He smirked. "Sure, he’s a little younger than I thought you’d shoot for, but that’s all the rage these days."

Robby shoved him lightly. “I’ll think about it. Telling him.”

"You don't have to ask him to stay." The words were gentle now. "But you can tell him you'll miss him, at least."

Robby thought about it. The way Dennis’s face lit up whenever somebody thanked him. The way he blushed when anyone offered him a sincere compliment. Like he never quite believed it, like he was always surprised.

Jack stood before he could respond, making an annoying sound as he stretched. "I'm going to bed."

"Running away?"

“Crashing here for the night.” Jack took Robby’s empty bottle from him and padded off to the kitchen to toss them. “You know I love you, but you’re a pain in my ass.”

As Jack eventually disappeared down the hallway toward the guest room, Robby found himself staring after him. Toward Dennis's room. Somewhere along the way he'd stopped thinking of it as a guest room. The room that somehow felt empty whenever too much time passed without him in it. It felt strange to have someone else occupy it for the night.

Robby retreated to his own bedroom. After changing and getting into bed, he turned the television up louder than necessary, trying to drown out his thoughts.

☆ ☆ ☆ 

A few shifts went by. Robby kept telling himself he'd say something.

It should've been easy. Dennis wasn't exactly difficult to find. Half the time he was right beside Robby, the other half spent bouncing between patient rooms with that ridiculous amount of energy.

But every time Robby worked himself up to it, something happened. During his first attempt, Dennis was restocking supplies beside him after a trauma. The department had finally quieted down, the perfect opportunity. "Hey, Whitaker?"

"Hm?" The younger man glanced up from a box of IV tubing.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Robby's pulse doubled. "I uh—"

A voice crackled over the overhead speaker. "Doctor Robby to Trauma Two."

Dennis smiled sympathetically. "Duty calls, huh?"

And just like that, the moment disappeared. The second attempt went even worse. Dennis had been sitting beside him, both of them charting in rare silence. Robby had stared at the screen for five full minutes without reading a single word.

Just say it. Just tell him.

He heard Jack’s voice in his head. Dennis is a grown man. Dennis can make his own decisions. Dennis deserved to know—

"You okay?"

Robby nearly jumped. Dennis was looking at him with concern. "I’m fine, kid. What’s up?"

"You've been staring at the same chart for like six minutes."

"Maybe I'm a slow reader."

“We both know that’s not true.” Dennis snorted. The sound immediately made Robby lose every ounce of courage he'd managed to gather.

"Right." Coward. “I’m just tired. Long day.”

“Don’t I know it. Take a break, Doctor Robby.” He gave him a small pat on his shoulder as he stood from his seat. Robby felt the touch for the rest of the day. 

Every attempt that followed was either interrupted or Robby chickened out. By the end of the second week, he was becoming genuinely irritated with himself. Jack would've called it avoidance. Caleb would've called it emotional self-sabotage. Robby called it survival.

I don't want you to leave.

No, too needy. Too selfish.

I’ll miss you when you leave.

Too painful to admit.

So he kept putting it off. Next shift, the next opportunity. Eventually.

☆ ☆ ☆ 

The opportunity arrived when Robby least expected it, naturally. The shift had been brutal. The kind of day where every patient required twenty minutes longer than expected and every task somehow multiplied into three more. By the time evening rolled around, Robby was running on fumes, everyone was.

He was reviewing discharge paperwork when Dennis appeared beside his desk, lingering there awkwardly for a moment. "Hey, Doctor Robby."

"Whitaker, hey." Robby looked up to find him looking nervous. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah! All is good.” He answered, a sheepish look on his face. “Um, could I come over after the shift?"

The question caught him so off guard that he jolted in his chair. He leaned back to look at him over his glasses. "Sure, you're welcome over anytime. Santos got company tonight?"

Dennis immediately looked embarrassed. "No."

"No?"

"No." Now Robby was confused. Dennis rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm actually following up on dinner."

"Oh." Right, the dinner. A warm feeling settled somewhere beneath Robby's ribs.

Dennis looked vaguely guilty. "I know we both just worked twelve hours—"

"You say that like it's unusual."

“I guess so, but today was kind of a mess, huh?” Dennis laughed. “I would feel terrible for making you cook, so I was going to ask if we could just order takeout."

Robby raised an eyebrow.

"Your cooking is probably great!" Dennis said frantically, as if he were worried he had offended the attending. 

"You don't sound too convinced." He teased. He grinned at him as he became more flustered. “I’m messing with you, kid. Any preference in mind?”

Dennis looked relieved, gathering himself.  "There's that Mexican spot near your place."

Robby immediately knew the one. "The one that makes those ridiculous burritos?"

"The ones bigger than your head."

Robby stared at him for a second. Soaking in the look on his face. Hopeful and exhausted. He didn’t have it in him to deny him. "Sure, we can do that."

A grin spread across Dennis's face. "Perfect, thanks!"

Dennis could've suggested eating stale crackers off the floor and Robby probably would've agreed. 

"Don't thank me yet." Robby stood and grabbed the chart he'd been pretending to read. "The night is young. Santos could still destroy your apartment before we leave."

Dennis laughed so hard that his entire upper body shook with it. Robby watched it happen, cataloging it in his brain to recall for years to come. 

☆ ☆ ☆ 

The hospital behind them glowed against the dark Pittsburgh skyline, ambulances still arriving, still leaving, the emergency department carrying on without them as they departed. Robby unlocked his truck with a click. Dennis immediately headed for the passenger side like he'd done many times before.

There were plenty of nights they'd carpooled when Dennis was staying over. Enough that Dennis knew where Robby kept the spare charging cable that he’d bought specifically for him to play music. 

Tonight felt different. Maybe because it had been so long. Maybe because Robby had spent weeks missing him in ways he was still trying not to examine too closely. 

Dennis groaned dramatically and sank into the seat. “Everything hurts.”

Robby rolled his eyes and started the engine. "You complain more than Santos."

Dennis gasped. “I do not!”

He'd missed this. The easy companionship, the fun banter. The feeling of somebody occupying the space beside him. The radio hummed quietly as they pulled out of the lot. For several minutes, they simply drove. Neither seemed particularly bothered by the lapse in conversation. That was another thing Robby had missed. Most people felt compelled to fill every quiet moment. Dennis never did. He could chatter for hours when excited, but he was equally comfortable sitting beside him and saying absolutely nothing.

Robby found himself glancing over. “Here.” He cleared his throat, extending his phone towards him.

"Hm?"

"Order the food."

"Oh." The smile that spread across Dennis's face was small but immediate. "Okay."

He reached over and took it. Robby kept driving. He worked silently, making confident little taps across the screen. “What are you getting?”

"The usual." Dennis hummed. “You want your usual too?”

"My usual?" Robby's hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel. “Uh, sure.”

"Burrito bowl." Tap. "Extra steak." Tap. "Lettuce, black beans, cheese, no tomatoes." Tap. Tap. Tap. "Double rice because you always complain the portions are too small." Another tap. "The green salsa."

Robby stared at the road. Dennis kept talking. "And chips."

“God forbid you forget the chips." Robby huffed. "Order extra. You always steal mine."

“That was one time.” He refuted. “Done.”

Robby felt a swell of emotion as he gently placed the phone into the cupholder. Just the fact that Dennis knew his order, the fact that he remembered, the fact that somewhere along the way Robby had become familiar enough to somebody that they knew what he liked without asking.

It was such a tiny, stupid thing. Most people probably wouldn't think twice about it.

Dennis was looking at him. "You okay?"

Robby swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Mhm. Just tired."

Always just tired. Classic excuse.

“Careful. If you start complaining, you’ll sound like Santos.” He joked. “And me, apparently.”

Robby shook his head, unable to stop grinning. The city blurred past outside. Robby glanced over again. Dennis had already gone back to looking out of the window, humming softly along to a song on the radio.

The truck didn't feel empty anymore. Neither did the evening. Neither did Robby.

When they pulled up, the restaurant was packed with a line stretching halfway to the door. Dennis volunteered to run inside while Robby waited in the truck. Robby watched him jog toward the restaurant entrance through the windshield, the curls on his head bouncing.

The kid was incapable of walking normally. Robby lost count of how many times he’d asked him to slow down in the ED. Another thing he’d miss. He felt the smile melt off his face at the thought. The passenger door opened and the scent of grilled meat and cilantro filled the truck.

"Oh thank God." Dennis dropped into the seat. "I'm starving."

“Don’t make a mess in my truck.” Dennis ignored him and immediately dug into the bag. Robby watched him pull out a chip and pop it into his mouth. "Whose chips are those?"

“Yours, obviously.” He munched on it. "It’s the chip tax."

"The what?"

"The chip tax." He smirked as he continued chewing. "The passenger is entitled to a percentage of all chips acquired during transportation."

"That's not a thing."

Dennis shrugged before stealing another chip. "Take it up with the law."

The truck settled into comfortable quiet as Robby merged back into traffic. Beside him, Dennis continued methodically raiding the bag. Every few seconds, another chip disappeared. Robby found himself watching out of the corner of his eye.

Watching the easy way Dennis occupied his space. A seat in the truck. A spot on the couch. A room that no longer felt like a guest room. A place in his heart.

Dennis caught him looking. “You’re not really mad, are you? You can have some of mine to make up for it.”

He had the audacity to look genuinely guilty. The kid was hopeless, and Robby adored him for it.

“I’m not mad.” He assured him. “But you’re on thin ice.”

Dennis deserved everything, chips and all. Robby wanted to hand it over himself. He'd spent most of his life protecting pieces of himself, desperately guarding them. Yet with Dennis, every instinct pointed in the opposite direction.

Take it. Take whatever you need. Stay as long as you want. I’ll do anything.

The thought was interrupted by movement beside him. Dennis was holding out a chip to him, right beside his face. Robby blinked.

"What are you doing?" He snorted in amusement. "I'm driving."

"Exactly." The chip remained suspended between them. Dennis looked entirely serious. The chip wiggled impatiently. "Open."

"Seriously?"

"You want the chip or not?" Robby should have refused. Instead he leaned forward slightly and accepted it. The chip crunched. Dennis smiled triumphantly. "There."

The warmth that flooded his chest was so overwhelming it was almost embarrassing. Jesus Christ, it was a chip. And somehow it nearly brought tears to his eyes. Aside from Jack, it had been so long since anyone had looked out for him in these tiny, thoughtless ways. Just because he wanted to. Dennis did things like that constantly.

The break room coffee that appeared for him in the middle of difficult shifts, already prepared to his liking. The reminders to eat or take a break. The automatic concern whenever Robby looked tired. A thousand little acts of care. Robby swallowed down the chip and kept his eyes on the road. A few seconds later, he offered Robby another one without looking. Robby accepted it.

And somewhere between the restaurant and home, with Dennis stealing his chips and feeding him like a stray animal, Robby found himself blinking suspiciously hard at the windshield. Jack was going to have an absolute field day with this.

By the time they got back to Robby’s, most of the chips were gone. Dennis denied sole responsibility. Robby found himself smiling like an idiot as he unlocked the door. Dennis kicked off his shoes near the entrance without a second thought and headed toward the couch like he'd never stopped coming over in the first place. Things felt right again, like something had quietly slipped back into place.

They put on some reality show that Robby couldn’t even remember the name of but somehow missed. 

“Have you been keeping up with it?” Dennis asked him, mouth full of burrito. 

“I tried.” Robby swallowed down his bite. “It’s just not the same watching it without you, I guess.”

Dennis beamed at him before sneaking a few chips into his mouth. The couch felt smaller than usual. Or maybe Dennis was just sitting closer as they both leaned forward towards the coffee table while they ate. The food was mostly gone less than an episode in.

He stayed close enough that Robby could feel the warmth of him whenever one of them shifted. The conversation between them drifted naturally from one topic to another, idly switching between hospital gossip and the events in the show. 

The easy rhythm should have been comforting, but Robby still found himself distracted. Thrown off by the way Dennis gestured with his hands when he spoke, the curve of his smile, by the small gap between his two front teeth that Robby had at one time been able to run his tongue over. 

One day this will all be just a memory. The thought arrived without warning, cruel and immediate. One day Dennis wouldn't be sitting there. Wouldn't be stealing his food. Wouldn't be occupying half his couch. Wouldn't be filling the room with easy conversation.

Robby had spent decades helping people leave. Training them, pushing them forward, and then watching them go. Beside him, Dennis was talking about something Dana had said earlier in the week. Robby missed most of it.

"Dennis." The name left his mouth before he thought better of it.

Dennis looked over immediately at the sound of his first name, like he was shocked to hear it. "Hm?"

"What happens after residency?"

The silence afterward felt strangely heavy. He leaned back against the couch, looking somewhat confused but still thoughtful. "A lot of things could happen, I guess. Rural emergency medicine was always the goal."

There it was. The words landed exactly where Robby knew they would.

“But I don’t have anything planned out yet.” Dennis kept talking, seemingly oblivious to the damage he was causing. His smile grew, warm and nostalgic. "I don't know exactly where I’d go."

Somewhere like Nebraska, probably. Somewhere far away. Somewhere that didn't include Pittsburgh. Somewhere that definitely didn't include Robby.

"But leaving would be really hard." Dennis's voice softened. "The Pitt means a lot to me."

Blue eyes met Robby’s. Earnest and entirely unguarded. Robby couldn't look away.

"You especially." The words were quiet and completely sincere. Robby felt the air leave his lungs. Dennis smiled, small and almost embarrassed. "I wouldn't be the doctor I am without you."

The kid had no idea what he was doing to him. Every piece of Dennis he'd collected over the last year came crashing together inside his chest. How pathetic, to miss someone so desperately before they'd even gone. To stand at the edge of a loss that hadn't happened yet and mourn it anyway. And to be too cowardly to do anything about it.

Dennis was still looking at him, concern beginning to replace warmth. "Robby?"

The sound of his name nearly broke him. And for the first time in a very long time, Robby stopped trying to delay the inevitable. The truth remained exactly where it had always been, sitting beside him. Making the place feel more like home than it had in years.

Robby knew he couldn’t keep pretending otherwise. One second Dennis was sitting beside him, looking at him with those impossibly earnest eyes and the next, Robby had a hand at the back of his neck and was pulling him in.

Dennis made a startled sound against his mouth before immediately leaning into him, the couch dipping beneath their combined weight. Robby's arm wrapped around his waist instinctively. Dennis's fingers found his shoulder, then the front of his shirt, gathering the fabric in his fist as though he needed something solid to hold onto.

Robby had spent too long pretending he didn't want this. Pretending the thought of losing him someday didn't keep him awake at night. The lies fell apart embarrassingly fast.

Dennis ended up half in his lap before either of them seemed to notice, drawn there almost naturally. Robby's hand settled against his side. Dennis's forehead brushed his briefly when they broke apart for air. Then they were kissing again, and Robby didn’t stop him this time. 

Their surroundings faded. The city outside, the television, the mess of food on the coffee table. None of it mattered. Robby shivered, full-bodied, when his tongue traced over the gap in Dennis’s teeth. He gathered him up in his arms, holding him so close he was practically crushing him against his chest. He made an embarrassing noise into Dennis’s mouth, clutching him tighter as they sucked in more breaths before diving back in. His hand slid up into the curls at the back of his head to deepen the kiss further.

Dennis's breathing had gone uneven, and Robby could feel the rapid beat of his pulse where their bodies touched. But something shifted. Subtle at first, the warmth that had been flowing so naturally between them suddenly caught. Dennis pulled back quickly, like he had been burned. The movement was enough to make Robby's stomach drop. 

Before he could check on him, Dennis’s breath hitched. "Robby, I can't do this. I don’t want to be a mistake."

The words landed heavily between them. How could Dennis possibly think that? Of all the people Robby had stumbled through life with, Dennis was the one thing that had felt right almost immediately. Not easy and certainly not uncomplicated. But right. 

Dennis wasn't a mistake, he was the first thing in years that felt worth risking his heart for. Robby needed him to know that more than he needed to protect himself. “You’re not—”

"I don't want to repeat what happened at the bar."

Robby's chest tightened. Is that what Dennis thought? That Robby pushed him away because he was a mistake? That it was Dennis's fault that Robby had spent weeks keeping his distance?

Of course Dennis would think that. Robby had kissed him behind a bar and then immediately shoved him away. He'd spent so many weeks pretending everything was normal afterward. Meanwhile, Dennis had been carrying this. Believing that somehow he'd done something wrong. Believing that Robby regretted him.

"If this is something we're just going to ignore again..." His voice softened as he carefully removed himself from the older man’s lap. "I don't think I can do that."

Dennis wasn't afraid of rejection. He was afraid of being temporary, as if that wasn’t the absolute last thing Robby wanted. Afraid of being something Robby regretted. A mistake. Something easy to walk away from, when that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Tell him the truth.

He should let him go. Dennis deserved a future untouched by all of Robby's baggage. His own mother made the message loud and clear, Robby learned when he was just eight years old that he wasn’t worth sticking around for. 

If people could leave, they would. Just like his parents, just like his grandmother. Like Janey and Heather. Just like Mohan and Javadi. Different stories, same ending. Every time he allowed himself to need someone, or God forbid want someone, they disappeared. He so desperately wanted things to go differently for a change.

"This isn't like that, Den. We’re not drunk." His eyes stung as he shook his head. “And even that time, it wasn’t like that.”

Dennis frowned slightly. “Like what?"

"You're not just some hookup." He turned fully to him, gripping his hands in his. The words came easier, flooding out of him in a panic, desperate for Dennis to know the truth. "I don't look at you like that. You are so much more.”

Dennis stared at him.

Robby swallowed hard. "I can't help wanting you to keep being more. You will never be a mistake. Please, you have to know that. I—" To his horror, emotion rushed up unexpectedly, lodging in his throat. He choked on the words for a moment, blinking away the tears welling in his eyes. "I don't want you to leave."

The words hung there after he forced them out. Raw and terrifying. Dennis looked stunned by the confession. "I'm not leaving."

“Yet.” Robby almost smiled. "But you will. You said it yourself, that's your goal. And I’ll miss you." Dennis opened his mouth, but Robby kept going. Because if he stopped, he wouldn't be able to start again. "You're gonna do big things, and I’m so proud of you. I swear I am. But then you’ll be gone.”

"Robby—"

"And I don't want you to be gone." There it was. The selfishness of it all. The thing he'd spent months trying not to say. "I know it's selfish of me. I know I shouldn't be doing this to you. But I can't help it. I want you to stay. So fucking badly that it hurts." The word barely made it out. “Please.”

Dennis stared at him like he had three heads.  Robby looked away immediately, humiliated and ashamed, but also relieved. There was no taking it back now. The truth sat openly between them, no longer clawing at his ribcage to get out.

Dennis was quiet for a long time, a mix of emotions flickering over his face as Robby cried silently. His voice was so quiet when he spoke that Robby almost didn’t hear him. "You know what I wanted most growing up?"

Robby shook his head.

"To be useful." He had a watery smile when Robby looked back at him. "And loved."

Robby knew exactly how hard Dennis worked for both. How much of himself he gave away. How desperately he wanted to matter. 

"And I have that here." Dennis gripped his hands tighter, eyes wet but bright. "At The Pitt. And with all of you. I didn't realize leaving would matter this much." His voice dropped lower. "I didn't realize I'd matter this much."

"You do." The answer came immediately, without hesitation. It wasn’t just about Robby and Santos. Everyone loved Dennis. It brought some breath back to Robby’s lungs that Dennis seemed to acknowledge that. 

"Ask me again, Robby." Dennis leaned into him, close enough that their foreheads nearly touched. "Ask me to stay."

"Dennis." The name felt precious. The feeling in his mouth felt more addictive than any cigarette. Robby took a shaky breath. "Please stay."

Stay in Pittsburgh.

Stay in The Pitt.

Stay with me.

Dennis didn’t need any clarification. The answer showed immediately in his eyes. He leaned forward and settled carefully back into Robby's lap. The kiss that followed was slower, gentler. Nothing like the frantic desperation from before.

Gone was the certainty that if they stopped moving, one of them might disappear. Dennis's hand rested lightly against the side of his neck. The younger man kissed him softly, lingering for a moment before pulling back just enough to look at him. Robby immediately dragged him back in, humming against him. Dennis smiled against his lips. 

Robby had spent most of his life waiting for the other shoe to drop, like Jack had said. Waiting for disaster. Yet sitting here now, with Dennis curled comfortably against him, he found himself wanting to believe this moment could simply exist. No countdown, no expiration date hanging over it. Just this.

Dennis traced absent patterns against his shoulder. Robby pulled him even closer. Closer than should've been possible considering the younger man was practically folded into him already. Dennis made a quiet sound of surprise before pressing their lips back together, more sure of the action. 

Robby lowered his head when they pulled away for air, pressing his face against the side of Dennis's neck. He breathed in the scent of hospital, Mexican food, and something uniquely Dennis beneath all of it. Home.

Dennis's arms tightened around him, holding him right back. Like he had no intention of letting go either. Robby shivered at the gentle kiss pressed to the side of his head. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the last time someone had held him like this. Jack, probably. 

Eventually he forced himself to speak again, the words somewhat muffled against Dennis's shoulder. "Don't let me stop you, Den."

Dennis shifted slightly. "Hm?"

"I don't want you giving up your goals for me." Every selfish part of him wanted Dennis to stay. Every frightened part wanted to lock the door and keep him here forever. But loving someone meant wanting good things for them. Even when those good things hurt.

Dennis's expression softened. "I'm not giving anything up."

"You don't know that."

"I do." The certainty surprised him. His thumb brushed absentmindedly against Robby's arm. "Like I said. I just want to help people. Make a real difference. I can still do that."

The conviction in his voice settled warmly in Robby's chest. So genuine as always. They sat there quietly for a while afterward. Wrapped around each other, neither seeming particularly eager to move. Eventually Dennis shifted enough to look up, his eyes bright with excitement.

“I have an idea.” He was talking with his hands. "There are so many doctors in rural areas who never get exposure to larger hospital systems. And there are so many rural communities that suffer because of it." Robby watched him, amused by his enthusiasm. Dennis continued. "What if there was some sort of fellowship?"

"A fellowship?"

"Yeah, like a program. Specifically for rural physicians." Dennis sat up slightly. "It could be a visiting resident, short-term. They could spend some time in urban emergency departments. Learn best practices. Learn procedures they might not see otherwise."

The excitement was contagious. "And then?"

"They take that knowledge back." His smile grew. "Back to their communities."

The simplicity of it was beautiful, very Dennis. Not interested in prestige, like most fellowships. Just interested in helping. "That's actually a good idea."

Dennis looked delighted. “You really think so?”

“Mhm.” Robby nodded. “I think it would help a lot of people. Make a real difference.”

“I could pitch it at the next match program meeting. Doctor Shen is a Pennsylvanian rep on the board, surprisingly.” Dennis smirked at him, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I just might need another attending to co-sign the idea. You wouldn’t happen to know someone willing, would you?”

God, Robby wanted to keep him forever. Without him noticing, loving Dennis had become bigger than fear. Bigger than the voice that always told him not to get attached. Bigger than the instinct to keep people at arm's length before they could leave. For most of his life, fear had won those arguments. Fear had always been louder. But not this time. This time, every future version of pain felt less important than the fact that Dennis was here now, smiling and dreaming about ways to help people. 

“Yeah, Den.” Robby laughed, both of them shaking with giggles. “I know a guy who would be willing to co-sign.”

Dennis immediately launched into another idea. Something about grant funding. Or partnerships. Robby wasn't entirely sure. He spent most of it watching Dennis get increasingly animated.

The rest of the evening slipped by that way. One conversation bled naturally into the next. The fellowship somehow turned into a debate about hospital administration. That became a story about Dana. Which somehow led to Santos. Which somehow led to an argument about whether Santos could survive a week in rural Nebraska.

The television continued playing in the background, mostly ignored. At some point they cleaned up the remains of dinner. Dennis ended up tucked against his side again. Hours passed quickly without either of them noticing. 

That was until Dennis yawned in the middle of a sentence. Robby snorted. "Tired?"

"No." Dennis rubbed at his eyes.

Robby watched him fight a losing battle against exhaustion for another ten minutes before finally moving to stand. "C'mon, kid."

Dennis looked up, his eyes glazed with the need for rest. "Hm?"

"Bed." Robby nodded towards the hallway. “My bed, if that’s okay.”

Dennis looked like he wanted to argue, but then he gave in quickly to Robby’s amendment. "Yeah, okay." He stretched with a groan. "Bed sounds good. Your bed.”

They drifted into the bedroom together, exhausted both physically and emotionally. Robby laid on his side with Dennis curled comfortably against him. It felt absurdly natural, like Robby had finally found the missing puzzle piece. 

He stared at the ceiling, doing his best to ignore the fears still swirling in his head, the dark threat of abandonment looming over them. He focused on listening to the sound of Dennis’s breathing, finding himself smiling at the occasional snore. Fucking cute.

The darkness retreated immediately, replaced by reluctant amusement. He was so gone for the kid. Completely gone. Maybe it would fail. Maybe they'd crash and burn spectacularly. Maybe Dennis would still leave someday. But Robby wanted to try anyway, even if they were doomed.

Beside him, Dennis shifted closer in his sleep. Instinctively seeking him. Robby held him tighter. Before sleep could take him, he reached for his phone on the nightstand. The screen lit the darkness briefly.

The number that Jack had sent him still sat there in their messages. Robby stared at it for a long moment. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, typed a short message requesting an appointment. His thumb hovered over send.

For Dennis. For him.

He pressed it. No taking it back. He set the phone down again and the room returned to darkness. Dennis snored softly beside him, the sound way more soothing than any background noise he could find. And for the first time in longer than he could remember, his home felt full again.