Work Text:
Meeeeooooow.
“Your son wants breakfast,” Robby grumbles into his hair.
“Our son wants breakfast.”
“He woke me up, so he’s your son today.”
Dennis huffs a laugh into his pillow, rolls from his stomach to his back. Robby lifts the arm he had flung over him just long enough for him to adjust, then drops it back down. Hears the pitter-patter of tiny feet, looks to see Protein Bar peaking around the bedroom door. He makes eye contact, pointedly, meows loudly again, leaves. Dennis sighs, wipes a hand down his face. Looks like it’s time to get up. Checks the time on the alarm clock, because Robby’s secretly one hundred and insists they have an actual alarm clock. Well, at least he let them sleep in an hour. How generous.
Robby pulls him closer. Gives him a good morning kiss. And Dennis would object to the morning breath, except he knows it wouldn’t do any good. Morning breath doesn’t count if you both have it, cancels out. Kisses him back because it’s been a whole, like, eight hours since he kissed him. Which is, too long. Simply too long. Feels Robby’s hand on his waist tug him closer. Feels a swipe of tongue, opens to it. Is about to give himself over to the deepening of it when an unholy wail sounds from outside the door.
Pulls back with a giggle, “My son demands sacrifices.”
“Our son is a-”
“Be nice to our son.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go feed the baby, before he breaks something.”
“That was one time.”
“One time too many.”
Throws the blanket off, rises from the bed. Robby mutters something behind him that sounds a lot like stupid cat. Considers whacking him with his pillow because that’s their son he’s talking about. But another demanding scream from the hall stops him. The Royal Highness demands vittles, and vittles he shall get. Knows Robby’ll come down in a few minutes, just needs the extra time to wake up. Wasn’t raised on a farm, isn’t used to waking up and springing right out of bed.
Follows the sound of PB into the hall. He’s waiting, judgmental green eyes on him. What he’s judging, Dennis has no idea. Maybe the fact that Dennis isn’t also in a tuxedo at seven in the morning. Or maybe the string of hickeys he can feel on his neck. Either way, he’s judging him, he can just tell. All well. Mutters a come on, buddy, let’s go. Heads to the stairs. Hears the light taps that signal PB is following behind him. Starts down the stairs, hears PB thunk down the steps after him.
Sees disaster about to strike in enough time to think this is gonna hurt, but not in enough time to stop it from happening. Protein Bar, like most cats, loves to use his owner's legs like weave poles. Which is fine, annoying but fine, normally. On stairs, it’s asking for trouble. And trouble is exactly what it ends up being. Trips, when PB tries to weave between his legs to get in front of him. Can’t correct his step, because there’s nothing to correct it on, being on the stairs. Stutter steps, and then he’s falling. Hears a hiss, a yowl, has enough time to think, please let PB be okay before his head hits the edge of a step, and it all goes dark.
Wakes with a groan. Hears someone yelling, wants to tell them to be quiet. Loud, too loud. Flaps a hand towards the sound, hopes they understand he means shhhh. Must not, because they keep shouting. Can’t make out the words, just hears the noise. Wishes they would stop. It hurts, the yelling. Makes his head throb, and he doesn’t like that. Moans, brings a hand to his head, presses against his closed eyes. Tries to sit up, stops when he feels hands on him.
“Don’t move.”
So he doesn’t. Because moving hurts, and the voice said not to so he doesn’t. Feels hands on him, bats them away. Hears I know, I’m sorry, I have to check. Isn’t sure who’s talking to him, but he knows he can trust them. So he does. Lets them do whatever it is they need to. Feels hands on his neck, feels them slide under him to his spine. Says lift your arms, good, can you feel that, how about that. Grumbles answers, wishes they’d leave him alone. His head hurts, and he wants to sleep now.
Opens his eyes, when the voice asks him to. Yelps, flinches away, when he’s greeted by a bright light. Hears I know, but I need to check, sweetheart. Sweetheart. Robby. The voice is Robby. Opens his eyes, because he sounds worried, why Dennis doesn’t know. Knows he doesn’t like it. Hates when Robby worries, hates even more when he worries because of him. And he thinks it’s because of him that he’s worried now. Tries to remember why. Right, the stairs, the cat. Still needs to feed him, unless Robby did that already.
Opens his eyes again, so Robby can check his pupils. Understands that’s what he’s doing now. Let's him, even though the light really fucking hurts. Concussion, for sure. Has had enough of them to know. That’s annoying. He was looking forward to a lazy day in bed. Will still get that, he knows, but not in the way he was hoping. Feels a little more with it, now, than he did when he first woke up. Wonders how bruised he is. Robby always gets, weird, about him having bruises. Treats him like he’s made of glass until he heals. It’s annoying. Sweet, but annoying. Can already tell this is gonna be A Thing for Robby, just by the look on his face.
“Did you feed the cat?”
“What?”
“The cat. Did you feed him?”
“Did I, no I didn’t feed the cat yet.”
“You should, he’s hungry.”
“He can wait, sweetheart, you fell down the stairs.”
“I know, but I’m fine. Go feed the cat.”
“Sweetheart, you have a concussion. We need to go to the ED. You need a CT.”
“We need to feed the cat, and make breakfast. I’m starving.”
“Dennis.”
Robby rarely calls him by his name anymore. Knows that the choice is a deliberate one, knows it means Robby wants him to listen to him. To pay attention. Knows that it means he thinks he’s doing that thing he does sometimes. Where he downplays his own pain, because he’s used to his pain being ignored. Or worse, used against him. Doesn’t think he’s doing that now. Yeah, he has a concussion, and his head hurts. And yeah, he lost consciousness, and yeah, he knows that means he should probably go in for a scan, but it’s fine. He doesn’t need to. He’s had concussions before and never went in for them and was fine. So it’s fine.
“Pain on a scale of one to ten, and be honest, please.”
“It’s only a three, maybe a four. I’ll just take some Tylenol.”
“A normal three or your three?”
Hates how well Robby knows him, that he knows to ask. Knows that Dennis has a higher-than-normal pain tolerance. Had to, with the childhood he had. Learned to deal with pain that would send most people to the ED in hysterics, because that was just, life. Just the way things were. Knows his three or four is most people’s eight or nine. Robby knows because he’s seen it in action. Watched Dennis burn his hand on the stove one night and describe it as a two. Knows to clarify, now. Doesn’t let Dennis minimize his pain, just because there was a time in his life when he had it worse.
A pause, “My three, but honestly, it’s fine.”
“We’re going in.”
“We really don’t have to, I’ll be fine.”
“No arguing with your doctor.”
“Not arguing with my doctor, arguing with my overprotective boyfriend,” he mumbles, knows he’s already lost this fight.
“Who happens to be an amazing doctor. We’re going in.”
“Fine, fine. We’ll go in. But can we please feed the cat first?”
“Deal.”
They don’t even bother getting dressed. Well, Dennis puts a shirt on. But other than that, they don’t even bother getting dressed. Just head to the ED in their pajamas. After feeding Protein Bar his breakfast. Doesn’t sing him his Soups On Song, because his head hurts and because he thinks Robby might actually kill him if he delays going to the ED to sing the cat a song. He’ll just sing it twice tomorrow, to make up for missing today. Leaves PB chowing down, let's Robby bundle him into the car. Rests his eyes on the way, because the sun is out now and it makes his head hurt even more.
They don’t even go in the main entrance when they get there, just in the ambulance bay doors. Feels bad, skipping the line. Is also thankful, though, that he doesn’t have to sit in the waiting room full of people when his head is pounding. Thinks he’d just, not, if he had to. Would just go home, would take the chance that he’s bleeding into his brain to avoid having to sit in chairs for any length of time. Luckily, he doesn’t have to. Perk of working there, and sleeping with the chief, he supposes.
“What happened to you?” Javadi asks as they enter.
“Cat.”
“A cat attacked you.”
“Tripped me. I fell down the stairs. I have a concussion, he worries too much, so we’re here.”
“Ah, checks out. You need a room? I think Central 10 is open.”
“Yes, we do,” Robby cuts in, before Dennis can say he’ll just wait at the hub.
As the door shuts behind them, he’s kinda grateful that Robby did cut him off. Would have been fine, waiting at the hub. Would have survived. But the hub is loud and bright. Would have lived, but this is so much nicer. Quieter and darker. Lies on the bed, buries his face in the pillow. Feels Robby’s hand in his hair. Sighs, because it’s nice. Feels good. Wants to sleep. Knows he can’t. Decides to enjoy the fingers carding through his hair, because it feels good.
Another perk of working there is that you get bumped to the front of the line when you come in on your day off. Or maybe that’s also a perk of sleeping with the chief. Who knows. Doesn’t matter. Point is, he’s only waiting a few minutes before transport comes to whisk him away. His CT is quick, and he’s back in Central 10 with Robby’s hand in his hair before the hub-bub of the ED even makes his head hurt that bad. His results come back quick too. Clean, no intracranial bleeding, no fractures, no swelling. Just a concussion, albeit a kinda gnarly one, and some bumps and bruises.
“Told you,” he mumbles into the pillow.
“I’ll grab your discharge paperwork,” Javadi says, leaving the room.
“Excuse me for caring about you taking a header down the stairs.”
“Taking a header,” Dennis repeats, tone as teasing as he can make it, “Old.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m grounding the cat when we get home.”
“My son is innocent.”
“I thought he was our son.”
“Not when he’s in trouble, he’s not.”
Robby laughs at that, and Dennis joins in. Regrets it, a little, when it makes the throbbing in his head worse. Groans, presses his head into the pillow. Robby makes a noise, something vaguely soothing. Puts his big hand on the back of his head, flexes his fingers, a half-massage. It’s nice. Feels good. Keeps the pain from flaring up too bad until Javadi comes back with his paperwork. Signs his name, badly, on the discharge form, and then they’re on the way home. The clock on the radio in the car tells him they were only there for one hour. Thinks that might be the fastest anyone’s ever been in and out of the Pitt ever.
Can’t sleep yet, when they get home. But he can eat, which is good cause he’s starving. Gets corralled into a chair at the island, told to sit there and look pretty. Gets an eye roll when he responds but you’re taking all the pretty over there with you. Folds his arms on the counter, hides his face in them. Listens as Robby makes them breakfast. Notices that he does so as silently as he can. Makes sure none of the cabinet doors slam shut, cracks the eggs as gently as he can manage, instead of slamming them against the counter like he usually does. It’s a small thing, and the bare minimum he knows, but it makes Dennis smile into his arms anyway.
Eats his scrambled eggs while leaning into Robby’s side. Eats much slower than he normally would, because finally getting something in his stomach honestly makes him a little nauseous. Only ends up finishing about half, before he’s pushing the plate away. Turns to tuck his face into Robby’s chest, uses his pecs to block out the light. Stays there, tucked into his bulk until he finishes eating, too. Gets hauled to his feet, the dishes left to be dealt with later.
Doesn’t even realize they’re in the bathroom until he registers the noise he’s hearing as the tub filling. Robby’s fiddling with the temperature, one hand under the water. Comes over to help him out of his clothes while the tub fills, helps him into it after. Expects him to get in with him. Is surprised when he doesn’t. Just kneels next to it, and he already knows Robby’ll be complaining about his knees later. Doesn’t stop him, though, because he knows he won’t listen. Does grab a towel, folds it, hands it to him to tuck under his knees. Not perfect, but more cushioned than the tile floor.
Robby helps him lean far enough back to wet his hair. Works shampoo in it, but Dennis thinks maybe it’s just a cover for giving him a scalp massage. Leans into the touch with a groan because it feels so fucking good. Helps with the pain behind his eyes, too. Dulls it to a roar, instead of the intense throbbing with every heartbeat it was before. Makes it something a little more manageable. Robby cups his hand in front of his face, keeps the water from getting in his eyes while he rinses the suds out. Works conditioner in, another massage that helps even more than the first one.
Robby stands, while the conditioner sits. Goes to flip on the shower, fiddles with that temperature too. Comes back to retrieve him from the tub. Strips his own clothes off on the way over. And Dennis may have a concussion, but he can’t blame it for the way he leers at him as he moves across the room naked. That’s all Dennis. Stands with Robby’s assistance, lets himself be led to the shower. Robby pulls him under the spray, rinses his conditioner. Soaps up his loofah, washes him off, quick and efficient. Doesn’t wash himself, just turns the shower off, exits the stall to grab a towel.
Dries Dennis off with the same intensity he’s used to seeing him use in trauma rooms. Careful, controlled. Gets those wrinkles between his brow, the ones that means he’s really focused. Dennis stands on his tiptoes to kiss them, because they’re adorable and he wants to so he does. Gets a kiss to his own forehead for his trouble. And then Robby’s squirting some of his curl cream into his hands, working it through his curls for him. Beams up at him, because he knows Robby doesn’t really understand his curl cream, but here he is doing it for him. Because he knows it’s important to Dennis, and he loves him, so he’s making sure to do it.
Pulls on boxers, falls into bed. Robby does the same. Rolls towards the center, towards Robby. Gets pulled into his arms, like he knew he would. Buries his face into his chest because it’s comfortable. Feels a hand on his back, tracing patterns. It takes him a minute to realize that he’s writing words. Has to concentrate to make them out. Realizes after the third or fourth time that he’s spelling out I love you over and over. Smiles, because of course, Robby would find a way to say it without making any sound. Probably thinks if he makes any more noise than strictly necessary, Dennis will just up and keel over. Worry wart.
“I love you too,” mumbles it into the skin over Robby's heart.
Feels Robby tense, for a second. Like he wasn’t expecting to get caught. Like Dennis wasn’t supposed to put together that he was saying I love you over and over. Tracing the words into his skin, silently branding him with them. There’s a pause, and then the words resume. I love you, and then because Robby realizes Dennis knows what he’s doing, others too. Adorable and precious and brilliant and clever and funny. Dennis reaches up, traces his own into Robby’s skin. Sexy and talented and gentle and wise and charming. Smacks Robby lightly when he snorts like he doesn’t believe him. Lifts his head to glare, is too tired and his head hurts too much to properly scold him. Gets a kiss on the nose as apology.
Puts his head back where it was. Feels fingers on his skin again, not words this time, just touch. It's nice. Is making him sleepy, too. Giggles, a little, because he was right about the lazy day in bed. Robby hums, a question. He hums back, don’t worry about it. Lets his eyes slip closed. Thinks it’s been long enough that he can sleep now. Is sure of it, in fact. Because there’s no way Robby would be letting him lie here like this if it hadn’t been. And a nap sounds kinda nice. Kinda wonderful actually.
Hears the door creak open, hears the pitter-patter of little feet. Smiles. Feels the bed shift as a tiny weight jumps up on it with them. Grunts, just a little, when he climbs up onto his side. Walks the whole length of him, hops down once he’s close enough. Wedges himself underneath Dennis’ arm, between him and Robby. Is quite determined that he’ll fit there, even though there’s not really enough room. Laughs, shifts enough PB can worm his way in. He settles, in the space between Robby’s stomach and his. Starts his car engine purr up. Dennis adjusts, scootches up just a tad so he can keep his head on Robby’s chest and still be comfortable.
“He’s still grounded.”
“My client pleads innocent of all charges.”
From between them, PB purrs louder, as if agreeing.
“You’re his lawyer now, are you?”
“Lawyer. Father. Personal chef.”
“Quite the resume you’re working on.”
“I need something in case medicine doesn’t work out. Dennis Whitaker, cat defender.”
“How about you stick to being a doctor?”
“Hmm, yeah, that’s probably better.”
Feels a kiss to the top of his head, “Go to sleep, our son and I will be here when you wake up.”
Falls asleep to a hand on his back and a car engine purr.