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Everything races to a brutal stop.
Well, he’s vaguely aware of Trinity smirking and Victoria’s eyes going wide before she does a very half-hearted attempt at hiding her gaping mouth behind a hand. But inside Dennis’ head, everything rushes to a complete standstill.
The bar is pretty crowded for a regular Thursday night. The Pitt crew is somewhat spread out: Donnie and Langdon – on a rare outing – are talking, Jesse and Kim have snagged a small table, and Dennis is squeezed in between Trinity and Victoria at another. The lighting is uneven, almost uncomfortably dimmed, but the music volume seems intent on making up for that. However…
However.
Due to some cruel twist of fate, Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot have managed to seat themselves in the vicinity of one of the rare overhead spotlights. That light is dimmed as well but it's still enough to drape their faces in sheets of muted gold, here and there overlaid with the, on the whole, more overpowering patchwork of shadows.
It had not been Dennis’ intent to stare. It was just that they had ended up comfortably in his line of vision. And, for what it’s worth, Dennis knows that they are together. Intellectually. Just like everybody else does. It's just that they don't normally show affection in public.
“Earth to Huckleberry?”
Trinity is giving his arm a poke.
“What?”
For a moment, he seriously doesn't even recognize her. That smirk is familiar, though. “See something you like?” She tips her head in the direction of their two attendings.
“What? No!” Dennis can feel fingers of fire walking up his neck. He throws maybe a third of a glance Robby's and Abbot’s way. “Jesus, Trin.”
“Wait, you like them?” Victoria asks, audibly full of shock.
So he is forced to turn to her.
“No.” But words are hard to come by, it proves. “Why would I?”
On his other side, Trinity scoffs. “Cause you're gay?”
“What?” Dennis whips around to stare at her anew. There is a weird shift underneath him, like the faux wine-red leather seat has decided to attempt to transfigure itself into a waterslide.
“Oh, Huckleberry,” she sighs dramatically. “How much thou hast to learn about thyself.”
“Um, what?” he says again, momentarily sidetracked.
She shrugs and takes a sip of her drink. It's a sparkling something that looks kinda fierce. “Some Shakespeare shit, I think.”
“Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's not Shakespeare,” Victoria supplies, sounding more than doubtful.
“Okay, little miss big brain,” Trinity says, with a roll of her eyes. Then she smirks again and bumps her shoulder to Dennis’. “Might be Dickens, though. I bet you'd looove Dickens.”
“Trin,” he hisses, some more heat wandering up his neck and spreading to his throat now.
“Okay, seriously, hold up,” Victoria says. “Are you really gay?”
“How can you even doubt that?” Trinity snorts, at the same time as Dennis automatically says:
“No.”
Because he isn't. Because while parts of Nebraska might be more liberal leaning, where he comes from, Broken Bow, nobody would ever even consider being anything but one hundred per cent respectably straight.
“Seriously?” Trinity demands. “You're practically salivating at the sight of them.”
“I'm not,” he defends himself, and that has to be true. “It's just weird seeing them like… that.”
They all look.
Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot have their own small, round table. They are seated opposite from one another, each with their own beer. They're talking. Like, just talking. Like people do in crowded places with intrusive music playing. Leaning forwards, both of them, heads together almost, singularly focused on what the other is saying.
But they're also looking at each other. Long, unbreakable connections. Abbot is half smirking, but it's much milder than usual. And Robby is… Robby is smiling, looking maybe a bit too seen for his own comfort.
And as they all sit watching – Dennis and Trinity and Victoria – Abbot places his hand on the table and Robby takes it in his, and gently rubs across his knuckles with the pad of his thumb.
“See?” comes Trinity’s dry voice from the galaxy next over. “Salivating.”
And before Dennis can predict what's going to happen, she is sliding out of her chair and jumping to her feet. “Come on, Huckleberry.”
Tearing his eyes from the way Robby is caressing Abbot’s hand is halfway to physically painful. He tries to not let it show as he looks up at Trinity instead. “What are you doing?”
She makes a face. “Come on,” she repeats.
On some level he knows he shouldn’t be getting up. That what she’s planning has the potential of putting him in an extremely awkward situation. On the other hand, Dennis is still also just a smidgen scared of her. And on the third – in some really weird combination of seemingly incompatible elements – he knows she truly cares about him.
So he follows her as best he can across the crowded floor. At least until it becomes clear where they’re headed, but by then he only has time for an intake of breath in preparation for a protest before she slips into the virtually non-existent space by the table Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot are occupying, and Dennis is made to look on in absolute horror as she flashes Robby a pained grimace.
“Sorry, Dr. Robby, I know we’re off the clock, but… Huckleberry here is in dire need of some mentoring.” She shoots half a glance of doom at Dennis himself. “By which I mean the male-led ‘you’re queerer than you think and that’s fine’ crash course.”
Dennis doesn’t need to hear Dr. Robby’s voice as he, blinking, looks up at Trinity. He can lip read the ‘I’m sorry?’ just fine.
It's the most painfully embarrassing moment of his life.
“Yeah, so if you'd be so kind as to give it,” she says, giving Dennis’ elbow a light shove and then just leaving it at that.
There is – well, as much as there can be in a place like this – silence.
They're both staring up at him. And Dennis would like nothing so much as to be on the other side of the world where he wasn't subjected to that and where he definitely still can't see – in the very corner of his eye – how they're still holding hands.
Eventually, Dr. Robby clears his throat. “Um, Dennis?”
“I'm sorry,” he says at once, on some poor rush of air not strong enough to persuade anyone. “Really sorry.”
His face is burning up. He should be leaving. Should be looking into the possibilities of transferring to another hospital. Should maybe even go back home and tell his parents he was stupid for thinking he could pursue a career in medicine. He could take the night bus… somewhere.
“Why don't you join us?”
He starts. Cannot, in the moment, figure out which one of them it was that suggested it. Dennis is used to looking at Dr. Robby but he has only worked a few hours here and there in the vicinity of Dr. Abbot and he can't really read his expression. To be fair, he can't really read Robby's either, just now.
“Sit down, kid.”
That's definitely Abbot. Dennis feels almost dirty for sneaking too many glances at him. Simple looking feels too intimate now.
There is a third chair. Now Robby is simultaneously pulling it out and pulling it a not insignificant number of inches closer to his own. His smile is almost imperceptible when he looks up again, but his voice is warm. “Please.”
It's highly unlikely Dennis will be able to move but he surprises himself. His knees are stiff, though, as he gingerly lowers himself down at Robby's side. Dr. Abbot isn't as tall as Robby but Dennis still feels tiny sitting like this, sort of between them.
He expects them to demand an explanation. Because why wouldn't they? Because this is crazy and any sane person wou–
Robby puts his arm around him.
It's all that makes its way into his brain for a dangerously long moment. Casually, with no particular physical pressure to speak of, Robby has gently invited Dennis into the crook of his arm.
Things even remotely akin to this don’t happen.
Dennis barely breathes.
“Doesn’t it start on the seventeenth?” Dr. Abbot asks.
They are talking again. Like… having a conversation – picking up their conversation where they must have left off when Trinity appeared with Dennis in tow – as if Robby isn't at all keeping his arm lightly curled around Dennis’ back.
With his free hand, Robby lifts his glass to his lips. “It starts on Tuesday. Runs Tuesday through Friday.”
Abbot’s eyes narrow at him while he gets his phone out. Then his scowl only deepens. “Well, congratulations for knowing the fucking calendar,” he grouses. “Don't look so smug.”
“Not smug,” Robby objects, but there is a telltale curve to his mouth. Then he turns to look at Dennis. “Can we get you something to drink?”
There was no way Dennis would have been able to respond to that – even before Robby lightly rubs a circle into his side with his thumb.
“Uh,” he says, barely managing to meet Robby's eye.
It's odd how clearly he can hear them. Where he sat at the other table, the music sounded much louder.
Meanwhile, Robby is not using words at all, only raising his eyebrows in a silent prompt for a more informative reply.
Inevitably, Dennis’ chest tightens. He would love to be able to say that he doesn’t know why that is but as it is he knows exactly why. Still, Robby is expecting an answer so he clears his throat. “Yeah, I'm not exactly flush with cash right now, so…”
Again, Robby does that thing with his thumb. This time, it makes something crackle to life in Dennis’ skin, through his shirt, and he instinctively clenches his jaw.
‘I'm sorry,’ he almost says again. For his physical reactions and his lack of funds, both.
“What do you like?” Abbot asks. His expression is strangely neutral for somebody whose partner has draped his arm around another man. “Beer?”
In his confusion, the best Dennis can do is to not frown. His gaze, though, flits from Abbot’s face to Robby's and back again. “Well, yeah… But I mean…”
Trinity didn't believe him at first, saying that Dennis doesn't have the look of somebody who likes beer (whatever that meant) but Dennis grew up rural so beer it was.
On the spot where his hand is still located, Robby gives him a sort of pat. “I'll get you one.”
Dennis opens his mouth to object but the initiative crumbles when Abbot produces a wry, little smile. “For medicinal purposes. It's good for the nerves.”
Dennis suffers the loss of Robby's touch like no proper scion of Broken Bow should. He tries to fight it – tries to shut it out or shove it aside, but no matter his ambition, he still feels Robby’s absence keenly. To make it worse, he's seated at a table opposite Jack Abbot and he cannot flee.
Jack Abbot who dips his head at him and says, “Robby likes you.”
“What?” he gets out. It makes it through the music all too well.
Abbot’s gaze on him remains steady. “You’re his favorite.”
Dennis has no idea how to respond to that. Honestly, his ‘What?’ feels wasted on the previous statement.
Abbot leans in again, elbows on the table. In the normal version of the world, this is when matters would take a darker turn. This is when he’d be told in no uncertain terms that he is to stay far, far away from Robby or else…
Through some incomprehensible reordering of the universe, however, Dennis has ended up in a time and place where that does not happen. On the contrary, what does happen is Abbot simply taking another swallow of his beer before looking earnestly at Dennis.
“And I trust his judgement,” he concludes, apparently still on the topic. “I mean mostly. But when it comes to his residents, Robby has always been a good judge.”
“Okay…” Dennis says, because he has to say something. Blessedly, he is saved from expounding upon that threadbare contribution by Robby reappearing and placing a lager in front of him.
“Ah, Mikey,” Abbot says, brightening, “I was just telling Dennis that despite the fact that we would never dream of playing favorites, Dennis is yours.”
And Robby… Robby doesn't deny. Transfixed, Dennis watches as Robby's mouth looks like it wants to quirk into a smile while the rest of him knows it shouldn't.
“Don't go stirring up trouble, Jack,” Robby says, in some half-baked warning that loses all of its intended oomph when he also leans down to drop a quick kiss to Abbot’s lips.
It's over quickly. Yet the image burns itself into Dennis’ retinas for all time, in this life and the one that is scheduled to come after.
“Has he traumatized you?” Robby inquires, as he reclaims his seat beside Dennis.
“Hey,” Abbot protests, “don't talk like you haven't emotionally scarred at least a handful students over the years.”
Something moves over Robby's face at that. He opens his mouth. Closes it. “I know,” he says, eventually.
“Not me,” Dennis hears himself say. The blush seeps back into his cheeks but he suddenly feels like he really needs to get this point across. He knows some of the other students and residents have occasionally been made the targets of Robby's… anger or frustration or whatever it is, but it was never directed at Dennis. “You've always been nice to me.”
Robby nods but doesn't meet his gaze. He says nothing as Abbot carefully reaches across the small table to brush a thumb over Robby's cheekbone.
“See? You've done some things right.”
“You're doing a lot of things right,” Dennis says, more or less ready to list all of them but is distracted when Robby's broad hand, under the table, lands on his thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze.
Now, what does thigh mean in relation to back? Dennis has no clue. So he endeavors to sit as still as possible while waiting for Robby to withdraw. Only he doesn’t and one moment turns into another and eventually Abbot pulls back his hand from where it's been caressing Robby's cheek and then he circles back to the topic from earlier.
“So, what, you'll be gone from Tuesday?”
Robby shakes his head. “Monday night, if I don't want to start driving hellishly early.” He takes a swallow of his beer. “Medical conference,” he adds for Dennis’ benefit.
“Oh,” Dennis says.
“I'll probably sign up for an extra shift, then,” Abbot says. “Unless you want to have dinner or something?” he adds, eyes landing on Dennis.
He’s lucky he isn't holding his own beer or he would have dropped it. “I would what?”
“I was under the impression we were supposed to teach you a thing or two?” Abbot says offhandedly, like they're discussing potentially talking about the weather.
“But I'm not…” Helpless, Dennis wants to glance back at Trinity. To force her to explain herself. To maybe even explain to Dennis as well. In her stead, he opens his mouth, completely without any sense of direction, but that's also when Robby lifts his hand off his thigh and gives him a soft but still rather serious smile.
“I'm bisexual,” he says calmly. “So is Jack. For me, at least, that realization came early but with a lot of unease… Some self-loathing, even. It took me a while to figure myself out.” His smile turns a bit crooked.
“And I fell in love with a woman,” Abbot supplies. “After I lost my wife nothing made sense… until Robby and I gave up the avoidance act and pulled our heads out of our respective asses.”
Dennis hears him, he does, but something is bubbling up inside of him and causing an acid streak of fear through his breast. He is not supposed to respond to this and he means to lock his tongue in so tight behind his teeth but it begins to move of its own accord and, to a wave of terror, he discovers that he desperately lacks the means by which to control it. His voice comes out almost crushed beneath his own flimsy breath:
“But I'm not… queer. Where I come from…”
The Jack Abbot he thinks he knows from the Pitt is ready to scoff at that. This Jack Abbot, however, watches him with a knowing light in his eyes.
“We're not queer in the military either,” he says, and it's quiet.
Beside Dennis, Robby shifts. There is a determination to him as he resumes his previous position, looping his arm around Dennis and bringing him in close. And then…
Then they go back to talking. Despite what Dennis hopes he has not just implied about himself. Why Jack – Abbot, he’s Abbot to Dennis and nothing more – is allowing Robby to hold Dennis like this is beyond any level of comprehension. Especially now that they might suspect that Dennis is…
He can’t focus. Neither on this, nor that, nor on anything in between. Robby’s arm is a heavy-light weight around him that feels encouraging and protective. Appreciative. As if a limb can be all that. It probably can’t. Only that’s currently precisely what Dennis is experiencing.
After a little while he summons enough courage to take a surreptitious sip of his beer. It’s nothing special, to be honest, just a lager, but it means something all the same. And Dennis really hopes Robby isn’t expecting him to pay him back for it. Not this month at least. He doesn’t, however, dare glance back towards the other table to where Trinity is presumably still sitting with Victoria. He doesn’t dare to look at anyone else either for that matter. And that’s when it truly hits him:
What will they think?
What will Langdon make of this? Robby’s maybe former protégé, if the rumors are to be believed. And all the nurses? How is Dennis supposed to show his face at work tomorrow morning knowing that they all know that he sat at Robby’s and Ja– Abbot’s table and with Robby’s arm around him to boot?
Jesus, Lord, why didn’t he think of this earlier?
The prospect of their judgement becomes an agitated squirming in his belly. It blossoms upward as well, burning fingers now spreading around his rib cage. Is he brave enough to push Robby’s arm away, push himself to his feet and push what will hopefully very soon be only a memory of this night so far down into his subconscious that he later will struggle to even remember it?
Maybe.
Does he want to?
No.
That’s his flaw, his most glaring one. The one that he has battled with ever since his early teens when he understood that something must be gravely wrong with him. Dennis knew he shouldn’t be looking at boys and feeling what he perhaps was feeling but Dennis also couldn’t really resist. In fact, Dennis wanted to maybe perhaps feel what the sight of them made him feel.
It’s one thing to be unintentionally blind to your sins; Dennis was always acutely aware of his.
Dr. Robby turns in his seat. “Hey, you okay?”
Mired deep in these thoughts, Dennis needs a moment before he realizes he is the one being spoken to. The overhead spotlight illuminates Robby’s face in a completely different way than the fluorescents back at the Pitt do. He is always devastatingly handsome but here he looks much more... approachable, and the incessant twisting of Dennis’ insides are momentarily put on hold in favor of a flood of a much gentler warmth through him.
“You tensed up,” Robby explains, eyes searching on Dennis.
“Oh, I…” His gaze drops to Robby’s mouth. It’s brief and thankfully he succeeds at immediately getting himself under control again, but the fact of the matter is that now it has happened and he’s very, very aware of that. “I just…”
But he has no idea what to say. He doesn’t even particularly want to know what is going on. Because it just might be that if he gains a better understanding of the situation as a whole, then it will take on a sturdier shape. It will become harder to break and shake and lose.
“This too much for you?” Abbot asks. There is no challenge to it. On the contrary, he looks like he genuinely wants to know. Like this is about calibrating a strategy or something.
“I… don’t know,” Dennis admits, when he really ought to mean ‘yes’.
And that shouldn’t constitute enough of a basis for anyone to work with, but Abbot reaches across the table and suddenly his fingertips are brushing Dennis’ temple.
“I kind of like the mullet,” he says, halfway to another smile. “Gives you a bit of an edge.”
Nobody in their right mind would ever accuse Dennis of having an edge.
“So do I.” Robby is smiling as well, Dennis sees when he digs up courage enough to check. And as he watches, the smile melts away and a more somber look overtakes Robby’s features. “You’re a very attractive man, Dennis.”
It sweeps the chair and the floor and possibly the topmost layer of Pittsburgh tarmac out from underneath him. A ringing comes into his ears and if he couldn’t move before, now he sits as if magically turned to stone as Robby’s face comes nearer and nearer and nearer until he can tentatively nose at Dennis’ other temple.
Dennis has never been this close to another man ever. That thing that crawled through his belly before rises in agony. The ringing in his head makes his brain almost collapse in on itself and the tiny patch of skin that the tip of Robby’s nose is brushing over bursts into flame.
“You’re okay,” Robby mumbles before securing his hold on Dennis further, bringing him back completely into the one-armed embrace.
He has nothing to set against this. No weapon that works on the physical plane. So far, Dennis has contended with hypotheticals but this swiftly materializing reality is so vastly different than what he thought it might be that he is utterly unable to reject it.
He makes a noise. It is not supposed to be there but it takes on a shape as well and hangs broken and pitiful between the three of them. It sounded like a whimper.
Robby is warm against him. Jack’s slightly calloused hand moves over his cheek. Dennis isn’t sure he still has access to his eyesight because everything is blurry but just as he heard his own defenses tear, he hears Jack’s mild chuckle and assessment:
“Definitely dinner.”
Time ceases to exist, then. Robby holds him like he is never letting go and Dennis is not in a place – mentally or emotionally – to question that. Gradually, their conversation picks back up again and Robby’s voice is a calming rumble through Dennis. Also, it comes accompanied by Robby dropping a kiss in Dennis’ hair at intervals, and with every one of those his head grows heavier.
Dennis is not himself anymore. Or he isn’t the person he meticulously crafted out of the raw materials he was given to work with. When Robby, after a while, gingerly nudges him to lift his head and take stock of his surroundings once more, a whole decade could have passed when, really, it turns out it’s only been twenty minutes or so.
Jack has finished his beer, though, and so has Robby. Dennis’ remains mostly untouched. They don’t remark on that. They don’t tell him that was an obvious waste of money and how they shouldn’t have bothered. No, as Dennis – head still feeling like it’s not been screwed on exactly right – lifts his eyes to look at Jack, he sees the other man watching him with a hint of another wry smile. Then he winks:
“As we said, we wouldn’t ever play favorites.”
Robby hums at that. Or he dismisses it. Whatever it is, it doesn't deter Jack from going on:
“So, can we keep you?”
“Jack…”
But Jack only shrugs a shoulder. “Just a suggestion.”
It takes Dennis ages to find his voice. “But you’re… together.”
“Very astute,” Jack remarks, inclining his head.
“And I’m…”
'Me,' he is about to say. His very own person and very separate indeed from the two of them. Granted, he might have no idea who he is any longer, but at minimum knows he is not a part of their relationship. Which is the weirdest thought.
“We’re not rushing anything,” Robby declares and there is an unmistakable pinch of authority in it. “We’re not deciding anything tonight. It’s time to leave anyway.” He gives Dennis a new gentle squeeze. “You and I are clocking in at 7 a.m..”
Dennis legs are wobbly as he attempts to stand. Neither now does he have the guts to look around and maybe find out if anyone is staring.
‘Can we keep you?’
He doesn't know what that means either. Still, he finds himself straying near to the question of what it might be like, having regular access to a few more hugs and some stroking of his cheek. It might not be… so bad.
The night wraps around them decently warm. The sounds and lights out here are different from inside but they form a backdrop that still feels foreign just as readily. And Dennis should be used to that by now but Nebraska is in his blood.
However, the fresher air (debatable, since they're on a busy street) boosts his courage enough for him to fish out his phone. Trinity has sent him a long series of gasping emojis which is nothing short of unfair since she was the instigator of this development in the first place. What is more, Dennis has no idea if her text is a good indicator of how the remaining Pitt crew members reacted.
He makes the decision to not reply. She'll wheedle every detail and nuance out of him anyway, the moment she sees him.
“Do you need a ride?”
His head jerks up. Jack, visibly favoring his good leg, is leaning partially against Robby's larger frame. Struck by the sight, Dennis can't really recall any time at work when Jack allowed himself to be vulnerable like that in front of his coworkers. It speeds straight to his heart but he tries to not let it show on his face.
“Um… Thanks, but I do have money for the bus,” he says.
“No bus,” Robby says, with a shake of his head. “We’ll drop you off. Come on.”
If anybody is still watching, they're going to think Dennis is leaving with them. Going home with them. Well, since they've already technically left the bar together, people might already be assuming as much. This is the only thing, then, that makes him hesitate.
“What will people think?” he hears himself asking, and he's already ashamed. For actually asking that outright and, in general, for where his brain keeps taking him at nearly every turn.
But Jack only laughs. “What people will think? They'll think you're lucky as hell, kid. I'm the hottest thing in that department.”
Robby rolls his eyes and starts to say something, but Jack turns his face up to him. “You gonna argue with that?”
“I…” Robby says before there comes a twitch to the corner of his mouth.
“Damn right you won't,” Jack says, pleased.
“I still might,” Robby warns him before bowing his head to press a kiss to his mouth.
Dennis just watches. Contrary to the show Pittsburgh puts on, he is very calm on the outside. On the inside, though, the music in the bar they've just left has nothing on him.
He wants this, he is beginning to realize. And by that he means precisely this. Not at an excruciatingly slow pace coming out, not gradually having to work to shift his perspective on the nights out Trinity keeps insisting on. Not having to come to terms with the fact that some of the bars she drags him to are gay bars which might mean that Dennis could potentially find somebody there…
“Dennis?”
Robby is holding out a hand.
He is no true stranger to Robby's hands. Every so often, between the hospital walls, they land on his shoulders or on the nape of his neck. To grab his attention. To clear his head for him. To steer him in a new direction.
New direction indeed.
Dennis looks at it now as if he has never seen it before. The thought is terribly slow in forming: what if it all meant that…?
Robby's expression is soft. Heart-wrenchingly so. “You want to run away?” he asks, quietly.
Yes, a part of Dennis definitely wants that so he nods.
“I know,” Robby says, not seemingly taking offense. “I've been there.”
There, on the precipice, Dennis thinks he will start crying. The sidewalk feels spongy and unreliable under his feet. Somehow, the soil back home in Broken Bow at least always felt solid, and while Dennis came to Pittsburgh fully aware that it would test him, he had thought it would be in regards to medicine, mainly.
They patiently wait for him while he works through it, gaze tracing the lines of the houses on the other side of the street which is simpler than looking Robby and Jack in the eye. When he finally faces them again, he has come a little further.
“Can I…” He swallows, failing the attempt at an embarrassed smile even before he can launch it. “Can I have another hug?”
They absorb him. It's the only suitable description for how it feels. Jack mostly to his right, face finding a place in the crook of Dennis’ neck, breathing contentedly against him. Robby front and left, wrapping his arms around him and sort of fitting Dennis’ entire head in under his chin. And Dennis’ body is tingling.
Jack's hand ends up, fingers splayed protectively, in his lower back and when Jack also leaves a light kiss just beneath Dennis’ earlobe, the whole world – Broken Bow included – practically turns upside down.
When they part, at long last, Jack's smile is fond, too. Underneath, he looks just a little bit excited.
“Dinner and hugs,” he decides, at which Dennis’ heart dares a tiny leap.
Then Robby is taking him by the hand, his long, strong fingers finding a perfect fit around Dennis’, and that’s how they persuade him to start walking. One step at a time.