Archive of Our Own

“Another day, another dollar.” Trinity yawned as they approached the end of the lot, the morning freshly bright around them. “Try not to ruin any scrubs today.”

“Try not to stab anyone today.” Dennis teased her before they broke apart. He moved through the sliding doors of the ED with a quiet certainty. A feeling of finally having found his place. After a year of rotations that had carried him through nearly every corner of the hospital, he got to stay where he really belonged. 

The Pitt felt like home now in a way few places ever had. Its controlled chaos had become a rhythm he thrived in instead of just surviving through. The harsh fluorescent lights and the distant overhead pages felt as familiar as his own pulse. He was more confident than he had ever been, having found his footing and a handful of people who had become family. 

The night shift was still handing off in low voices at the desk, the smell of Doctor Shen’s obscene amounts of coffee mixing with the antiseptic smell that never quite left the trauma bays. He clocked in, threw his things into his locker, and fell into practiced step with the rest of the incoming day shift. He hadn’t even been on the floor for ten minutes when McKay appeared at his elbow.

“Hey, Whitaker. Up for an adventure?” She nudged him, keeping her voice low. “Just got word that one of the regulars the street team usually handles is out in the park.”

He glanced toward the central hub, already imagining Robby’s expression when he realized two of his doctors had vanished off hospital grounds. To his disappointment, he hadn’t run into him yet. Dennis had spent the better part of a year learning exactly how little Robby liked surprises that involved his staff leaving the building. Instant worry sat deep in his chest, heavy and persistent, the way most of his thoughts about Robby tended to be.

“Robby won’t be happy.” He murmured, keeping his voice down. “Two of us leaving to treat someone off-site—”

“Robby doesn’t have to know.” She was already gathering supplies. “We’ll be quick, promise. It’s a light morning right now, no one will even realize we’re gone. Come on!”

He followed her before he could think better of it, her eagerness for spreading access to care was just too contagious. The automatic doors parted and the cool air met them, sharp after the recycled warmth of the department. The sound of the Pitt fell away behind them as they moved toward the park. 

Lindsey was slumped on one of the benches. He was always a little happy to see her, even when the circumstances were a little more disheartening, but it meant she hadn’t disappeared the way so many of the people he met with the street team eventually did. She was still sticking around. That counted for something, even if that something was currently in rough shape. 

She looked like she had been using again, that much was obvious. The hollowness around her eyes had deepened since the last time he had seen her, the skin there a bruised, translucent color. Her right hand was cradled in her lap, wrapped in something that looked like it had once been a shirt, a faint sheen of sweat along her hairline. Dennis registered all of it in the same glance that took in the rest of her, the frayed cuffs, the way she tracked them approaching without quite lifting her head, the small, almost embarrassed tilt of her mouth when she recognized them.

“Hey, Lindsey.” He smiled, watching McKay set down the bag of supplies. “Good morning.”

“Hey, doc.” Her voice was hoarse. She tried to sit up straighter and then seemingly thought better of it. “Didn’t think you two did house calls.”

McKay crouched in front of her without ceremony, pulling the kit open on the pavement between them. “We heard you were here. Let me see the hand?”

Lindsey hesitated, then extended it slowly. Dennis knelt opposite McKay, the cold of the pavement coming up through the fabric over his knees, and watched as she unwrapped the makeshift bandage. The cut was worse than the wrapping had suggested. It ran across the meat of the palm and into the base of the index finger, ragged, the edges puffy and discolored, indicating infection had already set in. There was old blood dried into the creases, and the smell when the cloth came away was the particular sour-sweet of a wound that had been left too long. 

Lindsey looked away, her jaw tight. “Broken glass. Last night, or maybe really early this morning. I don’t—I thought I could take care of it. I’ve taken care of worse.” She shook her head as she explained. “Didn’t want to come in. You know how it is in there.”

Dennis did know how it was. He had been on enough street rounds to know that coming inside, for Lindsey and many others in her position, was never just about the wound or illness. It was about the questions, the forms, the feeling of being judged. He gloved up while McKay started talking in that gentle voice she reserved especially for people the rest of the city had already written off.

“We obviously recommend it, but we’re not taking you in unless you want to go in.” She nodded. “But this needs to be cleaned properly, or you’re going to risk this getting more serious. You understand that?”

Lindsey nodded, small. Her eyes flicked to Dennis, then away again. “You gonna stitch it out here?”

Dennis nodded, already digging through the suture kit and helping McKay find the saline, gauze, and ointments. “Not ideal. But we’ll make it work. You still hate needles as much as last time?”

She made a noise that might have been a laugh. “Ironic, right?”

McKay irrigated first, a slow, thorough flush that made Lindsey’s whole arm go rigid. Dennis held her wrist steady, his gloved fingers light but firm, giving her something solid to push against without trapping her. He talked while McKay worked, the way he had learned to talk on these calls, low and ordinary, asking her nonchalant questions so that she would have somewhere else to put her attention besides the sting.

“You still down by the overpass most nights?” He asked. “The one with the mural?”

“Sometimes. They painted over the mural though. It’s just gray now. It’s a shame. Doesn’t feel as homey.” She hissed when McKay hit a deeper pocket of debris and then forced her mouth shut, embarrassed by the sound. “Sorry. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“You’re allowed to not be fine.” Dennis had said the same to so many patients. He adjusted his grip on her wrist and kept his voice where it was. “How did you get stuck with glass? Nobody hurt you, right?”

Lindsey was quiet for a stretch while McKay continued debriding, picking out the worst of the glass flecks and the lint from the shirt. “I was trying to keep the area decent. Sounds stupid. But there’s a kid who cuts through sometimes, young guy. He runs to the corner store for his mom. I didn’t want him to—you know. Cut himself or anything. Should’ve been more careful, didn’t realize how bad it was till now.” She looked at her own hand as if it belonged to someone else. “I’ve been trying, to do better. I was trying. You can tell, I know you can tell.”

He didn’t pretend otherwise. But he also didn’t make it into a lecture. He had learned that much, at least, in a year of being the person who showed up to treat and heal, not to fix anyone’s life. “Well, I’m glad you’re still around.”

McKay glanced at him once, unreadable, then went back to the wound. “Your turn. Lidocaine first. Keep it loose enough so it can drain if it needs to.”

Dennis drew up the anesthetic, showed Lindsey the syringe without making a production of it, and waited for her nod. He infiltrated along the wound margins the way he had been taught, slow, talking through it so she would know what was coming. The needle was the part she hated. He felt her tendon jump under his fingers.

“Just try to breathe normally.” He instructed gently. “You’re doing good.”

She breathed raggedly, her eyes clenched shut. McKay kept pressure above the wound and kept an eye on her face, ready to intervene if the color changed or the breathing went wrong. When the lidocaine had taken effect, she started updating Lindsey about Harrison, and Dennis began suturing. 

It was not at all an ideal environment. The ordinary light of the morning was slightly too yellow and too shadowed under the trees. His posture was wrong, his knees already complaining, and every so often a breeze lifted grit toward the area they were trying to keep clean. But they made it work. 

Dennis placed the first stitch with more care than the clock in his head wanted him to use, approximating the edges without strangling them, tying the knot square and snug and then a little looser than he would have in the ED, but McKay was right about drainage. 

“You always this fancy with the knots?” Lindsey asked, voice thin. “Or you showing off for McKay?”

“Maybe I’m showing off for you.” He laughed. 

“I’ll take it.” She was quiet again while he placed a few more stitches, closing the worst of the wound. When he tied the last knot and snipped the tails, she let out a breath she had been holding since the first one. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” He sat back on his heels, inspecting the line of nylon against the angry tissue. “It needs to stay clean. If it gets hotter, if the red goes past here—” He tapped a point on her wrist with a gloved finger. “You come in. No waiting, you come in and you ask for me or McKay and we’ll get you taken care of. Deal?”

“Deal.” She sighed. “You guys are gonna get in trouble for this, aren’t you? For coming out here.”

The worry about Robby moved under his ribs, and for a moment he let himself imagine the attending’s face when they walked back in. It made him equally amused and anxious. He packed the used gauze into the bag McKay held open, stripped his gloves, and stood. 

“Don’t worry about us.” He shrugged. “You take care of that. We’ll see you around.”

She nodded, her mouth twitching. Not quite a grimace and not quite the embarrassed almost-smile she had given them when they first walked up. Something else that made his heart ache for her.

“You okay?” McKay asked gently.

“Why are you both being so nice? I used again.” The words came out labored. “I was doing all right for a stretch. You saw me, I was back on track. I told myself it was just going to be the once, because that’s what you tell yourself, and then it wasn’t once, and now I’m sitting here like this and I feel like a failure. I feel like I wasted everybody’s time.” She stopped, swallowed, and shook her head. “I know how it looks. I know what I am when it looks like this. So I’m sorry.”

It always hurt Dennis deeply to hear people apologize when they’d fallen on hard times. He knew what it was like to feel like a failure, like a burden. He’d been there. He was still there, sometimes. 

“You’re not a failure.” He assured her. “Setbacks happen. They happen to people who are trying as hard as anyone I’ve ever met. You can still get there from here.”

She blinked hard and looked at him. “You always do that, doc. Treat me like a person. Not like an addict. Everybody else, even the nice ones, they get this look. You don’t. You never have. I don’t know if you know what that does. I made it through some nights just remembering that.”

Dennis swallowed the lump in his throat. “Addicts are people too, Lindsey. And even when you use, that doesn’t change.”

She laughed once, wet and loud, as if the sound had gotten out before she could rein it back in. McKay glanced at Dennis and then away again, a small smile on her face as she nodded in agreement.

Lindsey shifted against the bench and reached into the inner pocket of her jacket with her uninjured hand. She pulled out a bracelet, uneven, made of knotted cord and plastic beads. She held it out without quite looking at him. “I made this a while back. When I was clean. I was going to give it to one of you then, but I chickened out. You don’t have to wear it or anything. It’s stupid, but I want you to have it. As a thank you, for everything.”

Dennis looked at it in her open palm and felt a pride that he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before. He reached into her hand and closed his fingers around it gently, like it was something precious. “It’s not stupid. Thank you.”

He slid the bracelet onto his wrist, showing it off. “This better not be a bribe. Our deal still stands.”

“Deal still stands.” She nodded with a small laugh. “See you around.”

McKay left her with a water, a sandwich, and some supplies to do some basic aftercare. Dennis nodded once more before turning around. They walked back toward the automatic doors, the department rising in a wash of light and noise. In the few steps between the pavement and the threshold, Dennis took another look at the bracelet. It brought a smile to his face and a skip to his step.

Every time the cord brushed his skin, he felt euphoric, in a way. He didn’t even need coffee. He felt ready for whatever the board threw at him, the way he only ever felt after a call that had gone right, another success.

McKay fell into step beside him as they headed back towards the hub. She was already scanning the board, already half in the next case. Dennis rocked on his heels. “So uh, why did you need me for that? You could’ve taken one of the students.”

“So you can see how good you are at making people feel like they belong.” Her eyes stayed on the board. “You’re a good doctor, Dennis. I wanted to remind you to stay the way you are.”

Heat crawled up his neck. He looked at the bracelet instead of her. “It’s nothing special.”

“It is.” She said it without room for argument, eyes falling on him. “Means a lot to a former addict like me. But it’s not just with people like us. You’re good to everyone. We all really appreciate you here.”

He opened his mouth, something clumsy and bashful forming. “Wow, thank you—”

“There you are.” Robby’s voice cut across the hub before he could finish. Dennis’s stomach quickly dropped, bracing for a scolding. But it never came.

Robby was looking between them, one eyebrow up, the corner of his mouth doing that almost-smile that let them know he was going to let them off the hook before he even said anything. “Doctor McKay, you can’t keep stealing my resident. I need him on the floor, not out playing street medicine before the board even fills up.”

My resident.

He felt his face go hot. Lightheadedness hit him suddenly, like he had stood up too fast. Robby had always had a weird effect on him. A look, a comment, the particular way he called for him, and Dennis’s whole nervous system alerted. 

“You two good? Anybody I need to know about?”

“Hand injury. We cleaned it, closed it, went over aftercare.” McKay was already trying to usher them past the conversation. “She’s not coming in. Whitaker did the sutures.”

“Good to hear it went well. Now, board’s light but it won’t stay that way.” He sighed. “Pick up some patients once you’re settled in again. And no more running off, please. I need you here.”

I need you here.

Dennis watched him walk away without another word, pulse still doing something unhelpful in his throat, and then McKay bumped his shoulder on her way past. “Thank god you were with me. He never gets mad at you. You’re his favorite resident.”

My resident. His favorite resident.

At some point, Dennis had finally stopped pretending that he didn't have a massive crush on his attending. There was no point in denying it anymore, especially when Trinity had figured it out months before he had been willing to admit it to himself. She teased him about it constantly, but never in a way that felt cruel. There was always something softer underneath it, an understanding that Dennis suspected came from knowing what it was like to want something you already knew you couldn't have.

And Dennis knew he couldn't have this. Robby was his attending, his supervisor, the person responsible for teaching him and evaluating him. There were a hundred reasons nothing could ever happen between them, and Dennis had no intention of crossing any of those lines. So he kept his mouth shut and did his job, and whenever Robby gave him some small scrap of approval, Dennis tried very hard not to let it mean more to him than it should. It was easier said than done.

A good job after a difficult case could stay with him for the rest of the day. So could the brief squeeze of a hand on his shoulder when he was rushing between rooms, or the easy confidence in Robby's voice when he instructed him. Sometimes it was nothing more than the way Robby locked eyes with him across the department when they were both tied up, checking in with just a raise of his eyebrows. 

Dennis knew that if he wasn't careful, he could turn every ordinary interaction into something precious simply because it came from Robby. As long as he kept his feelings to himself, there was no harm in letting himself enjoy the little things.

My resident.

A title so simple shouldn't have affected him as much as it did. Dennis was in fact Robby’s resident. There was nothing personal about it, nothing remotely suggestive about belonging to the man. But Dennis's brain had never been particularly interested in technicalities when it came to Robby. He had a way of making Dennis feel something he wasn't used to feeling in the first place. In the ED, Dennis felt capable. He felt trusted. He felt like he had earned his place there and that people actually wanted him around because they knew he could contribute something valuable.

For most of his life, Dennis had felt as though belonging was something other people could grant or take away from him at any moment. Even now, despite everything he'd accomplished, there were still days when some old, insecure part of him expected someone to finally look closely enough and realize they had made a mistake. But with Robby, especially during a busy shift when they were working side by side, Dennis could almost forget that voice existed. Robby trusted him with patients. He relied on his judgment. He called for him when he needed help. 

It sent an embarrassing little flutter through his stomach every single time. Which was also why the thought of eventually disappointing Robby scared him so much.

He knew there would be a day when he messed something up. Not necessarily in some catastrophic way, but eventually he would miss something, make the wrong call, hesitate when he should have moved, or simply have a bad day. That was part of being a resident. Everyone made mistakes. Robby would understand that, Dennis was sure he would. But it didn’t make the thought any less devastating. 

He glanced across the hub and found Robby already moving between rooms, talking to a nurse and checking the board, completely unaware of internal battle he'd caused. He stripped the last of the park off his hands at the sink, the bracelet darkening a little under the water, and by the time he dried off, the euphoria had settled into something steadier. 

Unfortunately, his good mood didn’t even make it to lunch.

One minute he was still riding that high from the morning, and the next his feet felt like they weighed fifty pounds each, the pep in his step completely gone. He blamed it on bad sleep catching up to him, so he grabbed a coffee from the breakroom as a remedy to the sudden tiredness that washed over him. He took two sips and almost gagged. 

His mouth was so dry it felt like he’d been chewing cotton. He dumped the rest, filling a paper cup at the fountain with water instead, and chugged it. It helped for no more than thirty seconds, then the dryness came right back, even worse.

That wasn’t a good sign, but he kept moving. Robby was somewhere on the floor and Dennis was still replaying their short exchange from the morning. It felt pathetic, just how badly he sought the attending’s praise. He’d spent an embarrassingly long amount of his time in the ED trying to prove himself worthy of Robby’s mentorship, desperate to show that his faith in him wasn’t misplaced. He couldn’t let the chief see him slacking. 

Pedes held a fifteen-year-old who’d gone down hard on a skateboard. Long gash on his forearm, nothing crazy, the kind of close Dennis could do in his sleep. He gloved up, irrigated, and got the tray ready as usual. The kid was trying to act tough, helmet still in his lap, eyes glued to the tools.

Despite having done stitches just that morning, Dennis’s hands started shaking before he even picked up the needle, and not just a little. The first stitch went in okay, but the knot wouldn’t sit right. His fingers felt thick, like they belonged to someone else. The kid was watching him with weary eyes, and he didn’t want to worry him even more. He had to swallow twice just to get words out.

“Hold still for me, okay?” It sounded weak even to him. What is going on?

The needle driver slipped and heat hit his face. His own body was seemingly just quitting on him after the best start to a shift he’d had in weeks. He quickly set the instruments down before he made it worse.

Dennis caught Donnie’s eye and kept his voice level, like he wasn’t panicking on the inside. “Hey, Donnie. Can you take this? I forgot about labs that should be back on my asthma patient, I need to check.” It wasn’t fully a lie. “Edges are clean. Just needs closing.”

Donnie nodded, no questions asked, already walking up to take over. Dennis stripped the gloves, assured the kid he was in good hands, and bounced as quickly as he could without bringing unwanted attention to himself. 

He ducked into the stairwell for a moment, back against the wall as he focused on his breathing. He’d started the day feeling like he could handle anything. Now his mouth was a desert, his hands wouldn’t listen, and if Robby walked past right now he’d surely rethink classifying Dennis as his favorite resident. If that were even true.

Dennis wanted it to be true.

He stood there for another few seconds, flexing his fingers and watching them obey him a little more reliably with each movement. The shaking had mostly stopped, but that almost made him more irritated. There was nothing visibly wrong with his hands. He needed to get it together before picking up another patient.

“Come on.” He muttered, rubbing his palms against his scrub pants. He'd been running around all morning. He hadn't eaten enough, felt like he hadn't had nearly enough to drink, and was probably more tired than he'd realized. Dehydration, exhaustion, adrenaline, whatever it was, he could deal with it. He just needed to reset.

He drank more water and flexed his fingers until they almost felt normal again. The board was still relatively light when he stepped back toward the hub. Dennis scanned the names, looking for something straightforward that would get him back into the rhythm he'd had earlier. He reached for a chart and deliberately closed his fingers around it. His grip was more steady, to his relief. 

Everyone had their off moments, Dennis knew that. He also knew that Robby would never expect him to be perfect. If he'd noticed what was happening, he probably would have told him to take a break without thinking twice. But Dennis didn't want to be someone Robby had to worry about. 

The bracelet felt too tight all of a sudden. He shoved it up his arm and kept walking, eyes down, hoping that he didn’t look as awful as he felt. 

The afternoon just kept stretching from there. Dennis stayed busy on purpose. Charting that didn’t need to be done just yet. Rechecks. Walking the long way around the hub so he wouldn’t cut across Robby’s line of sight. Every time he heard that voice, he found another reason to be somewhere else. Supply closet. Ambulance bay. A room that already had another senior resident working it, just to “observe.”

He told himself it was fine. He was working. He wasn’t slacking. But the dry mouth wouldn’t quit. He’d gone through so much water it was embarrassing. Yet it still felt like he’d swallowed sandpaper. A heavy tiredness sat behind his eyes, and his skin had that wrong, damp feeling he kept trying to ignore. And the lights were so damn bright.

He was coming out of a room when Trinity stepped into his path. Not blocking him exactly, but not moving either. 

“Dude.” She kept her voice down, but it still cut. “You look like a zombie.”

He almost walked around her. His scrub top was sticking a little at the small of his back. He hadn’t noticed until then, and now he couldn’t unnotice it. “I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not fine. You look like you got hit by a bus and then the bus backed up and hit you again.” She tipped her head, studying his face. “Are you sick?”

“I’m fine.” He said again, a little more forcefully. “Trin, I have to—”

“Stop saying you’re fine when you’re not!” She hissed at him. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on!” It came out sharper than he meant. He felt the heat in his face flare up and hated it. “I’m tired. I didn’t sleep. That’s it. Can you not do this right now?”

She didn’t back down. “I’m doing this because you look like shit and you’re pretending you don’t. You’re all pale and you’re moving weird. I’m just worried you, okay?” 

Dennis hated being fussed over, and he especially hated that he was worrying her. But if he didn’t feel so awful, he might have found her confession almost endearing. 

“I’ll be fine.” He assured her. “Thank you for worrying, but I’ve got patients.”

Her mouth tightened. For a second she looked like she was going to push more, but she just exhaled through her nose. “Okay. Whatever. But just wait till Robby sees you—”

“Please don’t.” It came out too fast. “Don’t tell him. Just… leave it. I’m good.”

He moved around her before she could answer. His hands were damp inside the next pair of gloves. 

He almost made it ten minutes before Dana caught him as he tried to pass the nurse’s station. She didn’t say anything at first. She just moved in front of him with a look that made him stop dead in his tracks. She reached out like she might check his forehead but then retracted it, which somehow made it worse.

“Whitaker.” She breathed out. “You look pale as a ghost, kid. Take a seat before you keel over.”

“I’m working.”

“I can see that. I can also see you. You look like you’re about to pass out on my floor and I am not in the mood to fill out the paperwork.” She looked him up and down. “You sick or something?”

“Tired.” He admitted, partially. “I just need to finish this shift.”

“You need to look less like a corpse is what you need. No offence.” She wasn’t moving. “You can’t take care of anyone else if you aren’t taking care of yourself.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep. That’s all. Please, I have to get back—”

“Do I need to go get Robby?”

That did it. He felt something ugly and tight in his chest, a surge of pressure that had nowhere to go.

“Can you just leave me be!” It snapped out of him before he could stop it. Too loud. Too sharp. A couple of heads turned, but he couldn’t stop there. “Trinity is already on my ass. I don’t need it from you too. I’m not a kid. I’m working, so please, leave me alone.”

His own voice rang in his ears, ugly and wrong, and the second it was all out he wanted it back. Her eyes widened and her lips parted, a little huff of air escaping. It wasn’t often that he’d seen her speechless.

“I’m sorry.” It tumbled out. “Dana, I’m sorry. I didn’t— I shouldn’t have. I’m just— You’re right, I need a minute. I’m sorry.”

He turned and walked quickly toward the bathroom, pulse hammering in his throat, the bracelet sliding down his wrist like it was trying to remind him of the version of himself that had existed that morning, the one that McKay thought he was.

So you can see how good you are at making people feel like they belong. I wanted to remind you to stay the way you are.

The bathroom was empty, thankfully. He locked himself in, both hands on the sink, and just stood there for a moment facing his reflection. Sure enough, he looked like shit. He couldn’t even blame people for their worry, he looked unbelievably pale and clammy and it felt like his skin was on fire.

He turned the tap and threw water on his face as if it would help fix the issue. It ran down his neck, into the collar of his scrubs. He did it again, and again, until he felt slightly less like he was boiling. He leaned on the wall after, forehead almost to the tile, breathing like he’d run a flight of stairs.

He stayed there longer than he should have, counting breaths, telling himself to get it together. Praying, stupidly, that nobody else had noticed. That Robby hadn’t seen or heard about any of it. That Dana wouldn’t say something. That Trinity would also keep her mouth shut for once in her life.

He couldn’t afford this. Not the hours, for one. Rent and loans still demanded the most of him. Missing a shift wasn’t an option. Calling out wasn’t an option. Looking weak in front of Robby really wasn’t an option. That was really what he couldn’t afford, above all else. 

The bathroom door pushed open a crack and then the rest of the way, while Dennis was still at the sink with water dripping off his chin. Langdon’s voice reverberated off of the tile.

“Hey, Whitaker… just making sure you didn’t fall in the toilet.” Langdon leaned in the doorway, looking him up and down. “You doing okay? You don’t look too good, man.”

Dennis straightened too fast. The room tipped a little and then settled. He grabbed a paper towel, dragging it over his face. “Long night and long day. You know how it is.”

“You’ve been in here a while. Like, a while while. Dana sent me to check up on you.”

Dennis’s stomach flipped. He was sure it had only been a couple of minutes. “I’m peachy.”

“Uh-huh.” Langdon stepped inside anyway, letting the door ease shut behind him. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Bad sleep.” Dennis tossed the paper towel, totally missing the can. His hands were still a little unsteady as he bent over to pick it up. He luckily kept his balance. “I’m good. I just needed a minute. I’m going back out now.”

Langdon didn’t look convinced whatsoever. “No offence, but this looks like more than a bad night of sleep.”

“With all due respect, I have patients to get back to. I can’t stand in the bathroom talking about my bedtime.” He straightened out with a deep breath. “Thanks for checking on me though. You can tell Dana, and everyone else, not to worry.”

Langdon watched him carefully before stepping aside. “If you puke or pass out, I’m telling Robby it wasn’t on me.” He said it light, jokingly. 

“Robby doesn’t need to know.” His jaw clenched. Why was everyone bringing up Robby?

“He won’t want to hear from me anyway. Can’t promise secrecy from anyone else though. Maybe don’t disappear in the bathroom for ten minutes next time, people notice.”

Ten minutes.

Dennis’s ears rang a little. He muttered something that was supposed to be thanks and slid past Langdon into the hall, eyes already scanning, already cutting away from the hub, from prying eyes. He moved on wobbly legs, picking up some other low-risk patients.

The first was an older man with some pain in his wrist. Dennis asked routine questions. The man was answering with long-winded responses, and Dennis was nodding before he realized he’d missed the last answer completely. The man’s mouth had been moving, and Dennis hadn’t picked up any of it.

“Sorry.” He interrupted. “Can you repeat that?”

The man said it again, annoyed. Dennis wrote it down, the pen feeling heavy. He ordered the labs, tried to say the right reassuring things, and got out before he could space out again.

The next one was a kid with an earache. Easy. He looked in the ear, but his brain and eyes were struggling to cooperate with each other. The mom was watching him, so he gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. It felt wrong on his face. He prescribed antibiotics and couldn’t have repeated the discharge instructions if someone put a gun to his head. He asked Kim to do it.

Charting was worse. The screen was too bright, edging him towards the beginning of a migraine. He started a note and his eyes unfocused in the middle of a sentence. He blinked hard, the letters swimming in front of him. His head dipped once, chin toward his chest, and he jerked back up with his heart slamming, afraid to know how much time had passed. His scrubs were starting to stick more. He took a sip of water, then another, and still felt like he’d been eating dust. His eyes closed. Just for a second, just to reset his eyes.

A hand on his shoulder felt heavy. “Whitaker.”

He snapped up so hard the chair rolled. For a second he didn’t know where he was. He looked up frantically to see Dana’s face, but she didn’t look angry. She looked worried, which was worse. 

She kept her voice down, but it had an edge. “That’s the second time I’ve watched you nod off. Don’t tell me you’re fine.”

“I wasn’t—” He wiped at his mouth. “I was just… thinking. I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay, kid.” She was already looking past him, already making a decision. “Stay. Don’t get up. Don’t argue with me.”

“Dana—”

She didn’t wait. She turned and called, not loud, but enough. “Doctor Al-Hashimi, can I steal you for a second?”

Despite being grateful that it wasn’t his other attending being summoned, Dennis’s heart skipped a beat. He started to stand but Dana’s look pinned him. He sat back, pulse loud in his ears, heat crawling up his neck. Al-Hashimi came over fast, already in work mode, already scanning him the way she would scan a patient. “What’s going on?”

“He looks like death, don’t you agree?” Dana said, not bothering to sugarcoat it. “He’s telling everyone he didn’t sleep.”

Dennis tried to smile and wave it off. “I’m okay, Doctor Al, really—”

The rest died in his throat. It hit all at once. A sudden, ugly churn low in his gut, like the floor had dropped out from underneath him. Sweat popped along his hairline. His mouth filled with saliva, a gross warning of what was to come. He stood up too fast, the chair banging behind him.

Someone called his name, but he didn’t hear who. He was already moving, cutting through the traffic at the desk with his shoulder, not able to care who he bumped into, the nausea rolling up so sharp his vision tunneled. 

He barrelled into the bathroom and just made it to the toilet before he doubled over. He heaved, but nothing came out. His whole body locked, shoulders shaking, a raw sound ripping out of him. He’d eaten nothing all day, which wasn’t helping. 

He stayed hunched over, breathing in short ugly pulls. His scrubs were fully plastered to him now. Sweat ran down his back, under his arms, at his hairline, cold even though he still felt too hot. He spat again, still nothing but spit. His hands were shaking as he braced himself against the stall.

The door opened again, not just a crack this time. Dennis knew who it was before the voice came because his body knew first, that stupid alert that had been firing all year whenever Robby was in a room.

“Whitaker?”

Dennis closed his eyes. Of course it was him. The last person he could afford to look like this in front of, and the only person he had been trying all afternoon not to be seen by, and here he was anyway, because God apparently had a sense of humor and it was mean.

He pushed himself upright. The stall swam, but he managed to get the door open with one hand still on it, because standing without something to hold felt like a bad idea. Robby was just inside the bathroom, the door easing shut behind him. His jaw was tight, concerned eyes already scanning him. Dennis had seen it done for probably hundreds of patients. He had never been on the other end of it quite like this.

“I—” Dennis started, but wasn’t sure what the rest of the sentence was supposed to be.

Robby’s gaze moved over him, taking it all in. “I’ve been hearing things, but Jesus. You look like hell.”

“I’m fine.” He said, and it came out wrecked. He swallowed. “I’ve been feeling a little off since this morning. That’s all. I can finish.”

Robby stepped closer. Close enough that Dennis’s lungs forgot the assignment. He couldn’t breathe. He stood there with his back almost to the stall and Robby filling the space in front of him. His whole nervous system lit up unhelpfully.

Robby lifted a hand.

The back of it came to rest against Dennis’s forehead, seemingly not bothered by the sweat-damp curls stuck there, by the heat coming off him, by any of it. Dennis’s eyes wanted to close. He let them, just for a second, because Robby’s hands felt so nice and he had missed them in a way he was never going to say out loud.

Robby searched his face. Whatever he found there put a furrow in his brow. “What’s been going on with you, kid?”

“Just a bad night of sleep.” Dennis grunted it, eyes still shut. The words felt thin even as he said them. Robby’s hand was still there. He wanted to lean into it more, but held back.

“Look at me.”

Dennis obeyed. He wrenched his eyes open and made himself hold the contact. It felt like Robby was staring into his soul. He watched a variety of emotions cross the attending’s face before his hand dropped.

“Come with me, Whitaker.”

He turned, and Dennis followed because there was nothing else to do, the same way he had followed McKay out to the park that morning, except this did not feel like an adventure. Robby led him out of the bathroom and down the short hall toward the lockers, not touching him, not looking back, just expecting him to keep up. Dennis’s legs were not entirely convinced they could. 

At the lockers, Robby stopped and turned. He studied Dennis with intense eyes, his jaw set. The almost-smile from the morning was gone. What was left was stone.

I’m so fucked. Dennis thought, with a clarity that cut through the fog.

Robby was going to send him home. He was going to think Dennis was an idiot for pretending he was okay to work, and he was going to take him off the floor. He would be right, it was a foolish decision to try and treat patients while coming down with any sort of sickness. He wouldn’t blame Robby for any scolding he was about to receive.

“I’m going to ask you this once.” Robby’s voice was flat, not at all the warm concern from the bathroom. “What are you on right now?”

Huh? Dennis blinked at him owlishly. “What?”

“You heard me.” He hissed it. “What. Are. You. On.”

Dennis’s mouth opened, then immediately closed. The accusation was so far from anything he had been bracing for that his brain couldn’t find a place to put it.

“Are you asking me if I’m on drugs?” His voice cracked on it. “If I’m high right now?”

“No.” Robby’s eyes were dark, seething. And underneath it, devastated, which added to the blow. “I know you’re high right now. Your pupils are hardly even fucking there. I’m asking what you took.”

“Nothing!” It came out too loud. Dennis took a step forward without meaning to, begging with his whole body for Robby to believe him. “I didn’t—I don’t. I don’t do drugs. I hardly even drink except when Trinity drags me out and she pays. Robby, I swear. I didn’t take anything. I wouldn’t. You know I wouldn’t.”

Robby’s jaw flexed. “Open your locker.”

“But I—”

“Don’t make me rip the door off, please.” He looked furious, but there was still that layer of sadness, like he was pleading more than scolding, like he wanted Dennis to make this easy, to just admit it so they could deal with it.

Dennis clamped his mouth shut, realizing that he was fighting a losing battle. He shuffled closer to his locker. The combination took three tries, his hands trembling and his mind still foggy. The fluorescents were making his head hurt so badly he wanted to put his forehead against the metal and stay there. The lock finally gave and he stepped out of the way.

Robby tore it apart.

He went through all of it like he expected to find something and was going to keep looking until he did. He checked every pocket of his jacket. The lining and bottom of his bag. Nothing. He stood there with Dennis’s jacket in one hand and the empty locker in front of him and the silence stretched until Dennis could hear his own pulse in his ears.

He was utterly devastated. Robby didn’t believe him, even now with no evidence. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror past Robby’s shoulder, the one on the back of the door, and he understood the assumption.

His pupils were pinpricks. The rest of his face was the color of paper, sweat still shining at his hairline, and he looked… God, he looked like someone who had taken something. He looked like the patients they brought in from the street. He looked like Lindsey on a bad day. He looked like a liar.

“Robby, I swear.” He rasped it. “I didn’t.”

Robby refused to look at him. He shoved the jacket back in and slammed the locker shut with a defeated sigh. “You need to go home. You can’t be here.”

“I would never—” Dennis started, and then stopped, because he knew how bad this looked. “I don’t understand. I promise I didn’t take anything.”

“Yeah? Should we get a drug test, then?” Robby turned on him then, voice sharp and mean. “Your choice, kid. We can do this the quiet way or I can report it. You think I want to do that to you? You think I want to stand here and—” He stopped. His throat worked. “This is a fucking huge deal, you understand that? And now you lie to my face.”

Dennis’s head was swimming. The room tilted around him. Robby kept talking, something about Langdon, about his career, about trust, but Dennis could hardly hear him anymore. His heartbeat was so loud in his skull it drowned out the words. He wanted to cry. Robby was looking at him like Dennis had disappointed him, and nothing could make it better. It was finally happening, the day he dreaded. Dennis would have taken the fever and the dry heaves and Dana’s paperwork a hundred times over this.

I trust you, Whitaker. Robby had said it before he left for his sabbatical. Dennis had broken that trust. He wasn’t sure how, but it was all his fault.

He reached for the locker to steady himself. He missed, his fingers scraping the metal. The lights went too bright, then not bright enough. He heard Robby say his name, panicked, not the cold voice from before. He felt a hand on his arm, solid, the same gentle hand that had been on his forehead five minutes ago as the floor rushed up to meet him.

☆ ☆ ☆ 

Robby saw it happen in pieces.

One second Dennis was still talking, still trying to make a case with that wrecked, pleading voice, reaching for the locker like it might hold him up. The next, his breathing went shallow and his balance went with it. He hit the lockers with his shoulder hard enough to rattle the doors, and started to slide.

“Woah, Whitaker—”

Robby got a hand on him before he hit the floor. His eyes were pointed down, unfocused, his hands flailing uselessly. They looked gray, the color of someone whose perfusion was already failing.

“Breathe. Just breathe.”

The attempts came out as choking, pathetic little gasps that didn’t fill anything, his throat working, his chest hitching without result. Robby felt the anger drain out of him so fast it made him feel faint. All the hurt, all the fury, gone. What replaced it was pure terror.

“Please, Dennis.” He could hear how desperate he sounded. “What did you take? You need to tell me right now.”

“Nothing…” It came out as a wheeze. 

“Don’t lie to me!” Robby shook him to keep him awake, but his eyes rolled. “No. No, no, no. Stay with me. Stay with me.”

He went completely slack in his hands, and Robby didn’t hesitate. He scooped him up, his back twinging at the dead weight, but he couldn’t think about anything except moving. He hit the hallway at a near-run, Dennis’s head lolling against his shoulder.

“I need a bed!”

Lots of heads turned. The hub froze for a split second to process the scene in front of them before snapping into action. They looked as panicked as he felt, and he hated that they could probably see it on him.

Al-Hashimi was there as he dumped the resident onto the nearest gurney. “What’s going on?”

They were rolling toward one of the trauma rooms, a flurry of motion to get him hooked to a monitor. Robby’s hands were traveling over the younger man, checking a pulse that was there but wrong, too slow, the skin under his fingers clammy and cooling.

“I don’t know.” He said, startled by the way his voice shook. “But I need you back on the floor. Give me McKay and Langdon.”

“They’re busy. They just had an overdose roll in next door—”

Robby’s head snapped to the adjoining room, spotting her with another patient. “Get me McKay. Now.”

They locked eyes briefly, hers going wide when she realized it was Dennis on the gurney. 

He was already barking at the nurses, the words coming out of the part of his brain that still functioned when the rest of him was screaming. “Naloxone. Both rooms. Push it. Don’t wait.”

They moved. Narcan drawn with two teams. Someone was cutting Dennis’s scrub top. Someone else was on the airway. Robby’s own hands were at Dennis’s arms, his neck, the insides of his elbows, looking and finding nothing. No pinpricks, no tracking. No old scars, no fresh ones. The skin was clean. The history, as far as Robby had ever known it, was clean. 

“Come on.” Robby muttered, more to himself than to anyone. “Come on, kid. Don’t you do this.”

Santos hit the room like a door coming off its hinges. She was already gloved, already reaching for him. “Doctor Santos—”

“Don’t.” She didn’t look at him. She was checking a pulse, counting under her breath. “Just tell me what you need.”

“You’re too close to this.” He shook his head. “You can’t treat him. It’s too personal.”

Her head snapped up. “And it’s not for you?”

He tried to ignore that she had a point,  his hands still on Dennis’s sternum. He turned back to the monitor instead of answering. “Does he take anything at home? Any meds, any recreational drugs? Anything you know about?”

She shook her head adamantly. She was still holding Dennis’s wrist. “I’ve never seen any meds. He doesn’t even like to drink. He doesn’t even smoke weed, the fucking square.” Her voice cracked on the last of it. “What the hell happened?”

He didn’t have an answer. He had nothing but the image of him sliding down the lockers. McKay came in hard, still stripping a gown from the room next door, already talking.

“What happened?”

“The patient from this morning.” He didn’t look up from the line they were pushing. “Who was she?”

“Lindsey?” Her face went pale. “That’s who just rolled in next door. Overdose. I swear he was gloved the whole time, we always glove. We’ve treated her before. He’s treated her before.”

“Well he came into contact with something. There wasn’t anything in his locker.”

“What?” Santos gave him an incredulous look. 

Robby felt a wave of shame wash over him. The last thing he had said to Dennis, which was still possible the last if the Narcan didn’t hold, was that he was a liar. He had torn the kid’s locker apart and looked at him like he was Langdon. He had watched Dennis beg and he didn’t believe him. He wasn’t exactly sure which part of the whole ordeal hurt the most.

“Narcan’s in.”

Both rooms jumped at once. Next door, he heard a wet gasping sound, McKay already moving toward her with Langdon on her heels. A second after, Dennis arched off the gurney like he’d been shocked, a raw broken inhale tearing out of him, eyes flying open and arms moving wildly. Robby got a hand on his shoulder while Santos got the other side. They held him down without too much force, the way you did with someone coming up hard and confused.

“Easy. Easy, Whitaker. You’re okay. You’re in the Pitt. We’ve got you.”

Dennis choked on air. His hands came up, weak, batting at nothing. The monitor climbed. His pupils were still wrong, but he was breathing better, and Robby had never been so grateful for the ugly animal sound of it.

He knew that neither he nor Santos should be treating him, but he kept his hands where they were anyway. McKay was back in the doorway long enough to talk, splitting herself between rooms.

“We irrigated, debrided, he sutured.” She went through the events. “She gave him a bracelet before we left.”

Robby had seen it. He had seen it and thought nothing except that Whitaker looked happy, that skip in his step, that ridiculous homemade thing sitting on his wrist. Robby didn’t have the heart to scold them for leaving the building when he had that bright look on his face. 

Contact, residue. Enough of it on something that cheap and porous to drop a healthy adult hours later, slowly, while he walked around the department pretending he was just tired. He reached down. The bracelet was still there, dark with sweat, riding up where Dennis had shoved it earlier. Robby worked it off quickly. 

“I need a cup of water and a test strip.”

He didn’t process who got them for him, but in a little over a minute, it came back positive.

Fentanyl.

Robby’s vision tunneled at the edges. He put a hand on the gurney rail and waited for the room to come back. It did, mostly. Then Dennis’s breathing changed again, that same shallow, insufficient pull, and the monitor dropped, and he went out from under them like someone had cut a string.

“Again!” Robby barked. “Another dose, now!”

They pushed it. Santos was saying his name, over and over as Robby watched his chest. Watched the numbers. Dennis came back slower this time, not a jolt but a crawl. His eyes opened to slits, unfocused, mouth moving around slurred words. Robby leaned in to catch it.

“I don’t.” It was barely air. “I don’t do drugs. I promise. I promise. I wouldn’t.”

Robby’s breath hitched. He brushed away the sweat-slicked hair at his temple. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re gonna be okay now. Do you hear me? You’re gonna be okay.”

Dennis’s eyes found him for a second. Then they drifted, but he was still breathing, and Robby would take it as a small win. His voice shook as he ordered for him to be put on Oxygen therapy, with a continuous naloxone infusion, just to be safe. He stood there while they moved him to a more private room, but one still close to the nurses’ station so that they could keep a close eye on him. Rebound was a thing, and the thought of it terrified him. 

He’d need to be monitored closely for several hours, and Santos didn’t bother asking. “I’m staying.”

The least Robby felt like he could do was grant her that. He just nodded and after Dennis was settled, left to give them some privacy. It felt like his legs would buckle any minute, but he didn’t want to think about any of it. Any of the feelings swirling viciously in his chest. He quickly grabbed a new patient to distract himself. 

☆ ☆ ☆ 

The world came back in pieces. Light first, too much of it, smeared across the ceiling. Then sound, monitors and distant voices. His body arrived last, all at once, and it arrived wrong. The oxygen mask made him feel claustrophobic. His tongue felt too thick. There was a line in his arm he could feel if he thought about it, and he didn’t really want to think about it.

Then his stomach folded in on itself.

He retched, a dry ugly lurch that threw him forward away from the mattress. His hands came up on instinct and hit the mask, fumbling, trying to get it off before he made a mess in it. The strap caught in his hair. He gagged again, eyes watering, the room tilting hard to the left.

“Hey—hey, I got it. I got it, Huck.”

An emesis bag appeared under his chin, one hand steadying the back of his neck after the mask was wrenched off. It was mostly water, and maybe a hint of coffee. His whole body locked around it anyway, shoulders shaking as he made gross retching noises. Trinity didn’t flinch. She just held the bag and waited him out, her face looking oddly sympathetic.

When it stopped, he spat, breathed, and felt slightly better. Like something poisonous had been wrung out of him. The dryness was still there. The tiredness sat behind his eyes like a weight. But the churning had eased enough that he could tell which way was up. 

“What’s going on?” Robby barreled in like the room was on fire, already scanning. Dennis kept his face hidden in the bag. Mortified didn’t even begin to cover it. 

“Nothing.” Trinity said, dry as ever. “He’s just filtering shit out. No aspiration. Don’t worry.”

“Okay. Good. Good, that’s—” Robby’s breath left him in a rush. “Keep an eye on him. If anything changes, I want to know. Anything. Vitals, mental status, if he goes out again—”

“Got it, captain.”

Then the footsteps went, the door easing closed again, and the room got smaller in a way that was almost a relief. Trinity set the bag down, wiped his mouth with a napkin like he was five, and fitted the mask back over his face with surprising gentleness. Only then did she sit back in the chair, kick her feet up on the base of the bed, and turn that sly little smile on him.

“He’s got it bad for you, you know.”

Dennis let out a sound that might have been a laugh if it had any air in it. It came out as a rasp against the plastic. “Yeah right. He nearly sent me home. Just like Langdon.”

The smug smile vanished. “He what?”

Dennis closed his eyes. The ceiling was still too bright through his lids. He could still feel Robby’s hand on his forehead in the bathroom, the way it had been kind, and then the way that kindness had turned to dust in front of the lockers. The two versions of the same man stacked on top of each other until Dennis couldn’t tell which one he would inevitably need to face again.

“He found me in the bathroom.” Talking hurt for multiple reasons. “I looked like shit. I know I did. He took me to the lockers and he asked me what I was on.” He swallowed. The mask fogged. “He said he knew I was high.”

She didn’t interrupt but her face turned into a scowl.

“He went through my locker.” Dennis’s voice thinned out. “Tore it apart. Couldn’t find anything, obviously. But he didn’t believe me. He told me I had to go home.” He let out a breath that shook. “Which, I get. He was right, I was high. I just didn’t—I didn’t take anything. I didn’t know.”

“He thought you came in using?” She said slowly, like they tasted gross in his mouth. “He thought you were, what, pulling a Langdon?”

“He looked at me like I was.” Dennis’s hand drifted to his wrist, found skin instead of cord, and the absence of the bracelet saddened him. “And I get it, I do. If I was him I would’ve thought the same thing.”

He heard himself keep going and couldn’t make it stop. The excuses stacked up, thin and automatic, the same way he talked patients down from the ledge of their own worst assumptions.

“He had Langdon. You know what that did to him. What was he supposed to think? He was doing his job. He was protecting the floor. He—” His voice broke.

His face just crumpled, and then he was crying into the oxygen mask like an idiot, the plastic fogging even more, the hitch in his chest pulling at every sore muscle. He turned his head toward the pillow because looking at Trinity while he did it felt even more embarrassing.

It hurt. Not the accusation, not the locker debacle, not even the threat about reporting. It was being called a liar by the person he had spent a year trying to be worthy of. Robby, who had previously trusted him so deeply. 

“Hey.” Trinity’s voice had lost all of the slyness. “Dennis. Hey. Look at me.”

He shook his head, small and miserable. A sound came out of him that made him feel more pathetic. He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes but it did nothing. The tears kept coming, and he hated that he couldn’t stop them, hated that Robby might walk back in and see them too. Another disappointment. 

“It wasn’t—he didn’t—” He had to stop and breathe through the mask. 

The chair she was in scraped closer, and her hand landed on his forearm. “Listen, I’m going to tell you what actually happened, because you are blaming yourself, and I am not doing that.”

He blinked at her, vision swimming.

“The bracelet that your street patient made you.” She nodded at his empty wrist. “They tested the cord. It came back positive for fentanyl. You didn’t take anything, you absorbed it. Hours of it sitting on your skin, sweat, whatever. That’s why you went downhill so slow. That’s why you looked high. Because you were, technically. But it was a crazy accident. Not your fault.” Her mouth tightened. “She came in the same time you went down.”

Dennis’s brain snagged on the last detail. “Lindsey? Is she okay?”

“That’s all you took from that?” She grunted. “She’ll be fine, she’s upstairs. The moral of the story is it’s not your fault, asshole.”

She squeezed his arm again before letting go. Dennis stared at the ceiling. The relief about Lindsey lasted exactly as long as it took for the rest of it to catch up. Fentanyl on a thank-you bracelet. It was almost funny.

But it wasn’t funny at all, really. He had been high at work. No matter how it happened, no matter the gloves and the good intentions and the park and McKay saying he was good at making people belong. He had walked the floor like that. He had picked up patients like that. He had almost sutured a kid with hands that wouldn’t listen. He had snapped at Dana of all people. He had hidden from Robby. He had stood in front of his attending with pinprick pupils and sworn he was fine.

Robby was surely disappointed in him, if not still mad. Dennis could live with being sick, but he didn’t know how to live with being a letdown in the one place he had finally felt like he was enough.

“I should have just listened the first time anybody was concerned. Instead I made him find me like that. I let him down.”

“Are you kidding me?” Trinity stood up so fast the chair bumped the bed. It wasn’t really a question. She paced around the room, angrily waving her hands in the air. “Dennis. You got poisoned. And you are lying here crying because you think Robby is disappointed that you didn’t clock your own overdose fast enough. Do you hear yourself?”

“Trinity—”

“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t do that. He’s an idiot, sure. But you didn’t see his face when you went out the second time.” She tipped her head toward the door. “I’m telling you. No one is upset with you. Especially not him. That was a fucking wake-up call if I’ve ever seen one.”

Dennis remembered it then, the horrified look on Robby’s face when he’d first gone down. 

“For what it’s worth, I believed you before the test strip. I would have believed you even if Robby had found a pharmacy in your locker.” She poked at him. “You’re the most aggressively boring person I know. And you’re a terrible liar.”

He huffed, which pulled at the mask and made his eyes water again. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I’ll be spending the rest of our lives making fun of you for getting taken out by jewelry.” She glanced at the door, then back, and her voice dropped. “You want me to tell him to stay out? Because I will.”

“Don’t. He was—he was scared. You’re probably right about that, I think. I don’t want him staying out. I just…” He flexed his fingers, watching them like they might go gray again. “I don’t know how to look at him.”

She was at the door, already craning into the hall. “Hey Jesse! I need you in here, please.”

He appeared in the doorway with a questioning look. He took one look at Dennis’s face and then at Trinity’s and had the good sense not to question it.

“Stay with him for a sec?” She asked. “If he so much as looks like he’s going to nod off, come get me.”

“Trinity.” Dennis tried to sit up, but his body protested. “Don’t. Please don’t go after him”

“Relax.” She huffed. “I’ll be right back.”

Then she was gone. Jesse lingered at the door, looking like he would rather be anywhere else. “Should I even ask?”

“No.” Dennis let his head fall back against the pillow. His face was still wet, his wrist still empty. 

☆ ☆ ☆ 

Robby told himself he was doing everyone a favor by not hovering. He was giving Dennis space, doing the professional thing for once in a day that had already proven he couldn’t be trusted with it. He stood at the hub with a chart in his hand and his body pointed the wrong direction, trying his best to avoid walking toward the room.

He took the next patient he saw on the board. And the one after that. And again until his brain was filled with things that weren’t his resident in a bed.

Despite his desperate attempts at returning to normalcy, he was clipped. Short with a nurse who asked him to repeat an order he had already mumbled. Shorter with a med student who hovered too close to a laceration. “If you’re going to stand there, be useful or get out.”

He heard himself reverting, the old version of himself bubbling up to the surface, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Al-Hashimi found him between patients while he was looking at a chart he was struggling to focus on.

“Doctor Robby.” It was gentle, more than he deserved, which made him more annoyed. “You should take ten. You’ve been very on edge since—”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re barking at people who didn’t do anything.” She gave him a stern look, but still soft around the edges. “The floor is covered. He’s stable. Go sit down.”

“I said I’m fine.” He walked away from her before she could continue pressing him. Kindness felt like a thing he had not earned, not today, not with Whitaker two rooms over breathing on a naloxone drip because Robby had been too busy being furious to notice his resident was dying in front of him.

Dana was less gentle. She stepped into his path, folding her arms. “Take a minute, Robinavitch.”

“Dana—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion. You look like you’re about to take someone’s head off, and I am not in the mood to referee you and the rest of my staff because you won’t sit down for five minutes.”

“I have patients.”

“Gee, where have I heard this before? You have a resident in a bed who almost coded and you’re working yourself to the brink so that you don’t have to face it.” She didn’t blink. “Take. A. Minute.”

“I don’t need a minute. I need people to do their jobs and stay out of my way!” It came out as ugly as he intended. Dana’s eyebrows went up, just slightly, then she shook her head.

“You’re just as stubborn as the kid.” She huffed. “He spent all day insisting he was fine while he was falling apart. Now you’re doing the same damn thing. Sit down or don’t. But don’t take it out on my nurses.”

She stepped aside. He did not sit down. In fact, he was picking up another two patients when McKay caught him at the board.

“Lindsey’s asking for Whitaker.” She said it carefully, like she already knew how it was going to land. “She wants to see him, to apologize. She’s stable, she’s with it, she’s—Robby, she didn’t know about the bracelet.”

“Not a fucking chance.”

McKay’s mouth flattened. “She wanted to give him a gift. She didn’t do this on purpose.”

“I don’t care what she intended, he is not seeing her. Not while he’s still on a drip because of her.” He snarled. “Either you can tell her no, or I can.”

McKay bit back whatever she wanted to say. Instead of a retort, she turned and walked away without another word. Dana, who had apparently not gone far enough, shook her head.

“Don’t you think he should get a say in who can see him?”

“He’s too nice to say no to a visit, even if he should.” He turned on her, the rest pouring out of him in one breath. “This is her fault. She handed him a bracelet soaked in fentanyl and he wore it around like a medal because that’s what he does, he takes whatever people give him and he makes it mean something, and now he’s in a bed. So no, he doesn’t get to sit at his bedside and feel better about it.”

“Robby.”

“What.”

“Who are you really blaming here?”

The question sat in the air between them, and Robby recoiled like he’d been smacked. He could have said Lindsey. He could have said the street, the opioid epidemic, the fact that fentanyl lived on everything now. He could have said McKay for taking him off-site. He could have said Dennis himself for not coming off the floor when he first started dropping.

But the truth was himself.

He always had his eyes on Dennis. That was the joke of it, the thing he would never say out loud, the fact of his shifts for the better part of a year. Before and after his sabbatical. 

He knew where he was at all times, always excited to run into him throughout the day, and even luckier when they were working a case together. And yet he had missed it.

Pale and clammy. Disappearing into bathrooms. Handing off patients. Nodding off. All of it had happened on Robby’s floor, in Robby’s line of sight if he had bothered to use it, and he had been so busy not hovering that he hadn’t seen any of it coming.

“I’ve got a patient.” He choked out, which wasn’t an answer, but Dana let him go with a look that said she already knew. He shrugged off the pity he felt for himself and let it simmer into guilt again. He deserved it.

He was hiding in the ambulance bay, sucking in the fresh air when Santos found him. She came in hot, eyes bright with fury. “You don’t get to do that.”

“Santos—”

“You don’t get to tear his locker apart and call him a liar and throw Langdon in his face like this is the same thing.” Her voice was shaking. “You don’t get to treat him like that and not apologize. Dennis can be stubborn, he can be an idiot. But if there is one thing he’s not, it’s a liar.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because he’s in that bed crying about it.” She gestured sharply to the building. “He’s in there on a drip making excuses for you.”

Robby kept his eyes down at the concrete because looking at Santos felt like facing a mirror he couldn’t handle staring directly into.

“Believe me, nobody is as mad at me right now as I am.” He dragged a hand over his mouth. “I feel like shit. He was being poisoned in front of me and I treated him like a junkie.”

Her anger didn’t vanish, but it changed shape. She crossed her arms, still blocking the door back inside, still not done. “So go tell him that.”

“I think it’s better if I keep my distance.” The words tasted like cowardice even as he said them. “He doesn’t need me in there. He needs to rest. He needs people who didn’t just—”

“God you’re both so fucking stupid!” She threw her hands into the air. “He thinks the world of you. That is the whole problem. That is why he hid it from you all afternoon. That is why he wouldn’t let anyone call you. That is why he stood in a bathroom trying to pull himself together instead of asking for help. He would rather die on your floor than disappoint you, and congratulations, you made sure he thinks he did.” 

It took Robby more than one attempt to swallow around the lump in his throat. In all his years in medicine, he had never been as proud of anything as he was of Dennis. Not just because of how naturally brilliant and compassionate he was, but because of how much he had blossomed into the kind of doctor Robby had always known he could be. Robby had watched him grow into his confidence, watched him start trusting his own instincts, and had never been more certain that Dennis belonged exactly where he was. And now, in one terrible afternoon, Robby had pissed all over it.

“He still thinks you’re disappointed in him, right now. So you don’t get to keep your distance because you feel guilty. You go in there and you apologize. You tell him he didn’t do anything wrong. You tell him he’s still your resident. And you do it like you mean it, because if you don’t, you’ll have to deal with me. And I can be brutal.”

He thought about Dennis’s face in the locker room. The way it had crumpled when he realized Robby didn’t believe him. The fresh air wasn’t helping the twist in his gut.

“Once things wind down.” He nodded. “I’ll go in. I promise.”

“You’d better.” She turned to go, then paused, just in front of the sliding doors. “Don’t make him wait all night wondering. He has enough going on without that.”

Then she was gone, back toward the room, and Robby stood for a few moments longer before heading back in. He cleared the rest of his patients, signed some charts without snapping, and practiced an apology that was already sitting in his throat.

He headed toward Dennis’s room, his steps slower than usual as he tried to figure out the best way to set the record straight. He was going to check on him, tell him the truth, and make damn sure Dennis understood that none of what had happened had changed how Robby saw him. That plan still felt inadequate.

As he approached the room, he heard the other voices before he saw them.

McKay’s low, careful register, and under it a hoarse woman’s voice breaking apart on every other word. Robby’s hand was already on the doorframe when he registered the scene in front of him. It took every ounce of control to stop at the threshold and not go in.

Dennis was sitting up against the pillows, mask tugged down under his chin, oxygen still hissing unused. He still looked like a mess, eyes swollen and skin an off color, but he was doing the thing he always did. Making himself smaller so someone else could take up the space. Lindsey was in a wheelchair, her drip attached carefully to a movable pole, crying into the blanket near his knee. McKay stood behind the chair with a solemn look on her face.

“I didn’t know.” She sniffled. “I swear to God I didn’t know. I made it weeks ago, I just—I wanted to give you something. I would never. If I’d known I would have thrown it in the river. I’m so sorry. I’m so—please, doc, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey.” Dennis’s voice sounded rough, but the tone was gentle as ever. “Hey. It’s okay. You didn’t do it on purpose. I know that.”

Robby watched as she pleaded quietly, Dennis’s hand reaching out to take hers. 

“Listen. When you’re upstairs, when they talk to you about a counselor, I’ll come with you. If you want. You don’t have to do that part alone. We can figure it out.”

Robby’s first instinct was to walk in and stop it. To stop the resident’s unbridled need to help, to put others before himself. The second was to pull McKay out and lecture her ear off until he felt even a little bit better. But he knew it wouldn’t work, so he did neither. He stood in the doorway with his jaw locked and let them finish up. Dennis looked at peace for the first time since that morning, and interrupting felt like kicking something that was already on the ground.

McKay looked up and caught him watching. Robby tipped his head toward the hall. She murmured something to Lindsey, squeezed the back of the chair, and stepped up to the doorway, not quite outside of the room. 

Robby took a steadying breath and kept his voice down. “I thought I told you no.”

“I know.”

“I told you not a chance, Cassie. I thought it was pretty clear.”

Her chin came up, but her voice stayed quiet. “She asked for him and he said yes. I’m not going to tell a patient she doesn’t get to apologize to the person she dosed by accident because you’re angry.”

“I am not—” He cut it off. “This isn’t about that. You went around me.”

“I did. And I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry.” She looked back at them. “He’s her doctor too, Robby. You don’t get to make decisions for him because you feel guilty.”

“Tread very carefully.” He gritted his teeth, but he unclenched as Dennis’s voice rang out, still rough.

“Robby, please don’t blame her.”

The attending closed his eyes for a second. Then he pushed past McKay and went in. 

“This is all my fault.” Dennis watched him approach, the words tumbling out. “I should have been more careful. I should have taken it off. Gloves aren’t enough, I know that. I know better, I just put it on and I didn’t think. So don’t be mad at either of them, this is on me.”

“No.” Robby heard how hard it came out and forced it down. “This is not your fault.”

He looked at McKay, then at Lindsey. The anger was still there, but it had nowhere useful to go, and watching Dennis take the blame for his own overdose was going to make him say something he couldn’t take back.

“Take her up.” He sighed. “She can come back later.”

McKay nodded once before wheeling her out. The door shut behind them and the room suddenly felt small. The anger deflated out of him all at once. What was left was the kid in the bed, avoiding his eyes, and the apology Robby had was sitting at the tip of his tongue.

“I owe you an apology.”

“It’s okay.”

“No. It’s not okay.” Robby stayed at the foot of the bed for a second too long, then made himself move toward the chair. “I wrongfully accused you. I didn’t give you the chance I should have. That was on me, not on you.”

Dennis’s mouth pulled sideways. He turned his head toward the far wall, and the crack in his voice tore something open in Robby’s chest that he had been holding shut since he went down in the locker room.

“But you didn’t. You were right.” He hiccuped. “I was high on the job. I should have been more careful, I’m sorry.”

“Stop it.” Robby sat down with a grunt.

The chair Santos had left was still warm, or maybe that was him, feeling flush with shame and regret. He reached for Dennis’s hand without thinking about it, closing his fingers around it gently.

“You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known.” He waited until he was sure his voice would hold. “You did what you were supposed to do. You treated a patient in a park because that’s who you are, and she handed you a thank-you, and none of that is a crime. That is not the same as walking in here using. Do you hear me?”

Dennis’s fingers twitched in his. He still wouldn’t look over.

“But look what happened.” His nose was running. He sniffed as he tried to wipe it away. “We should’ve listened to you and stayed on hospital grounds.”

“That was McKay’s idea.”

“Don’t blame her.” He sniffed again. “She was just trying to help. She’s a good person.”

“I know.” Robby’s thumb found the ridge of a knuckle and stroked the soft skin there. “I’m not blaming anyone.”

Except for himself. 

“She brought you because you’re a good person too.” He smiled at him even though he wasn’t looking. He hoped he could hear it, how proud he was. “She knew you’d help, because you have a good heart. It’s what makes you both great doctors.” He let a breath out through his nose. “It’s true that I’d prefer a little less insubordination, though.”

Dennis’s shoulders shook with a wet laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“No more apologizing.” Robby squeezed his hand. “Hey. Can you look at me?”

Dennis wiped his face with the back of his free wrist before turning. His eyes were red, but the pinprick pupils were returning to normal. 

“I promise.” Robby said firmly. “No one is upset with you. Least of all me.”

“Really?”

“I promise.” He said it again, slower. “I’m sorry for how I behaved earlier. I could have gone about it much better, I should have. You told me the truth and I didn’t hear it, and that is not something I get to shrug off. You didn’t deserve that. You have never deserved that.”

Dennis’s throat worked. “If I can’t apologize anymore, you can’t either.”

Robby felt his heart skip a beat at the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Fair enough.”

His thumb was still moving over Dennis’s knuckles. The skin there was warm now. No longer cold and clammy. It made him feel better to feel it for himself.

“We’re going to keep you overnight.” He began, falling into his doctor cadence because a treatment plan was something he knew how to communicate even in the worst times. “Just in case. We don’t want any recurrent respiratory depression. Fentanyl likes to come back after you think you’re done with it. You’re not going home until we’re sure.”

“I’m breathing just fine.”

“Appears so.” He glanced at the monitor, nodding. “And it’s good that you can carry a longer conversation like this. Still, you’ll be assessed for any possible aspiration pneumonia, lung injury, muscle breakdown, impacted kidney function. Labs, chest X-rays, the works.”

“When can I go back to work?”

Robby stared at him. Then he laughed, once, disbelieving, the sound scraped out of a very long day. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

Dennis’s face did a guilty little thing that made the older man feel lightheaded.

“If all goes well.” He chuckled. “You’ll be cleared in twenty-four to seventy-two hours. Again, just to be safe. After all the rechecks and a formal incident report. It’s some annoying paperwork, I won’t lie. Congrats on your first workplace injury. Hopefully it’s your last.”

“Hopefully.” Dennis yawned on the end of it, jaw cracking.

“Tired?”

“Mhm.” He nodded. His blinks were getting longer as he tried to fight it, stubborn even on a naloxone drip. Robby’s hand came up on its own and ran through the sweat-damp curls, not for the first time that day, brushing them back from Dennis’s forehead. His eyes fluttered, leaning more into the touch.

“Get some rest.” Robby murmured, as he did it once more, slower. The room was quiet except for the oxygen and the steady beep of monitors. “I’ll come check on you in a bit.”

Dennis’s hand was still in his other one, the grip slowly loosening as his breathing evened out. When Robby finally stood, he set his hand down like it might break with too much force. He pulled the blanket up, draping it carefully over him. After reaching the door, he only let himself look back once.

☆ ☆ ☆ 

Dennis didn’t remember falling asleep. One minute there had been a hand in his hair and a voice telling him to rest, and it apparently was all the permission he needed. The next, the room came back in a blur. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but the lights had thankfully dimmed. For a few disorienting seconds, he didn’t quite know where he was. 

He jerked, or tried to. The pulse ox tugged and his heart did a stupid leap that made the monitor complain.

“Chill out, Huckleberry.” Trinity, not Robby. She was in the chair with her feet hooked on the base of the bed, scrolling on her phone. “You’re still in the ED. You’re okay, though. No more oxygen mask.”

He clumsily smacked himself in the face to be sure. Sure enough, he was breathing freely. His eyes went past her, to the empty space at the foot of the bed, then back up to her spot where a taller shadow should have been. “Where’s Robby?”

“Fucking rude.” Then she reached over and pinched his forearm, not hard, just enough to make him swat at her. “He’s wrapping up. Night shift is coming in soon.”

“Night shift?” It came out as a grumble. “How long have I been asleep?”

“You’ve been in and out.” She sighed. “Your body needed it. Your numbers are boring, which is the goal. How do you feel?”

“Still kind of nauseous.” He groaned. “Body kind of aches too.”

“Yeah, figures.” She hummed, unsurprised. “Do you want me to go get him?”

“No.” He shook his head. “That’s okay.”

“Why not?” She lightly kicked the bed. “We both know you’d prefer him here over me.”

“That’s not true.” He laughed softly, feeling warm.

“It is, and I’m only slightly offended.” She scoffed, but there was no real heat in it. “I sat here while you drooled, Huckleberry.”

Heat crawled further up his neck. He picked at the tape on his IV because it was something to do with his hands. “He said he’d check on me.”

“He did.” She said it like she was doing him a favor by offering the information. “Twice. You were out. Even when he doesn’t come in, he’s been hovering.”

Dennis’s stomach churned, unrelated to the nausea.

“Do you still… you know?”

“Yeah.” It came out quiet. He stared at the ceiling as if looking at her while he said it might actually kill him. “Yeah. I still do.”

“Even after today?”

“Even after.” He hated how true it was. 

Dennis admired Robby deeply, in a way that had long since gone beyond anything as simple as superficial attraction. Of course he found him attractive, that part was impossible to deny. But it was everything else that had gotten under Dennis’s skin. The way Robby cared about his patients, the confidence he carried in the department, even the parts of him that weren't polished or easy. Dennis had seen Robby angry, exhausted, frustrated, scared, and vulnerable, and somehow those moments had only made him admire him more. If anything, Dennis felt strangely privileged to have seen the darker parts of him.

But now Robby had finally seen him at his absolute worst, too, and Dennis couldn't help wondering how pathetic he must look. “I’m going to die.”

“You already tried that today. Once is enough.” She lightly kicked his mattress again. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s as one-sided as you keep insisting it is. But I’m not going to say too much about that because you’ll get all flustered, and we just got your oxygen pretty.”

“It’s one-sided.” He hated saying it, wishing it could be otherwise. “He’s my attending. He feels guilty. That’s not the same thing as—”

“Dennis Huckleberry Whitaker.” She scolded. “You are smitten, and that’s okay. Just let yourself feel for once, instead of burying it all. Or else you’ll turn into Robby.”

In many ways, Dennis would be honored to be like Robby. But watching the man drown in open air for a year, it wasn’t necessarily something he wanted for himself. He didn't want to become so good at hiding his pain that even the people who loved him couldn't tell he was struggling. If anything, loving Robby had made Dennis painfully aware of how much it could cost to keep everything buried.

The nausea rolled through again, milder, and he rode it out with his eyes closed. “When he was here, it felt like it was okay. That I could sleep. That I hadn’t ruined it.”

Trinity was quiet for a beat. Then she reached over and flicked his shoulder, gentler than usual. “You haven’t ruined it.”

He huffed, which pulled at the ache in his ribs. “Maybe one day I’ll believe that.”

She glanced at the door, then at him, and her tone softened into something almost fond. “He’s going to come back. Try not to look so tragic when he does. Leave a little dignity on the table.”

“I hate you.” He loved her, and he was glad she was with him. But he also wanted more.

“More” came as Langdon appeared in the doorway, lingering there like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. It wasn’t what Dennis meant, but he was glad to see him.

Trinity, to her credit, didn’t say anything rude. She just unhooked her feet from the bed and sat up straighter.

“Hey.” Langdon nodded at him. “You look less like death. That’s… good.”

“High bar.” Dennis rasped.

Langdon smiled and came the rest of the way in, stopping at the foot of the bed instead of taking a chair, hands in his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them. “I won’t stay long. Night’s coming on, and I know you don’t need a parade. I just—” He glanced at Trinity, then back. “I wanted to give you props. For what you did. For what you do.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yeah well, I’m not doing it because I have to.” He gestured to him. “I’m doing it because it’s true. You’re good with everyone, even the patients that are hard for others to sympathize with. That’s cause you’re a good guy, Whitaker. I just wanted you to hear it from someone who knows the difference firsthand.”

There was still no snark from Trinity. She sat there with her mouth shut like she understood that this particular compliment, from this particular person, in this particular room, wasn’t something to undercut.

Dennis’s throat went tight. “Thanks.”

“Don’t let anyone make you feel differently.” There was no wounded pride in it, just a tired kind of understanding that made Dennis’s eyes burn more. “Robby sees ghosts sometimes. That’s not on you. The work you did this morning, what you do with the street team, it matters a lot. Don’t let the rest of today rewrite that.”

He stood there another second, like he might say more, then seemed to think better of it. He tapped the foot of the bed once, awkward, almost a goodbye. Then he left, and the doorway was empty again, and Dennis let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding.

Trinity gave him a solid minute to process. “I’m not going to touch that. You’re welcome.”

He laughed, more of a wet exhale. He didn’t get long to sit with it. McKay was next, still in her scrubs, hair coming out of its tie. She hesitated the same way Langdon had, then came in when Trinity waved her through like a bouncer.

“Hey, kid.” McKay greeted softly. “You look more like yourself.”

“That’s a compliment, I hope?”

That got a small, pained smile out of her. “Dennis. I am so sorry.” She said it like she had been carrying it around the department all afternoon. “We’ve done this a hundred times. I never thought a bracelet. I never thought you. If I had even for a second, I would have left you on the floor. I hope you know that.”

“I know.”

“And I need to ask you something that is selfish, and you can say no, and I won’t be weird about it.” She sighed. “I hope this hasn’t deterred you from the street team. Because the work is still the work, and you are still the person I want with me when it’s hard. But if you need to be done, if this made it too much, I won’t hold it against you.”

“I’m not deterred. I still want to help.”

“Not sure what we did to deserve you.” She smiled at him. “I'll let you rest now, but just know that we love you. You got hurt doing something good, and this place doesn’t know what to do with that except pile on top of you until you tell us to stop. So be ready to be pampered.”

He didn’t expect to cry again. He was so tired of crying, but it happened anyway, a few tears slipping sideways into the pillow before he could hide. “Thank you. Really, I—thank you.”

She reached over and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

He should have left it there, but the question had been sitting in his mouth since he woke up. “Have you seen Robby?”

McKay’s mouth went sideways, a little smirk that said she had been waiting for that very question. “He’s finishing handoff with Abbot. I’ll let him know you’re awake.” 

She left, and Trinity had the decency to wait until the door had swung most of the way shut. “Smooth.”

“Shut up.”

☆ ☆ ☆ 

Robby had the board half handed off and his brain the rest of the way gone when Abbot finally brought it up.

“I heard some shit went down.” He said, flipping a chart closed with his thumb.

Robby stared at the board like it might offer him a clean answer, but it failed to buy him any time. Jack’s eye contact was too much to sit with in silence.

“Street call this morning, McKay took Whitaker off-site. Patient gave him a homemade bracelet as a thank-you. Turns out it was contaminated with fentanyl. We Narcan’d him twice. He’s on a drip, so you’ll be keeping him overnight.”

“Geez, that kid has the worst luck.” Jack’s eyebrows went up. “And the patient?”

“Came in OD’d next door at the same time he dropped. She’s upstairs and stable.” Robby’s jaw ached. He had been clenching it since the bathroom earlier and hadn’t figured out how to stop. “I found him in the bathroom. All sorts of fucked up. I’d been getting reports all afternoon and I hadn’t—” He stopped, taking a deep breath. “I took him to the lockers to question him. I knew he was high. I went through his things, but couldn’t find anything. Almost sent him home, but that’s when he coded out on me.”

“Must’ve been scary.” Jack leaned his hip against the desk, bending to try and make eye contact. “This have anything to do with what happened with Langdon?”

“Probably.” He shrugged. “I felt like I was back there, missing it all because I didn’t want it to be true.” He swallowed. “And this was worse. Because it wasn’t true, he wasn’t using. He was dying in front of me, and I still didn’t see it. He begged me to believe him and I didn’t. And the last thing I told him before he went down was that he was a liar.”

Jack let that sit. The hub kept moving around them, staff swapping places during the swirling shift change. “So now you feel like a huge piece of shit, huh?”

“Not helping.” He snorted. “I apologized. But yeah, still feel like a big ole pile of shit.”

“Go home, get some rest.” Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll take good care of your favorite resident.”

Robby opened his mouth to refute the title when McKay appeared at his elbow like she had been waiting for the exact wrong moment. “The favorite resident in question was asking about you.”

Beside her, Jack’s expression was smug. “He’s awake?”

“Santos is still with him. Langdon and I stopped by, but he asked for you.” She tipped her head, trying to keep her face neutral. “I told him you were finishing handoff.”

Jack made a sound that might have been a cough if they were being generous.

If Dennis hadn’t been waiting on him, Robby would have ripped McKay a new one for the entire day’s antics. He pointed at her instead. “We are going to have a serious chat tomorrow.”

“Loud and clear.” She didn’t look intimidated, let alone sorry. “He’s nauseous and he aches. Just try not to loom. See you tomorrow, night Jack.”

“Later.” Jack watched her go, then looked back at Robby, that same smug quiet sitting on his face. 

“Don’t.”

“Go.” Jack took the last chart out of his hands. “I’ve got the floor from here. After your pit stop, go home. Recharge. I know today got you good.”

“That obvious?”

“Don’t ask me stupid questions.” He shook his head, calling out to gather his nightcrawlers and leaving Robby behind. 

The door to Whitaker’s room was still partially open, Trinity’s sneaker visible from the hall, still hooked on the bed frame. She was making wild gestures with her hands as she spoke, which meant that Dennis was still awake. She snapped her head up as the attending stopped at the doorway. She made a face at him before tapping Dennis’s bed and getting up to brush past him. He didn’t know whether to be thankful or weary of the privacy.

All of the greetings he rehearsed died on his lips. Instead he looked over the monitor’s readings, checked the cap refill and the line. Dennis quietly tracked him through all of it, letting himself be a patient with a sheepishness so visible it would have been funny if Robby had any humor left in him.

“Zofran, for the nausea.” Robby hummed. “I’ll have someone bring you more fluids too. You need to be replenished.”

Dennis gave a small, miserable nod. “Are you going home now?”

His eyes looked sad in that particular Whitaker way. Robby could barely stand it. 

“In a bit.” He nodded. “Abbot is going to take good care of you, though. He promised me. Then I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow to bug you with rechecks before we discharge you.”

“Okay.” Dennis smiled shyly up at him.

“In the meantime. Is there any family we can call?” He hovered near the edge of the bed. “You didn’t have any listed, but I figured I’d still ask.”

To his heartache, the smile fell off Dennis’s face slowly. 

“No.” He looked at the blanket. At the IV. Anywhere else. “No, that’s okay. Thanks.”

Robby didn’t push it. He had already barged in one door today that didn’t belong to him. “Okay. Well, let someone know if you change your mind.” He stayed where he was, one hand resting on the bedrail. “Need anything else before I go?”

Dennis shook his head. Then he slowly reached out, like he was giving Robby time to pull away, and found the hand on the rail. His fingers closed around it, squeezing lightly. “Thank you.”

“No need.” He swallowed, squeezing back. His traitorous thumb found the same knuckle it had found earlier, tracing over the thin skin. “Try to rest up—”

“That’s really all I’ve been doing.” Dennis blushed furiously at the interruption. Robby was elated to see color back in his face. “Sorry—”

Robby raised his brows, stopping him. The admonishment didn’t even need words. 

“Try to rest up.” He repeated. “And have Abbot call me if you need me. Got it?”

He wasn’t sure why he said it. Jack was more than capable, there was no clinical reason Dennis would need him and not Abbot in the middle of the night.

Dennis nodded anyway, hesitant. Robby could see it in his eyes, that the last thing he would ever want was to bother him. As if bothering him was a crime. As if Robby didn’t feel a sick sense of pride that Dennis had asked for him.

Robby gave the hand one more squeeze, patting it with his other to prolong the contact just for a beat longer, before letting go. “Goodnight, kid.”

Something possessed him in the moment, surely, which is why he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Dennis’s head. The contact lasted exactly as long as it took for Robby’s brain to catch up. 

What the fuck.

He straightened quickly. Dennis was looking up at him, dazed in a way that had nothing to do with the toxins filtering out of his system. “Goodnight…”

Robby had to once again force himself not to look back as he left. Dana was coming the other way, coat over her arm. She eyed him, as if she could sense the panic swirling inside of him. “Everything okay?”

“Mhm.” He forced out. “He just needs rest.”

“I’ll be quick, just want to check on him before I leave.” He wiggled her brows at him. “He’s not just yours, chief.”

It was getting annoying, how people constantly referred to Dennis as if Robby had some claim over him. But they weren’t exactly wrong. He had always considered Dennis to be his.

That was the truth of it, since day one. Since Pedes, Robby had felt it every shift. That affinity for him, the particular attention that was not quite mentorship and not quite anything he had a word for. He even thought about it while he was on sabbatical. He hadn’t had such a personal stake in a resident since Langdon.

Which was why it had hurt so badly.

Langdon had been a betrayal of trust, of the department, of every hour Robby had spent investing in him. It felt like a stab in the back. But seeing Dennis high had been a stab straight through the heart. It pained him not to believe him, but he had been let down before. It hurt so much more because the thing that made Dennis his in the private, indefensible way was the same thing that had made the accusation feel earth-shattering.

And now you lie to my face.

The guilt came back in a wave. Robby stood in the hall a second longer, the ghost of curls still against his mouth. He avoided Jack and left the building quickly, trying to outrun the feeling.

☆ ☆ ☆ 

Dennis couldn’t go back to sleep.

Thankfully the Zofran took the sharpest edge off the nausea until it was only a greasy background hum. The ache in his joints had settled into something a bit lighter, but he still felt out of place in his own skin. The fluids were helping, but none of it really mattered. He kept thinking about Robby.

About the kiss.

It felt silly to even call it that, being that it had lasted less than a second, a parental gesture if anything. Dennis had felt it anyway like a brand, the dry press of Robby’s mouth against his hair seared into the curls. Dennis had bid him goodnight because it was the only word left in his mouth that wouldn’t get him fired. 

He found himself doing the math again, the same formulas he’d been doing for months. He had been drawn to the attending since day one, that much was easy. Dennis had wanted to be good for him in the simple, humiliating way med students could be. But he couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had turned into this.

There was no clean line. No single trauma, no movie moment that he could think of. It had all just accumulated. Robby’s hand on his shoulder after a save. The way he said his name with such a fondness, the way he praised him in ways no one ever had. The way he trusted him. 

More people from the day shift had trickled in after he left, Dana first. Then Mel, then Javadi, then several nurses. He had said thank you to all of them for wishing him well. He had smiled until his face ached. He had managed not to ask any of them if Robby had left yet, but he thought about it the entire time.

Now he was in limbo. Day shift was gone, and night had a different gravity. Abbot’s cadence felt strangely out of place, calling out at the hub every so often. The parade stopping into his room gradually stopped, leaving only him and Trinity, and the occasional night nurse checking in. 

“You should go home, Trin.”

“Nope.” She didn’t even look up from her phone.

“I’m fine.”

The irony was not lost on either of them. She stared at him long enough that he felt his ears go hot. “You do not get to say that to me anymore.”

“I really appreciate you being here, I do. But you need to sleep in an actual bed. I need you to not hate me tomorrow because your back is all jacked up.”

“I won’t hate you.”

He smiled at her. “You will be a nightmare on shift and you know it. More than usual.”

“What if something happens?”

He felt touched by how much she cared. She had already done so much for him, way before she had even really known him. She had shown up for him and looked out for him, and quickly became one of the people he trusted most. He wasn't sure she realized how much those things meant to him, or how deeply he carried them. Maybe she never would. He swallowed around the sudden tightness in his throat and gave her a small, grateful smile. 

“If I need someone, I will have them call.” He left out the offer to call Robby. “Just go. I promise I’m actually fine now.”

“If anything changes—”

“I know.”

“If you start dropping stats—”

“Trin.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She leaned in and flicked his forehead, gentler than the words. “Don’t die, okay?”

“I’ll try not to.” He nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

She left like she was mad about it. He heard her sneakers all the way to the hub, then a brief, sharp exchange with someone who was probably Abbot, then nothing. The room got very quiet after that. Night settled in around him.

Have Abbot call me if you need me.

It replayed in his mind. He said it like Dennis would ever do that. Said it like Robby wanted him to.

Dennis had been staring at the ceiling long enough that the tiles had started to warp together, his eyes going unfocused. He still couldn’t sleep. He turned his head and found Abbot entering the room, a chart in one hand and a half-smile.

“Hell of a day, huh, Whitaker?”

It was almost a relief, how ordinary it sounded. He appreciated his demeanor, so different yet somewhat reminiscent of his own attending. “I’ve definitely had better.”

“I’m sure.” He chuckled. He stood at the monitor and looked at the numbers the same way Robby had, except it didn’t make Dennis’s stomach flip in the same stupid way. He made a small sound of approval and flipped a page.

“Robby called earlier.” He offered suddenly. “Wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

Dennis blinked. The Zofran had taken the worst of the nausea down to a smear, but something else simmered in its place. “Really?”

“Mhm.” Abbot glanced at him, something almost amused in his eyes. “He was worried. Still probably is. You know, he might pretend to be all tough guy, but he’s got a huge soft spot for you.”

“Oh.” He thought about the kiss again.

The night attending set the chart on the counter and leaned his hip against it, not looming. “He feels bad about today. You should know that.”

Dennis wasn’t sure what part of that was supposed to make him feel better. He kept his mouth shut.

“He’s not usually good at handling his feelings.” Abbot sighed. “Just know that whatever things he may have said to you, it’s more about himself than you.”

Dennis’s throat tightened. He thought back to when Langdon first left. The whole department had felt it, but Robby had worn it like a second skin. Tense didn’t begin to cover it whenever his name came up. No matter how casual or brief, Robby’s whole mood soured instantly, the betrayal still sitting in his body months later, like a fracture that hadn’t been set right. 

Everyone knew. You didn’t have to be his favorite anything to know that Langdon had taken a piece of him on the way out the door, and that Robby hadn’t figured out how to stop licking the wound.

Dennis had watched it happen, wanting to help and knowing he couldn’t, wanting to be good enough that Robby wouldn’t have to look at anyone like that again. But today Robby had looked at him like that. Same ghost. Wrong person.

“This isn’t his fault.” Dennis murmured, more to himself than Abbot.

“Good luck trying to get him to believe that.” He moved toward the door. “I’ll get out of your hair. Holler if you need anything. Call button, shout, throw a bedpan. Whatever, I’m not precious.”

He was almost out the door when Dennis cleared his throat. “Um, actually… can I get my phone, please?”

☆ ☆ ☆ 

Robby couldn’t sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Dennis on the floor again. He replayed the sudden collapse, the fear in his face when he came around, the desperate way he tried to explain himself. Robby had apologized, eventually, but the words still felt insufficient. 

Instead of making him feel safe to ask for help, Robby had made him feel like he needed to hide. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, knowing that sleep wasn't coming anytime soon. He needed someone who could help him make sense of the knot in his chest, and unfortunately, there was only one person he could call at the late hour.

Jack picked up on the second ring.

“He’s fine.” He offered before Robby had even gotten a greeting out. “Just like he was the last time you called, no need to spiral.”

Robby huffed. “I’m not spiraling.”

“You’re calling me from home at this hour. That’s a spiral, brother. You should be sleeping.”

Robby tipped his head back against the pillows. “I just wanted to—”

“Check in, I know. You already did.” Jack’s voice softened, which somehow made it worse. “He’s okay, cross my heart. You know you’d be the first person I’d call if anything changes.”

Robby was supposed to be the person who kept his people safe. Instead, he kept finding himself standing on the other side of the line, wondering what he had missed and what he could have done differently. He had failed Langdon before, and now he had failed Dennis too. 

Jack was quiet for a moment before he sighed. “Look, man. You know I love you. But I don’t really want to be involved in your little crushes anymore, even if I happen to like this one.”

Robby sat up. A crush? On Dennis? The suggestion caught him so completely off guard that, for a second, he couldn't even formulate a response. 

“It’s not—” He started, but his phone buzzed against his ear. He pulled it away just enough to look at the screen.

Incoming Call: Dennis Whitaker.

For one absurd second, Robby felt as though the universe was actually pranking him. He hung up on Jack without another word and stared at Dennis's name flashing across the screen, his heart suddenly beating much harder.

“Hey, kid. Everything okay?” He tried not to sound so strained when he answered.

“So it’s true.” He huffed over the line. “You aren’t asleep yet.”

Robby couldn’t help but smile at his stern tone, happy that he had the energy for it. “How do you know you didn’t just wake me up?”

“You don’t sound like you were asleep.” He quipped. “And Doctor Abbot said you called a little bit ago.”

“Snitch.” Robby hissed, feeling slightly mortified. Dennis laughed, and he felt his heart flutter at the sound of it. He pressed his palm to his sternum as if that would do anything to quell it.

“How come?” Dennis asked, softer. “Why did you call?”

Robby stared at the ceiling again. “Just to check in. I—I was worried about you.”

“I’m okay. Promise.”

The word punched him in the gut. The same word Dennis had used in the locker room, his pleading voice ringing in his ears. 

I promise I didn’t take anything.

The same word he used on the gurney. 

I don’t do drugs, I promise, I promise, I wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry again.” He shut his eyes again, wishing he had taken some Zofran himself to calm the turmoil in his stomach. “For the way I reacted earlier.”

“Hey.” Dennis sounded almost scolding. “We had a deal. No more apologizing for it, remember?”

Robby smiled to himself. It surprised him, how easy it came. Dennis was always good at bringing him back to himself. “Right. Can I ask you something, Whitaker?”

“Only if you call me Dennis. We’re off the clock.”

“Dennis.” Robby’s smile widened around how it sounded leaving his mouth. He liked it. “How come you didn’t want us to call anyone else for you? I wasn’t exactly the kindest to you when you needed help.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Because you were mistaken. Happens to the best of us.” His response came gently, but devoid of the warmth it had before. Still too nice for his own good, but it sounded like his mind went somewhere else for a moment. “But other people… they aren’t as quick to understand how wrong they were for how they treated me. If that makes sense.” 

It pained Robby to hear that Dennis had been treated badly before, especially by people who were supposed to love him. He had noticed the tension around certain subjects during the time he'd known him, even if he hadn't known what to make of it. Dennis mentioned that he hadn't been home in a long time, and whenever family came up, there was always something guarded in the way he answered. 

Santos had made a few pointed comments about his family before, comments Dennis had been quick to dismiss with a joke or a shrug. He never really defended them, though. Robby had noticed that too. At the time, he'd told himself it was none of his business. Now he wondered how many times Dennis had learned that needing help came with a price.

Robby nodded, the motion useless in the empty room. “Makes sense.”

“You know, I didn’t really care if you were mad at me. I get it.” He changed the subject. “I figured once we figured out what happened, you wouldn’t be mad anymore. I just didn’t want you to be disappointed in me. Even after. I hope you aren’t.”

He would rather die on your floor than disappoint you.

“I’m not.” His hand tightened on the phone. “I promise I’m not.”

“Okay. Good.” Dennis’s throat clicked over the line. “That’s why I called, I guess. Just to make sure. And to make sure that you knew it wasn’t your fault either.”

“Mm.” Robby mumbled.

He knew Dennis was trying to reassure him, but the words only made the guilt settle more heavily in his chest. He did feel responsible, at least in some way. He had watched Dennis leave with McKay that morning and had decided not to say anything. He could have called him back, could have reminded him that he was supposed to be on the floor, but Dennis had looked so genuinely excited to help someone that Robby hadn't had the heart to take that away from him. 

He trusted Dennis, and he liked seeing that compassion in him. The problem was that he had trusted him so completely that he hadn't noticed when something changed. He hadn't noticed Dennis wasn't acting right, just as he hadn't noticed the shift in Langdon when he too had been struggling. It made Robby feel like a bad leader. Maybe even a bad doctor. If he was disappointed in anyone, it wasn't Dennis. It was himself.

Silence held for a bit, both of them breathing through the receiver. Dennis’s a little uneven, already sliding toward sleep. Robby’s too loud in his own quiet room.

“Well.” The younger man hummed. “I should let you sleep.”

“You’re the one that needs sleep, Whit—Dennis.” He thought he could get addicted to saying it if he wasn’t careful. 

“Maybe.” He laughed softly. “Well. Thank you. For checking in.”

“Thank you. For calling me.” He didn’t want to hang up, but if he stayed on he might’ve said something he regretted. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Promise?”

Robby smiled at the dark, he couldn’t help it. “Promise. As long as Santos lets me in. Tell her I come in peace.”

“Ha. Good luck.” He snorted. “She already left, actually.”

Robby’s smile flattened. “I’m shocked. Figured she’d stay there all night.”

“She tried.” Dennis sighed. “I sent her home. I just—I don’t want to be a burden any more than I have been today.”

“You are not a burden.” He scoffed at the idea. “So you’re alone right now?”

“Doctor Abbot has been taking good care of me. You know that.” He assured him. “I’m okay, really. Just a bad day, but I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will be.” He prayed he would. “Get some rest, yeah?”

“Okay. You too.” There was another pause, just their breathing over the line. “Um, okay. Goodnight. For the eighteenth time tonight.”

Robby chuckled. “Goodnight, kid.”

He forced himself to hang up. Dennis was alone. No family, no Trinity. Only him and his thoughts, quite possibly still believing that Robby must be disappointed in him despite his best efforts to assure him. 

He would rather die on your floor than disappoint you, and congratulations, you made sure he thinks he did.

Something in Robby felt desperate. He wanted to be there. To see him. To reassure him more. To care for him. It should be him, not Jack, not any night nurse. It should be him sitting in that ugly uncomfortable chair, keeping an eye on him.

“Fuck.” He said it to the ceiling. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck—” He got out of bed in his sweatpants. He shrugged on a T-shirt and his shoes, keys in his hand as he hurriedly closed the front door behind him.

☆ ☆ ☆ 

Dennis was able to drift off, but it didn’t last too long. Too many thoughts were whirring in his head.

Don’t lie to me! 

It was the last thing he remembered Robby saying before he went unconscious. He was not a liar, not in the way Robby had accused. He had told the truth with everything he had left, even when he couldn’t get air into his lungs.

But he hadn’t been totally truthful about other things.

He had said he was fine when he wasn’t all afternoon. He had known something was wrong and he had tried to shove it down. 

And then there was the other thing. The one he had been shoving down for a lot longer than a single shift. He had been hiding the truth about how he felt about his attending since before he even had the words for it. 

In a lot of ways, Dennis felt like he had been lying to Robby for a while. And to himself. But he could never confess. There was no version of saying it that didn’t wreck the one thing he couldn’t afford to wreck. 

He twisted onto his side, then onto his back again. The line tugged, pulling taut across the empty place on his wrist. He stared at the doorway and hated himself for hoping it would fill. And it did. Just, once again, not with who he was waiting for.

Mateo came in quietly, unsure at first if he was awake. He had what looked like a sleeve of crackers in one hand and a cup of something in the other. He smiled at him when he saw he was up. “Got you cleared for a little something. Nausea’s better and you’re not aspirating. Just don’t make me regret it.”

Dennis pushed himself up on his elbows. The room tilted, then settled. Mateo set the crackers on the tray and held the cup until Dennis’s hands remembered how to work. He was on an IV, fluids keeping him replenished, but it didn’t matter. The ginger ale hit his mouth and it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. Cold, sweet, and so refreshing it made his eyes sting for a second.

He drank too fast at first, then made himself slow down. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem. Just glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah. I’m still so embarrassed by the whole thing.”

“Don’t be.” Mateo said it like it was obvious, already reaching to adjust a wire that had twisted against Dennis’s collarbone, tucking the pulse ox cable where it wouldn’t catch. “Everyone just cares about you. Robby especially. Heard he nearly lost his mind when you went down.”

Dennis’s mind provided him with another recap of Robby’s terror-filled face just before he blacked out, and then again when he came back the first time.

“We’ve all got your back, dude.” Mateo offered a fist. Dennis bumped it clumsily. “Day and night shift.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime. Try to rest.” Mateo left the crackers and slipped back out toward the nurse’s station.

Try to rest.

Robby had told him the same thing. Like it was easy. He ate a few crackers and finished the ginger ale. He set the cup down and closed his eyes and tried his best not to think about his attending.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been out when he blinked his eyes open. Dennis fully came up out of it with his heart already slamming, the monitor a half-second behind. There was a figure in the chair beside him, much bigger than Trinity. He blinked rapidly to try and adjust his eyes to the dim light.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Robby looked like a mess. His hair was sticking out in every direction, his clothes were rumpled, and the lines of his face seemed deeper than Dennis remembered, exhaustion etched into every one of them. He looked nothing like the composed attending Dennis was used to seeing move through the ED, and somehow that only made something warm and painfully fond twist in his chest. Even half-awake and clearly running on fumes, Robby was still the most handsome man Dennis had ever laid eyes on. 

“Am I still high?” He mumbled.

Robby laughed. It came out strained, like it had caught on something on the way up. “I don’t think so.”

“Why are you here?” Dennis stared at him with wide eyes, like he might vanish if he blinked. Robby’s bashful smile dropped, and the younger man scrambled. “Not that I don’t want you here or anything!”

“You really know how to boost a guy’s ego.” The smile came back, but it didn’t fully meet his eyes. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, glanced at the door, then back. “I just… I didn’t like the thought of you being alone through this.”

Dennis hoped that the monitor wouldn’t give him away, his heart hammering in his chest. Thankfully it seemed like the volume had been turned lower so he could rest peacefully. “I’m not alone. Mateo and Doctor Abbot have been—”

“Not really what I meant.”

Dennis didn’t know what to say to that. Robby was there to make amends, the locker room still an unpaid debt. Even though Dennis had already forgiven him for lashing out.

“You don’t need to make anything up to me, you know.”

Robby’s head came up. “What?”

“I know you still feel bad about how it all went down, but you don’t need to like… pity me or anything.”

“Dennis.” Robby sighed, leaning back in the chair and looking at the ceiling like it might offer something. “I don’t pity you. I’m here because I want to be here. Selfishly.”

If the monitor sounds had been on, it would have been beeping frantically, Dennis was sure of it. He could feel the pulse in his throat.

Robby kept looking at the ceiling. “After Langdon, I told myself that I was done getting personally invested in my residents. Turns out, between the two of us, I’m the liar. Not you.”

He reached for Robby’s hand before he had decided to. He gripped it tightly, relieved that he didn’t pull away. “Doctor Robby—”

“Please don’t call me that.” It came out a rough murmur. “I was a fucking terrible doctor today. I don’t deserve it.”

“Who got me into a bed?” Dennis heard himself challenge it. “Trin and Mateo told me what happened. Who ordered the Narcan? Who ran the test strips and found the cause? Who prescribed my treatment?”

“After I was ready to send you home.” To Dennis’s horror, Robby sounded like he might cry. It was sitting in the back of his throat, making the next words come out wrecked. “Then what would have happened? What would have happened if you went down while waiting for the bus, or worse, if you were home alone. You could have fucking died—”

“Well I didn’t.” Dennis squeezed his hand harder. “I’m right here. Not dead, I think.”

The corner of Robby’s mouth twitched up but then dropped again. His eyes were unfocused, his mind halfway somewhere else. “I would have never forgiven myself. I would have marched right up to the fucking roof and joined you.”

Dennis’s blood turned to ice. The nausea returned, the ginger ale in his stomach going sour, this time threatening to lurch up into his throat. The monitor flashed in earnest, numbers jumping frantically. He didn’t even recognize the sound of his own voice when it came out, raw and terrified. 

“Don’t say that to me.” His hand shook in Robby’s. “Don’t you ever say that again.”

It was compelling enough. Robby snapped out of it, his eyes flickering to the monitor before landing back on Dennis’s face. 

“I’m sorry.” He rasped, voice stricken. He sat forward, both hands around Dennis’s now, like he could physically take the words back. “I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry. Dennis, look at me. I didn’t—that was not… I shouldn’t have said that.”

Dennis was still shaking. The chill was slow to leave. He could see it, unwanted. Robby on the roof, the same building they were currently in. He never wanted to see it again.

He knew Robby had been doing better. Everyone could see it. His short fuse had lengthened by degrees. His passion for the work they do had returned. But now Dennis had caught a glimpse of the man beneath all of that, the one who was still recovering. Dennis felt a wave of guilt that he brought it back to the surface, pulling Robby away from his healing.

“You’re a good doctor, Robby.” The statement was quiet but firm. “The best I know. And you’re a good man.”

He laughed coldly. “You don’t know anything about me, Whitaker.”

Dennis had never been so offended by the use of his last name. Shut out, just like that. 

“Back to Whitaker now, huh?” Off the clock for a handful of minutes and then yanked back onto it the second it got too close. “Doctor Abbot warned me that you don’t handle feelings very well.”

“Excuse me?” Robby withdrew, and only then did Dennis remember they had been holding hands. The absence was sudden.

“Nevermind.”

“No. Go ahead.” He grunted, his jaw tight again. “Don’t walk it back now. Say whatever you need to say.”

Dennis didn’t want to upset him more. He was still so tired, but he was desperate to understand him. “You just—” He gathered it as carefully as he could. “You came back here to check on me. So that I won’t be alone. You said that it was selfish. Something about being personally invested. I feel like we’re just glossing over that.”

“I’m not glossing over anything.”

“Now you really are lying to me.”

The silence between them felt like a standoff, an unstoppable force and an immovable object. Dennis could tell that Robby was scared to say more. But Dennis wanted to hear it, needed to hear it. Whatever resolve Robby had walked into the room with was beginning to crack under the weight of the conversation. He was used to hiding behind walls, and for once, Dennis didn't want to let him retreat. 

“Dennis, Whitaker—”

“You don’t get to Dennis me when it’s convenient and then Whitaker me when you decide to shut me out.” He was too tired to sand it down. “You said you were here selfishly. You said you were the liar. Those aren’t nothing sentences. So either they mean something, or you just came here to feel better about yourself.”

“That is not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

Robby stood up, like the chair had become too small. He dragged a hand through his already messed hair, exhaled hard through his nose. He looked back at Dennis, and the standoff cracked along with his face, the air between the bed and the chair gone thin.

“You want a clean answer at this hour from a man who accused you of using, but came running back with his tail between his legs.” He shrugged aggressively. “Well I don’t have a clean answer for you, okay? Far from it. I can’t get you out of my fucking head, since that very first day. Every single shift has just been you. I even thought about you my entire sabbatical, so it extends well beyond these walls. Now I have Abbot calling it a crush like I’m fucking fifteen. I have very, very complicated feelings, and you’re right, I don’t know how to handle them. That’s what I have for you. So yeah, maybe I’m here for myself just as much as I’m here for you. And I don’t know how to unpack any of that.”

Dennis’s throat worked. The monitor stayed blessedly silent, but his heart did not. 

A Crush.

He needed to make sure he wasn't still high, hallucinating, or dreaming. His eyes processed the exhausted face and the nervous tension he was making no real effort to hide, and Dennis reached over to pinch the inside of his arm. The sharp sting was immediate. He winced and rubbed at the spot, both relieved and horrified by what it meant. He wasn't dreaming.

Robby had a crush on him. For the better part of a year, Dennis had convinced himself that every lingering look, every word of praise, every moment of unusual attention meant nothing beyond the boundaries of their professional relationship. He had told himself that his feelings were his problem to carry, something he could safely keep tucked away as long as he never acted on them. 

“So don’t unpack it.” He breathed, breaking the fragile silence. “Just please don’t take it back. We don’t have to talk about it anymore, but if we’re being selfish… I want you to stay.”

Robby looked conflicted by the request, but he took a step closer. He lifted a hand, slow enough that Dennis could have stopped it. Fingers found his hair the way they had before, pushing the curls back from his forehead, and then he leaned down. Dennis’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of another forehead kiss. But he didn’t want just another innocent reassurance. 

I have Abbot calling it a crush.

Dennis tilted his head back. His face came up, mouth in the way of the thing Robby had meant to give him, making him pause with barely an inch between them. His warm breath puffed against Dennis’s lips, lingering over him. The hesitation hovered long enough for Dennis to feel embarrassment creep up his spine. Then panic, the last thing he wanted was for the attending to pull away and shut him out again.

But Robby didn’t pull away. Instead, he closed the inch.

The kiss was soft, even sweeter than Dennis had expected. Just a careful press of Robby’s mouth to his, warm, almost questioning. Dennis made a sound he would be mortified about later and kissed him back, clumsy with both adrenaline and exhaustion. Robby’s hand stayed in his hair, the other hand finding the rail to steady his weight over him. 

It lasted longer than the one on his head, but not nearly long enough. When Robby drew back it was only far enough to breathe, forehead almost against Dennis’s, eyes closed like looking might undo it.

Dennis’s voice came out wobbly. “You’re sure I’m not high?”

Robby huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re trouble.”

Dennis’s fingers found Robby’s shirt, the cheap cotton, and held on like it was the rail. “Stay. Not just for me, but because you want to. Selfishly, like you said.”

Robby opened his eyes, roaming over him like he was memorizing the details of his face. Then he nodded, ducking his head back down to initiate another brief press of their lips. Dennis let his eyes flutter shut. Even if he really was still high, hallucinating the whole thing, or if this was all a dream that he blessedly couldn’t wake from, he was going to savor it while it lasted. 

☆ ☆ ☆ 

Someone cleared their throat.

Robby froze with his mouth still close enough to feel Dennis’s startled exhale. The sound hadn’t come from the hall so much as from right in the doorway, polite only in the technical sense.

Jack was standing there. His body was already angled toward the hallway, head turned just far enough that he wasn’t looking directly at them. But Robby knew he’d seen enough. He was just doing them the courtesy of pretending.

“A word, Mike?”

Dennis went white as a ghost. If he hadn’t been in a hospital bed, it might have been cute. Robby straightened, his hand making one last pass over Dennis’s curls, an apologetic caress. One last touch before he got ripped a new one.

“I’ll be right back.” He murmured, a poor attempt to soothe him. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

Dennis did not look okay. He looked like he would rather be anywhere else, his shoulders hunching forward and chin dipping to his chest in a poor attempt to hide. Robby had to force himself to walk away despite the urge to make it better. He wasn’t sure if he even could.

Jack had the decency to take it somewhere without an audience. Even away from all of the action, the night noise was present but not close enough to catch the words if they kept them down. He kept his voice low. That, at least, was a mercy.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Brother, I mean this with love and care in my heart. What the hell is the matter with you?”

“I can’t come check on my residents?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Jack scoffed, quiet and sharp. “You know, when I said that I like this one, it wasn’t so that you could do that.”

Robby looked at the floor. “I just needed to see him.”

“You couldn’t have waited, what—” Jack checked his watch, the gesture pointed. “A few more hours? You should be home. Sleeping.”

“And you shouldn’t be telling staff about my feelings.” He spat. 

Jack’s face flickered. Then he rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. He asked. I told him you called. Let me ask you this, how are you supposed to take care of him when you can’t even take care of yourself?”

Robby opened his mouth, but closed it quickly. The truth was that, beneath all the warmth and hope he'd allowed himself to feel as he kissed him, there was a part of Robby that believed he would never be good enough for Dennis. He deserved someone better than him, someone put together, someone who wouldn’t ruin him. Robby had spent enough years watching himself ruin things to recognize the pattern. He got too attached, he cared too much, and then he let it all burn down. 

Dennis still had so much ahead of him. Robby couldn't shake the fear that if he let himself have him, he'd only find another way to burn him too. But knowing that didn't make him want Dennis any less. He was a selfish man.

Jack shook his head at his silence. “Can we circle back to that kiss? He is on a drip, for Christ’s sake, having some decorum—”

“It wasn’t—” Robby lowered his voice, eyes darting around to make sure they still had privacy. “It wasn’t like that. He asked me to stay. He—”

“I don’t doubt he asked.” Jack’s expression did something complicated. “I’m not stupid, everyone knows the kid has it bad for you. That’s not the point. The point is you. You put your mouth on a resident, a patient, that I am responsible for until morning.”

Robby dragged a hand over his face. “I couldn’t just stay home, okay. He told me he sent Santos away because he didn’t want to be a burden. He has nobody to call. I am aware this is all fucked up, but I couldn’t have him here thinking like that, thinking that I still blame him. I didn’t have any intentions beyond that, for fuck’s sake.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jack muttered. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. I have a trauma coming in any minute, so we can talk more after. You do not kiss him again on my shift.”

“Can I go back in now, or do you plan to keep lecturing me all night?”

Jack glared at him before tipping his head toward the room. “If you’re going to stay, remember that it’s off the clock. You’re a visitor, not a doctor.”

“Fine by me.” He probably couldn’t even focus on treating patients if he tried. The man in that room was all that consumed his thoughts. 

He was sitting up against the pillows when Robby came through the door, still too pale. His mouth was a thin line, his hands fisting the blanket. Robby stopped at the foot of the bed first, eyes scanning the monitor to make sure things were steady before officially hanging his doctor hat. 

“We’re fine.” He said softly. “You should get some more rest.”

Dennis let out a shaky breath. “I thought… okay…”

Robby took the chair again. Not as close as before, but close enough. He didn’t reach for him, but he wanted to. “Rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dennis looked at him like he wanted to argue, like he even wanted to apologize. Then he nodded, as he eased back down against the pillow, eyes still open, fully focused on Robby until they grew heavy.

☆ ☆ ☆ 

This time when Denins woke, he heard other people in the room.

He kept his eyes shut. It felt like the polite thing to do instead of interrupting. And also like the only way to hear them without turning it into another scene. The whispers were hard to hold onto. They kept sliding under the muffled noise from beyond the door, but he caught pieces. He grimaced at the tone of the voices, the shape of an argument with the volume turned down.

“I thought your lectures were over.” Robby hissed.

“I thought better of it.” Abbot huffed. “What is your plan here, exactly?”

“There is no plan.” Robby’s whisper went sharp, frayed. “I didn’t plan for any of this to happen, you know.”

Dennis’s fingers curled in the blanket. He could picture Robby’s face without looking. His jaw tight, the lines in his face deeper with a scowl. 

“So you really didn’t plan to kiss him?”

“Oh, piss off.”

“Here we go again. Keep ignoring the problem.”

“Don’t you have patients?”

“Whitaker is my patient.”

Dennis’s stomach went tight. 

“I think I’ve got him handled.” Robby snorted.

“What did we just talk about? You. Cannot. Treat. Him.” Abbot snipped. “You’re too close to this.”

“I can look after him just fine.”

“Right.” He spat out a mean little laugh, barely there. “What other stolen moments will I interrupt next time I come back in here? While he’s still confined to a bed?”

The air in the room changed, Dennis felt it even with his eyes closed. 

“What the fuck are you implying, Jack?”

It was about to get ugly. Dennis could hear it stacking, and he couldn’t pretend anymore. “Please stop.” He cracked one eye open, just in time to see both attendings freeze. His voice came out rough, sleep-thick. “Just… stop. I initiated it.”

Robby’s breath left him in a sound that was shame and relief at the same time.

Abbot sighed, the anger leaking out of his shoulders. “Sorry to wake you, kid. How are you feeling?”

“Meh. Not great, but I’ve been worse.” Dennis shrugged. “What time is it?”

“A little before four in the morning.”

Dennis lolled his head toward the chair. Robby looked like he hadn’t moved at all. “You stayed.”

He nodded slowly. “I told you I would.”

“I shouldn't have asked you to stay, you should have gone home. You need sleep.”

“I’ve slept in the hospital before. Nothing new.” Robby tapped the side of the bed with two fingers, a small aborted reach, like he wanted to and then remembered Jack was still in the room. “I wouldn’t have been able to sleep at home while you were still here anyway.”

Without thinking too hard about it, Dennis bridged the gap and found Robby’s fingers and held on, ignoring that Abbot was watching the whole thing. Robby went still, then turned his hand over and let him, squeezing back gently.

Dennis watched as the last of the fight went out of Abbot in a long, tired exhale. He watched them with intense eyes, slightly intrigued by the scene in front of him, but he didn’t comment.

“Alright.” He placed his hands in his pockets, his stance more relaxed. “I’ll come back in a bit for some rechecks. You need anything, Whitaker, you hit the button. Behave while I’m gone, the two of you have used up the department’s drama quota until sunrise.”

He left without the need for a response. Robby’s thumb moved once over Dennis’s knuckle. “You didn’t have to do that. Take the blame for initiating.”

Blame. 

It made it sound like such a bad thing. But it didn’t feel like a bad thing, not to Dennis. “I did, though. Kind of.” He whispered. “He was going to make it sound like you… did something wrong. You didn’t.” 

“Well, he has a point.” Robby huffed. “You don’t regret it?”

“No.” It came out firm, a little too quickly. “I don’t. Only thing I’ve been regretting is not doing it sooner.”

Robby’s thumb stilled on his knuckle. “Dennis.”

“I want more.” He said it to the ceiling first, because looking at Robby while it left his mouth felt like he was leaping off of a cliff. “I’m tired of feeling guilty about it. Especially when it seems like you might—’

“Stop.” Robby said it quietly. Not unkind, but tired. “I shouldn’t. There is a list, Dennis. A long one. You’re my resident. You are in a bed because of something that happened on my floor, on my watch. Jack is right, I shouldn’t have done it. There is a lot of risk for the both of us, but especially for you. And I’m not—” His mouth pulled sideways. “I’m not worth that. I’m not a good person. I wasn’t good to you today, you don’t want more of that, trust me. You think you do because it’s four in the morning and I kissed you and you have had the worst day of your year. And you’re still recovering, your head isn’t fully clear.”

Dennis’s stomach dropped. Robby started to pull his hand back, and he went after it. The IV line caught, yanked, a bright white flare of pain in the back of his hand as the tape pulled and the pole rattled on its wheels. He didn’t care. He caught Robby’s wrist with his other hand, nearly taking the whole thing out of his own vein chasing the contact.

“Robby, please. Please don’t. Don’t pull away from me.” The pole wobbled. “I’m not saying you have to feel the same way. I’m not asking you to unpack anything tonight. But please—don’t run from this. I have had enough of people deciding what I can and should want.”

Robby had gone very still. His eyes flicked to the IV, to the angry red starting under the tape, to Dennis half out of the pillows holding onto him with a vice grip. “Dennis, your line—”

“I don’t care about the line.”

“Kid, I can’t.” His voice frayed. “We can’t.”

“Then give it to me straight.” Dennis begged him. He could feel himself shaking again, tired and furious and so far past dignity it was almost comical. “Tell me you don’t want me. Just say it to my face.”

Robby’s throat bobbed. “I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to lie to you anymore.”

Dennis’s grip slackened, just enough that Robby could have pulled away if he wanted to. But instead, he turned his hand and laced their fingers together again.

“I can’t say I don’t want you.” He rasped out, sounding almost like a whimper. “I have wanted you for a while. Longer than is defensible. It doesn’t make what I just said any less true, though. I’m no good for you.”

The pole had stopped rattling. Dennis’s hand throbbed but he clutched his hand tighter. “I’m not asking you for anything else right now. We can fight about the list when the sun is up and I’m not still on a drip. I want you too, and I’m so tired of being protected from the one thing I actually want.”

Robby sighed. His thumb found his knuckle again, his other hand moving to fix the line. “Lie back down before you actually rip that out. I’ll stay, but I’m not kissing you again until Jack is off the clock and you’re out of this bed.”

Dennis eased back against the pillows, the prospect of another kiss buzzing in his head. “I can live with that. For now.”

Robby smiled at him, small but warm. Dennis wanted to bask in it for the rest of the night. For the rest of his life, if his prayers would finally come true.

☆ ☆ ☆ 

“Holy shit.”

Robby’s eyes snapped open, his back screaming at him as he jolted in the chair. He didn’t remember falling asleep. He certainly didn’t remember Santos coming into the room.

She was in the doorway in fresh scrubs, her bag still on her shoulder. The look on her face was the particular Santos blend of murder and delight, currently stalled in the middle because Dennis was still out, mouth slightly open, one hand still in Robby’s, and the picture of it was apparently enough to short-circuit whatever speech she had prepared on the way in.

Robby’s first instinct was to take his hand back, but he held strong. He indulged in the warmth of it, the way Dennis’s fingers had stayed curled even in sleep, stubborn even while unconscious. He also feared that if he moved, Dennis might wake, and Robby wasn’t ready for that face in daylight yet, not with Santos in the door and day shift starting to bleed into the hall.

“Keep your voice down.” He muttered.

She stepped in and shut the door most of the way with her heel. She looked Robby up and down, as if deciding where to start first. Robby looked at the clock, grunting at the time.

“Your shift starts soon.” He jumped on any excuse to delay the inevitable. “Dana’s probably already on the floor. This is not—”

“Oh, we are doing this now whether you like it or not.” She kept it low, which was the only mercy she was offering. “I come back and you’re here. Looking like that. What the hell?”

Robby’s back throbbed. His mouth still tasted like sleep and the ghost of a kiss. “What do you want me to say, Santos?”

“Your intentions, for a start.” She crossed her arms. “Because I have been watching you both dance around each other for a year. So I need to know if I should congratulate you or prepare to hide your body.”

Robby smirked at the threat as they both glanced at Dennis. Still asleep, the curls flattened on one side. The tape on the IV a little wrinkled from where he had nearly ripped it out chasing Robby’s hand.

“I would never want to hurt him.” He kept his eyes on him. “Whatever this looks like, and I know what it looks like, I have a—” He stopped, shaking his head. “I care about him, deeply. More than I have any right to. I came back because the thought of him alone in this bed was driving me crazy, and then I stayed because he asked me to. I’m aware that none of that is a good explanation. I’m not going to pretend it is.”

Santos studied him. The murder plot had receded a bit. “You love him?”

His heart lurched in his chest. “That’s a big word.”

“Yeah.” Her voice stayed low. “Well. He sure loves you, chief.”

Robby’s hand tightened, involuntarily. 

“So whatever happens, just keep that in mind.” She squinted at him. “And if you hurt him, you’ll be grateful we work in a hospital.”

“Noted.” He couldn’t help but smile. He admired her protectiveness.

Her mouth twitched. She looked at their joined hands again, then at Dennis, and something in her face went soft. She slung her bag off her shoulder and dumped it in the other chair like she was claiming the territory. “You should let go before Dana walks in. Or don’t, I don’t really care. Either way, I’m going to be right here when he wakes up.”

Day shift voices were starting at the hub. Dana’s cadence, loud even muffled by the door. The building was turning over. He let go carefully, fingers first, easing out of the curl of Dennis’s grip. He set the hand on the blanket ever so gently.

“He’s yours for a minute.” He muttered.

“He’s mine all the time.” She shot back. “I had him first, so I get dibs.”

Robby stood with a quiet chuckle, hissing as his back quickly protested. He reluctantly left Dennis to rest and stepped back onto the floor, immediately wincing at how bright and loud everything seemed in the morning. He usually barely noticed the fluorescent lights or constant noise, but now he felt like a shell of himself, running on exhaustion and adrenaline.

Eyes bulged as soon as people caught sight of him. Princess and Perlah did a full double take as he approached the nurse’s station. Robby kept walking because stopping would have required an explanation, and he didn’t have an adequate one. Jack was chatting with Dana and Al-Hashimi, both women snapping their necks to look him up and down.

Dana cackled, not even attempting to hold it back. Al-Hashimi recovered faster, her voice professional but a bit strained. “Doctor Robby, good morning. You should probably go home, take the day.”

“If I go home, I’m taking him with me.”

Jack deadpanned at him.

“Not like, with me. I meant his home.” He corrected, feeling a burning flush heat up the back of his neck.

“After rechecks.” Al-Hashimi fought back a smirk at his correction. “He gets another full exam, labs, and a conversation with occupational health. Then, if he is safe to leave and he actually wants to go with you, we can discuss.”

She glanced toward Whitaker’s door, then back at Robby, and whatever she saw on his face made her drop the rest of the lecture.

Robby nodded. “I’m just gonna go change…”

“Go quick. Before the med students start taking pictures.” Dana wiped at her eye, still grinning. 

☆ ☆ ☆ 

The first thing Dennis noticed was the lack of warm weight in his hand. He craned his neck to check, and sure enough, it was empty. He blinked to make sure, before turning his head to the chair. 

“If you ask where Robby is, I’ll smack you.” Trinity glared at him.

“Good morning to you too.” He winced, his mouth tasting gross.

She leaned over in her chair. “How are you feeling?” 

He assessed the situation like he did with his patients, except it was his own body this time. The nausea was gone. The ache in his joints had receded to a dull, minimal soreness, and his head felt much clearer.

“Much better.” He nodded. “Think I just needed to let it cycle out. I’m probably supposed to do rechecks any minute.”

“Wonderful.” She sighed, leaning back. “Okay, now you can ask where Robby is.”

He almost didn’t, on principle. But he gave in quickly, grinning at her bashfully. “When did he leave?”

“A few minutes ago, I just got here.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Question is, when did he get here?”

Dennis felt a little nervous to confess, but it was just Trin. He had already told her far more embarrassing things than this, and she had never once made him regret it. He took a breath and decided there was no point pretending he wasn't dying to tell her.

“Well he left after the handoff, as you know.” He let his eyes wander around the room, trying to sound casual about it. “And then he came back a few hours later and stayed.”

“Okay, you know that’s not normal, right?” She whispered-yelled at him. “He came in wearing his fucking jammies. He was holding your hand—”

“I kissed him.” He blurted. Trinity looked at him like he had sprouted multiple heads. “Well, it was mutual.” He corrected. “But yeah…”

“What did I fucking tell you?” She smacked the bed. “I told you he had it bad for you! You need to listen to me more. You’d get laid sooo much faster.”

“Security!” Dennis shouted quietly, sending them both into a fit of giggles. “What even is my life?”

Trinity wiped at her eye with the heel of her hand, shaking her head. “A hot mess, apparently. Can’t believe you finally smooched the boss. Was it any good?”

“Please stop talking.”

“Oh c’mon!” Then her delight dimmed a notch, leveling him a serious look. “Seriously, though. You doing okay with that?”

He looked at the ceiling. The tiles had stopped warping, which felt like progress. “I don’t know. We said a lot of things. Some things I don’t even know what to do with. We agreed that we would talk more when I’m not in a bed. And also Abbot walked in—”

“Abbot saw?” She gasped.

“Abbot saw.”

“Hot. Mess.” She kicked the bed to punctuate each word. “He’s going to try to talk you out of it. Robby is. That’s what he does, he’s the king of self-sabbotage. He probably doesn’t even believe he could score such a hot little twunk.”

Dennis didn’t dignify the comment with words, choosing to silently flip her off instead. He knew that Robby was his own worst enemy.

I’m not worth that.

It hurt to hear it, hurt to think that Robby actually believed that he wasn’t worth good things. Dennis didn't know how to convince him otherwise yet, but he wanted to. He wanted Robby to understand that Dennis wasn't looking for someone perfect, and that he didn't need Robby to save him or prove anything. He just wanted him. Somehow, that felt both incredibly simple and impossibly difficult. 

Before he could think more about it, Abbot came rolling. He whistled a little tune, far too chipper for an attending post-shift. “Santos, out. Time for rechecks.”

“I’m moral support.”

“You’re a disruption. Go be useful on the floor.” He raised his brows at her. She made a face, squeezed Dennis’s ankle through the blanket, and pointed two fingers at her own eyes and then at him before leaving.

Abbot shut the door most of the way. He gave the monitor a once-over before starting, looking down at his chart. “Al-Hashimi’s gonna take the rest. Labs, etcetera. The annoying paperwork Robby or Dana already probably warned you about.”

Dennis nodded. The attending’s hands were steady when he checked the line, the tape, the angry little mark from where Dennis had nearly ripped it out. He shined a penlight in Dennis’s eyes, a pleased hum escaping him. He did some other preliminary checks before stepping back.

Dennis couldn’t help himself. “Doctor Abbot?”

“Hm?”

“Where’s Robby?”

“Suprised it took you this long to ask.” He smirked. “He’s putting himself together before trying to take you home. If you want him to, of course.”

Dennis nodded. “I want.”

“Course you do, kid.” He set the chart down. “Then I’m going to say this once, because I like you, and because I love him like a brother.”

Dennis waited.

“He’s a great guy.” He sighed. “He wants to do the right thing. He loves hard. He’s damn good at what he does and he wants to make sure everyone is taken care of. That’s the best version of him, and it’s always there. I’ve known him a long time.”

Dennis already knew that. He’d seen it in the way Robby ran a trauma, the way he handled patients and staff alike, the way he always put everyone else before himself.

“And.” Abbot continued. “He can also be a bastard. He has a hard time processing his feelings, especially if they’re complicated. You saw some of that last night. You’ll see more of it if you keep going.”

Dennis’s fingers found the edge of the blanket. He wasn’t offended, he wasn’t even surprised. He’d been on the receiving end of both versions in a single afternoon. “I know he’s not perfect. I know how he acted yesterday. I’m not asking him to be a saint. I just—It doesn’t make me want him any less.”

Abbot studied him for a long second. His eye contact was so intense that Dennis almost looked away. Then he huffed, almost a laugh, and shook his head.

“Yeah. I figured.” He picked the chart back up. “For what it’s worth, he does care about you a whole lot. But he’s not used to people staying when he shows them the ugly parts of himself. Don’t let him talk you into being the one who leaves just because it would be easier for him to live with.”

Dennis swallowed. “Okay.”

“And if he does something stupid, I’ll smack him up for you.” Abbot’s mouth twitched. “I’m heading out now. Al-Hashimi will be in soon. Sit up if you can.”

Dennis pushed himself up. The room didn’t tilt, which felt like a win. Abbot lingered at the door, then glanced back, and whatever he saw on Dennis’s face made his voice go a shade less dry.

“He looked wrecked this morning, you know. He wants to make sure you’re looked after. Just don’t confuse it with him having his shit together.”

Then he was gone, and the room was Dennis’s again, and the want sat in his chest warm and terrifying. The door opened again not long after, Al-Hashimi entered with her steady presence. Behind her, out in the hall, Dennis caught a flash of dark scrubs and a familiar profile that made his stupid heart skip.

He tried not to think about Robby hovering at a distance. Al-Hashimi followed his gaze, just barely, but didn’t comment.

“Alright, Doctor Whitaker.” She stopped at the edge of his bed, looking over him. “You’re looking much better. Let’s make sure that’s the case, then we can talk about sending you home. And who is going to take you.”

He’s putting himself together before trying to take you home.

Dennis nodded. He didn’t look out into the hallway again. He didn’t have to. He could feel Robby there anyway, the same way he had all year whenever he was nearby. Except now there was a kiss sitting between them and a promise not to do it again until he was on his feet, so he was going to get out of that bed if it was the last useful thing his body did all day.

Several rechecks later, along with a conversation with Occupational Health, Dennis was finally cleared to leave. Trinity had brought him clean clothes from home, and Al-Hashimi had even tracked down a wheelchair to get him to the locker room, but Dennis took one look at it and shook his head. He could walk. At least, he was pretty sure he could. 

So he changed in the privacy of his room, with Trinity stationed outside the door and ready to help him if necessary. His legs felt slightly unreliable after spending most of the night in bed, a combination of weakness and the lingering effects of the overdose making every step feel a tad uncertain. He also desperately needed to pee, and he would sooner crawl down the hallway than use a bedpan.

Trinity helped him make the short trip to the staff bathroom, keeping a steadying hand near his elbow without making too much of a production out of it. That might have worked if half the department hadn't seemed to notice them. Dennis could feel eyes following him from the nurses' station, and the warmth spreading up his neck quickly reached his ears. 

He knew that everyone meant well. They were relieved to see him upright, and he was grateful for it. Unfortunately, gratitude did very little to make being watched while wobbling down the hallway any less mortifying.

As if the situation couldn't possibly get worse, Robby appeared at his other side. “I've got him.”

Trinity gave him a long, suspicious look before reluctantly relinquishing Dennis. “Fine. But if he falls, I'm blaming you.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

Robby slipped an arm around Dennis's back, careful and supportive without making him feel completely helpless, and guided him the rest of the way. Dennis tried very hard not to stare at him. He failed almost immediately. Robby had somehow managed to make himself look presentable after barely sleeping all night in a hospital chair. His hair was no longer sticking up in every direction, and his face looked more alert, more composed. 

“Urinal or stall?” Robby asked as soon as the bathroom door swung shut behind them.

As exciting as the idea of Robby watching him pull his pants down might have been under literally any other circumstance, this was very much not the scenario he wanted that fantasy attached to. “Um. Stall, please.”

“Need help?” Robby laughed softly at the flat look he got as a response. “Sorry.”

He helped Dennis into the stall anyway, making sure he was steady before stepping back. Dennis waited until the door was secure before allowing himself to relax. Sitting down felt remarkably good. His legs were still shaky, both due to the comedown and his close proximity to his attending. He didn't want to think too hard about the fact that Robby could hear everything on the other side of the door. He focused instead on the relief of finally taking the weight off his feet.

When he emerged shortly after, Robby was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms folded. Neither of them said anything at first. Dennis washed his hands, watching Robby through the mirror.

“You look better.” Robby hummed eventually, breaking the tense quiet.

“So do you.”

Their eyes met in the mirror, and both of them fought back small smiles. The silence returned once Dennis finished drying his hands. Robby still didn't move to help him out of the bathroom. He just stood there watching him with an expression Dennis couldn't quite decipher, as though he were trying to convince himself that Dennis was really standing there in front of him.

Dennis couldn't ignore the elephant in the room anymore. “You said you wouldn't kiss me again until Abbot was off the clock and I was out of bed.”

“I did.”

“So…” Dennis gestured vaguely toward the hallway, then himself. “He's gone. And I'm right here.”

Something pained flickered across Robby's face. For one awful second, Dennis wondered if he'd pushed too far. Then Robby stepped forward.

His hand came up to the back of Dennis's neck, large and warm and familiar in a way that made Dennis's breath catch. Robby had touched him there many times before in the ED, usually to steady him or get his attention, but this time there was nothing clinical about it. He pulled Dennis gently toward him, and their lips met.

The kiss was nothing like the first. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty, no question about whether either of them wanted it. It was messy and desperate, carrying all the things neither of them had known how to say. Dennis instinctively caught Robby's scrub top as the attending guided him backward, his back meeting the wall with a soft oomph.

Dennis kissed him like he needed to survive, until one horrifying thought broke through the haze. “I haven't brushed my teeth today.”

Robby stilled for half a second before smiling against his mouth. He kissed him once more before resting their foreheads together, his breath warm between them. Dennis could have kissed him again, but he opted to take in every detail of Robby’s face while he was close enough for him to do it.

“Fuck.” The older man whispered, eyes closed as he nuzzled against him. “I missed you.”

Dennis blinked. “You've been here all night.”

“I know.” Robby pulled back just enough to look at him. “I convinced myself that the first kiss was just because you were coming down. That once you were completely sober, you'd realize you didn't actually want this. I thought maybe you'd regret it. And I knew I'd already crossed a line that I couldn’t go back over, so I figured the best thing I could do was give you space.”

Dennis's fingers tightened in Robby's scrub top. “I don't want you to go back.”

He told him as much by dragging him back in by his scrub top, opening his icky mouth for more of him. Robby didn’t seem to mind, sliding his tongue further into his mouth. He tried to slow it, tried to make it careful, like he was still trying to atone, but Dennis wouldn’t let him. His hands fisted more of the attending’s scrub top, yanking him closer. When he finally kissed back with matching heat, Dennis made a broken little noise in the back of his throat.

It was too much and not enough. Robby’s mouth dragged along his jaw, then back up, claiming his lips again. The attending who had been so careful, so distant, was gone. This was Robby giving in, and Dennis took it like he’d been waiting his whole life. A small part of him felt greedy for wanting even more from him. Robby, who had done his best to try and make it up to him, to right his wrongs. But with the knowledge that Robby felt something for him, a crush, it made Dennis a little too brave. A little too desperate.

“Not here.” Robby murmured as he reluctantly broke away. “We can't here.”

Dennis knew it was the right call, but that didn't stop the little disappointed noise that escaped him.

Robby smiled and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Come on.”

He offered his arm, and Dennis took it. He leaned back into his weight, both of them steadying their breaths before walking back into the open. “I was cleared to go home.”

“I know.” They made their way toward the lockers, moving at a pace Dennis could manage while purposefully avoiding eye contact with any observers. 

It took him fewer attempts to get his locker open this time, which he decided was another good sign. Unfortunately, the contents of the locker put a damper on things, several things spilling out as he got it open. It looked like a small tornado had torn through.

“I'm sorry.” Robby frowned.

“I know.” Dennis made quick work of gathering the scattered belongings, quickly stuffing everything back into his bag. “Look. Easy fix.”

He could tell by Robby’s face that it would not be an easy fix. The man still looked like he was drowning in guilt.

Dennis took a slow breath, then slung the bag over his shoulder. “Take me home?”

☆ ☆ ☆ 

It took forever to usher Dennis out of the ED. He insisted on saying goodbye rather than sneaking away from the lockers, which meant that he’d also formed quite a big crowd of staff around the hub.

Robby kept his distance, finding it amusing how easily Dennis blushed under everyone’s compliments and concern. He watched from the sidelines with his arms crossed, a half-smile tugging at his mouth while everyone fussed over the kid. Dennis kept trying to wave it off, clearly regretting every second of the public send-off.

Robby decided it was as good a time as any. He slipped out, jogging to the parking garage, and pulled his car around to the ambulance bay. He sat there for a minute with the engine idling, fingers tight on the wheel, already knowing it was a terrible idea. Being alone with Dennis again, especially while the kid was still unsteady on his feet, was asking for poor decisions. Even if his head was clear.

He wanted to take care of him though, badly. Wanted to get him home, get food in him, make sure he slept in a comfortable bed. Robby knew he wasn’t the best option. Too much history already between them that he was still trying to make right. But Dennis wanted him too, for whatever odd reason. Robby shivered as he recalled the way Dennis had kissed him like he was starving.

When he walked back into the ED, poor Dennis was still beet red, trapped in the middle of the crowd.

“Alright, that’s enough, let the man breathe.” Robby finally interfered, cutting through the crowd and offering his arm again for stability. Dennis took it without hesitation, fingers curling into the fabric of Robby’s long-sleeve.

“Take care of our bloodhound, chief.” Dana leveled him a look that he couldn’t fully be annoyed by before Santos stepped in front of them.

“Text me when you’re home, got it?” She poked at Dennis.

“Got it.” He squirmed away from her prodding finger.

They walked slowly toward the ambulance bay. Robby glanced down at him, voice low and teasing. “Could always just carry you again. Save us the walk.”

Dennis snorted, the sound tired. “Your old man back couldn’t take it.”

Robby huffed a laugh and shook away the memory of the dead weight of Dennis’s unconscious body, the twinge that had lingered in his lower back. He ignored it now, the same way he’d ignored a lot of things lately.

When they finally reached the car, Dennis gestured at it. “I’ll drive.”

Robby’s eyes widened before a genuine, toothy grin broke out on his face. “Yeah right.”

He helped Dennis in, one hand at his elbow, the other bracing the door. Then he leaned over him to buckle the seatbelt, close enough that Dennis froze. Robby could feel it, the catch of breath, as his body went still under him. He was so close he could kiss him again. Taste that same greedy desperation. The space between them felt charged, thin.

But Robby showed restraint. He tugged the seatbelt once to make sure it was snug, knuckles brushing Dennis’s chest, then retreated. He closed the door with a quiet click and circled around to the driver’s side, heart beating a little too fast.

He pulled out of the ambulance bay and merged onto the main road. For a few blocks neither of them spoke. Dennis sat slightly angled toward the window, seatbelt still taut across his chest, the color in his face finally starting to fade from the earlier attention.

Robby cleared his throat, an important question sitting heavy on his tongue. It could decide everything. “So. Where am I taking you?”

Dennis turned, brow furrowed, like he hadn’t even considered there was a choice. Robby kept his eyes on the road.

“Your place, or mine?” He clarified.

Dennis should absolutely not go to Robby’s. Robby knew it. Knew it was asking for trouble, knew for a fact he didn’t have the heart to deny him anything once they were behind a closed door. 

Dennis was quiet for a moment, considering. “Well if I go home, I’ll be alone. And I’m okay with that. But are you?”

Robby’s hands tightened on the steering wheel until the leather creaked. “This isn’t about me. What do you want?”

“I want you to tell me what you’re thinking.” He pushed. “Will it drive you crazy again if I’m all by myself?”

Robby hissed a breath through his teeth. “Jesus Christ, Dennis. Can you just think about yourself for once? All of the shit that has happened to you, I think you deserve to be a little selfish.”

Dennis rested his head back against the seat, eyes closing for a second. “Fine. Take me to your place then.”

Robby wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Relief and dread hit at the same time. “You sure?”

“Mhm.” Dennis nodded without opening his eyes. “That’s my selfish decision. Not even thinking about what you want.”

Robby wanted all of him. Wanted to take care of him, to help heal him. Wanted to touch him, kiss him until he was breathless again, until that greedy little sound came back. He swallowed it down.

“If you come over, it’s just so that I can keep an eye on you. That’s it.”

“Sure.” Dennis didn’t sound convinced, and Robby felt like a pervert for how much that quiet disbelief excited him. 

The rest of the drive to Robby’s was in silence. He didn’t look over again. He didn’t trust himself to. Dennis hadn’t been back to his place since his sabbatical, and the thought of it caused another flood of emotions.

“Ah ah, stay put.” Robby admonished as Dennis reached for his own seatbelt, already out and around to the passenger side. He opened the door and offered his arm again. The stairs up to his front door were the worst of it, Dennis’s grip tightening every few steps, breath going shallow. Robby kept a steadying hand at his back.

Once they were finally inside, he got Dennis onto the couch without making a production of it, easing him down until he was sitting, then letting him slump a little into the cushions. Robby set his bag down nearby, zipper still half-open from the ED.

“Hungry?”

“Starving.” Dennis’s voice was rough. “I’ll eat anything.”

Robby offered a smile before moving toward the kitchen. He didn’t have much that wasn’t takeout containers or coffee, but there was a can of chicken soup in his cabinet that wasn’t expired. He dumped it into a pot, turned the burner low, stood there watching it heat after finding some crackers to pair with it. He moved on autopilot, every so often glancing toward the living room where Dennis hadn’t moved.

When it was ready, he carried it out with a tall glass of water and set it on the coffee table within easy reach. “It’s hot. Don’t burn yourself.”

Dennis gave him a look that was almost a smile and picked up the spoon. Robby turned the TV on, volume low, some mindless show to fill the silence. He sat on the far end of the couch, his body angled mostly toward the screen, but his eyes kept drifting. Robby watched the screen. Then Dennis. Then the screen again.

When Dennis finished, he set the bowl down on the coffee table with a quiet clink, the crackers mostly gone too. He wiped at his mouth with his sleeve. “Why are you so far away?”

There were so many reasons. 

“Dennis.” He tried to make it a warning. It came out softer than he wanted, ruined by the little disappointed look that crossed Dennis’s face.

“Are you regretting this?”

Robby knew he didn’t mean bringing him over, or the soup. He meant all of it. He shook his head. “No. But it’s still complicated.”

He let out a long breath, deflating more against the cushions. “Right. I’m sorry. I—I know I’m asking a lot of you.” His voice had gone small. “Thank you, for the food. I think I’m just going to nap, if that’s okay.”

Robby stood, reaching for the dish. “More than okay. And you don’t have to thank me.”

He leaned over, pressing a complicated kiss to Dennis’s forehead. He kept it brief, an excuse to touch him just as much as it was an act to reassure him. But Dennis didn’t lean into it this time, which sent a jolt of hurt through the older man. Serves him right.

He took the bowl to the sink and washed it. Then he washed his hands, scrubbing until the water ran hot and his skin felt raw, like he could scrape off the part of himself that kept doing this, kept making Dennis feel like he was the problem and not Robby. 

Behind him the TV droned on. Dennis didn’t say anything else.

☆ ☆ ☆ 

Dennis woke to the sensation of floating.

The world was a blur of motion first, then warmth, solid arms under his knees and around his back. He was being carried down the hallway.

“Gonna hurt your back.” He grumbled, the words thick, half-swallowed by sleep.

“Shh.” Robby’s voice was low, close to his ear. “You’ll be more comfortable in a bed. Go back to sleep.”

It was slightly humiliating, being carried as a grown man. But he didn’t fight it, his face tucked against Robby’s shoulder, one hand weakly fisted in the fabric of Robby’s shirt. He felt safe in Robby’s careful hold, like Dennis weighed something precious.

Robby lowered him to the mattress like he might shatter, and Dennis could have cried with how comfortable the bed felt. The soft, cool sheets, and a plush pillow that smelled like detergent and Robby. His body sank and every aching place in him sighed.

“Robby?”

“Hm?” He was already tucking the covers around him gently. The blanket settled over Dennis’s chest and the older man’s hands lingered a second too long at the edge.

“Can you please stay here with me?” He hated how needy it sounded. “I promise I’ll be good, I just… I want you to be here with me.”

Dennis heard the breath he took, slow, like he was bracing.

“You’re always good, Dennis.” He sighed, tired but honest as it punched straight through him. “I’m sorry I made you think otherwise.”

Dennis’s eyes burned. He stared at the dark shape of Robby standing over the bed, at the outline of him against the light peeking through the blinds. “You can make it up to me.”

For a second he thought Robby would leave. Instead, he lifted the covers and slid in slowly, like he was giving Dennis time to change his mind. The mattress dipped and then the solid line of a body settled beside him. Dennis’s heart hammered so hard he was sure Robby could hear it.

He was in bed with his attending. Of whom he had kissed before, and would very much like to kiss again if given the chance. Dennis lay on his side, facing him, barely breathing. He could see the line of Robby’s profile in the dark, thrumming with the desire to close the last inch. He wanted Robby’s hand in his hair again and that low sound in his throat.

But he forced himself not to move. He was terrified that if he did, Robby would remember all the reasons this was a bad idea and get back out. The attending’s voice was barely there. “Go to sleep, Dennis.”

Bravely, Dennis’s fingers found the edge of Robby’s shirt under the covers. “Okay.” He whispered. He stayed still. He stayed good. But he couldn’t fall back asleep.

He lay there with his heart trying to climb out of his chest, with Robby’s breathing slowly evening out beside him, with the knowledge that he could turn his head and their mouths would be close enough to press together.

“You’re not sleeping.” Robby grunted.

“Can’t.” Dennis swallowed. “Thinking too hard.”

The mattress dipped as Robby shifted onto his side. Dennis could feel the heat of him, the faint rise of his breath, the way the sheets had gone warm in the narrow strip between their bodies.

“About what?” 

It wasn’t a question that warranted an easy answer. But Dennis had asked the same in return earlier, when he pushed Robby’s confession. He stared at the vague shape of Robby’s mouth in the dark.

“You. This.” He breathed out. “I keep waiting for you to get up and go back to the couch.”

Robby was quiet long enough that Dennis almost apologized for saying it. Then a hand found him under the covers, settling at his waist, heavy and warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I’m not going back to the couch.”

Dennis’s breath left him in a shaky rush. His fingers were still hooked in Robby’s shirt like he still didn’t believe he was going to stay.

Robby’s thumb moved, a slow pass over his hipbone. “Talk to me.”

Dennis shivered at the caress. “I don’t want this to change everything. I don’t want you to start treating me like I’m made of glass, or like I’m some line you crossed and now you have to manage. I just—” He had to stop and breathe. “I want more of you. The way you already are. I want you to want me like that too. Not because I almost—not because of today. Because of before. Everything that we had. You felt it too, right?”

Robby made a small noise. “Den.”

“I’m not asking you to make it uncomplicated.” Dennis’s fingers tightened.

Robby shifted closer. A slow, careful closing of that last inch. His forehead came to rest against Dennis’s first. Their noses brushed. Dennis could feel Robby’s breath on his mouth, warm, a little uneven.

“Course I felt it too.” Robby hummed, barely audible. “I do want you, that’s the problem. I want you so badly, it feels so selfish. I know you can do better than me, but I don’t want you to.”

Dennis’s eyes burned. Before he could refute the claim, Robby’s hand slid from his waist up his back, spanning the space between his shoulder blades, pulling him in until they were flush. Chest to chest, knees knocking, Dennis’s heart slamming against Robby’s like it was trying to get through.

Then Robby pressed his lips to Dennis’s.

It was sweet, almost devastatingly so. Just the warm, sure press of Robby’s mouth to his, lingering, like he was asking and answering at the same time. Dennis made a small sound into it, helpless, and Robby kissed him again, only slightly deeper, his hand coming up to cup the side of Dennis’s face.

Dennis opened it up for more, parting his lips and let Robby in. It was still sweet, still careful, but wetter now, warmer, Robby’s tongue a tentative stroke against his that made Dennis’s whole body liquify. Robby made a low noise in his throat and shifted closer still, one thigh sliding between Dennis’s, the weight of him a grounding, overwhelming thing. His mouth moved against Dennis’s like he had all night. Like there was nothing to rush and everything to feel. 

Dennis’s hand left Robby’s shirt and found the back of his neck instead, fingers sliding into his hair, and Robby exhaled hard against his lips. Dennis had never made out like this, so lovingly. Robby’s mouth dragged, slow, then returned, then opened against his again. His thumb stroked along Dennis’s cheekbone. His other hand stayed at his back, keeping him close.

Dennis’s chest ached with it. Robby always made him feel so appreciated, so loved. What happened earlier hadn’t changed that. It hadn’t made either of them into someone else. It had just made the wanting louder, more exposed. 

He kissed him deeper, a quiet plea in the way his mouth opened, in the way his body arched the smallest amount into Robby’s. Robby answered it, rolling half over him, not pinning, just hovering, and kissed him like he meant every second of it. Like he’d been thinking too hard too. Like the restraint had finally run out of places to go.

When they broke, it was only for air. Robby’s forehead stayed against his, their mouths still almost touching.

Dennis’s voice was wrecked. “Don’t stop.”

Robby’s breath shuddered. He kissed the corner of Dennis’s mouth, then his lower lip, then took his mouth again, like he was memorizing it. His hands stayed light, fingertips at Dennis’s jaw, a slow pass down his side, over the fabric of his shirt. The weight of Robby’s thigh pressed between his carefully eased back, like he’d caught himself. Then he stopped.

He didn’t pull away all at once. He broke the kiss but stayed close, fingers settling in the back of his hair to gently tug him back, preventing him from chasing more. 

“No more, Den. At least not tonight.” He puffed out. “I want to do this right. For once in my life. Is that okay?”

The greedy part of Dennis wanted the rest of the night to dissolve into heat and no more thinking. He swallowed down the initial disappointment and tried to linger in the hope instead. Robby was still there, still holding him. 

“Yeah.” Dennis’s voice came out rough. “I’d like that. I like you.”

Robby chuckled, the sound low and startled, vibrating the bed with the force of it. “I like you too, sweetheart.”

Dennis could melt. The endearment landed in him like something warm poured straight through his ribs. He tucked his face into the hollow of Robby’s throat, not trusting what his expression was doing. Robby’s arm came around him properly then, gathering him in, and Dennis went without resistance. Their legs tangled, Robby’s chin resting in his hair. The kiss was over, but nothing about it felt like a door closing.

Dennis lay there and let himself feel it.

Of course it had taken a near-death experience to get here. He wished it hadn’t. But just like in the ED, Dennis felt like he was finally where he was supposed to be. 

“Do me a favor.” Robby spoke into his hair, slightly muffled. “Let Santos know you’re here so she doesn’t kill me when she gets home and you’re not there.”

“She might kill you anyway.” Dennis smiled against his neck. “It’ll be complicated, like you said.”

“Let me worry about that for now. You just rest.” Robby’s thumb moved slow circles at his back, Dennis’s breathing finally starting to match his.

He closed his eyes, pressing a small kiss to Robby’s throat, relishing the way it made him twitch. Hope sat warm and steady in his chest, not frantic anymore. Tomorrow would still be complicated. 

But tonight, he didn’t have to ask for anything else. He slept peacefully, feeling eager for the future for the first time in a long time. All because of a bracelet.