Chapter Text
Dennis wakes to the familiar buzz of the hospital and the faint, rhythmic beep of the monitor at his bedside. For a second, he’s disoriented, not entirely sure where he is. There’s a brief flare of panic that he’s still up on the 8th floor, and he’s late, but then he realises his head feels heavy but his body strangely light, and everything just a little bit wrong… but the smell of antiseptic and hospital detergent grounds him.
Familiar. Safe.
It takes him a fair few moments to piece together what’s happening.
Someone’s disconnected the fluids he remembers from the previous night, no longer infusing into the IV his arm, and he’s been thoroughly tucked into bed with the familiar warm weight of a blanket, not a hospital blanket, but one of the ones from the staff room tucked up around him.
And —
There’s Robby.
He’s slumped forwards in the chair beside the bed, still in his scrubs, head tilted awkwardly against his arm. He’s fast asleep, somehow, despite the way his pager is half dangling from his pocket and there’s two coffee cups abandoned, empty, on the table.
His hair is a mess, he’s a mess, hair sticking up in every which direction. His face is pale and drawn, and there’s a deep crease across his cheek from where he must’ve been laying on his hand.
And there’s Jack, standing in the corner, watching the whole scene with an unfamiliar mix of what looks like… fondness, mixed with just a touch of familiar exasperation. Dennis doesn't doubt they’ve been in this situation before. Well — probably not this exact situation, that would be insane, but something similar.
As Dennis looks at him, he realises Jack’s holding a folder of paperwork, flipping through it idly.
Unlike Robby, he’s clearly showered and changed out of his scrubs into his day clothes, and he looks a hell of a lot better than the man asleep at the side of the bed for it.
Dennis blinks at him, trying to remember how he got here. He vaguely recalls the bright lights, the sound of his name, someone holding his hand and telling him to breathe, but it feels distant, like something that happened in a dream.
When Jack notices he’s awake, he straightens up, dropping the file down to his side.
“Hey kid.”
Dennis croaks out, “Good — morning?” and winces at how dry his throat is. He needs a glass of water like — yesterday, it feels like sandpaper as he tries to swallow.
Jack grins. “Close enough, it’s uhh —“ he glances at his watch, then back up at Dennis. “Nearly half 8 in the evening. You’ve been out nearly twenty-four hours.” He sets the papers aside and moves closer. “You scared the hell out of us, you know that?”
Dennis frowns. “I—uh… yeah, sorry.” He hesitates. “Robby told me I had… I went into DKA?”
Jack nods, “Yeah, you did. You’ve got type one diabetes, kid. You just didn’t know.”
Dennis nods, but his brain feels slow, like he’s wading through fog, despite the fact he knows he’s already had this conversation with Robby. “I thought I was just… tired.”
“No,” Jack says gently. “You were very, very sick. But you’re stable now, and your numbers are looking good. We’ll sort your discharge, get you a monitor and a prescription for insulin, and the endocrinology team will set you up for follow-up with them and your doctor.”
Dennis exhales slowly. “Okay.” Then, after a beat: “I’m starving.”
Jack’s grin widens. “Good. I’ll take that as a sign you’re feeling better.”
He disappears for a few minutes and returns with a tray: rice, grilled chicken, vegetables, a cup of juice. It’s the first proper healthy meal Dennis has seen in weeks. Which is probably not a great thing re: the diagnosis he’s just received, but god is he much too hungry to care.
As he starts eating, Jack leans against the end of his bed, watching him with quiet sort of approval. It doesn’t last long, though.
Because, at long last, Robby stirs, disoriented for a second as he blinks blearily at his surroundings before he registers where he is and his gaze snaps to the bed, sitting up straight.
“Dennis?” His voice is rough from sleep, but his concern is instant. “Hey— hey, you’re awake. How do you feel?”
Dennis pauses mid-bite, a laugh bubbling up despite the situation. “I’m okay, Dr Robby.”
Robby runs a hand down his face, trying to wake himself properly, but the movement just makes his exhaustion more obvious.
“You look worse than me," he says, and Robby groans.
“Shut up, kid,” he says automatically,“You scared me.”
Dennis can’t help it, he smiles. “So I’ve heard.”
Robby exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ve got to stop. I’m too old for it.”
“I’ll try,” Dennis says softly. “But… thank you. For—” He gestures vaguely. “Everything.”
Robby shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. Just take care of yourself. You do that again and I’m killing you myself.”
Dennis grins, eyes bright again. “I’ll do my best. But seriously, you look like you need admitting.”
That gets a huff of laughter out of Jack, and even Robby cracks a reluctant smile.
“Shut up.”
Jack chuckles quietly, reaching out to squeeze Robby’s shoulder, before turning back to finish the last of the paperwork.
Robby watches Dennis eat, only accepting the coffee brought up by one of the nurses once he’s sure Dennis is okay.
Jack finishes scribbling the last of his notes, flips the folder shut, and looks over at Dennis, who’s sitting up now with his empty tray balanced on his lap and colour back in his face. He looks good. He feels good.
“Well, mouse,” Jack says, “good news is you’re officially fit for discharge.”
Dennis blinks, caught mid-sip of the ice-cold water bottle that same nurse had also brought up for him. (Rumour travelled fast, and apparently there was quite a team worried about him… and by extension, Robby). “Mouse? And uh — already?”
“Yeah… Y’know, look at you,” It’s not really an answer and they both know it, but Dennis sort of just accepts it as Jack continues. “And yeah. Already,” he confirms, reaching over to a table Dennis hadn’t noticed to grab a rather full white pharmacy bag onto the table. “Insulin, a glucometer, lancets, auto-injector needle refills, and some leaflets from endocrine about dosing, carb counting, and when to call if you start feeling off again. You’ve also got a follow-up with your GP and an appointment with the endocrinologist next week, they’ll want to run a few more tests and help you get used to it all.”
Dennis balks, looking at the pile, brow furrowed. “Right. Yeah. Okay.”
Jack softens. “You’re gonna be fine, kid. We caught it before anything worse happened. You just need to rest, hydrate, and start learning what your numbers feel like for you. You already know the science behind it, so that’s one less thing to worry about. It’s a lot at once, but you’ll get the hang of it.”
Beside him, Robby, still rumpled and exhausted-looking, adds quietly, “And you call if you need help Dennis. Doesn’t matter what time it is, where you are, anything. You need help, you call me— you call us. Got it?”
Dennis nods. “Got it.” He does, he does get it, but god is it overwhelming. He’s out of his depth, and his brain still isn’t quite working at 100%, despite how hard he tries to turn it on.
Jack grabs Dennis’ clothes, tossing them onto the bed, before he snags his jacket, tucking the folder under his arm. “Come on then. We’ll give you a moment to get dressed then we’ll take you home.”
Dennis blinks again, looking up from where he had focused on his clothes. They’re the spares from his locker. The locker that only he knows the code to.
“Wait, you’ll take me home?”
Robby stretches, stifling a yawn. “You really think we’re letting you wander off to catch a bus after you just spent a night in observation? Not a chance.”
Dennis hesitates. “You guys don’t have to—”
“Get your stuff together, Whitaker,” Robby interrupts, tone firm but warm. It’s oddly paternal in a way that’s even more oddly sexy.
Dennis obeys, still baffled but oddly touched. He doesn’t think about the feeling Robby’s order has stirred up in him.
It’s not until they’re out in the car that Dennis starts to realise something’s… off. Or not off, but weird.
Jack is driving, which is good, because he’s definitely the only one of the three who’s awake, alert and orientated enough to actually drive, and Robby’s in the passenger seat, flipping through radio stations until he settles on something he wants to listen to.
Robby doesn’t even need to look at Jack to know when he disapproves, and there’s a fluid sort of mechanism to the way they interact, like this is something they’ve done thousands of times, a situation they’ve been in thousands of times.
“You two carpool a lot?” Dennis asks, trying for casual, and completely missing it. He sounds worried, for some reason.
“Sometimes,” Robby says, then yawns into his hand. “Usually when one of us is too tired to be trusted with a steering wheel.”
“Like right now, brother?”
Dennis hums, glancing between them. They’re comfortable with one another in a way that doesn’t quite fit into his usual boxes of “colleague” or “mentor”. He's noticed it before, every time the two talk, or work together, or even just look at one another, there’s something effortless about it. They interact like they’re a part of one another sometimes, it always stuns Dennis how few words they have to say to one another, their handovers consisting more of looks and gestures than actual medical terminology. It makes sense, in a way, because Dennis knows they’ve worked together for a long time, but he’s never really known how long they’ve been friends for, or whether their friendship extends beyond that of the ER.
Clearly it does.
Still, he shakes it off, focusing instead on the street lights flickering past the window. He’s tired, even though he slept all day, and the tape holding down the sensor in his arm is itchy and a little bit uncomfortable, and honestly he’s just looking forward to crashing into his own bed (as uncomfortable as it is) and sleeping until his alarm goes off for work in the morning.
Shit.
Work.
This is going to be a nightmare, really. He doesn’t eat enough as it is, and now he’s going to have to be thinking about carbs and insulin and his blood sugars.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He doesn’t want to. He really doesn’t want to.
“—So where are we dropping you?” Jack asks, snapping Dennis out of his spiral.
“Oh—uh.” Dennis scratches the back of his neck. “I’m crashing at Santos’ place at the minute. She’s got this, uh, apartment off Wilcox Street. It’s not much but it’s cheap.”
Robby’s eyebrows knit together as he turns round to look at Dennis. “The one with the broken heating?”
Dennis grimaces. “Yeah. It’s not like — that bad. We just wear coats inside.”
Jack snorts. “Absolutely not.”
“What?”
Robby turns in his seat to look at Jack, nods, then turns back to him. “You’re not going back there, Whitaker. You’re still weak, you need somewhere clean and warm and where someone can keep an eye on you, especially with the fact your blood sugars aren’t stable yet. You’re coming to ours.”
Dennis blinks once, then twice. “What?” He manages eloquently, “You mean like — you mean your house?”
“That’s usually what ours means, yes,” Jack deadpans.
“I can’t just—”
“You can,” Robby interrupts again, voice soft but firm in a way that makes Dennis feel like he can’t argue. Secretly, he really doesn’t want to argue. He doesn’t want to go back to Santos’ place, not tonight. “We’ve got a spare room. You’ll be more comfortable there.”
Dennis sits back, nodding his consent quietly. They don’t push further, but it’s clear they wouldn’t have let up even he’d tried to fight. The car fills with the hum of the road and the quiet music filtering through the radio, and by the time Jack pulls into a quiet, tree-lined street, Dennis is back to being half asleep, having bewilderedly accepted the fact that he was, apparently, now going to be staying at Robby’s house.
No.
At Jack and Robby’s house.
Suddenly it doesn’t make sense. The house is… beautiful. Warm light spilling from the windows, a garden that looks alive even in the dusk. There’s a bike propped against the porch, a pair of worn boots by the door. Robby and Jack live here. Jack and Robby.
And.
And.
They live together.
How did Dennis not know they lived together?
As Dennis is helped out of the car, Robby unlocks the front door, and gestures him inside. “Shoes off. Kitchen’s through there, bathroom’s down the hall or up the stairs, your room’s upstairs too, the one on the right. Sheets are clean.”
Dennis steps in, and stops dead in his tracks.
There are framed photos everywhere.
Jack and Robby together at what looks like medical school graduation. Another one, a little more recent, the two of them at some charity gala, Robby with his arm slung casually around Jack’s shoulders. A smaller one of them on a hiking trail, sunburned and smiling like idiots.
“Oh,” Dennis breathes.
Robby glances over his shoulder. “What?”
Dennis looks at them both, at Jack reaching for the light switch, Robby setting his keys down in a little bowl on the hall table, and he realises, all at once, that this isn’t just two roommates sharing a house. They’re not just friends. They’re not just colleagues.
“You—” he starts, then stops, looking between the two. “You’re married?”
Jack looks faintly amused. “We are.”
Robby nods, “last time I checked, we were.”
Dennis just stares at him. “You — you brought me here?”
Robby shrugs. “Where else?”
It’s a good question.
Robby shows him up to the spare room. It’s warm, a comfortable double room with clean sheets and thick blankets and it smells faintly of lavender.
Dennis sits on the bed for a moment after Robby leaves him in peace to change into the sweats and a tshirt he’s brought him, just staring at the room around him. There’s no pictures of them in here, but there’s a collection of old medical textbooks and some random bits of stuff that they’ve clearly shoved in there over the years, and it makes his eyes sting a little bit and he’s not sure why.
He can hear the two of them talking softly downstairs, probably about him, probably about all go this, and it feels a little bit like being carried home from the car asleep, a sort of tender thing that hurts to think about too much.
So when Robby calls up the stairs to tell him to “Get some sleep, Whitaker”, Dennis does what he’s told, and curls up under the covers.
The shirt smells like them, and so do the blankets and the sheets and the pillows.
He’s asleep almost immediately.
Dennis doesn’t wake to his alarm.
That doesn’t surprise him at first, but then it does. There’s warm light creeping in from underneath the curtains, and it’s warm, so warm, and he’s so comfortable, that he’s a little bit dazed and disoriented, before the panic sets in.
Shit.
His alarm didn’t go off. He’s late — he’s late and he’s going to get in trouble and —
It takes him a moment to remember where he is: not his tiny, draughty room at Santos’ place, not the hospital, but Robby’s place. Robby and Jack’s place.
They wouldn’t let him be late for work, Robby’s basically his supervisor, after all. If they’ve not woken him then it’s okay.
They wouldn’t leave him.
He looks around. It’s hard to see, the space only lit by thin streams of light, but it’s still and peaceful and he can faintly hear the clatter of cooking downstairs. Fully awake now, he can smell coffee, he realises, and toast, and his stomach growls, reminding him of its existence.
He’s really hungry.
It’s so domestic it almost doesn’t register as being real. It’s homely in a way that isn’t familiar, not really.
He pushes the covers back, there’s a sweater folded neatly on the chair beside the door — a thick, soft-looking one that definitely isn’t his.
Robby’s, he assumes, pulling it on. It hangs too big on him, the sleeves brushing his knuckles.
Somehow, that makes it better.
He pads down the hall, then down the stairs. It’s clearly well lived in, beautiful in a way that it’s so clear it belongs to Robby and Jack.
The walls are covered in art of various kinds, photos, paintings, a picture of Jack and Robby at their wedding, standing in front of some courthouse steps, both of them in suits and laughing; a different shot of them on a mountain trail, wind-tousled and sunburnt; another of them sitting on their porch with mugs in hand, a little older, clearly taken by some third party given the abandoned mug sitting beside Robby.
There’s a picture of Jack in his military uniform, so young it makes Dennis’ chest ache a little. He’s smiling so brightly, his uniform so clean and fresh.
There’s a similar picture of Robby, barely Dennis’ age in his white coat, surrounded by his colleagues. He looks very different, curls smoothed down into a sort of middle part, and he’s wearing a button up white shirt and tie instead of his usual scrubs and a hoodie.
It’s crazy to think of the difference between the two men as they are in the pictures and the ones they are now.
Absently, Dennis wonders if they’d have been friends, if they’d been colleagues then.
Dennis carries on, rounding the corner to the kitchen.
Jack’s standing at the stove, barefoot in a worn pair of black basketball shorts and an old army t-shirt that’s faded to the colour of wet sand. He’s got his prosthetic on, crutches leaning against the counter within reach. He’s humming low under his breath, despite the music playing from the radio, as he flips something in the pan.
When he hears Dennis’ footsteps, he glances over his shoulder, and his whole face softens.
“Mornin’, Mouse,” Jack says. “Sleep alright?”
Dennis nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Um. Yeah, actually. Good, thanks.”
“Good.” Jack turns off the burner and gestures to the table with the spatula. “Sit. Coffee’s hot.”
Dennis obeys, sliding onto one of the bar stools as Jack pushes a mug towards him.
The coffee is warm and perfectly brewed, just sweet enough.
Jack leans against the counter across from him, studying him with that same kind of calm scrutiny that Dennis recognises well from the ER. “How’re you feeling? Dizzy? Got a headache? Any symptoms?”
Dennis shakes his head, but Jack’s already unzipping the little glucometer kit on the counter, sticking a test strip into the monitor, before he picks up a lancet and an alcohol swap.
“Finger, please.”
Dennis hesitates, then gives him his hand.
Jack wipes it down, then pricks him, squeezing just enough to get a drop of blood on the strip.
The screen whirs for a moment before it beeps, and Jack nods to himself before glancing at the small sensor on Dennis’ arm. Dennis is about to reach for his own phone, because they’d set up the app on it the night before, but instead Jack grabs his, holding it near-ish Dennis’ arm.
Dennis hadn’t realised Jack had gone out of his way to connect his monitor to his phone.
He doesn’t really know how they sourced a proper continuous monitor in the two days he was in the hospital, because as far as he’d been aware they were to be ordered online only, but the pharmacy must have had them accessible for Jack to have got him one. It’s totally not something he’d have considered himself, so he appreciates that he’s done it for him.
It should be weird, and a little invasive, that Jack has access to his blood sugars 24/7 now, but it kind of just makes his heart squeeze, just a little.
“137 from your finger prick, 142 on your cgm. They’re not going to match 100% of the time, so don’t worry about it. That’s a good reading though. A little high but you’re fine.,” Jack says, sounding satisfied. “Good. You're probably going to be running a bit high for a few days while everything evens out. We’ll keep an eye on it.”
Dennis manages a faint smile. “You know you don’t have to do all this for me, right?”
Jack raises an eyebrow. “Of course we do. You almost died kid, what kind of attending would we be if we let our favourite intern die on shift?”
‘Favourite’ makes Dennis’ stomach flutter a little and he flushes, ducking his head, but Jack’s grin makes him smile. He swallows hard, staring into his mug. “Thanks,” he says, voice small.
“Don’t thank me,” Jack says simply. “Robby would kill me if we didn’t.”
Dennis blinks the emotion that rises in the back of his throat away quickly and focuses instead on the plate Jack sets down in front of him — scrambled eggs, some smoked salmon, a toasted bagel, a pile of neatly cut fruit on the side.
“Eat up,” Jack says. “We’ll worry about insulin after we see how your body reacts to the food.”
Dennis obeys automatically, and it’s not until he’s halfway through wolfing down the plate of food that he realises Jack’s watching him fondly, the corners of his mouth curled up into a smile.
“What?” Dennis asks, suddenly self-conscious.
“Just thinking you clean up alright,” Jack says, sipping his coffee. “You look a hell of a lot better than you did yesterday. It’s good to see you eating.”
Dennis feels his cheeks heat up, but he smiles anyway. “You and Dr. Robby really didn’t have to do all this.”
Jack shrugs. “Try telling him that. He stayed with you from the minute you collapsed until we left last night. Managed a solid 48 hours in those scrubs and he managed to fall asleep in them again last night. I had to wrestle his shoes off of him so he wouldn’t sleep in them in bed.”
Dennis laughs before he can stop himself, and how easy it feels catches him off-guard. “That… sounds about right.
He might not know Dr Robby all that well, but he does know how he throws himself into his work, and the man sleeping in his scrubs and cargos is believable… if upsetting
Jack’s grin widens. “He worries, you know. He tries to pretend he doesn’t, but he really does mouse. So, do him a favour and don’t go trying to collapse on him again.”
“I’ll do my best,” Dennis says softly.
Jack nods, satisfied. “Good man. Now finish your breakfast.”
Robby appears as Dennis finishes his food, shuffling into the kitchen like he’s still half asleep. His hair is sticking out in about five different directions, and he’s wearing a ‘Cook County General Hospital’ faded orange t-shirt that sits a little too tight around his arms, (which catches Dennis’ gaze immediately) and a pair of chequered blue pyjama bottoms that really don’t match.
Jack smiles at him as he walks in though, that same soft look as he’d worn when Dennis had appeared spreading across his face again.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says warmly, tone teasing as he slides a second mug of coffee across the counter towards his husband.
Robby grunts, mutters something that might be “thanks,” and wraps both hands around the mug.
Then his gaze lands on Dennis at the table, and his sleep-fogged brain seems to wake up.
“Dennis,” he says, instantly alert. “You’re up. How’re you feeling? Did you sleep well? You okay?”
Watching Robby’s doctor brain activate makes Dennis smile, and he nods. “Uh—fine, I think? Jack’s looking after me.”
Robby turns to Jack, who’s leaning against the counter with his coffee, “Good.”
Jack nods. “He’s fine. Someone around here has to be the responsible one.”
Robby rolls his eyes, then turns back to Dennis, looking him over again in a way that makes Dennis feel both deeply looked after and also very guilty for causing so much worry.
“I’m really fine,” Dennis insists, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Promise. I slept well, I ate breakfast, and Jack made me drink a glass of water. I’m not dizzy or nauseous or anything. I’m fine.”
Robby hums like he doesn’t quite believe him but chooses not to argue. Instead, he looks up at Jack, who rattles off the two readings of Dennis’s blood sugar.
“Okay, good.”
Jack snorts into his coffee. “You’re worse than me.”
“Someone’s gotta keep him in line,” Robby shoots back dryly, without looking up.
Jack just shakes his head and leans down to press a kiss to the side of Robby’s head as he passes, murmuring, “Love you too, smartass,” before refilling his own mug.
“I didn’t realise you two were married.” Dennis blurts out, then flushes, “ —sorry.”
Robby’s mouth twitches upwards. “Yeah, we get that a lot.”
Jack shrugs. “We don’t exactly make it public knowledge.”
“But how— how did I not…” Dennis waves a hand. “I’m with you two a lot I thought I’d… I dunno.”
Robby sets his mug down, finally laughing out loud. Dennis loves his laugh, it’s the kind of low, warm, familial thing that makes him smile. He likes when he makes Robby laugh at work, likes the satisfaction of it. He also likes watching Robby laugh, the way his face wrinkles, the way his eyes narrow. He looks relaxed when he laughs.
“We don’t really tell anyone,” he admits. “Not because we’re hiding it, we’re not, we’ve lived through being openly gay at work, and we’re at a point now that if people find out, we don’t care, but it’s nothing worth broadcasting. It doesn’t matter at work. At home, we’re Jack and Michael, at work? We’re just Doctor Robby and Doctor Abbot.”
Jack nods, leaning one hip against the counter. “The Pitt’s a busy place, and who we are doesn’t really matter there. Easier to just keep things simple.”
Dennis shakes his head. “Still… I can’t believe I didn’t see it. You’re so—” He gestures vaguely at them again, “It’s obvious now I know.”
That earns him a look between the two, something he can’t read. Jack’s smile broadens, and Robby looks down, cheeks colouring faintly.
Dennis shrugs. “I don’t know how I missed it.”
Jack chuckles, reaching over to nudge Robby’s shoulder. “That’s alright. Most people don’t know, and we’ve worked with some of them for over a decade. Guess you’re just part of the inner circle now.”
Robby drags himself away again shortly to get dressed for work, Jack explaining that given the events of the past 48 hours, Dennis had been put on medical leave and he and Robby were going to make sure he got the rest he needed.
Robby reappears shortly, tugging on a t-shirt to wear until he changes into his scrubs at work, and shoving his stethoscope into his bag.
He kisses Jack on the cheek, then, after a fleeting glance that seems like it might be embarrassed, he presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Jack’s mouth.
Jack doesn’t even look up as he reaches up and grabs Robby’s shirt collar, dragging him down and holding him there as he kisses Robby in a way that Dennis can only describe as filthy.
He looks away.
When he looks back, Robby’s grumbling something under his breath about Jack ‘trying to show off’, clearly not thinking Dennis can hear him.
Jack just looks pleased with himself, and he’s looking straight at Dennis.
When the front door clicks shut, the house seems to go silent.
Dennis shifts awkwardly at the kitchen table, suddenly aware that he’s alone in the kitchen just with Jack. He clears his throat. “Um… I can head home if you guys need the space. Really. I’ve already overstayed—”
“Nope,” Jack cuts in. “You’re staying.”
“Jack, I’m fine—”
“You were in DKA yesterday, Whitaker,” Jack reminds him, arching a brow. “You’re not going anywhere until we’re sure you’ll be okay. Apparently, we can’t trust you not to collapse on the ED floor.”
Dennis huffs a quiet, embarrassed laugh. “You make it sound like I do that all the time.”
Jack grins. “Once was enough, kid. Sit tight.”
Dennis tries to argue once more — but it’s pointless. Between Robby’s firm kindness and Jack’s military immovable will, no one wins arguments in this house except the two of them.
So he stays.
The morning drifts by in a peaceful sort of way that Dennis isn’t used to. Back home, on the farm, there was always something to do. Animals to feed, stables to muck, crops to water or harvest, things to clean, never an idle hand to be had.
It’s the same in the ER, there’s never time to rest, never time to sit around, and in a way, it’s nice that Robby and Jack have somewhere so vastly different to that.
Here is warm, and quiet, and calm, and Dennis already feels so horribly out of place so he can’t help but feel lost as he follows Jack around. He’s still wearing Robby’s — probably Jack’s, actually — sweatpants, one of their T-shirts, Robby’s sweater, and Jack produced a pair of socks when he noticed Dennis alternating the legs he was standing on in the kitchen which he’s now wearing which also aren’t his.
He doesn’t know what to do with himself at all here.
Jack directs them into the living room though, after insistently checking Dennis’ blood sugar and dosing him appropriately, and they sit together in the quiet, Jack reading a book, sprawled comfortably out on the couch, prosthetic discarded on the floor beside him.
Dennis watches an episode of something, and when he looks over, Jack is asleep, paperback abandoned flat on his chest.
Dennis drifts too.
He lets Jack rope him into helping with lunch. It’s nothing fancy, just grilled cheese sandwiches and soup, (apparently Robby’s the one who cooks), but Jack somehow makes it into a lesson, talking Dennis through the “proper” way to butter bread and laughing when Dennis burns one side.
He’s funny, Dennis realises. Not just charming the way everyone says he is, but genuinely, quietly funny. All Dennis has seen really from him is gallows humour before, but the more time he spends with Jack, the more he realises how much of it he spends laughing.
“You’re staring, mouse,” Jack says at one point, glancing up from where he’s slicing tomatoes.
Dennis flushes immediately. “Sorry, I just—” He laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re… different here. I mean, at the hospital you’re so—” He waves a hand helplessly. “You know. Serious and like — untouchable. Army man, Y’know?”
Jack snorts. “Untouchable?”
“I mean— yeah. You’re, like… you’re Jack Abbott. Everyone talks about you like you’re this legend, and you — you are.”
Jack chuckles, shaking his head as he slides the sandwiches into the pan. “Kid, I promise you I’m not that interesting. I just have more experience than most at this shit.”
“Yeah, but—” Dennis hesitates. “You’re really cool.”
That earns a startled laugh, bright and genuine. “Cool?”
Dennis nods, earnest despite his embarrassment. “Yeah. You just… you’ve seen everything. Done everything. You’re like — so calm when the ER is just chaos, you don’t lose your temper like other doctors, and you’re — well, you’re married to Dr. Robby, who’s the only other person in that hospital who’s even close to as good as you.”
Jack looks like he’s trying not to smile, but the corners of his mouth give him away. “Careful, kid. Flattery’ll get you everywhere.”
Dennis laughs, a little sheepish, and Jack’s grin widens.
“Truth is,” Jack says after a moment, flipping the sandwiches, “Robby and I keep work and home separate for a reason. The Pitt’s…” he waves a hand, “awful. You need distance from it, or it eats you alive. So yeah, we don’t exactly broadcast that we’re together. But this—” he gestures vaguely around the kitchen “—this is the part that matters to me.”
Dennis nods slowly, taking that in. “You really love him.”
Jack glances over his shoulder, smiling faintly. “More than anything, mouse.”
By the time the afternoon sun fades into gold across the windows, Dennis feels like he actually knows Jack, at least somewhat.
They return to the living room after lunch, and when Robby texts a few hours later to check in, Dennis watches Jack smiling at his phone, no doubt texting his husband something stupid as proof of life for them both.
And he thinks — yeah. Maybe “cool” doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Robby comes home just as the sky’s turning that late-evening amber, keys jingling as he pushes through the front door, his hoodie half-zipped and his hair sticking up like he’s been running his hands through it all day.
Dennis is on the couch, half-asleep with a blanket and a glass of water, and he stirs when he hears Jack’s voice from the kitchen.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Robby’s reply is a tired hum, a soft “Hey, you,” followed by the sound of footsteps and a quiet laugh that turns into the unmistakable sound of a kiss. It’s not rushed or stolen the way it was earlier, without Dennis watching it’s just affectionate.
It’s cute.
He knows Jack pushed the start of his shift back by an hour, just so he could be here with Dennis for when Robby came home. The Pitt can survive without him briefly, and with the whole Dennis situation, it’s not like anyone was going to complain.
Dennis pushes himself up, slinging the blanket around his shoulders as he pads down the hall.
He gets right up to the doorway of the kitchen before he stops, suddenly worried he’s intruding on something sacred. He turns away before they can notice, pretending to scroll through his phone, but he catches a glimpse of Jack’s hand cupping the back of Robby’s neck, and the tiny smile that blooms between them before Jack finally grabs his bag.
Jack’s voice, as he heads for the kitchen door, is softer than Dennis has ever heard it.
“Get some rest, Mike. Don’t wait up.”
And Robby, leaning against the counter, murmurs back, “I never do.”
Jack crosses back to his husband and kisses him once again, before he pulls away with a smile.
He pats Dennis on the shoulder as he walks past him, the front door clicking shut behind him as he heads off to the hospital.
When Dennis finally steps into the kitchen, Robby looks up, startled for half a second before breaking into a sheepish smile. “Oh, hey, Dennis. Didn’t wake you, did we?”
Dennis shakes his head quickly. “No, no — just got up a few minutes ago. You look… tired.”
“That’s because I am.” Robby laughs quietly, pulling open the fridge. “Long shift. But hungry wins over tired, so… dinner?”
Dennis nods, and before long he’s chopping vegetables at the counter while Robby moves around the kitchen grabbing the odd bit.
Dennis was never the best cook. He can make a handful of meals, but they’re all farm food really, stews, soups, easy batches of things to feed a family, not just one guy. He never has the time to cook, but it’s been fun today, helping out in the kitchen. He likes being told what to do and doing it, especially when it’s his two senior attendings telling him what to do.
Robby hums as he cooks, Dennis notices, in between their conversations. He hums a lot, actually. Dennis has noticed it before, at work, he’ll hum while doing something repetitive or monotonous, stitches, paperwork, bandaging, anything like that.
He makes Dennis laugh too, cracking jokes as he talks, Dennis hangs onto his every word, just as he always does, when Robby tastes the sauce, he pulls a face so exaggerated Dennis can’t stop laughing.
“Too much garlic?” He guesses.
“Never too much garlic. Too much something,” Robby admits, grinning. “Don’t tell Jack. He won’t notice it if I don’t point it out.”
Dennis laughs again, shaking his head. “You two are kind of perfect together, you know that?”
Robby pauses for a moment, stirring the pot, and then gives Dennis a sideways glance. “We try. He’s impossible, but… he’s also the best thing that ever happened to me.”
It’s such a genuine answer that Dennis doesn’t know what to say.
When the plates are empty, Robby leans back with a contented sigh. “Not bad, right? Did Jack feed you well? Sometimes if I don’t leave food prepped in the fridge he’ll just eat sandwiches until I come home.”
Dennis smiles, resting his chin in his hand. “Yeah, it was nice. Hey uh — you know,” he says softly, “I thought I’d seen you and Dr. Abbott at your best like at work — how you are in the ER, how you handle chaos. But this… you’re both kind of amazing like this, too.” He says, a little lamely, the compliment escaping him before he can stop himself. He doesn’t mean to keep saying all this stuff today, but he can’t seem to stop himself and it’s deeply embarrassing.
Robby looks at him for a long moment, Dennis can’t read his expression. “Thanks, mouse,” he says quietly. “That means a lot.”
The two head to bed early, and this time Dennis doesn’t wake up until long after Robby has headed off to work. It’s about midday when he finally creeps downstairs, the house silent. He doesn’t doubt Jack is asleep, and the note on the kitchen counter confirms it.
‘Mouse, there’s food in the fridge. I’ll be up in the afternoon, Robby will be back normal time. Please don’t go home’
Dennis takes advantage of the fact the house is quiet to go back to sleep.
He might as well.
The next morning he’s awoken by a gentle knock at the door, and as he blinks himself awake, he sees Robby peering round the open door.
“Mouse? Back to work today if you’re up for it. There’s breakfast downstairs.”
“Mmmffhhgg — ‘m comin’.”
Yeah Dennis isn’t the best first thing after waking up.
Robby doesn’t seem to mind though, he laughs fondly as he walks away.
When he makes his way down, in the clothes they’d brought home from the hospital with him now clean and freshly laundered, Robby’s already in the kitchen, dressed in a shirt and jeans and his hoodie, hair still a little damp from the shower.
The coffee machine hisses as steam pours out from the top of it, there’s two travel mugs lined up on the counter, and something golden and warm sizzling in a pan on the stove.
“Wakey-wakey Dennis,” Robby says, glancing over his shoulder with a tired but genuine smile. “Feeling alright?”
“Yeah,” Dennis says, rubbing the back of his neck, still a bit sheepish about everything. “Better than I’ve felt in weeks, actually.”
“Good,” Robby says, approving. “Then I’ll take you to work.”
Dennis nods. “You’re sure? You don’t think I should take another day?”
“Do you want to take another day?”
“Not really.”
Robby turns down the stove, plating scrambled eggs and toast. “See? Honestly mouse, I think you’re okay. I wanted you to have another day, but Jack pointed out that this is how life is going to have to be for you forever, and if we’re with you all the time while you’re getting used to working with diabetes, then if something goes wrong we got you.”
Dennis laughs, a little embarrassed, but he doesn’t argue. “Yes, Dr. Robby.”
Robby smiles, sliding the plate toward him. “Good.”
As Dennis tucks in, Robby continues around the kitchen, dispensing other pots of food into Tupperware, making sandwiches and wrapping them in foil, packing several bags with various snacks and things.
Dennis realises, after a moment, that he’s portioning out more food than they’ll need for just the two of them.
“Is that… for us and for Jack?” Dennis asks, watching him put two containers of food into the oven on low.
“Yeah,” Robby says softly. “He’ll be home about an hour after we leave. I like to make sure there’s something waiting for him. He won’t eat otherwise, he’ll be too tired.”
They head out as soon as Dennis’ plate is clean and has been washed up, and Robby deposits a travel mug of coffee in his hand as they walk out the door.
Robby drives, one hand on the wheel, the other cradling his mug.
Dennis has seen how much coffee the man drinks at work, clearly it extends beyond work given how many cups he’s seen him drink already.
As they walk in together from the hospital carpark, everything is underway in the way it normally is. Night staff are drifting out, day staff filtering in, the world between night and day humming in its familiar strange, transitional quiet.
Jack’s there when they arrive. He looks tired, but he smiles when he sees them. He joins the two before handover, looking Dennis up and down first. “Morning, mouse, you surviving?”, and he claps Dennis firmly on the shoulder when he nods.
Then he looks to Robby.
“Let’s handover somewhere more private, eh brother?”
Robby nods, and together the two disappear towards the side corridor — one of those tucked-away spaces near the on-call rooms, quiet and out of the way.
When they return, Robby looks… steadier somehow, the lines of exhaustion softened. Jack’s eyes linger on him for one last heartbeat before he heads out toward the exit, sunlight catching the edge of his hair as the doors slide shut behind him.
Dennis doesn’t know how he missed this all this time.
It’s so obvious.
So obvious.
Robby turns back toward the main floor, spotting Dennis waiting nearby, and Jack smiles. “Ready to get to work, kid?”