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1.
Dennis had always had the question of his sexuality follow him around. Not in himself, he had known from very early on that he was gay, but from others. Strangers, teachers, friends and eventually his family. The issue, coming from Broken Bone, Nebraska, had never been a friendly question; it was more of an accusation, a warning to give the right answer if asked.
Dennis kept his eyes on the chart, trying to focus, but the murmurs around him were impossible to ignore.
“I am telling you, he is definitely gay,” Princess murmured to Perlah.
“No, no, I think he is just quiet,” Perlah countered, smiling.
Dennis’s stomach knotted. Despite having been out of Broken Bone for years, he had never truly come out. Santos knew what he was, but he had never actually said anything out loud. She had simply worked it out and tried her best to draw him out of the closet in that brash, bitching but loving way of hers.
Dennis kept his eyes on the chart, trying to focus, but his chest tightened with every whisper around him. Mateo leaned casually against the counter beside him, grinning.
“Hey, Dennis,” Mateo said quietly, careful not to draw too much attention. “So… are you looking for a hot date this weekend?”
Dennis froze, pen hovering over the chart. His stomach knotted. “I… I don’t know… what?” he muttered, forcing his voice steady.
Mateo laughed softly. “Relax. I just thought… maybe you’d like to meet someone.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “My cousin, actually. Nice guy. Single. I could set you up if you wanted.”
Dennis’s face went hot. He blinked at the chart, pretending to study it, but his mind was racing. “I… I don’t think so,” he managed, and scurried off to find his next patient.
Dennis sat in the corner of the breakroom, munching on some two-minute noodles.
“I am telling you, he is definitely bi,” Victoria said as she walked in, clearly thinking the room was empty.
“Bi? No way,” Dr McKay replied with a smirk. “He is full on gay. Gay, gay, you know? I saw the way he was looking at Dr Robby, and Kim has been flirting with him for weeks and nothing.”
Dennis tried to make himself as small as possible, hoping they would not notice him. He kept his head down, focusing on the steam rising from the noodles as if the swirl of it could hide him.
Victoria reached for the kettle, then froze. “Oh. Dennis. I did not see you there.”
Dr McKay turned, eyes widening with embarrassment. “Hi. We were just… talking.”
Dennis forced a quick smile, the kind that felt glued on. “All good. I was… finishing lunch.” His voice sounded too bright, too false, even to him.
Before either woman could say anything else, he snapped the lid back onto the pot and stood up. “I should get back. Lots to do.”
He moved past them with hurried steps, practically fleeing the room. The corridor felt cooler, quieter, but the pounding of his heart drowned out everything. He walked faster, pretending he needed to check a patient chart, anything to look busy, anything to escape the heat in his cheeks and the tightness in his chest.
A few minutes after Dennis slipped out of the breakroom, the space began to fill again as staff drifted in for coffee between patients.
“You know,” she said, lowering her voice, “we could make a proper betting pool out of this. Is he bi, is he gay, who does he like, all of it.”
Perlah smirked into her coffee. “I am telling you, he has a crush on Robby. You should have seen him the other day when Robby asked him to hand over the saline. He practically melted.”
Dr McKay laughed. “Then it is settled. We should get a pool going.”
Right on cue, Ahmad appeared in the doorway, carrying his clipboard like a holy relic. “Someone said pool?” His eyes lit up as he stepped fully inside. “What are we betting on this time? Number of stitches before lunch? Ambulance chaos? Surprise delivery in the waiting room?”
Mateo pointed at Victoria. “Ask her.”
Victoria cleared her throat with all the pride of someone who thought she had a brilliant idea. “Dennis. Sexuality. Maybe also his crushes.”
Ahmad blinked once, then brightened. “Excellent. A relationship pool. Those always pay out well.” He grabbed a pen, flipping the clipboard open to a fresh page. “Right, categories. Gay, bi, straight, but confused, and any crushes. Buy-in is ten dollars.”
Dr McKay clapped her hands. “Put me down for gay and Robby.”
Mateo raised his hand. “Gay but oblivious.”
The room filled with easy laughter, the warm, harmless sort they often shared during slower moments. No one meant anything cruel. They were entertaining themselves in the way the Pitt staff always did.
They did not notice the breakroom door open behind them.
Robby stepped inside, holding a mug and rubbing his forehead. He paused when he saw Ahmad writing furiously on his clipboard, surrounded by cheerful faces. His eyes lowered to the page and read the header in Ahmad’s neat handwriting.
Dennis Whitaker’s sexuality and crushes.
Robby went very still.
Ahmad beamed at him. “Robby, you want in on the pool? You can even bet on yourself if you want.”
Silence fell like a curtain.
Robby set his mug down with deliberate care. “What,” he asked quietly, “are you doing?”
Victoria straightened slightly. “It is only a harmless pool, Robby. We do these all the time.”
Robby’s gaze flicked from each of their faces to Ahmad’s clipboard. His jaw tightened. “He is not a case study. He is not a joke. He is a colleague. And he would be devastated if he saw this.”
Ahmad blinked, surprised. “We were not trying to be mean. This is just fun.”
“I know you were not trying to be hurtful,” Robby said, voice calm but firm. “But Dennis is private. He is anxious enough as it is. He does not need half the department placing bets on his personal life.”
McKay cleared her throat, guilt creeping into her expression. “He did look uncomfortable in the breakroom…”
Robby stepped forward and gently took the clipboard from Ahmad’s hands. Without a word, he tore the page cleanly off and handed the empty board back.
“This ends here,” he said softly. “If any of you care about him even a little, you will keep this to yourselves.”
The room went utterly still. The embarrassment was palpable, but so was understanding.
Robby exhaled slowly. “He is going to be a good doctor. He deserves better.”
The others nodded, subdued, and drifted out one by one. Ahmad lingered a moment, then gave Robby a slight nod before leaving too.
Robby picked up his mug again and looked towards the corridor.
He had not seen Dennis yet, but he knew precisely how rattled he would be.
And he intended to find him.
Dennis had retreated to the far end of the hallway, the one place in the ER where the fluorescent lights hummed softly and the foot traffic faded to nothing. He leaned against the wall, arms folded tight across his chest, staring at the floor as if he could shrink into it.
His mind would not stop spinning. The whispers. The breakroom. The way people looked at him when they thought he was not paying attention. Every sound felt too loud, every glance too sharp. He felt small again. Like he was back in Broken Bone, cornered by questions he could never safely answer.
Robby spotted him from halfway down the corridor.
“Dennis,” he called gently.
Dennis straightened at once, muscle memory kicking in, forcing his posture into something competent and busy. “I was just… checking labs,” he muttered, even though he was not holding a chart.
Robby slowed as he approached, careful, unhurried, giving Dennis enough space to breathe but close enough to make it clear he was not going anywhere. “You are supposed to be on lunch,” he said, voice warm. “You okay?”
Dennis swallowed. “Yeah. Just tired. Long morning.”
Robby hummed, not convinced but not pressing. He leaned his shoulder against the wall beside him, an easy, familiar presence. “This place will do that to you,” he said. “But you are doing well. Really well.”
Dennis shook his head faintly, eyes fixed on the floor. “I do not feel like it.”
“That does not mean it is not true.” Robby nudged him lightly with his elbow. “Everyone has days like this. Good doctors push through them. Great doctors notice when they are struggling and take a breath before they break.”
Dennis’s hands tightened where his arms were folded, knuckles whitening. “I just… I do not feel like I am handling things right today.”
Robby studied him for a moment, something thoughtful and careful in his expression. “You do not have to handle everything perfectly,” he said softly. “No one here expects that of you. Not from you.”
Dennis’s breath hitched despite his best effort to keep it steady.
Robby shifted a little closer, lowering his voice as the sounds of the department swelled and faded around them. “This place, the Pitt… it is chaotic, messy, loud. It takes a lot out of people.” He paused, choosing his words. “But it can also be a place where you are allowed to breathe. Where you do not have to be on guard every second.”
Dennis finally looked up, eyes glassy, searching Robby’s face like he was looking for permission.
Robby met his gaze without flinching. “You do not have to hide here,” he said quietly. “Not the scared parts. Not the tired parts. Not the parts that are just… you. You are safe. And you are wanted. More than you realise.”
Something inside Dennis loosened then, not enough to spill over, but enough that his chest no longer felt like it was caving in.
Robby tipped his head towards the corridor. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let us get back out there. And if it gets too much, if you need anything at all, you know where to find me.”
Dennis drew in a slow, steadying breath and pushed himself off the wall. “Okay.”
Robby fell into step beside him, close but never crowding, his presence solid and sure.
And for the first time that day, Dennis believed he might not have to face everything alone.
2.
Everyone in the Pitt had a story about the moment they realised Dr Robby could out-stubborn God Himself. Dennis’s moment happened two weeks into his rotation.
It started on a manic Tuesday morning, the kind where four codes hit at once, chairs were filled with screaming children, and someone had managed to spill an entire protein shake across the ambulance bay. By noon, Dennis had been running for five straight hours. He had had coffee. He had had adrenaline. He had had fear. He had not had food.
He had meant to eat. He and Trinity had been meal prepping, but he had slept through his alarm and had not had time to grab his overnight oats on the way out the door.
He did not notice, but Robby did.
The ever-cheerful, painfully hopeful Dennis had transformed into a hangry grump.
Dennis was typing notes at a computer, pale and glassy-eyed, swaying like a baby deer trying to pretend it was fine.
Robby walked by once.
Ignored it.
Walked by twice.
Did not ignore it.
By the third pass, he stopped behind Dennis and said, very calmly,
“Dennis. When was the last time you ate?”
Dennis did not look up from the screen. “Um, I had dinner. Sometime. I think yesterday. Maybe.”
Robby closed his eyes like he was mentally preparing for battle. “Stand up.”
“What, Why?”
“Because I am making you eat.”
“I am fine,” Dennis insisted, trying and failing to click on the chart correctly.
Robby reached past him, turned the monitor off, and pointed toward the breakroom like a bouncer removing a drunk patron.
“You have twenty seconds to start walking, Whitaker, or I will carry you.”
Dennis’s jaw dropped, and he flushed scarlet. “You would not.”
Robby lifted one brow. “Try me.”
Dennis sputtered indignantly, but his legs, traitorous, exhausted things, started moving.
“I do not need food,” he muttered as they walked.
“You are shaking,” Robby said. “You charted vitals in the allergy section.”
“I did not… oh. Well. Thanks for catching that.”
“You also spelt blood pressure wrong.”
“That was autocorrect…”
“Sit.”
Dennis sat instantly, as if the command travelled straight into his bones.
Robby set a protein bar, a yoghurt, and an iced tea in front of him.
“No,” Dennis said.
“Yes,” Robby replied.
“You cannot make me.”
Robby crossed his arms. “I can stand here and stare at you until you do.” He leaned in slightly, close enough that Dennis felt the warmth of him. “And I have nothing but endurance.”
Dennis’s breath caught. He glared anyway.
Robby did not blink.
Dennis’s stomach growled so loudly it betrayed him completely.
Robby smirked, victorious. “Take a bite.”
And with all the defeated dignity of a medieval prisoner reading a forced confession, Dennis picked up the protein bar and took the smallest bite known to mankind.
Robby nodded approvingly and sat across from him like a guard ensuring compliance, calm, steady, and focused entirely on him.
“That is it,” he said, voice low. “Good bo… Good.”
A shiver ran up Dennis’s spine.
God, he wanted to crawl under the table and disappear.
But he also wanted to do exactly what Robby told him to.
He wanted Robby to order him to do a lot of things.
Things that had nothing to do with work.
Robby left the breakroom only once Dennis had eaten half the protein bar and was sipping the iced tea like a scolded child. Satisfied, he gave Dennis one last approving nod and stepped out into the hallway.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Robby exhaled.
Hard.
Okay. So that had been… something.
He replayed the moment in his mind.
Dennis glaring up at him, cheeks flushed.
Dennis sat the second he told him to.
Dennis was taking a bite only because Robby told him to.
Dennis’s wide, obedient eyes.
Robby felt heat crawl up the back of his neck.
No. Absolutely not. This was work. A hospital. A place with rules. And Dennis was a med student under his supervision. He should not have enjoyed that. Not even a little. Not the obedience, not the stubbornness, not the ridiculous urge he had had to put his hands on him and steady him properly. Not any of it.
But his body did not care about rules.
And judging by the very physical issue of tightening in his cargo pants, he needed to get himself into a private space soon.
Very soon.
3.
It had been a shitty shift right from the start. Dennis had begun with a projectile vomiter, meaning he had changed his scrubs before it was even 8:00. Then he had been peed on by a toddler, so he had changed his scrubs again at 9:30. He had a medical student shadowing him who was the cockiest son of a bitch he had met in months, and now he had a headache, and it was not even 12:00 yet. His patience was wearing thin, the noise of the department grinding against his nerves, and he could feel that familiar tightness starting behind his eyes, the kind that promised the rest of the day would only get worse.
Being a resident in the ED you had done your rotation in was meant to give you a better footing, right? Because it sure as hell did not feel like it. Dennis knew the layout, the routines, even the shorthand some of the nurses used, but today none of it was helping. Today, it all felt like one extended, exhausting test he was already failing.
Then came in Mr Milton.
Yip, that was right. Mr fucking Milton. A sixty-year-old Black man. Dennis thought he must be dreaming. This could not be happening.
His hands shook as he checked the chart, the numbers swimming in front of him. The room felt smaller somehow, the monitors louder, the lights harsher. Every instruction he had ever learned about stabilising a patient seemed to vanish into thin air.
Robby, who had been chatting to Dana at the nurses' station, caught the way Dennis’s jaw had tightened, the slight tremor in his fingers. He moved closer out of instinct more than anything else, but before he could reach Dennis and find out what the issue was, Dennis was already on the move into a patient’s bay.
“Good morning, Mr Milton,” Dennis said, trying to keep his voice cheerful. “I hear you have been having some chest pain and shortness of breath.”
Dennis barely had time to finish his first question before Mr Milton’s colour drained, his chest rising and falling with alarming irregularity.
“No… no, no, no,” Dennis muttered, scanning the monitors. His hands moved automatically, checking the pulse.
Nothing.
He moves as if in a dream, hands compressing the patient’s chest in rhythm and trying to steady his own racing heart. The room felt impossibly small, the beeping of the monitors like a drum in his skull.
Seconds later, he shouts, “Code blue! Bay three! Now!”
The door swung open almost immediately. Robby, Dana, and two other nurses rushed in, moving without hesitation. Dennis continued compressions, giving orders in clipped, precise bursts:
“Airway, now! Bag him! Prep the crash cart! I need an epi!”
Robby leant over, taking the airway, while Dana and the nurses responded instantly to his commands. Dennis’s hands never slowed; every second felt like a lifetime.
This cannot happen again. He cannot lose Mr Milton again.
Despite everything, the monitors flatlined. Dennis felt the rhythm vanish beneath his hands. He shouted, willing life back into Mr Milton, but there was nothing.
“Fuck!” The word tore from him as the reality hit. His chest tightened, and for the first time in the ER, he felt utterly helpless.
He stepped back from the bed, shaking, heart hammering. The room blurred around him, the voices, the beeping, the rushed movements of Robby and the nurses, all of it became distant, unreal.
Without a word, Dennis turned and fled, pushing past the curtains, past the nurses’ station, his scrubs sticky with sweat. He needed air. He needed space. He needed to be anywhere but here.
He ran to the roof.
Dennis sank to the gravel-covered roof, pushing his hands into it, trying to let the pain numb his feelings, his shoulders shaking as the sobs he had been holding back finally broke free. The city stretched out around him, indifferent, but he did not care.
A shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see Robby. Without a word, Robby crouched beside him and wrapped his arms around Dennis, letting him cry into his shoulder. He held him firmly, as if trying to absorb Dennis’s grief.
Dennis’s breaths were ragged, tears hot against Robby’s chest. Robby murmured, “It’s okay. You did everything you could. I’m here. Sometimes the world is just cruel.”
Before coming up, Robby had called Santos to pick him up and cover Dennis’s workload. When the sound of her steps reached them, Robby gently eased Dennis into her care. “She’s here for you,” he said quietly, pressing a reassuring hand to Dennis’s back.
Dennis leaned into Santos, still trembling, but the weight on his chest felt slightly lighter knowing Robby had been there. Robby watched Santos lead Dennis away, wishing it could have been him.
At home, Dennis showered, changed, and collapsed onto his bed, the events of the day replaying in jagged fragments. He slept hard and dreamlessly.
It was early evening when his phone buzzed on the bedside table.
He stared at it for a long moment before picking it up.
Robby:
I wanted to check in.
I’m happy Santos could come and get you.
I am glad you are not alone.
Dennis swallowed.
Another message followed.
Robby:
I meant what I said; you did everything you could.
Today was just the world being cruel.
Please rest. I will see you soon.
Dennis let out a shaky breath he had not realised he was holding.
He typed back.
I’m home. Thank you for earlier for… everything.
The reply came a minute later.
Robby:
Always and anytime.
Dennis set the phone down, staring at the ceiling.
The day still hurts. The loss still ached.
But underneath it all was something steady and quiet, the knowledge that Robby was there, even when he could not be.
And for now, that was enough.
4.
Dennis hated Trinity Santos. He really, truly did.
Okay, he did not, but she owed him big time.
Stranding him after he had pulled a double, all because Yolanda wanted to take her out for breakfast. They had not even offered to drop him off on the way.
So there he was, stepping out into the grey morning with nothing but aching feet and an overwhelming desire to sleep for twelve hours straight. The air was cold enough to sting, and he wrapped his arms around himself as he started walking, scrubs rumpled, hair a mess, eyes burning from exhaustion.
Cars moved past him in steady waves, people on their way home or to work or anywhere sane. Dennis kicked a loose bit of gravel on the pavement, muttering under his breath.
“Of course, she left. Of course,” he grumbled. “Why would anyone consider the tired resident who has not slept since… what day is it even?”
Dennis sighed, shoulders slumping as he walked down the street, the weight of the shift pressing against his back.
He loved her. He really did.
But right now, he was planning her funeral.
God, and he just knew the bus ride home would be full. He was hitting it exactly at the school run. He was not sure what would be worse, walking all the way home or getting on the bus.
Robby was so hungry. His new therapist had been harping on him to fix his eating habits to help with his mental health. Annoyingly, it had helped, but it also meant that on those shifts when shit hit the fan, and he could not fuel himself properly, he ended up ravenous.
He was driving, pulling out of the hospital parking bay, when he spotted Dennis walking miserably towards the bus stop. That is odd, he thought. Dennis and Santos always carpool these days. I have not seen him take the bus in months. Not that I have been watching him. (I definitely have.)
Dennis’s shoulders were slumped, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, and he moved with that weary, half-limp that came after a brutal shift. God, he looks exhausted. Why is he out here alone? The bus is going to be packed at this hour. Poor kid.
Robby eased the car to a slow stop, tapping the horn lightly. Dennis looked up, squinting through the morning sun. Robby waved, silently asking if he wanted a lift. Come on, just get in. You do not have to do this alone.
Dennis slid into the car and looked up slightly at Robby. “You are an actual lifesaver. I could kis… just, thanks so much,” he said.
“My flat isn’t too far from here. If you could drop me there…”
Robby shook his head with a slight grin. “Not yet. Breakfast first, because if I don’t get food in my system, I might have to eat you… I mean that in a cannibalistic way, not a sexual way.”
Real smooth, old man.
Dennis blinked. “Breakfast… okay. I guess that works.”
Robby started the car, glancing at him. Fuck, but I would like to eat you sexually…
Robby parked a short walk from the diner, the kind of old-school place with vinyl booths and a jukebox in the corner. He held the door for Dennis, who muttered a quiet thanks, still looking exhausted.
They slid into a booth together, sitting side by side. Dennis barely touched his menu, eyes heavy and unfocused, clearly still running on the adrenaline from the shift.
As they waited, Dennis’s head started to droop. Robby noticed and gently shifted closer, angling himself so Dennis could lean against him. Without protest, Dennis rested his head on Robby’s shoulder, too tired to even register what was happening.
Robby stayed still, careful not to wake him, one arm draped casually along the back of the booth. He glanced at the table, at the menus, at the jukebox softly playing in the background, and smiled slightly.
He is so pretty, Robby thought, feeling the subtle weight of Dennis’s body against him.
Robby ordered for them both so that Dennis could sleep a little longer.
When the food arrived, it was the smell of bacon that woke Dennis before Robby could.
The car hummed quietly as Robby drove him home, the morning sun slanting in through the windscreen. Dennis rested his hands on his lap and let the warmth of the car and Robby’s presence seep into him.
He stole a glance sideways. Robby’s profile was calm, focused on the road, but there was a quiet strength in the way he held himself, a steadiness Dennis had leaned on more than he wanted to admit. God, what would it be like… to kiss him? The thought made his stomach flutter, and he clenched his fingers lightly in his lap, trying to shove it down before Robby noticed.
Dennis imagined leaning up, brushing his lips against Robby’s just for a brief second, feeling the weight of him in a different way than he usually did. The idea was thrilling and terrifying all at once. No. Don’t think about that. Just get home.
But his mind would not stop. Every quiet movement Robby made, the slight flex of his arm, the curve of his jaw, seemed to pull Dennis back into the thought. Just… what if?
“Here we are,” Robby said, startling Dennis out of his daydream. “And… thanks for letting me take you out for breakfast.”
Dennis blinked himself back into reality, cheeks warm. “Oh—yeah. Of course. Thank you for… all of it. The ride, the food. Really.”
He fumbled for the door handle, then, because his body had apparently decided to betray him fully, gave Robby a weird little punch on the arm. Not hard. Not soft. Just… awkward.
“Uh. See you tomorrow,” Dennis muttered, escaping the car like it was on fire.
Robby watched him go, one hand still on the steering wheel, the faint sting of Dennis’s awkward punch lingering on his arm.
God, I wish I could’ve kissed him goodbye.
He let the thought sit there, warm and unwelcome and impossible to ignore, as Dennis disappeared into his building.
5.
Violence against hospital workers was commonplace. Dennis had seen countless colleagues fall victim to it. He had seen bruises, bites, scratched arms, black eyes, and the occasional broken nose courtesy of a flailing drunk. He was just surprised it had taken until the last month of his intern year for it to befall him.
It happened fast. One moment, he was assessing a drunk patient in Bay Two with Perlah at his side; the next, the patient spun on his heels and swung at the nearest moving target.
Dennis.
The fist connected with his cheek before he had even processed that the man had moved. The floor slammed into his hip, breath wheezing out of him.
But the patient did not stop.
The punch had barely landed before the man lurched forward and began kicking, wild and sloppy but full of intent. Dennis curled automatically, arms over his head, as a heel smashed into his ribs. Another clipped his thigh. The lights above blurred as pain pulsed through him in heavy, dizzying waves.
A boot struck his shoulder, forcing a broken gasp from his throat. He tried to roll away, but everything felt slow and heavy.
The next kick never landed.
Ahmad moved like a wall with purpose, grabbing the man from behind and pinning his arms in one clean, practised motion.
“That is enough,” Ahmad said sharply, hauling the struggling patient backwards. “You are done.”
Perlah dropped beside Dennis, breathless but steady. “Dennis. Hey. Look at me. Are you with me?”
He blinked up at her, dazed but stubborn. “I am fine, just help me up.”
He was not fine.
Jack arrived seconds later. Much like Robby, he was fiercely protective of his team. He took in the scene in an instant and knelt beside Dennis with the same focus he would give any staff member who had been assaulted under his watch.
“Dennis, stay still,” Jack said, tone soft but commanding. He palpated gently along Dennis’s ribs, checked his pupils, and tested his shoulder movement. “Nothing life-threatening, but we need imaging for that cheek and rib. Perlah, get a bed in Three ready.”
Dennis let out a weak groan. “Jack, I swear I am okay.”
“You are on the ground and grimacing,” Jack replied. “So no, you are not okay.”
Jack and Perlah helped him to a bed, Jack keeping one hand braced behind Dennis’s back the entire time as if preventing him from collapsing again. Once settled, Jack started a more thorough evaluation, efficient and calm.
It was almost peaceful. Or it would have been.
Shift change started.
Robby’s voice cut through the usual morning bustle before he was even fully in the bay. “Why is someone only now telling me Dennis was assaulted?”
Jack’s head lifted. Dennis’s stomach flipped.
Robby strode into the room with an urgency that made several nurses turn and look. His eyes locked on Dennis on the bed, bruised, dazed, and sitting up a little too stiffly.
“Dennis. My boy.”
The words landed like a shockwave.
Robby crossed the distance in three long steps. The usually composed Dr Robby looked seconds away from tearing the curtain off the railings.
“What the fuck happened. And why was I not called?”
Jack lifted a placating hand. “I had it under control. As you can see, he is not at death’s door. I was not going to page you for a minor incident.”
Robby ignored him entirely. His hands hovered over Dennis but did not yet touch. “Where does it hurt the most. Did you lose consciousness?”
Dennis blinked up at him, thrown by the sudden intensity. “Robby, I am fine. Jack already checked.”
Robby finally touched him, fingers cupping Dennis’s jaw with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with his expression. He tilted Dennis’s head to inspect the cheek, his breath catching almost imperceptibly.
“This is not fine,” he said quietly, almost furious with worry. “This is an injury. On my intern.”
Jack exhaled in mild exasperation. “You are being dramatic. Everything is stable. I was about to send him for a CT.”
Robby shot him a look that could have cut through steel. Jack only raised his eyebrows back, unfazed.
Dennis felt his face heating despite the throbbing bruise. Robby continued checking him as if Jack had not already done the same exam fifteen minutes earlier.
Robby’s fingers brushed along Dennis’s ribs. “Does that hurt?”
“A little.”
Jack sighed. “Robby, I did a full trauma exam. He is bruised, not broken.”
“That is not for you to decide,” Robby snapped before he could stop himself.
Dennis’s pulse fluttered. He wanted to melt into the mattress.
Jack’s eyebrows shot up again. “I am going to see if we can bump you up on the CT list and get you out of here as soon as possible.” Jack left with a low mutter about territorial idiots and overprotective asholes.
Dennis looked back at Robby, cheeks warm. “Robby,” he said softly. “I really am okay.”
Robby met his eyes for a moment too long, something unguarded flickering there. He swallowed once. “I do not like seeing you in pain.”
Robby sat on the edge of the bed.
Dennis shifted slightly, wincing, and Robby’s hand immediately steadied his shoulder.
“Careful,” Robby murmured, voice low and laced with concern.
Dennis nodded, his heart thudding far too loudly in his chest. He was suddenly, painfully aware of how close Robby was. Their knees brushed. Robby’s hand stayed on his shoulder. His eyes, dark and earnest, looked nothing like the cool, controlled doctor everyone else saw.
“Robby… really,” Dennis whispered. “I am okay.”
Robby shook his head once, eyes flicking to Dennis’s cheek, tracing the bruise with his gaze. “This could have been worse.” His voice dropped even lower. “I hate that it was you. I mean, I would hate it if anyone was hurt, but you… I care for you. I am not sure if you have noticed, but you are pretty important to me, and I like y…” He swallowed. “I like making sure you are okay.”
Dennis swallowed too. Something warm and shaky unfurled inside him.
Robby’s hand slid from his shoulder to his jaw, his thumb brushing lightly near a bruise. Dennis’s breath caught. He leaned into the touch without meaning to.
“I like it when you take care of me,” Dennis whispered, barely audible.
Robby stilled, eyes locking onto his. The look between them shifted, softened. Something electric sparked quietly in the space they shared.
“Sweetpea,” Robby breathed.
Dennis felt himself leaning in, drawn forward by gravity. Robby leaned in too, slow and inevitable, eyes half lidded.
They were close enough to share the same breath, close enough that Dennis could feel the warmth of Robby’s lips almost touching his…
The curtain ripped open.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Santos said loudly, stepping into the bay with his coffee. “First minute of the day shift, and I hear someone got pummeled. I thought it would be Mateo again, not…”
He froze mid-sentence.
Robby jerked back so fast the bed shook. Dennis nearly fell sideways in embarrassment.
Santos blinked. Looked at both of them. Looked at the hand Robby was still half holding. Looked at Dennis’s flushed face. Looked at Robby’s very not neutral expression.
His eyebrows shot up to the ceiling.
“Oh,” Santos said slowly. “I see I walked into… something.”
Dennis wanted to crawl under the bed.
Robby cleared his throat, voice suddenly clipped and authoritative. “Santos. Thank you for coming. Dennis needs to be escorted to CT.”
“I bet he does,” Santos muttered into her coffee.
Dennis covered his face with both hands.
Robby stood abruptly, trying and failing to look unaffected. “I will check on you after the scan.”
Dennis peeked between his fingers. “Okay.”
Robby met his eyes for a heartbeat too long before turning to leave, jaw tight, ears faintly red.
Santos watched him go, then leaned toward Dennis with a wicked smirk. “So what is it, six months out of the closet and you think it is a good idea to go after your bear boss, huh?”
Dennis groaned. “Please take me to CT so I can die in the elevator.”
Dennis got back from CT just as the ER erupted.
“Trauma rolling in!” someone shouted. “Second one two minutes out!”
Robby was already pulling on gloves beside Dr McKay. He glanced over at Dennis, relief and worry flickering across his face. For a second, Dennis thought he might step away.
McKay smacked against Robby’s arm. “Come on, Robby, let’s move. I need you here.”
Robby hesitated. Just a breath. Just long enough to murmur, “I will find you later. We need to talk.”
Dennis’s stomach flipped. “Okay.”
But the stretcher burst through the doors, and Robby disappeared into the organised chaos of the trauma bay, voice sharp, commanding, already in work mode.
Santos appeared at Dennis’s elbow with a sigh. “You are done, Huckelberry. Go home before you get clocked again.”
Dennis nodded, gathering his things slowly, eyes drifting back to the trauma bay curtain. He waited a beat, hoping Robby would look up.
He didn’t.
So Dennis slipped out through the staff exit, cheek throbbing, ribs aching, and one thought circling stubbornly in his mind:
He really hoped Robby still planned to talk to him.
+1
They did not get to talk.
At first, it was just the shifts. Robby on days. Dennis on nights. The universe was seemingly determined to keep them orbiting without ever colliding.
Then it was the traumas. Every time Dennis arrived early, hoping to catch him, Robby was already elbows deep in a critical patient. Every time Robby lingered after handover, Dennis was still scrubbed into something messy and time sensitive.
But the truth, the real problem, was Dennis.
He was worried.
Worried about facing Robby again.
Worried about what almost happened.
So he kept hesitating. A day, then another, then another.
Finally, he talked himself into it. He had the next few days off, so if everything went terribly, he could at least eat his weight in ice cream and binge on sad films with no witnesses.
But at handover, Dennis did not spot Robby.
He cornered Dana as soon as handover ended.
“He is booked off sick, kid,” Dana said, smirking. “Came down with the flu and I refused to let him set foot in the Pitt.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “You know, you should make him some soup. And those snickerdoodles you are famous for. Cheer him up a little. I am just saying.”
Dennis blinked, caught off guard. “I… I could.”
Dana’s grin widened. “You absolutely should.”
Dennis groaned quietly, cheeks heating. “But… I am not sure it is my place.”
Dana patted his shoulder. “Oh, trust me. It is your place. Here, this is his address, and you have his number, right?”
Dennis’s hand hovered over the doorbell, heart hammering. He had not called, too nervous. In his arms was a precarious pile: homemade soup in a thermal container, snickerdoodles stacked carefully, a box of tea, and a few over-the-counter medicines. He shifted them nervously, trying not to wobble anything.
After what felt like an eternity, the sound of slow, heavy footsteps approached the door. A gruff, “Who is it?” came from the other side.
“It’s… uh… me,” he stammered.
“Who is uh me?” came Robby’s flu-riddled voice.
“Oh, sorry, it is Dennis,” he blurted.
The door opened just a crack, and there was Robby, hair messy, eyes bleary, a hand pressed against his forehead. He squinted at the heap Dennis was holding. “What the hell… You brought all that?” His voice was clipped, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes, pleasure and surprise.
“I… thought you might need… to be taken care of,” Dennis said quickly, words tumbling out. His cheeks flamed, and he shifted the packages nervously.
Robby stepped back, making space in the doorway, muttering, “You really are ridiculous… and I do not need looking after. I am a grown man.”
Dennis blinked, unsure if he was being allowed in or turned away.
“Come on in,” Robby said finally. “Let us get this mountain of supplies into the kitchen.”
Dennis stepped inside, careful not to drop anything.
He followed Robby down the short hallway to the kitchen, taking in the brownstone despite himself. Robby’s place was beautiful, all warm wood, worn leather, and shelves lined with books that looked well-loved rather than decorative. It felt solid and lived in, like the kind of place someone stayed when they finally stopped running.
Dennis set the containers down on the counter once they reached the kitchen. He was suddenly very aware of how personal this felt. “I thought maybe you could rest, and I could make you some tea, and then heat up some soup,” Dennis said, not looking at Robby.
Robby opened his mouth, already prepared to argue. To say he was fine. To insist he did not need fussing over, that he had managed worse than the flu on his own.
The words stalled somewhere in his chest.
Dennis was standing there, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes fixed on the counter like it was the most interesting thing in the room, surrounded by soup and biscuits and medicine he had clearly thought about far too carefully.
Robby exhaled, long and slow, rubbing a hand over his face. “You really did not have to do all this,” he muttered, voice rough, half complaint, half something else entirely.
He glanced at Dennis, softer now. “But… tea sounds good. And the soup too. If you are already here.”
It was the closest Robby ever came to admitting he wanted the care.
“Oh. Okay, great. Um, I will find what I need. Why don't you go sit on the sofa? I will bring it to you in a bit,” Dennis said, already starting to move around the unfamiliar space.
Robby snorted softly, clearly unconvinced. “You are very bossy for someone who showed up unannounced,” he muttered, but there was no real heat in it. He rubbed at his temple again, then nodded toward the living room. “Fine. Sofa. But if you start rearranging my cupboards, I am filing a formal complaint.”
He hesitated, then added more quietly, “And… thank you.”
Robby turned and shuffled toward the sofa, moving slower than usual, leaving Dennis in the kitchen with the strange, steady feeling that he was exactly where he was meant to be.
Dennis moved around the kitchen, carefully pouring tea and stirring the soup, trying not to make a sound. He stole glances over his shoulder and caught sight of Robby on the sofa.
Robby’s eyes were half-lidded at first, then drooped further, head tilting slightly to the side. By the time Dennis carried the tray over, steam curling from the mugs, Robby’s breathing had evened out. He was asleep, sitting upright, shoulders slumped, looking smaller somehow than usual.
Dennis froze for a moment, unsure whether to wake him. Instead, he set the tray gently on the coffee table, careful not to jostle anything. Then, after a breath, he eased down onto the sofa beside him, leaving a small space.
Robby shifted slightly in his sleep, leaning a fraction against Dennis. Dennis stayed perfectly still, letting him rest, hands folded in his lap as he watched the subtle rise and fall of Robby’s chest. The tea and soup could wait.
Robby had slumped farther until Dennis had to adjust, letting his head settle comfortably in Dennis’s lap. Dennis absentmindedly ran his fingers through Robby’s hair, smoothing the messy strands, careful not to wake him. The tea and soup, once steaming, had gone cold, forgotten on the tray.
Robby stirred, blinking slowly, his eyes fluttering open. The first thing he registered was the warmth of Dennis beneath him, and the soft weight of hands in his hair. For a moment, he froze, too disoriented to speak, the world reduced to the quiet rhythm of Dennis’s fingers.
“Robby…” Dennis murmured, voice low, almost a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the moment.
Robby tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against Dennis’s thigh in apology, acknowledgement, or promise; it was hard to tell which. He then reached up to take Dennis’s hand from his hair and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft, careful kiss to Dennis’s fingers.
“I’m meant to take care of you, I’m meant to be big and strong,” Robby whispered into the space between them, bringing Dennis’s hand to his chest.
Dennis’s chest tightened, warmth spreading through him. He rested his other hand lightly on Robby’s shoulder. “I… I want to take care of you, too,” he whispered back. “You don’t have to be big and strong all the time.”
Dennis leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Robby’s forehead, then his cheeks, and finally, ever so gently, to his lips.
Robby’s eyes fluttered closed at the contact, a small, relieved sigh escaping him. “We… we should always do this,” he murmured, voice husky. “Take care of each other. No matter what.”
Dennis smiled softly against him, fingers still tangled in Robby’s hair. “Always,” he whispered.