Chapter Text
A few weeks had passed since Whitaker's first day at Pittsburgh's emergency room. Each day of his rotation came with its own unique chaos and misery. However, Dennis slowly fell into a routine— not balance exactly but as close as he could get to it for now. Every morning, he’d start his shift around seven, if not sooner, and he would work his twelve hour shift before eventually going home— if he could even refer to Santos’ flat as his— feeling on the verge of passing out.
Often, the staff would go out drinking to unwind after a particularly long and exhausting shift. This habit brought them closer and tightened the bond between the colleagues. Whitaker had attended to some of those and had found the atmosphere light and refreshing. It was a world made of people like him, people who wanted to help, people who went through similar struggles. It gave them the opportunity to socialize in an environment that wasn’t fueled by the madness of the emergency room.
Whitaker, however, had been absent from the more recent after shift events. In fact, he had started avoiding going out for a drink with the others. After all, his work as a student doctor was already time consuming and it exhausted him. As much as he enjoyed spending time with the staff, he didn’t want his whole life to be centered around his work. Or at least that’s what he told himself.
He didn’t want to over exert himself and simply needed some time alone. The pull he had felt towards his attending after a few drinks had nothing to do with it. Neither did the way the older man’s hand on his shoulder seemed to burn his skin through his shirt. No, it had nothing to do with it.
Dennis was used to the man touching him after all. It wasn’t unusual for Dr. Robby to place a hand on Dennis’ nape like an anchor when things became too much. Or for him to gently pat his shoulder in approval after he had done something right, like a silent proof of affection only meant for him.
But those contacts were fleeting, a momentary show of encouragement of a doctor for his student. Almost as soon as Whitaker felt the soft press of a hand on his shoulder, the contact broke and left him feeling cold in its absence. They weren’t meant to last, and they didn’t. Until they were alone in the quiet dark with only their breathing breaking the silence.
Robby had clasped his hands on Dennis’ shoulder for what felt like forever ago. His breath— so close that he could feel it on his face— reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. “You’ve done good today, kid.” His voice came out hoarse from the exhaustion and the liquor running in his veins. Whitaker watched as the warm breath caused a small fog in the cold between them. “I know your rotation had a rough start— hell it’s been rough for all of us— but you’ve kept your head high and kept on going without losing yourself.” The corner of his lips curled up in a small smile as he spoke the words. “I admire that about you.”
The praises rolled off his tongue like they had been on his mind for a while. His words grew somewhat more sluggish as he went on and he took a step closer to his student. His hands occasionally squeezed Dennis’ shoulder as if his way to convey the emotions he couldn’t put into words.
As the man went on, Whitaker found it increasingly difficult to stop his face from heating up. The alcohol created comforting warmth in his guts and the young man focused on the slight burn of it to ground himself.
When Robby grew silent, Dennis slowly looked up at him with his big wide blue eyes, only to find the man staring right back at him. As their eyes met, Whitaker felt like time had stopped and they were the only ones on earth. He watched the brown eyes in front of him, noting the blown out pupils and the slight flush of the man’s cheeks.
The thought that had traversed Whitaker’s mind made him feel like a creep. He felt filthy and disgusting for ever considering their interactions as anything else than a professional relationship. Dr. Robby was his attending, his superior. He was there to guide him and teach him how to be a good doctor, not to be fawned upon by a medical student.
The shame and guilt built up in Dennis’ mind until he stopped going out with the others. He hoped the thoughts as well as the desire he felt for the man would subside. But as the days passed and he felt his need for the man deepen, he realized it was wishful thinking. Even as he worked, his eyes unconsciously looked around in hope to catch a glimpse of the man.
“Watcha looking for, Huckleberry?” Santos spoke from behind him, her voice whispering close to his ear. Whitaker immediately jumped at her words and turned around to face her. He hadn’t even noticed her presence until she had spoken.
“Jesus, Trin.” He said as he rubbed his face. “Don’t creep up on me like that.”
“Sure,” she rolled her eyes, “because coming up to you and asking a question is creeping up on you.” Her voice was filled with her usual sarcasm, to which Dennis responded for her to shut up.
The words flew out easily between them, settling into a familiar banter. Their friendship had developed quite fast but Whitaker supposed that’s what living together did to people. They had their issues, of course. Sometimes, Santos behavior and constant nagging was too much for Dennis. And sometimes she would bring people in sometimes and well… the walls were thin. But their new living situation brought them closer together, even if sometimes that made them want to murder each other. And despite every problem, every argument, Dennis felt grateful for the help Trinity had offered him.
“But seriously,” she raised a suspicious eyebrow as she insisted, asking a silent question, “you seem distracted.”
The young man opened his mouth to brush it off by saying he just needed something to eat or to smoke a cigarette. Before he could stop himself, he let out a sigh. “Yeah, I’m—”
“Are you two gonna stand there talking the whole day?” The words cut their conversation short and they both turned around to face the man talking to them, looking like a couple of kids getting reprimanded in class for talking instead of listening to the teacher.
“Sorry, Dr. Robby.” They both responded in unison to the man standing in front of them with his arms crossed. He was wearing a black jacket over his scrubs and despite only being two in the afternoon, the dark circles were already visible under his eyes.
“If you need a break, leave for a minute. But otherwise we got work to do.” He spoke with a voice strained with exhaustion. He rubbed his beard with his right hand like the scratchy sensation was grounding him. “We’ve got a possible angiostrongyliasis in room 7. Good teaching case.” He let out a sigh. “Otherwise there’s a patient in room 14 that’s refusing to talk. He’s around your age— younger even. One of you two might get through him. Now get back to work.” Immediately after speaking, Robby left, his attention already back on another case.
“Sick.” Trinity smiled. “I’ll take angiostrongyliasis.” Without giving Dennis any time to respond or argue, she left.
He breathed out a sigh and scratched the back of his head. “Room 14 it is then.”
By the time Whitaker finally managed to catch a break, it was already six past noon. The thought of going out for a smoke lured him out of the building until he saw the amount of people there. The sight made his shoulder slump in despair. The student did not feel like talking or socializing with anyone.
Dennis was about to give up on the thought and turn back when an idea popped in his head. Maybe he could go to the roof. He had never seen anyone go there and if he was lucky enough, he could get some quiet time there.
In reality, Whitaker didn’t know if he was allowed there. In fact, he wasn’t sure his pass would even grant him access. So when the door opened for him, he let out a small satisfied huff and walked onto the roof.
Looking around for a moment, Dennis saw no one. He wondered if anyone ever came up there or if this place was as abandoned as the hospital wing he used to squat. But as a matter of fact, he did not care that much, he simply wanted a minute or two in calm. So he leaned against the fence and lit a cigarette. As he inhaled the smoke, he absently watched the city. His mind was somewhere else and he thought back to his patient.
A young man sat on a hospital bed by himself. His dark blue eyes were staring into the void as the skin under his eyes slowly turned purple forming an hematoma. Dennis watched through the glass door and saw what seemed like a broken nose and a few minor scratches.
“Liam, nineteen year old male. Someone called an ambulance after witnessing him getting beaten up by a group of boys his age. No permanent damage.” Dr. McKay calmly filled Whitaker in but the small sigh coming out of her lips betrayed her worry. “Physically he’s good to go but he doesn’t wanna talk and I thought it might be easier if it was coming from someone closer to his age.”
“But I’m also a guy closer in age to the people who assaulted him, won’t that be an issue?”
"I don't know. Maybe." She ran her hand over her face and took a deep breath in and out, "I'm kinda running out of ideas to make him talk and you're usually pretty good with those kinds of patients."
Hesitantly, Whitaker nodded. “Okay. I’ll give it a go.” He cleared his throat before slowly opening the door and walking in. He closed the door behind himself and sat in front of the patient. “Hi, my name’s Whitaker.”
Despite his nerves, Dennis managed to keep his voice steady and brightly smiled at the boy, "I see you've gotten quite a beating. Mind telling me what happened?"
The silence filled the room and no response came from the patient. The young man did not speak, nor did he even look at Whitaker. He said nothing and stared at the ground, as if he was waiting for it to swallow him whole. The shame and hurt were etched all over his face.
Whitaker was pulled out of his thoughts at the sound of a door opening. He turned around and looked towards the source of the noise only to find himself making eye contact with his attending. “Dr. Robby.” The name came out in a whisper from his lips with no idea of what to say.
“Didn’t think I’d see you here.” The older man spoke as he walked towards him. “You know smoking’s bad for you.” He added in his raspy voice as he leaned next to Dennis against the fence and lit his own cigarette.
Whitaker watched the man inhale the smoke and let out a small huff of amusement. “Doesn’t stop you.”
“No,” his eyes landed on the intern, “doesn’t stop me."
“You know… Before I started med school, I would get into lots of trouble.” Whitaker's voice echoed softly through the room and his patient— Liam— was still refusing to talk. “I lived in a small town so rumors would spread. Especially at school back then.” He took a deep breath and hoped his voice came out steady but he had no idea if it actually did. “I wasn’t popular, quite the opposite. So I used to get kicked or punched.”
Dennis, who noticed a small change in his patient’s body, gave him a reassuring smile. Still, he wasn’t exactly looking at him but his eyes had moved closer to where Whitaker was sitting. Taking it as a small sign he was listening, Dennis went on.
“My dad said I had to man up and be more like my brothers.” He continued to speak and stared at his patient for any indication he might be getting through him. “But I wasn’t like them. I didn't know how to deal with it on my own. So I just let it happen, tried to pretend it wasn’t happening.”
"What happened then?" Liam spoke— for the first time since they'd found him— and looked at Dennis. Not in the eyes, not yet.
"I let it consume me. Let it destroy me." Dennis tried as much as possible to mask the relief he felt from hearing the boy talk. "But it doesn't have to be this way. You can do better than I did."
For a while, neither of them said anything. The boy still did not look Dennis in the eyes. He looked small, lost. Then, the hand that was wrapped on his left arm squeezed, "Sometimes feels like I deserve it."
Dennis watched the hand tighten around Liam's arm. The wheels turned in his head and he swallowed as he imagined what might be under that sleeve. "I see in your chart that you've refused an IV." His eyes stayed on his patient's arm. "May I ask why?"
In response, Liam shrugged dismissively, like it didn’t matter or that he was too ashamed to say anything.
"If you have other injuries... I could take care of them for you." Whitaker spoke in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. But still, he couldn't help notice the hand tightening even more as he spoke. "Whatever's under that hoodie, you can trust me not to judge. I won't tell anyone. I just want to make sure you're getting proper treatment."
The silence felt heavy and for a moment, Dennis’ heart felt so loud he thought Liam might hear it.
“Okay.” The patient finally gave in with a sigh.
Before he could stop himself, Whitaker smiled at the small victory. “Thank you.”
With Liam’s consent, Dennis carefully rolled the boy’s sleeve up, exposing the wounds that had been hidden under it. At the sight of them, Whitaker immediately knew those injuries were self-inflicted. Without saying another word, he examined the gashes on his forearm. Some were deeper than others and some had cut through scar tissue from previous cuts.
The smell of blood hit Dennis’ nostril. Accompanied with the sight of the wounds, it triggered a memory of his own. The images of his own skin covered in lesions popped into his mind. He could see himself watching the blood slowly drip out of him but making no move to stop the bleeding. He remembered his clothes sticking to his wounds and the shame of it all.
Whitaker took a sudden deep breath and tried snapping himself out of it. This was not about him, so he buried the memories back and ignored the nausea forming in his stomach.
His hands started working in their own accords to patch the wounds up as he tried to stay professional. Still, he suddenly became aware of how faded the scars on his own legs were and felt the urge to reopen them.
"Long shift?" Robby's voice brought him back to reality, remembering he was still on the roof with a cigarette in hand.
"You could say that." Whitaker gave him a smile that didn't fully reach his eyes. "You?"
The older man softly scoffed. "Always a long shift." He said with sad irony. "Heard you did pretty good with that patient of yours, the one who got in a fight."
"Really?" Whitaker looked up from a cigarette and at his attending.
"Yeah. Really." He lifted the cigarette to his lips, inhaling the smoke. "The kid refused to talk to anyone until you stepped in. I don't know what you said or did but keep on doing that."
Whitaker hummed, taking the words in. "I don't know if he's gonna accept help." He tried not to sound too defeated, failing miserably. Kiara had talked with him already and Liam had asked to go home. Despite Whitaker's insistence, the boy wasn't considered an immediate danger to himself or others, which meant legally they were not allowed to keep him any longer without his consent. "I should've found a way to keep him in."
"You did what you could. What he chooses next is up to him." Robby insisted. "You already helped him more than any of us did."
Dennis silently watched the horizon, having so much to say but no words that fit. So Robby broke the silence again. "But shift's not over. We still have about two hours 'til we go home." He put down his own cigarette before grasping his student's shoulder once again, "Come on, Whitaker. Let's go back inside."
Whitaker nodded and they both silently made their way back into the building. The exhaustion of the day was suddenly hitting him and he just hoped the rest of his shift would pass fast.
When the elevator reached their floor, they separated ways, throwing one last glance at each other before getting swallowed by the chaos around them.