Chapter Text
JULY
“Um, I’m sorry, could you repeat that for me, Robby?”
Robby is looking down at Dennis with fond amusement crinkling his eyes. The tiredness from their Fourth of July shift is still hovering over them both like a heavy, exhaustion-drenched cloak. But there’s a giddiness to Robby as well, his backpack secured, motorcycle helmet in hand. The rest of the day shift has already migrated to the park for late Fourth of July beers, the occasional firework still streaking in the sky above like belated party streamers. Dennis was going to join them, all but being frogmarched by a desperate Trinity in need of a drink, but Robby had pulled him aside in the ambulance bay and said he had something they needed to discuss before he left.
Dennis thought it might just be one last pep talk, a little reassurance before Robby disappears off the face of the earth for the next three months. Instead, Robby said, and now repeats, “I need you to keep an eye on Dr. Abbot for me.”
Dennis points a finger at his chest, eyes doubling in size. “Me? You want me to… why?”
Robby’s smile dims, his hands slowing where they were turning over his helmet.
“Jack and I have been friends for a long time. We… we help each other out in the low moments.”
“Is he…?” Dennis starts, only to falter because how do you even voice that question?
“We all get low some days,” Robby provides, which is as good a confirmation as any. “During handoff is when we check in with each other. But since I’ll be gone, I need someone to step in for me.”
“That’s… I get that, but, why me? Why not Dana, or…” literally anyone else far more capable.
Robby shrugs. “I’m trusting the ED with Dana. She’ll keep an eye on you lot for me. But Jack requires… a certain touch.”
Dennis’s confusion only mounts. “Robby, he and I have barely exchanged five words at a time that didn’t have to do with a case. Are you sure you want me to—”
“I couldn’t be more sure,” Robby states. “I trust you with this, Whitaker. You gonna prove me wrong?”
Dennis’s shoulders straighten on instinct, chin tilting high as he meets Robby’s gaze head-on. “No sir.”
“Good,” Robby says, clapping a heavy hand on Dennis’s shoulder and squeezing it firmly. “You have my number, but try keep it to emergencies only, okay?”
Dennis can only nod, Robby’s crow’s feet deepening with his smile.
“You’ll do just fine, kid. Jack’s a real softy once you get past the gallows humour and incessant staring.”
Somehow, that doesn’t do much to soothe Dennis’s concerns.
*
Two days later, Dennis walks into their first shift without Robby like it’s any other. Santos is extolling the genius of lesbian pop music that is Chappell Roan, Dennis only half listening as he shoves his backpack into his locker and heads towards the nurse’s hub.
Dana pins him down with a glance, then crooks her finger at him seriously. Dennis doesn’t hesitate, walking up to her and giving a quiet greeting. Dana cuts right to the chase.
“He’s on the roof.”
“Who is?”
“Abbot, who else?” At Dennis’s shocked look, Dana offers a sympathetic look. “Robby told me you’re on Abbot watch till he’s back. I don’t envy you, kid.”
“He can’t be that bad, surely?”
“Abbot? Nah. He’s just more stubborn than a concrete block. And just as emotive.”
Dennis frowns, not feeling the least bit assured by her statement. Dana clicks her tongue, giving him a non-too-gentle shove towards the elevators.
“Just get up there and keep him company till he’s ready to come down.”
Stumbling towards the elevator, Dennis shoots one last hesitant glance over his shoulder. He spots Trinity watching him with a worried knot between her brows. He offers what he hopes is a placating smile and a wave of his hand, silently assuring her he’s fine before stepping into the car.
The only time Dennis has been up on the roof was for helicopter arrivals—it doesn’t leave much time to admire one’s surroundings. But now, as he steps through the heavy door, he gets to watch golden light lim towering sky scrapers, a pale lilac sky slowly turning cornflower blue. The view is surprisingly breathtaking. And at the center of it all, standing on the wrong side of the safety railing, silver curls burnished bronze in the rising sun, is Jack Abbot.
He stands tall, shoulders straight, stance at attention. A military man through and through. It’s the slightly tremoring fists at his sides, though, that give him away.
“Dana, if that’s you, I told ya, I’m fine. I’ll be down in five,” Abbot says guffly, not even bothering to turn towards the door.
Dennis shifts from foot to foot, hands fidgeting in front of him. “Um. Actually, it’s Whitaker.”
Abbot’s shoulders visibly tense, then release with a heavy sigh. He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a slew of swears, punctuated with Robby’s name. Then, finally, he turns, glancing back over his shoulder, still standing dangerously close to the edge.
“Dr. Whitaker. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Robby didn’t tell you, did he?” Dennis sighs, shoulders drooping.
Abbot’s lips tick just slightly in the corner, more sardonic than amused. “No. But I’m starting to get an idea.”
Dennis groans, scrubbing his hand through his curls. Figuring there’s no going back now, he walks closer, stopping just an inch away from the railing. He grips it, the metal cool to the touch, finger numbingly so. This close, he can make out the individual freckles on Abbot’s cheeks, across his stubbled jaw, his neck, even his ears. They’re as fine as powdered sugar, but plentiful, a milky way of melanin.
Abbot’s stare is piercing, eyes dark and all-knowing as he unashamedly stares Dennis down. Dennis clears his throat, gaze dropping to his feet.
“So, what did you do to get saddled as my babysitter, hm?” Abbot asks, casual as anything.
Dennis shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Let me guess, he told you at the last second right before hopping on that damn bike and riding off into the sunset?”
Dennis taps his nose. “Got it in one.”
Abbot scoffs, shaking his head. “Jesus fuck, Mike. Real classy, pal.”
Dennis chuckles, more nerves than anything. “Yeah. I was also a little blindsided. Sorry.”
“Nah, not your fault. Just Robby being Robby. Always gotta be fixing something, rather than focusing on his own shit.”
“I mean, isn’t that what the sabbatical is for?”
Abbot scoffs, but doesn’t expound. Dennis bites his bottom lip, keeping his million and one questions to himself.
“Nice view,” he stammers, gesturing to the cityscape in front of them.
“Yeah,” Abbot murmurs. His gaze is fixed firmly down on the street below. Dennis has to fight not to grab the back of his scrub top and tug him back a safe distance away from the edge, gripping the railing instead until his knuckles creak.
Abbot steals a sideways glance at him, lips ticking up in a half-smirk.
“Don’t worry, kid. I’m not planning on jumping.”
Abbot waits until Dennis releases a sigh of relief to tack on, “Today.”
Dennis levels him with an unimpressed glare, Abbot snickering. He takes one last look at the view, then steps back blessedly away from the edge, body folding under the railing to pop up on Dennis’s side.
“Congrats, I choose to live another day,” he says, monotone.
Dennis huffs, smiling despite himself, bottom lip caught between his teeth.
Amusement sweeps across Abbot’s eyes. Then, he’s nodding towards the door. “Come on, let’s get down there, before we get you in trouble with Dr. Al Hashimi.”
Dennis nods, more than happy to put as much distance between himself and the edge as possible.
He’s never been all that keen on heights.
*
“Brother, you better have a damn good explanation for this.”
“Geez, Jack, I’m barely three days out and already you’re calling to complain? Missing me that bad?”
Jack groans, internally cussing out his friend as he leans back against the plush headboard of his bed. He’d barely gotten his blackout curtains drawn shut and his prosthesis off before hitting Robby’s number on his cell. Like hell was he letting Robby get away with this bullshit.
“You know what I’m talking about, asshole. Why the hell did you sic your kid on me?”
“Pretty hard to say no to those baby blues, hm?”
Jack scowls and by the huff of laughter on Robby’s end, the bastard is probably perfectly picturing it.
“Kid looks like a damn mouse,” Jack mutters.
“He is something of a country mouse,” Robby agrees. “Though I think he’s settled pretty well here in the big city.”
“All thanks to you, huh, Papa Bear?” Jack snarks.
Robby huffs another laugh. “Kid’s got plenty of support with Santos and the other ducklings on his side. His confidence was web-thin when he first walked through the doors.”
“Him and Santos, huh?” Jack asks, ignoring the uncomfortable flicker in his chest.
“Roommates,” Robby says. “Practically siblings the way they bicker and bitch at one another. Yolanda says it’s almost sweet, even when they’re wrestling one another for first shot at a hot shower.”
And somehow, Jack can picture that. Santos is all spark and spunk, while Whitaker has something of a scrappy strength to him. The few times they’ve worked night shift together, the pair always walk in attached at the hip. Whitaker hangs onto Santos’ every word, but he also isn’t afraid to shoot sharply back when appropriate, giving as good as he got. Perhaps living together helped him develop a slightly thicker skin.
Jack wants to ask how long they’ve known each other, how did they become roommates, but that isn’t the point of this call.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook, Mike. Just cause the kid looks pathetic enough to keep me from jumping on his watch, does not mean I won’t be coming for your ass when you get back.”
“Oh, well, Jack. At least take me out for dinner first.”
“Fat chance, brother,” Jack says, grinning despite himself.
Fuck, but he misses the idiot. This sabbatical will either do Robby wonders or just dig his grave even deeper. Jack’s holding out hope for the former.
“Right, right, you like ‘em sweet and petite,” Robby snarks back.
Whitaker’s face flashes in Jack’s mind’s eye at the prompt. Those wide, guileless cornflower blue eyes. His slightly crooked smile with the tiny gap between his front teeth. The wheat colored curls that have gathered at his nape...
A heavy breath leaves his lips as he gives himself a good shake. Knock it off, Jack. He’s just a kid doing Robby’s bidding cause he’s too polite to tell him no.
“Jack? You with me, brother?”
“Yeah,” Jack murmurs, slumping deeper against his pillows. “Yeah, I’m here.”
There’s a pregnant pause, not unfamiliar in their friendship. Comfortable. Soothing even.
“Is it helping, Mike? The distance?” Jack finally asks on a whisper.
“I dunno,” Robby admits, croaking on the truth of it. “I sure hope it does.”
“Me too, brother. Me too. And if not, I’m just a phone call away.”
“You know I appreciate you, right, Jack?”
“Yeah, man. Same here. Even with the stunt you pulled with Whitaker.”
Jack can hear the smile in Robby’s voice when he says, “Just give him a chance. He’ll grow on you.”
Jack’s scoff turns into a yawn. Robby hums.
“Want me to talk till you fall asleep?”
“You know me too well, Mikey.”
“Right back at you, Jack.”
*
It’s not every shift that brings Jack to the roof. In fact, there’s a decent week where Jack’s demons leave him be. The Fourth of July madness has thankfully moved on, the last of the leftover fireworks having breathed their last breath. Night shift returns to its usual unusualness with strange sex cases and that liminal feeling at two in the morning. Shen and Ellis are their usual charming selves, Dr. Al-Hashimi is professional in all the ways that matter during handoff. All and all, same old same old.
Then the five-year-old GSW case rolls in on the curtails of an already more hectic than usual shift and when Jack blinks, he finds himself watching the sunrise steadily above the horizon, breath stuttering even as his eyes remain stubbornly dry.
Whitaker joins him with light footsteps, just loud enough to announce his presence while still shirking away from attention. It’s the footsteps of a child who is used to being shushed.
A country mouse, Robby had called him. Whitaker certainly looks the part of a reformed farm boy. He’s got a healthy golden sheen to his otherwise pale skin, and a little more meat on his bones compared to when he was still a student with them. He’s broader in the shoulders than Jack first realized, though lithe where Jack is stocky. They’re of a height too, Whitaker standing just half an inch below him. The distance somehow feels greater whenever he glances up at Jack through those thick, fair lashes of his, though. Kid probably doesn’t even realize the kind of power he could have over others if he just learned how to use those looks of his to his advantage.
“Hello Dr. Abbot,” Whitaker says, not quite meeting Jack’s gaze where he stands beside him at the railing. He’s on the safe side, Jack in his usual spot closer to the edge. They’re close enough for their shoulders to brush accidentally if he wanted.
Jack doesn’t trust his voice right now not to wobble. So he simply nods his greeting, eyes turning to stare back out into the middle distance, not all there.
The piercing ring of asystole keeps echoing in a loop between his ears. The mother distraught, the father already in cuffs for pulling a gun on his child in a PTSD-induced haze.
Jack can’t stop thinking about how easily that could have been him. The few times he’d almost seriously hurt Liz when lost in memories of scorching sand and blood-wet hands. The thought of this, just the possibility of how much worse it all could have been, is what drove him up here, panting, cold sweat trickling down his spine, and his stump aching something fierce from phantom pain layered with the real stuff too.
“I don’t—” Whitaker starts, only to click his jaw shut.
Jack sneaks a sideways glance at him, watches as his lips purse in deep thought, fair brows furrowed, nose a little scrunched. It’s cute.
“Lydia told me, about the GSW,” Whitaker says stiltedly. He’s picking at a hangnail where his hands rest on the railing, eyes fixed straight ahead. “I can’t imagine… I just honestly can’t. And I don’t want to give some stupid platitude that’s just gonna be a bandaid over something that needs a suture. I just…” Whitaker sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Fuck, why did Robby think I’d be any good at this?”
“You ain’t doing half bad, Mouse,” Jack admits, voice croaky from unshed tears.
Whitaker’s head shoots up like a bottle rocket, blue eyes wide as they bore into Jack like a pair of ice picks.
“Mouse?”
Heat skims a little too close to the surface of Jack’s skin, his gaze flicking back to the city view. He attempts nonchalance as he says, “Something Robby mentioned. Sorry.”
“No, it’s… I mean, it’s better than Huckleberry, I suppose.”
“That what Santos calls you?”
A crooked grin tugs at Whitaker’s lips. “Yeah. It’s kinda grown on me, not that I’ll tell her that.”
“You two really are like siblings.”
“Robby say that too?”
Jack taps his nose. Whitaker’s smile broadens.
“She’s helped me more than she’ll ever admit.”
“Sounds like a story.”
“It is. But I’m not telling it to you until you come back to this side of the railing.”
Jack whistles, impressed despite himself.
“You got balls on you, Mouse,” he praises, ducking beneath the railing and stepping back into the safe zone.
Whitaker’s fingers glide to the curls at his nape, eyes downturned. “I don’t know about that, but hey, it worked.”
“And now you owe me a story,” Jack reminds him, gently bumping their shoulders as they start back for the door.
“Next time,” Whitaker promises.
And, strangely, Jack is kind of looking forward to it.
*
UNKNOWN NUMBER: So when are you planning on telling me that story? - JA
DENNIS: ???
DENNIS: Dr Abbot?
UNKNOWN NUMBER: The one and only.
DENNIS has saved UNKNOWN NUMBER as JACK ABBOT
DENNIS: I hope this doesn’t sound rude but where did you get my number?
JACK: Robby
DENNIS: smh of course you did
JACK: Sorry if this is overstepping. We can just delete each other’s numbers and pretend this isn’t the start of an HR violation if you prefer?
DENNIS: no no your okay!
DENNIS: *you’re
DENNIS: I’m just a little shocked you’d want to talk to me outside of work is all
JACK: Well, you did lure me away from the edge with the promise of a juicy story I have yet to hear.
JACK: So I thought I’d pay you back for Robby roping you into babysitting duty and get you a coffee while we chat.
JACK: But only if you’re comfortable with that. If you’d prefer to keep our “chats” strictly work-orientated I wouldn’t blame you.
DENNIS: sorry let me just make sure I understand
DENNIS: to say thanks for not letting you jump off the hospital roof you want to buy me a coffee and listen to me talk about my sibling-ship with Santos. did I get that right?
JACK: Copacetic 👌🏼
DENNIS: is it terrible I had to look that word up?
JACK: Nah, though props to you for admitting that.
DENNIS: so you’re not second-guessing coffee yet?
JACK: Won’t get rid of me that easily.
JACK: Unless you genuinely tell me to fuck off, in which case, I will.
DENNIS: I mean I think I’d put it a little nicer than that 😅
JACK: That’s the midwestern farm boy in you talking.
JACK: You’re an ER resident now, Whitaker. You’re allowed to use your big-boy swears.
DENNIS: All right then. Fuck yes to coffee.
JACK: Why do I feel like I just corrupted you?
DENNIS: oh don’t worry, Santos has already had a ten month head start.
JACK: Now I’m really curious.
DENNIS: buy me that coffee first and I’ll tell you all the dirty details
JACK: You’re on, Mouse.
*
There’s a certain unreality you enter the first time you meet a colleague outside of the workplace. That same strange realisation as you might have had as a child upon seeing your favourite schoolteacher out and about doing their grocery shopping just like any other person.
Dennis didn’t really know what to expect when it came to meeting Dr. Abbot for coffee. For one, it’s around lunch time, the sun perched high in a clear blue sky, while Dr. Abbot is damn near famous for his night owl tendencies.
Dennis had also been unsure of what exactly one wears to coffee with their superior outside of the workplace. The only thing worse than being indecisive would have been if Trinity were there to witness it. She would have teased him to high hell, then, in the same breath, probably given him a crash course on establishing boundaries and maintaining equal power balance. Or something along those lines.
He’d ended up cobbling an outfit together with barely enough time to give himself one last glance in the mirror and deem his curls semi-acceptable. He was still getting used to styling it every morning rather than just letting it lie flat in whichever way gravity chose that day. The thought brought up an image of Dr. Abbot’s curls—somehow orderly with just the right amount of nonchalant tousle to make them look equally effortless. Did he have a hair care regimen like the one Trinity had forced onto Dennis? Did he get it right on the first try, or has it evolved over the years?
Arriving in front of the café they’d agreed to meet at thankfully brings an end to that train of thought. Well, for all of two seconds before Dennis spots Dr. Abbot waiting for him out front.
At first, he doesn’t recognise the attending without his scrubs. It’s the curls that catch Dennis’s attention first. That and his arms.
It’s not like Dennis hasn’t noticed them before, not with the way Dr. Abbot’s biceps are framed by the short sleeves of his scrub tops. But there’s something about the pull of soft, well-worn cotton across his strong shoulders, the way it skims his waist, not hiding the slight heaviness around his stomach, nor the bulk of his biceps.
It’s just a plain T-shirt, nothing fancy, paired with some straight-cut jeans slung low on his hips and a pair of comfortable suede Chelsea boots. But he might as well have been dressed for the runway with how he looked standing on the street corner, posed so casually, so effortlessly cool, all the while his eyes scanned the street in search of Dennis.
When Dr. Abbot does spot him, the concentrated furrow to his brow melts away, replaced with the faintest smile as he lifts his hand in greeting.
Dennis suddenly feels severely underdressed in his favourite steel blue flannel and the mom jeans Trinity graciously threw in his face when she found out he only had one pair of jeans in his entire wardrobe.
“You made it,” Dr. Abbot says. “Wasn’t quite sure if you would come.”
“I’m a man of my word, Dr. Abbot.”
“Jack.”
“Huh?”
Dr. Abbot shifts slightly on his feet, hands tucked into his jeans’ pockets.
“We’re both off the clock. I think it should be fine if we drop the titles, don’t you?”
“Oh. Uh. Yeah, sure. If you’re sure?”
Something shy crosses Dr. Abbot’s—Jack’s—eyes. “Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”
“Right. Well, then, uh, feel free to call me Dennis.”
“Not Huckleberry?” Jack teases.
“That nickname is reserved for Trinity’s use only.”
“Well then, guess I’ll have to stick to Mouse, won’t I, Mouse?”
Dennis shakes his head, amused despite himself. He’s gotten used to the teasing most of the Pitt’s staff has adopted as their chosen coping mechanism. He’s even managed to throw out a couple of quips himself when inspiration strikes.
But there’s something in Jack’s tone. It’s light, teasing, as to be expected. But there’s an added weight there, hidden in his eyes, in the corners of his mouth. Dennis can’t quite put his finger on it. But he certainly isn’t complaining. Anything’s better than Garcia’s mocking ‘white chocolate’ or ‘funky music’ moniker.
“Shall we, then?” Jack asks, already getting the door and gesturing for Dennis to go in first. Dennis does, head ducked as he prays his flush isn’t too noticeable.
The cafe’s on the quieter side, considering it’s just after rush hour, plenty of tables and booths open and the baristas chatting amongst themselves behind the counter. There’s an overhead menu with some of the classic choices as well as some house specials, which sound intriguing.
“So, what am I buying you?” Jack asks.
And maybe it’s the change of scenery, or the casual attire, but for whatever reason, Dennis tilts his head and offers a mischievous smile as he says, “Guess.”
Jack’s eyebrows rise past his hairline, lips twitching in amusement. As if to say challenge accepted. His eyes skim the boards, lips thinning as he carefully considers his choice.
“I’m hoping I’m wrong, but are you one of those people who like iced coffee drowned in five different syrups and topped with whipped cream?”
Dennis grins, neither denying nor confirming until they make it to the counter and the barista asks what they’ll be having.
“One large black coffee for me, please,” Dennis says.
Jack barks a laugh, then asks for the same, the two of them sharing a knowing smile.
“Growing up, the nearest Starbucks to Broken Bow was two towns over,” Dennis explains as they take their to-go cups and settle at a window booth. “In our house, it was either pure bean juice or milk, no in-between.”
“Colour me pleasantly surprised,” Jack says, smiling behind the rim of his cup.
“I guess being in the military breeds a similar preference?”
“Watery thin or thick as mud, there was no in-between,” Jack confirms.
They settle into something like a comfortable silence, Dennis taking in the outside view of a summery Pittsburgh day, trying to ignore the heavy weight of Jack’s stare. It isn’t discomforting. Rather just difficult to ignore.
They’re about halfway done with their cups when Jack finally says, “So, let’s hear this story.”
Dennis purses his lips, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the tabletop. “Okay. But you have to promise not to go spreading this around, please? It’s nothing bad, just… personal.”
Jack nods, pure seriousness.
Dennis takes a deep breath. “So, I guess a good place to start is that I’m the first in my family to go to college. It wasn’t exactly in my parents’ plan, but they were supportive at first, what with me doing undergrad in Theology.” That earns a raised eyebrow, but no comment, so Dennis continues. “When I told them I wanted to switch to med school, they only really agreed after I showed them all the scholarships I could apply to. I know how expensive med school is, and right now, small farms aren’t doing all that well financially, you know? So, when I moved off campus and started my rotations, they asked if I needed more financial support, and I told them I had it handled. But…”
Jack’s face shifts minutely, puzzle pieces slotting together.
Dennis swallows thickly. “Long story short, I was unhoused for the majority of my rotations. I shelter hopped for a while, which wasn’t great, but wasn’t terrible either. And then during my internal medicine rotation at PTMC, I found out about the eighth floor and how it was empty.”
“Dennis…”
“And I know it wasn’t right but… I was so tired, Dr. Abbot. Tired of having to sleep with one eye open, tired of constantly being afraid that my stuff would get taken. Medical textbooks aren’t cheap, even second-hand ones, and my laptop was barely functioning as is. But it worked out, you know, on the eighth floor. I was always careful that no one followed me. Had to be. But after PittFest… I guess I was too tired to really notice Trinity following me.”
“Did she—”
“Oh, she was really great about it. Offered me her spare room right then and there. Rent free and everything. I help out with the majority of the cooking and cleaning instead. Though I can start paying my share of the rent now that I’m an intern.”
Jack sits back in his seat, dark eyes never straying from Dennis even as he rambles, hands waving about as he stumbles through his story.
“So, yeah,” Dennis tapers off. “That’s how Trinity and I became roommates. Like I said, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone, though. Besides Trin, no one else knows I was unhoused.”
“Not even Robby?”
Dennis shakes his head, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Robby’s got enough to deal with on his own. I’d never want to add to that if I can help it.”
Jack huffs, hand scrubbing at the scruff on his jaw. “God, you two are like peas in a pod. I’d find it sweet if it wasn’t so worrying.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I won’t be able to afford a sabbatical until I’m probably Robby’s age, so…”
“How old are you again?” Jack asks around a laugh.
“Twenty-seven.”
Jack instantly sobers. “Jesus Christ.”
“I know I look younger…”
“Nah, just… I was living a very different life at twenty-seven. Funny how that works, huh?” Jack asks, gaze falling somewhere into the middle distance as he fidgets with the wedding band on his finger.
Dennis knows that Jack’s a widower. It’s one of the first things almost all of the residents and students are told when running their first double into the night shift.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Lena, the night charge nurse, had said, specifically eyeing Mel and Javadi. “Dr. Abbot is very much still unavailable.”
Samira had only confirmed Lena’s statement when Trinity had pressed for details, being the insatiable gossip that she is.
“Dr. Abbot is an amazing mentor and an even more amazing man. He’s kind, and he goes the extra mile for his patients. But that’s as far as it’ll ever go with him,” Samira explained, something like resignation in her voice.
It’s a terribly sad thought, and yet it tugs at Dennis’s heartstrings in a bittersweet sort of way. What must it feel like to love someone so deeply that not even death could fully pull you apart?
“Dennis? You with me?”
Blinking, Dennis’s awareness swims back into the present, only to find Jack leaning with his hand halfway across the table, almost like he was going to touch Dennis’s arm, then thought better of it.
Jack quickly pulls his hand back, clearing his throat as he turns over his empty coffee cup instead.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to—”
“No, you’re fine,” Dennis rushes to assure. “I was just…” his eyes skip down to Jack’s ring again without his permission. Jack’s gaze follows his, and his lips curl up in a melancholy smile.
“It’s okay, I won’t break if you ask.”
Dennis shakes his head, words soaring out faster than he can clip their wings. “No, really! I was just thinking that whoever they were, they were really lucky. To be loved by you, I mean.”
Jack blinks, expression eerily neutral. Dennis holds his breath, waiting for whatever—rightly deserved—lecture he was about to receive.
Only for Jack to break into the tiniest, dare Dennis say, shiest smile he’s ever seen grace Jack’s features.
It was breathtaking.
“Damn, kid, you’re something else,” Jack murmurs in awe.
“Sorry—”
“Don’t you dare. Not when that’s about the nicest thing I’ve heard about Liz and me in a good long while.”
“Was that her name? Liz?”
Jack nods, sadness tinging his smile once more. “Yeah. Elizabeth. She was something else, too. I have a feeling she would have liked you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Jack affirms. “She would have pulled a Santos if she knew what you were dealing with, no questions asked. Hell, I would have too if I’d known.”
“Thanks…” Dennis murmurs, cheeks no doubt flushing an embarrassing shade of pink.
“And I promise, I won’t tell anyone. That’s purely your business,” Jack assures. “I’m just glad Santos found you when she did.”
“Yeah, me too. She’s kind of like the older sister I never knew I wanted.”
“Even when she’s wrestling you for first dibs at the shower?”
“Who told you?!”
Jack throws his head back, and he laughs, loud and unapologetic, throat bared and teeth glinting in the early afternoon light. It’s perhaps the most unburdened Dennis has ever seen him. It’s a vision that deserves to be preserved in a museum.
Oh no, Dennis thinks, even as his heart melts a little at Jack’s crinkle-eyed smile, the way his freckles fold and twist with his laugh lines.
Oh, this is very not good.
*
“All right, who the hell are you texting?”
Dennis freezes where he was writing a response to Jack’s text. His eyes slowly move sideways to the opposite end of the couch, where Trinity is eyeing him suspiciously. They’re in the middle of their designated chill time after dinner, Trinity watching a telenovela with her socked feet in Dennis’ lap, Dennis scrolling on his phone.
“Just a friend,” Dennis tries, but Trinity makes an error beep noise.
“Wrong. Because we have the same friends, and you would just write in the group chat if that were true and yet—” she holds up her phone where there are zero notifications on her screen. “No action in the group chat. And you would have said Amy if it was Amy, which you didn’t. So, spill.”
Usually, if this were any other situation, Dennis would. He trusts Trinity. She gave him a home when she could have had him arrested for trespassing. But Robby had entrusted Jack with him. That is purely between him and Jack, and he can’t betray the man’s trust like that. It’s not his story to share.
Of course, she’s noticed his occasional trip up in the elevator, usually accompanied by Jack coming back down with him. But he’s waved off her questions with vague placations of enjoying the sunrise and just happening to bump into Dr. Abbot up on the roof.
It’s worked so far, though Dennis doesn’t suspect it’ll hold out for much longer. Trinity is like a bloodhound when it comes to the truth.
“Okay. Don’t jump to conclusions,” Dennis starts, wincing as Trinity’s eyebrows try to escape past her forehead. “I’ve been texting Dr. Abbot.”
Trinity blinks. Blinks again. Then snorts, attention turning back to the TV screen. “Okay, sure, Huckleberry. Now, who is it really?”
“Dr. Abbot,” Dennis repeats, a little slower. “We’ve, uh, sort of become acquaintances I guess?”
Trinity’s smile drops into a large O. She scrabbles for the TV remote, pausing her show as she sits up.
“You’re fucking serious.”
“Yep.”
“How the fuck did you manage that?!”
Dennis shrugs. “We’ve talked a bit whenever we meet on the roof. He’s not all that intimidating once you get past the staring.”
“And this has magically turned into you two regularly texting?”
“Well, we sort of went for coffee together this one time…”
“DENNIS, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!”
“I told you not to jump to conclusions!” Dennis exclaims. “It’s really nothing. We’re just… getting to know one another a bit. That’s all.”
“You know what you sound like?”
“Your exasperated roommate?”
“A teenager with a crush.”
Dennis sputters. Trinity’s judgmental brow rises inexplicably higher.
“That is not what this is,” Dennis finally says. “Seriously, we’re just talking.”
“About?”
“Stuff.”
Trinity blows a raspberry. Dennis frowns.
“Personal stuff. Like, the whole me being unhoused thing.”
Trinity’s expression shifts, all amusement dropped. “Well, shit. What did he have to say?”
“He’s glad you found me when you did,” Dennis admits, scrubbing at his nape, eyes averted to the couch cushions. He decidedly does not mention the fact that Jack’s wife apparently would have liked him, that Jack was confident enough in Dennis’s character to say so. It still felt a little bit like a fever dream, their entire coffee date. Well, not date, obviously, but—
“You’re blushing!” Trinity screeches, scooching forward eagerly to poke his cheek. “What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing, seriously! And even if I am, it’s because it’s Jack’s stuff to tell, not mine.”
“Oh, so it’s Jack now?”
Dennis coughs, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Only that one time, outside of the hospital. He’s been perfectly professional, as have I.”
“No need to convince me,” Trinity says, palms raised. “HR on the other hand…”
Dennis sits up straight, placing his face close enough to Trinity’s that their noses almost touch. “You wouldn’t.”
Trinity rolls her eyes, pushing his face away with her palm, “Of course I won’t, not unless he seriously fucks up. But if you’re gonna keep this up, other people might notice too, and then—”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Dennis sighs, head hanging in his hands.
“I’m not trying to stress you out, Huckleberry. This is just the reality of this kind of friendship.”
Dennis peaks at her between his fingers with narrowed eyes. “Why did you say it like that?”
“Like what?” Trinity asks, all faux innocence.
“Like you don’t believe we can just be friends.”
“Hey, you said it.”
“Trinity…” Dennis whines, flopping to hide his face against her hip, curled into a tiny, embarrassed ball. Maybe if he makes himself small enough, she’ll leave him alone.
“Huckleberry,” Trinity mimics, because of course she’s making fun of him even now. But that doesn’t stop her from combing her fingers through his curls, providing some small bit of comfort.
“It’s okay to admit you have a crush on him. I’m a lesbian and even I can admit, I see the appeal. If not for his personality, then definitely for his looks.”
“You’re not helping,” Dennis whines, voice semi-muffled where he’s tucked his head between her hip and the couch cushions.
“As your unofficial older sister, roommate and gay guru, it is my God-given right to tease you about this. Them’s the rules.”
“I wonder if the eighth floor is still empty,” Dennis says, mostly teasing.
Trinity slaps him on the shoulder. “Please, you’d miss me too much.”
“I guess.”
“There’s no getting rid of me now, Huckleberry. We’re bonded, like a pair of stray cats.”
Dennis twists his head, offering up a grin which she returns.
“That can’t be adopted separately?”
Trinity winks. “Now you’re getting it.”
They lapse into a comfortable quiet, one that comes easily to them now after ten months of living together.
Dennis hadn’t really known what to expect when agreeing to move in with Trinity. Admittedly, the nights Garcia sleeps over can be a little inconvenient, if not extremely awkward on his end, but otherwise, he and Trinity have managed to gel rather well together all things considered.
He loves her, truly, like he does any of his brothers. Perhaps even a little bit more.
“Dennis?” Trinity murmurs, her voice swimming through the darkness that’s slowly drawing him into slumber.
“Mhm?”
“You’ll tell me if he does something that makes you uncomfortable, right?”
Cracking open an eye, Dennis reaches out, linking his fingers with her hand that currently isn’t still combing through his hair.
“I promise, Trin. But I really don’t think that’ll happen. Jack is… a gentleman.”
“Oh my god, you’re freaking smitten.”
“Shut up.”
“Fine,” she sighs, squeezing his hand. “But only for tonight.”
“Deal. Now shush. I’m sleeping.”
“I hope Gentleman Jack knows just how much of a brat you can be.”
“Trin…”
“All right, all right. Shutting up.”
*
“So, how’s the kid treating you?”
Jack shifts the receiver away from his mouth, mouthing a few curses that would have made Liz give him The Look.
Just, why did Robby have to phrase it like that?
“Dennis is a good guy. Very diligent.”
“Oh, on first name basis already?”
Fuck.
“We bumped into each other outside the hospital. Grabbed a coffee. It sort of just… came about.”
“Huh,” Robby says, and doesn’t elaborate. Jack knows what he’s doing. They’ve known each other long enough to be able to exploit one another weaknesses for the greater good. Jack’s has always been that he’s a nervous talker when something’s eating him up. If he doesn’t go completely nonverbal which is a rare occurrence but can still happen.
“He’s a decent guy. Good doctor. I can see why you like him,” Jack adds, keeping it vague and praying Robby will take the bait.
It’s bad enough the kid’s been on his mind non-stop since their coffee meet up, specifically those words, how earnest he’d been when he said them.
They were really lucky to be loved by you.
Jack had been the lucky one. Liz had been his rock, his confidant, his cheerleader, his lover, his best friend, all rolled into one.
God, if she were here, she’d be teasing Jack relentlessly about how Dennis is just his type.
She’d known he was bi, long before they got married. Hell, they’d even had the occasional threesome when it felt right in the moment.
But that was back when they were Dennis’s age, over twenty years ago now.
Fucking hell, but he’s pathetic.
“He is. So, you better keep an eye on him for me, yeah?” Robby says, bringing Jack out of his self-deprecating thoughts.
“If he’s ever on the night shift, sure thing. But I won’t be coddling him.”
“He won’t be needing coddling. Kid’s got the right stuff for the ED.”
Jack didn’t doubt it. Robby was known for being selective with his favourites. Jack didn’t always agree with his choices, but hey, that was Robby’s prerogative.
But there’s something about Dennis. His gentleness, his unabashed honesty.
They were really lucky to be loved by you.
God, if that didn’t make Jack’s heart stutter. Just like how Liz could floor him with a smile or a quick-witted quip.
He can hear her perfectly, even now. “You’re gone on him, baby.”
And fuck if it isn’t true.
