Chapter Text
Robby can barely hear the bustle of the ER as Dana levels him a wide-eyed look.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” She whips the glasses off her face. “Philly?”
Robby makes a lowering motion with his hands, anxiously glancing at the nurses and residents milling too close for comfort.
“You’re the only one I’ve told,” he mutters.
Dana swivels away from him. “Christ.”
The clipboard in her hand lands against the center hub with a dull smack.
Robby doesn’t know what to feel. He made the decision to transfer from the Pitt a week ago. Some part of him expected the choice to settle in his stomach already, for the roil of nausea that comes with the thought of leaving this place to have disappeared. But it’s still there, coiled tight in his gut, sour and volatile.
Dana turns back to him with an exasperated look. “Did you already accept the position?”
“I’m going to.”
“You’re going to,” she raises a brow. “But you haven’t?”
“I will.” He affirms.
“Well, what’s the hold up?”
“Nothing.” Robby says, proud of how sure he sounds despite himself. “I just haven’t had the time.”
Dana presses her lips to a thin line, squinting her eyes a little in that way she does when she’s trying to figure him out.
Robby knows he’s hard to puzzle through. It’s by design. And besides, Dana isn’t any better. She smokes, then she doesn’t. She wants to quit, then she stays. Though maybe that wall between the self and the public is important in a place like this. Robby and Dana have just been here long enough to know what works.
She must find whatever she’s looking for in his expression, because she reaches out and gives his arm an empathetic squeeze. A sign that Robby’s passed her no-bullshit radar.
“You’re serious about this, huh?”
Robby attempts a smile. “As a heart attack.”
“You sure you’re not making a rash decision?”
“I had a week to think it through,” he says. “And I’ve talked about it with Gloria.”
Dana shakes her head, slow and almost lamenting in a way he knows too well, echoed in his own habits. He doesn’t know if she picked that up from him, or the other way around.
She sighs. “You know, whenever I think about leaving, I always thought we’d do it together.”
“And let this place burn to the ground?” Robby chuckles. “We know better than that.”
“I know better than you.” She shoots back.
“Yes you do,” he agrees easily. “And you always have.”
Dana gives him a smile that feels more like a frown, picking up the clipboard that was laid abandoned. She slides the glasses back on her face, taking two discreet paces towards him. It’s enough for Robby to know that Perlah and Princess must be looking in their direction.
“When are you going to tell everyone?” She mutters.
“Tonight, before shift ends.” Robby mimics her low tone. “Figured I might not have the chance to say goodbye to everyone before my sabbatical.”
“Oh, so you’ve given me a two-hour heads-up.” Dana glares at him through her frames. “I appreciate that, Cap.”
“You make faces, Dana.” Robby says. “At least now you’ll be prepared to tamp them down.”
She chuckles at that, at least. Which makes Robby feel the tiniest bit better about blindsiding her, though he knows nothing he does could make up for it.
“Can’t believe this. Leaving me high and dry.”
“It’s for the better.”
“Yeah?” Dana’s analytical gaze makes a return. “What is this about, really? I thought the motorcycle trip was your mid-life crisis.”
Both their attentions are stolen when something metallic clatters to the ground. Their gazes whip to Central 9, where an old man is fighting to jump off the hospital bed, knocking over a tray of tools. Before any of them can react, he’s gently pushed back down by Dennis; all firm, reassuring tones and none of the mousy nervousness from ten months ago. The sure set of his shoulders relaxes when the man settles back against the thin mattress.
Even when the fleeting situation dies down, Robby can’t take his eyes off of Dennis’ back. The soft curl of russet-blond hair above his nape. The slight flush of exertion creeping up his neck. Robby doesn’t know why he’s still looking. Or maybe he knows all too well.
It’s only when Dana clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth does he snap out of it, discovering that he’s unconsciously taken a step forward in Dennis’ direction. Ready to do what, he doesn’t know.
It was absurd how many times Robby’s found himself like this; in the midst of an aborted action only his subconscious knows. Like Dennis holds some kind of gravity when it comes to Robby, perpetually locking him in orbit.
He wants to reason that this is all out of his control, but he knows why that control has whittled down to what it is now. What it feeds on. What Robby allowed himself to succumb to.
And, seemingly, Dana knows it too. The look she gives him is halfway-teasing, halfway-pitiful.
“Ah,” she purses her lips. “Well, I don’t know what to say about that.”
“Then don’t.” Robby grumbles.
Dana gives him another one of her crooked smiles, like she knows something he doesn’t.
“Hey,” her voice softens with sympathy, and it grates his ears. “I’m always here if you need to talk, Robby. You know that.”
He doesn’t know how to respond other than giving his customary pained, non-committal nod. Which brings the same look out of both Dana and Jack— exasperated, hopeless, and endeared. She gives him one last pat on his back before sending him on his way.
—
The shift ends, for once, faster than he’d like it to.
The parting words he’s been collecting all day in the back of his mind still feel like a jumbled, unfinished mess. He’s never been good at goodbyes. If anything, his detached habits make it so that he seldom has to say any. He prefers to make exits the only way he knows how— quick and sudden, like ripping off a band-aid. Unannounced.
But this is his ER —or at least it still is, for now— and he can’t just fade into the abyss and expect everyone to ignore his disappearance. So he toughens up, standing straighter in front of the center hub, clearing his throat in a way that precedes an announcement. People in his vicinity stop in their tracks, pausing their handovers to the night shift.
“Alright, gather around everybody.” Robby makes an ushering motion with his hands, and Dana shushes the last straggles of conversation to his left. “Good job today. I’m very proud of everybody for pushing through, especially at the end of the week. I know how tired you all must be.”
He takes a deep, shaky breath that doesn’t go amiss. Dana’s hand twitches where it rests on her elbow, crossed over her chest. Longing to reach out.
“As most of you know, I’m leaving for my two-week sabbatical next Friday.” Robby pauses, and forces himself to rush through the rest. “I know this is short notice, but unfortunately I’ve decided not to come back to the Pitt after my break. I’ve been offered a similar position in a trauma center in Philly.”
The murmurs spread quick and immediate, sending a tangible ripple through the surrounding radius of the hub. Robby tries not to search for Dennis’ reaction in the crowd, tries not to notice the look of devastation and alarm. His blue eyes try to cling to Robby’s, but Robby looks away before they can catch.
“In case I don’t see some of you before I go,” he barrels on, “I just want to let you know that it’s been an absolute pleasure working alongside all of you here. I’m beyond proud of everything you have accomplished individually, as well as everything we’ve achieved as a team. It’s been an honor being in charge of this ER for as long as I have.”
His focus starts to break halfway through the second sentence. He doesn’t know what he says, only that he must’ve said it well. Years of medical bureaucracy would do that to a person, he supposes.
He finishes whatever spiel of gratitude he goes on, commanding everyone to disperse before he gets any more sentimental. But he gets stopped anyway at every corner, forced to listen to a dozen people's tearful, genuine goodbyes. It makes his heart too full. It makes him feel sick.
It’s only when he finally escapes everyone’s emotional grasp two hours after shift ends, retreating quickly to the locker room, that he finally lets his mind wander back to Dennis. Dennis, standing shell-shocked, the slightest tinge of betrayal darkening his eyes. Dennis, who he hasn’t seen since everyone dispersed.
He probably made the right choice to high-tail out of here. Of course he would. Did Robby expect him to cry, to beg for him to stay? If he were Dennis, he would hate him, too. Especially after what happened last week—
“Dr. Robby?”
The sudden interruption makes him slam the locker door too hard into its frame.
Standing to his left, now unobstructed, is none other than Dennis. That uncertain look is back in his eyes, though underlined with a touch of insistence. He’s already wearing his jacket, a ratty backpack slung over one shoulder. His hands are laced together, two thumbs threading into each other over and over again, the repetition of anxiety.
Robby ignores the foreboding nausea in his own throat, rising like a beast.
“Dr. Whitaker.” Robby exhales. “What are you still doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you about…”
Dennis’ voice trails off. He glances to his left, where the sounds of lockers opening and closing are quickly becoming more apparent. Robby nods in understanding, and jerks his head towards the exit.
“Outside?”
Dennis nods, and they quietly make their way to the ambulance bay. As soon as the exit doors push open, an unexpected chill greets them. The air is cold and biting, as though punishing them for leaving their patients behind. November brings that awkward, transitional period between autumn and winter, and neither of them are dressed for the sudden spike in frigidity.
They tuck behind a corner, where Robby can see his car sitting patient and idle. Here, the wind has more trouble sinking its chilly fingers into their thin jackets. Robby forces his gaze to stay on his shoes, afraid of what expression he might find on Dennis’ face now that they’re away from prying eyes.
There’s a minute of silence before anybody speaks, filled with too much thinking from both sides to be truly uncomfortable.
“So, the new job…” Dennis starts. “Did you just receive the offer?”
“Not really.” Robby focuses on the way his breath fogs. “They told me about a possible opening a few months ago, but I just got the offer last week.”
“Oh.” Dennis breathes out. “So you only decided now, I’m guessing?”
Robby knows what he’s trying to do. He's scrambling for excuses. Grasping for any reason that would explain why Robby didn’t tell him about this. Reaching for a conclusion that doesn’t solidify Robby as an asshole who doesn’t care about his feelings.
He rips the band-aid. “No, Whitaker.”
Robby waits for the realization to hit. He sees it in real time, the way the quiet wrath descends upon Dennis’ soft features, rendering them severe and frightening in a way Robby’s never seen before, not even caused by the most abusive of patients. It breaks his heart. It’s exactly what he wanted.
Dennis’ fingers curl into fists— pink from the cold, white from the strain. The rage of imminent winter.
“I don’t understand.” Dennis grits out. “So you knew all this time? You knew the whole week?”
Robby sucks in an aimless breath. “Whitaker…”
“You should’ve told me,” he says, raising a hand to push at Robby’s chest. “You should’ve told me.”
“I did tell you.” Robby reasons, every word bitter. “I told you the same way I told everyone else.”
“Am I like everyone else?” Dennis seethes.
That knocks the air out of his lungs. Whatever they have between them has always been left unsaid. Like a force they’re too afraid to reckon, to give power. Sometimes, Robby still doubts whether Dennis feels the nudge of his affections; the weight of a hand on his shoulder, nape, arm; the elongating of patience; the time set aside for praises and lingering looks. And even if he feels them, does he know what it means?
Dennis takes a step forward, spiking a finger on Robby’s chest.
“Why are you really leaving?” He asks. “You’ve worked in this ER for god knows how long. Why leave now?”
Robby grasps at straws. “I’m getting better pay—”
“Like you care about that—”
“Better hours.”
Dennis scoffs. “You know that’s not possible.”
“What does it matter, Dennis?”
The name slips out before he can stop it. He’s only uttered it once before— a night not too dissimilar to this one, pouring rain, offering Dennis a ride, somehow ending up in Robby’s too-spacious house, somehow ending up on his couch—
“Why does it matter?” Dennis repeats, incredulous. “Let me ask you this. Did you decide to accept the offer before or after what happened between us last week?”
Last week. The images come back in full force now. Working four hours past end-of-shift, bone-tired and almost delirious. Both he and Dennis were damp from scantly evading the rain, laughing all the way to his car. It’s late, he remembers himself saying, I can drive you home, or you can just stay over. He gave Dennis a pair of his pajamas, watching him drown in a shirt two sizes too big for him, the name of the hospital where Robby served his residency printed across his chest. They sat on the couch. They got closer.
A blur of mouths and hands. He remembers pushing Dennis away before anything else could happen. He remembers locking himself in his room afterwards, breaths short and panicked, sliding down to the floor with his head buried in his hands. Not again. I can’t do this again.
At Robby’s silence, Dennis’ gaze hardens into steel.
“Exactly,” he says with bitter vindication. “If you’re only leaving to get away from me, then of course it matters.”
“Dennis—”
“I don’t get it.” Dennis snaps. “Why won’t you talk to me instead of running away?”
“Will it change anything?”
The storm in Dennis’ eyes doesn’t pass. Instead, he takes another step closer. Not confrontational, this time, not with the stamp of indignant feet. But almost pleading, the way one would step up to a pew. In deference. The edges of his eyes turn soft, but the blue rages on.
“I want you, Dr. Robby.” Dennis says, more breath than words.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” It’s worse that I want you, too.
“Why?”
Dennis’ brows furrow, shaky fingers threading through waxy blond locks, then lowering again, like he can’t help it.
“Every day, I try to give you the benefit of the doubt,” he shakes his head. “Every time you push and pull, I think to myself: Oh, he’s just trying to go slow. Maybe he’s not sure he likes me. Maybe this time he’ll say something.”
Robby wants to touch him. Wants to smooth down the hair he’s displaced. But he knows he’s lost all right to that before he even had it.
“But you’ve been avoiding me.” Dennis says, words halting. “And I’m running out of excuses.”
Robby shakes his head, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“I shouldn’t have let you come over.” His voice trembles. “We shouldn’t have—”
“I didn’t think you regretted it,” Dennis spits out bitterly. “I thought you kissed me because you wanted me. Because that was where things were headed. I mean, you’re not as nice to everyone else. As attentive. And— And you keep touching me. And I liked it.”
Dennis looks at him with an ache that shutters his breath. But what’s more devastating is the faint glimmer of hope behind the veil of hurt. Like even now, he’s still giving Robby a chance. A chance he doesn’t deserve.
“Please tell me I’m not just making this up.” Dennis shudders out. “I’m not, aren’t I?”
This time, it’s Robby’s turn to clench his fists, feeling them tremble by his sides. It’s the only thing he can do to stop his hands from wandering. He knows where they want to go. Gravity. Orbit. The two of them, ever-circling.
“I’m sorry I let it go this far. I take full responsibility.” Robby bites out. “But this can’t happen.”
“Why not?” Dennis challenges.
“You deserve someone better than me, Dennis.”
“You don’t get to choose what I deserve,” he bristles, mouth curling into a bitter shape. “I didn’t let anyone tell me I couldn’t be a doctor. I sure as hell am not going to let you dictate my love life.”
“That’s not—” Robby forces himself to breathe. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”
“If you really don’t want me, then say it.”
“Dennis.”
“Say it.” He pushes a finger into Robby’s chest. “Then I’ll know you mean it. And I’ll never bring this up again.”
His hand stays there. Robby feels the touch like a spike through the heart, wondering if Dennis can feel how fast its beating, a rhythm that escapes him. Dennis’ hand starts to unfurl, his palm resting against Robby’s chest, rising and falling quicker as the touch lights Robby on fire.
“Robby.”
“I…”
“Tell me.” Dennis pleads, curling his fingers into the front of Robby’s jacket. “And you won’t have to move away. I’m not some jerk who can’t take no for an answer. I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”
Robby’s hand rises without thought, splaying it over Dennis’. To pull it away, he tells himself. To get rid of the grip Dennis has on him, in one way or another. But his hand stays there, over Dennis’ own, his palm hot against icy knuckles. And he lets himself have this one moment before it all collapses.
“I know you would.” Robby says. “But I don’t know if I can do the same thing.”
“Then what’s the issue if we both want this?”
“It’s not that simple.” His voice cracks over the syllables. “I don’t let people in. At this age, I don’t think I can anymore. And you’d want commitment, I know you would. Dennis, I haven’t had a relationship last more than three months.”
He can’t bring himself to look Dennis in the eye, keeping his gaze trained on their overlapping hands. Like he knows it’s the last touch they’ll ever share. He tries to commit it to memory. He fails.
“I could hurt you.” Robby finishes. “I will hurt you. And I’m not great at picking up the pieces, either.”
Dennis’ hand curls tighter into his jacket. “Can’t we at least try?”
Robby shakes his head, and with whatever fortification is left in him, he pries Dennis’ hand off of him. He takes a step back, staring at the flat concrete of the ambulance bay. Hoping it would open up and swallow him whole.
The silence is sharp and signifying.
“So that’s it, then?” Dennis says dryly, the last of his hope snuffed out.
No, please no, Robby wants to say. But he won’t correct him. If hurt is what it takes for Dennis to move on, then Robby will give it to him.
He doesn’t raise his head to see Dennis leave, only sees a scuffed pair of shoes leave his line of sight in seething steps.
“You know, you’ve dated other people in the hospital before.” Dennis almost shudders through the words, like it’s taking everything in him to push them out. “But you’ve never moved away because of them. Maybe you should ask yourself why.”
Robby takes the blow the way it was meant to land. Cruel and acerbic, corroding his insides. He deserves it, after all.
But he doesn’t stop himself from calling out one last time. Because he hates himself, apparently.
“Dennis.” Robby scrapes out. “It’s late. At least let me give you a ride.”
“I’ll take an Uber.” Dennis bites back easily, before letting out a bitter laugh. “Wouldn’t want what happened last week to repeat itself, right?”
Another blow. Robby doesn’t know how much more he can withstand, a distress of his own making. But he takes it dutifully, standing rigid in the ambulance bay until he hears the sounds of Dennis’ footsteps disappear entirely. Until he takes two steps back to slump against a wall, still damp from afternoon rain. He yearns, distantly, for the open air of the roof, the yawning solace it brings. But he’s afraid that if he goes up now, he won’t come back down. At least, not in the way that matters.
So he drags himself to his car, and afterwards into bed, stripping off the layers of the day. And yet when he closes his eyes, the only thing he sees is the sad slope of Dennis’ gaze, the ice-blue rage, the hand clinging onto his jacket. A sick feeling festers in his stomach, a sense of doom.
He keeps them closed, though he doesn’t sleep. The image of Dennis is haunting, but it’s better than the emptiness of his bedroom, and thinking of what else could fill the space.
Two hours later, his phone rings. The nausea has risen to the back of his throat, and for once he’s glad for the disturbance, jolting up to answer.
The voice that greets him is grim.
“Robby.” Jack says.
Robby knows this tone. He’s already climbing out of bed before he responds.
“What happened?”
“Whitaker got into a car crash.” Jack chooses his words carefully. “He’s fine, but you should come quick.”