Work Text:
Dennis Whitaker hated how quiet the apartment felt without Trinity.
The place always had noise when she was there. Her voice. Her music. Her pacing while she studied. Even her complaining about the terrible coffee he made. Tonight the apartment felt hollow.
He stood in the small laundry room with a basket of scrubs at his feet, carefully separating lights from darks. The old washer hummed while his phone played a low stream of funk music from the counter. The heavy bass line that vibrated faintly through the cheap headphones around his head.
The washer clicked loudly as it switched cycles.
Dennis jumped.
He pressed a hand to his chest and let out a nervous laugh.
"Jesus, Whitaker. Get a grip."
He bent down to grab another towel when a loud crash exploded from the living room.
Dennis froze.
A man’s voice drifted down the hallway.
Low. Rough. Angry.
Another voice answered.
Dennis's stomach dropped.
Someone was in the apartment.
For a second his brain refused to process it. It felt unreal. Like he had misheard the television through the neighbors wall.
Then a drawer slammed open.
Dennis moved before he could think.
He crept to the laundry room door and gently pushed it closed. His hands were shaking so badly the knob rattled softly.
The voices were clearer now.
"Check the bedroom."
"Make it quick."
Dennis's heart slammed against his ribs.
Oh God.
Someone broke in.
He slowly turned the lock on the laundry room door. The tiny click sounded deafening in the silence. Dennis held his breath and waited.
The men kept moving around the apartment.
He needed somewhere to hide.
The laundry room had a narrow linen closet shoved into the corner. Dennis yanked it open and squeezed inside, pulling the door closed just enough to leave a thin crack.
The space smelled like detergent and fabric softener sheets.
Dennis crouched there, barely able to breathe.
His hands were shaking as he pulled out his phone.
It rang once.
Twice.
"911, what's your emergency?"
Dennis pressed the phone close to his mouth, barely whispering.
"Someone broke into my apartment."
His voice trembled.
"I think there are two of them. I'm hiding."
The dispatcher immediately switched into calm, controlled instructions.
"Stay where you are. Officers are on the way. What is your address, apartment number and floor?"
Dennis gave it.
He could hear footsteps moving through the apartment now.
Closer.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to panic.
Please hurry.
Please.
Across the city, Dr. Jack Abbott sat at his kitchen table cleaning his prosthetic socket after a long shift.
The police scanner on his counter crackled to life.
Normally it was background noise. Something he barely paid attention to.
But then he heard the address.
Abbott froze.
He knew that address.
Whitaker.
The nervous med student who looked like he might faint every time Robby looked at him.
Abbott grabbed the scanner.
"Possible burglary in progress."
He was already moving.
His phone was in his hand before he reached the door.
Robby picked up on the third ring.
"What."
"Whitaker's place," Abbott said sharply. "Break in."
Silence.
Then Robby swore.
"I'm five minutes away."
"So am I."
Abbott was already heading for his truck.
Dennis could hear them in the hallway now.
Every tiny sound made his whole body tense.
A cabinet opened.
Something shattered.
"Check the back."
Footsteps.
Getting closer.
Dennis pressed a hand over his mouth.
The laundry room door rattled.
Someone tried the handle.
Locked.
Dennis felt tears burning behind his eyes.
The man on the other side cursed.
Then heavy footsteps walked away again.
Dennis nearly collapsed with relief.
Minutes crawled past.
Then suddenly shouting erupted in the living room.
A third voice.
Sharp.
Commanding.
"Police. Don't move."
Another voice followed. Familiar.
"Hands where I can see them."
There was a crash. A scuffle. Someone yelling.
Dennis couldn't move.
He stayed frozen inside the closet.
Footsteps approached the hallway.
Closer.
Closer.
The laundry room door rattled and then burst open with a violent force.
The sound exploded through the tiny room.
Dennis stopped breathing.
Someone walked inside.
Heavy steps against the tile.
Dennis pressed himself into the corner of the closet, shaking so hard his teeth hurt.
Please don't find me.
Please.
Then a voice spoke.
Gentle.
Careful.
"Whitaker?"
Dennis's eyes snapped open.
He knew that voice.
Robby.
"You in here, kid?"
Dennis pushed the closet door open so fast it banged against the wall.
He stumbled out.
Robby barely had time to react before Dennis threw himself straight into him, arms wrapping tight around his chest.
Dennis was shaking uncontrollably.
Robby caught him automatically, one arm steady around his back.
"It's alright," Robby said quietly.
Behind them Abbott leaned against the doorframe, watching the scene with crossed arms.
"Two idiots in cuffs," he said. "Apartment's clear."
Dennis buried his face into Robby's shoulder, still trembling.
Robby's voice softened.
"You're safe, Whitaker."