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A lot happens in 19 hours and, thankfully, Victoria Javadi’s involvement can be rounded up to 3 minutes. She’s in the midst of juggling a girl her age with an eyebrow cyst convinced that it’s an MSRA abscess and a hot fireman with cat scratches down his muscled arms after an encounter with a runaway, when Dr Robby stops her in the North hallway.
He looks sheepish and sleepy. She feels like he’s about to ask her something deeply unprofessional and out of touch.
“How’s room 13?”
Please. He doesn’t even know who she’s been treating. “Good. Abbie should be discharged in 20 after we drain the cyst.”
“Great. You’re making a quick job of clearing out those rooms. Make sure to drain the cyst with McKay.” He crosses his arms over his chest.
“Always, Dr Robby.”
She spots Santos at her desk, angrily hitting the keyboard and huffing and puffing, and rounding on Whitaker when he creeps up behind her and says something. They’ve been at it all morning. Santos is just getting angrier by the hour.
“Listen,” Robby is saying, but he turns to look at her distraction, turns a little pink at the tips of his ears, and starts walking her towards triage – where the fireman is stationed. Maybe he does keep up with Victoria’s caseload after all. “My stepson, Jake… I really can’t keep up with his lingo. You're closer to his age than I am, obviously, so I was wondering if you could help me figure out what something means.”
“Uh, sure, Dr Robby.” She wishes that McKay would burst through the curtains and yank her through them. She’d rather sit through an enema than go through whatever this conversation is.
“Situationship. I’ve looked it up and it’s an informal relationship of sorts, but I need help understanding if these relationships progress, say, into a real one.”
She comes to a stop, and they’re in the middle of the ER. He’s so focused, so worried about this word and its meaning, that she’s afraid that he won’t spring into action if the ceiling were to fall in on them.
“What’s the context this word was used in?” She tries not to smile, because she doesn’t need to know the context. She just wants more information so she can decipher if her Attending is in a situationship, and with who.
Robby exhales and shakes his head. “I guess it was referring to a dynamic between two people. If you’re told that you’re in a situationship from Hell, that’s not really a good thing is it?”
“To answer your original question,” she says sweetly, because he seems overwhelmed and stressed and desperate to come to her, a subordinate, “I don’t think a situationship from Hell really has any room to progress into a real relationship, unless a lot of work’s done to get there. Situationship’s are usually formed because Person A doesn’t want to commit to Person B, and is stringing B along for companionship. It’s in the name itself. It’s a Situation. You’re not going to get out of it successfully if you’re not honest with what you want.”
Looking at her dumbfoundedly, Robby thanks her for time, tells her good job for the suture she did earlier on the crying child that wouldn’t let go of his teddy bear, gives her a double fist pump, and heads back to monitor the stable burn patient in Trauma 2.
McKay bursts out of the curtain. On the bed, a man holds his head back with a bloody tissue against his nose. She gives Victoria an incredulous look. “Were you just giving Robby relationship advice?”
Trinity Santos was on the home stretch of the first half of her double shift when she was ordered by Abbott to, “Go home, get some rest.”
“But,” she tried to protest.
“Home. Shower. Rest. Be back here at 0800 if you’re really that keen.”
She really wasn’t that keen and the late hour of the night was further defined when she got home and felt restless and exhausted and a little bit nauseous. She kicked off her Hokas, the ugly orange and pink pair Dennis gifted for her birthday (it was allegedly the only pair left in her size), and hung up her coat. It wasn’t cold enough for it yet, but Dennis insisted that she wore it every time she left the house and there was a chance of rain.
She wiped her eyes and stood there, slumped over and lost. She stripped off her t-shirt and dropped her scrubs to the floor, and stepped out of them in her thong and sports bra. Being in her bare skin relaxed her. The stink of the hospital off of her. She needed to rub it off her face, but she was way too tired for her 8 step skincare routine.
Now, all she needed was a heavy blanket over her to catch up on the 6 hours of sleep Abbott had blessed upon her, but Dennis had borrowed her weighted blanket last night. He’d been struggling to sleep while she was on nights, but she was due to join him with the living that morning.
She passed her room and didn’t bother knocking at his door. He’d be fast asleep by now. It was almost 1am.
Dennis had the same layout as hers. She made it to his bed without tripping over the clothes and shoes and shit he usually left over the floor, and felt out his mattress and crawled into the warm space. She struggled to tug the covers so she could slip underneath, so she yanked them from his body.
The body was much bigger than what she was used to. She froze, unsure how to go about this. Maybe Dennis layered up before getting into bed because he was so cold. He was always complaining about the draft in his room that doesn’t exist anywhere else in the apartment. She always denied it, but there’s a reason why she didn’t choose this room when moving in.
Filled with bravery and the senselessness of sleep, she dragged her hand up and felt Dennis’ face. Only, it wasn’t his face, because he didn’t have a full beard or dry skin (she’s worked hard to introduce a skincare routine into Dennis’ life). The body started moving at the same time her eyes begun to adjust to the darkness, and they adjusted just in time for her to be able to make up the face staring back at her. It was –
“Oh my God!” She screamed, tumbling off the bed, her fists flying.
There was an odd grunt and then there was Dennis, phone lit up and illuminating the entirety of his tiny room. “What?” He stuttered.
The three of them are gathered around the kitchenette’s round dining table, but it was the last place Trinity wanted to be. She didn’t want to think about Dennis’ knee touching the other man’s under their tiny table – she downed a vodka shot.
Dr Michael Rabinovich glanced at her through his glasses. “That’s your third shot. Dennis, that’s her third shot.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “So, I think it’s pretty obvious what you two get up to in your spare time.”
“Trin, I really thought—”
“I was spat on, kicked in the stomach and a bitch ripped out a chunk of my hair.” She pointed to her slicked back bun. “I was just starting to grow out my fuck-ass bob. Abbott forced me home early. Dr Robby, do not question me right now if we submitted an incident report.”
“Right,” Robby said, nodding. “I’ll check on that in the morning.”
“What the fuck is happening here?” She demanded. Seething, she wished that the night had gone her way and that she was already dead asleep, cuddling with the roommate that she had assumed was touch starved and lonely.
Icepack pressed against his jaw, Robby looked carefully at Dennis, who was staring at the fruit bowl in the middle of the table, and shifted to look at Trinity. “I am sorry for startling you after an eventful shift. I wasn’t anticipating you to climb into Dennis’ bed,” he side eyed Dennis again, “I don’t know if that’s a regular thing or not, but, I guess, I’m just sorry. A stranger in an unexpected place after a shift like that isn’t ideal.”
“A stranger? You’re my fucking Chief! You’re Dennis’!” She rounded on her roommate, who finally had the balls to lift up his beady eyes. “Is he what you’ve been doing Thursday and Sunday nights? And Tuesday afternoons, Oh my God. There’s no Street team, is there?”
“No! There is!” Dennis insisted, spreading out his hands on the table.
Robby went to grab Dennis’ hand, but retreated smartly. He was still shirtless. Dr Robby really was just sat at her dining table with his pecs out. He cleared his throat. “I should let you two talk.”
“Is this,” she waved her hand between the two men, “why you gave Huckleberry the drill for that burr hole?”
“No,” Robby huffed, exhausted. It was almost 2am. “That was a matter of caseload. You were waiting on that Turkish interpreter for hours at that point and dealing with psych for the migraine patient. You were busy. Whitaker was freer. And available.”
“Well, I want the next one.”
“Trinity,” Dennis warned.
“What, Dennis? If you’re not taking advantage of this, I will be.”
“Oh, he’s already getting some perks,” said Robby, then took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
Dennis blushed.
Trinity shouted, “Ew!”
“There’s really no point in this conversation, Santos. Let’s just head to bed.” Robby sat up straighter, ready to move.
“What? So, you were just going to be in my apartment while I was sleeping? How were you going to leave?”
“You sleep like the dead. I’d have managed to slip out without rousing you.”
“How many times have you been here? This is an invasion of privacy.”
“Just a few times,” Dennis promised, doe eyes pleading with her. “I usually go to his.”
“And what is this? Are you guys official?”
Robby and Dennis looked at each other directly for the first time since they sat around the table. Robby shrugged and Dennis looked away, focusing again on the fruit bowl, and Robby proceeded to stare him down, searching and wondering and thoughtful.
“Ah,” Robby said finally.
“You guys don’t know jack shit what you are to each other.” She knocked her fist on the tabletop. “Fuck’s sake. How long?”
“A few months,” answered Dennis, the same time Robby said, “Eight months.”
“Not really,” Dennis argued. “We stopped for a bit.”
“In Summer? When you moped around the apartment the whole of July?” It all made sense to her now.
“You moped?” Robby questioned.
“We’re not really that official,” Dennis decided, scratching the table’s surface.
“We haven’t really spoken about it,” Robby said softly.
Dennis looked like he wanted the floor to open wide and swallow him whole. “You’ve never wanted to speak about it before.”
“I’m under the impression that speaking about it, about us, wouldn’t end up very well.”
Santos came to a sudden stand and kicked back her chair. “This is a Situationship from Hell!” She yelled, then stormed down the hall to her room.
(“Please tell her that she can speak to me about her shift at work. Okay?” Robby paused, there were some soft sounds, like he was rubbing the back of his neck. “What’s a situationship?”
“I think you should go home, Robinavitch.”)
Dana’s day isn’t going very well, which just means that her Attending’s day may be going a little worse, but he hasn’t stuck around long enough in the Hub for them to debrief just yet. There’s a quiet lull around midday, when most of the overnighters have checked out and the triage is under control and there hasn’t been a trauma in 5 minutes, so she sneaks out to the ambulance bay and takes out her vape. Blueberry Ice. She almost grunts with excitement at her first puff.
It’s a sunny day in the middle of October, so maybe people are outside enjoying the tease of Summer.
“Thought you were tryna quit?”
“I quit cigarettes.”
Robby chuckles, hands in the pockets of his forest green jacket, and squints into to sun. “Today’s more fucked up for a Wednesday than they usually are.”
“Right? It feels like the universe noticed Wednesday’s are too mundane.” She offers the vape to him. "Can't complain, though. It's still breezy."
He takes it, inspects it, and brings it to his lips. Eyes closed and with a heavy breath, he blows in that nicotine, speaks as the smoke clears through his nose, “You think anyone would realise if I didn’t walk back in?”
She huffs. “Boy wonder Whitaker will.”
“Seriously?”
“Kids been working overtime to avoid you. You give him a mean talking to or somethin’?”
“Something like that.”
“Does this have anything to do with you asking Javadi of all people for relationship advice? Honey, you know you coulda come to me.”
He sighs, tired and heavy and helpless, and shakes his head. “I’m surprised that this place still has some secrets.”
Dana smiles. “Just because some things aren’t spoken about, doesn’t mean that they’re not known.”
Trinity’s door opened, slowly but surely, and then there was a dip in her bed, and Dennis switched on her lava lamp so that his face illuminated in hues of orange, making him look tanner than he really was. She spread her arms and he fell into them, his head resting on her chest.
She wiped tiredly at her eyes. “You told me you were going to Amy’s farm every other weekend.”
“No,” he shook his head. “I went a few times, but—”
“You just let me assume.”
“I never corrected you. I’m sorry.” He shifted to the side so that they were lying on the same pillow, face to face. One of his knees bent against her thigh.
“You don’t have to comfort me. Go check if that old man’s still breathing.”
“He left,” admitted Dennis, quiet and sad.
“I’m sorry.” She found that she meant it.
“I told him to.”
They’re silent for several seconds. She smiled. “Can he even get it up?”
“Trin.”
“Sorry. Fuck, you really got me apologising to you a thousand times tonight.”
“You’re a dickhead,” he said, but he was smiling. “There was, like, one time he couldn’t. Actually, maybe two times. I don’t mind.”
She guided his head back to her chest and his hand went to her waist, his fingers brushed against her tummy. She said, “It bothers me that he’s actively chosen to do this with you.”
“I’m really fine.”
“No, Den. You’re what, 25, 26? He’s well into his 50s.”
“My birthday’s in two weeks.”
“That doesn’t make it any fucking better.” She put her fingers into his hair, massaged his scalp. “Even if he was a random guy you picked off the street, I’d still have shit to say, but the fact that he’s your Attending. He’s the Chief of Emergency Medicine. He has the power to pull so many shots that no one higher up oversees, or even gives a shit about.”
“Nothing we’ve been doing has effected anything at work,” he mumbled, unsure.
“We’ll see what happens if, one day, you stop giving him what he wants and he turns around and fucks your career up.”
“I stopped it last time,” Dennis confessed, looking up at her. “He didn’t do anything bad, but I could tell he was guilty. Feeling guilty. Every touch. Every talk. Every kiss. His hesitancy put me off so bad to the point that I thought it was me. Something that I did. I couldn’t stay away from him.”
“You’re a crazy bitch.”
“No, Trin. Please. I have so many boundaries and he never, ever, crosses them.”
“What’s so captivating about him? Is it because he’s your boss?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s not his authority. He just is. He’s a good man. He’s caring and human.”
“He’s caring and human?”
“I’m not here to write my vows. I don’t know how to explain it. I want him, because he brings out sides to me that I didn’t know existed, I feel so light and confident when it’s just us, and, even when he doesn’t believe in himself, he navigates the good in everyone.”
Trinity knew that Dr Robby was a good man, but her roommate and best friend was a pure soul.
“Okay,” she settled on saying. “Let’s agree on something together. If I ever really, truly believe that you’re in danger, you need to listen to me. No excuses. No telling me that you know what you’re doing. I’m not saying that I don’t think this can work, but in case it all goes downhill, and you are so stuck in his grasp, I’m going to say a word. And you have to listen to me. You have to listen to reason. What phrase should we use?”
Dennis pressed his fingers into her skin, thankful. “You’re better at coming up with words than me.”
“So, we’re agreed that there needs to be a failsafe.”
“I get where you’re coming from. And I appreciate you protecting me. Honestly, Trin, your friendship is more than I expected it to be.”
“Don’t do that sappy shit,” she warned, but squeezed him tighter.
He fell more into her and, suddenly, she felt bad that she had interrupted his night with Robby.
“Is it going to be awkward tomorrow?” she asked.
“No, he’s usually a lot nicer when he realises he’s fucked up. He’ll make it right, in his own little way, and then I’ll find something that irks me again, and it’s this cycle that neither of us want to deny ourselves, even though I feel like shit 75% of the time.”
“You just described a shitty relationship without a label.”
“But you’ve labelled it.”
She nodded. “Situationship.”
“We need to sleep.”
They tried to settle, but both their brains were like live wires, and they spurred each other from sleep with their silly thoughts. Right before they both fell asleep, Santos whispered a phrase into his ear and he grinned.
(“I basically molested my boss in his sleep while I was in my underwear.”
“Don’t worry. I was spooning my boss while you molested him.”)
The breakroom isn’t really a breakroom. If you really wanted a break, or some privacy, or a full uninterrupted 15 minutes, your best bet is to vacate the hospital entirely. Wandering empty halls leads you right back to your work station. Loved ones of patients recognise you in the cafeteria. The breakroom always has shit going on, whether it be free donuts or free pizza or sandwiches from that deli everyone loves.
Mateo makes the grand mistake of sitting in the breakroom to grab a solitary second to himself and to inhale the sweet scent of the brownies Javadi bought in. He can’t eat them, because he’s on a meal plan and pays to be coached, but it warms his heart to smell the gooey chocolate.
Dr Whitaker rounds into the breakroom at a concerning speed. He straightens up once he spots Mateo, gives a stark nod, and strides to the fridge.
“You good?” asks Mateo, because he’s not a dickhead. He just should have had a breakdown in the bathroom like everyone else instead. Or, if you listen to rumours, crawl onto the floor of Pedes like the Chief.
“Ah, yeah,” Whitaker nods.
Mateo spots Robby cruising past the breakroom, peering in. At the same time, Whitaker looks to the open door and stares. Mateo feels like he’s watching a private moment. Robby disappears.
“Mind if I close the door? It’s noisy out there.”
It’s the quietest the ED has been for weeks, but Mateo shrugs. “Sure thing, dude.”
“Great!” Whitaker gives him two thumbs up and makes his way to the door.
Robby appears in the doorway and Whitaker jumps. Mateo remembers Robby calling him tough, and grimaces. Robby looks over at Mateo. “Hey, King needs an assist in Behavioural when you’re done with your break.”
“Oh, I’m basically done now.” Mateo comes to a stand and tries the spare door, but it’s locked. He side eyes Robby and Whitaker, but they’re having a weird stare off in front of the only other exit.
He awkwardly floats to the sink, pretends to wash something. He pats the handtowel.
“You and Santos were 5 minutes late this morning. You guys okay?” Robby is asking, hands on his hips.
“Being a micromanager doesn’t suit you.” You can hear the eye roll in his voice.
Robby tilts his head sharply, raises his brows. “I’m just checking if everything’s fine between the two of you.”
Mateo tries to look through the doorway, tries to grab anyone’s attention to save him from this awkward conversation. Princess and Perlah are giggling with a Filipino patient in Room 8. If they turned, they could see him. He clenches his jaw, grinds his teeth – urging for one of them to turn. Turn turn turn turn turn.
“We did have a conversation this morning about boundaries. Specifically, about who we can and who we can’t bring back home,” Whitaker says casually, his shoulders shrugging.
Is he flirting?
Mateo clears his throat before he hears things he doesn’t need to hear. The two men startle apart and Robby looks at him with absolute surprise. “Diaz, you’re meant to be with King.”
“You’re blocking the door.”
They both step to the side at the same time. They stumble, stepping on each other’s feet, and Robby grabs Whitaker by the waist to stable him. The back of Whitaker’s neck fills with red. Mateo thanks them both and makes a run for it, speed-walking out of there.
Fortunately, he bumps into Santos to warn her, “Do not go in there.”
She looks around him. “Thanks. I wouldn’t have survived that again.”
“Huh?”
“Mel needs help in behavioural.”
They shared a croissant on the way to work.
“He wasn’t flirting with me,” Dennis was insisting, mouth full of pastry.
Trinity gave him sultry eyes. “He was sooooo disappointed that you weren’t ordering a coffee.”
He shook his Red Bull can. “This has more than enough caffeine.”
“Least now I know why you haven’t been flirting back.” She ripped a piece of croissant. It melted in her mouth. “Dating a baker would be pretty neat.”
“Neater than a doctor?”
“Of-fucking-course. You’re a doctor, why do you need to date one?”
“You can’t talk.”
“Hey, Garcia can’t fire me.”
They neared the end of their croissant as they rounded the corner of the hospital.
Dennis started to walk a little slower. “I should have called in sick.”
“Puh-lease.” Trinity linked up their arms to pick the speed up. “You think Robby is contemplating calling in sick?”
“Probably not. It’s just – we never really spoke about what would happen if someone found out about us. I don’t know where I stand with him.”
(Robby looked down at his phone, fingers hovering above the keyboard, his chat with Dennis Whitaker Student Doctor open. The unfinished and unsent text read: If you’re free tonight, I would love to take you…)
They stopped outside of the ER, the automatic doors looking up menacingly up at them, and Trinity put her hands on Dennis’ shoulders, and guided his breaths. “Stop being a Huckleberry. Wait until after your shift to seduce him, or whatever, and get your answers. Suck them out of his dick.”
Dennis stared at her with open indifference. “I wish Dana walked in on us instead of you.”
“Logistically, that’s impossible, unless you’re rooting Dr Daddy in a spare room here or she has a key to his house. Where does he live, anyway? I have $5 on a brownstone. Can he cook or does he have microwave dinners? Has he ever cooked for you?”
“Santos.”
“You’ll have to tell me everything eventually. I can help you if I knew more about him.”
“He’s our boss.” He leant closer to her, said quietly, “His house is so fucking fancy.”
“I need to know the architecture!”
Samira Mohan tells her migraine patient to get some rest and that she’ll be back soon with the MRI results. She pulls the curtain back for some privacy, wishing she could do something about the noise, even though it’s been the quietest she’d ever sent it. It’s still not quiet enough for a killer headache. She heads to the Hub and puts on her best smile for Dana.
“Hey, any chance we can move Ms Yıldız to a quieter room? She’s having some sensory issues I want to minimise.”
Dana checks her clipboard. “Could do, sweetie. Leave it with me.” She earns over the counter. “That hottie you were treating earlier had some real cute stuff to say about you.”
“Who? The DILF with the broken nose?”
“No, the kid that fell off his e-scooter.”
“Dana, he was riding an e-scooter.” Samira steps back to look at the board.
The head nurse gives her a no-nonsense look. “To his law class. Jesus, Mohan. I tell you someone’s crushin’ on you and the first guy you think about is an old man who got his head kicked in ‘cause of a road rage incident. You’re no better than—“
Whitaker bounces up to the desk. “How’d the broken nose go?”
“Still going. Waiting on a surgical consult before I send him home with after care instructions.” Samira taps her fingers on the desk, squinting up at the board.
“Want me to check on him for you?” Whitaker slyly offers.
Dana is shaking her head in disbelief. “Whitaker, did you not see the cutie patootie in here earlier? The one in the too-big suit? He’d be perfect for Dr Mohan. I can already see it. Power. Couple.”
“I saw him. He looked like Role Model,” says Javadi, appearing beside Samira. She also looks up at the board. “I don’t wanna jinx it, but it’s… you know.”
“Role Model?” mumbles Dana, then creeps out from behind her desk to look up at the board.
“Wow,” she whispers, but Javadi is right. They can’t jinx it. “Perlah, can you please move South 18 to Central 10? Quickly.”
Perhlah nods, but she pauses. “I have a Role Model edit on my phone I can show you later.”
“Great. What’s everyone doing standing around? Where’s Robby?”
“He was with Mel in behavioural.”
They all turn to the rooms and cringe. Samira watches Mel standing at the foot of the bed, Mateo in the corner of the room. It’s a tense situation. Suspected arsonist, burnt down cafe that serves delicious blueberry matchas and almond croissants, something about a loose feral cat that eats at the cafe.
“They’re getting Hudson out of Trauma 2 and into ICU. Where’s Robby?” Dana looks around, then does a full 360 of the ED.
Whitaker also looks around, but he’s more subtle about it, despite the tension that Samira only realises is there because it disappears when Robby’s nowhere to be found.
“He might be in the restroom,” offers Samira.
“Whitaker, go check,” says Dana.
Whitaker points to himself, then shakes his head. “Ah, I’m sure he’ll show up.”
“Robby spent a lot of time talking with Hudson, I’m sure he’d like to say something to him before he goes up. I’m not going into the Men’s room.” She snorts, then when Whitaker doesn’t move she raises her brows and gestures towards the bathrooms. “Go.”
Jesse and Princess are rolling the burn patient, Hudson, out of Trauma 2.
“Great,” Dana pipes up, “now Robby’s gonna have to go upstairs and he’s gonna come back down ‘ere in a bad, bad mood.”
“Well, he should learn not to take his bad mood out on other people.” Whitaker swipes his pass at one the desktops and immediately starts typing. Angrily.
Dana’s jaw drops, and it looks like she’s going to start yelling, but someone else beats her to it.
“Frank!” Mel is shouting, her head sticking out of Behavioural. Mateo is holding back the patient, the alleged arsonist.
At same time, the burn patient is being rolled towards the elevator and McKay is walking through the fireman being tested for rabies, and somehow it all collides. Princess gets shoved over. Santos, who was minding her business and on the way towards the Hub, gets caught in the middle of it.
“Get Robby!” Dana yells, before running.
Whitaker runs towards Santos, so Samira backtracks to the restrooms in search of their Attending.
Michael Robinavitch lets Dennis Whitaker slip out his grasp for the fifth time that day. He’s a grown man, but he feels a tantrum incoming. It’d be as large and disastrous for Dana to call in back-up, and he doesn’t feel the need to explain himself to Jack Abbott today. He’s really fucked it up.
He closes the toilet stall’s door and lowers himself on the closed toilet seat. He takes out his phone, pulls up Safari. Great, his last search was: Situationship meaning. He scratches his nose and stares at the back of the door.
The restroom’s door opens and a voice calls, “Dr Robby?”
He sighs, more sassily than he means to. “What if I was taking a shit, Dr Mohan?”
There’s some shouting, some commotion through those doors. Mohan raises her soft voice to be sound above it. “There’s an altercation, sir. We need you out here as soon as –”
He’s already up and rolling down his shoulders.
“You’re not flushing?”
“I was just taking a breather.”
“At least wash your hands.”
He sanitises them outside the restroom. Then, hand on Samira’s shoulder as she guides him passed the Nurses Station as she explains what’s going on, “The burn patient–”
“Hudson.”
“Yep. Turns out he’s the suspected arsonist. Javadi’s hot fireman–”
“Hot fireman?”
“Unimportant. The fireman recognised him while he was getting taken up to Surgery. Stopped the gurney and performed a citizen’s arrest. Room 8 got pissed because Princess got shoved out of the way.”
“Whose Room 8?”
“The Filipino patient with glass in his eye. Okay? And then Mel’s behavioural patient, who was the suspected arsonist, got loose while Mateo ran out of Behavioural to assist Princess.”
“Is Princess okay?”
The scene in front of them is gnarly. There’s patients yelling, and Dana’s got her finger pointing at a hunky man with scratches up and down his arm, Hudson is seated up in his bed and ranting to the police officer that was standing guard in Behavioural, and that patient’s now sitting in a wheelchair with Mel leaning over him, and, for some reason, even though Mohan didn’t say anything about Dennis Whitaker, the blond is seated on the floor, his elbows on his bent knees and a hand cradling the right side of his head, Santos with a flashlight in his eyes.
Robby thinks he sees blood.
“Everybody quiet!” His voice booms. The volume startles him. He softens his tone, “Dana, sort out the patients.”
Dennis looks up at him, eyes confident and calm.
“That man framed me!” The patient in the wheelchair accuses, and then they’re all yelling again.
“Why would I light my own cafe on fire?” Hudson is shouting.
“This is the third business you’re claiming insurance on!” yells the fireman.
“I don’t give a single fuck about this mystery whodunnit. I want you all treated, cuffed and out of my hospital. I need a chair.” He clicks his fingers at the nearest nurse, then instead gestures to the behavioural patient. “You can stand. I need that chair.”
The patient comes to a stand, Mel’s caring hand on his shoulder. Dana tells Mel, “Take Donnie with you to Behavioural.” She turns to Jesse, “Grab a couple of hands and take Hudson upstairs.”
Robby spins the wheelchair and slides it besides Dennis. “Get in the chair, baby.”
A few heads turn, stunned, but Robby pays them no mind. He comes to a crouch in front of Dennis, his knees clicking. At the same time, Santos comes to a stand and steadies the wheelchair, ready to roll it.
“I don’t need a chair,” says Dennis, something glimmering in his eyes. Blood from his eyebrow drips to his cheek. “It’s superficial.”
Robby reaches out and rubs at Dennis’ cheek. He then grabs Dennis’ jaw and tilts his head, inspecting the gash. “It might scar. Did any of ‘em hit you?”
“No, I tripped over my own two feet.”
“He fell onto his back and dropped a clipboard on his face,” says Santos, shaking her head.
Robby leans in closer to Dennis. “Did you hit the back of your head?”
Dennis smells good up close. He smells like mints with a hint of menthols, but his citrus shampoo overpowers his nicotine addiction. Robby wants to hug him.
“No,” lies Dennis.
“Get in the chair.” Robby pulls Dennis up and dumps him in the chair. “I got this, Santos.”
Santos and Dennis exchange a look and it lasts for several seconds, until Santos questions, “Hell status?”
“I’m feeling like we’re in that 25%,” says Dennis, smirking at her.
“Ascension.” She slaps his back and he grimaces.
Robby hopes that Dennis doesn't think he’s coming onto him when he asks him to take off his shirt to check his back.
“South 20’s free!” shouts Dana. When Robby nods a thank you to her, she’s squinting at him. Great, he’s going to have to talk to her later.
She must’ve purposely allocated them a room with a curtain, because he knows damn well that the Central rooms aren’t filled up. He yanks the curtain closed and turns to Dennis.
“If anyone else tripped on their own two left feet, I wouldn’t give a shit. You know that, right?”
Dennis looks up at him like he’s a God. “Don’t waste your time with me here.”
“Do you think we’ve been wasting time?”
“We both have patients to see and you know that I’m fine. I just need a wipe.”
“That’s not what I meant. Do you think you’ve been wasting time with me?”
Dennis looks small in the chair, but he makes no movements to get up. He watches as Robby takes a seat on the bed and rests his shin against Dennis’ knee. Dennis shakes his head.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” says Dennis.
“I’m 30 years older than you.”
“29.”
“I turn 55 in March.”
“There’s always only a 29 year gap.”
Robby huffs. “It’s a lot.”
“You don’t think I already know that? I don’t have an issue with it.”
“You’re wasting time with an old fuck like me.”
Dennis laughs in disbelief. “No, I’m making the most of my time and yours.”
“That’s grim.”
“Fuck you.”
Robby rubs the back of his neck, then slouches, voice low. “What does Santos think of us?”
“It doesn’t matter what she thinks. Even if she was so against it, it doesn’t matter to me. I know what I want.”
“What do you… want?”
“You.”
Robby breathes out a sigh of relief. “I want you, too. I think I– I need you so much sometimes that it scares me. It scares me what that means for you.”
(The patient in South 19, despite her twisted ankle, hops over to the curtain so she can hear the conversation better.)
“What does it mean for me?”
“I’m not an easy person.”
Dennis reaches out and links their hands together. “I haven’t been falling in love with something easy.”
Robby squeezes his hand, but he can’t handle how serious this conversation has gotten. Instead of confessing his feelings, or directly acknowledging Dennis’, he chuckles, “Is that why you didn’t mind being in a situationship?”
There’s a whisper of Tagalong in the room next door.
“We’ll have this conversation tonight, okay?”
“Santos’ place is closer,” says Dennis. “She gets off an hour later than me.”
Robby leans over and brushes his lips on Dennis’ forehead. “I’ll get Samira to check your vitals and clear you for the floor.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m falling for you, too.”
“I know.”
They both smile at each other like fresh air has entered the room, and Robby is scared that he could spoil it with some toxicity. He needs to speak to Javadi to confirm his next steps.
A statement to police and an ass-whooping from Dana for getting involved later, Trinity makes it back to their apartment. She stopped by Dennis’ favourite ice cream shop and picked up his favourite ice cream cake. It’s slightly melted now, exactly how they both like it.
There’s two voices from Dennis’ room. She pauses and lets the front door shut behind her, loudly. The voices shush each other with some giggling and laughs. She lets out a low, long exhale. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to this.
Dennis peeks his head out of his room. “Hey,” he says carefully, as if he’s going to scare off a wild animal.
She smiles at him, conflict between her brows. “How’s the head?”
He stands in the hall in a baggy bed shirt and his checkered boxers. “Your apartment was closer, otherwise I would’ve gone to his.”
“It’s our apartment. I’ll just go on a walk, or something.”
Dennis grins at her. “You don’t have to. You can stay.”
“I really don’t want to interrupt what you’ve got going on in there.”
“You’re the best.”
“It’s not like I’ve already been on my feet for 12 hours, so.”
He’s already walking back to his room. Before he goes in, he says, “Hey, Trin?”
“Yeah, Huckleberry?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”