Work Text:
The first thing Dennis does when he wakes up is take a desperate gulp from the large watered-down McDonald's Coke that he finds on the coffee table next to him. The inside of his mouth goes from cotton-dry and disgusting to syrupy-sweet and disgusting; not much of an improvement, but at least now he's generating some saliva.
He checks the time on his phone, groaning quietly. It's almost noon on the first day of November. Dennis is still half-asleep and way, way too hungover to keep both eyes open, which is why he doesn't notice that Trinity is sitting a few feet away at the kitchen table.
"Morning, Huckleberry," her tired voice says, startling him. She's crunching on a bowl of cereal and reading something on her phone. She looks remarkably bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for someone that had been eating Jello shots like candy last night, from Dennis's foggy recollection.
"Ugh," he grunts in response. He manages to lift himself up to a seated position, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. His left cheek is burning hot from being pressed so hard against the couch cushion all night (and, it seems, all morning). There's a little spot of drool on the fabric that he tries to surreptitiously wipe away with the hem of his shirt.
"Sleep well?" He can hear the smirk in her voice.
"No," he says thickly. He's still wearing his jeans. Ugh. Sleeping in jeans is, like, a cry for help. This is why he hates drinking. He'd only imbibed as much as he did because Trinity had insisted. And there he was, a grown man letting someone peer pressure him into drinking. "Do we have Tylenol?"
She picks up a little white bottle sitting on the table next to her and shakes it, the sound of pills jostling together hitting Dennis's eardrums like a nuke. "Store brand. This ain't the Ritz."
He grunts again, stumbling over to join her at the table. He brings the Coke with him, uses it to wash down two extra-strength acetaminophen tablets. "Thanks," he mumbles.
"Don't mention it." She takes her empty bowl to the sink without looking away from her phone. "Can I sit on my couch now, or are you planning on sleeping another bajillion hours?"
"Yeah, go ahead. Sorry," Dennis says tiredly.
"Hmph." Trinity flops down on the couch, tucking her toes between the arm and the cushion. "So, how did you get home last night, anyway? You texted me 'got ride.' Very cryptic."
"I..." Dennis trails off. How did he get home last night? Through the cottony veil coating his brain right now, he remembers getting into the passenger seat of a car. A truck, maybe? "I got a ride," he says finally.
"Uh, yeah, that's what I just said. I assume you didn't fly home. Uber?"
"Yeah, an Uber," Dennis lies. He's checking his credit card app as he speaks, and there aren't any new charges. He opens the Uber app itself to double check; nope, no rides last night. He's thankful, yes; holiday Uber prices are ridiculous, and Dennis is an insanely generous tipper when he's drunk. If he'd woken up to a $100 Uber charge he'd probably have cried a little. But he's also confused, and has the overwhelming sense that he's missing something. The memory of that passenger seat is becoming clearer and clearer.
He taps his Messages app and his fears are confirmed. His most recent text thread is with Michael. As in, Dr. Robby. His boss.
The last message in their thread was marked as 'Read' at 10:03 p.m., the same minute it was sent.
October 31, 10:03 p.m.
Dennis:
sorryu but woudkl yioyu be able to pick me up? soryr omg
Then, an almost 15-minute-long phone call that Dennis also has no memory of. He'd gotten a ride home last night from Michael. Oh, Lord. It would have been better if he had gotten a ride from a possible serial killer or something, not the man about whom he has had more than one sex dream. Dennis rubs his forehead, stressed.
"Dennis? Earth to Dennis?"
"Huh?" He snaps his neck up. Trinity is staring at him from the couch, pointing the remote at the television.
"I said, do you want to watch the new Drew video?" On the screen is a YouTube video by someone named Drew Gooden that Trinity enjoys watching. Dennis, who grew up without a television or Internet, is pretty much always fine to watch whatever she wants. He only draws the line at car crash compilation videos. Trinity likes to watch weird stuff sometimes.
"Oh, yeah. Sure." Dennis pops two frozen waffles into the toaster while she queues up the video. As he waits, he types and re-types an apology to Michael that hopefully conveys how cool and normal Dennis is.
12:01 p.m.
Dennis:
hi, good morning... 🙃 i'm really sorry about last night.
This one isn't marked as 'Read' right away like the one last night, which doesn't surprise him. He may not have the clearest memory of the previous evening, but he does remember that Michael is working today.
He eats his waffles with his bare hands and no butter or syrup—to Trinity's dismay—as they let a few videos in a row auto-play on the television. Eventually, they're both seated against opposite ends of the couch scrolling on their phones in relative silence (Trinity's phone plays a few seconds of music or a clip of a person speaking every now and then, presumably when she taps on something on her Explore tab). Dennis is watching Reels with the volume turned all the way down because most of his Reels are in Chinese anyway, for some reason.
They've successfully rotted away about three hours when Dennis's phone buzzes. Stupidly, he sits up a bit in surprise when the name 'Michael Robinavitch' flashes across the top of his screen.
"What?" Trinity asks intensely.
"Nothing," Dennis says quickly. Too quickly. Damn.
She narrows her eyes at him. "What?" she repeats, enunciating the 't.'
He swipes back to the Instagram app, tries to think fast. Taps a random image and shows her the phone. "This."
She scrutinizes the screen. "A picture of Robert Downey Jr. holding his legs behind his head?"
"Y...yeah. It surprised me."
"That's definitely a surprising picture," she concedes, going back to her own device. "You're such a freak."
He has to admit that she's probably right. He is a freak. He returns to his Messages app, heart in his throat.
2:55 p.m.
Michael:
Hi. I'd say 12:01 is officially afternoon, but good morning to you, too.
There's no need to apologize. Hope you slept well. Drink lots of water today.
Dennis's heart flutters in his chest as he types, backspacing more than once because his thumbs keep hitting the wrong letters. He bites his lip and attempts to keep the edges of his mouth from quirking up.
2:56 p.m.
Dennis:
i guess you're right, good afternoon then lol 🙃 sorry. very hungover.
no water yet but i've had some day-old coke, does that count?
The message is marked as 'Read' right away. Dennis tries and fails to not watch the screen as Michael types. He wonders what Michael is doing right now, if he's taking the smoke break that he often takes with Dennis; he wonders if he's Robby right now, or Michael. Dennis has taken to thinking of him as Robby inside the hospital and as Michael the second his feet pass the threshold to the outside world. He's Michael when they're out smoking and he's Michael in Dennis's head. He wouldn't be able to explain why if anyone were to ask.
2:56 p.m.
Michael:
I'm hoping you mean Coca-Cola, which unfortunately does not count as water.
Smiling, he clambers off the couch and goes to the kitchen to gulp down a full glass of water, refilling the glass as soon as he empties it. Well, unfortunately, he really does feel better.
2:56 p.m.
Dennis:
of course i mean coca cola lolol
water's one of the ingredients at least
but i am having a glass of water right now, happy??
On a whim, Dennis takes a photo of himself holding the glass next to his cheek, trying to make his face look smug yet playful yet sexy yet professional (an impossible combination, he knows). He sends it before he can think twice.
2:57 p.m.
Dennis:
[image]
proof
"I'm going to take a shower," he says to Trinity, heart in his throat. He regrets sending the photo as soon as it says 'Delivered,' but it's too late now.
"That's fine," she calls back. His phone vibrates in his hand and he decides to ignore it until he's done showering.
Dennis still has the same lime green plastic shower tote that he bought at the local Dollar General before leaving for his freshman year of undergrad, neatly filled with his toiletries: a slim bottle of shampoo, a matching bottle of conditioner (something he had never used before Trinity took over his hair care routine), body wash, and a tube of cleanser (also added to the tote A.T. (After Trinity), as she had been horrified to learn that he was washing his face using his body wash).
Trinity has told him time and again that he can leave his stuff in the bathroom full-time, that he doesn't need to keep toting everything back and forth from his room like he's living in a dorm (or, what Dennis is a bit more familiar with, in a shelter). Dennis just finds it to be a tough habit to break; keeping all of his belongings close together, living with as little as possible so that he's always ready to live out of a backpack if need be. He's comfortable this way.
He leans into his room to grab the shower tote from atop his dresser before locking himself in the bathroom, and he can't resist checking his phone again before turning the water on. So much for willpower.
2:58 p.m.
Michael:
Good, I'm glad.
You don't look nearly as hungover as you should.
Dennis flushes, biting his lip to stop himself from grinning at his phone like a maniac. What does he mean by that? That's a compliment, right? Dennis can't see how it isn't. He wonders if Michael is going to save that photo to his phone. No, no, no. Dennis puts an immediate end to that ridiculous train of thought. Why would Michael save a poorly-taken selfie from his hungover med student? What in the world would he do with that?
2:59 p.m.
Dennis:
the camera must be glitching then
trust me, it's bad
He pauses. Taps his finger on the side of the phone a few times.
2:59 p.m.
Dennis:
anyway i'm about to shower last night off of me
hope your day is going well
There's plausible deniability there, right? Maybe, yes, a tiny part of Dennis wants Michael to think about him in the shower—well, as long as those thoughts are positive—but that text could also be read as an innocent sign-off, an explanation as to why his next response may take a bit longer to arrive. Right?
Dennis knows, of course, that Michael doesn't think of him... well, romantically. So if he lightly flirts with Michael sometimes, that's just for Dennis's own enjoyment. And torture.
He strips, leaving his dirty clothes in a pile on the floor, and climbs into the shower. Trinity's apartment has some flaws, but they always have ample hot water. After years of not having regular access to a residential sink, Dennis can't believe his good fortune. Trinity doesn't even care if he takes long showers (he felt much less guilty after she explained that their water bill is a set rate each month, not by usage), a fact that he takes full advantage of now. He washes his hair, then spreads a dollop of conditioner through the ends to let sit for a few minutes—he has to admit that his curls have been looking a lot nicer since he started following Trinity's demands. He scrubs his body down with the African net sponge that, again, Trinity had insisted he start using—and she was right again, his skin has never felt smoother—before rinsing himself off.
Dennis is toweling himself dry when his phone screen lights up, showing two texts. He quickly tightens the towel around his waist and snatches the phone off the counter.
3:00 p.m.
Michael:
Looks pretty good to me. Must be the glass of water.
3:11 p.m.
Michael:
Oh, and my day is going fine. Thank you.
Dennis lets out a shaky breath. What looks good? What looks good, Michael? The camera quality? The glass of water? The photo itself? And if it is the photo itself, does that mean Dennis looks good? No, that's not quite right—Michael said "looks pretty good." Pretty good could mean something entirely different than good. He types a response that he knows is boring, but at least keeps the conversation moving.
3:11 p.m.
Dennis:
good!
anything fun?
3:12 p.m.
Michael:
We just had a guy with a Pom bottle stuck in his rectum.
He mashes his lips together, now trying not to laugh. It's really not a funny situation for the patient, and Dennis would never even so much as crack a grin in front of someone experiencing that... but it's a little funny right now, when he's safely off the clock.
The ER sees at least one man a day with something stuck in his rectum; a Pom bottle is a new one, though. Dennis would never say this out loud (not at work, anyway), but he always wonders why these men don't just buy butt plugs and dildos like the majority of people that want to put something in their ass. He could send them plenty of links and recommendations if it wouldn't get him immediately fired and trespassed from the premises.
He quickly hangs his towel on one of the hooks on the inside of his bedroom door and throws on a clean t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants before typing his response to Michael.
3:14 p.m.
Dennis:
a pom bottle?? like the juice?
Dennis makes his way back out to the living room, where Trinity is still reading on the couch. As he grabs the remote to put on an episode of Hell's Kitchen, his phone vibrates in his hand.
3:16 p.m.
Michael:
This one was a tea/juice blend, actually.
Trinity scolds him for not showing her what on his phone made him snort so loudly, but he takes the verbal lashing without complaint. He still hasn't told her that he has Michael's phone number, let alone that they've texted each other.
Dennis, having gleaned from hours of deep conversation that Trinity has had very negative experiences with men who were older and had authority over her, doesn't think she would react well if he told her. She wouldn't understand that there's nothing nefarious going on; that if anyone is being taken advantage of here, it's Michael. Dennis is the one thinking sinful thoughts, the one who spends what feels like half his workday staring lustfully at his boss. His sweet, helpful boss who is just being a good teacher and mentor.
It's best that Trinity not know for now.
He and Michael text on and off for the rest of the day—nowhere near a running commentary between the two of them, with Michael so busy being Dr. Robby, but frequently enough that Dennis's iPhone doesn't show a time stamp above any of the messages—in between Dennis doing some chores around the apartment. Nothing serious, just some lighthearted work gossip and a few mentions of interesting patients that day.
He does his laundry (even folding and putting it all away), empties the dishwasher, vacuums the floors, and cleans the sinks. All the while, his phone burns a hole in his pocket as it awaits Michael's response to whatever nonsense Dennis had strung together.
Michael kind of texts like a dad, always capitalizing proper nouns and using perfect punctuation. Dennis finds it very cute and more than a little hot, which he knows is really fucking weird.
It's a lazy day for the two of them. Around 8:30 that night, Dennis and Trinity have both retired to their respective rooms to mentally prepare themselves for the shifts they have the next morning. Dennis has his back against his headboard and is listening to his favorite James Brown album, The Payback, on his headphones. He stares at the little three dots that indicate Michael is typing a response to Dennis's most recent message:
8:28 p.m.
Dennis:
you heading home soon?
8:29 p.m.
Michael:
Not quite.
Dennis furrows his brow.
8:29 p.m.
Dennis:
did someone on night shift call off?
8:30 p.m.
Michael:
No, why?
8:30 p.m.
Dennis:
then you can go homeeee 🙄
8:30 p.m.
Michael:
This is sounding like the exact same lecture you gave me last night.
When I drove you home, I mean.
Dennis widens his eyes. He had lectured Michael? About staying late at work? Now that he thinks about it, if he really stretches his memory, he can just barely hear himself telling Michael that he only leaves work to sleep. While that might appear to be true, Dennis wouldn't have said it if he hadn't been so far beyond tipsy.
8:31 p.m.
Dennis:
yikes, i'm sorry about that
i only kind of remember the stuff i said last night but sorry if i crossed any lines
not that me being drunk was an excuse to cross lines
if i did cross any
Dennis pauses his frantic texting when he sees Michael start typing.
8:32 p.m.
Michael:
You don't need to apologize. And you didn't cross any lines.
You're right, honestly. I do work too much.
He lets out a breath and tries to think of a response. Michael is way too nice to him. He's forgiving of all of Dennis's weirdness, which is weird in and of itself. Maybe Michael is the weird one.
Dennis doesn't know what he's expecting here; for Michael to maybe be his friend? Okay, so he's texting a potential friend. What is there to be nervous about?
And yet, here he is. Nervous.
His phone vibrates. A new text.
8:34 p.m.
Michael:
I actually am going to head out. Early night for me.
8:34 p.m.
Dennis:
oh! good!
drive safely
and make sure you eat dinner :)
As he's wrapping up a quick prayer that his last text wasn't too, too weird, Dennis receives Michael's response.
8:38 p.m.
Michael:
Just got to my car. I will drive safe.
And I will eat dinner, now that you've reminded me.
Any suggestions?
Dennis looks frantically around the room, as if the perfect suggestion is floating in the air somewhere. This is such a low stakes question, but Dennis is determined to get it right.
8:39 p.m.
Dennis:
are you in the mood for a burger? maybe that diner we ate at a couple months ago?
That's the first time either of them have mentioned that night in mid-September when Michael had offered Dennis a ride home for the first time. Dennis, quite frankly, isn't sure if he's even allowed to bring it up. Maybe Michael had broken an explicit workplace rule by driving Dennis home. Maybe Michael just flat-out regretted it.
Dennis isn't sure, so he's chosen not to bring it up. Until now. Luckily, Michael's response betrays no negative feelings.
8:40 p.m.
Michael:
Shelly's? I do love that place. Sadly it's not on my way home.
I will stop and get a burger, though. Good suggestion.
8:40 p.m.
Dennis:
happy to help :)
Dennis would happily help Michael with anything. At work, Michael has to make the final say on about a thousand decisions an hour. Maybe he wants someone to make choices for him every once in a while. Dennis can do that.
Dennis is getting way, way ahead of himself.
Michael doesn't read the most recent text right away, so Dennis assumes he's driving. He uses the lull in conversation to hop out of bed and brush his teeth, wishing Trinity good night through her closed door. "Night!" she calls back.
He's settling in under the covers, headphones tucked away in the drawer beside his bed, when his phone buzzes again. He snatches it up right away, unabashedly eager in the privacy of his bedroom.
8:55 p.m.
Michael:
Got my food. Headed home.
Dennis wiggles his toes. Five words. He's blushing over five words. It just feels kind of domestic. Dennis has never had a man text him little updates on his day like this. The men he's dated have not exactly been communicative.
He internally slaps himself. Why is he comparing Michael to past flings? Just because Michael is nicer to him than any boyfriend ever has been, that doesn't mean he should be assigning his own subtext to Michael's words. This isn't the same situation. At all.
No matter how much he wants it to be. No matter how good it feels to imagine, just for a second, that Michael is texting him to let him know that he's bringing home dinner for the both of them. Honey, I'm home! Michael would call from the front door, his cheeks a little pink from the cold. Hi, babe, Dennis would say, meeting him there to grab his coat and kiss him hello. Mmm, you look good, Michael would murmur against his lips, dropping the plastic bag of food to—
Dennis slaps himself in real life this time, a light but firm tap on his cheek. That's enough of that.
8:57 p.m.
Dennis:
what did you order?
9:01 p.m.
Michael:
Home.
Burger and a side of coleslaw.
Dennis gags, all fantasies temporarily forgotten.
9:01 p.m.
Dennis:
okay, judging you for ordering COLESLAW
🤮
9:02 p.m.
Michael:
Hey now, coleslaw is delicious. You've probably just never had good coleslaw.
9:02 p.m.
Dennis:
uh yeah, exactly. because good coleslaw is an oxymoron
To his surprise, the next message that comes through is a picture. The first photo Michael has ever texted him and it's a picture of a to-go cup of coleslaw.
9:02 p.m.
Michael:
[image]
Come on now, you're telling me this doesn't look delicious?
Immediately, Dennis taps on the photo and zooms in on every inch. There isn't much to garner except that Michael appears to be eating on a lacquered wooden table. In the upper right corner, Dennis is pretty sure he can just barely see the edge of a brown glass bottle; maybe beer? And, of course, the coleslaw itself. It looks... wet.
9:03 p.m.
Dennis:
i feel like you need to know that there are way more foods out there
you don't have to eat like this
9:03 p.m.
Michael:
Lol.
9:03 p.m.
Dennis:
that's the first time i've ever seen you say lol!!
aren't you old enough to believe it stands for "lots of love" or something
9:04 p.m.
Michael:
Ouch. I'm very aware of texting lingo, btw (that stands for by the way).
Jake told me once that "Lol" is better than "Ha ha" which is what I was sending before.
Dennis rolls over, his head buzzing. Michael doesn't mention Jake much; this feels like being allowed a peek behind the curtain.
9:04 p.m.
Dennis:
good thing you have jake to keep you young
he's right, "ha ha" is weird
9:04 p.m.
Michael:
Why is haha weird?
9:05 p.m.
Dennis:
haha isn't weird, ha ha is
9:05 p.m.
Michael:
I'm just going to pretend I understand.
9:05 p.m.
Dennis:
just stick with "lol" :) lol
how is jake by the way?
Three dots appear, then disappear, then reappear. Michael types for a while. Dennis stares at his phone screen, swiping back and forth between Instagram and their text thread.
9:08 p.m.
Michael:
I'm not sure. Janey and I agreed it would be best to let Jake reach out first, when he's ready. He's not ready yet.
Dennis's heart aches. He tries to think of something meaningful to say to someone that has decades more life experience than him. For all Dennis knows, this might not even be Michael's first pseudo-stepchild.
9:09 p.m.
Dennis:
i know he'll come around. time heals all wounds
plus, you're a tough person to want to avoid
9:10 p.m.
Michael:
I was going to commend you for saying something so wise, but then that second text showed you might not have the best judgment.
9:11 p.m.
Dennis:
🙄
9:11 p.m.
Michael:
Alright, don't judge this old man too harshly, but I'm going to head to bed soon.
9:12 p.m.
Dennis:
going to sleep at 9!! i'm surprised you don't eat dinner at 4pm
9:12 p.m.
Michael:
Ha ha.
;)
Good night, Dennis. I'll see you at work tomorrow.
That winky face just about gives Dennis heart palpitations.
He wonders if Michael is the type of person who falls asleep the second their head hits the pillow, or if he tosses and turns. He wonders what size mattress he has, how often he changes his sheets, if he uses a top sheet or eschews one. Dennis can do no more than let his imagination run wild.
9:13 p.m.
Dennis:
good night michael :) sleep tight
see you tomorrow
The text is marked as 'Read' right away, which Dennis tries not to find meaning in. Michael may not have been watching the screen waiting for Dennis's response; he might have just tossed his phone to the side already, screen left open on their text thread just because it had been the last thing Michael had open.
But then Michael reacts to Dennis's final text with the 💤 emoji—three z's in a diagonal line, the 'sleepy' emoji—and that theory flies out the window. In lieu of making a snarky comment about Michael knowing how to use iPhone emojis at his old age, Dennis reacts to Michael's last message the same way.
He drifts to sleep thinking of smile lines and a scruffy beard streaked with gray.
The Pitt is hectic when Dennis and Trinity walk in the next morning. Lena, the night shift charge nurse, explains that there was a ten-car pileup on the highway not even thirty minutes ago, and the victims are starting to arrive on blood-covered gurneys.
"Nice," Trinity says, sounding genuinely pleased. Dennis shoots her a look and thinks, not for the first time, that she should really try to get into trauma surgery; Trinity is happiest when she's dealing with blood and viscera and a patient who's temporarily unable to speak.
They hustle to the locker room to drop off their things and clock in, passing Robby—Dennis reminds himself to not slip up and call him Michael at work, that would be horribly embarrassing and forward and unprofessional—on the way.
"Santos, Whitaker, Trauma 2 as soon as you're on the clock," Robby calls out. Dennis nods and throws him a thumbs up in response; they make eye contact and the corner of Robby's mouth quirks up into a grin. Dennis bites his lip, schooling his expression as he and Trinity hurry to get themselves out on the floor.
Trauma 2 is a bloodbath when they get there; a nurse stands ready at the door to help them gown and glove up. The patient is a middle-aged male with a metal pipe lodged into his throat.
"Surgery's been paged, yes?" Trinity asks, getting started on securing the patient's airway; a respiratory therapist glides in just seconds later and settles in next to her to assist or hop in where needed.
"Garcia's on the way," a nurse responds. Dennis glances at Trinity and catches the little flutter of her eyelashes. He rolls his eyes.
Dennis dives into checking over the patient's arms and legs, all four of which respond to stimuli and are clear of any deep lacerations, thank God. If the patient were awake, he'd ask if there was any numbness or tingling, but for now Dennis just hopes that all of the patient's vertebrae are unharmed. Garcia takes over in almost no time, and Dennis gets to watch the awkward song and dance that is Trinity trying to flirt while also appearing casually uninterested.
He knows he has no room to talk; his cheeks hurt when he looks at Michael sometimes, so his face must be doing something strange and wholly inappropriate. And at least Trinity is a step ahead of him romantically. She's the one who succeeded in at least sleeping with the doctor she's pining over.
The victim of Dennis's pining—Robby, of course—is nowhere to be seen for the first few hours of Dennis's shift.
It's fine. It sucks. It's for the best.
Dennis is able to focus even more intently on his patients, on improving medical outcomes and satisfaction scores, without Robby there. At least, he thinks he's able to.
He's staring up at the board when a patient walks by carrying a huge bundle of balloons, which both confuses him—balloons in the emergency room?—and causes him to remember the gift card that Gloria had given him a couple days ago for the hospital gift shop. Dennis pulls out his wallet to check that he still has the gift card on him, which he does, and spins around to go find Robby or Dana and let them know he's taking a quick break to go buy a snack. He spins face-first into a broad, warm chest wearing a black scrub top. Hands grab onto his elbows to stabilize him.
"Whoa!" Robby's voice says.
"Geez," Dennis says at the same moment. He looks up to meet Robby's eyes. "Sorry about that."
"No, no, I'm sorry. I snuck up on you, I think." Robby is still holding his elbows. Dennis hopes his elbows aren't, like, dry and scaly.
"All good," Dennis exhales. He tries not to move a muscle, lest Robby drop his hands. Robby smells amazing, something musky and masculine that makes Dennis's mouth water. "Um, I was just going to look for you, actually."
Robby's eyebrows raise. "For?" he asks kindly.
Dennis holds up the gift card; Robby seems to come to his senses and quickly pulls his hands back to cross his arms over his chest. Damn. "I'm just going to head up to the gift shop to buy a snack real quick, if that's okay."
"Pack of gum?" Robby asks, a wry grin on his face.
Dennis laughs. "If it's in the budget, yeah."
Robby looks around, then leans in and lowers his voice just enough that Dennis feels like he's being let in on a secret. "I need a break, do you mind if I tag along?"
"No! I mean, no, I don't mind." Dennis shakes his head. "Um, now?"
"Now is good." They both smile.
"Okay, good."
A few seconds of silence. Then, Robby inhales and says, "So, um." He waves an arm toward the elevator.
Dennis takes it as a cue to walk ahead; Robby follows. "Right!" Dennis exclaims. "Yep. Let's go."
The elevator has only just arrived on their floor when they get there, so they don't have to wait. Robby hits the 'Close Doors' button as soon as they're both inside, then the 'L' button for the lobby. He steps back, slips his hands in his pockets, and peeks over at Dennis, which is when Dennis realizes he's staring. He whips his eyes away as fast as he can.
"So, how's your day?" Robby asks, sounding like he's smiling. Dennis doesn't check.
"Good so far," he says to the inside of the elevator doors. "What about you?"
"Yeah, it's been fine."
"Good."
"Mm... I, uh, didn't really get to ask the other night. Have fun at the Halloween party?"
The doors open in the lobby and they both exit. Dennis waits to respond until they've cleared the crowd of people with zero sense of personal space surrounding the elevator. "I did, yeah. Um, maybe a little too much fun." He laughs self-deprecatingly. Robby laughs, too, and claps him on the shoulder as they walk.
"You're young, you deserve to have fun every once in a while."
"I guess. I don't feel that young anymore."
Robby glances at him. "Trust me, you're definitely young," he says. They arrive at the gift shop entrance and Robby pulls open the door for him. "After you." Dennis thanks him, the tips of his ears feeling warm.
The gift shop is nearly empty, save for a young guy looking at the selection of sympathy cards and the employee at the cash register. Dennis makes a beeline for the chips and grabs two bags. If he wasn't paying with funds that he received as a gift, he'd cringe at the cost; $5.99 for each tiny bag of chips is criminal. The hospital probably purchases them for less than a dollar apiece, he suspects. He figures the $15 gift card should cover a can of Monster, too, so he grabs one from the tiny cooler built into the wall. All the while, Robby hovers behind him, fiddling with the stuffed animals for sale.
"Alright, I'm gonna check out," Dennis announces.
"Ah, hang on." Robby spins around and selects a bottle of Coke and a Twix bar. "Okay, let's go." He brushes past Dennis to the register and sets his items down on the counter, waving for Dennis to do the same. Confused, Dennis slowly places his things next to Robby's.
"Um, these three are on one—" Dennis starts to say to the cashier, gesturing to his chips and drink.
Robby interrupts. "No, these are all together." The cashier nods and starts ringing everything up with a handheld scanner. Robby looks over at Dennis. "I got it," he says.
"But," Dennis protests weakly, "my gift card."
The corner of Robby's mouth quirks up in a grin. "Save it for tomorrow."
Dennis opens his mouth to reply, but the cashier announces their total and Robby taps a credit card on the card reader without hesitation. A receipt prints out a few seconds later that Robby crumples into a ball and shoves in his pocket.
"Do you guys need a bag?" she asks. "We have paper or plastic."
"No, no bag," Robby answers for the both of them, handing Dennis his purchases before grabbing his own. "Thank you, though."
"Yes, thank you," Dennis says to the cashier, remembering his manners. The three exchange parting pleasantries, then Robby and Dennis head back toward the elevator.
"Thank you, Robby," he says, elbowing the older man gently in the side.
"No problem."
"You know I was going to use my gift card, right?"
"Of course. I just figured it would be easier as one transaction."
"Ah. Yeah, okay. That makes sense." It didn't, not really, but Dennis wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "So, are Twix bars your favorite candy?"
"Definitely. Love 'em. Unfortunately for my blood sugar." Robby smiles. "You?"
"I like them," Dennis replies. "I think my favorite candy is the Reese's Take 5, uh, thingy."
Robby nods. "That makes sense. Because you like salty foods, right?" he asks to Dennis's surprise.
"Right!" Dennis says. "Um, that's right. I love salty food." He can feel his cheeks warming. Robby has a really good memory. He must remember everything everyone's told him, if he remembers something as innocuous as one of Dennis's food preferences. "What about you?"
"I like salt, but my blood pressure doesn't," Robby says with a wry grin. Dennis laughs, trying not to wonder about things that aren't his business, like if Robby keeps up with his yearly physicals.
They take the elevator up one floor to make their way back to the ED, this time with a handful of patients and staff inside as well. One of them, a handsome guy with a salt and pepper beard and using a wheelchair, greets Robby with a nod and a smile.
"Caleb," Robby says, holding out a hand to shake. "Good to see you."
"Michael, likewise."
"Caleb," Robby points to Dennis, "this is Student Doctor Dennis Whitaker, he works with me in the ED."
"Ah, hello," Dennis says, probably awkwardly, shaking Caleb's hand the way Trinity had taught him; firm, quick, confident. Hopefully not too clammy.
"And Dennis," Robby continues, "this is Dr. Caleb Jefferson. He's an attending psychiatrist here."
"Nice to meet you, Dr. Whitaker," Caleb says kindly. The elevator doors open and Robby, Dennis, and Caleb all disembark going in the same direction.
"Oh, please, call me Dennis. I'm not even a full doctor yet, anyway," Dennis tells him.
"He will be soon enough," Robby says, patting Dennis on the upper back. Dennis blushes. "Caleb," Robby says, "you heading to my ED for something?"
"I am, actually," Caleb says. "Got a call that I'm needed for a potential psych case."
"Wonderful. Well, they're in good hands with you."
"High praise, Dr. Robinavitch." Caleb spins around in his wheelchair, a small smile on his face. "Trying to butter me up before Friday?"
Dennis gulps, his chest cramping a bit. What does that mean? Was that flirty, or is that just how these two talk to each other? 'Butter him up' for what? In what way? Dennis starts to edge away from them, feeling like he might be on the verge of intruding.
"If it works, can we cancel?" Robby sighs, confusing Dennis further. Is Caleb... pressuring Robby, or something?
"Nah," Caleb replies cryptically. "The first step is the hardest." He glances at Dennis. "Dennis, great to meet you."
"Oh, um, likewise."
Caleb turns back to Robby, who's staring down at his feet with an unreadable expression on his face. "Michael, I'll talk to you later?" Robby looks up at him and nods with a smile that looks forced.
"Yep. Later."
Caleb wheels off, leaving the two of them alone. "Is... everything okay?" Dennis asks hesitantly.
Robby looks up from his feet and sighs. "Yes. Caleb is, um, helping me, maybe, find a potential... therapist," he says disjointedly.
"Oh!" Dennis immediately feels terrible. "I'm sorry to intrude—"
"No, no," Robby stops him. "You're not... intruding. It's..." Robby sighs heavily. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, right?" His tone of voice conveys the exact opposite.
"Robby," Dennis says seriously. He waits until their eyes meet. "It isn't anything to be ashamed of. I think that's great."
Robby nods uncomfortably, looking away. He sniffs. "I should go check on some things," he says suddenly.
"Right." Dennis feels like he's overstepped and can't do anything to walk it back.
"I'll see you around?" Robby takes a step in the opposite direction, eyes darting around.
"Of course. Yeah." Dennis takes a second to compose himself once Robby's escaped, not liking how they left that conversation but unable to fix it, and cracks open his can of Monster. Samira is already jogging in his direction with a tablet in her hand, calling his name. He sighs. Back to work.
Kept busy with a steady stream of patients, Dennis's afternoon flies by. He finally manages to hide out in the break room for a few minutes and is scrolling through his phone when an email notification flashes across the top of his screen. He taps it frantically; the preview of the subject line reads "Interview with Altoona General Hospital Em..."
Even though Dana is only a few feet away refilling her coffee, he can't hold back a celebratory fist pump and whisper-screaming "Yes!" She startles and turns around.
"Good news?" she asks, raising a brow.
"Sorry. Yes." He holds up his phone. "I just got my first email asking me to interview for a residency program."
"Hey! Congratulations, kid," Dana says. She comes over to give him a brief side-hug. "It's here at PTMC, right?" she asks, giving him a look.
"Ah, no," he says apologetically. "This one is in Altoona."
"Altoona General?" Dana wrinkles her nose.
"Yes," Dennis says slowly.
"Hm." She takes a sip of her coffee and doesn't elaborate.
"Well," Dennis says after a few seconds, "I haven't heard back from PTMC yet. So."
"You will," she says confidently, patting him on the shoulder. He's pretty certain he will, too—Robby had told him back in September that Dennis was guaranteed an interview at PTMC—but there's always a chance nothing will work out the way he hopes. "Admin just runs a little slow around here," Dana continues. "Just make sure you save the best interview answers for your interview here at the Pitt, right?" She smiles at him. "We want to keep you around, kid."
His chest feels warm. "Thanks, Dana," he says earnestly.
"Hey, I mean it." She shrugs and makes her exit, pulling her phone from her pants pocket as she goes.
Dennis settles back into his seat and re-reads the email in its entirety; they'd like him to spend about four to five hours touring the hospital, meeting a few of the attendings and residents, and asking and answering some questions.
He takes a screenshot of the email and texts it to Trinity with a few smiling emojis, then responds with his availability. Altoona's Emergency Medicine residency program isn't known to be the best (Dana's response, or lack thereof, spoke volumes), but it's far from the worst. Dennis considers it to be a serious prospect. Especially since, well, they seem to consider him to be a prospect. He knows beggars can't be choosers.
Figuring he's taken enough time away from his job, he pockets his phone and makes his way toward the Hub to see which patients he can pick up next. His eyes instantly land on Robby, who's saying something to Dana with a serious expression on his face. Dennis catches the tail-end of Dana's response.
"—mean it in a negative way at all," she's saying placatingly.
"I know you didn't," Robby answers, testy. "But what did you mean?"
Dana glances at Dennis over Robby's shoulder. "Hi, hon," she says. Robby whirls around.
"Dennis," he says, sounding surprised. "Uh, Whitaker. Can I help you with something?"
"Uh," Dennis flounders for a moment, "just... ready for another patient?"
Robby nods. "Great! Great. Um," he glances at the board, "do you mind grabbing Room 3?"
"Yeah, sure. Happy to." Dennis nods and takes an awkward step in that direction.
"Great." Robby clasps his hands together.
"Great! Okay, bye!" Dennis spins around and speed-walks away, feeling like he had failed at that interaction but unsure why. He's really striking out with Robby today.
The patient in Room 3 has a UTI, so Dennis has a nurse start a dose of intravenous Ceftriaxone. It's a quick conversation, though not impolite; the patient is anxious to get back to work and had used her time out in the waiting room to write down a timeline of symptoms in great detail.
Dennis is back at the Hub not even ten minutes later, where Robby appears to be reviewing lab results on a clipboard. Dana is nowhere to be seen. Dennis places himself a couple feet away and tilts his head up as if to look up at the board, then angles his gaze so that he's (hopefully subtly) looking at Robby instead.
Robby looks good today. He always looks good. Maybe some days he looks a little more tired than usual, but Dennis has never found him remotely unattractive. Robby scratches his beard and purses his lips at whatever is on the clipboard in his hand. Then, Dennis gets to see one of his favorite things: Robby puts on his glasses. Something about him putting on his readers is always just... kind of sexy. Dennis gulps, shifting on his feet.
Suddenly, Robby looks right at him. Dennis tries to dart his eyes away, but it's too late; they definitely made eye contact. So, he wasn't being nearly as subtle as he thought. Great. Robby takes off his glasses, which sucks, and clears the distance between them in two long strides. "Dennis," he says brightly. Fortunately, he seems to be over whatever mood Dana had put him in a few minutes ago. "Room 3 is good already?"
"Yes, she's, uh, getting a dose of Ceftriaxone right now and she'll be checked on every thirty minutes for the next two hours," Dennis rattles off. Robby is looking down at him with a soft, easy smile on his face that's making Dennis's belly swoop.
"Good, okay." Robby nods, peeks up at the board. "I, uh, I heard that you got an interview with Altoona General."
Dennis raises his eyebrows, doing some mental math. It's highly unlikely that Trinity has even read his text yet, let alone shared that information with their boss. So when had Dana had a chance to tell Robby about this? Was that what they were talking about earlier, when Robby had seemed... testy? "I did," Dennis confirms. "Dana told you?"
Robby looks almost embarrassed. "Ah, yes. Sorry. That was... maybe a secret?"
"No, no, not a secret," Dennis rushes to clarify. At least Robby doesn't seem vexed right now. Maybe he'd been testy about something entirely unrelated. "Um, yeah, I got an email just a little bit ago asking when I'd be available for an interview."
"That's great!" Robby says. He pats Dennis on the shoulder with a big, heavy hand. "Congrats. Of course, I'll be happier when it's your interview here." He grins at him furtively.
Dennis chuckles, a little breathless. It overwhelms him when Robby says stuff like that. It makes him feel like... he's not sure what it makes him feel. Like Robby likes him, or something. Likes him as an employee, he means. "I, um, I'm most excited for that one, too. This one, I mean. The interview here, at PTMC. Not that I have the interview yet."
Robby's mouth twists into a frown. "They still haven't emailed you?"
"No."
"Hm." Robby drums his fingers on the countertop, looking around. Finally, he nods, seeming to come to an internal decision. "Well, anyway... Like I said, I'd be happy to help you prepare for your interviews if you need. I know it's been quite a long time since I was a resident," he chuckles, "and, uh, your roommate probably has more timely advice, but—"
"I would love your advice," Dennis interrupts. "Uh, if you wouldn't mind."
"Great! Well, um... Just... Whenever you want, just let me know. We can, um, meet for... Coffee?" Robby's rubbing the back of his neck.
"Coffee is great! Would be great. Coffee would be great."
"Great."
"Um... Well, are you free, like, tomorrow morning?" Dennis happens to know that Robby isn't scheduled to work tomorrow, because Dennis is a creep who checks the little row on the schedule that says "Robinavitch" just as intently as he checks the row that says "Whitaker."
"I am!" Robby says, eyebrows raised. "Are you?"
"Um," Dennis laughs a little, "yes, I am. Can I... text you a time and place?"
"Absolutely." Robby nods, rather vigorously. "Yeah, anywhere is good with me."
Dennis grins. "Okay, sweet. Thank you."
Robby shakes his head. "No problem. Happy to help." He smiles, too. Dennis can't think of what to say next, so the two of them are just... smiling at each other for a moment. Dennis opens his mouth to say something remarkably intellectual—"Cool!"—when Princess saves him.
"GSW four minutes out," she yells from a nearby phone. "Victim is a six-year-old female."
Robby and Dennis look back at each other, smiles vanished. "Fuck," Robby swears.
Dennis nods in agreement. "Fuck."
Nearly an hour later, they've stabilized the little girl and sent her up to the OR for what will likely be a lengthy surgery. Dennis feels both drained and wide awake; they'd kept her alive and had sent her to surgery with a beating heart, but it had been fucking difficult.
Fortunately, the end of his shift is fast approaching. He settles in to make sure all of his charting is done and is about halfway finished with Trinity appears next to him.
"Hey!" he greets her. "Haven't seen you all day."
"Yeah," she sighs, scanning her badge on the computer next to him. "It's been crazy." She types rapidly for a few seconds before stopping to look directly at him for the first time. "How... has your day been?" she asks slowly, as if reading from a script for the first time.
Dennis grins. Trinity is not good at showing she cares, but she's willing to try. "Fine. I texted you something."
She wrinkles her brow and quickly pulls her phone from her pocket. "What?" she demands.
"Open it," he says simply, still smiling. He watches a matching smile grow on her face as she opens the screenshot he'd sent her earlier.
"Huckleberry! Nice! First interview of many." She reaches out and ruffles the hair on the back of his head; he bats her hand away and tries to fix whatever mess she'd just made.
"Thanks." He considers what to say next. Takes a breath. "Uh... Robby offered to help me prepare for my interviews, which is cool. So."
"Nice," Trinity says distractedly. Dennis feels like he just told her that he's been keeping someone locked in his basement; she doesn't seem to care at all.
"Yeah, um, we're going to meet for coffee."
Her eyes dart up. "Coffee?"
"Yeah." Dennis's heart is in his throat.
"Well, just make sure he pays," Trinity sighs, then starts typing again.
Dennis raises his eyebrows but doesn't say anything else. He's the one being weird, after all. This isn't a date, and literally no one thinks it is. This is a senior attending helping a med student. Coffee shops are the setting of innumerable professional situations—business meetings, job interviews, networking events—and this is one of them. Interview preparation between a mentor and mentee. Dennis is Robby's mentee, right? He supposes he is, by definition.
So, Trinity's reaction is normal. She doesn't suspect anything because there's nothing to suspect, Dennis firmly reminds himself.
He finishes the rest of his charting in record time. While waiting for Trinity to decide that she's done for the day, he pulls out his phone to search for coffee shops near their apartment. He doesn't want Trinity to have to chauffeur him to and from; that would be horrifically embarrassing. Like she's his mom dropping him off for a playdate. No, he'd rather find somewhere within a mile or two so that he can walk. He still doesn't know where exactly Robby lives, and can only hope he wasn't lying when he told Dennis that Dennis's place wasn't too far out of his way. For all he knows, Robby might live on the other side of the city and was just being polite. He copy and pastes an address that he finds into a new text with Robby.
7:23 p.m.
Dennis:
would this place work? maybe tomorrow morning at 10?
After hitting send, Dennis tries to take a casual glance around to see if Robby is anywhere nearby. He doesn't see him, though, and the text is still unread when Trinity announces she's ready to go about fifteen minutes later. Dennis is already in the passenger seat of Trinity's car and halfway home when his phone buzzes.
7:45 p.m.
Michael:
Yes, that place works. 10 would be great.
Did you already head out for the day?
Dennis lowers the brightness on his phone screen, which immediately makes him feel like he's hiding something so he turns it back up. Trinity appears to be focused on the road, anyway.
7:46 p.m.
Dennis:
great! i'll meet you there tomorrow at 10 then
and yeah, trinity and i left about 10 mins ago
should i ask her to turn back? did one of us forget something?
7:46 p.m.
Michael:
No no
I was just wondering since I didn't see you around.
Dennis's stomach fills with butterflies. That makes it sound like Michael had been looking for him.
7:47 p.m.
Dennis:
sorry to leave w/o saying bye! i did look around but didn't see you
7:48 p.m.
Michael:
That's okay.
Three little dots appear, disappear, and reappear as Michael types a new message. Dennis is expecting something rather long and detailed, but what finally comes through is just three words.
7:49 p.m.
Michael:
Any plans tonight?
Dennis blinks. Decides to answer honestly.
7:50 p.m.
Dennis:
oh yeah, BIG plans
trinity and i are going to watch tv and eat a really unhealthy dinner
Michael doesn't respond until Dennis and Trinity are back home. Dennis is in his room, changing into a pair of comfortable clothes and trying not to compulsively check if Michael's texted him back yet, when he finally gets a response.
7:56 p.m.
Michael:
That sounds perfect. I hope you have a relaxing evening.
Dennis bites his lip, smiling.
7:57 p.m.
Dennis:
thank you :) i hope the same for you
what about you, what's for dinner tonight?
once you finally leave the hospital lol
7:57 p.m.
Michael:
I was thinking Chinese. I'll head out here soon.
And you? You said you were eating something unhealthy but didn't specify. My imagination is running wild here.
The thought of Dennis featuring in Michael's imagination in any form is kind of making the backs of his knees sweat.
"Dennis! Pizza is ordered!" Trinity calls from the living room. "Get out here, I'm pushing Play!"
Dennis hurries to his spot on the couch, typing his response as he goes.
7:59 p.m.
Dennis:
i'd love to know what exactly you're imagining lol
we just ordered a pizza
and trinity is putting on an episode of love island
8:00 p.m.
Michael:
I was just picturing a big bowl of ice cream, I guess.
Never watched it. I think I've seen ads for it on Netflix or something.
Dennis sneaks a glance over at Trinity, who's staring at the television.
8:00 p.m.
Dennis:
lol i'm not sure you'd like it, it's very catty
8:01 p.m.
Michael:
Do you like it?
8:01 p.m.
Dennis:
shamefully yes lol
the contestants on there make me feel like maybe being single isn't too bad if this is the dating pool haha
Dennis clicks the power button on his phone after sending that, and doesn't check it again—not even after it vibrates twice—until the pizza's arrived and he's grabbing plates for himself and Trinity.
8:02 p.m.
Michael:
Well, if you like it then maybe I'll give it a shot.
Maybe it'll make me feel better about my lack of a love life, too. Lol.
His cheeks warm at the mention of Michael's love life.
8:19 p.m.
Dennis:
you'll have to let me know if you watch the first episode
He eats a couple slices of pizza while he waits for Michael to respond, but it's almost a half hour later when Dennis finally gets a reply.
8:46 p.m.
Michael:
Sorry, was driving home.
I will definitely let you know.
"Who are you texting?"
Dennis jumps. He and Trinity have been sitting in companionable silence since the episode had started. "Um, no one."
She rolls her eyes. "Fine, be that way," she huffs, clearly annoyed. Dennis feels a wave of guilt crash over him.
"It's, uh, just a guy I met," Dennis says, not technically lying. He doesn't want to keep secrets from Trinity, but he also feels like complete honesty wouldn't be the right move. Would she be upset that Dr. Robby is texting Dennis at almost 9 o'clock at night? It might just be his anxiety talking, but he really can't imagine her reacting positively to that, even with context.
"A guy?" she asks excitedly, sitting up straight. Oh, no. "You met a guy? When? On Halloween?"
"Um, yes." Technically true. Dennis had met many guys on Halloween. At work, as their physician.
"What's his name?"
"It's... Uh, Cole."
"Cole?" Trinity wrinkles her nose. "Sorry, that name sucks."
Dennis tries to act offended on behalf of this man he's just invented. "He's... really nice!"
"Can I meet him?"
"Absolutely not."
"Why?"
"Uh, because we're not even... Because there's no reason for you to meet him! It's just a guy who gave me his number."
She relaxes back against the arm of the couch, rolling her eyes again. "Fine. But I want any and all dirty details."
"There aren't going to be any dirty details," Dennis says, flustered.
"Not with that attitude."
"Trin," Dennis whines. "Seriously, don't make this a thing, please. Cole's just a friend."
"Fine, fine," she sighs. "I don't need to meet your friend Cole, then. Tell him I said his name is weird."
Dennis chuffs. "Yeah, will do," he says, secretly relieved that Trinity is letting it go. He settles in to try and think of something clever to text Michael in response, though he does take a moment to send a quick prayer to God that Trinity never mentions 'Cole' again.