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Dennis finds Robby leaning leisurely against the brick wall of the ambulance bay. His eyes are closed as he chews on his nicotine gum, a rare serene look on his face.
Of course, Robby doesn’t immediately notice him and Dennis doesn't say anything to announce his presence either. He stands silently and enjoys the warmth of Pittsburgh’s July wind as it blows through the bay, the same way Robby does. Lulled moments like these with just the two of them don’t usually happen and he dares not breathe too loudly, in fear he might disturb him.
Dennis looks over at the motorcycle parked nearby instead, and just the sight of it grates his very soul. It sits there in a quiet, unassuming spot as if it’s not Robby's damning reckoning, like it’s not going to take away from Dennis one of the only few good things he’s found in Pittsburgh.
He prays in his mind that it somehow catches fire and explodes right there—no, that’s too unrealistic, maybe one of these ambulances can crash into it full speed instead, preferably before the end of the day, leaving it nothing but a mangled piece of scrap metal. His hand tightens into a fist. His knuckles turn white, and he puts everything he’s got into that prayer.
Please Lord, listen to me, to my plea.
Robby sighs in vain when the sounds of sirens eventually reach them. He knows they have less than three minutes until it arrives and he finally opens his eyes to see Dennis staring at his motorcycle. Robby shifts off the wall and takes a step closer to the younger doctor. If he notices Dennis’s rigid posture, he doesn’t say anything.
“It’s—uh, a very nice bike you got there,” Dennis lies through his teeth, turning to look up at him. He forces himself to relax his hand and push his angry, grudge-filled thoughts to the back of his mind.
Robby's face brightens as he leans in, nodding. “Thank you,” he says, and for just a fleeting second, a glint of life sparks in his muted, abyssal eyes. Dennis finds himself shakily smiling back at him, despite the perpetual ache he quietly endures in his heart. Helplessly, he’ll take anything he can get.
The two ambulances round the corner just then, shifting the atmosphere entirely, one after the other. Santos and Javadi come running out, right on time.
“You two, that one!” Robby shouts, pointing to the first blaring vehicle, but the younger women are already on it, it’s a very familiar routine for everyone after all. “Dennis, with me!”
Dennis, who went back to shooting daggers at the wretched motorcycle, finally tears his eyes off of it and gets moving.
He has less than a moment to clear his head and refocus—the ED truly waits for no one.
———
The day whirs past, the clock ticking with unbelievable speed. One of the only shifts where Dennis wished it would drag on longer, selfishly wishing for more patients, for another hospital to shut down for whatever reason and they’d have to be the ones to take the brunt of it. However, it’s all mostly uneventful and the night shift has begun to trickle in. The day is following its schedule, steadily coming to an end on time, much to his dismay.
He stands in a mostly empty hallway now, away from the relentless beeping and bustle of the department, and he grips his scalp with his hands; however, the hall does not provide Dennis the reprieve he’d sought. The fluorescent lights flicker above him, swelling and humming with electricity. Their harsh buzz churns his stomach, and he suddenly feels bile rising in his throat.
He wasn’t even able to eat a full lunch today. He wills himself to push the feeling down and away, the last thing he wants is to throw up in the hospital and be forced to spend the night. He has neither the time nor money for that right now, or ever.
Dennis squeezes his skull once, twice, harder, folding in on himself, but the pain doesn’t ebb. It racks his entire body and he’s unsure where it’s coming from or how to stop it. Dread clutches his spine and shakes him from his core. The ache that was contained behind his ribs just earlier, has consumed him whole, and he feels like it’s killing him now.
Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump.
It sounds like a death sentence. Something so utterly final. He wishes he’d never overheard Dana mention where exactly Robby was going for his sabbatical. Just thinking about the name of it sends another wave of shivers that attacks his body. Ignorance would’ve felt a million times better than this, whatever it was. He squeezes his head again, absently thinks about banging it against the wall.
Dennis knows he has to figure something out. He really cannot let Robby leave like this. He takes a deep breath, trying to think: sabbatical, three months, far away, motorcycle—keys. The sudden idea blooms in his mind, quieting down everything else.
“Hey, you okay?” Someone asks, but their voice is muffled, like they’re speaking to him from a different room. “Huckleberry?”
Oh, it’s Trin. He lets go of his head and turns around to face his roommate. “Uh, fine, yeah,” he nods but the action makes his vision go blurry for a second. He swallows the saliva pooling on his tongue. “Fine.”
Trinity tilts her head to the side like a curious cat, unconvinced. Still, she lets it go and lands a tired hand on his shoulder. “Go get your stuff, let’s head out.” Dennis notices for the first time in a while, the deep eyebags that decorate her face, beneath her all-knowing, strikingly greenish eyes. “Hurry, or I’ll really leave you,” she says, yawning, as she walks to the hospital’s exit.
“Yeah, right behind ya…” he murmurs, watching her go. But Dennis knows he’ll be left behind tonight. If he stays resolute in what he is going to do now, he’ll have to find his own way back home.
———
If Dennis could be honest, he’d admit he was never really proud of his ability to be so silent. If he didn’t speak, he didn’t exist, and not existing meant he was always forgotten. Unintentionally neglected. At home, at school, at church. Only his family’s farm animals ever really noticed his presence, and that was mostly because of the sack of feed he’d carry around with him while he worked.
He’d learned to work around it as he got older, though. He'd speak louder when he wanted something, to let people know he was also there too. Yet, Dennis often found himself still fading into the background regardless. Overlooked.
He could sometimes lean over someone’s shoulder and peer at them without them noticing (he’d always felt a lot like a creep when he did it) and really, it mostly came in handy in the trauma rooms as a student. To be able to look over a procedure and learn without being in the way too much was a talent in and of itself. And unlike him, his peers were always pushed aside and to the back.
It also came in handy when he got unusually curious about Robby’s locker code, a while back. His crush on his boss had reached its peak, and too many times he’d found himself skirting along the edges of stalker territory. Maybe if the code had turned out to be the date of his birthday, then he’d get him a gift and feel less guilty about invading his privacy in the first place. (It wasn’t his birthday at all. It was 123456.)
But, it especially came in handy when Dennis decided to break into his attending’s locker and steal his motorcycle keys. His final act of desperation against God’s will.
Dennis breathes hard now, clutching the cold metal in his hand, praying no one walks into the locker area, and thankfully, it’s quiet. Almost everyone had already left for the day. He shoves the keys into his pocket, rounds the corner, and hits right into someone’s chest. He stumbles back but strong, careful arms quickly catch him and pull him forwards. He steadies himself, looking up, an apology already loaded on his tongue, when he sees Robby inches in front of him.
Fuck.
“You alright, there?” He asks, a teasing smile spreading on his lips. He has an ecstatic energy about him, like he’d been impatiently anticipating something great all day. It sends a severe chill down Dennis’s spine.
“Mhm, fine, so sorry about that,” Dennis answers, the weight in his pocket is heavy and stark. He moves to leave, already halfway around the corner. “I’ll see you in a few mon–” But Robby’s accusing hand stops him in his tracks, and Dennis forces his face to look normal as he slowly turns around. He feels his mouth dry up and the familiar pounding in his head restarts. Robby hasn’t even opened his locker yet.
“Let’s leave together, yeah?” His eyes sparkle under the atrocious fluorescents.
“S-sure.” Dennis says, he squeezes the keys in his pocket, wishing the ground could swallow him whole right about now. But something like that would be too good, too easy for Dennis. A way out someone with his luck could never find. Instead, he stays planted in his spot, watching Robby unlock his locker, punching in the same numbers he secretly already knows as well.
It’s unavoidable. Robby’s shoulders straighten and his brows furrow, confusion etched into his handsome features. He pulls out his backpack to get it out of the way, and he digs in his locker more deeply. Thoroughly.
“Hey, have you seen my keys by any chance?” Robby asks, still distracted.
The shivers from earlier in the hallway start tormenting Dennis immediately. “Uh—no?” He squeaks. Robby pauses, turning to look over at him. “Why’re you shaking?”
“Huh? Oh, I’m cold—tired, just cold and tired,” he says, clipped. He hopes his face still hasn’t betrayed him yet, but even he hears the hesitation and the undertones of terror in his own voice. “I should go, Trin is probably waiting for me—”
“Wait. Stop.”
Robby drops his bag to the floor, and plants a hefty hand on Dennis’s shoulder, gently pulling him back. It’s the same action he’d done so many times before. When he wanted to redirect the younger doctor or grab his attention, so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, especially by this point. But Dennis was never carrying keys, and now they jingle in his pocket at the sudden movement.
Dennis’s eyes widen involuntarily, and he knows they both heard it.
Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck.
His world tilts, flipping upside down on itself and sweat beads on his forehead, clinging to his brows. His breaths come out shallow and quick, if he somehow didn’t look guilty before, he definitely looks like it now.
“First of all, you’re shaking and sweating too much to be okay,” Robby speaks low, leaning in towards Dennis, who’s now backed up against the lockers behind him. “Second, I’m very aware Santos carries your keys.” He folds his arms in front of himself, like he’s daring Dennis to protest, to disagree and say that’s not true.
Dennis quickly realizes his tongue is far too heavy in his mouth. All he can do is helplessly shake his head at Robby, and a humorless chuckle escapes the older man, bouncing bleakly off the walls of the small locker area. “If I put my hand in your pocket, it won’t be my keys that I’ll pull out?” He questions Dennis, who looks away and back.
“Y-you can’t do that.”
“I can’t do that?”
“No—” and he gasps as Robby moves swiftly, his left hand grips both of Dennis’s wrists, pinning them to the lockers behind him, next to his head. He presses his knee firmly into Dennis’s hip, effectively trapping him. A panicked whimper slips out of Dennis’s lips at the oppressive pressure on his iliac crest.
This is not how this was supposed to go at all.
Dennis can feel the frustration build up inside him, at himself, at his attending, at this whole entire situation, and it makes him so irrationally furious. Robby doesn’t acknowledge him, and instead he shoves his right hand inside Dennis’s jean pocket and pulls out his motorcycle keys. He holds up the jangling pieces of metal and an attached custom Harley-Davidson tag between the two of them. The keys are very undeniably his. Robby pierces him with a look so heavy with disapproval, that Dennis cannot figure out how to speak and explain himself.
“You’re stealing from me, Whitaker?” Robby whispers, a flicker of old hurt and betrayal flashes across his face and it hits Dennis suddenly what all of this might remind Robby of. Langdon. “What exactly were you hoping to achieve here?”
Shame. Scalding hot shame runs down along Dennis's skin, coating him wholly, from head to toe. What’s he to say, even? Yeah man, so all day my gut was telling me you’re going to die if you go on your trip and the only thing I could think of doing was to break into your locker and steal your keys. Also I’ve had a huge crush on you so I’ve been kinda stalking you for a while and I know you don’t wear your helmet. Also your locker code is not the safest.
Dennis blinks and bites the inside of his lip, wondering how to begin. He starts by tugging at his wrists, and Robby drops his hand away like he’s been burned. He takes a step back and the pressure that was steadily building up against Dennis's hip bone finally releases. It will probably bruise.
“No, Dr. Robby, I wasn’t stealing from you.” Dennis levels him with a look, hoping his huge, perpetually sad eyes show that he’s being honest. “I just—” he suddenly cuts himself off and sighs, frustration radiating off him in waves.
It’s pointless, he knows both Dana and Dr. Abbot have probably tried countless times to keep him from going on his sabbatical, at least not on his motorcycle. So it’s not likely that Dennis is going to be able to change any minds around here, and especially not Robby’s who seems like he’s one instance of driving 60 over the interstate speed limit from finding true happiness.
Something deep in his mind rattles. It’s all pointless, he’s reminded, no matter what he says.
“Speak,” Robby pushes, clearly still not wanting to let this go.
“Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump,” Dennis finally starts again, a little confused where he’s even getting his courage from but he won’t stop now.
Robby’s eyes widen, his brows disappear into his hairline. “How—”
“And you’re going there without a helmet. You’re the happiest I’ve ever seen you, like borderline manic, Dr. Robby, like you’ve got some kinda fucking pep in your step or something.” Dennis speaks like he was asked. His frustration from earlier rears its head back at full force and his words spill out of him, uncontrollably. His desperation and the anger he’d endured all shift hoping he'd keep it down, now mixes and bursts inside of him. “You think I can’t tell you’re riding to your suicide?”
Robby looks like he’s been slapped across the face.
The lingering sparkle in his eyes is completely gone now that Dennis laid out his reality in front of him. His eyes are a deep pit of nothingness, utterly empty. Miserable and so far gone. He just stares at Dennis, saying nothing.
“So what was I supposed to do, Dr. Robby? Huh?” His vision blurs at the dim state of the older man in front of him and his tears threaten to fall. “Nobody could convince you to stay here with us, with m—”
They both flinch and the unsaid word hangs in the thick air between them like a lit fuse that neither party wants to get close to.
“Nobody could convince you not to go,” he redirects, still unable to stop talking. “You’ve been working cases like Gloria’s n-never going to see you again, you don’t wear your helmet, and I watch you jaywalk. All. The. Time. Dr. Robby!” He slams his fists on Robby’s chest with each word as the tears stream down his face, the dam finally broken.
Robby doesn’t budge, taking it all in like he’s some kind of twisted version of a martyr. A martyr, Dennis scoffs, who silently suffers through his own self-inflicted wounds.
For once, he’s grateful the ED is always so loud and busy that no one can hear this entirely bizarre exchange that’s happening between them right now.
Dennis wipes at his tears aggressively. He should really stop crying, he thought he outgrew this childish habit long ago. Sobs rack his body and he folds into himself again, clutching his ribs, his face. The relentless ache, the grief he already feels for something so inevitable overtakes him and he still doesn’t know what to do with himself, how to even begin to stop it. All of it.
Robby finally responds—he gently pulls him up and carefully moves his hands away from his face.
“Dennis,” he whispers, and Dennis shudders, his conviction breaking. Hearing Robby’s voice carrying the sounds of his name for the first time is like a caress he’s been yearning to feel for so so long.
“Shh, shh…” He wipes Dennis’s endless tears with his thumb, leaning down closer to the younger man, closer than he’s ever been. He softly kisses his wet eyes, his warm, reddened cheeks. He runs his large hand through Dennis's messy bangs, pushing them away from his forehead, and gently tilts his face up so he can take all of him in. Like this is the last time he’ll ever see him.
Dennis feels Robby handling him so delicately, as though he’s afraid he might shatter, as though Dennis is made of porcelain. He instinctively leans into it, this very touch he’s sure he’s been chasing after, all his life.
Yes, he wildly thinks as he drags out a shaky exhale, maybe I was born just to stand here, that everything I’ve ever done was all for this one singular moment. And Dennis experiences this so deeply, it blows a hole wide open in his chest.
Then suddenly, he shudders again, reeling back to himself, remembering where he is. Dennis looks up and finally sees—through his blurry tears—he sees the cosmic itself, strewn across, in Robby’s eyes. It takes his breath entirely away.
“How long are you gonna do this for, Den? Are you not tired yet?” Robby asks after watching him silently all this time. He still keeps his fingers gently threaded in between the younger man’s long, curly hair.
Dennis’s heart quickly stills, his sobs immediately hushed down to just occasional after-shocks. “W-what…?”
Robby only stares at him, a clouded, regretful look on his face that sears Dennis’s soul in half. “You know I left months ago,” he says, and it sounds both like a confession and an accusation at once. His low voice carries, like Pittsburgh’s warm July wind, the last day he saw him. “You’re really gonna have to let me go now.” Softer than a whisper. The contrast is jarring.
“What?” Dennis repeats himself hoarsely. His lungs seem to be failing and his body restarts its violent shaking again. “N-no, you’re right here, please Robby, listen to me—” to my plea, but he doesn’t get to say it.
———
“Huckleberry?” A pause. “Yoo-hoo, over here,” Trinity waves a hand in front of Dennis's face, then makes a fist and punches the air in front of his eyes, hoping to lighten the mood a little. “You’re doing the thing again.”
“Huh?” Dennis startles from his constant daze, staring at the wall. Immediately, the darkness of the living room hits him all at once. He sniffs, his lashes wet and his nose puffy.
“Uh—no I wasn’t. I was watching TV,” the blatant lie easily tumbles out of his lips. Trinity turns around and looks at the TV. Both of their dumbfounded reflections stare back at them on the black screen. She glances at the closed blinds and their living room lamp still not turned on despite it being several hours into the evening.
Dennis is silent, very obviously caught in his own lie. Trinity blows out a long sigh and takes a seat on the couch, dirty scrubs and all. She drops her bag to the floor.
“Y’know, I’m sure Dr. Caleb would love to talk to you again, like professionally this time,” she gently offers. “It’s not like you’re not gonna lose anything, Huck.” She lays a tentative but caring hand on his arm. Then, with her trembling lips and glassy eyes on the ceiling, she whispers, “because you really can’t keep doing this. To me.”
Dennis watches her, a shell of himself. He nods, sinking into the large navy-blue jacket that never really belonged to him. He traces over the smooth golden logo above his heart. A tic, it seems, that he can’t stop doing anymore. “I’m sorry, I will. Okay.” He keeps nodding, unsure if he’s convincing himself or her. “I’ll talk to him. I’m sorry,” he whispers again and wipes his face, wishing he could stop burdening her with his incessant grief any longer. But it clings to him like a second skin and he can’t seem to scrub it off, no matter how much he tries.
Trinity, just too kind for her own good, scoots closer to him and lets him lay his head on her warm shoulder. “It’s okay, Huck. I’m sorry too.” She softly hums, hugging Dennis tightly, who shakes in her arms. She doesn’t let her brother go.