Chapter Text
Dennis stares at the-not one, not two-THREE pregnancy tests on the bathroom counter. He peed on all of them as soon as he got back home from CVS and now he could only sit on the edge of the bathtub as his phone timer counts down. From his position, Dennis can’t see the tiny little result windows, but he doesn’t know if he even has the strength to stand up and check when the tests are ready.
He sighs and drops his head, knocking it against his knees-willing himself to wake up from whatever fucked up dream he was having because there is no way he’s pregnant. He can’t be. Not that it’s physically impossible, just that if he is, his situation just went from messy to disastrous.
Now, Dennis knew that getting involved with Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, his attending and boss, was a bad idea. Not just because of the workplace dynamics, or the man’s emotional instability, or the fact that Robby was older than Dennis’ father, but because Robby was a fucking asshole. He wouldn’t know what a healthy relationship was if it came up behind him and tickled his balls. Dennis had thought that Robby’s 7-week-itch was a myth, an urban legend, another piece of gossip that the nurses loved to recycle when the ED got too quiet, but nope; that bitch was real and it bit Dennis in the fucking ass 5 days ago.
~
Dennis was actually having a great shift that fateful day; he had gotten up early enough to get his favorite latte from the good coffee shop, he hadn’t had any fluids splashed on him, and his and Trinity’s favorite show was on that evening. After shift, Dennis walked out of the ED and saw Robby leaning against the wall next to his motorcycle. Robby didn’t even need to say anything to Dennis, just used his finger to call him over. And, like a fucking dog, Dennis ran right to him.
God, he’s so handsome, Dennis had thought; even with Robby’s stiff expression, Dennis admired his deep brown eyes, his strong nose, and his well-groomed beard. Ugh, Trinity’s lesbian ass would gag at his lovestruck thoughts. He was so caught up in his head that he barely noticed that Robby looked pretty on edge. Dennis chalked it up to a bad shift-even if he couldn’t recall anything going particularly wrong.
Robby shifted and reached behind him for the huge duffel bag that was sitting on the bike seat. It was Dennis’ bag. He gripped the shoulder strap tightly.
“Uh, you do know I didn’t submit any leave to go with you on your sabbatical, right?” Dennis chuckled. When Robby didn’t laugh back, Dennis’ smile dropped. “Robby?”
“Dennis.” Robby cleared his throat. “I think it’s best if we didn’t see each other anymore. We both knew that this would eventually end, and let’s be honest, this was never going to work o-“
“What the fuck?” Dennis interrupted Robby. “I’m sorry, but what the actual fuck??!”
Dennis’ voice was loud and Robby was grateful that no one else was in the ambulance bay to hear this. Robby sighed, handing over the duffel bag, offering the shoulder strap for Dennis to take; when he didn’t, Robby just dropped the bag at their feet.
“Dennis, don’t make a scene,” Robby gritted out, “be a fucking grown up and take this with some grace. You act like you were anything more than a quick fuck.”
“Really, a quick fuck?” Dennis scoffed. “My bad for assuming I was more than that when you were crying in my arms nearly every time you screwed me. Oh, Dennis, I love you, you make me want to be a better man. Dennis, please stay with me, move into my house, have my BABIES-.”
“Will you shut the fuck up?” Robby stepped forward menacingly. His height and build was intimidating, making Dennis swallow, but he kept his feet planted and didn’t allow his scowl to fade.
“You know, I wanted to think everyone was wrong.” Dennis dryly laughed. “I defended you when you weren’t around to do it yourself. I tried to convince everyone around me that you weren’t the dick they think you are. You’re a great fucking doctor, Robinavitch, but you’re a terrible man.”
Dennis snatched up his bag, stomping back towards the ED doors so he could find Trinity and get the fuck out of here. Before he could get more than 2 strides away, Robby gripped his wrist hard enough to bruise.
“Listen, I don’t need a fucking lecture from a 20-something-year-old slut who’s mad that I didn’t get down on one fucking knee just because you spread your legs.” Robby spit.
SLAP
Dennis’ palm burned from where it connected with Robby’s cheek.
“You’re pathetic, Michael.” Dennis seethed. He yanked his hand away, turning to see Ahmad staring at the both of them. He’d come out after seeing Robby grab Dennis on the cameras.
“Hey, you good, man?” He said to Dennis.
Dennis nodded and huffed, passing Ahmad to go back inside.
Robby suddenly yelled out curses, startling Ahmad, but before he could tell Robby to leave, he did just that-the motorcycle engine acting as his farewell message to PTMC for the next 3 months.
Trinity was making her way towards the exit, thinking about what she wanted to order for dinner. Or maybe she’d make Dennis cook again. Speaking of the guy, she saw him shuffle back in while cradling his wrist, and now he had a bag on his shoulder and tears in his eyes. Dennis just shook his head at her. She nodded and came up to him, putting an arm around his shoulders as they walked back outside together.
“Santos,” Ahmad softly called out, “check up on him, alright?”
“Thanks Ahmad.” Dennis said, voice cracking.
That night, Dennis cried and cried, letting Trinity rub his back as she sat with him. They watched their trashy tv show and ate greasy Chinese food. After Dennis cried until he physically couldn’t anymore, he spilled everything. He told Trinity about Robby, how they had been hooking up for nearly the past 2 and a half months, and what Robby said to him before jumping on his bike and leaving him.
Trinity cursed up and down how she’d murder him, getting a couple laughs out of Dennis. She even offered to go with him if he decided to report this to HR, to which Dennis shut down immediately. Not because he didn’t want to hurt Robby-he wanted to hurt him alright-but because he knew this could fuck up everything he struggled for. He knew it would be super fucking hard, but he could get past this. He had to.
~
The alarm on Dennis’ phone nearly gives him a heart attack as it brings him out of his reminiscence. He stops the annoying trilling and stares up at the pink sticks. Okay, band-aid, he decides. Dennis stands and opens his eyes that he didn’t know he shut.
…Positive.
All three of them. And they all have the audacity to have very clear positive lines. Not even a faded one to give him some hope. Dennis groans and slumps back down to the edge of the tub.
“Open up, huckleberry.” Trinity says, knocking on the door.
Dennis scrambles to grab the tests and shove them in his sweatpants pocket before opening the door-only to see Trinity holding up the drugstore receipt that has the evidence of his fuck-up in black ink. Dennis groans.
“Sooooo…what’s the verdict?” Trinity jokes, leaning against the doorframe.
Dennis pulls the tests out of his pocket and holds them out.
“Gross, pee hands.” Trinity wrinkles her nose.
“I’m pregnant.” Dennis sobs. “I’m pregnant and the only person who could be the father is on a motorcycle and probably already in fucking Chicago!”
He throws the plastic sticks in the trash and washes his hands. Storming out of the bathroom, Trinity hot on his heels, Dennis grabs his phone and calls Robby-only for the call to immediately go to voicemail.
“The hell?” Dennis mutters, dialing again. Same thing. He tries texting instead…and the message immediately says Not Delivered.
Santos hisses from over his shoulder.
“That’s fucked.” She says genuinely.
That asshole BLOCKED him. Dennis is gonna kill him. He wants to. He will….as soon as the bastard gets back from his stupid sabbatical. But, just for now, he settles for crying. Wailing, more like. Damn pregnancy hormones.
“Hey, hey.” Trinity shushes him softly, like she’s trying to settle a spooked horse. “Yo, fuck that guy. I mean, not in the way you already have-“
Dennis cries harder.
“-just! Just forget about him! I know you’re scared, but whatever you decide to do, I’ll be right here? Okay?” Trinity says, looking more sincere than Dennis has ever seen her before. “You have so many options, and only you get to decide what you want. Fuck what anyone else thinks or says.”
Dennis cries a little longer, but eventually they fade into hiccups and sniffles. He gets up and goes to slam his weight in Gatorade because he knows he’s going to be so dehydrated later. Trinity is scrolling through the channel guide, giving Dennis some half-assed pats on the shoulder that he assumes are supposed to be comforting, and he sees a familiar movie pass by.
“Wait, go back.” He says. “I haven’t seen that one in forever.”
“Uhh, you sure you wanna watch that in your….fragile state?” Trinity says with her eyebrow raised.
“Yeah….I think Elliot Page is one of the main guys I looked up to for being an out trans man,” Dennis explains, “plus the movie is actually pretty funny.”
Trinity shrugs and puts Juno on, the movie already 1/3 of the way done. Dennis lays his head in Trinity’s lap, like they tend to do to each other during their movie nights.
“Cmon you laid in my lap last time, it’s my turn!” Trinity groaned.
“Hey, I’m with child, give me a break.” Dennis laughs, Trinity doing the same.
~~
The next day, they’re trying to sneak into the ED without being noticed by too many people. It’s their day off but Dennis just wants Trinity to give him a quick ultrasound to see how far along he is. He can’t make a chart here or else it’ll definitely get out to everyone in the Pitt-HIPAA be damned. They’re both quickly saying hi to whoever they pass and Trinity shoves Dennis into the nearest room before they can get called for a case.
Dennis quickly lifts his hoodie up and Trinity squirts the ultrasound gel above where his uterus is.
“Fuck, that’s cold.” Dennis hisses.
Trinity smirks as she places the wand down, pushing just enough to see the gestational sac….and the fetus. They both stare at it with their heads tilted like they did when they first watched Alien: Resurrection. The rapid, galloping heartbeat filled the silence.
“Well, shit.” Trinity sighed. “That’s definitely more than 11 weeks old.”
She takes a quick capture of the image and goes to measure.
“13.8 weeks.” Dennis reads from the monitor. “Sounds about right.”
“Gross.” Trinity chuckles.
“Hey, North 3 is open, let’s get someone back he-“ Dr. Al-Hashimi’s voice is outside the door and then suddenly she’s inside the room. “Oh. Dr. Whitaker. And Dr. Santos.”
Dennis’ stomach is still exposed and covered in goo, and Trinity is holding her hands up like she’s being arrested, wand still in hand. Dr. Al-Hashimi comes forward, putting on gloves.
“May I?” She asks Dennis. He nods.
Al-Hashimi takes the wand and expertly moves around, taking clear images of the fetus and printing them out.
“I assume, that by sneaking in on your day off, you didn’t make a chart?” Al-Hashimi speaks up.
“Um, no.” Dennis says, feeling like a caught kid.
“I suggest you make one.” She says. “For future checkups. I’ll make sure you’re not charged for the imaging or the room, as long as you two clean up.”
She peels off her gloves and hands Dennis the images.
“Congratulations, Dr. Whitaker.” As-Hashimi smiles at him. “You’ll be a wonderful dad. And I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful aunt…Trinity.”
Dennis wipes himself off and sits up.
“I guess I’m not the only one attracted to hot, older attendings.” Dennis laughs.
“Shut it, fuckleberry.” Trinity says, even if she’s clearly blushing.
Dennis looks at the black and white blobs on the strip of photos he has. He puts a finger on the picture and then puts his finger on his belly. He sighs.
Yeah this definitely just got way more messy, Dennis thinks. Yet, his smile doesn’t go away.