Chapter Text
Dennis wakes up slowly, a gradual awakening as his senses inform him it’s most likely dawn, and the sun hasn’t risen yet. Growing up on a farm, he’s more than used to the abysmally early mornings when he’d need to attend to the cluck of the chickens, and the low bleats of the sheep out in the fields wanting their breakfast. It’s no different than getting up for that early morning shift in the ER. He peels apart sticky eyes, adjusting to the darkness still cocooning them, the warm, heavy weight of an arm tucked around his chest, and a nose pushed into the crook of his neck. This, he is used to, the steady presence of his Alpha tucked around him in his sleep, ever present, ever protective, and a comfort that his unconscious mind needs.
His phone slips out from under his pillow, the charger detaching as he checks the time; it’s just after five. Dennis basks for a moment, listening to the slow, steady breathing of Robby behind him, breath tickling the little hairs so his skin pebbles. Moments like these are what he loves: the hush, the silence, the quiet before the storm, or the lull before they’re shoved headfirst into the crying, vomiting, shouting, screams of pain, infections, blood, and even death. The Pitt never stops, not for anyone, but in moments like this, it does.
Dennis is quiet as he very carefully adjusts, slipping out of the loose hold Robby has on him and out of the covers. He navigates through the darkness, tucking his feet into slippers and wrapping Robby’s dressing gown around his body. The house is quiet and cold when he steps out, closing the bedroom door with a muted click, and he smiles to himself when he hears a jingle. There’s a soft chirp before he sees their two-year-old tuxedo cat, Trouble, appear at the top of the stairs.
“Is my little boy hungry, hm?” Dennis whispers, a soft snort leaving his nose when he winds himself around his ankles and lets out a sharp meow in answer. “Come on then.”
It’s the first order of business, feeding the cat, who continues to dance around his ankles, chirping and meowing as he practically claws at him to be fed. He fills his bowl, leaving him to scoff it down, before he moves to turn the coffeemaker on. It won’t be long before Robby gets up, and coffee is very much needed for the day ahead. The scent of brewing coffee soon saturates the air, and it makes something in his stomach twist a little, a sickly feeling coating the back of his throat that feels strange when he backs up and leans over to open a window. Fresh air hits him immediately, and he takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.
Water. He needs water.
Dennis takes careful sips, leaning back against the kitchen cabinets, and listens to the morning song of the birds outside. It’s the second, no, the third day now, where in some sort of way, he’s felt a wave of nausea. He’s not sick; he hasn't had any vomiting. There is no pain or discomfort, no fever, but there is nausea. Enough that he can feel himself react and turn away from certain foods and drinks with pungent scents. Cassie had a tuna fish sandwich in the canteen yesterday, and Dennis needed to leave, or he would have vomited on his own shoes. He ended up sitting in the stairwell, slowly nibbling on a protein bar, wondering if the long shifts were getting to him.
This job is mentally and physically taxing, with extended hours on your feet, the never-ending rush, the adrenaline, and the lack of food and water throughout the day. It is taxing, but in the three years since he began his first day of rotation, he’s only ever been properly ill about four times. He’s always had a good immune system.
Maybe it’s something, perhaps it’s nothing. Dennis doesn’t know.
But something niggles at the back of his mind, persistent, unspoken, something that feels impossible because it should be. It’s not likely at all. But he can hear his mama’s voice in his inner ear, repeating back when he had questioned why Dottie, his eldest brother’s omega, was throwing up all the time in the early morning.
“That, bug? It’s morning sickness; she’s growing a baby in her belly.”
Morning sickness. Pregnancy.
Which is a wonderful thing, it is, but Dennis knows and has accepted that it’ll likely never happen to him.
Dennis looks up when he hears a jingle from Trouble’s bell before he finally finishes his breakfast and slips out of the cat door to head outside into the garden, leaving him alone with his turbulent mind.
It can’t be a pregnancy.
It can’t be.
He’s infertile.
There’s a low groan from the stairs that has him startling out of his thoughts, and he watches with a small smile when Robby pads into the kitchen, finger rubbing at his eye when he yawns sleepily, and walks over to him.
“I was wondering where you had wandered off to.”
“What, me or the bathrobe?” Dennis teases when Robby crowds in close, pulling at the soft material before arms wrap around his back, and he drops a kiss to his forehead.
“Both.”
Dennis tucks in close to his neck, inhaling deeply to catch the mixture of heat, sleep, and Robby’s own unique scent. The only way Dennis can describe it is that it’s like eucalyptus mixed with lime. It’s refreshing and lingers in a way that makes him want to tuck closer to him all the time. It was one of the first things that Dennis had noticed all the way back then, apart from the tall, hot Alpha staring back at him as he nervously introduced himself and tried not to fall on his own two feet on his first day.
“You smell nice,” Robby mutters, disturbing him from his thoughts when he sniffs at his hairline, and he laughs, swatting at his backside. “What? You do! Like cotton candy, it’s strange. You get a new shampoo?”
“Nope,” Dennis denies, shaking his head and watching as he steps away from him, making a beeline for the coffee. “Do you, um, do you smell anything else?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, like…anything unusual?” Dennis asks, folding his arms across his chest. Robby blinks, looking back at him, and he frowns before shaking his head.
“Nope, just that weird cotton candy smell. Why? Is everything okay?”
“What? Yeah, yeah, fine, I don’t know. I just woke up feeling a little strange. I think these shifts are starting to get to me.”
Robby hums, finishing pouring the coffee into his cup, and he makes his way back over to him.
“Two more days and then we have two days off. How about we do something relaxing, take our minds off hospitals and triage for forty-eight hours?”
Dennis nods at the idea, smiling when Robby cups the sides of his face before brushing a soft kiss against his lips.
“Go for your shower first. What do you want for breakfast?”
Nausea lies low in his stomach, but he knows he needs to eat something, even if he wants to flat-out refuse, but he really doesn’t want to draw attention to it.
“Oatmeal, a dash of honey, and cinnamon, please.”
“Coming right up.”
Dennis turns to walk back upstairs, letting his small smile drop when his back is turned and he hears a small commotion and jingle coming from the kitchen.
“Oh, there’s my boy! No, don’t come here sniffing for food. I already know you’ve been fed. I’m not falling for that again.”
Dennis goes about his daily routine, washing his face, scrubbing his teeth, and finally standing under the hot shower spray to scrub his skin and hair. He stands, bowing his head to the tub, watching the suds wash down the drain, and rests a hand on his navel for just a second before feeling ridiculous.
“Stupid, so fucking stupid, it can’t be, stop it,” Dennis mutters to himself, letting his hand drop, closing his aching eyes, and refusing to feel upset about it. He’s made his peace. Believing the nausea is something connected to that is setting himself up for heartbreak, and he doesn’t want to do that to Robby or to himself.
He can’t.
He won’t do it.
Not again.
Dennis scrubs a soft towel over his body once he’s finished and pulls on a white top that he’s pretty sure belongs to Robby before pulling on his navy scrubs. He makes his way downstairs and pauses in the hallway, hand pressed firmly to his mouth as he inhales the wafting aromas of scrambled eggs, coffee, and burnt toast from the kitchen, which intensifies the nausea. He swallows hard, saliva heavy in the back of his throat, and he braces himself before continuing his journey into the kitchen.
“Oatmeal is there.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking a seat, and reaches for the orange juice to take a careful sip.
“Ah! Trouble, get down, down,” Robby orders, swatting at the cat who is desperate to jump up on the counter and yowls disappointingly on the floor. “See, this is why you have this name, little troublemaker, right from the beginning. What have we told you again and again, you little beast?”
“Come here, baby,” Dennis clicks his fingers.
“Wait, him or me?” Robby asks him with a cheeky grin, and he rolls his eyes, ducking down to drift his fingers through Trouble’s soft black fur.
Dennis manages to eat half his bowl of oatmeal before he needs to push it away, unless he brings it all back up. Robby eyes him carefully but doesn’t say anything regarding it, even if Dennis sees the question flare in his eyes before disappearing. He leaves him with a small kiss pressed into his hair, hand lingering on his shoulder, before he makes his way upstairs to get ready.
Dennis finishes his orange juice and smiles when Trouble jumps up onto the kitchen table, nudging his hand to encourage him to pet his head.
“What do you reckon, should we walk or take the car?” Robby asks him once he’s done getting ready and finished shoving all their stuff for the day into his backpack. Dennis eyes the slowly rising sun on the horizon.
It’s the first week of October now. The cold is slowly seeping into Pittsburgh every day, turning the lush green to clashes of orange and brown, and Dennis loves it. He doesn’t trust himself to drive a car at the moment, so he grabs his coat and scarf.
“Walk.”
He’s bundled up and cosy by the time he steps outside, breath misting when he exhales harshly at the sharpness of the cold air, and he waits as Robby locks up before he reaches for his hand. Their fingers lock together perfectly, and he holds out his other hand when Robby passes him an earbud.
“What should we listen to this morning?” Robby muses, scrolling through his phone.
“Something to get us ready for the long day ahead.”
“Nirvana it is.”
Dennis rolls his eyes, amused, but lets him have his way when he immediately finds his favorite album. It’s not a long walk to the hospital; they live close by in case of an emergency. You never know when something drastic could happen.
The fresh air works wonders when he steadily breathes in and out; the nausea that was prominent before for most of the morning is more of a low irritation now, and he can’t help but wish it’d disappear by the time they make their way inside. Warm air immediately greets them when they step through the front doors, Robby’s hand on his lower back when they dodge around staff and patients, and make their way down to the Pitt and to the locker room.
“I just need to speak to Dana. I’ll see you in five,” Robby murmurs against his temple, brushing a kiss there, before he leaves him to get ready. Dennis is getting his badge settled on his hip when he hears a loud slam of a locker door next to his ear, and he jumps out of his skin to see Trinity of all people grinning at him like the Cheshire Cat.
“Sheesh, why so jumpy, Whitaker?”
“Bad morning,” he shrugs, rolling his aching shoulders back with a sigh. “So, I’d prefer it if you didn’t slam locker doors right near my ear.”
“Sorry,” she chuckles, and leans against it, eyes tracking his face carefully, and he groans internally. Dennis loves her; he really does. She’s his best friend here, but one thing he’s learned over all this time of knowing her is that she’s far too inquisitive for her own good. She can sniff anything out if you give her enough time.
“You do look peaky.”
“Isn’t that my everyday look?”
“Your words, not mine,” Trinity grins at him sharply before it drops. “I don’t know, you just look…paler than usual, sickly. Just – just take it easy today, yeah?”
Dennis can’t help but double blink at her, perplexed. Trinity is excellent at masking the care she so subtly gives others, the Alpha in her peeking out now and again. Just like now, and it’s weird, very weird. He’s not used to it at all.
“Sure,” he mutters, and he waits for the friendly punch she usually gives him on the shoulder, and feels a cold shiver run down his spine when she moves to do it, but hesitates.
“See you later, huckleberry,” she murmurs, giving a slight shake of her head like she’s confused herself before she leaves the room, and he watches her go, dumbfounded. What the hell?
Dennis doesn’t realize he’s still staring at the empty doorway until Mateo appears in front of him, brows furrowed when he waves a careful hand over his eyes, and he snaps out of it, swallowing hard.
“Everything okay, man?”
“Uh, yeah, yeah, sorry, just – a bad morning,” Dennis explains, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, his mind buzzing.
“Do you need anything?”
Dennis glances at Mateo, an aura of concern lingering over him that isn’t unusual; he’s an attentive guy, but it makes something in the back of his mind twinge in alarm. Seriously, did he wake up in the wrong universe? Why is everyone, so far, acting a little off around him?
“No, no, I’m good, Mateo, thank you.”
“Anytime, seriously.”
Dennis frowns, watching him walk towards his locker, whistling, opening and closing his mouth but unable to say anything back, still utterly confused. He shakes himself out of his stupor and quickly grabs his bottle of water, praying that the weirdness he’s experienced so far is just his own imagination when he heads for the nurses' station.