Chapter Text
<><><>Dennis<><><>
Dennis stands on the roof, he had slipped under the railing and positioned himself so he could see the ground spinning beneath him. A cigarette perches unlit on his lips as tears drip slowly down his jaw, curving through the light blond stubble that grows there, leaving salty trails that will sting later.
If I wasn't such a coward, he thinks, one hand gripping the railing as he leans over the edge. The wind billows through his maroon hoodie, goosebumps prickling his skin, making him shudder.
I'd do it.
Some not insignificant part of him fears the eternal damnation that suicide would bring him, how his parents would curse him and mourn him with bitterness. One of these days he won't think twice, won't think of burning in the afterlife.
Maybe I deserve it, he thinks. Maybe hell is all I'm worth. God knows I'm a sinner, a sodomite, kin of shame and evil fantasy. My soul is dark and corroded. My mind is dirty.
He leans further. The wind gusts harder, light snow flakes catch in his hair. His one handed grip on the cold cold rail tightens. There's noise behind him, but there's always noise, so much sound, too much. Just wants it to stop. Just wants it to end.
Just let go.
He clenches his teeth, the dull aches calms him somewhat. He breathes out long, letting the cigarette fall out his mouth down down down, towards the ground of the ambulance bay.
He closes his eyes tight and relaxes his hand.
So much for coward.
***
"Whitaker!"
Dr Robby is gripping his wrist. It hurts. He's pulling Dennis flush with the railing. It's cold.
"What the fuck are you doing?!"
I think its obvious, he doesn't say. Instead he lets himself be guided under the railing to the safe side. He lets Robby hold him close. He lets him envelope him in his jacket and pull him tight against his body.
"Why? Why would you do this?"
Dennis doesn't answer, he stands as still as possible not wanting Robby to pull away and leave him. But he will, eventually everyone will. And Dennis will be left the darkness, alone in his head.
He feels hot tears in his hair, Robby is shaking slightly, holding Dennis' frame so tight to his own. Feeling his warmth, his life, reassuring himself that he's still here, he wasn't too late.
Why did it have to be Robby? Why did it have to be the object of his guilty fantasies? Why was he here?
Roddy holds him away by his shoulders, searching his face for something. Dennis looks at the floor, ashamed.
He pulls Dennis towards the door, "It's snowing" he says, "lets go inside, hey?". His tone is artificially light, obviously trying to keep Dennis calm and distracted from what he just did.
Once inside Robby takes a shuddering breath, exhaling long and slow. Dennis stands in the open doorway, rummaging in his pocket for the box of cigarettes and his lighter. He puts two to his lips and lights them, before handing one to Robby.
They smoke in heavy silence, sharing the space till the filter starts to burn and stubbing out the ends against the wall.
"Whitaker I'm going to take you home, okay?"
Dennis nods, eyes still trained on the floor.
"Is Santos home?"
Oh.
Santos had gone home for the holidays, to be with her family for Christmas. She had told him about how her mom would make them all go to midnight mass and how, even though she didn't believe in God, the tradition made her feel the warm and fuzzies. Dennis had listened to her talk about her family traditions and tried to hide his jealousy.
He hasn't heard from his family in two years. He still sends them messages on their birthdays, Easter and Christmas, he sends them updates on his studies. He never gets a reply, his messages are read and left.
He remembers his last phone call with his parents, when he told them that despite their best efforts, despite the so called forest school and punishments, their son was still a homosexual. His mother had begged him not to lay with a man, to keep himself pure, to repent for his sins, to think of his immortal soul.
His father had raged, threatened to show him what happens to boys who stray from God's will.
Dennis for his part had shouted that he wasn't a boy, an adult that wasn't a virgin by any means, hadn't been since they sent him away at 16 (that had earned him the red shock of his parents faces), that they should just accept him or leave him be to sin as he pleases.
In all fairness he had expected his father to cut him off, heck even his mother was suspect, but his brother, Davie, closest to him in age, who had greeted him first when he returned from that God forsaken forest school. Davie had made him a cup of coffee after the rest of his brothers and his parents had gone to sleep, he had set the cup on the table in front of Dennis and had made him a biscuit with butter and jelly, just the way he liked. It had made Dennis sniffle and his throat tighten at the small gift of kindness.
"no. Trin – Santos is in Philly"
Dennis finally looked up at Robby, who was chewing the inside of his cheek, clearly thinking something over before seemingly coming to a decision.
"Okay...uh...I'm going to invite you to stay with me till she gets back in, what, a few days?"
Dennis opens his mouth to speak, but Robby interrupts.
"Don't even try to refuse, Whitaker, either you stay with me or I'm staying with you, which one?"
Dennis thinks of the bathroom with the leaky tap that had been meaning to fix and of the pile of laundry he'd been planning to work through the day before Trinity gets home. He thinks of Robby existing in the space where he had, more frequently than he'd like to admit to himself, got off to the thought of Robby's hands on his body, touching him everywhere that counts.
"yours" he whispers.
Robby nods, "alright, we'll drive by your place and you can pack a bag."
<><><>Robby<><><>
His heart still beat fast, all panicky.
Jesus Christ. Oh fuck. What just happened? What the fuck just happened? Whitaker was going to – had just – no. Don't think that. Stop thinking about it.
He's fine, he's still here. You made it in time for once.
Robby's hand is on Whitaker's shoulder as they walk to the elevator, reassuring himself, squeezing gently every so often to make sure of it.
"Wait for me in the locker room? I'll be two minutes, just gotta deal with something"
Whitaker nods and sits on one of the benches there, Robby steals a look at him on his way out, Jesus he looks thin. Too thin for his broad shoulders, currently hunched as he hugs his backpack to his stomach.
Robby's chest aches.
He finds Abbot in central, looking at the board like it had just called his mother a whore. He sees Robby approaching and smiles easily.
"Hey brother, what the fuck have you left me wi – what the hell? What's happened?"
"I need to speak with you"
They follow each other to a blessedly empty room and close the door.
"I found Whitaker on the roof" Robby blurts out, running a hand roughly through his hair.
"Shit... I'm guessing it wasn't just a smoke break, was it?"
Robby shakes his head, tears welling up. He rubs the back of his neck with both hands.
Abbot knows how he feels about Whitaker, about his stupid crush that wasn't really a crush at all, about how his heart aches just a little too much every time Whitaker stares off into the distance, eyes glassy with some unspoken hurt.
Abbot knew.
"He just – I had to – I'm taking my PTO."
Abbot nods, placing a hand on Robby's shoulder and pulling him in for a hug.
"Well I'll miss you on the Christmas shift, but I think you're needed elsewhere"
Robby hugs him back, his best friend, drinking buddy and half of his don't-commit-suicide pact.
"Santos is in Philly, I don't want to leave him alone, not after that. I invited him to stay with me. He's staying with me."
Abbot gives him a look, "just be careful, Robby. I don't want you to get hurt in this, y'know?"
"yeah, but I don't think I'll be able to sleep again if anything happens, I don't think I have a choice. I just want to be there for him, he – he didn't almost do it. He – I fucking caught him, Jack. Jesus fuck"
Robby feels the nausea swell at saying the words out loud. He spins for the bio-hazard can and throws up. Sharp acidic former break room coffee lands in the trash as he wretches his stomach empty.
"Christ, Robby, shouldn't you put him in emergency hold?"
Robby shakes his head, straightening up and shuddering.
"What if he tries it again? What will you do? Not everything is your fault Robby, you can leave him here and I'll make sure he gets help, okay?"
"Shit Jack how can you ask that? He trusts me, he'd never forgive me, he'd hate me."
"He'd understand eventually. I'm just worried that he's going to do something stupid and you're going to feel responsible and I won't be able to fucking help."
"He won't. I won't. Just...I need to do this."
Abbot sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, "Okay. Okay just go, I'll put in your request. Don't let me be right."
Robby hugs him again, "thank you brother"
"Don't mention it. Jesus your breath" Abbot pushes him off, smiling sadly. "go get your boy"
***
Dennis is bouncing his leg when Robby arrives. He looks so pale, the bags under his eyes are the color of a new bruise, his vertebrae jut out against his hoodie.
"Whitaker"
Dennis jumps, looking up at Robby startled before standing and shouldering his bag.
They walk to Robby's car, taking a shortcut through the park as Robby tries to make idle conversation, commenting on the chill, the light snow that hits the sidewalk and immediately melts.
The drive from Santos' to Robby's is punctuated by brief attempts at conversing and long periods of silence before they pull up at an unassuming townhouse.
Robby jangles his keys and unlocks the door, allowing Dennis inside first.
"It's a shoes off policy, I have some slippers if you want?" he cringes at his words. Fucking old man.
Dennis wordlessly toes off his sneakers and lines them up next to the other shoes, Robby does same before wandering over to the open plan kitchen-lounge.
"I'm making some tea, do you want some? There's uh..." he squints at the labels. "chamomile, ginger, maybe lemon?"
He's been trying to get him to speak for the last half hour to no avail, Dennis would just nod or shake his head or hum.
"Ginger if that's okay?"
Robby takes his small victory, he's got a feeling he's going to need it.
The kettle whistles on the stove and he fills his favorite cup with ginger tea before spooning in way too much sugar and handing it to Dennis who sips it carefully, giving Robby a wilted smile.
Small victories.
"I'm making some dinner, anything you hate in particular? Allergies?"
Another shake of the head, but accompanied by Dennis pulling out a chair to the counter and sitting gently.
He watches silently as Robby washes some vegetables and browns some chicken pieces in a pot, adding herbs and stock from a carton.
"It's my Bubbe's recipe. She thought everything could be fixed with some kind of soup." Robby says lightly, stirring the pot and collecting two bowls and spoons.
He ladles a large portion for Dennis and slides it towards him, trying not to stare as he eats.
He's jealous of a fucking spoon. Idiot.
With the silence starting to feel like a burden, Robby puts on a record and the soft tones of neutral classical music seep through the room.
Robby feels a twinge of pride seeing Dennis swallow the last of his portion, some color finally returning to his cheeks.
"I'll just go make up your room, the bathrooms just down the hall, feel free to shower." God his tone is so artificial, he feels like Dennis can see right through it. But he carries on rambling, telling him where to find the new toothbrushes and fresh towels before stumbling to the spare room to strip the bed and put on new linens. He chooses his favorite ones, soft and silky, and secretly hopes Dennis will feel his adoration in the gesture.
<><><>Dennis<><><>
It feels like he's still falling. Like that split second in which Robby caught him never happened. He's so embarrassed. It's fucking embarrassing. Being in such a state, crying in front of Dr Robby, eating his food, sitting in his house. He wishes he was here under different circumstances. Maybe after a night of drinking, or a date at the movies...
He pushes those thoughts from his mind. He's disgusting.
Filthy, perverted, a reprobate.
Dennis picks up his bag, walks slow to the bathroom, chooses the scratchiest towel he can find – although all of Robby's towels are soft – and searches for...something, anything. Robby doesn't have razor blades, but Dennis finds a pair of scissors flecked with remnants of his beard. That'll do. He turns on the water and waits till its just short of boiling before stripping down and stepping under the spray. His thighs have several small raised scars, some older, some new. He likes to think he'll stop one day, perhaps get one of those interesting tattoos to cover them up.
Heal.
He won't go too far, he won't attack his wrists and wait for Robby to find him cold and naked and gone. Robby doesn't deserve that. Ever. But he needs the relief, a break from the guilt of it. Instead of letting it consume him from the inside, he'll let it sit on his skin, something he can run his fingers over. Some small penance for what he is, a silent confession.
It hurts because of course it does. That's the point. The water makes it look worse than it is, the blood streaming down and dripping from his knee to the drain, swirling red. He cuts three times, twice on his right thigh, once on his left and its enough, its bearable now.
Dennis washes himself, scrubbing at his forearms, his hair and body. He's careful drying himself, not wanting to get any blood on the towel, he's mostly successful, but a small amount lands on the corner next to the label. Dennis sighs, but its not very noticeable so he just leaves it. He dabs at the cuts with some toilet paper while looking through the cupboard above the sink for some kind of covering for them. Some wide band-aids will work he thinks, unwrapping a few and smoothing them over the wounds. Satisfied with his handiwork he dresses, slipping on boxers, basketball shorts and a long sleeve t shirt. He splashes cold water on his face and tries in vain to fix his damp unruly hair, before walking back to the lounge–kitchen and dropping to the corner seat of the couch.
He closes his eyes and curls up small, take as little space as possible, make yourself at least tolerable.
Oh god, he'd barely said a word to Robby since...well since then. He'd have to go apologize, make him know that he is grateful, he's not angry with him, he's just – just and little bit in lo – Robby clears his throat and Dennis jumps in his seat, drawing his legs up and clutching his chest.
"Whoa there kid"
God did that do something to his stomach it shouldn't have.
"Didn't mean to startle you, Whitaker. I've made up your room, you can sleep, or watch some TV if you want? You choose" Robby smiles, trying to calm him. He's always trying to calm him, soothing touches to Dennis' shoulder in the ED, ordering him to take five and eat something after every calamity that entered the doors to the Pitt.
"Some TV would be great thanks" Dennis' voice cracks a little from disuse, but Robby brightens somewhat and reaches for the remote. He selects something meaningless and relaxes into the couch cushions next to Dennis, close enough to that Dennis can feel the heat of him.
He's barely cognizant of the fact that he's falling asleep; just for a minute, I just need to close my eyes for a minute...
Dennis rests against a solid warmth and sighs deeply in his sleep. So soft, feels safe. Like a home. Like a hand on his shoulder after a tough patient, soft brown eyes over the tops of glasses. Like effort, energy gladly spent just for him.
He dreams that Robby holds him and whispers into his hair, running his fingers down his arm in long languid movements. He dreams that he will wake up in the morning and Robby will be reading the news and drinking tea, holding him, kissing him, just – anything. He'd take anything if Robby gave it to him.
He'd burn in hell for Robby.
He will.