Chapter Text
When Dennis chose to do Emergency Medicine as his practicum, he was told that he’d probably be the only sub working in the entire ER. As much as he’d hoped that wouldn’t be the case, fate’s always seemed to have an affinity for picking on him.
Stepping into the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center feels like entering a battlefield. Moaning and groaning patients littering the waiting room that he has to awkwardly skirt around to swipe his ID, an overwhelming wave of antiseptic and bodily fluids and the odd screaming voice once he’s safely inside.
Not in med-surg anymore, Whitaker.
He inches towards the main desk, unsure who exactly he’s supposed to be looking for right now. He’d been told his preceptor would find him, not vice versa, so.
There’s a blond woman clacking away at a desktop keyboard. Dennis rounds the desk to cast a hesitant shadow over her, and she pauses, glancing up with lifted brows. Her expression is plain and a little bit intimidating, but kind, as well. It’s an expression he’d seen on a plethora of overworked RNs during his clinicals.
The thickest Pittsburgh accent that would probably send the average Broken Bow resident reeling fills his ears. “And who do we have here? Another student doctor? You’re late, if you are, the others are already off observing.”
Dennis gives a nervous smile. “Uhm, no, student nurse, hi. Dennis Whitaker? I’m starting my practicum here today.”
The woman brightens, standing up with a smile of her own. “Well, why didn’t you say so sooner, student nurse Dennis Whitaker? Dana, nice to meet you, day-shift charge nurse here at The Pitt. Good to see another nurse around here, not nearly enough of us coming through these days. Perlah did mention she was getting a student today – must be you she was talking about, huh?”
Dennis's smile grows a tad, awkward. “Yep, must be me.”
“Well, we’ll get you settled alright, don’t you worry.”
Her gaze flickers down to his badge, lingering, and Dennis knows what she’s caught on. His ears warm. Every time. Sometimes he hates that his status has to be displayed like this, so out in the open for everyone to see. It’s the law, but still.
Dana looks at him again, and there isn’t any judgment in her eyes, but he can swear they’ve grown a tad softer. “Well, student nurse Whitaker, I’m sure you got familiar with submissive hospital staff’s on-site facilities during your clinicals?”
Dennis nods. There’d been a Submissive Staff Care Room – dubbed the Panic Room by him and his two other fellow submissive students – in med-surg, and in his brief stint in peds before that.
“Yeah, we had an SSCR in med-surg.”
Dana rounds the desk, coming to stand beside him. “We’ve got the same here, tucked away in a nice corner away from all the writhing patients. You get a CD in med-surg?”
A CD. Not a compact disc, but a crisis dom. The name for a certified dom trained to help subs with status-related endocrine issues – sudden, unexpected drops being the most common –, but mandatory to have around if there’s a sub in a high-stress work environment. Dennis isn’t really sure if they’re mandatory anywhere outside of the medical field. As a rule, after all, subs aren’t really granted admission into any high-stress careers. It was only fifteen years ago when the bill passed allowing them to even go into nursing.
“Uhm, yeah, there was a CD. Her name was Judy Denson, she was an RN.”
“Unfortunately none of our nurses here are doms, much less registered CDs.” Dana sounds apologetic. “Even more unfortunately, we’ve only got a dom working the night shift.”
Dennis’s heart stutters. What? Not that he needs a dom-babysitter, but – surely that’s a breach of workplace safety, allowing a sub nurse to enter their practicum without a CD around.
“We do have a CD, though, so don’t you worry,” Dana continues, unaware of Dennis’s inner turmoil. “You ever had a switch CD, student nurse Whitaker?”
A… switch CD? Doms and subs are already rare as they are, but switches? 1.7% of the entire population, if his textbook memory serves him right.
“You have a switch working here?”
“We’ve got everyone here,” Dana laughs, already striding away. “Hey, Robby, I want you to meet someone!”
Dennis isn’t sure whether he should stay put or follow, but all of a sudden Dana’s returning with someone in tow. Older, tall, bearded, a casual navy hoodie zipped over his scrubs. Dennis’s ears warm anew. Of course he has to have a thing for older guys. Of course his CD has to be hot. Judy Denson wasn’t particularly unattractive, but she was a woman, and years of battling his sexuality has confirmed for Dennis that women are not his type. This guy, on the other hand…
“New student nurse?” the man – Robby – asks.
He’s wearing a similar expression to Dana, that no-nonsense, albeit kind look. When he draws close enough, Dennis can feel his dominance, calm in the air, lapping at his mind like little waves. Instinctively, Dennis finds his shoulders relaxing. Nice dominance. Safe dominance. His badge proclaims him as Dr. Michael Robinavitch M.D. – Attending physician – Switch.
Dennis offers another awkward smile. “Yeah, I’m Dennis Whitaker, I’m starting my practicum today. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, Whitaker, I’m Dr. Robinavitch, but everyone calls me Dr. Robby,” Robby introduces himself. His gaze scrapes up and down Dennis’s form, barely lingering on his badge before meeting his, soft and understanding. “Well, sorry to cut right to the chase like this, but are you familiar with hospital workplace protocol regarding subs?”
Dennis’s head flutters yes. “Yeah, we had SSCRs in my clinicals. I had a CD, too.”
“I’m sure Dana already told you, but I’m the only registered CD on the day shift.” Robby places a hand on his shoulder, squeezes, in a way that makes his brain momentarily glitch. “So that means I’ll be the one offering you support if you run into any status-related troubles during your shifts, okay?”
Dennis manages another nod. Part of him is confused – how can a switch be a CD? How can a switch even be an attending physician? His mind races through possibilities. Studies on switches are few and far between, but there was a small portion of his mandatory status classes in college that covered them. For the most part, they’re equally submissive-dominant – a true 50-50 mix, both headspaces simultaneously present. For this reason, switches are legally treated as submissives. They might not require the sheer amount of daily dominance that submissives do, but they still require some, and that’s flagged as a safety concern within the workplace, the same as it is with submissives.
Studies have shown, though, that some switches’ headspaces skew vastly different than the standard 50-50. 60-40 submissive-dominant. 30-70. Even 90-10.
Robby chuckles, giving his shoulder a final pat before pulling back. “I’m sure you’ve got all sorts of questions, which I’ll do my best to answer sometime. For now, I’ve gotta get back to my patients and students, and I think you have to find Perlah, if I’m not mistaken?”
Dennis wills himself to be a calm, rational human being. “Oh, uh, yeah. I think Dana was saying something about a Perlah.”
“Perlah’s great, you’ll learn a lot from her.” Robby gives a kind smile. “No shame in coming to find me if you start feeling a little off, okay? You can tell someone else, too, and they can come get me instead. We don’t get many subs working in the Pitt, but I’ll try my best to make sure you’re alright down here.”
And then he’s gone, quickly whisked into a conversation with someone Dennis doesn’t recognise.
Dennis puffs an exhale, pretending he still can’t feel the lingering after-effect of the switch’s touch on his shoulder. Right. That went well.
“Dennis Whitaker?”
Dennis swirls around to face a woman in a grey hijab, an expectant look on her face.
“Dennis Whitaker? My student nurse?”
Dennis forces his third big smile of the day. “Hi, yeah, that’s me. Nice to meet you.”
"Nice to meet you, I’m Perlah Alawai, I’ll be your preceptor here in the Pitt. First time working in Emergency Medicine?”
“Yeah, uhm, I was mostly in med-surg during my clinicals, spent a bit of time in peds, too.”
Perlah hums in interest. “You can expect a lot more chaos down here than in med-surg. How comfortable are you with starting IVs?”
/
Being a nurse is great fun. Before all hell breaks loose, Dennis starts what's probably over fifty IVs. Perlah drags him from room to room, pushes him forward, chastises whatever doctor’s in the room because I know there’s a nurse shortage, but why would you let a doctor give an IV when there’s a perfectly good nursing student right here who will do it for you?. Sometimes, Robby is there, and he’ll place a warm, comforting hand on Dennis’s shoulder when he’s done and say, Good job, Whitaker.
It’s a fucking IV. But Dennis still accepts the praise, tries to ignore how it makes his head buzz pleasantly and his tension melt. Judy Denson didn’t offer much physical attention during his time in med-surg – there was the occasional praise, sure, just enough to keep him afloat, but she was a sterner, more distant sort of CD. Only really stepped in when necessary, when Dennis was shaking, or his vision was going spotty, or – more embarrassingly – he was flopping to his knees in the middle of the hospital corridor, narrowly avoiding being slammed into by a crash cart.
So, there’s IVs and IVs and more IVs. Perlah says she’ll let him do something else tomorrow, but that she’s come across far too many student nurses who aren’t comfortable with starting them. In the meantime, he eavesdrops on conversations happening around him, what the doctors and med students have to say, lets the medical jargon, their diagnoses wash over him.
In another lifetime, he’d be in on their conversations, not just starting the IVs.
He also talks to people – residents, student doctors. Trinity Santos deems him Huckleberry and tells him she’s all for sub rights in the medical industry. Then she tells him not to faceplant into a patient if he drops one day mid-shift. She’s kind of a bitch. Dennis thinks he likes her. He also kills a rat, which feels like a ridiculous feat for a sub student nurse, but. Growing up in Broken Bow will do that to you.
It’s all going fine. And then, of course, all hell breaks loose. The Pittfest shooting happens.
Dennis doesn’t remember the half of it. Suddenly, he’s not just starting IVs, he’s drawing blood, he’s suturing wounds, he’s splinting arms and legs and even performing CPR at one point. The Pitt is a cesspit of distressed people being wheeled in on gurneys to the mechanical rhythm of an assembly line. He doesn’t have time to eat, barely has time to think, to breathe, but whenever he feels himself being tugged into that ugly, narrow, dark place, Robby is there. Pulling him back by his shirt to place a big, warm hand on his shoulder or neck, sugar-sweet praise on his lips, and suddenly, the world opens its arms again, welcoming him, giving him space.
There’s another attending physician now, a dom. Dr. Jack Abbot. Dennis doesn’t need to be introduced, doesn’t need to see his badge, to know he’s one, because he can feel the man’s dominance whenever he’s within a five-foot radius of him. Stronger than Robby’s – not sharp or prickly, just louder. Solid. Where Robby’s dominance feels fluid, like water, waves, Jack Abbot’s feels like a brick wall.
It takes a while for them to be introduced, what with the chaos of the Pitt. Dennis toys with the idea that maybe he’s not a CD, that he doesn’t have the right certification. Said idea makes him feel a bit sad, which makes him kick himself internally. Dr. Jack Abbot might also be another hot old man – really the epitome of a silver fox –, but that doesn’t mean Dennis should want him. He shouldn’t even want Robby. CD and sub staff relationships are strictly professional.
There are times within the chaos where he observes some key moments. Moments that make him question the whole not-a-CD thing. Namely, when he’s passing through the crossfire of incoming gurneys and staff traffic and notices Jack and Robby paused amongst the commotion. Robby’s clenched fists and shaky breaths. Jack’s hand on his head, fingers curled in his hair, lips moving with inaudible murmurs. Dennis always feels pulled to stay, to watch them, wanting in on their little bubble. But it feels like an invasion of privacy, none of his business, and he’ll either tear himself from the sight or have Perlah shooing him off before he can consider it for any longer.
Jack appears behind him when he’s just finished with an IV. The hairs on the back of Dennis’s neck stand up even without the dom speaking a word, as if sensing his presence.
The dom leans around him with a grim smile. “Hey, kid, sorry I couldn’t introduce myself earlier. I’m Jack Abbot, night-shift attending, registered CD. How are you holding up?”
Dennis stares at him like a deer caught in the headlights. “Uhm, I’m fine, Dr. Abbot.”
“You’re shaking a bit,” Jack observes, taking one of his wrists easily with a veiny, calloused hand, giving it a squeeze. Dennis’s limb flops still in his hold, a shaky exhale leaving his lips. Jack’s brow furrows minutely, and another squeeze, this one with blunt nails slightly digging in, has Dennis melting into a puddle. Jack ruffles his hair, in a way that feels incredibly demeaning but also incredibly good. “There we go, that’s better. We won’t normally be working together unless you take the night-shift sometime, but today both me and Robby are gonna be looking out for you. I’ll be watching you, kid.”
And with that ominous note, he’s gone, leaving Dennis to consider the barely-perceptible crescent-shaped marks left behind on his wrist. He ghosts over them with a revering finger, mouth dry. Fuck.
“Whitaker?” Perlah calls. “Patient needs a wound suture, come on!”
/
Later, he accidentally walks in on Robby having a panic attack while searching for a blanket. Or – well, at first he thinks it’s a panic attack. Curled up on the floor, shaking, a thousand-yard stare, laborious breathing. One key difference makes him think otherwise. Robby’s hand tangled in his own hair, pulling – no, yanking with so much force Dennis is sure he’ll rip it out. Another hand curled around his thigh, squeezing tight enough that the veins in his wrist pop. Dennis would recognise the signs without any textbook references, has been up close and personal with them himself. Self-domming, self-soothing, teetering on self-harm. He’s dropping.
“Dr. Robby,” Dennis tries. “Dr. Robby, are you okay? Can you hear me?”
No response. It’s that bad, an unresponsive drop – call for immediate dom attention, or there’s a risk of losing consciousness. Dennis flounders, wondering if he should try to help, but frankly, he is the last person in the Pitt who should be helping someone through a drop. He stumbles out the door with his blanket, exchanging brief words with Trinity, then McKay as he searches for Jack. He has to keep himself from running when he spots him in the labyrinth of gurneys mid-conversation with Mohan.
“Dr. Abbot!”
Jack casts him a sideways, critical glance, one hand holding up an IV bag. His free hand darts out, finding Dennis’s nape to clamp down on like a steam press. Dennis’s brain squeals. Fuck him. “Hey, kid. You alright?”
“I’m f-fine,” Dennis stutters, trying and failing to keep his composure now that there’s a hand attached to him like a great, calloused heating pad of dominance. “Uhm, in peds – the morgue – there’s – I think you should – you should really go –”
Jack’s brow darts up, looking over Dennis’s shoulder at the room in question. The gears in his head work in record time, because it’s only a moment later that he asks, “Robby?”
Dennis nods rapidly. Jack hums, not seeming very surprised, as if he was expecting this, then relinquishes his hold on Dennis’s neck, pawns his IV bag off to him. He pats his head like a dog.
“Thanks, kid. Mohan, can you keep an eye on student nurse Whitaker for me?”
With that note, he’s off. Mohan looks oddly wired, but also exhausted, and sends him a small smile.
“How are you doing, Whitaker?”
Dennis breathes a strained laugh. “Well, you know.”
Mohan laughs in return. “Yeah, I know.”
/
It takes a while for Robby to return. When he does, he’s a little pale, but far more lucid, definitely not mid-drop anymore. Dennis can’t help but watch as he and Jack share another brief moment outside the morgue. This one doesn’t contain any clinical, certified dominance, though. Rather, their lips meet in a brief kiss, and there’s a soft caress to a cheek, more hushed words, before they part ways.
Dennis’s eyes round in surprise.
… together?
He can’t entertain the thought for long. Jack returns and takes back the drip bag, gives him another head pat that has him internally preening.
“Thanks for holding onto this for me. You doing okay?”
Dennis forces a smile. Everyone kept asking him that in med-surg, too – not just Judy Denson, but the neutral staff, as well. Anyone who’d caught a glimpse of his badge. He’s gotten used to the prodding concern, even if it can feel overbearing at times. “All good, Dr. Abbot.”
Jack scans him as if he’s a patient being assessed for wounds. Dennis has a feeling he’s assessing for lies. Eventually, he nods, seeming satisfied. “Go help Perlah, kid, I’m sure she could use some.”
It’s basically an order. Dennis’s brain responds like a proper sub, and his legs carry him off.
/
Jack and Robby flash in and out of his vision over the next couple hours as the excitement of the night dwindles. It’s as if Robby wasn’t just combating a critical drop, warm hands all over Dennis, on his neck, shoulders, arms, head, those low, soothing praises puffing from his lips with the ease of a breath. They both find him when everything’s said and done, when Dennis is getting ready to sequester himself back to his totally-not-illegal encampment upstairs.
“Hey, Whitaker,” Robby begins easily. “How you holding up?”
Dennis manages a small smile. He’s exhausted, is what he is, and can’t wait to crash on his uncomfortable bed and try to forget this day ever happened. “I’m fine, Dr. Robby. Thanks, uh –” he glances between the two. The couple? “Thanks for today, you know – uhm. Helping me. I think it would’ve been… bad, maybe, if you hadn’t.”
Jack quirks a brow. “Registered CDs, kid. That’s what we’re here for. You gonna get home alright? Dom coming to pick you up? Not sure it’s very safe for you to drive after a shift like this.”
“I’m gonna get an Uber. Dom’s asleep by now,” Dennis lies easily. He’s used to lying about these things. “I’ll get home safe, though.”
“Are you sure?” Robby’s concern is palpable. “Shift like this will mess with anyone, but especially those with submissive hormones. Studies show subs working in the ER face a twenty-three percent higher chance of dropping during or after a shift, and that’s definitely not accounting for facing a mass tragedy during one of them.”
It’s strange, knowing Robby’s a part of the statistics he’s talking about. Even if Dennis knows logically that he’s a switch, the way he acts, the way his dominance feels – he’d never have truly digested the information if it hadn’t been for what he witnessed earlier. He vows to ask. Someday. When he’s not dead on his feet. And also has the balls.
Dennis shakes his head dismissively. “I’ll be alright, don’t worry. Crash when I get home. Have some… dom-time.”
His dom-time will include clutching his pillow to his chest and pretending it’s a living, breathing human being. Maybe squeezing his wrist like Jack did earlier, trying to insert his own fingernails into the existing divots, if they’re still visible.
“Alright.” Robby sounds unconvinced. “You want one of us to call an Uber for you?”
“Oh, I, uhm, booked one already.” Dennis takes a step to the side, wanting out of this conversation now that it’s dragged on for as long as it has. The more they poke, after all, the more likely it is one of them will realise something. Both their gazes are unfairly analytical, after all. Fucking doctors. “I'll see you guys tomorrow, I guess?”
They look like they want to press more, but when Robby opens his mouth, Dennis doesn’t miss the hand Jack places on his back, the way his lips immediately shut.
“See you tomorrow, Whitaker,” he calls instead. “Get home safe.”
“See you, kid,” Jack echoes.
As he’s high-tailing out of there, intent on getting back to the safety of his abandoned room, he catches the beginnings of their next conversation –
“You gonna stay here, Jack, or come home with me?”
“You know, honey, after a drop like that, I think you should probably be calling me sir for the next few days.”
A barked laugh. “Hah. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Mm.” A sloppy kiss. “Very much. Others were talking about having a beer in the park, you feeling up for it?”
Dennis’s feet pick up speed beneath him, eyes rounded into saucers. Well, that answers his question. Very, very much a couple.