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The fireworks hadn't started yet when Dennis got to the roof looking for the shadow of a man he knew he'd find there. Somewhere, maybe in the countryside, they had been going for hours. But there, in the middle of Pittsburgh, they'd yet to go off.
Just like the man he looked for had yet to go on.
"Bit dark here, don't you think?," he spoke softly, walking slowly towards the railing. Robby was there, over the railing, looking on the distance as if the edge wasn't there. As if, like everything else on that day from hell, it didn't exist in real life.
"I've seen it darker" came the deep, rumbling and tired voice. Dennis almost stopped with how cold and void it was. He didn't, though. He was there on a mission.
"Well, it's dark enough for me. And I've had my fair share of dark nights around here," Dennis said, knowing his secret was out there, in the open, for everyone who wanted to mock or pity him. (If you'd ask him, he couldn't tell you what was worse.)
But still, that wasn't the reason he was on the roof, no. He had greater reasons to be there. So, even if he was trembling, he kept going, walking slowly, one feet after another, slow like a snail, coming close to someone who could be, as far as he was aware, just like any scared animal found in any trap.
Even from far away, he could see Robby's breath shaking, in and out rapidly, almost like a rabbit.
When he was close enough to be nauseated by the height, Dennis reached out, as slowly as he could, and grabbed the back of Robby's sweatshirt. On the tip of his fingers, against the hot, humid air, he felt Robby inhale, fast and, if he could define it himself, scared.
"I've waited for you to come and give me your keys, you know," Dennis said, closing both of his hands around the fabric, acting as if his attending couldn't feel anything and that it was all normal. "But you never came. And I've figured you'd be here," he stopped, his voice dropping even more, "with it being the 4th, with a great view for the fireworks and all that. So, I came." That was a lie, but he knew that Robby knew it was a lie. No use to being so open about his true motives so soon.
They stood there, not a sound between them besides Robby's desperate brathing.
And their silence, weirdly, moved. It moved with the wind, trying to mess with Dennis' sweat matted hair. Moved with Robby's shoulder, in and out as fast as any human could without being put on a gurney and led to a trauma room. Moved with the cars and motorcycles down on the street, going and stopping and going again with the traffic that didn't wait for anyone that was left behind, no matter how magnanimous they are.
It moved and moved for seconds, maybe minutes, but nothing came. No sound, no movement. Dennis held a sigh, a shaking breath, and tried again.
"I talked to Sant- Trinity, about... about what you asked me to do. I'm surprised it wasn't her scheme, by the way," he said, trying to go for light. His hand, however, shaked a bit, even if he focused mostly of his strength on holding – it, there, back, him. Anything and everything, all at once.
"Anyway... Dr. Robby, I really... deeply appreciate your offer, I do. And I will, for sure, do the basics of house sitting for you," he continued, feeling Robby inhale, back still turned to him, face invisible against all the light pollution, fireworks forgotten, and he went on, "but I don't think I can stay there."
Dennis paused, breathing deeply. Was he the right one to do this? To be there and try, as small as he is, to hold a human being as big as the man who had been holding so much inside himself and around him? He didn't think so. But when Robby's head turned ever so slightly to the right, to around where Dennis was, he felt like he, against all odds, just like ten months before, was the one.
"I... figured. I guess no one will be around, anyway. That's cool, I guess."
Robby sounded sure, but so, so small. Like he was drowning for hours and had just found a bit of air, but still hadn't figured out how that worked. "It's okay, Dr. Whitaker. I'll leave you my keys anyway, so you can grab my mail and water my plants. And if I don't come back-"
"Don't."
Dennis voice was firm, as much as the grip he had as both of his hands enclosed even more tightly on Robby, ignoring every rational thought about how this man was his superior and going for his waist.
"That's... Robby- We're off the clock, right? Can I call you that? Anyway," Dennis kept going despite stumbling, despite Robby's low, humourless laugh, "I can't housesit for a man who says he might not come back from a planned, supposedly closed three months sabbatical."
Robby hummed, his face turned again ahead, looking for... something. Dennis felt a shiver down his spine, as he had no idea what that broken man was seeing out there.
"I know that we're not close, and I understand you offered it to me for multiple reasons. But Dr. Robby, I can't do it, not like this."
"Why not, Dr Whitaker?"
Cold. Crisp. Cruel, if he led himself to believe any emotion, good or bad, had survived that day.
"It's Dennis, off the clock."
"Okay, Dennis. Why not?"
Dennis inhaled, unconsciously (or not) pulling his attending in, close, closer.
Safer.
"I just... I can't, not when you..." he trailed off, the first of the main fireworks coming. Red, white, blue and depressing all around.
"When I what?"
Dennis pulled, as careful and slowly as he could, managing to make Robby turn around. Eyes closed, shoulders slumped and face down, but still. As face to face as he could get.
"When you say again and again how much you wanna die," Dennis said, his voice cracking on the last word as Robby's own breathing became even more irregular. "I can't do this, not when I know how much we n-"
"Don't," Robby cut him off, demeanor never changing. "This place... the people, they don't need me. Today made it clear, so don't."
Dennis stopped. Robby was still over the railing, and he was behind, and the fireworks were going off, and the motorcycle was still down there, with a helmet with probably no use and house keys waiting for him.
His heart beat fast against his ribcage, months of suppressed feelings and buried worries trying to escape.
"Yeah, maybe that's how it is," he said, his voice small and low, a murmur that barely overcame the traffic down there. "Maybe the PTMC will move on, and everyone else will walk in and see your face in the mural and go on with their days. Maybe, if this hipotetical scenario where you don't come back is true, that is what happens."
Slowly, but surely, Dennis let go of the man, moving his left leg, then the right one, over the railing. Ignoring Robby, himself and all common sense, he took one small, slow step forward, a little thing before being held back by big, strong hands on his left arm. With that, he kept going.
"Or maybe, as things are, people will have to move or retire, not being able to deal with your absence," he said, whispering, not caring for the wind and the cars and the fireworks, as Robby held him from the side, more touchy than he had been in weeks. "Maybe I'll cry myself to sleep day after day inside your home, waiting for you to come back as a person, not a ghost. Maybe I'll be stuck here, on this roof, forever wondering what I could've done to make things have a different outcome."
He stopped, feeling his lungs failing and his voice leaving him momentarily. Beside him, something like a sob, small and soft, came from Robby.
Dennis inhaled, trying to find his voice, and said, "We won't make it without you, Dr. Robby. And, if I'm taking advantage of being off the clock to be completely honest, I don't think I can survive it."
The hand moved from his arm to his waist, holding firmly and closely.
"I can't take your keys, Michael, because the idea of you leaving after seeing how you are is the scariest thing I've ever faced. I can't let you leave...," and he stopped, trying for a deep breath, turning his head left with his eyes closed. Like that, he felt Robby, not as a solid presence, but as a body ready to take off. He reached his left arm behind Robby's back, holding for dear life as the wind made his drying hair sway, "I can't, because I need you, and I'll keep on needing you everyday, every night, everywhere."
Even without wanting it, he felt when a tear fell down, slowly. Dennis didn't dare to open his eyes, too look and see that deep, dark void he saw all day and all week in Robby's eyes. Instead, he inhaled deeply, trying to get drunk on all that Robby encompassed.
"You shouldn't..," Robby started, voice sounding scared before stopping. "Ah, Dennis, I'm so sorry."
Despite everything, Dennis understood. He knew that Robby, somehow, knew about his feelings. He also knew how bad it would be for a mentor to leave a mentee like that. He knew how, while trying to go for teaching about boundaries, he had made everything worse with Dennis, overstepping any resemblance of a line.
And still...
"Don't be sorry. Be with me," he said, turning ever so slowly, pushing Robby back and managing, with a bit of an effort, to convince the man to move his legs and bring both of them over the railing and off the edge.
As heavy as it was, Dennis breathed deeply, freely.
"Be with me, Michael. Don't leave me alone in your house, with your ghost, wondering if you will be back or not. Stay, even if you're out of the PTMC, resting, as you deserve. We'll do our best, but we need to make it good for you, to keep you around. I need to."
Robby exhaled, eyes still closed, hands now coming for Dennis' waist. Against all the bells ringing on his ears about HR violation and boundaries, Dennis moved his hands, feeling Robby's arms (and ignoring, on purpose, whatever resemblance of scars he felt there), stopping on his shoulder.
"I know I'm not the one that can help you or the one you need, and I'm probably the worst person at... this, whatever this is. But please, if you don't have anything or anyone else, stay for me."
He stopped, feeling Robby tighten his hold and pull him in.
In an act of boldness, against everything he knew was right and good and virtuous, Dennis moved his head enough to brush his lips against Robby's, who didn't immediately pull back. Mimicking what he saw Robby do to himself in moments of stress, he moved his left hand to the man's nape, petting it there, feeling the short hair there and the way his skin shivered. He felt more than heard Robby's deep inhale, pressing his lips more firmly before separating, touching their foreheads.
"I can still go and help you with your home, but I can't bear the idea of your ghost. I don't wanna live with any more ghosts, Michael. And I don't wanna lose you. Not now, not ever."
"Don't say that," Robby said, inhaling deeply once more, nose deep on Dennis' curls.
Dennis turned his head a bit to the side, looking over cars, bikes and ambulances, all empty of the one man he managed to hold into his arms. He tightened his hold, eyes going up, meeting with dark irises.
"Please, tell me we can just go to your house, and then you will rest, and we will pick this up in the morning. Please, Michael."
"I... yeah, okay."
Dennis perked up, eyes wide and wet, looking up, physically and metaphorically. "So you give up? You're staying?"
Robby stared at him, at his big smile, and smiled back, something fragile and small. Almost invisibly, he shook his head. "I'll see where this- you- go after today. I still have... plans." He stopped, suddenly. "But I can't leave when you're here, looking at me like that."
Robby's hand touched Dennis' cheek, the softest thing about him that whole day. There was still darkness and void inside his eyes, and Dennis knew it wouldn't go away easily. But Robby not leaving tonight, after more than 15 hours of working and riding on the edge of the abyss, was the best he could wish for. He'd work with that, and he'd hold on for dear life to it.
"If you're alive and breathing and walking, that's good for me. I'll go wherever you're safe. Even if I have to make you feel and stay safe with my own hands, I'll do it, and I'll keep on doing it, so you can work on accepting it, Dr. Michael Robinavitch."