Chapter Text
Dennis' dad dies on a regular Thursday morning. There's nothing special about the day — it's July, sunny and vibrant, but still too cold to go out without a jacket. Dennis gets the call in front of the hospital, on the short walk from the parking lot to the front door. He tells Trinity to go ahead and picks up just for his mom's hoarse voice to tell him that his dad never woke up. He was already cold by the time she got up to feed the cows. The EMTs said it was probably an aneurysm or a silent heart attack, told her not to blame herself, that the drive to the hospital was so long that she couldn't have done anything even if she had known right away. Dennis tells her they were right. He asks if there's someone with her and when she confirms that Luke and his wife, Sophie, are keeping her company, he breathes out a silent sigh of relief.
The funeral will be on Monday. The priest already told them everything would be taken care of on his part. His cousin owns the funeral home, they'll only have to worry about the bill.
Dennis tells his mom he's sorry, his throat tight and painful. When asked whether he'll be there, he says he doesn't know, and then she hangs up. His mom hasn't ended a phone call with an "I love you" in years, so it's alright.
His phone tells him he has five minutes left until his shift. This means he's practically late, as they're usually supposed to have some time to drop off their stuff and help with handover. He's sure if he walked up to Robby right now and told him his dad died, he'd be sent home on bereavement leave immediately. But he's only been an intern a week and if he goes home right, he'll break down. He knows it, in his bones. This isn't just about his dad dying, it's everything else that the memory of him stands for. A memory, already, as if he wasn't alive just yesterday, talking and breathing. Not that Dennis would know. He hasn't seen his dad in over five years.
He blinks himself out of his thoughts, puts his phone on DND and walks in.
"Huckleberry?" Trinity asks as he passes her, holding onto her stethoscope with raised eyebrows like she doesn't believe anything he's going to say. Dennis nods, ducking into the locker room. He stuffs his jacket in his locker, closes the door a little too loud, and walks onto the floor with, hopefully, a neutral face. Trinity catches him right away, bumping her shoulder into his and nodding towards the huddle they're technically late for. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Hopefully he doesn't. The last thing he needs right now is his dad's spirit coming to haunt him.
"I'm fine."
"Didn't ask." She levels him with a look.
They come to a stop in front of Robby and the majority of dayshift. Dennis avoids looking at Robby directly as he talks, telling them they've got the usual backlog of waiting room patients, to keep up nightshift's good work, and more that Dennis doesn't really hear. The huddle breaks after a few moments but before he can escape, a large hand lands on his shoulder.
"Whitaker, a word?" Robby asks, even though he's already leading Dennis towards one of the quieter corners of the ED. "Is everything okay? You look… Tired."
"I'm fine. Slept for eight hours and everything." Dennis smiles and hopes it comes off as reassuring. "Just having a weird day. I'll be at the top of my game in a second."
"Right. And if something happened, you'd tell me?"
Is he asking him as a boss, or as the guy who's fucking Dennis in his free time?
"Sure. Yeah, of course." He nods, then clears his throat and looks away.
"Good. Get back to work, then."
Another pat on his shoulder and he's free to go. He busies himself with the first available patient and gets lost in the work.
When Dennis was little, probably five or six, his dad took him fishing for the first time. Just the two of them. It was a big shock. All his dad did was work, work, and work. Dennis would usually spend time with his mom, play outside, help out with the chores in the cute, unhelpful way most kids did. He'd hand her the laundry, because he couldn't reach the strings to hang it up himself, he'd pick out the bad berries when she was making pie, anything to make himself useful before he could start working like his big brothers. So when his dad told him to eat his breakfast and grab his rain boots, Dennis was beside himself. He was practically vibrating with joy by the time they got in the truck and drove to the nearest lake.
He still remembers the smell of it, the mud and still water. The way the sunrays reflected on the surface, the ripples the fish made as they swam to the surface, curious. He'd loved it. They'd spent the whole day fishing, sitting on the bank in uncomfortable, foldable chairs. His dad had a beer in his cup holder and Dennis had a carton box of orange juice. He'd felt grown up. He didn't catch a single fish and the chair dug uncomfortably into the backs of his sore thighs, but for a long time, he would say it was the best day of his life.
They get a guy with a fishing hook embedded in his cheek. A holographic fishing lure is still attached to it, representing what Dennis thinks is supposed to be a small tuna fish.
"How did this happen, Mr. Miller?" Dennis asks while examining the site. It should be possible to pull out without involving surgery.
"I let my wife try out fishing," he says. "First and last time."
"I'm guessing you got hit while she was casting?"
"Somehow." He rolls his eyes, as if trying to communicate 'Women, am I right?', which Dennis doesn't acknowledge.
"We see this kind of injury more often than you'd assume," He says instead, because it's true. "Here's the plan: We're going to numb the area and break the hook in two in order to pull it out with minimal damage to the tissue." He turns to Jesse, who's already preparing the tools. "Are you allergic to any medication?"
"Not as far as I know." The patient looks between him and Jesse, suddenly concerned. "Is this going to scar?"
So not a farmer, then. Dennis had never met an actual farmer, or fisherman, who cared even a bit about scars. Most of them had sun damage by thirty.
"The scarring will be minimal, but, yes. It should fade over time, if that makes you feel better." Dennis thanks Jesse for the topical anaesthetic. "This might sting."
It does, and Mr. Miller shows his dissatisfaction with the fact. If he could move his face, he'd be grimacing. Right now, he can only scrunch his eyebrows.
"We'll give it a few minutes to numb you up. If you need anything, I'll be around," Dennis reassures him once he's done, disposes of the syringe, and goes to find Robby. Even as an intern, he has to update his attendings on his solo cases. He finds him near the hub, looking up at the board with his arms crossed and glasses perched low on his nose.
"Dr. Robby," he says, catching the man's attention. "I've got a fishing accident in north six. I'm waiting for the anesthetic to work and then I'll be removing the hook."
"How bad is it stuck?" Robby asks, glancing down at him.
"Went clean through and back out. I don't even know how he did it." He allows himself to share a small smile with Robby. "I'll cut it in two with pliers and pull the two pieces out. Should be a clean removal."
"Great. Good work."
He hasn't even done anything yet, but the words still give him a small buzz. And the removal does go well — the two pieces separate without an issue and he's able to pull them out and even avoid stitches.
"When's the last time you had your tetanus shot done?" He asks Mr. Miller while he's patching him up.
"A few years ago. My wife got scared after she cut her hand on some wire and made the entire family update their shots."
"You have a smart wife." He dutifully ignores Miller's eye roll. "You're just about ready to be discharged. We'll give you aftercare instructions before you go, but if at any time the wounds start to itch, swell, or ache, you'll need to come back in for a checkup."
"So I'm free to go?"
"In a minute." Dennis nods and waits for Jesse to hand over the instructions.
Some paperwork later, his patient is finally discharged and Dennis is back at the board, looking for the next one. He's reached that time during his shift when the fluorescents start bothering him and he's really feeling the lack of breakfast, because he's just the kind of person who never learned to eat it, so he uses the short lull in incoming traumas to grab a granola bar from his stash and drink some mildly warm breakroom coffee. He checks his phone while he's chewing and immediately sees his brother's name pop up in a text notification. He reads the words "You're not even coming to—" and turns off his phone.
The next few hours fly by. He drifts from patient to patient, setting noses, taking out random objects from places they shouldn't have been in and ignoring Trinity's concerned glances. Even if he looks or behaves off, it's clearly not impeding his work, so he can't bring himself to care. Dana and Robby seem to have noticed as well, but they don't call him on his bullshit yet. He is pulled by his elbow towards the ambulance bay and given a cigarette by the charge nurse, though.
"Keep me company. You're the only doctor who still smokes in this entire place," She says, and Dennis interprets it as a mostly playful dig. Whatever, free cigarettes.
"Thanks." He waits for her to light her own and then catches the lighter. The first inhale does immediately make him feel better, if not a little nauseous. He's never quitting at this rate but, again, can't bring himself to care. He blows out the smoke at the overcast sky and watches it turn invisible against the white clouds.
"Having a tough day?" Dana side-eyes him, rocking on her heels. "You're usually skipping all over the place. Even Robby couldn't cheer you up."
That's a weird thing to say, he thinks. He shrugs his shoulders, bringing the cigarette to his lips to avoid having to respond.
"Day like any other," He finally says. "I'm doing my job, that's all that matters."
"You're starting to sound like him," Dana says, voice thick through the smoke.
"Who?" Dennis frowns, confused.
"Robby."
She doesn't elaborate. Dennis wisely doesn't ask.
When Dennis was thirteen and Luke was eighteen, their dad caught them smoking in the barn. Luke got off with a slap to the back of his head and a strong worded warning to never do this kind of shit again. Their dad was probably right — giving a thirteen year old cigarettes was really fucking stupid — but in Luke's defense, he'd thought it was better than if Dennis discovered vaping and went down that path instead. Not that Dennis had the kind of friends who vaped. The excuse was flimsy, Luke hadn't gotten away with it, and he'd be the one waking up at the crack of dawn to feed the cows for the foreseeable future.
Dennis' punishment was different. Dad asked Luke for the pack of cigarettes, Marlboro Reds, because Luke had always been a little pretentious, and once they were alone, he asked Dennis to smoke one. And then another. And another.
By the third cigarette, Dennis was nauseous and dizzy. By the fifth, the world was spinning and he wanted to throw up, his mouth felt like he'd eaten an old shoe or a burning tire and he couldn't stop coughing. By the seventh, he'd thrown up twice already, right there on the hay in the barn, and he couldn't really breathe.
The pack wasn't full. The eighth was the last, finished in trembling hands, his dad telling him "You wanted a smoke so bad? Don't stop now. You know what happens if you stop now". Dennis, thirteen, crying "like a little bitch" with some vomit in the corner of his mouth and barely standing upright, finished that cigarette.
His dad left him there. Dennis still had to clean up. Even after he was done, he didn't sleep through the night, his stomach turning and his lungs burning until dawn.
The next time he smoked was in Pittsburgh. He still threw up afterwards and, to this day, the smell of Marlboro Reds makes him violently ill.
"Incoming trauma, bicycle versus pedestrian, ETA one minute," Dana yells out.
Dennis looks up from the computer and quickly saves the chart he was working on. He's one of the only available doctors, so he's not surprised when Robby swings by the hub and asks him, Javadi and Mohan to come with. The four of them meet the EMTs halfway and are met with the sight of a woman with a bleeding head wound covered with gauze, a leg twisted in the wrong direction with half the wheel still attached to it, spokes embedded into her skin, and what looks like a broken collarbone.
"Damn," Javadi whispers, stopping for a second. "I'm so glad I don't know how to ride a bike."
"You don't know how to..?" Mohan shakes her head. "Who's our patient?" She asks the EMTs instead, taking charge.
"ID says Stephanie Kowalski, twenty one, no recent medical history. Allergic to penicillin. She was the cyclist, judging by…" The woman nods towards the bike tire still attached to the patient. "...she must have been riding at 30 miles per hour or more. The pedestrian was taken to Presby. She didn't wake up with a sternal rub."
"Alright, let's get her to trauma one," Robby instructs and then catches Princess on the way. "Can you page surgery and ortho?"
"Course."
"Where do we even start?" Javadi asks once they make it to the trauma bay.
"She needs a head CT so we have to remove the spokes first, just in case." Robby rubs his chin with his forearm, avoiding his fresh gloves. "Honestly, OR should probably take over. She's stable," He says, while checking her pupils. "Pupils are reactive."
"They definitely don't have beds or a surgery spot. Plus, she needs ortho for that shoulder and possibly neuro for the head." Mohan sighs. "We can't start patching up her head before we know the damage, it could impair later treatment."
"I think this is the least work we've done on a trauma since I came here," Javadi notices.
Dennis nods, just standing there. There's nothing for them to do, not really.
"She's stable. Let's keep it that way and monitor for signs of consciousness. If she does wake up, we'll have to make sure she doesn't aggravate her injuries," Robby directs and begins taking off his gloves. "Javadi, Whitaker, you can dress the head injury, disinfect and wrap the leg. Dr. Mohan, if you wouldn't mind taking charge until OR gets back to us?"
"Got it." Samira nods. "Javadi, you're on the head injury, Whitaker, start cleaning the leg."
They both get to work. Stephanie's leg is a mess, to put it lightly, not only broken but also stabbed with at least three spokes. Dennis cleans around the metal carefully, working alongside Javadi, who's doing the same for the patient's head.
"You really don't know how to ride a bike?" Mohan asks while she's watching.
Javadi nods, focused on the cut, her tongue poking out of her mouth. "Yeah, I mean. I was practically in high school by eight. I didn't really have the time for outdoor activities. My mom signed me up for soccer once, but then my teammate got injured and she pulled me from the team." She shrugs once her hands are free.
"I always forget you're basically twelve," Dennis says, because it's just the three of them and he and Javadi have grown close enough to joke around by now. It's way nicer than anything Trinity would have said, that's for sure.
"Alright, Huckleberry. You were probably driving a tractor by six years old." Javadi rolls her eyes and Mohan laughs silently at the image.
"We didn't have one. We grew corn and had cows." He presses his lips together while cleaning a particularly tricky spot. "Dr. Mohan, could you hand me some pliers?"
"Gravel?" She asks and hands him the tool.
"Yup."
"So what did you learn at the farm?" Javadi asks. "Were you just milking cows all day?"
"You only milk cows once a day and, besides, we automated it by the time I was old enough to do it. No, I fed them and helped with the births." And put the sick ones down, but Mohan and Javadi don't need to know that.
"That's cute." Javadi hums and applies a pressure bandage to the head wound. "It's mostly clotting on its own."
"Good. Nice job, Javadi. Whitaker?"
"Nearly done." He pulls the final piece of gravel from the wound and accepts the bandages Princess hands him. "Thanks."
It doesn't take long to wrap the spokes. It's only so that they don't move during transport or if she wakes up before surgery, so he's careful not to wrap them too tight and move the metal.
"This is going to be a bitch to rehabilitate later." Dana pokes her head into the bay, whistling at the sight of the leg. "Whitaker, Robby's asking for you."
"Did he say why?" He asks, pushing himself away from the gurney and pulling off his gloves.
"Nope."
That's all he gets before Dana turns on her heel and leaves.
"Go, we can handle it on our own," Mohan tells him, gesturing at the unconscious patient. "Three doctors is a little overkill."
He sees Javadi stifle a smile at being called a doctor, but doesn't have the energy to tease her for it. To be honest, he doesn't have the energy for anything but the work right now. And even that is running low. It's barely noon yet he feels as if he's worked a double.
He doesn't even make it to the hub before Trinity appears next to him and drags him by the elbow to the break room.
"Seriously, what is wrong with you?" She asks in a hushed tone, looking behind him to see if they're alone. "You're being so weird."
"I'm really not." He tries backing away, but she grabs his forearm again. It's a light touch. He could definitely still leave if he wanted to, but it seems pertinent that he doesn't. They don't touch a lot, not unless they're both drunk, so this must be important to her. "Trin, I'm fine."
"I don't believe that. Ever since you got that phone call you've looked miserable." She doesn't say the obvious; she's worried. She probably hates that she's worried, but she is, and Dennis immediately feels bad for causing it.
"I'm perfectly capable of working today, okay? I'm—"
"That's not what I asked. Jesus, do you really think work is all that matters right now?" She sighs deeply, looking up at the ceiling and dropping his hand. "You look like you're one mild inconvenience away from walking into traffic. You're avoiding me and Robby and his worried looks from across the floor are starting to do me in." The joke doesn't alleviate her previous words at all. "What could have possibly happened during those five minutes before our shift?"
"I…" Well. The only options are deflect or lie. And he doesn't like either of them. "I got some bad news."
"What? Someone died?" His silence and expression must be enough of an answer because her jaw drops a little and her eyes go big for a second before she can collect herself. "Fuck, who was it?"
"My dad." He genuinely stunned her into silence. That's a new one.
"You shouldn't fucking be here," She finally says, hands raised like she wants to shake him. "Go home!"
"And do what? Sit by myself and think about it? I don't want to." He looks away, genuinely annoyed. "I'm doing my job, that's all there is to it."
"You're a fucking liability right now, Dennis. You got life-changing news, you shouldn't be working right now."
"Don't—" He sighs, crosses his arms on his chest and looks up at the ceiling. "I'm not a liability. I've been doing my job."
"If you don't want to be alone we can ask Mel to keep you company. Even if she has Becca today I'm sure she'll be happy for the company." Trinity tries.
"I'm not going home."
"Dennis." She waits until he looks her in the eyes, so determined to, what? Take care of him? He isn't sure. Either way, it's making him feel uncomfortable. It's so uncharacteristic of her. He still owes her for the apartment and he really can't afford, and doesn't want, to accept her help. And he's sure that offering it doesn't come easy for Trinity, either. "Look at me."
He does, his jaw clenched.
"I haven't talked to my dad in half a decade. We weren't close. I'm fine, I just want to keep doing my job."
"You shouldn't have to."
"I want to."
It's Trinity who gives up first. She's stubborn, but she must see that this is hopeless. He's not going home early, never has.
"I believe you. But if I notice you slipping I will tell Robby." Her eyebrows furrow a little, like she hates that she's agreeing to this. "I have to get back to charting. Don't do anything stupid."
She leaves him with that, but not before squeezing his arm on the way. Dennis has to swallow hard before going back out on the floor, a giant ball of guilt rolling in his throat.
"You wanted to see me?" He walks up to Robby, already done with the conversation. If he's about to receive another "What is wrong with you, go home" spiel, he'd rather skip it. Alas, Robbie is his boss, so he can't.
"Joy is coming in later today, half shift. Are you okay showing her around again?"
"Yeah." He blinks, not having expected this. "I didn't think she was in today."
"Gloria poached her for a seminar." Robby brushes his hand through his hair, looking at his tablet instead of at Dennis. "Ogilvie is out sick, so it's just her. She should get here in an hour or so."
"Okay." Dennis nods, already looking at the board to find himself a patient to treat in the meantime.
"One more thing." This time, when Dennis turns, Robby's already looking at him over the rim of his glasses. "I'm leaving for my sabbatical in the morning. Can you see me tonight, after shift?"
There it is. The giant, co-workers with benefits, HR-violating elephant in the room.
Dennis looks down at his shoes, unsure. He'd love to see Robby after work. He'd love to come over, get fucked, forget this entire day happened. But— There's always a fucking "but"— he's certain that in the minutes afterwards, if Robby looks him in the eyes even once, if he kisses him and asks what's wrong, he'll break. He'll do something embarrassing, like start crying, and he can't have that happen. Robby and Dennis don't do that, they don't talk. They just fuck. And it has to stay that way.
"Just for a second. I have plans with Trin," He says, looking back up at Robby. "The usual place?"
"Sure."
"Okay."
An awkward moment passes between them before Dennis steps back, looking up at the board.
"I'll get back to work," He says, already moving before Robby can answer.
It wasn't his dad who taught him how to ride a bike. His dad was working, like he usually was, out in the fields. Dennis can still remember what he looked like clear as day — the indigo overalls, a ratty gray shirt underneath. He always wore a cap to prevent heatstroke, green and old, weathered with age. His face was tanned, covered with sun damage and a scar near his eye from when he was a kid. Dennis had his eyes. He didn't get his height, though, never grew past his dad's chin. The Whitakers were a tall family with the exception of Dennis and his mom. He remembers his mom joking about how people shrink as they age and that, maybe, sometime in the future, he'd outgrow his father still. Maybe if they still had time, he would.
His next patient is an eighty year old woman, brought in by her son after she tripped and fell in the bathroom. She didn't hit her head, but her shoulder took a nasty hit. The son stops him before he can even peek behind a curtain, expression already apologetic.
"Hi, I'm sorry, are you our doctor?" When Dennis nods, he immediately continues. "My mother has Alzheimer's. It's quite bad, I just wanted to warn you. She might be confused, forget where she is, and not be able to answer your questions."
"That's alright," Dennis reassures him. "You said she fell? Does she usually have difficulty moving around, any coordination issues?"
"Not really, no. She's usually too active," He laughs nervously. "It's hard to keep up with her when she's sundowning."
"That does make me concerned for an underlying cause of her fall. We'll run some basic tests after her shoulder is taken care of. Can I?" He gestures towards the curtain and the man nods.
"Yeah, sorry. She hates it when I talk for her in front of her."
The curtain reveals a rather frail looking woman with silver hair, curiously looking around the place. She smiles when she spots her son.
"Steve. I thought I lost you." Her voice is quiet and a little bit hoarse.
"I'm here, ma." Steve sits down next to her bed and grabs her hand. "Ma, this is Doctor…"
"Dr. Whitaker, nice to meet you." Dennis smiles pleasantly and checks her chart on the computer.
"Sorry I didn't introduce us sooner. I'm Steve, this is Moira," Steve smiles jerkily. His knee is twitching, Dennis notices.
"That's alright. I've got a few questions to ask you, Moira, if that's alright?" He asks and sits down to be on her eye level. "Can you tell me how you fell?"
"Oh, It's rather embarrassing. I was in the bathroom."
He waits for her to continue, but it seems like she's done explaining herself.
"Okay. What exactly were you doing when you fainted? Sitting down, standing up?"
"I was standing up, I think." She nods. "It all got fuzzy. I woke up and my shoulder hurt really badly."
"And that's when you called the ambulance?" Dennis turns to Steve, who confirms with a nod.
"Alright. Do you mind if I take a look at your shoulder?"
"Go ahead, sweetie." She sat still while he pushed the gown aside and examined her. There was some bruising, but no signs of a break or dislocation. Only some swelling and tenderness when he touched it. "Aren't you a little young to be a doctor?" She asked.
"Oh, no, I'm nearly twenty seven." He admitted with a small smile.
"Never would've thought." She sighs a little as he covers her shoulder again. "Not with that baby face."
"Um, thank you?" He ignores the burning in his cheeks and clears his throat. "I'm pretty sure your shoulder isn't broken or dislocated, just bruised. You got very lucky. You'll need to ice it for the next couple of weeks and not overexert yourself."
Steve breathes out with relief.
"I am, however, concerned about the reason why you fell." He looks at Moira and Steve, trying to convey the information to them both. "I'll order a blood test and check your blood pressure if that's alright."
"Of course," Steve says and Moira nods, her smile falling a little.
"Are we going to be here long? I don't like leaving Ted alone at home. You know your father can barely take care of himself." She turns to her son, who rushes to comfort her.
"I'm sure it's only going to be a minute." When he sees Dennis' raised eyebrows, he shakes his head. There probably is no husband. It's just a memory, even if she doesn't realize it.
"I'll get a nurse to draw your blood. I'll be right back."
Dennis ducks out onto the floor and, thankfully, catches Perlah.
"I've got an Alzheimer's patient after a fall, could you draw her blood and order basic labs?" He asks. Perlah nods, following him to west twelve. "Her son warned me she could be confused, but she's been alright so far."
"Don't jinx it," Perlah warns him before ducking behind the curtain.
"This is Perlah, she's going to draw your blood," Dennis introduces the nurse. Perlah waves, already busy gathering the supplies.
"But, could the nice doctor do it?" Moira asks her son, whose eyes widen.
"Um. No, mom, that's not really the proce—"
"Steve," She interrupts him. Dennis watches her grip on his hand tighten until her knuckles turn white.
"If that's what you prefer," He says quickly. He shakes his head towards Perlah, trying to convey 'Sorry, just trying to placate her'. She shrugs and hands him the tourniquet. Thankfully, he's done this a few times during his rotations. He knows some doctors probably haven't touched a needle in years, so Moira got considerably lucky. "This might feel a little cold," He says before disinfecting the site. "Alright. You might feel a little sting," He warns. Thankfully, her veins are very visible across her pale arm.
The moment he sinks the needle into her skin a sharp pain spreads across his face. He's not sure what just happened, not immediately, so he stays still, blinking his watering eyes open. Moira's got her free hand outstretched in front of him, a scared look in her eyes.
She slapped him.
"Perlah, can you hand me the tube?" He asks calmly, keeping his hands still. "I'm just going to collect the blood," He describes his actions, filling up the tubes. Then, he removes the tourniquet and carefully slides the needle out, immediately applying pressure with a small piece of gauze. Perlah is a great help, handing him everything and taking away what he doesn't need despite the clear shock on her face. She busies herself with labeling the tubes while he guides Moira's hand to her elbow, to keep applying the pressure. Despite her confused state, she doesn't move her hand away.
"Alright. I'll be back to check her blood pressure in a while. Steve, a word?" He asks the man, who breaks out of his stupor and stands up immediately.
The moment they're behind the curtain, the man is apologising.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't think she would— God, I'm sorry." He covers his face with his hands, so overwhelmed and guilty that Dennis is starting to feel bad for him.
"It's fine. Hey, it's okay." He awkwardly pats the man's shoulder. "It happens. I just need to know if your mother has had a history of aggressive behaviour. I need to know if this is a recent behavioural change, it could be important."
"It isn't." Steve rubs his eyes and looks at him, exhausted.
"She's been prone to it since she was diagnosed?"
Steve laughs miserably, suddenly finding the floor fascinating.
"No. This one's been consistent." He tries to compose himself for a second. "She probably thought you were me."
"Okay." Dennis takes a big breath. "Alright. The sudden pain must have scared her. Just so you know, it's not your fault, Steve." The man finally meets his eyes. "I do want you to remember to warn any future medical practitioners that she can react with violence. It's important we know this for everyone's safety."
"Right. I'm sorry. You're right." Steve nods. "She's never done that to anyone else, I figured…"
"You can't predict her behaviour. She's sick, it's not going to be rational."
"I should know this by now," he says, his lips white with how hard he's pressing them together. Dennis gives him a few seconds to compose himself and waits until Steve is looking a little steadier on his feet.
"It's okay. It's not easy being a caregiver of a parent with such a serious condition. Are you her sole caregiver?" Dennis asks even though he already suspects the answer.
Steve nods. "Dad died nearly a decade ago. I'm an only child."
"Have you tried looking into any facilities?" Dennis asks. "I can ask one of our social workers to go over your options."
"She's my mother, I need to be the one taking care of her," He says with a scoff, like it's genuinely such an unbelievable suggestion. "I can't just abandon her."
"Steve, respectfully, it's killing you," Dennis says. "You've been a ball of nerves since you got here. Was the—" He braces himself. "Were you physically disciplined as a child?"
"I was abused, I've already been through this with my therapist," Steve says, checked out of the conversation. "We can drop the pleasantries."
"What does your therapist have to say about you re-traumatizing yourself by being the sole caretaker of your mother?" Dennis asks. It may be a little too direct, but it works. Steve blinks, surprised Dennis went there.
"She has Alzheimer's, she doesn't know what she's doing."
"Having to care for your abuser is bad enough. If she's also actively physically abusive, whether it's conscious or not…" Dennis closes his eyes for a second. "I'll ask Kiara or Dylan, our social workers, to come by and tell you your options, alright? You don't have to agree to anything, you're just going to have a conversation."
Steve stares at him with a frown for a long moment. Dennis doesn't back down. Eventually, he gets a curt, resigned nod.
"What about that therapist?" Dennis inquires.
"I stopped going last year."
"Okay. That's okay. I would advise that you call them and schedule an appointment, if possible."
"I'll think about it."
"That's all I can ask." Dennis looks back at the curtains, then steels himself. "I'll check her blood pressure now. I suspect she fainted because it was low. You'll have to wait for the blood test results to come back, though. It might take a few hours. The cafeteria is upstairs," He suggests. "We'll be keeping an eye on your mother anyway, if you want to take a break."
"That does actually sound nice." Steve tries to smile. It's more of a grimace. "Are you sure you don't want someone else to take over? She hit you."
"I barely felt it. It's fine, really," Dennis reassures him. "Go, get some coffee and something to eat."
"Okay." Steve looks back at the curtains again, clearly nervous to go. "Alright. Please get me if anything happens."
"We will."
Dennis watches him go. He looks back at least three times, but he does, eventually, leave the ED.
Moira is the picture of innocence when he comes back with a blood pressure cuff. It's like nothing happened — she smiles, asks him where Steve went, and happily offers her arm. It makes Dennis feel a little sick, to know what someone this unassuming could be doing behind closed doors. But she's a patient like any other, so he smiles and answers her questions politely so as not to aggravate her. Her blood pressure is low, but they still have to wait for the other results in order to prescribe the right medication.
He leaves her curtain open when he goes and ignores Perlah's questioning glance when he passes the hub.
He takes a break. He's probably already behind on patients, but he needs to ice his cheek or it's going to be red all day. It's just not a very good look for a doctor. He snatches an ice pack on the way to the locker room and presses it to his face, only now realizing that it's pretty fucking sore as adrenaline leaves his body. The cold feels good and he has half a mind to sit down and close his eyes, just for a few minutes, when he recognizes familiar footsteps.
"What happened there?" Robby asks, leaning against the doorframe. Dennis turns around with a barely contained sigh.
"I find it hard to believe that you don't already know."
He doesn't move away when Robby comes up to him and removes the icepack. Careful fingers trace the contours of his face, checking for swelling, lingering for a beat too long before the icepack is pressed back into his hand and then to his face.
"You know you could've asked someone to take over? You didn't have to finish her treatment."
"That only would have confused her. Besides, I did it for her son, not for her. And I already told him to inform future doctors so that this doesn't happen again."
"You did a good job," Robby agrees easily. "I'm not saying you didn't."
"I'm hearing a but."
"But," Robby gently knocks his knuckles against his arm. "I don't like the idea of you being hurt on my watch."
"I got slapped by an eighty year old, I'll be fine." Dennis rolls his eyes, taking a step back.
"Still." Robby crosses his arms on his chest. "Take five, okay? Keep icing it. We don't want you scaring off patients."
"Ha ha." Dennis deadpans, but presses the ice pack harder to his skin, as if that will help. Robby stands there for a moment longer, just looking at him, before he finally leaves. Only then does Dennis breathe out in silent relief.
He takes his phone out of his locker and turns it on. Half out of curiosity, half out of an inexplicable need to punish himself further. A few unanswered texts from Luke, all angry that he didn't immediately agree to come to the funeral. Nothing from the twins. Nothing from his mom.
It's almost as if his fingers drift by themselves when he looks up his dad's number. A quick scroll through their messages confirms what he already knew — they haven't talked to each other in years. There's nothing. Christmas wishes from Dennis, five years in a row. A happy birthday message from 2021. Before he can do something stupid like call a dead person, Dennis puts his phone back in his locker and closes it, his breathing heavy. And then he gets back to work.
Their neighbours had a grain silo. It was old, rusted over and completely empty, sitting unused in a corner of their land. There used to be a house next to it, his dad would tell him, before Mr. Williams decided to rebuild closer to the road, where the flood risk was lower. The silo was maybe twenty, thirty feet tall, and still had a ladder precociously attached to the side, rusted over and barely nailed to the wooden wall. Whenever Dennis felt upset, he'd climb it. It was so stupid. Moronic, really. It's a miracle he didn't fall and break his neck.
But it was the tallest structure he could find anywhere near his house. When he was up there, shaking in the wind like it could blow him clean off, he could see what felt like the entirety of Broken Bow. He could see some of his other neighbours, the lights where the city began, and then miles and miles of fields.
And he was completely, utterly alone.
There were no brothers to bother him, no dad to yell at him, no mom to look at him sadly. It was just Dennis and the wind.
The thing between him and Robby started a few weeks after his ED rotation.
He was still doing his rotations at PTMC, but in pediatrics. There wasn't really any overlap between the departments, but sometimes, once in a blue moon, Dennis' new attending would be sent down for a consult and she'd ask the med students to come with. The one time this happened and Robby wasn't busy taking care of fifteen things at once, he came up to Dennis, put a hand on the nape of his neck and asked how his rotation was going. Oh, and he noted that the new lilac scrubs made Dennis look cute. A completely normal thing to say.
Later that same day, he waited for Dennis outside the hospital. Just to catch up, he said, and they did, mostly. Trinity was still working at the ED, but not this particular shift, so there wasn't a reason for Dennis to hurry to her car. They talked, strolling through the park until it got too cold, and then one thing led to another and Dennis was in Robby's bathroom, texting Trin that he was going to be out late, worrying his lip between his teeth as he made sure he looked nice. That he looked good enough to fuck, really.
And he did, evidently. Their first time was a messy make out session on the couch and exchanged hand jobs, but the more often Dennis came over, the more Robby's hands wandered, the more often Dennis left his apartment at night with love bites on his thighs and a sore body. Which was fine. Great, even. He needed the outlet. Still needs it. Fucking Robby is nice, because he's good at it — he has twenty years of experience on Dennis — but it also makes Dennis' head go so blissfully quiet. His brain finally shuts up when they do it and the world comes down to nothing but Robby's hands on his body and his lips on his neck and unending pressure.
If Dennis was a different person, he'd acknowledge it for what it is — a badly concealed and poorly thought out coping mechanism. If Dennis was a different person, a normal one, he wouldn't be begging his boss to fuck him twice a week—
"Whitaker."
Fuck.
"Yeah?" How long has he been staring at the screen without typing anything? He'd just discharged a patient with Joy and meant to update the chart. "Sorry, were you saying something?" He turns to Robby, who's looking down at him with a frown.
"You've been staring a hole into that chart for the past ten minutes." He leans in, forearms resting on the counter in front of him. "The screen's turned off."
"Oh." Dennis swipes the mouse quickly to turn it back on. "My bad."
"Are you sure you're okay?" Robbt asks, quiet enough for nobody but Dennis to hear. "You've been off."
"I'm fine—"
"Incoming trauma," Dana interrupts them. Santos, who's been listening in on their conversation from her own charting, snaps her head up. "ETA three minutes."
"Whitaker, Santos, with me." Robby doesn't waste any time, walking towards the ambulance bay with the two hot on his heels. It gives Dennis a minute to get his bearings again. He breathes in the fresh air when they make it outside, avoiding looking at either Robby or Trinity. He zeroes in on the rig instead, mentally preparing himself for whatever's about to come.
"Male, thirty five, fell from three stories up," The paramedic tells Robby, who's already checking him over. "We had to intubate. He's bleeding internally, definitely has multiple breaks, pupils are unequal. Suspected suicide attempt."
Before Dennis can follow the gurney inside, he notices a third person in the back of the ambulance. The boy must be six, at the oldest, and he's too short to safely step out.
"Dr. Robby," Dennis gets his attention and nods towards the kid.
"We'll grab someone else, you take care of the kid." Robby pauses for a fraction of a second, almost like he wants to say something, before going after the gurney without a word.
Dennis breathes in, turning his attention back on the child. He looks, to put it lightly, terrified. He's hugging himself, only dressed in a t-shirt, shorts, and slippers, his eyes are the size of saucers and he's visibly shaking.
"Hi. I'm Dennis," He introduces himself first. "Can you tell me your name?"
"Mark," He answers in a whisper. "Are you a doctor?"
"Yes." He goes for what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "Can I help you down?" Mark nods and Dennis gives him his arm so that he can jump down safely. "How about we come inside and get you warm? You must be freezing."
"Is my dad okay?" He asks, but grabs Dennis' badge, almost like a handle.
"The other doctors are doing their best to fix him up right now," Dennis reassures him. He leads the boy into one of the family rooms, catching Dana's eye on the way to let her know where he's going. "Do you want a blanket?"
"I'm fine." Mark shakes his head even though he's visibly trembling.
"What about a hoodie?" That gets him a nod. "Okay. I'll be right back."
He steps out and closes the door behind himself.
"Jesse," He calls for the nurse, who stops with a raised eyebrow. "I've got the jumper's kid. He came in the ambulance. Could you call social work and, please, hand me my hoodie from the locker room and grab him something to eat?"
"Sure." Jesse turns his head to look at the trauma bay and makes a face. "It's not looking so hot in there."
"The man jumped from the third floor, I'll be shocked if he survives at all, let alone with a functional brain," Dennis mutters and ignores Jesse's surprised expression.
"Who pissed in your cereal today?" He walks away before Dennis can come up with an answer.
Mark is politely sitting on the couch when Dennis comes back inside. He's not even fiddling with the hem of his shirt, just sort of… Sitting there. Completely checked out.
"Hey," Dennis tries to get his attention. Mark flinches a little, sniffles under his nose and finally looks at him. "Are you doing okay?"
"I want my dad." The kid looks on the verge of tears, blinking rapidly and pursing his lips like he's about to break out into a sob any second now.
Dennis crouches next to him, carefully moving the box of tissues on the coffee table closer to the boy. "Hey, it's okay. The doctors are doing their best to help your dad right now."
"He wasn't moving," Mark chokes out and sobs, not able to keep it in anymore. "They put a tube in his mouth!"
"That's just to help him breathe better." Dennis watches the boy sob, at a loss. This is the scariest day of Mark's life and he's doing, frankly, a shit job consoling him. "Mark, can we call your mom?"
"I don't have a mom," He hiccups a little, his face red and wet. Dennis hands him a tissue and helps him blow his nose in-between the sobs. "I only have my dad."
That's when Jesse pops in with the hoodie and some chocolate bars. He makes big eyes at the scene, hands Dennis the hoodie, which he immediately wraps around the boy's shoulders, and quietly says: "Kiara's going to come down in a few minutes."
"Who's that?" Mark asks, distracted.
"I'm Jesse. I'm a nurse," He smiles warmly and shuts the door behind himself. "Cool shirt."
Mark looks down at his Spider-Man pajamas, wet with tears and even some snot.
"Thanks."
"I have some chocolate, if you're hungry." Jesse sets the bars down on the table.
"Do you have a Mars bar?" Mark asks, wiping his face. His sobs have finally died down and, although he's clearly very upset, he's not actively crying anymore.
"Of course, champ." Jesse opens the bar and hands it to him.
Jesse, the child whisperer. Who would've thought.
While Mark is busy eating the chocolate and looking tiny in Dennis' spare hoodie, Kiara knocks on the door. Dennis leaves Jesse with Mark to speak with her on the floor.
"Did his dad make it?" He asks, because the empty trauma bay isn't telling him anything. He could've been transferred to OR.
Kiara shakes her head. "Robby called it a few minutes ago."
"Fuck." He covers his face with his hand and then drops it, blinking harshly. "Sorry. Mark said he doesn't have a mom. I don't know about other relatives, but he told me his dad is— Was all he had."
"Okay." Kiara nods. "We're going to have to call CPS." She takes a big breath. "For now, can he stay with you or Jesse? We're swamped upstairs, I don't think we have eyes to spare to watch him."
"Of course. One more thing, sorry—" He remembers. "I've got a son and mother. She has Alzheimer's, a history of abuse and violent behaviour towards her son, and he's her only caretaker. Could you please talk to him about his options? Facilities, additional help, anything. It's not urgent, she's still waiting for blood test results."
"I'll try to get to that as soon as I can," She says with a small smile.
"Thank you so much."
When Dennis comes back into the family room, Mark is sipping on a juice box and drawing something. Jesse seems content, hunched over a paper of his own.
"I just talked to Kiara," Dennis starts. Jesse looks up and, upon seeing his face, rightly guesses what he's about to say. His face falls. "Mark, can I talk to you?"
The child nods, putting his crayon down and looking up at Dennis, who crouches to look him in the eyes.
"Your dad was really hurt. The doctors did their best to help him, but they couldn't bring him back."
"He went away like Gran?" Mark asks tearfully. "Forever?"
Dennis nods. "I'm sorry."
He watches the boy start crying again, sobs wracking his little body. He stays there, silently keeping him company with Jesse until he tires himself out.
"Do you know anything about the jumper?" Dennis asks Robby, having caught him in a quiet corner of the floor in-between patients.
"That depends." Robby stares him down with a frown.
"On what?" Dennis crosses his arms on his chest.
"On why you need to know."
Dennis barely suppresses the urge to groan in the middle of the ED.
"You're annoying," he whispers. "I mean, do you know if he actually jumped? Who does that with a six year old in the house?"
"We… Don't know." Robby looks down at his tablet and Dennis gets the urge to take it from him and throw it against the wall. He obviously doesn't do that. But it is a vivid thought. "And it's not really our business."
"A child was orphaned." Dennis throws his hands out. "He's sleeping in the family room because he exhausted himself crying."
"The person responsible is no longer alive to answer for it anyway."
He fucking hates Robby when he gets like this. Pragmatic, hardened by years and years of work and trauma, able to compartmentalize and push down the things that will haunt Dennis for what seems like forever.
"Right. Thanks." He steps back before Robby can say anything else. He doesn't look like he will, anyway.
The only positive about this day so far has been Joy. She's been with the ED for a few days now, but hasn't really enjoyed her rotation, clearly. She'd been checked out from day one.
Until today, when she genuinely blossomed without Ogilvie's obnoxious presence around to dim her spirit. Dennis can actually see her enjoying the work when there isn't anyone putting her down for answering two seconds too slowly and rudely pointing out her mistakes. God, he hopes Ogilvie chooses a different specialization for his intern year. Anything but the ED.
Not that he'd say it to his face.
"Great job," He tells Joy, who's wrapping up a woman's burn. She was perfect, really, from doctor-patient communication, to the actual medicine. "Your first debridement?"
"I watched one during my rotation at Presby." She takes her gloves off with a genuine smile and holds her hand out for a high five. Dennis stifles a laugh and reciprocates. Thankfully, the patient has been dead asleep for the past fifteen minutes of the procedure. She said she was a line cook, so it's clearly a deserved nap.
"Whitaker?" Perlah pops behind the curtain. "Test results on our Alzheimer's lady are back. No abnormalities except for low iron."
"Right, thank you." Dennis turns back to Joy. "Let's discharge this patient and handle that next. Do you want to give it a go?"
Joy handles the discharge beautifully, gently waking up Suzie and giving her clear aftercare instructions. Some paperwork and a quick charting done by Dennis later, they're free to go update Moira.
"Fair warning, this patient has acted out today. Physically." Dennis stops a few feet away from Moira's bed. She's awake with Steve sitting next to her, staring at his phone. "Don't get too close, alright? I know she's eighty, but you can never be too careful."
"Damn, did she sucker punch someone?"
No, he just doesn't want his poor med student to get slapped in front of the entire floor.
"Steve, Moira," He greets them. "This is Joy, a med student. Is it alright if she observes? I'm just going to finish treatment and give you some aftercare instructions."
"Of course," Moira says. "Such a beautiful young lady."
Dennis watches Joy blush, taken aback.
"I've got your test results back. The only abnormality appears to be low iron levels. This can be fixed with daily supplements." He turns to Steve. "We'll prescribe those along with Midodrine for low blood pressure. As for the shoulder, ice it daily for the next few weeks and take Tylenol for the pain if necessary."
"That's it?" Steve asks. He's clearly exhausted by now, having spent a few hours in the hospital. Dennis guesses the cafeteria visit didn't help.
"That's it. Did you have a talk with Kiara?" He asks casually. Moira doesn't even bat an eye.
"Yes." Steve says, jaw set. Whatever happens next is officially out of Dennis' jurisdiction.
"Okay. Thank you. You're ready to be discharged. A nurse will come by to help Moira get dressed and give you the paperwork." He nods politely.
"Thank you, Dr. Whitaker," Steve says, quietly, like it pains him to do so. "I'll think about what you said."
Dennis nods and tries to smile. "I'm glad."
Joy sends him an inquisitive look as they leave. "What was that about?"
He sighs, leaning against the counter as soon as they make it to the hub. Just a few more hours to go.
"It's complicated. None of our business now." The words feel bitter as they leave his mouth.
"It can't be that easy." Joy sighs, fixing her glasses with the tip of her finger.
"It's not," he admits. "I don't think I have anything wise to tell you here. I'm still learning and, apparently, I care too much." He shrugs.
"At least you care at all. Unlike some people," She scoffs, but then quickly shakes her head. "I shouldn't be talking behind his back like this."
"Trust me, everyone shares your sentiment."
"About tall guy?" Trinity pops in, hands resting on her stethoscope. "Obviously. Nobody likes him."
"Tell it to the entire hospital." Dennis shakes his head and sits down to do some charting.
"I think the entire hospital already knows he's an ass," She says under her breath.
"That's not how we talk about our fellow co-workers." Now it's Robby's turn to be annoying. Dennis doesn't even look up from his work.
"Sorry, boss." Trinity raises her hands in mock surrender. Evidently, she's not sorry at all. "By the way, Huck."
"Yes?"
"Your brother's blowing up my phone, man," She says, quieter than usual. "I've been trying to catch you somewhere private, but… I don't know. Call him back, or not, whatever. Just wanted to let you know." She shrugs, feigning casual.
Dennis wants to bury himself deep underground and hibernate until this all stops mattering. Until people stop caring about what he does, who he is, and where he has to be. He's tired. Bone-deep exhausted of being a Whitaker, a doctor. A person, really.
"I'll take care of it. You can ignore him," He assures her, staring at the computer screen. None of the words even make sense anymore. "I haven't eaten yet, I'll take five, alright?" He turns to Robby. "I just freed up two beds. Page me if you need me?"
"Go ahead," Robby agrees without argument. Dennis can feel his eyes on his back as he leaves.
His lunch is a sad prepackaged turkey sandwich and an off brand energy drink. He feels vaguely nauseous as he eats, but the telltale ache in his stomach and the world going dim when he stands up tells him he can't get away with skipping another meal.
He debates with himself whether he wants to call Luke back. He could wait until his shift ends, which is probably the wisest idea. He's only got three hours left, even though it feels like he's been here forever. Robby will be late to their meeting because he always stays late at the hospital, which gives him the perfect window to call, get yelled at, and ask Luke to stop bothering Trin.
He doesn't finish the sandwich, but only because he'd probably throw up if he did. He finds Joy and gets back to work instead.
Dennis was a very sad child. At least that's what his mom used to say.
He was melancholic, quiet. Always looked seconds away from bursting into tears. He'd play with his brothers, sure, and developed an actual personality, quirky and artsy, by high school. But his mom never stopped calling him her sad little mouse. Whenever she had her slow days, the ones when she couldn't get out of bed, she'd ask Dennis to join her under the covers. She'd hug him tight, kiss his head, and tell him how sorry she was that she couldn't make them breakfast. She'd ask him to put his hands together and pray with her for better days. As if God could put her back together, heal her.
When Dennis had his slow days in high school, she'd sit on his bed and tell him she understands. They just happen sometimes. If we pray to God, he'll help us alleviate the thousand pound weights on our chests. He will help, because He is kind. We just have to ask.
Dennis doesn't have slow days anymore. He's too busy for it,, too responsible for other people to give himself the inch that leads to the mile.
His shift ends without fanfare. He fist bumps a happy Joy on his way out and promises Trin to be home soon-ish. She's long accepted his weird disappearing habit and, so far, doesn't suspect that his secret fuckbuddy is their attending. Who would? It's completely unreasonable.
Dennis walks out into the evening and unlocks his phone. He doesn't look at it until he's a good distance away from the hospital, in a part of the park that usually doesn't get too many passers-by. It's dark out, but the lamp-posts light his way, colouring everything yellow.
He really doesn't want to call Luke. He doesn't want to talk about their parents, about why he won't come back. It's been over half a decade since he's visited and, no matter how many times he explains why it's so hard to buy a ticket, why it's so hard to see that house again, Luke refuses to listen. He has his own beautiful family now, he thinks of Broken Bow as home, he doesn't flinch when someone raises their voice. Maybe it's just Dennis who's weak. Maybe he was born with some parts missing. And that's why he's the only fucked up son, the only one who ran away.
He calls Luke. He tells himself it's for Trinity's sake as he presses the button.
"What the fuck, Dennis?" Luke says after less than one ring.
"Nice to hear from you, too." He looks down at the sidewalk, his scuffed shoes.
"Don't fucking test me. What do you mean you're not coming to our father's funeral?"
"I didn't say no, I said I'd have to see," He tries to defend himself, but it comes out lukewarm.
"Yeah, right, as if you'd actually come. The tickets will be too expensive, you won't get PTO, you won't make it in time, there's no point traveling that far just to stay for one night, I know the spiel." He hears Luke take a shaky breath, his barely contained anger audible through the phone speaker. "You know, I used to think that if anything made you come home, it'd be a funeral. If my daughter's birth wasn't enough, if Toby's accident wasn't enough, I thought—" He laughs sadly. "Our fucking dad, Dennis. Our dad died. And you're not going to be there."
"I can't," Dennis chokes out, balling his fists and closing his eyes, hard. "I can't go back home, none of you ever wanted me to come back anyway—"
"Don't fucking do that, Dennis. You think your little med school adventure would make us hate you?"
"No, me being gay would," He spits out, louder than intended. He stands in the silence, chest heaving after his outburst. "He couldn't even look at me, Luke. And you all looked at me like I was a fucking freak."
"Come on, Dennis, you're nearly twenty six—"
"Twenty seven."
"Whatever. You're not gay. How hard can it be to find a nice girl, for fucks sake?"
"That's exactly what I'm talking about. You never believe me. You can't even accept me for who I am and you expect me to go back home and lie to you and myself and everyone in town because that's what makes you comfortable."
"You're so fucking childish. It's one day and a fucking funeral, Dennis."
"And I don't want to fucking be there!"
"What, just because Dad used to slap you around a little you're not even going to—"
The line clicks dead before Luke can finish speaking, Dennis' finger shaking against the screen. His hands don't stop trembling as he texts his brother to leave Trinity alone and then blocks his number. Barely fighting the urge to throw his phone into a pond, he chucks it in his bag and tries to breathe. There's bile in his throat and a phantom ache he refuses to acknowledge.
He stands up straight and stares up at the sky. Dark, but illuminated by Pittsburgh's countless lamps, starless, the complete opposite of the sky above his home. His old home. Broken Bow is a thousand miles away. He's not there anymore.
"Hey," Robby greets him, loudly enough to spook him. Dennis swallows heavily and blinks away the memories before turning around to face him. "You okay?"
He must look like shit if Robby's asking. He gives him a non-committal nod and shrugs.
"Weird day, that's all. You wanted to see me?" They begin a slow stroll in the direction of Robby's place.
"I'm leaving tomorrow." Robby nods. "And I think we need to talk."
Dennis looks at him, really looks at the man, and nods. There are shadows under Robby's eyes he didn't notice during their shift, an exhausted set to his shoulders, and a, frankly, dead look in his eyes. He doesn't look well.
"Talk about what?" It's the face Robby makes that finally tells Dennis what's about to happen. That pitiful, sad smile. It almost makes him laugh. "You want to let me down softly, don't you?"
Robby smiles, caught, and shakes his head.
"You're too smart for your own good sometimes," He says, looking down at Dennis.
"You're breaking up with me." There's a lightness to saying those words. Like at least one problem is removing itself from his life. Like there's one less person who cares about what he does . "Is it a breakup if we were never…?"
"I think it counts." Robby raises a hand towards his cheek and rests it there, on the pinkish skin. "I'm leaving for three months. I don't want to lead you on, or trap you. It's going to be a long time before I come back."
"Right." It's a fairly believable excuse. "It's fine."
"It's fine?" Robby looks him in the eyes, searching for something, an answer, the truth.
"I've heard all about your seven week itch, it's not like I'm surprised." Dennis shrugs, a weak smile playing on his lips, and accepts the playful swat on his arms. "Besides, we were never… Serious."
There's a soft disappointment to Robby's expression when he says it. As if they hadn't been fucking around in secret for barely two months. As if he wished for more. Dennis swallows and puts the thought away before it can even take root.
"I guess I'll see you in three months?" Robby asks. There's no invitation, no suggestive proposition of a different goodbye. Just resignation.
"Have a safe trip." It's all Dennis can offer.
They stand there for a few awkward moments, looking at each other. Usually they'd already be on the way to Robby's place, fighting to keep their hands to each other, light-hearted teasing filling the silence. Right now, neither of them can muster up a smile or the energy to say something real for once. In some ways, they're more similar than they've thought, Dennis thinks.
"I will," Robby finally says, a twitch of his jaw betraying the lie. He takes a step back.
"See you."
It's Dennis who turns away first. He needs to, can't take being there for one second more. The day still sits heavy on his chest, even if he refuses to think about it, and he's sure once the breakup hits, he'll feel it, too. He just needs to make it home. Then, he can break down in his room, safe in his own little bubble. There's a boundary there, a line he can't cross because it's not his place, it's Trinity's apartment, he can't do that to her. Especially knowing about Maddie. If, when, he gets home, he'll be safe. From himself, too.
But he isn't home yet. He's walking through the streets of Pittsburgh and letting the incessant buzzing in his head drown out the ambiance. He barely looks when he crosses the street, doesn't care what path he takes, if there's streetlights or not. His feet lead him somewhere and he's so checked out that he barely knows where he is, only that he's walking towards the right neighbourhood, maybe. People and cars pass him, someone shoulder checks him, but the world doesn't come into focus until he's standing on a bridge, looking out onto the Allegheny river, wondering how long the fall would take and what the chances are of him surviving and winding up back at PTMC in a rig. The odds are too great, but maybe, if he commits to the jump and makes sure he hits the water head-first—
His phone buzzes in his pocket. Dennis snaps out of it, takes a step back from the railing. It's like a switch has turned on and suddenly he's there, present, breathing heavily and too quickly, stumbling as he backs away. It hits him — he nearly did it. It wasn't just some fantasy anymore, no, he was there, looking out into the water with a real plan. Just like his mom when she took too many pills and Dennis found her unresponsive in the bathroom and she had to be driven to the nearest clinic and then the hospital and had to have her stomach pumped. He was going to— He nearly—
He picks up his phone and nearly drops it with trembling fingers and tears dripping down his face. He barely knows when he even started crying and he hopes it doesn't show when he calls Trinity and begs her to pick him up. He doesn't tell her why, but silently walks off the bridge and sits down on the nearest bench, not knowing if he could resist the urge if an opportunity presented itself. Not knowing if he would ever be coming home if the choice was his.