Chapter Text
"Well, I've been there, sitting in that same chair
Whispering that same prayer half a million times
It's a lie, though buried in disciples
One page of the Bible isn't worth a life"
Wrabel, Something Wrong with the Village
Robby looks down at the street, wind rushing in his ears.
"Just so you know, Grubhub will not deliver to the roof, but there is a DoorDash guy... uh, Marco... who will trek up here for an extra ten bucks, twenty if you want beer."
Robby huffs, turning to look at his husband.
"Nice speech down there," Jack continues. "Wish I had given it." He sidles up to the railing behind Robby.
Robby shakes his head. "No, you don't."
"No," Jack agrees. "But I'm glad someone did."
Robby shudders, looks down past the ledge to the quiet sidewalk below. "I don't think I'm built for this, Jack. Not like you are."
"What are you talking about?" Jack grips Robby's hand, a firm tether to the other side of the railing.
"I — I broke, Jack."
"You didn't break, Mikey," Jack squeezes his hand. "You didn't."
"I did," Robby shakes his head. "I shut down. The moment everyone needed me, I wasn't there."
"So what?" Jack huffs. "You choked for three minutes? Ten minutes? So fucking what, we all have that. That is what happens when we're in the middle of a war and nothing makes any fucking sense. You got back up, that matters."
"I didn't," Robby sighs. "Fucking kid had to pull me out."
"The kid? Javadi?"
"No, Whitaker. Came into Pedes looking for blankets and found me instead."
"Huh," Jack shakes his head. "Didn't know the little mouse had it in him."
"I'm gonna need a drink if you don't stop talking."
"C'mon, man. You rocked that shit down there tonight. Okay?" He tries to catch Robby's eye. "You rocked that shit down there tonight. Take the compliment."
"What if we just don't talk for a minute?" Robby sighs.
"I'm just trying to help—"
"Still talking," Robby cuts him off, but gives Jack a tired smile.
"Okay," Jack quiets for a minute, watching the night skyline with Robby. Laces his fingers in Robby's, feels his husband's radial pulse under his fingertips. Alive. "Ready to get that drink now?"
"Sure," Robby acquiesces, grabbing his stethoscope from the railing.
They pause at the elevator. Jack is normally fine with stairs, but after the rush of the MCI, Robby can tell his husband is walking gingerly, trying not to put any weight on the prosthetic.
"Hey," he starts gently. "Why don't you go rest in an on-call room? I'll tell the others you're crashing before your next shift."
"Sure," Jack nods. "One drink and then you go right home, Mikey."
Robby nods. A promise.
Jack steps through the elevator doors, off to find some slumber, and Robby begins his descent down the stairs. It's good, some quiet movement. A slow peaceful descent compared to what his mind was considering mere moments ago.
A noise on one of the landings stills him. Normally he'd leave it be, but tonight? His mind is still racing, still seeking safety. Hypervigilance, Jack once called it. He's got the same thing. Robby can't leave any stone unturned tonight.
He swings through the landing doors. Eighth Floor, a sign reads. Didn't Dennis say something about this floor being empty? And so it is - all of the lights are off, the beds untouched. I was right, Robby thinks with a touch of pride. The beds do exist, Gloria just won't staff them.
Another noise, and Robby spins around. At the end of a hall, one light is on. Robby walks quietly but purposefully towards the light. He doesn't want a confrontation, but if someone is squatting in an unsecured hospital wing, that is a serious liability. He braces himself, then pushes open the door to see...
Dennis Whitaker, dancing in his boxers, oblivious to the world with his ear buds in.
The song is bleeding out into the quiet room. Something funk, Robby notes. Whitaker is bopping around the attached bathroom, and Robby realizes the young man is taking a sink shower, washing his hair, his face, under his arms - not ideal after a day like today. Why on earth hasn't the kid gone home to a real shower?
Robby clears his throat and steps into his peripheral vision.
"Holy SHIT!" Whitaker yelps, spinning around. Robby can't help but rake his eyes over his small form, starting with his prominent hipbones and ribs. Is he eating enough? By the time Robby's gaze reaches his chest, Whitaker is already covering himself with a t-shirt. "Uh, what are you doing here, Dr. Robby?"
Robby chuckles. "What are you doing here, kid?"
Whitaker flushes and then blanches in quick succession. "I will, on occasion - after a long shift - crash...here." He stammers.
Robbed raises his eyebrows. "Whitaker, this is your first shift at the Pitt."
"Oh! I did my internal medicine rotation here last month." Dennis shifts nervously on his feet, picking at his nails.
Robby looks around the unit. The small room looks, well, lived in. Medical textbooks on a windowsill. A dated laptop charging on the bed. A stash of protein bars in an open cabinet. Whitaker's one pair of scrubs neatly folded on a table alongside a slightly squished sandwich from the patient cart. Egg salad.
"Whitaker," Robby scrubs a hand over his face. "Have you been staying here? Do you have anywhere else to go?"
The kid isn't looking at him anymore, his eyes on his socked feet instead. "I'm sorry," Whitaker whispers. He's shrinking, curling into himself. Robby knows someone expecting a blow when he sees one. "Please - please don't tell anyone. I can leave, please, I'm sorry-"
Robby knows someone overcome by panic when he sees it. "Hey, Dennis - can I call you Dennis?" A nod, a deep, gulping breath. "I'm not upset with you, you don't have to apologize. I just want to help."
Dennis still doesn't look at him, but Robby can tell his eyes are burning with tears. "You know Kiara? She has a great list of resources for unhoused-"
"Dr. Robby, I'm sorry, but I can't do a lecture right now." Dennis almost snaps, then recoils like he regrets it.
Robby blinks. "A lecture?"
Dennis sighs and sit on the bed. "There's always a lecture, a list of resources, and good fucking luck." The young man wipes his face, angrily, like the tears are an act of betrayal. "I've tried every last option. I know about Proud Haven, and Light of Life, and Catholic Charities, and all the rest. I've exhausted all of them. Some of them won't let me in."
Robby takes a seat beside Dennis. "Tell me more."
"I mean," Dennis' voice cracks. "Most of 'em you have to do some Christian-focused programming to keep your bed, and I had enough of that in undergrad. At least three you have to check in for the night by 5pm, and they don't make exceptions for work hours past that. And-" Dennis breaks and buries his head in his hands. His small frame heaves with sobs.
"Hey, shh, shh," Robby runs his hand over Dennis' back in calming circles. "It's okay, you can tell me."
"Dr. Robby," Dennis hiccups, "I'm trans."
Oh.
Oh, shit.
"My parents cut me off, which started all of this," Dennis waves his hand at the tiny room. "And the shelters are shit if you're queer. My birth control gets confiscated all the time, and I'd never be able to reliably stay on testosterone because they don't fuck with needles. It's not safe for me," Dennis chokes out. "I either get misgendered and harassed in the women's shelters or risk assault at the men's."
"Dennis," Robby says softly. "You can't keep living like this either. You need separation from your job, and if Gloria finds out-"
"I know, I'm sorry, I'll pack tonight," Dennis makes a move to stand up but Robby's hand holds him firmly in place.
"Hang on," he says. "Do you even have anywhere to go?"
Dennis shrugs. "This late, I'll have to go to the Eliza Trail encampment."
Robby feels the exact moment his disbelief boils into rage. Here's this kind, selfless med student, one who'd extended his hand to Robby in his darkest hour, nonchalantly suggesting an hour and a half walk to a homeless encampment in the dead of night. Because no shelters had their shit together enough to house him.
An idea comes to mind. One that Gloria would hate. But Robby knows this struggle all too well. After his grandmother died during college, he'd almost spun out and lost everything. And he also knows he wouldn't be where he is today without the quiet support of the gay community when he was in med school.
He started his residency at the height of the AIDS epidemic in New Orleans and witnessed up close the activism from everyday people in the name of funding and decriminalization. Lesbians showed up in droves to donate blood after the restrictions on gay men were implemented; legal organizations fought for sexual orientation to be protected under hate crime legislation; every summer people paid their respects to the thirty-two souls lost in the UpStairs arson attack. He owed so much to ordinary people protecting their community.
Maybe, Robby thinks, this is how he gives back.
"No." Robby says firmly, and that gets Dennis' attention. "I cannot recommend that."
Dennis laughs bitterly at that. "Well, I wouldn't recommend it either."
"Come home with me," Robby blurts as Dennis stands to gather his things.
Dennis wrinkles his nose.
"Ugh! No, not like that, Dennis, just - I live walking distance from the Pitt, we've already got a spare room made up. Please," he catches Dennis' arm. "I won't be able to sleep tonight - or any other night - knowing that you're out there alone."
"Dr. Robby, that's very generous, but I can't - I don't have any way to repay you. I'm pretty handy. I could clean, maybe? I'm shit at cooking, but I could give it a shot, and -"
Robby cuts him off, resting both of his large hands on Dennis' small cheeks. He's so fond of this bright young man already, yet horrified by the things he's endured. "You don't have to repay me. This isn't an exchange: it's a gift."
"A gift?" Dennis looks confused.
Robby tries to smile. "Yeah, kid. I guess you haven't gotten many of those in life?"
His attempt at lightening the mood just brings new tears to Dennis' eyes. "God, sorry," Dennis wipes at them furiously. "I don't know why I'm like this."
Robby hums, looking around the room again. "Maybe because you haven't been sleeping or eating well in a long time. You've been under a lot of stress, Dennis. Will you let me try to help?"
Dennis nods, and the two of them make short work of packing up his temporary home. "C'mon," Robby says, shouldering his backpack and Dennis' dufflebag. "We gotta get some food into you, kid."
"Oh, Dr. Robby, I-"
"Robby. Just Robby is fine when we're not on shift."
"I don't - I can just eat the sandwich, I'm fine."
Robby levels a look at Dennis. "When was the last time you had a full meal?" When Dennis sputters, Robby knows he's won. "C'mon kid, I'm buying. You deserve something better than an hours-old sandwich after a day like today."
Dennis flushes at that, but doesn't argue. "Thank you, Doc - Robby."
"Christ, that's all you've got to wear?"
Dennis looks down at his tattered hoodie and the jeans he'd hastily thrown on after Robby made his presence known. "This is it," he swallows, a lump of shame growing in his throat. The reality of his superior seeing him like this — especially one as kind as Robby - is beginning to set in.
"Here," Robby rummages in his backpack and pulls out a fleece. "Should fit over your hoodie. It's cold tonight."
Walking to Robby's apartment, wrapped in an oversized fleece and carrying his whole life between two bags, Dennis Whitaker feels much closer to home than he has in a long time.
It makes a lot of sense, Robby thinks, Dennis being homeless.
There'd been some quirks during his first shift, things you could brush off as the result of an isolated upbringing, that came into focus with the full context. Catching rats with ease, joining the street team instantly, and —
Dennis had been eating at Robby's workstation, practically wolfing down one of the sandwiches sent by Adamson's sister.
"Good sandwich?" Robby had asked, more sharply than he should've, irritated about Dennis not eating in the breakroom and dirtying his workstation. He'd watched as the content smile dropped from Dennis' face, as the kid curled back into himself. At the time, he hadn't put much thought into it.
But now, having seen how slight Dennis' frame is underneath his scrubs, he feels like a complete asshole. The kid was scarfing down free food, but refusing to let it affect his productivity. And Robby had scolded him for it.
"What kind of food do you like, Dennis?" Robby asks as they cross the street on the way to his apartment.
"Oh! Um, anything, really. Can't really be picky on a farm," Dennis smiles tentatively up at him. "I haven't tried a lot of international stuff, though. Lots of beef and potatoes where I'm from."
Well, that's easy enough to fix. Robby leads them on a slight detour to the gyro truck that serves university students and hospital workers alike well into the night. Hamid, the owner, sees him coming and gives him a wave as the two of them join the line.
"Any allergies?" Dennis shakes his head. "Trust me to order for you?" A nod. Robby doubles his usual, a lamb and beef gyro with a side of fries and a bottle of coconut water. Food for the body and the soul.
Dennis offers to carry the food, and Robby can hardly say no since he's already carrying his own backpack and the younger man's dufflebag.
The walk back to the apartment is quiet, but not awkward.
In his usual fashion, Robby has to fight with his keys for a little bit before the lock finally turns. "Here we are," he gestures around. "Shoes off, food on the table. I'll show you your room before we eat."
Dennis follows him like a shadow through the apartment. Or like a little mouse, Robby's brain supplies. Quiet and meek.
"This is the guest room," Robby flicks on a switch, giving the room an amber glow. "Got an attached bathroom. Jake," he stutters over his words, "used to crash here sometimes, so there should be some spare toiletries in there. You're welcome to shower, I'll grab you a fresh towel and be out of your hair. The bedroom door locks, from the inside," he says meaningfully, trying to think of what would make the skittish young man feel safer. "Lost the key years ago."
Dennis nods, swallowing. "Thank you."
Robby sets the dufflebag down gently and returns with a clean towel. "You let me know if there's anything else you need, okay?"
"Yeah, sure. Really, thank you," Dennis murmurs again, not quite meeting Robby's eye. "I'll be quick. Promise."
Robby leaves the room, shutting the door gently behind him, and for a moment Dennis is frozen. The last 24 hours catch up with him, all at once. His first shift, Mr. Milton, the MCI, Robby finding him - it's too much to process.
He starts unpacking his duffle.
One pair of sweatpants. Three t-shirts. Four pairs of socks. Four pairs of boxers. Toothbrush and toothpaste. Deodorant. One bar of Irish Spring Soap. Two sports bras. A half-used packet of birth control. A travel size bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner.
This is Dennis' home in a bag. Plus the jeans and hoodie he's wearing and the laptop and textbooks he fiercely guards in his backpack. Seeing it all spread out on the bed snaps him back into the present, and he quickly refolds everything but the sweatpants and a t-shirt, carrying them, the towel, and his toiletries into the bathroom.
Fuck, he forgot how good hot water could feel.
He takes a deep breath in the steam, letting his ribs expand fully. He'd never been able to afford a binder, and so he'd layered his two sports bras under his scrub top today. Huge mistake. He'd felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack the whole day, never able to get a full breath in.
Taping was optimal for long shifts, but getting his hands on some proved tricky. It was expensive, at least for someone who had to pick between buying food or deodorant sometimes, and he'd never had a place long enough to feel comfortable having it shipped. Mailing addresses have been the bane of his existence.
You could ask Robby, a voice in his head says, unbidden. Dennis quashes it. The man is giving him a bed for a night, that's it. Just because he hadn't reacted negatively to Dennis coming out means he wants to be involved with anything regarding Dennis' transition.
True to his word, Dennis is in and out of the bathroom in under five minutes and padding out to Robby's kitchen.
"There you are, kid," Robby looks up from his phone. "Just giving Jack an update. C'mon, eat," he slides a plate towards Dennis that's been freshly warmed.
"Jack? As in, Dr. Abbot?" Dennis' stomach flips even as the enticing aroma of lamb reaches his nostrils. He sits, bracing himself.
"One and the same," Robby says, taking a big bite of his gyro. "We'll want to talk about some things tomorrow morning, the three of us."
Oh. "I understand, I'm sure there has to be some disciplinary action," Dennis looks firmly down at his plate. Maybe he's being moved to night shift. That wouldn't be so bad. Dr. Abbot was clearly an incredible doctor, if a little rougher around the edges than Robby. It'd be hell on his sleep schedule, but Dennis has weathered worse.
"Hey, kid, no. I meant what I said back there, no one's mad at you."
"But," Dennis flounders. "Why are you telling Dr. Abbot about me? I promise, I can still work just fine-"
Robby holds up a finger and Dennis shuts his mouth immediately. "I'm telling Jack because he lives here too, okay? Nothing to do with work. We just all gotta be on the same page."
"Dr. Abbot lives here?" That throws Dennis for a loop. As roommates? But certainly they could both afford their own places on attendings' salaries. Is Dennis kicking Jack out of his own room? Dennis' stomach churns at the thought. Maybe he should suggest he can stay on the couch-
"Well, yeah, being married typically does tend to have that effect," Robby shrugs, oblivious to Dennis' confusion, taking another bite of his gyro. After a long moment of silence he looks up. "Jesus, you didn't know?"
Dennis shakes his head, dumbfounded. Robby looks like he's holding back a laugh.
"Here I thought you'd hear that within an hour of working with Princess." Robby smiles and shakes his head. "Congrats kid, you're moving in with two married old men. C'mon, eat up, your body's gonna crash any minute now."
Dennis practically inhales his plate. He's never had this type of food before, but God he wants to have it again. He can practically feel his cells rejoicing at the influx of protein and carbs after all the running and sweating he did today. When he comes up for air, he sees Robby looking at him fondly.
"Don't forget to hydrate too," Robby taps the unopened carton of coconut water.
Dennis takes a few big gulps. "This is, uh, this is really good."
Robby laughs. "Hamid will be glad to hear it, he's been feeding us weary healthcare workers for decades."
Dennis finishes his plate a little more slowly, trying to savor it. He feels bad that he's kept Robby up, especially after a shift like today. He stands, trying to take his and Robby's plates to the sink, like a good, thankful guest.
Robby catches his wrist. "No need, I'll just throw 'em in the dishwasher." He takes the plates from Dennis. "Gloria's called in travel staff for tomorrow and the weekend, we've got a few days off. I suggest turning off any alarms. We'll talk once Jack gets up, probably have a late lunch."
"Okay," Dennis nods, unmoored by one act of kindness after another. "And, and thank you, again. I really can't tell you how much I appreciate this, sir."
Robby fixes him with that look again, the one that contains both fondness and horror. "It's really no problem, kiddo. Get some rest. Holler if you need anything."
For the first time in months, Dennis crawls into an actual bed. The sheets are clean and crisp, as if they've been freshly washed. At some point Robby had brought even more blankets into the room, and Dennis runs his hand over one of them. It's real soft, feels like one of the barn cats back home.
Home.
Dennis' chest cracks open at the word, and he's crying again. God, he wants his mama. Wants to hear her voice after all the blood he's seen today. Wishes he could feel her touch, gentle fingers combing through his hair. But she wants her little girl, not him.
Dennis curls up under the comforter, hugging the soft blanket to his chest.