college dropout

It seemed fairly typical - and Robby hoped it wasn't an omen of things to come - that the first person he had meaningful contact with on his first day back is Park.

There's a flicker of surprise that passes over the other man's face when he sees Robby, but the calm blankness soon shutters over the expression as he nods to Robby.

"Robinavitch. Welcome back.”

Robby smiles, and it feels fairly genuine on his face. He takes a moment to turn that realisation over and appreciate it.

"Thank you, Park." He keeps his voice mild as he steps out of the elevator as Park steps in, ships in the night.

"Your boy's impressive." 

The words are like ice water trickling down the back of his neck, slow and sharp. 

He doesn't know why, and he doesn't care to examine the fact that he obviously and immediately knows who Park is talking about. He tries out a smile, adjusts for worry and dread before he turns to face the man  leaning against the elevator doors. They gently bump into his shoulders before withdrawing sheepishly to wait.

"Whitaker?" Because there's no point in playing games. Park smirks, full of teeth that have drawn blood.

"Yeah. Real smart kid." There's a pause that can't be anything other than a trap, and Robby won't be the one to turn his back on it.

"But?" God, he sounds tired. It happened so quickly.

That sharp smirk widens.

"I wouldn't say 'but.' That would imply I didn't enjoy it." A wink that probes into the wound. "He's needy. Painfully eager to please. I think he missed you, y'know? But I took good care of him in your absence.”

And Christ, of all the things Robby had been prepared to confront and properly process today, this had been the one thing he'd given himself the grace of time on. The one thing he'd thought he had a chance to sit with a little more, to examine and turn over in his mind until the proper course of action took shape there. He'd done the work on everything else.

He'd done the work, for fuck’s sake. This felt unfair on a number of levels.

Most of all it felt unfair to Dennis, who wasn't here to defend himself (although maybe that was for the best) and who didn't deserve to have his apparently active personal life gossiped about to his attending.

The mantle of chief was a comfier and easier fit than anything else he could try to don right now, and it slid over him with ease as he stared at Park.

“Whatever Dr Whitaker gets up to in his own time is his business.” 

Thank god his voice was even. 

“If he chooses to honour you with that time, that's between you and him. I'd strongly advise against making it a topic of workplace gossip. Whether I've been gone for four months or four hours, it's not something I'll ever tolerate in my department.”

The smirk has mostly disappeared from Park's face, replaced with that look of idle and vague respect he usually regards Robby with, and he allows himself to feel relief at the accompanying nod.

“You're right,” Park concedes, mild in a way that still manages to irritate. Robby gives the man a moment to decide whether he wants to select anything else from his arsenal, and when Park chooses to turn away first, Robby cautiously follows suit. He hears the elevator doors start to slide quietly shut, finally relieved of their burden.

He hears the gentle ding of alarm when they meet resistance again.

“Hope you're ready to repeat that speech a lot today.”

***

He was not, in fact, ready to deliver that speech any more than once today, and the Pitt had no intention of allowing him to be ready. He had barely had time to let Jack sweep him into a tight, angry hug that felt more like a gentle start to a fight, and then the normal tides of the place had swept him up, carrying him along on a wave of angry, uncomfortably damp patients, relentless messages from Gloria, and gratingly careful or relieved looks from his colleagues and subordinates.

He had no time to properly greet Dennis, or anyone who wasn’t Jack or Al-Hashimi.

This did not mean that he wasn’t painfully aware of the kid.

He was aware of the way those huge eyes seemed to widen even further and light up the moment they saw him. He was aware of the way the set of the kid’s shoulders seemed to loosen at the renewed proximity to Robby. He had even been aware of the smile and slight part to Dennis’ mouth as he seemingly prepared to call out to Robby.

He was incredibly aware of when all those things shattered, and the little broken pieces coalesced together into a blank and utterly miserable tightness when he was interrupted by Shen.

“Hey, Whitaker!” The man was energetic and seemingly good-natured as ever as he passed Dennis on his way out, shrugging his coat on. “I got tomorrow off, what do you say?”

Dennis paled, and his body seemed to curl in towards itself, vulnerable and bowed, like a pillbug with a gut wound. Robby saw Shen’s eyes sharpen, taking in every twitch that seemed to bring Dennis closer to some kind of implosion.

“You busy? You can say that, man. I won’t be offended.”

There may have been a small hint of relief, an infinitesimal loosening of the protective curl of Dennis’ shoulders, but it was pretty much nixed by the way the kid’s eyes skittered anxiously around the floor. They slipped and slid around the space that Robby occupied, and he started to feel his stomach pull heavily towards the ground.

“Thanks, Dr Shen.” Dennis murmurs quietly, aiming a sickly smile up vaguely in the other man’s direction. “I - I can’t.”

Shen nods, smooth and calm and completely unoffended, just as promised. Robby could tell it made almost no difference to Dennis, who was flushed like he was running a fever.

“No worries, Whitaker.” For some reason, Shen glances up at Robby before patting Dennis’ shoulder briefly. “You know I get it.”

It was a mistake to focus on Shen’s retreating form, to be distracted by his “welcome back, Robby!” as he left, because Dennis was long gone by the time Robby quirked what he hoped was a reasonable smile at Shen.

***

The next time, it had been Jesse, and Robby had almost walked right into the eye of Dennis’ misery. 

“You look like you’re gonna pop something and it’s only seven AM.” Jesse’s laugh was rough but not unkind as it drifted out from the breakroom. Robby almost twisted his ankle in his effort to stop his forward momentum into the room.

“I’m free tonight if you need -”

“No!”

There was a small, vulnerable little silence where all three of them quietly winced at just how shredded the protest had sounded.

“I - I’m sorry, Jesse.”

“Hey, no sweat.” Soft, gentle, and entirely genuine. Robby’s mouth was dry, and it clicked so loudly when he swallowed that he thought he heard Dennis and Jesse startle.

“I just -”

“I get it, Whitaker. Sit down, take a minute. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

And god, how he wished it wouldn’t ruin their fragile peace for him to go in there, reiterate what Jesse was saying. Because the quality of the silence screamed of Dennis’ disbelief and pure misery.

Robby chose retreat when he heard the first sniffle.

*** 

After that, it seemed endless. Every moment of downtime he witnessed, there seemed to be someone else pulling Dennis aside with a grin which quickly faltered once Dennis’ face crumpled and his body curled up like a dying insect.

Ahmad. Mateo. Dave. Paolo. At least two of their usual medics, and one new medical assistant that Robby didn’t recognise.

Each and every one approaching with a playful smile, and leaving with anything from an understanding softness about the eyes to an irritated sneer. Robby has never wanted to intervene so badly, but he knows that an impulsive move now was going to shatter what little balance the kid was managing to maintain. 

He took a deep breath and tried to recognise the fact that, four months ago, he may not have made the same decision. He tried to recognise it as progress instead of cowardice.

----

He wasn’t sure what he called it anymore when he saw Dennis talking to Jack.

Or rather, Jack talking to Dennis, whose head was bowed in what seemed like the perpetual misery of the day, but who seemed to still be listening to every word Jack was practically murmuring in his ear. His head jolted in tiny nods every now and then, nothing more than little twitches that could almost be mistaken for errant electrical impulses.

Robby was too far away from where he was sheltering in the ambulance bay to properly hear what Jack was saying, but the tail end of a whisper caught on the breeze and drifted mercilessly over to him.

“ - doesn’t make you any less. You’re not changed. That’s not why I said no. That’s not why I’ll ever say no. Nothing about this takes anything away -”

And then the thread was lost again, dispersing in the breeze like smoke.

----

Robby hadn’t been there when Dennis had fallen and hit his head, but Dana had been waiting to pounce on him to inform him as soon as he stepped out from supervising the skateboarder vs stair railing injury.

“Whitaker took a fall. He’s okay,” Dana had held her hands up, ineffectually stalling Robby’s instant stomach lurch. “But he’s got a concussion. He’s been asking for you.”

Robby was moving before he even heard Dana tell him where Dennis was, as if he was true north on Robby’s internal compass.

The lighting in the room had been left dimmed out of respect for the headache that Dennis was sure to be working on. He was slumped in the bed, eyes closed and body held still with that fragile delicacy of someone barely holding onto their dizziness and nausea.

“Dennis?”

He tried to make his voice soft, but Dennis’ eyes shot open, and he jolted up on the bed as if yanked by ropes attached to his wrists. Robby winced and rushed forward, hands gentle as they settled on Dennis’ shoulders.

“Hey, hey, come on, there’s no need for that.” And he was more petting and stroking Dennis’ shoulders than he was pressing him back down, not wanting to use anything that could feel like rough touch here and now. Dennis was wriggling against his hands, even as he tried his best to soothe rather than restrain.

“Dr Robby,” Dennis gasped out, huge eyes gazing up at Robby like he was a vision from a dream. He was pale and trembling, and Robby felt the uncomfortable weight of naked adoration settle on his skin.

“Yeah, kiddo, I’m here.” He allowed one hand a singular gentle pass over the front of Dennis’ head, avoiding the bump and blood-matted hair on the back. “How about you lay back for me, yeah? We don’t need to be jumping around with a concussion.”

He smoothed his hands over Dennis’ back in the hopes that he could stimulate the urge to relax the muscles, but Dennis strained against the comfort, latching his hands into the front of Robby’s hoodie and pulling anxiously.

“M’sorry, Dr Robby. I’m so sorry.”

“Dennis,” he laughed softly, quietly, his hands gently covering Dennis’ where they have formed claws in his jacket, “you don’t need to be sorry, kid. Accidents happen, you know that -”

“No!” Dennis tugged again, harder, trying to bring Robby closer in a desperate bid for understanding. Robby bent at the waist slightly, lowering himself so his ear was closer to Dennis’ mouth.

“It’s okay, kiddo, it’s okay. I’m right here.” His fingers are smoothing over Dennis’ knuckles, bone-white and trembling in their hold. 

Dennis whimpered, seemed to choke a little on the sound.

“I’m sorry, Dr Robby. I - I wasn’t…I wasn’t good.” 

Understanding was merciless and swift as it punctures him right between the ribs, and for a moment, his mouth opened to offer reflexive comfort, denial, anything to wipe that look off Dennis’ face, but there’s no magic words that flow forth, and so Robby’s left looking down at Dennis with pained eyes and a silently-gaping mouth.

He sees Dennis’ eyes - unfocused and confused in the haze of concussion - begin to tear up, and it’s as if something inside of him slots into place. Perversely calm and sure suddenly, in the face of Dennis’ pain, and that is certainly something he will have to force himself to examine later.

For now, he settled for smiling gently at Dennis, and softly massaging his hands until they released their death grip on his shirt.

“Now, I know that’s what you think,” he hums softly, as he hooks the rolling chair over from the corner of the room and brings it closer, settles by Dennis’ bedside without letting go of his hands. 

“But I have it on good authority,” his own mostly, and the messages that Jack had sent him over the long four months, “that you have in fact, done both yourself, and this hospital, very proudly.”

He keeps eye contact with Dennis, leaning forward when it seems like the kid would rather whine and look away. He shamelessly uses Dennis’ aversion to displeasing Robby to make sure that he stays looking at his face.

“You’ve made me very proud, Dennis.”

A soft, wounded sound, like a deer in a sticky, red clearing. Robby keeps both of Dennis’ hands in one of his own, and uses his other to grab one of the horrible, rough blue paper towels the hospital stocks instead of proper tissues, and dab gently at the tears and mucus on Dennis’ face.

“I know you think there’s mitigating circumstances that are going to make me change my mind -”

“You don’t know, Dr Robby,” Dennis warbles anxiously, pulling on his hoodie again. 

Robby shushes him, holding the tissue up to his nose.

“I do know, sweetheart. Blow - gently, now. Come on.” He keeps a keen eye on Dennis until he relents and obeys, having the presence of mind through the concussion fog to grimace and whine at the fluids covering his face. Robby didn’t care, because that’s what he was there for.

“I do know,” he repeats, looking at Dennis with a gentle lack of mercy, until he gets the eye contact he’s looking for.  

“I know that your idea of unforgivable error is,” he falters briefly, his tongue probing his mouth for the right words as he pokes a straw in a juice pouch and holds it up to Dennis’ mouth, “genuinely, and strongly-held. We can’t help which lessons stick underneath the skin, even when they’ve outlived their truth and usefulness.”

He smiles when Dennis gulps down a few sips, despite his wobbling bottom lip. He pushes the juice away, eyes swimming, and Robby allows it.

“But do you trust me, Dennis?”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“That’s not fair.”

Robby nods, eyes soft and unrelenting as he strokes Dennis' arm.

Dennis sighs, a tiny sound to match the frayed, thin rope of his voice when he uncoils it for Robby.

“I trust you, Dr Robby.”

Robby nods, as if there was ever any doubt between them - between anybody in this hospital - as to what the answer was going to be.

He reaches up, squeezes Dennis’ shoulder gently, stroking circles on his back, and this time Dennis allows himself to be guided back against the elevated bed.

“Trust that I’m not a subtle man, Dennis.” He smirks just a little, offers a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wink, and gets a soft, warbly little snort of laughter in return. “If you’ve done something I’m not happy with, I’ll let you know.”

Dennis’ face settles into something somber, the tiny little creases around his mouth smoothing out. His eyes follow every minute muscle movement in Robby’s face.

“I’m pleased with you, Dennis. You’re good.”

Robby raises an eyebrow, probably a bit of a dick move in light of the little punched-out, wet sound that escaped Dennis.

“Okay?”

“...okay.”

“Dr Robby -”