Madame Fluffington

It was barely 2pm and Robby felt like he'd worked a double without any coffee. The shift had started shitty, and he had tried hard not to default to the worst possible scenario by assuming that the day was starting as it meant to go on. He had been rewarded for that thinking (why did he even pay a therapist when Jack spouted all the same shit?) by the day trending consistently and steeply downhill.

He was used to people needing him. He enjoyed it, if he was being honest with himself. You didn't become a doctor, an attending, the chair of the emergency department at a teaching hospital, or anything that Robby had crafted his clay into without enjoying the feeling of people depending on you, just a little bit.

But there were limits to the calls that could be made on even him, and he felt like the entire building and everyone in it was aiming to spread him thinner and thinner across its floors until he disappeared.

Gloria was on the warpath, jingling her cup in one hand and uncoiling the three-line whip in the other. The patients were as normal and needy as usual, just in greater number and more agitated, because the sun was shining and that always made the bad ideas bloom.

It seemed like every single member of his staff was having some kind of personal crisis, and he wanted nothing more than to be able to sit down quietly with each of them and give them the proper time that they deserved, make accommodations and fixes where he could, and offer quiet sympathy where he couldn't.

In reality, his patients and his charting and the executive board breathing down his neck had hamstrung his ability to do any of those things, and instead all he could feel was a building panic and unwanted irritation with every new problem that was brought before him. He could feel the guilt beginning to rear up, eating the tail of the stress-induced snappiness he was beginning to unleash on the staff who deserved better.

And although it left him with the familiar stale, sticky pool of guilt curdling in his stomach, he was actually glad that people were giving him a wide berth at this point in the day. The last thing he wanted to do was continue to snap and snarl at everyone that came close, but he was honestly fairly sure that he didn't have it in him to correct the behaviour. So the best thing for it was to finish his charts in isolation.

***

He hadn't been particularly aware of where Dennis had been for the last few hours - honestly he was trying not to think about him at all, because the image of that sweet patient face crumpling if Robby snapped at him was something he couldn't afford to dwell on. Dennis was something else, something that seemed separate from all the bullshit of this place, despite very much being woven into its fabric the same as the rest of them. The thought of inflicting his shit on Dennis was something that made him almost physically recoil.

He'd spent the time in his self-imposed exile catching up on charts and his constantly-overflowing inbox. A quick check of the scoreboard revealed that he was wrapping up the session with more unread emails than he'd started with, all of them glowing that accusing yellow with those ironic little red flags that marked them all as urgent.

“If everything's urgent, nothing fuckin' is.”

Saying it out loud satisfied a tiny, petty part of himself that was chafing in the absence of his inability to point this out to Gloria right then.

“Huh?”

“Jesus!”

The voice was soft and drowsy, but it had floated up to him from directly beneath his desk, and to say he hadn't been expecting it was an understatement.

He ducked his head, wheeling his chair back a little to check the day bed cubby, as if unsure of what he was going to find.

Dennis was curled up into an impossibly tight ball, limbs tucked in a neat-ish fashion beneath himself in order to fit properly in his chosen nest - and he had promised Robby repeatedly that that's how he preferred it, that being in the small space was comforting to him, so who was Robby to argue?

The bedding itself had multiplied over time. What started out as a large, plump cushion Robby had purchased from Petco, had grown into a tangled, plush hidey-hole constructed entirely of donated hoodies, shirts, scrub tops, scarves, ties, and one singular green SWAT jacket.

They lined the bottom and climbed the sides of Dennis' little lair now, and Dennis was firmly ensconced in the centre of it, blinking one bleary eye up at Robby, who sighed as his heart rate returned to normal.

“I'm sorry, buddy. I didn't mean to wake you up.”

Dennis had half his face buried in something that looked like one of Abbot's old work-out shirts. He took a second to hope that it was clean as he watched Dennis stretch within the confined space, whole body trembling with the effort as he smeared his face further into the material.

“Big stretch,” Robby murmured obligingly, lips quirking involuntarily when Dennis' tail gave one, half-hearted twitch.

He wasn't able to school his expression any better when Dennis settled in the aftermath. His hair and the soft fur around his ears were flattened against his head in chaotic little crinkles. His cheek was red and pillow-creased, and when he snuffled and sighed, Robby swore he could smell the sleepy warmth radiating from him.

“You smell.”

Fuck him, apparently.

“Wow. I think someone needs to go back to their nap.”

Dennis whined, the pitch only heightening in distress when Robby lifted an arm, just to check the veracity of the statement.

“No, let me finish! You smell - sad. No,” Dennis scrunched his nose, trying to blink sleep fog out of his eyes, “not sad. You smell like - like there's too many people. Like how it feels when too many people wanna touch you.”

Robby shook his head softly as Dennis muttered, sounding like he was talking mostly to himself, still sleepy and uncoordinated in his attempts to raise himself into a sitting position.

“Shh, come on, settle back down. You don't need to do anything.” He pitched his voice low and gentle, hoping to stall the restless shifting. “Go back to sleep, Denny. It's okay.”

“No, I -” there were some rustling sounds, accompanied by the occasional effortful grunt that made the line of Robby's lips threaten to break into an actual smile.

He glanced up at his screen briefly while Dennis rootled around, wondering if he could convince Jack to cover for him tomorrow so he could avoid all the meetings that admin felt the need to schedule every Friday morning.

He snorted quietly, picturing just how quickly Jack would jump on the request, the painfully earnest look he'd get on his face as he told Robby he was proud of him for asking for help. It made his head ache and his ribs feel fragile.

Something slapped onto his thigh, jolting the image of Jack's lined, fond face out of his mind.

Cowbug sat on his lap, and Dennis sat in his cubby, looking up at Robby with big, wet eyes.

“I want to play.” He wiggled Cowbug slightly to illustrate his point.

Cowbug was, in fact, supposed to be a ladybug. It was a looped rope toy with multiple small red blobs affixed at various points along the rope, all leading up to a large, squishy, silicone ladybug at the top. It had been love at first sight for Dennis, and he had immediately cooed over the cute little cow that Robby had brought him.

“I - I think it's meant to be a ladybug, Dennis.”

“Huh. Really? It's got splotches like a cow.”

“It's red, Denny.”

“I can't see red, Dr Robby. But I - I guess it sort of looks a little like a bug.”

‘Cowbug’ was the compromise Dennis had offered, and Robby had felt entirely unqualified to question it.

It was Dennis' absolutely undisputed favourite toy, and it did everything.

The knots and smaller red silicone blobs (baby ladybugs, Robby could only assume) provided enough sensory interest to keep Dennis happy, and satisfied the urge he sometimes got to sink his teeth into something and pull. He needed someone else to provide the anchor to his tugging, but everyone in the department was almost always happy to oblige.

It was also heavy enough that Jack could put all his strength into hurling it across the park when he took Dennis out, and it would go a fair enough distance that Dennis could get a proper, satisfying sprint and chase in.

Dennis adored it, and god help them all if it ever went missing. There had been one scare a few months ago, and the ED had never been closer to collapsing. Dennis had been unable to settle, trying to focus on his work and going about his day unbothered, but everyone could tell that it was gnawing away at the back of his mind.

Robby and Dana had been left to be the villains of the piece, having to refocus their staff at multiple points throughout the day when it became clear that certain tasks were being dragged out in an effort to check and re-check possible hiding places.

They had maintained a dignified silence when they caught each other snooping around the ambulance bay and the empty family rooms.

It was currently being wiggled hopefully on his lap, and Robby felt his resolve crumbling like drying sand.

“I want to play.”

“No you don't, you're still tired.” He tried to make his voice as soft and soothing as possible, hoping to lull Dennis back to the depths of his den of pilfered clothes.

Dennis cocked his head, his eyes bright and big and pleading.

Robby sighed.

***

Jack had tried not to let his pride in Robby fuck it all up when the man had texted him an hour or so before Jack was due in for his shift.

Kinda shitty day, brother. I think I need tomorrow. Can you handle?

He had wanted nothing more than to call Robby and tell him how fucking proud he was at this small step that was actually a giant fucking leap, that he promised that Robby would start to see and feel a difference if he carrried on like this.

He knew there would be no quicker way to make Robby retract the offer and withdraw back into his hard, scarred shell.

You know it, brother. Anytime.

He allowed himself a small, satisfied nod with his restraint, trusted that Robby would recognise them as more than just words on a screen.

He hadn't known what to expect when he arrived for handover. He was beyond pleased that Robby was reaching out, but at the same time, he was wary of the state he'd need to be in to prompt him to break through the wall he'd built around himself so effectively.

Whatever he'd expected, it probably wasn't to find Robby sitting calmly at his workstation, glasses on and quietly reading emails.

“Hey, brother.” He ventured carefully, watching Robby glance over his screen and give him a tired but genuine smile.

“Hey. Thanks for covering.”

Jack was about to open his mouth to reply, but he was stymied by the sight of Robby's body jerking sharply.

“I - are you okay?”

“Hmm?” Another jerk.

“Robby.” Jerk. Twitch. “What's wrong? You feeling okay?”

Robby was looking at him like he was the unreasonable one. Jack was vaguely aware of a sound drifting softly from the workstation, but he couldn't quite place it and whatever it was, it didn't seem important compared to the man in front of him, wiggling like he was possessed by a lackluster spirit.

It suddenly seemed to click for Robby, his eyes seeming to actually sparkle with something that made Jack's stomach settle and swoop at the same time.

“Dennis.” Robby raised his voice just a little, and the odd sounds that Jack hadn't paid much attention to suddenly stopped. “It's time for handover, look who's here.”

There was a shuffling sound, some grunting, and then a blond, curly head and fluffy ears were popping up from behind the central workstation.

Dennis' eyes lit up when they took Jack in, and although Jack couldn't see his tail from where Dennis was hiding, he could see the kid's body start to wiggle in the way he only did when his tail kicked up.

He dropped Cowbug from where it had been clenched between his pearly, pointed teeth.

“Dr Abbot!”

The sounds he'd heard had been growling.

Specifically, they had been those soft, happy, grumbly little sounds that Dennis made when someone took the time to really fight him for his favourite toy.

Usually Jack was one of the few people who was willing to actually put any strength behind the tug of war. A lot of people got squeamish about Dennis having the toy in his mouth and tugging on it so hard, but Jack was more easily able to remind himself that hybrid biology wasn't the same as human biology, and that sometimes what Dennis needed was an outlet where he could properly discharge some of his pent-up energy.

Apparently, the same applied to Robby.

Where Jack had expected tense lines of muscle, a clenched jaw, and that horrible, self-deprecating, mocking smile, he was met with…something different.

There was still some tension around the shoulders, still something a little tight around the eyes, but there was also a certain looseness to Robby that had caught Jack by surprise. He wasn't holding himself together fiercely, like he was afraid any motion was going to send him flying apart. There was warmth to his eyes as he watched Dennis bound up to lock his arms around Jack's middle and nuzzle against his jaw.

There was a smile. A real one. Even if it was tired and slightly worn down, it was a smile that spoke of actual happiness.

“Hey, Denny. You're a good boy, huh?”

The words are quiet and warm, pressed to Dennis hair, and they make his ears twitch and his head scrunch as he tries to escape from the tickle.

“I guess so.” He bumps his head up into Jack's chin, and he can't even be annoyed at the jolt because Robby is looking at him - really looking at him - over that soft, curly head, and he looks like he's making Jack a promise.

There's a pause and a shuffle as Dennis squirms to extricate himself from Jack's hold, clearly restless and done with the cuddle.

Dennis knew that his mom and dad - both for their own entirely separate reasons - were secretly relieved that he'd never grown facial hair.

When he'd been little, he'd waited for the day he'd grow facial hair with something between dread and anticipation. Dread, because he wasn't sure he wanted his face to change. Mama said he was beautiful. She stroked his face and kissed his cheeks and held him, and nobody else really did that. If that's what being pretty meant, he wanted to be and stay pretty. He also thought about how she might react to him getting little prickly spikes all over his face, and something cold and slimy-feeling started to squirm in his stomach. He thought about how she'd reacted to him taking the scissors to his hair that one time, and he tried to immediately squash the possibility of him growing stubble.

But the flip side of the coin was a little thrill of excitement. Because mama might be angry, but she might also…stop. But he didn't necessarily want her to stop, he didn't want to give up cooking with her in the kitchen or going shopping with her, or having cuddles with her. He wasn't even sure he wanted to stop wearing all the clothes she got him. Some of them were pretty. And that was good.

But it would be nice to not be forced into some of the very frilly dresses. It would be nice not to be expected to cook and clean and maintain their home for his father and brothers, who were never expected to lift a finger in Dennis and his mama's domain. It would be nice to be able to go outside with them and roll around in the grass, and get dirty and ride the tractor and work with the cows and not have everyone treat him like a strange, pathetic creature and -

And maybe she would stop altogether. He wasn't sure whether the feeling in his stomach was dread or desperation.

***

In the end, Dennis had waited and waited for nothing. Nobody had bothered to explain it to him. He had just watched as all the other boys at church his age started showing up with patchy growth and scabbed-over nicks, and his own face remained stubbornly, spitefully smooth.

It was probably for the best, he told himself. He wasn't sure how his father would have coped with teaching him how to shave. Despite all the tight-lipped looks and whispered arguments he had with mama about Dennis' hair, his clothes, the little nicknames she had for him, the way that she'd made him into her very own dolly, he never actually put a stop to any of it.

He already had four big, strong sons, and Dennis had been the uninvited late-comer. So if his wife needed to console herself by making their youngest her very own little girl? He'd turn a blind eye for the sake of the peace of the household. As Dennis had got older, the way his father looked at him betrayed more and more discomfort. He knew he was looking at his son, but he was also looking at long golden curls, a pretty face, and often, frilly dresses and bows. Dennis knew he would ultimately have felt that he was teaching his daughter how to shave, and it would have been beyond uncomfortable for both of them.

Dennis never really understood why that broke his heart just a little.

His mama was actually the first one to introduce him to a razor, and the irony never stung any less.

“It's not proper for a young lady to have all that dirty hair showing under her arms. You have so many pretty dresses, but you're of an age now where you need to start taking care to clean yourself so you can still wear them.”

Dennis had figured out very quickly that when his mama said ‘clean’ she really meant ‘clean-shaven'. He had never figured out why he'd cried when she'd first taught him how to do that, barging into the bathroom and lifting his arms from the bath water and wrinkling her nose at what she found.

(Jack and Robby had once incredibly gently tried to help Dennis verbalise exactly what had caused him so much distress.

“I know it's a word with a lot of weight attached to it. And whatever you feel about it is okay. But do you think it might be helpful if we thought about this in terms of abuse?”

“No.”

“Okay, that's alright, Dennis. We don't have to label it as anything right now. We're just trying out words and seeing what helps you frame this in a way that makes sense.”

“How about we say it was crossing some boundaries that you didn't want to be crossed? Does that feel like a better fit?”

“...yeah. I, um - yeah. We could say that.”)

***

Dennis liked to watch Jack and Robby shave. It was like watching a comforting ritual he'd never been a part of, like sitting on the stairs and listening to the clink and laughter of parents having dinner with their friends.

Robby mostly used an electric shaver to keep his beautiful beard to the same length, and to keep the edges neat and stop the hair from encroaching where he didn't want it.

“He's the hairiest fucker I've ever known. I didn't even know hair could grow in some of the places he sprouts it.”

“I don't know if I'd be talking like that if my hands looked like Hobbit feet, but we all make choices.”

Jack mostly shaved whenever he remembered. He didn't like to have an actual beard, but he seemed perfectly content to go around anywhere between clean-shaven and something verging on what Robby called a 10 o'clock shadow.

Dennis didn't like to make himself known when he watched them at the bathroom sink. They knew he was there, of course, but they seemed to know that what would bring him the most peace was for them to carry on with their routine as if he wasn't hovering at the edge of the doorway and staring like he was trying to memorise the steps. Something about watching the routine settled that wriggling thing in his stomach, made him feel like he was part of something that had been denied him, even though he wasn't participating and nothing had been denied, that made no sense.

Jack's the one who first shakes up the routine. He's looking in the mirror and lathering up his face on one of his 10 o'clock shadow shave days, and his gaze catches on Dennis’ reflection as he lingers in the doorway. He'd usually let his eyes wander smoothly over Dennis as though he didn't exist, and the difference today made his pulse tick upwards in his ears.

“You always gotta start with a sharp blade,” Jack sounds like he's missing, gaze returning to his own reflection in the mirror as something constricts in Dennis' throat. “You start dragging a blunt one down your face and you're pretty much guaranteed a shitty job and some razor burn.”

Dennis actually kind of knew this because of his - his armpits. But nobody had taught him that, his mama only really concerned that he be hairless. It had taken Dennis years to figure out why his skin was so red and irritated.

But hearing it in Jack's voice, so plain and easy, only made that feeling in his throat more intense.

“I like to kinda mark out a clean edge here before I start,” Jack makes tiny, precise lines with the razor, on his cheekbone just about level with the middle of his ear. “It's a matter of taste, obviously, but that's where I like my starting point to be.”

The water in the sink sloshes with a peaceful little tinkling sound as Jack swirls the razor in it. “Make sure to rinse your razor between passes - and make sure the sink is clean before you fill it. Don't wanna mess around with getting bacteria in there. And you want your water to be hot.”

Dennis isn't sure why his vision blurs slightly as he watches Jack pass the razor over his stubble, hearing the rasp as it passes over his skin and rids him of unwanted hair.

“When you get to the neck, you always wanna pass the razor down.” Jack's hand, strong and capable and covered with a fine layer of its own dark hair, dwarfs the razor, but he holds it as surely and delicately as he does a scalpel. He smooths it down his neck, and Dennis swallows.

“These razors,” Jack speaks softly as he moves it to his upper lip, holding brief eye contact with Dennis in the mirror, and it reminds him so much of when Jack's talking him through a new procedure that he nods, helpless and fragile and about to shatter for some inexplicable reason, “they have one blade on the back, so it makes it easier to get in the little nooks by the nose and mouth.”

He watches as Jack finishes up, as the lather disappears in the silence of the room, broken only by Dennis' slightly unsteady breathing and the swish of the razor in the water.

When he's done, and he pats his face dry, he turns and looks at Dennis himself, not through the flipped reflection of him in the mirror.

“You want to try?” His voice is so gentle, and he's holding the razor out to Dennis, whose hands and lips are trembling, and there's a part of him that wants so desperately to take it, to have Jack stand behind him and carefully guide his hand as he moves the blade over his own face, but -

“No - no, there's -”

No point, ultimately. His face is as smooth as it was when he mama used to call him Dee, when his brothers used to sling the name back at him like a sharp rock. It's something he wants, but it's something he wants to need to do. It would feel like a grotesque performance now, like he was making a mockery of what Jack was doing for him.

“Thank you,” he warbles out, and Jack's face practically folds in on itself in fondness and something else, something that looks like it hurts, as he smiles and reaches out to cup Dennis' face in his hands.

His thumbs wipe away the wetness that gathers beneath Dennis' eyes, and he brings their foreheads together, bumps them gently.

He had only been with them for two days (Dennis had diverted himself to nuzzle against Robby’s neck after he had had a close-to-screaming row with Dr Underwood over staffing and bed shortages in the ICU), but if Dennis is being honest, he wouldn’t have minded spending all his patient time with the man. He would never want his other patients to suffer, and he loved them all. But Mr Wisheart made something in him feel hurt and soft and warm all at the same time.

He’s elderly, and his arms are frail when they wrap around Dennis when he invites him to curl up next to him in his bed. Princess smiles and makes jokes about Dennis’ puppy fat whenever Dennis has to roll around in order to get out of her way when she does her checks, and Mr Wisheart indulges Dennis’ dramatic whining by playing the role of the avid defender, making sure Dennis gets the treats - the ones they all denied carrying in their pockets even though he could smell them - he deserves as recompense.

He would be content to lean ‘against’ Mr Wisheart - he never puts his full or even partial weight against that frail body, but he would press his side gently against Mr Wisheart’s so they could both feel the warmth - and listen to the man’s stories all day if he could get away with it.

“And that old biddy used to waddle along to the fair with her store-bought crap - she didn’t even bother to peel the damn label off properly!” Dennis’ laughter wasn’t perhaps as quiet as he would have liked, his tail contributing its own silent amusement, and he presses his face a little tighter to Mr Wisheart’s chest to smother his chortling just a little. “And every year, those idiots gave her the blue ribbon for her ‘hand-made’ preserves, just because she was old and looked innocent, and liked to pretend she didn’t know what she was doing.”

He’d lost the battle against his own noises, and the sound that left him was an odd combination of yip and laughter, and as he stared up at Mr Wisheart’s eyes - watery and pale, but brimming with quieter delight at provoking the sounds - he feels like something small but important shifted. Something unseen and unheard, slipping somewhere else and vanishing, softly and suddenly.

He stiffened, and immediately forced himself to unwind and release the springs that felt like they had tightened. His eyes scoured Mr Wisheart’s face, and found nothing amiss. No frown, no tension or pain, unless you counted the remembered indignation at blue ribbons and little old ladies who had long ago passed on and were ‘defrauding all the saints and sinners’, according to Mr Wisheart.

“You alright there, boy?” Mr Wisheart’s face was impossibly soft as he looked down at where Dennis had wound his arms around his middle. He looked like he was seeing something that Dennis had forgotten he should remember.

“Yeah - yeah, of course!” He forced his tail to wag against their joined forms, beating softly against Mr Wisheart’s belly. The old man chuckled, setting his hand gently atop the wiggling appendage and watching it continue the good fight despite everything. “I’m sorry, I’m just - I think I’m just a little sleepy, that’s all. I need to annoy someone into taking me to the park later!”

He felt the laugh wheezing in the chest beneath his head, crackling against his ears. It was nothing particularly unusual for Mr Wisheart, and Dennis knew from the steady sounds of all the monitors and the knowledge that Robby had managed to quiz into him, that his vitals were stable. It still made his nose twitch and his eyes dart around the ER in search of Robby.

“Well, you know I’d be happy to take you if I were ten years younger and everything didn’t creak.” Dennis rubbed his head against Mr Wisheart’s chest, kneading his ears against the man’s hands when they came down to scrunch circles into them. “But the best I can do for you right now is a nap, if you’re sleepy. I may not be able to throw a ball around with you right now, but by god I can throw my weight behind a siesta.”

Dennis chuffed against Mr Wisheart’s chest, feeling it like a jolt from a shock collar when his eyes found Robby in the crowd at the nurses’ station. 

When Robby eventually turned, his eyes caught Dennis’ like a loose thread snagging on a nail. Dennis kept his gaze and tried to squeeze every ounce of please, I don’t understand into the distance between them. Robby tilted his head ever so slightly, glancing between him and Mr Wisheart and contemplating for a moment, before sticking his hands in his pockets and calmly wending his way over to them in a way that made Dennis’ ears twitch.

“How are we doing over here, Mr Wisheart?” Dennis felt something in his body give way like permission, just a little bit, at the sound of the semi-lilting, almost playful gentleness that had become so familiar to Dennis that it was like listening to his own breathing. His tail wriggled where Mr Wisheart still held it trapped to the blanket.

“Oh, just peachy. I was just telling Dennis here that fetch in the park is a young man’s game.”

Dennis blushed, unease momentarily forgotten at the sound of Robby’s quiet laughter and those warm brown eyes crinkling at him. 

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me,” Robby rumbles in quiet amusement at Dennis’ squirming. “I take him out every morning before our shift starts, and by the time we’re done, I want to go home and Dennis is asking if we can come back before the lunch rush.”

Dennis is making quiet sounds of mortification into Mr Wisheart’s hospital gown, turning his head to fix one baleful eye at Robby, who returns it with one of those stupid, obnoxious smiles as he reaches out to tweak the tip of Dennis’ closest ear.

“He’s got two modes; sleep, and bounce, and there’s very little in between.”

Dennis half-heartedly snaps his teeth at Robby’s fingers as they withdraw from toying with his ear. Robby kindly doesn’t mention that Dennis’ aim was off by a good five inches.

“Dr Abbot doesn’t seem to have the same trouble when he takes me out.”

“Dr Abbot is younger than me,” Robby returns without blinking. “And a veteran. And he plays pickleball in his spare time.” Robby’s face suggests that this is a singular and particularly distasteful character flaw which Robby has done the kindness of overlooking, at the expense of his very best judgement. “Dr Abbot and I are not the same.”

Dennis’ eyes, which had started truly drooping somewhere along the line, widen just a little at Robby, who blinks blandly back. Mr Wisheart snorts. 

“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with a man doing that kind of thing for fun. But I am saying that you should look twice at someone who always needs to be that busy.”

Dennis doesn’t entirely catch what Robby says in response. He’s not sure what had got him so uptight, what had prompted the sudden urge to find Robby and have him here, but he allows himself to drift to the sound and feel of two rumbling voices and two sets of hands occasionally petting his ears.

-

The dark, comfortable warmth falls away from him in time with small, sudden movements, an uneven but not violent jostling, and the sound of voices and quickly-quieted beeping.

He’s aware of hands moving him, rolling him ever so slightly before they settle him back. He hears something crackle beneath his cheek, feels the still, warm surface he’s resting on.

All the sounds and touches fall together heavily, suddenly, and he yanks himself awake and up with an unadulterated yelp.

“It’s okay, Denny, it’s alright. You don’t need to move if you don’t want to.”

Robby’s voice, and it helps to ground him but for once it doesn’t settle him. Because he is standing above Dennis - Dennis and Mr Wisheart, whose eyes are closed and whose chest doesn’t rise anymore. Robby is standing at the bedside, eyes soft and fond, and there is pain there, but he is doing nothing. Princess watches on, and her eyes might be a little brighter than normal, but she’s not preparing any equipment, not reading out any vitals.

“Robby - Robby, he’s - help him, Robby.” He’s surprised Robby can understand him, for all that his words are almost swallowed by the whine clinging to the back of his throat.

But Robby must understand well enough, because he’s shaking his head and looking at Dennis like he’s the one in need of help.

“No, Dennis. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Robby’s voice is so soft, like it’s trying to cushion Dennis from where he feels like he’s falling from a great height. “Mr Wisheart had a POLST - do you remember what that is?”

Dennis nods, fast and frantic as though anything Robby says could change what Dennis’ body and nose are telling him now.

“He didn’t want any CPR to be performed, he didn't want to be intubated if he couldn't breathe, he didn't want any life-sustaining treatment at all. He only wanted comfort care, and I’d say you’ve done better than any of us have on that count.”

Dennis’ whole body trembles, ears pinned flat to his head as he looks at Robby like he might be speaking another language. He looks back down at Mr Wisheart for the first time since he had woken up alone in the bed.

“So he’s dead now.”

“Yes he is, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

For a moment, nothing happens and everything just hangs in the moment, like dust motes caught in the sunlight.

Movement is sudden and violent, Dennis throwing himself off the bed and towards the door with a desperation that chokes him.

“I know, Denny, I know.” Robby’s voice is still low, pitched to the tone that usually soothes Dennis when his eyes are bright and his tail still. This time, though, it seems to have the opposite effect, as Dennis flinches back from the sound of it, his ears so low on his head that they almost disappear into his curls.

Dennis backs out of Mr Wisheart’s room, leaves Robby and Princess there to remain with the dead.

-

Robby gives Dennis as much time as it takes to check in with Princess and to ask Jesse help her with getting Mr Wisheart cleaned up.

“You going to check on Dennis?”

Robby nodded, casting his eyes around the ER in search of either soft ears or a throng of well-meaning staff members trying to soothe.

“Yeah, that’s my next stop. You see where he went?”

Jesse’s mouth tightens a little, and Robby’s stomach sinks in sympathy.

“I think he’s in his room, boss.”

And yeah, okay, that was…not the worst it could be. Dennis has never actually run out of the hospital or onto the roof unless it’s to find him or Jack, but Robby can’t pretend it’s not something that plays on his mind when Dennis seems overwhelmed by the weight of the world.

But usually, the only place that Dennis wants to be when he’s upset, when everything becomes too much and his tail drags heavily and his ears won’t stand up, is in his day bed underneath Robby’s workstation.

Sometimes, he squeezes himself in the space and then turns around so he’s facing the back of the cubby, and he can shuffle until his back is leaning against Robby’s shoes. Sometimes, Robby will crouch down and let Dennis piece his thoughts together, ask any questions he needs to, and Robby will provide answers if he can. He’d started to include Dennis on debriefs a while back, when it became obvious that Dennis was struggling to understand the whys and werefores; he was fiercely intelligent, but his own frame of reference was severely limited, and Robby had found that it had helped Dennis to slot things into place in his own mind.

Even when Dennis needs quiet, he prefers to have it around other people. He likes his small, enclosed spaces to be where people gather, somewhere he can curl up and be ignored by the people surrounding him and continuing on with their day. He likes quiet, not space.

Dennis has seen death before. It always upsets him, and he always needs time to process. Sometimes he does that by murmuring quietly up to Robby from his desk cubby, the occasional soft interjections that sometimes come twenty, thirty minutes apart and which Robby always makes sure to pause his admin work to address. Sometimes, he doesn’t want to say anything at all, he just wants to sit next to Robby while he charts, or follow Robby more closely when he makes his rounds. 

If he’s retreating to the on-call room the hospital administration gave him, there’s something else happening that Robby has failed to factor into the equation.

Dennis’ door is closed, which Robby had also not planned for. He takes a breath, expelling the surprise and building unease on the exhale, knocking softly twice.

“Dennis?” Almost-silence, shifted only by the soft sound of brief movement. “Dennis, can I come in?”

Nothing, and Robby has to hold himself back from pressing his ear against the door.

“Can we talk about it, Denny? I don’t - if you don’t want me to come in then I don’t have to.” Robby glances around at the ever-present movement that cycles around all the department like its lifeblood. It wasn’t how he preferred to have these conversations, but -

“We can talk through the door, if that’s what makes it easier for you.”

“Please go away, Dr Robby.”

Small words, frayed and frail and wet, and they make something in Robby’s stomach pull like he’s missed a step. It’s a request he’s never heard Dennis make, and he’s never been less sure of himself.

“Dennis, I don’t think that’s something I can do right now.” Gentle, because nobody likes being told they don’t know what’s in their best interests.

“Please, Dr Robby.”

The entreaty mingles with Dana’s voice echoing through the department.

“Level one trauma, ETA two minutes.”

He allows himself the brief second to rest his head against the door and close his eyes.

“Okay.” His voice creaks like old, dry twigs. “I have to get that, Dennis. But when I’m finished, I’m going to come right back here, okay? You don’t need to do anything. I’ll come find you.”

-

By the time Robby has made it back to Dennis’ door - still shut - he feels like he made that promise days ago. He is surprised by how steady his fingers are on the door handle.

“Dennis? I’m coming in now, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, opening the door with the narrowest gap possible to allow himself to slip inside. He sits on the bed that Dennis isn’t using, because he’s stripped it of the sheets and shoved them, and himself, into the corner between the bed and the cheap, chipped nightstand.

“Can I touch you?”

Dennis whines, because Robby will never actually need to ask that of him, even though he might never know that.

“Is that a yes? I need you to start using your words for me, just a little bit.”

“Yes.”

Robby’s hand is beyond gentle when it settles on the back of his head, not moving or petting, just cupping carefully, like he thinks it might be in danger of bleeding.

“Mr Wisheart seemed like a very sweet man.”

“It was my fault.”

Robby’s words are barely out of his mouth before Dennis’ choked, wet confession spills out of his lips like this is his last chance. 

Robby likes to think that one of the benefits of doing the job for as long as he has is that he’s never caught off guard anymore. He has seen and heard and smelled it all. Every hour of every working day, he has been there for the worst day of someone’s life. He has seen colleagues both thrive and fail, burn out and 

triumph, and he’s seen them leave quietly or leave permanently. He didn’t think he was capable of being shocked anymore.

And yet, it still takes him five full seconds to process what Dennis has said. Another five to take Dennis’ wet, cold face in both hands and direct him - gently, urgently - to look at him.

“Dennis.” God, he’s never seen him so miserable, so truly and utterly despondent, and it makes something between his ribs feel fragile. “Keep your eyes on me while you talk, okay? I know, I know, but I need you to do this for me. Take as many deep breaths as you need. And then tell me why you think it’s your fault.”

Dennis’ lip wobbles as he struggles to follow Robby’s instructions rather than immediately letting all the words try to fall out at the same time and get stuck between his teeth. He takes a deep breath, and Robby can tell that it’s perfunctory, but that’s fine, because in his experience performance usually becomes need fairly quickly.

Sure enough, soon Dennis’ breathing does something that can’t truly be called evening out, but it’s no longer the frantic, unsteady rhythm it was when he first walked in.

“I smelled it.” A frown, his ears twitching and lips tightening in frustration. “Or I - I didn’t…I don’t even know if it was a smell, or - or something else.”

Robby nods, calm, holding Dennis’ gaze as it desperately searches his own for some borrowed understanding. 

“Was it any of the normal smells you’re trained to alert to? Anything else you’d recognise?”

“No!” Sharp, pained, and Robby smooths his restlessly twitching ears until they settle. “No - of course not!”

He growls slightly, a small and desperately frustrated sound that most people in the department probably wouldn’t think him capable of making. Robby aches for the confusion and pain that he hears in it.

“I don’t even know what it was, I just - something wasn’t right.” Tears finally spill down his cheeks, over Robby’s fingers, and he gently wipes them away where they pool under Dennis’ eyes. “Something wasn’t right and I - I let him - I let him pet me and talk to me about old ladies that cheat at country fairs, and walks, and playing fetch, and I - I fell asleep.”

God. Robby thinks something in him breaks just a little bit in sympathy with the self-loathing he hears in Dennis’ voice. 

“Okay.” He keeps his voice low and calm, because this isn’t about him. He gives Dennis a moment or two to hear the words and register them. “Okay. I hear you, Dennis. I hear you. I’m going to talk now, and I need you to listen to me, without interrupting. Can you do that?”

A whine, Dennis wiggling in discomfort and looking away from him, stealing glances back towards him until he realises that Robby is serious and won’t let this go. He nods his head.

“Good boy.” He pauses, gives himself a moment to collect his own thoughts into something coherent, something suitable to deliver.

“There is no medical process or failure in this hospital that will ever be your fault. Shh, I’m not done.”

Fingers easing over Denni’s tense ears as he trembles with the effort of following instructions.

“You are not a doctor, or a nurse, or anyone who is responsible for providing medical treatment to the patients here. You are a pivotal part of my team, and you provide an invaluable service. But you’re not the one responsible for evaluating, diagnosing, testing, or treating. Ultimately, as the chief of this department, all of that falls under my remit. I am responsible for my patients, and the patients that my doctors and nurses treat. That will only ever be on me.”

Here he pauses, looks down at Dennis, and - and he smiles. It’s fond and sad and it makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, and it hurts Dennis to look at.

“Dennis. Do you think I didn’t run all the tests that I could? Do you think I didn’t exhaust all the treatment options we had?” Dennis shook his head, filled with horror at the thought that he would ever even consider Robby’s failure as an option. “Do you think I didn’t have that conversation with Mr Wisheart?”

Dennis stopped, and something within him crumpled like paper, but felt like glass on the way down. Robby’s smile was still so tender, and it hurt to look at.

“What you felt? Whether it was a smell, or something harder to define, or just a feeling?” Dennis’ chest felt full, felt tight like something was wriggling around in it.

“Dennis, sometimes that’s what death can feel like to the people around it, just before it happens.” A horrible, thin, high-pitched sound starts to escape from the back of Dennis’ throat, and Robby lets it happen, doesn’t quiet him or scold him for it, and doesn’t get awkward and let it silence him.

“And there are scientific explanations and studies for some of it. There are peer-reviewed papers on the sensitivity of hybrids to changes in scents, in chemical and hormonal balances. There are studies that I can give you access to, if you’d like to learn some more about how your body and brain makes sense of death. It might help you understand what you’re feeling a little better.”

Dennis is almost doubled over on himself, tail held close to his body, hands gripping onto it like a lifeline, and Robby can’t do anything other than open his arms and softly click his tongue.

“Come here, Dennis. Come on, sweetheart.”

Dennis’ hands and knees are bony and seem to stick and poke into all of Robby’s soft parts as he launches himself into his lap. His strange little half-claws, which Robby has always been oddly fond of, catch in his shirt where Dennis fiercely winds his arms around his chest and clings. He’s significantly smaller than Robby but still just a little too big to truly comfortably fit on his lap, more of an ungainly tangle of limbs than anything else, but Robby has never been more grateful to feel minor physical discomfort.

“There’s always going to be a point where we’ve done everything we can, and the only thing left to do is  be there, make them comfortable, try to make sure they’re not scared.”

Dennis whimpers into Robby’s chest, clings harder, takes a big gulp of air in the crook of Robby’s neck. Robby leans down closer to Dennis, makes it easier for him to nudge his head against Robby’s in something more akin to a gentle, desperate headbutt. 

“You’ve done something that I’m not good at Dennis, something I’ve always struggled with. You gave Mr Wisheart something so incredibly important, something that very few people can do. And I’m just so very sorry that I didn’t explain his condition to you beforehand, make sure you were prepared. I’m sorry we haven’t had a conversation about how you experience patient deaths before now. I owe you more than I’ve given you, and we can talk about how we handle that tomorrow, but for now, how about you tell me what you need, hmm?”

Dennis’ gasping breaths are slowing, becoming softer and less laboured where they crash against Robby’s neck. There is no longer a faint, distant whine shadowing his every exhale. His tail gives one, miniscule twitch against Robby’s belly.

“Just stay. Please.”

He's fond of all the staff, and he's always got a tail wag ready to greet them all when he lays eyes on them, but it's embarrassingly obvious to everyone that Robby is different. Whether Dennis is seeing the man for the first time that day or the fiftieth, whenever Robby greets him, his tail waggles so frantically that it makes his whole lower body wiggle along with it. It doesn't seem deterred by the fact that Robby's own fondness, while no less obvious, is significantly calmer. Robby's face relaxes just a little when he sets eyes on Dennis, and he smiles with his eyes just as much as his lips, in a way that Perlah and Princess remark makes it look a little bit like something is melting inside him. They don't say this in English, and Trinity hasn't ever told people why it makes her snort.

Dennis is extremely diligent about his job. He will spend hours with the patients who need him, and the doctors and nurses are in agreement that this has freed up a significant amount of their time, because often what their regular boarders need from them is someone to sit and listen to them. Sometimes, when all has been said and done, and regular checks are coming back clean, and the only thing they can really do is house patients until beds open up upstairs, people are just scared and frustrated and need someone to sit and listen to them and tell them that it's going to be okay, that they haven't been forgotten. And try as they might, before Dennis it just wasn't possibly for them all to provide that without putting other patients at risk.

But Dennis is seemingly infinitely patient, and happy to sit with people even when they are angry and unhappy, and he will listen to their complaints with understanding and an almost painful level of empathy. He will curl up against those who just want something warm and loving to hold onto, and he will make soft crooning sounds and let people touch his ears and tail, will weather their storms until they break and begin to ease.

Frankly, Robby thinks Dennis is a goddamn miracle worker. The staff have more time, so they're happier. The patients have someone to listen to them when they need to complain about how unfair it all is, so they're happier. And Gloria is the happiest Robby thinks he's ever seen her. She barely even threatens his job anymore, and sometimes she even compliments him. It's unnerving and he wishes she wouldn't, but he can't argue with results.

Needless to say, Dennis is very busy, and he seems to love his work.

That being said, with almost every spare minute that he has, he is either with Robby, trotting along at his side, or looking for Robby.

When he's not immediately in sight, Dennis scans the department with sharp eyes. If he can see Robby through the glass doors of the trauma bays, he relaxes just a little, because he can see Robby. He knows where he is. But he will always try to keep an eye on what's happening in the trauma bay, wants to watch Robby's body language, because if it's going badly then he wants to be there for the man afterwards. Robby has a tendency to push through all the bad things that happen, to stride from a patient's death, to informing next of kin, to the next patient, to the next patient and the next one, and the next one.

If he can, Dennis tries to immediately be by Robby's side immediately following a patient death. There will be a time and place for him to help Robby break the news to the family, but usually that's not until a little later.

And Dennis knows it's probably annoying, but he tries to stand in Robby's way, just a little bit, when he emerges from an unsuccessful code. Robby's first instinct will be to move to the next patient that needs him, and Dennis would never get in the way of someone that needs medical attention, but he also thinks that someone needs to be thinking of Robby.

His Robby needs someone there for him, needs a break between the chaos and heavy weight of responsibility.

So he stands. He stands in front of Robby and slowly drifts closer, waits until the man's shoulders drop just a little, until he's sure he's not going to get a gentle but firm hand pushing him away. He will settle himself under Robby's arm - if he can get away with it, he'll wrap both his arms around Robby's chest, but sometimes he knows that won't be tolerated. So he will stay there, pressed to Robby's side, and let out a soft, mournful sigh. Usually Robby will allow his chest to loosen enough to subconsciously mimic the sound, and at that point he will usually squeeze an arm around Dennis' waist.

"It's okay, kid. Sometimes you do everything right, and it just isn't meant to be." Dennis lets Robby murmur the words gently into both sets of ears, as though he is the one who needs to hear them. "We gave it our best shot. We put everything into it. That's what we're here for, that's our promise, and we - we fulfilled it today."

Dennis' eyes will sometimes sting, and he doesn't hide it from Robby. His poor, good Robby who has red, watery eyes and who doesn't know - and wouldn't understand why even if he did - that some of the pain in his scent ebbs when he soothes Dennis in these moments.

---

It's obvious to everyone that Dennis has fully and helplessly attached himself to Robby, in a way that he's probably not fully aware of.

To the staff of the Pitt, it's simply a fact of life. A pleasant, often sweetly amusing state of affairs, and one that has only served to benefit them. Nothing really needs to be said or explained, no context given.

The other departments don't quite understand as well. They understand just enough to be occasionally insensitive.

They know that the ED has a service hybrid, but they often don't know his name. What they do know, from seeing brief glimpses when they are called down for a consult, is that Dennis is -

"Robby's dog, right?"

Dennis blinks, and Robby's scent sours just a little.

"Dennis." Robby's voice is terse. He nods to the large, somehow sharp-looking man who strode into trauma 2 beside them. "This is Dr Park, he's out ortho consult today. Dr Park, this is Dennis, he's our support worker."

The man's eyes bore into Dennis', and he almost wants to tell the man that dogs don't usually like unbroken eye contact.

That would be rude, so instead he gives the man one brief, twitch of a tail wag.

"It's nice to meet you Dr Park."

The man grins, and Dennis almost wants to do the same, just to show him that his teeth are sharper. He shakes himself a little instead, allows himself a small sneeze to feel better.

"You're a bad liar, Dennis." The man is still smiling, and it doesn't look...totally aggressive? Dennis has absolutely no idea what to do with this man, so he glances to Robby for guidance.

"Dr Park." Dennis almost cringes from the tone of Robby's voice. It's not often one he hears from the man. It softens ever so slightly when Robby turns his focus partially back to Dennis.

"Don't worry Dennis, there's a reason Dr Park chose a specialty where all his patients are unconscious."

Dennis' eyes dart back to Dr Park's face, wondering if he's going to need to try to find Dana or call for help.

Surprisingly, the man lets out a snort that would probably be laughter on anyone else, and he raises his hands in a show of surrender, even if he is still smirking.

"Alright, you can stand down. Social skills never were my special interest." Park smirks, and Robby flashes one of those overly-wide, too-bright smiles that he only gives to people he thinks are assholes but not worth actual concern, so Dennis figures it can't be that bad.

"Not like you, huh bud?" And now Dr Park is directly addressing him again, even though he kind of wishes he wouldn't. "I've been hearing all sorts of good things about you. Maybe I'll have to take you for a walk around my department."

"I was brought to work in the ED. Dr Robby is my boss - I like it here."

It's clear to everyone that nobody was expecting that. Dennis' own eyes went wide, and he flicked a nervous glance towards Robby, who was doing a poor job at hiding a smile.

"Jesus, Robinavitch," Dr Park whistled, and Dennis was surprised to see a smile twitch briefly across his face that wasn't full of teeth. "Does he bite, too?"

A calloused hand came to land on Dennis' head, and he made a conscious effort to hold himself still so Dr Park could try out smoothing down his ears. Maybe it would make the man less...himself. His strokes were heavy, like he was perhaps trying to drag Dennis' ears to the back of his head, but it wasn't actually rough or unkind.

"Dr Park, I might just bite if you don't get on with it and tell me what we can do here," Robby gestured at the patient before them who was, thankfully, blissfully unconscious.

---

Usually, Dennis is up and making his own rounds of the department before Robby is in. But sometimes, if he's been on a night shift, Dennis will still be sleeping soundly in the little room the hospital gave him, rolled firmly in the blankets they gave him, and the hoodies and miscellaneous items of staff clothing that some people maybe hadn't given him.

Robby likes to come in early some days - when the evenings have been too quiet, and the silence has stretched all the way into the early morning, despite the burble of the television. On those mornings he finds it easier to slough off the stale air of his bedroom and swap it for the antiseptic, electric buzz of the emergency department. Find Jack, make sure he's not getting too much air, share it with him if he is. Get an early start on handover, see what his day shift are going to be in for when the time comes.

Sometimes, Jack will break off mid-sentence in their pre-handover to smirk at something Robby is unaware of. His eyes will drift somewhere over Robby's shoulder, and only then will Robby become aware of the sound of gentle padding and soft snuffling.

"Dr Robby!"

Dennis is never what you'd exactly call graceful - he's not clumsy, but he's slightly too full of enthusiasm for life to achieve true elegance - but in the early mornings, he's truly something else.

A soft, warm weight shoves itself into Robby's side with just enough momentum that Robby thinks he's probably stumbled just a little. A soft head wiggles its way forcefully under Robby's chin, and he has to suppress a twitch when he feels a cold nose snuffling, sleepy but rapid and keen, across the skin of his chest and neck that show through his scrubs.

"Good morning, Dennis."

Robby's voice is soft and low, catering to the closeness of Dennis' sensitive ears to his mouth.

Dennis' weight leans even more heavily against him, and he surrenders himself to the inevitability of wrapping an arm around him. Jack's smirk becomes something wider and warmer, and Robby lifts his free hand to flip him the bird while Dennis' eyes are closed.

"Did you have a good night? Jack take care of you and let you take enough naps?"

"Jealousy's an ugly colour on you, brother."

"Dr Abbot gave me his hoodie for my day bed."

Robby's eyebrows have never raised as far and as fast, locking eyes with a thoroughly unrepentant and unmoved Jack Abbot.

"Yeah? That's very generous of Dr Abbot. Not his usual style."

Jack flipped him off, and Dennis made a little huffing sound into Robby's neck.

"That's not nice. Dr Abbot's nice, and you haven't given me one of your hoodies."

"Yeah, Mike -"

"I never gave - because you took my hoodie! Which I allowed you to do, because you were looking right at me when you did it, Dennis."

It was a matter of plain fact that Dennis had crept over to Robby several months ago, fixed him with huge watery eyes as he had reached out and grasped the hoodie hanging on the back of Robby's chair and ever so slowly pulled it towards himself. He'd never looked away from Robby, and he had his ears flattened all the way back in their apology position, tail pressed between his legs but tentatively wagging in what Robby very much identified as begging forgiveness rather than permission.

Robby had thought about protesting - the AC was brutal in the hospital and it never stopped - but he just couldn't refuse the trifecta of sad hopefulness aimed his way. He had clicked his tongue softly and jerked his head in an approximation of permission. It had worked well enough for Dennis, whose tail remained in that sheepish position but had sped up into its turbo-happy wag. He had dragged Robby's hoodie to the empty shelf space beneath the charge station desk where he kept his so-called 'day bed'.

When Robby had first asked Dennis if he'd like a quiet area he could retreat to if things became a little bit too much, he had been expecting either a refusal, or a request for one of the on-call rooms - either of which Robby would have accepted. What he hadn't been expecting was for Dennis to shuffle on his feet and for his eyes to dart around them, the very picture of discomfort.

"Dennis, you know you can ask me for anything you need. Even if it's something I can't actually give you, you know I'll never be mad, right kid?" He had softened his voice, tried to meet Dennis' darting eyes.

Eventually, Dennis had met his gaze, and Robby could see the effort it took him. His sharp little teeth were buried in his bottom lip, and he gave one last uncomfortable wiggle before he pointed suddenly at the unoccupied space underneath Robby's workstation.

"Can I go there?"

Robby blinked. Looked at where Dennis was pointing, back up at his hopeful eyes.

"Denny - you know we can get you somewhere with a little more space-"

"No, I - I like smaller spaces. It's not like I'd be spending all day and night there. I just...I like to have somewhere I can go, but I don't wanna be completely separated from y - from everyone. And I like being kinda squished so..."

He'd shrugged, face flushed and a little miserable at having to confess to his needs, and Robby felt kinda like an asshole for questioning it.

So Dennis got the day-bed under the desk. And Robby wasn't going to complain, because after the first few instances where he'd completely forgotten that Dennis was there, only to be startled by a hand clutching his leg or the sound of Dennis quietly gnawing on one of his rope toys, it was actually quite...nice. Even when Dennis didn't say anything to him, Robby would usually find that Dennis would scoot himself a little out of his hidey-hole so he could lean against Robby's legs while he updated charts and caught up on his emails. When Robby came in early, it was usually how they spent their mornings.

This particular morning, Robby had walked into a particularly full house, however.

"Denny, you wanna give me a tour of what the night shift is leaving us?"

Dennis' eyes had drifted shut and he was still leaning heavily against Robby's side, face hidden against his throat and the comforting, steady beat of his pulse.

"Uh-huh." He hummed in agreement, not opening his eyes moving from his spot against Robby.

Jack huffed a quiet laugh, handed Robby an iPad.

"Let's show Dr Robby what he's dealing with, Denny."

Dennis yawned, wagged his tail.

---

After they were done with handover and it was time for the rest of the day shift to have started clocking in, Jack had stretched, and Dennis winced at the sound of something popping. He had un-velcro'd himself from Robby's side to pad over to the other man, plastering himself against Jack's broad chest while his arms were still stretching.

"You make old man sounds," he mumbled fondly into Jack's chest. He smiled, tail twitching at the feeling of Jack's laughter reverberating through his chest.

"God, you're such a little asshole when Robby's around." Jack's arms landed around Dennis' shoulders, squeezing him in a hug that made him mumble contentedly. Dennis rubbed his face against Jack's chest.

"Are you okay?" He whispered into Jack's scrub top. The man quieted in response to Dennis' own volume. He stroked a hand gently over Dennis' ears, curling the extra soft fur behind them around his fingers.

"Yeah, Denny, I'm good. Just tired, you know?" He murmured into Dennis' hair, mindful of the ears. "Nothing a good day's sleep won't fix."

Dennis propped his chin on Jack's chest, looked up at him to gauge the truth while Jack's hand continued to smooth his ears flat. He seemed to be mostly content with what he found in Jack's face, before it switched to a mischievous smile.

He nodded to something behind Dennis.

"Robby's going to start rounds without you if you don't detach."

Dennis jerked upwards, ears pricked in alarm and tail stiff. Robby hadn't left, but he was looking at the iPad in a way that probably did suggest that rounds were imminent.

He uncoiled from Jack, prior sleepiness all but gone.

"Have a good morning, Dr Abbot!" He gave Jack one last nuzzle before he trotted keenly back to Robby's side, bumping his head into the man's shoulder.

"No fuckin' loyalty," Jack grumbled as he gathered his keys and prepared to head to the locker room.

Because patients were one thing, and they were predictable in their ebb and flow, if not their individual needs.

The ED was always full of a - frankly sometimes overwhelming - cacophony of noise and smells. There were the more obvious smells, the coppery tang of blood, fresh sweat, often urine and feaces - it didn't bother Dennis, really. Smells were just the environment telling him stories in little breezy puffs. He found them helpful, and would probably be distressed if there were absolutely no scents at all.

Some of them were a little different, though. He could never quite put it into words that his human...colleagues...could understand, but stress and panic, sadness and anger, they all had their own unique scents that layered on top of themselves and became downright insistent if they were allowed to fester by themselves.

And after Pittfest, it was like an entirely new layer of scents built up into a big fog that hung heavily in the corners of the ED. And when he wasn't with patients, Dennis considered it his sworn duty to seek out those sour little clouds wherever they started to sag over people's heads. He silently promised himself and everyone else that he would pop them all.

Usually, they didn't even realise their clouds were getting heavy. Didn't realise the tightness in their shoulders, the bite in their responses to each other, the trembling in their hands.

Dennis noticed. And Dennis was, he had been reliably informed, a snitch.

When Perlah and Princess were so worn down by it all that they even stopped talking to each other and simply darted about the pitt in tense silence, he would seek out Robby. Tug on his scrub top and nod in their direction, waiting patiently for him to see it.

"Okay. Yeah. Take five with them, okay?"

And Dennis would be all too happy to amble up to one or both of them, tug gently on their sleeves until they turned their attention on him, faces smoothing slightly into something more indulgent and relaxed.

"Dennis, honey. Are you okay?"

Dennis supposes he should probably be ashamed of how quickly his tail starts up when people talk to him like that.

"My tail's got tangles."

And that was how Robby found them a good 25 minutes later when he went for a coffee refill in the staff lounge. Sitting on the rickety old couch, Dennis squished between them, patiently allowing his perfectly-groomed tail to be adorned with tiny braids.

"Stop wiggling, Dennis!"

"You want them to be wonky?"

Dennis made that strange chuffing sound, tail still attempting to twitch happily between Princess and Perlah's fussing.

"I don't - I can't really control when it does that! I'm just...happy." Robby's chest starts to hurt a little bit, but that was nobody's business but his own. "It just does that. It'd be like you trying not to laugh when Robby gets stuck with the grumpy grandmas you put him with. And you're really bad at that!"

Dennis glanced up amidst the scandalised noises this provoked, and when their eyes met, Robby knew he was in trouble. Those big eyes brightened, and his tail began to wiggle more frantically in Princess' grasp

"Dr Robby!"

And how in the hell is anyone supposed to stay miserable around that? He feels his mouth tick up at the corners even though he can also feel Perlah and Princess glaring at him.

"Hey kid. You being helpful?"

"Well, he was."

"But now you've broken him, so congratulations, Captain."

Robby winces just a little when he sees that Dennis' tail has kicked up to a speed that can no longer be contained, and his little braids are all starting to shake out.

Dennis glances down, sees his pretty braids starting to slip. He glances at Princess and Perlah, eyes big and shining, lip between his little pin-sharp teeth.

"Oh - oh, I'm sorry! I -"

Perlah hushes him with a pat to the head as she stands.

"It's okay, Denny. It's not your fault."

For some reason, she stares at Robby as she says it.

And so it goes on. Dennis will keep his eyes on everyone, continues to alert Robby whenever he scents that particular cloud hanging too low over anyone's head.

Robby will send him to sit with Santos while she charts - because she will never allow herself to actually be taken somewhere quiet just for the sake of petting Dennis, which he tries not to be upset about. And he will patiently sit and allow her to poke and prod at his ears, doesn't even get offended when she realises she can gently fold them inside out, so they're pressed backwards against his head, pink sides up.

He doesn't even seem to get upset at how funny she finds it, leaning back and laughing that surprisingly melodic sound and not even hesitating to tell him how ridiculous he looks.

"Trinity!"

Robby watches Dennis' ears do their best to prick up happily at the sound of Javadi's reprobation.

"Oh, relax, Crash. He's fine with it! He's just a whore for ear pets, aren't you?" Another scandalised little sound from Javadi, another slow, contented blink from Dennis as Santos rubs the pink side of his turned out ear. "He doesn't care how he gets them."

Javadi looks at Dennis like he might either bite - ridiculous - or start to cry at any moment. When she's greeted only with a happy tail twitch and a tilt of his head nearer to her, she slowly approaches.

"Still." She grumbles in Santos' direction, reaching out to the ear nearest to her, gently folding it back the right way out, and then hesitantly continuing to pet while Santos' laugh burbles away in the background.

When Robby gently directs him to the ambulance bay whenever Dana heads out there slightly too quickly, Dennis will always trot happily after the woman. Who will inevitably curse when she sees him, and immediately put her cigarette out.

"Tell Robby this is the coward's way out. He wants me to quit smoking, he can come and get in a proper fight with me himself."

"He told me I was brave before he sent me out here. He also gave me treats."

"God, that man's a rat."

Robby isn't often around in the moment when Dr Abbot's scent clouds with that very particular smell of something heavy and dark. Like rich earth turning.

Dennis still gets a slightly squirmy feeling in his stomach when Abbot gets that scent, that stillness about him. He's so self-contained, so careful, and his face - usually surprisingly animated and always in motion, wrinkling at the corners with sparking mischief - goes so stony and still, that Dennis feels his ears go back appeasingly. His tail stays low, gives the occasional tiny, subdued wag as he wiggles he way closer to that closed-off body.

"Hey, kid."

Dennis likes Dr Abbot's voice. It's low and it's got a little hint of a growl at the back, but not the kind that makes Dennis' hackles rise. Sometimes, it makes him want to nudge the man until he puts down what he's doing and plays with Dennis.

They may only be out in the ambulance bay right now, rather than on the roof - Dr Robby told him to call if Jack goes up there when Robby's not around. Dr Abbot had snorted and called Robby a pot meeting a kettle - but now isn't the time for that.

Dennis is surprised when the man lifts an arm without looking in his direction. But he's definitely not the one to look a gift cuddle in the mouth, so he moves in quickly, before Dr Abbot changes his mind.

He wriggles into place, shoving his way beneath the arm, a little way into the armpit where it's warmest and smells the most of Dr Abbot, rather than just sadness and mild, thrumming panic. He feels Abbot's chest jerk a little with snorted, subdued laughter as he continues to burrow, wanting to find just the right place.

"Kid, I haven't showered in about 12 hours. I must be absolutely nasty right now."

Dennis huffs, leans more heavily into Dr Abbot. Why do these people never get it?

"I don't care about that. I don't know what it smells like to you, but all it smells like to me is you." Dennis sighs, content with the space he's managed to force himself into. "I just like to know you're here."

Dr Abbot makes a noise that Dennis thinks probably hurts.

"Jesus, kid."

"Dr Robby says he has nothing to do with this place."

Abbot's laughter chokes a little on its way out, breezes through Dennis' hair and over his ears in a tickly little gust that makes them twitch. The arm around Dennis tightens.

Robby's scent crests and dips throughout the day, like it's dancing to a tune that only it can hear. Frankly, Dennis doubts that Robby can hear it most of the time - whenever it plummets and crackles in the way that makes Dennis immediately want to seek out his touch, it seems to take Robby by surprise. Like he's as much a helpless hostage to its whims as a stranger on the street.

The thing is, when it gets particularly bad, when Dennis can smell it like lightning or fireworks before they explode (and seriously, can someone please tell the residents of Pittsburgh to go easy on the fireworks?) there's nobody he can really alert to at the point it's happening.

Robby will indulge him when he paws at his arm, will sling an arm around him or a hand on his neck, give him a little squeeze that seems to let just enough of that pressure out that he can carry on with his day. But it's nothing more than a tiny pinprick in a vast tanker of pressurised air, and Robby will almost never allow himself to actually stop and open the valve.

So Dennis? He has to wait.

He has to wait until the night shift clocks on, and until Robby is finished handing over to Dr Abbot.

Then, he has to wait until Robby isn't looking before he tugs at Abbot's wrist, until he has the man's attention, and then he can stare pointedly in Robby's direction.

Dr Abbot will always nod, sometimes he'll smile and wink at Dennis, in a way that makes something inside him settle, because Dr Abbot's got this.

Tonight, he glances to where Dennis has fixed his wavering blue eyes on Robby, and Abbot's face looks more like he's just been told he has to take all the 'foreign object' patients on the board.

"Stay here." He nods at Dennis, who wonders where else he would go.

He lets his attention drift just a little, but his hearing really is better than people account for, so he's able to pick up the occasional word from the... discussion that Abbot and Robby are having.

It sounds snippy, and Dennis does wonder if it's going to turn into one of their odd, snarling arguments that ends with them hugging and rubbing their heads against each other before they both storm off in opposite directions.

Instead -

"Mikey. Please."

"Jesus fucking Christ."

Dennis just has time to wonder why Dr Abbot's scent takes a definite uptick into something brighter, when he's suddenly startled by a large, warm weight on his neck.

"Need a walk, kiddo?"

Dennis stares up at Robby, flicks his gaze behind him briefly to look for Abbot, see if there's going to be any context coming his way.

Abbot is nowhere to be seen, so Dennis can only cock his head at Robby.

"Jack said you'd been going a little stir-crazy. I'm, uh - I'm gonna go to the park for a few minutes before heading home. Want to come with, stretch your legs?"

And oh my god. Did Dennis want to go to the park? Did Dennis. Want to go to the park?

"Yes! Yes, I'm ready! I'm ready. Are you ready? Do you mean now? Can we go now?"

Dr Robby smiles - a real, actual smile, soft around the edges and with eye contact and everything - and claps a hand on Dennis' shoulder, steering him out of the ED in such a way that he doesn't trip over anyone in his anxiety to get to where they're going.

Dennis freaking loves the park. Sometimes the staff come here after a shift to hang out and drink a few beers, and they bring Dennis with them now, and it's honestly probably some of the happiest times in Dennis' memory.

Tonight is a little different. It's just him and Robby, and they take a meandering stroll - well, Robby meanders, Dennis weaves an energetic little trail around Robby and the trees and the bushes, following all the wild scents that criss-cross into delightful patterns. He never stays too far from Robby, always comes trotting back when the man clears his throat, because he remembers that it's dark and Robby can't smell him, so he needs to be close by so Robby knows he hasn't left him.

Eventually, they loop back around to some of the benches they usually sit on when they come here with the rest of the team.

Robby lowers himself into one with what he and Dr Abbot call 'old man grunts', and Dennis considers the seat next to him for a while, but then decides to fold himself onto the grass below him.

The grass isn't wet, but it's not dead or prickly. It still smells green and fat and full of all the small life wiggling underneath it, and Dennis loves it.

He leans back against Robby's legs, and when he feels the man's long fingers start to card through his hair and rub his ears, he allows himself the luxury of rubbing his face against Robby's knee.

"Jack told me you like to do that." There's a slightly rueful tone to his voice, and it's the only thing Dennis would change about this moment. He wishes Robby could just...let himself enjoy the little things. "Even when we must stink if blood and sweat and god knows what else."

Dennis allows a small, less than serious growl out of his chest. A harmless, puppy sound if anything, because he wasn't actually trying to start a fight.

"And I told Dr Abbot that I don't experience scents the way you do." He rubs his face extra hard against Robby's leg just to get the point across.

"I don't - it's not really a case of smells being good or bad to me. They're just...telling me things. It's telling me that you're here. And that's good."

Robby's breath hitches just the smallest amount, something that could have just been a breath caught by the breeze, except it wasn't. Dennis leans his whole body against Robby, hard.

"You're - you're good, Dr Robby."

"Shhh." A sigh, really, nothing more. And yet, Dennis gets the feeling that it had been hurting Robby, where it had been sitting in his chest.

In fairness to him, it's pretty impossible not to like Dennis. He's cheerful in a way that should be annoying but somehow just manages to make Robby feel vaguely content, he trots happily behind Robby when he doesn't have patients or other staff to sit with, and when things start falling to shit and Robby feels like he can't catch his breath, Dennis nudges insistently into his personal space in a way that doesn't trigger his instincts to shove him roughly away.

At first Robby hadn't known what to do with that. He hadn't pushed Dennis away, but his hands remained stiffly at his sides, fingers clenching and unclenching as Dennis sidled up to him and slotted himself against Robby's side, gently forcing his way underneath his arm only to simply...sit there, perfectly still on the step next to him.

For a long time, Dennis had just been a surprisingly solid weight at Robby's side. He didn't seem to mind that Robby wasn't holding him or petting him, and for some reason that meant more to Robby than he could ever articulate.

A small, rogue element of his brain had taken the time to fire off the utterly absurd thought that had Robby wondering if Dennis was offended when people didn't want to pet him while he was working. The thought was so out there, so completely irrelevant to the roiling, hot mass of pressure that had forced him out of the ED and into the relative peace of the corridor - that his chest suddenly loosened enough to force a sound halfway between a snort and a whimper from his mouth.

Robby could feel Dennis' ears flatten a little further from where they were pressed against Robby's chest, and when he let out another shuddering breath, he realised that Dennis was slowly rubbing his head back and forth against Robby's shoulder. He was humming a little bit, and for just a second Robby felt himself start to bristle at the thought of being - being cooed to - but then he tilted his head a little and caught sight of Dennis' face, and saw that his eyes were at half-mast, he was breathing softly and slowly, and he seemed to be making the sounds more for himself than for Robby's benefit.

Slowly, with only one glance at the windows in the doors through to the ED, Robby lifted one arm and tentatively wrapped it around Dennis' shoulders. His hand settled against the kid's head, resting against one unbearably soft ear, but not making the move to grab or stroke as he had seen others doing.

He felt Dennis' ribs expand massively, and then there was a big gust of warm, soft air puffing against the skin that his scrubs didn't cover, and he had a sudden memory of Langdon's voice, echoing back to Robby from last week.

It hadn't exactly been a quiet day, from what Robby could remember, but nothing so out of the ordinary that he could put his finger on precisely what had shaken Langdon's usual unflappable, breezy attitude. But whatever it was, it had Langdon tense and prone to snapping in a way that was sharper than his usual sarcasm. He glanced at his phone more often than normal, sometimes starting to type but then almost immediately abandoning the efforts. Probably something going on at home then, rather than anything within these walls. Robby had kept a wary eye on it throughout the morning, each instance adding something to his mental calculation that would determine whether he needed to step in.

He had noticed Dennis orbiting Langdon as much as he could - lingering nearby as Langdon darted from patient to patient, and eventually settling himself on a rolling chair across from the man when he sat down to do his charts. He didn't press up against the man or try to engage him in a game of keep-away with his tail as he often did, he simply sat on his chair, occasionally idly spinning it around. On each rotation of the workstation, he crept his chair a little closer to Langdon's, until he was able to fold his arms on the bench next to Langdon, and then rest his head on his own arms. Nothing happened for a good five minutes, Robby deeming it safe to return to his own charting when Langdon didn't tense up at Dennis' proximity. He didn't acknowledge it either, but Robby just figured that even Dennis perhaps couldn't win them all.

He had been deep into his mind-numbing documentation when he heard it.

A deep inhale, not that unusual here, followed by the biggest, loudest exhale that Robby had ever heard. And before he could even finish turning his head -

"Wow. Big sigh, huh bud?"

Langdon's voice was relaxed, warm. A hint of his normal, boyish laughter behind the words.

When he turned, he could see that Dennis hadn't moved his head from where it was pillowed on his arms, but was eyeing Langdon from their shelter. His tail had taken up a lazy, hopeful rhythm.

"I'm hungry. Do you have snacks?"

The memory of it all - the sigh, Langdon's shoulders loosening, Dennis' big watery eyes - is enough to draw a small, slow chuff from Robby's own lungs. Even to his own ears, it sounds fond.

"Big sigh, right?"

Dennis nods his head, or maybe it's just a continuation of the rubbing. His ears swipe back and forth against Robby's scrubs. They smell pleasant, clean, but also a little bit like a wheat field. They leave a trace of golden hairs behind them, fusing with the bobbling fabric of the top Robby really should replace.

"You want a snack, don't you?"

"I can smell that you had some in your pocket."

It was faintly apologetic, just a little ashamed, and this time the sound Robby made was definitely more snort than sob.

"Okay, yeah. Let's go find the mother lode, huh?

So yeah, Robby liked Dennis. He wasn't too proud to admit that he was easy to be around, good at providing comfort, and made it easier to hold onto brief flashes of happiness.

What he had never expected from Dennis however, was rescue.

He had also not expected Gloria to start in on her cyclical bullshit so early in the day either, but that had been on him. Nothing should be able to surprise him about the bureaucracy of this place anymore.

He was trying to tune out most of it, because he could see where this was going. They danced the same steps on already-bleeding feet every single time, and on this occasion he could feel the music becoming too loud, too fast, and too much for him to stifle.

He tried to school his face into an appropriate expression, but he could see Abbot and Dana drifting closer from the corner of his eye.

"-and there is nothing that I would like more than to give you everything you want, but we live in the real world here, and I have to answer for your metrics-"

"Oh my fucking-"

"Hi, Dr Underwood!"

Robby could have sworn he heard every eyeball in the vicinity turn towards the source of the interruption.

Dennis, standing just off to the side, tail wagging eagerly and ears pricked up - as far up as they could go, at least - watching Gloria with those big, bright eyes.

"Oh, uh - hello, Dennis."

Robby didn't think he'd ever seen or heard Gloria so..stymied. She was looking at Dennis like she had just been thrown the biggest curveball of her professional career - despite the fact that she had fucking paid for him - but didn't quite want to let on.

Probably something to do with not wanting to upset the tail-wagging, bright-eyed apple cart standing in front of her. Robby idly wondered whether Gloria was asking herself the same question he had about Dennis being offended by a lack of pets.

"How, um - how are you finding life in the emergency department? I've been hearing very good things about you."

"Oh, I love it!" Dennis' tail has graduated from happy twitching to windscreen-wiper-in-the-rain, and Robby can see something in Gloria's face start to break.

"Everyone has been super kind to me, and I like knowing that I'm making a difference, even if I'm not actually - you know, saving lives."

Gloria looks like she might be constipated. Robby takes one careful, experimental step towards Abbot and Dana.

Dennis sniffs the air, cocks his head at Gloria.