#exmo

Something in Dennis’s chest sinks. The boy, completely oblivious to Dennis’s internal muffled screaming, smiles at him. 

“Hello! Thank you so much for seeing me, I know you all are very busy.” He chirps. Dennis swallows, trying to put himself in a professional mindset. He returns the smile.

“Of course, sorry for the wait. Your chart says you’ve been experiencing some pain in your left leg. Can you tell me more about that?”

“Yes, sir, it started a few days ago. I tried to just power through it, and I took a few over-the-counter pain medications, but unfortunately it didn’t help.” Dennis just hums and nods.

“Do you mind if I examine the area?”

“Not at all!” Elijah shakes his head, pulling up his pant leg. There’s nothing that immediately sticks out to Dennis, which is good. He presses his thumb into the meat of his calf, getting a grimace and a soft hiss.

“How long have you been on your mission, Mr. Torrey?” Elijah’s smile only widens, clearly proud of himself.

“Two months! And please, just call me Eli.” Dennis nods again, not trusting his voice. He remembers his father’s rage when he told his parents he didn’t want to serve a mission. His mother had sobbed for hours, wailing that the devil had hijacked her baby boy. He stuffs the memory back down, focusing instead on the patient.

“How are you liking Pittsburgh so far?” 

“Oh, it’s wonderful! Very different from back home.” Eli says politely. He does look like he means it. Dennis looks up at the boy again. Pale skin, strawberry blonde hair, freckles covering his face.

“Provo?” He guesses. Eli’s perpetual grin only widens as he shakes his head.

“No, but good guess! I’m from Idaho.” 

“Gotcha. I’m from Nebraska myself.” Dennis fell into the conversation, the kindness that was offered to him. Most patients were kind, yes, but not this kind. In the back of his head, he knew it was just to get him to convert. Revert. Whatever.

He continued the exam, going over the blood work that had just come back. Things seemed normal, honestly. He frowned a bit, then turned back to Eli.

“Tell me again what you did for the pain?”

“Oh, I took a few Advil, but I mostly tried to walk it off. My mom always said Behold, how many thousands of our brethren has he loosed from the pains of hell; and they… uh… they…” He got a sheepish look on his face, and before Dennis could stop himself, he finished the verse.

“And they are brought to sing redeeming love.” 

Shit. Eli’s entire demeanor changed. He relaxed marginally, and the smile returned. Dennis wanted to punch himself.

“Oh, wow! I didn’t realize you–” 

“I’m not. Anymore.” He felt bad cutting Eli off, but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t be seen as part of the organization that ruined his life. That made him question literally everything he’s ever done and probably will ever do. It’s not exactly fun watching the light in the boy’s eyes dim, but again, he had to.

“Oh. I’m sorry, brother.” Dennis tried very hard not to flinch. “I get that it’s not easy.” 

He barely bit back a “oh, do you?” He needed to remain professional. He was at work. His lips flattened into a line.

“Okay, Eli, it looks like your blood work is normal, so my guess is that it’s likely a vitamin thing, if that makes sense. Make sure you’re drinking lots of water, and stretching before going on door-to-door work. If the pain persists, I would recommend talking to your primary care physician about supplements to help. Simple stuff, like potassium.”

Eli’s face went a bit red. “So you’re saying I just had to eat a banana?” 

“You’d have to eat, like, ten.”

“Alright. That makes me feel a bit better.” 

They go through the paperwork for discharge relatively quickly. It’s all going smoothly until Eli is just about to leave. He turns around to Dennis, a soft smile on his face.

“You’re always welcome back home, brother. We need to hold tight to that iron rod.” 

Dennis is going to throw up. He doesn’t acknowledge Eli’s words, too used to them by “well meaning” members of his old ward. He wanted to leave it all behind, he had tried so hard. All for this? To be reminded of everything the day after his attending/pseudo father figure/work crush left on a trip he strongly hinted he wouldn’t be coming back from? After he had been fucking homeless and he begged for help from the church and they had told him that exact same thing. Hold tight to the iron rod. It was a test from Heavenly Father. A test that Dennis had failed. His feet carried him back to the breakroom before he could really think, sitting down in the hard chair and burying his head in his hands.

In, 1, 2, 3, 4, Hold, 1, 2 , 3, 4, Out, 1, 2, 3, 4. Don’t cry.

“Whitaker?” Langdon’s voice was soft, almost like he was afraid of shattering Dennis.

“‘M fine.” Please go away.

“Did that guy say something to you?”

“It’s nothing important.” 

Langdon sits anyway. Doesn’t speak, just sits. Lets the silence stretch, not pushing or trying to weasel the truth out of him. He slides a coffee toward the blond, a peace offering. Dennis almost laughs.

“They’re pushy.” Langdon murmurs after a minute. “Kept coming to our house after Abby let them in once. She was just trying to be nice, it was cold as fuck and she didn’t want them to freeze, but… they didn’t let go. I finally had to put my foot down when one of them made Penny cry because they told her she wouldn’t see us in heaven because we weren’t members.”

“I grew up in it.” Dennis doesn’t know why he’s admitting this. “And I left. And he… honestly, it’s stupid. He said I’m always welcome back, but I know I’m not.”

Langdon just nods.

“Everyone back home thinks I’m a coward.” He whispers. His gaze goes everywhere but Langdon. He couldn’t stand to see the pity in his eyes. 

“Nobody in this field is a coward.” He says it like it’s obvious. Maybe to him, it is. The younger man just sighs. He stares at the wall. Nods after a bit. Finally, Langdon takes the hint. He stands up, patting Dennis on the shoulder, and leaves the room.

He continues to sit for a bit. A song echoes in his head, his own five year old voice singing happily. Follow the prophet, follow the prophet, follow the prophet, don’t go astray! Follow the prophet, follow the prophet, follow the prophet, he knows the way! The excuse had always been that the song was about the biblical prophets, but those weren’t the men in the framed picture that the Primary teacher pointed at every Sunday. 

“Follow the prophet!” She would sing, a too-bright smile on her face. Dennis fucking hated the prophet. He hated himself for hating the prophet. Maybe he hated himself in general.