#rt!reader

Victoria’s killing a bit of time in the main foyer before her shift starts one day when the two of you arrive. 

Dennis pulls the door open for you, as usual, holding it while you walk inside. He does the same with the inner door, despite having to speedwalk in order to get there before you. She notices that he’s carrying your backpack, the strap slung over the opposite shoulder from his own. He reaches out as you walk towards the elevators, fingers pinching the side of your shirt, gently pulling you closer to him. It’s subtle, and Victoria’s certain she’s the only one who notices that your hands now brush against eachother’s as you move. 

“You coming up?” You ask, reaching forwards, hitting the button. 

He checks his watch, then nods. “Still got time.”

You bite back a smile as you step into the elevator, doors closing behind you, blocking you from Victoria’s probing eyes. The ICU floor is much quieter than the ED, especially since it’s still early, most of the patients still sleeping as the hospital starts to wake up. You swipe your badge against the sensor, and then step through the double door together, like you always do. 

Dana’s standing at the central desk when you come in, talking to the charge nurse there, trying to get some boarders moved before dayshift officially takes over. She clocks both of you immediately, her sentence coming to a stop when she hears your soft laughter. She turns around, watching as you approach, smiling at her. 

“Dana,” You greet. “Are you finally leaving the ER to join us up here?”

“You wish,” She says, looking past your shoulder, where Dennis is waiting a half-step behind you. “Whitaker, fancy seeing you here.”

The ICU charge scoffs, laughing a bit. “What do you mean? He’s up here every morning.”

Dana raises an eyebrow, a tiny smirk on her face. “That so?”

He shrugs, cheeks flushing a light shade of pink, both bags on his back lifting with the motion. “Pretty much, yeah.”

You, wanting to save him from any further embarrassment, turn around and give him an opening. “I can take my bag, you can head downstairs.”

He frowns, shaking his head. “I got it, I’ll be right back.”

He walks over to the locker room, his figure disappearing through the door. One of the nightshift RT’s comes out of a room, and Dana doesn’t miss the way his eyes light up at the sight of you. He ignores everyone else at the desk as he approaches, saying your last name with way too much enthusiasm for six-thirty in the morning. 

“You should’ve seen this patient last night,” He starts, diving into the story as soon as your eyes are on him, a small smile on your face as you genuinely listen. 

Dennis comes back out of the locker room just as he takes your wrist in his hand, turning your arm so your palm faces the ceiling, gesturing to your forearm as he explains the IV situation the patient had. He mimes the action of fluids spewing, retelling the moment it came loose as he was in the middle of intubating. 

Your face scrunches, but you’re still smiling, and he’s pretty sure you say ‘oh, gross!” before slowly pulling your arm away, tucking both hands into your pockets. He comes up behind you, setting your stethoscope and water bottle on the desk. The other RT loses all steam at the sight of him, and he immediately takes a step back, stuttering over his words for a second. You feel a single finger twist into your waistband, making you look over your shoulder, seeing Dennis and your belongings. 

“Thank you,” You say, fully spinning around. He drops his hand back to his side, nodding. 

“Yeah, uh, no problem,” He says. “I’ll see you later?”

“Hopefully,” You say. “Good luck down there.”

“You too,” He says, then he heads back through the doors and down the hallway. You loop your stethoscope over your shoulders and put your water bottle by your workstation before returning to the nightshifter, a tablet in hand now. 

“Catch me up,” You say, the rest of his story long forgotten. 

Dana follows Dennis out, still smirking, putting both hands on his shoulders as she comes up beside him. 

“You’re a sweet kid, you know that?"

Around eleven that morning, the higher-ups send donuts down to the ED as a ‘thank you’ for all their hardwork. Robby’s in the breakroom when Dennis walks in, admiring the spread, trying to decide if he actually wants one or not. 

“Anything good, boss?” He asks, stepping closer to the tables, looking for something specific. 

Robby shrugs. “Would be nicer if they could just pay my staff what they deserve.”

“Oh, definitely,” Dennis says, spotting what he’s looking for, grabbing one of the napkins nearby. “Gotta’ take advantage though, right?”

He picks up a donut, setting it neatly on top of the napkin and putting it down on the table. He opens the fridge, pulling out his lunch and unzipping the bag. Robby watches as he places it on top of whatever’s in there, then puts it back in the fridge, brushing his hands off and closing the door. 

“Worthy of saving for later?” Robby asks, slightly teasing. Dennis lets out a small laugh, already halfway out the door. 

“Yeah, uhm, trying to be optimistic about getting a break today,” He jokes, stumbling over the words. He’s still getting used to joking around with his boss.

Robby shakes his head, following him back outside. “Oh, you know better than that by now, Whitaker.”

They step out just as the ambulance bay doors open, revealing two paramedics wheeling a gurney in. They both rush over as Dana directs them to an open trauma room, examining the patient while one of the paramedics gives handover. 

“Twenty-three year old male, motorcycle versus guardrail,” She says. “Helmet off at the scene, significant facial trauma, breathing on his own for now, but it’s not pretty.”

They swing the door to the trauma room open. Nurses flood in behind them, taking their usual spots around the room, clicking monitors on and hooking them up to the patient. 

“Hey, can you open your eyes for me?” Dennis asks, shining his penlight into them when he gets no response. “Pupils equal and reactive, GCS six.”

“Sats eighty-seven and falling,” Mateo says. 

“Bag him,” Dennis instructs, setting his stethoscope against his chest, moving it around. “Decreased breath sounds bilaterally.”

“This is gonna’ be a complex airway,” Frank says, having come in a moment after them. “Let’s get respiratory down here.”

You’re adjusting some vent settings for one of your patients when your pager goes off, making you pluck it off your scrub pocket, glancing down at the tiny screen. 

EMERG. DEPT. TRAUMA #3 - STAT PAGE

You shove the pager back into place, already running out of the room, calling for the other RT on shift to finish with your patient as you fly by. You take the stairs down to the ED, shoving the door open at the bottom, gripping your stethoscope in your hand so it doesn’t fall. You grab a pair of gloves before opening the trauma room door, trying to assess the situation as best you can in a few seconds. You can’t even see the patient from how many people are in there, crowding around the bed. 

“Sats down to seventy-nine,” Perlah says. Garcia already has sterile gloves on, holding her hands up and shaking her head as she looks over Dennis’ shoulder. He’s holding the laryngoscope, watching the monitor, trying to get a good view of the anatomy. 

“We need to crike,” She says. 

“Woah, hey, I’m here, what’s going on?” You say, grabbing a gown, shifting towards the head of the bed. You look towards the patient’s face, or what’s fucking left of it, exhaling sharply. “Jesus.”

“Motorcycle versus guardrail,” Frank says. “His jaw’s completely unstable, we couldn’t get a seal with the mask, he’s bleeding like crazy.”

“Move, please,” You say, kind but firm, needing to get a closer look. Dennis pulls the tool out, stepping back, his hands up so they don’t get caught on any of the IV lines. Mateo holds the suction as you do your exam, running through options in your head. He’s already using the biggest suction that he can, and the patient's sats are still falling. 

The room seems frozen around you as you think, everyone waiting on your next move. You nod to yourself when you decide on the best course of action, a small way to hype yourself up. 

“I’m going in through the nasal passage,” You say.

“Blind?” Frank asks. “That’s-”

“No, not blind,” You correct. “I need a lubricated three-point-five.”

The tube is placed into your hand five seconds later. “I’m gonna’ try and advance just past the tongue, see if I can use it as a guide.”

You glance up, making eye contact with Frank, then Robby, waiting to see if either will object to your plan. Robby gives you an affirmative nod. 

“Do it.”

You look to Dennis, who’s already watching you. “Could you listen for breath sounds please, Dr. Whitaker?”

“Oh, Dr. Whitaker,” Garcia repeats. “Is that what you call him in the bedroom?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You shoot back, smirking. 

“Behave,” Robby says, but you don’t need to look at him to know that he’s fighting a smile. Dennis gets into place as you use your free hand to put your own stethoscope in, settling the diaphragm against the patient’s neck, moving it around until you hear what you’re looking for. Then, you slowly advance the tube through the nostril, eyes flicking towards the chest every few seconds to check for rise. 

You start to get some resistance at fourteen centimetres, and the chest twitches. You hear a small amount of air pass.

“Minimal movement,” Dennis says, focusing on what he’s hearing. 

“Bag it,” You instruct, and Jesse does, squeezing. The patient’s chest rises again, and Dennis looks back at you, nodding, confirming that he can hear at least some remnants of breath sounds. 

“Sats up to eighty-five,” Perlah announces. 

You shine your penlight into his mouth, studying the passage that the nasal tube is barely revealing, committing the location of his tracheal opening to memory each time the suction clears enough blood for you to see it. 

“I can intubate now,” You say.

“Are you sure?” Frank asks, taking a look himself, seeing nothing but blood and a small clearing where the tube sits. “You still can’t visualize most of the landmarks.”

“I don’t need all the landmarks,” You counter. “Do you want a real airway or not, Dr. Langdon?”

Dennis’ breath catches in his throat, eyes wide. You’re looking at Frank expectantly, waiting for a decision. He steps back, nodding. Garcia smirks, speaking before he can. 

“Blade to hot shot, please.” You take the tool in your hand, turning on the light and sliding it into place. You don’t bother looking towards the monitor, knowing that you won’t be able to see where you’re going. 

“Seven tube,” You say, reaching for it once it’s passed over, positioning it where the nasal tube already sits. You wait for the suction to expose the clearing again, not hesitating when it does, sliding the tube into the airway. You’re almost certain that it’s in the right place based on how it feels as it clears the epiglottis. “I’m in.”

The cuff is inflated, and Jesse moves the bag from the nasal tube onto the new one, nodding. “Yellow on end-tidal.”

“Good breath sounds bilaterally,” Dennis adds. 

“Sats up to ninety-four,” Perlah says. The tension in the room fades as you look at Dennis, failing to contain a grin when you make eye-contact. He gives you a tiny, proud smile and a subtle nod, silently saying ‘nice work.’

You don’t realize that everyone else catches it, too. 

“I’ll get him up to CT,” Garcia announces. “Glad you were here, hot shot.”

“Excellent work,” Robby says, followed by your last name. The patient is wheeled out of the room, and you’re all left behind, pulling off gowns and gloves. 

“Thanks,” You say. “It’s what I’m good for.”

Dennis holds the door for you as you leave, exhaling once you’re out. Frank holds his fist up. 

“Sorry for doubting you,” He says. You smile, tapping your knuckles against his. 

“No harm, no foul,” You insist, waving him off. The adrenaline of the trauma starts to wear off as you move towards one of the computers, wanting to get the charting out of the way before you go back to the ICU—as long as none of your patients crash. Goosebumps splinter over your arms, despite the long-sleeve you’re wearing under your scrub top, making you shiver. 

Dennis is shrugging his fleece off before you even sit down, handing it to you, already focused on the board to figure out where he should head first. He’s about to walk away when he remembers, spinning back around and leaning towards you over the desk. 

“Oh, hey, there’s something for you in my lunch,” He says, voice quiet, but everyone in the vicinity hears him. They started watching the second he passed you his jacket without a single word. “You can grab it before you head back up, if you want.”

You close your hand around his fleece, trying to get your brain to function again. All work is abandoned by the people around when, for the first time possibly ever, you’re speechless. Not because this is unusual behaviour, just because he’s never done it so…publicly before. 

“Okay,” You finally say, the single word breathy and faint. “Thank you.”

Everyone is staring at the two of you like it’s their favourite TV show. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” He says.

He walks off, you take a seat, pulling the fleece over your head and sticking your badge to the front pocket before logging on to the computer. Your heart is racing, but you do your best to hide it from your colleagues.

“You ever wonder how they ended up together?” Frank asks, watching the interaction from afar, the question aimed at Mel, who has no idea what he’s referring to.

“Who?” She asks, barely looking up from her tablet. 

“Whitaker and Hot Shot,” He clarifies. Mel looks up now, still confused. 

She says your real name like it’s a question. Frank nods. 

“Yeah, Hot Shot,” He emphasizes. 

Mel shrugs. “I didn’t know everyone called her that, I thought it was just Garcia.”

“Doesn’t matter,” He says, moving on. “Labs back for twelve yet?”

Trinity comes back into the department twenty minutes later, having gone outside for a breather, stopping just behind your chair as she walks by. She squints, realizing that you’re definitely wearing Whitaker’s quarter-zip, the one he wears pretty much every single day once it starts getting colder. She goes straight to Victoria, who’s talking to Cassie while they wait for one of their patients to get back from CT. 

“He gave her his fucking fleece,” She says, eyes drifting towards you. Victoria and Cassie look over. 

“Oh my god, that’s so cute,” Victoria says, pouting slightly. “He’s so sweet to her.”

“Have you seen her?” Trinity asks, rhetorical. “He’s got to be in order to keep her around.”

Cassie raises an eyebrow. “I think it’s probably just because he loves her.”

“Or he knows he’s punching above his weight,” Trinity counters. “I love the kid, but she’s practically a supermodel.”

“Well, maybe that’s what drew her to him,” Victoria suggests. “You know, she’s so used to people tripping over themselves to impress her, maybe she liked the fact that he doesn’t make a fool out of himself to get her attention.”

Trinity thinks about that for a second, cocking her head slightly as she looks at you. “Huh. Never thought about it like that.”

“Has no one considered the idea that she just thought he was attractive?” Cassie asks. “He’s a good looking guy!”

Victoria shrugs. “Doesn’t matter either way, they clearly love eachother.”

You barely even realize that your head’s starting to hurt before a pill cup and your favourite donut are placed on your desk. You tug your eyes away from the screen, almost done with your charting, blinking a few times to clear your fuzzy vision. There’s two ibuprofen tablets in the cup, and you see Dennis standing beside you, holding his water bottle out. Robby watches from his workstation a few feet away, smiling, remembering how he watched Dennis set that donut aside a couple hours ago. It wasn’t for him, it was for you. 

"Headache?" He asks.

“How…?” You ask, taking the bottle from him and opening the lid. 

“You’re blinking more than usual,” He says, as though anyone would’ve picked up on it.

“Oh,” You say. “Yeah, it's not too bad, though. Thank you.”

You take the pills and a few extra sips of water before passing it back to him. He sets it on the counter, folding his arms over his chest as he leans back. 

“You should eat something,” He suggests. 

You nod. “I’ll eat this in one second, thank you so much, Denny.”

Robby looks towards Dana, mouthing ‘Denny?’ to her, and she mouths ‘I know!’ back. 

Dennis nods, taking a seat at one of the computers across the hub. You finish your own charting a few minutes later, standing up and walking over to one of the nearby sinks, washing your hands thoroughly. You pick up the donut when you get back to the desk, tearing it in half, holding one side out towards him. 

He’s so wrapped up in his work that he barely glances up when he takes it, then he does a double take, brows furrowing before he looks at you. He’s about to protest when you give him a look, one that let’s him know that you’re well aware he hasn’t eaten since his shift started. He keeps his half raised up, tilting it towards you, and you tap your own portion against his. You both take a bite at the same time, and Princess raises an eyebrow. 

“Did they just…cheers with a donut?” She asks. 

“You haven’t seen ‘em do that before?” Dana asks. “They do it with everything—granola bars, apple slices, sandwiches. It’s sweet.”

“I saw them do it with goldfish once,” Mateo says, spinning around in his chair to face them. “Pretty sure they made them kiss.”

You stretch your arms above your head a few minutes later, leaning against the back of your chair. A few people glance over, hoping to get a glimpse of something, but Dennis’ fleece keeps everything covered. You gather a portion of your hair in your hands, reaching towards your wrist for a hair tie. 

It snaps when you go to loop it around, making you frown.

“Ow,” You murmur, dropping your hair. Victoria goes to offer you a new one, but she’s cut off by Dennis pulling one off his own arm, slingshotting it across the hub, a solid twenty feet or so. You catch it in your palm like it’s second nature, sticking it between your teeth, smoothing your hair back again. 

She malfunctions for a second, trying to see if anyone else witnessed that. Most people have gone back to work, eyes focused on screens or notepads, including Dennis. 

“I…how did you do that?” She asks. 

Dennis doesn’t even look over. “Do what?”

“The—the hair tie thing,” She stutters. He shrugs. 

“She’s always losing them,” He says, as if that remotely answers her question. She’s close enough to see his screen, catching a new secure chat rise to the top of the list that he’s working through answering. It’s your first and last name followed by ‘RRT,’ the profile photo you in scrubs, standing against a white wall.  

heading back up

She glances over at you, still sitting across the hub. You’re looking at your computer, scanning some new orders for your ICU patients, face neutral as you mess with your necklace. She looks back at Dennis’ screen. 

He signs the note he's working on before opening the conversation. 

Come here a second

You log off of the computer, pick up your stethoscope and walk over to him. It’s casual—comfortable. His hand lifts from the keyboard once you’re close enough, reaching over and flipping the collar of his fleece out from where it’s folded in on itself. You raise an eyebrow as he pats it twice, the simple touch of his palm to your collarbone intoxicating. 

“How long has that been bothering you?” You ask, teasing and quiet. The volume has picked back up in the department, so Victoria shuffles a bit closer to try and hear the conversation. 

He pretends to think, glancing at his watch. “How long ago did you put it on?”

You laugh under your breath. “I didn’t realize I was causing you such distress.”

“Yeah, you should probably be more careful,” He says, the corner of his mouth twitching up, but his eyes are wide with concern. “Are you warm enough? I think I have a long sleeve in my bag if you want it.”

You do want it, but not because you’re still cold. 

“No, I’m okay, thank you,” You say, trying to get your feet to move, but his presence is sucking you in. You’re tempted to wedge yourself into his side, knowing that he’d probably respond automatically, arms wrapping around you and his lips brushing your temple like they would at home. 

“Okay, just come grab it if you change your mind,” He says. Your pager beeps from your pocket, and you grimace, face scrunching up in disappointment. 

“I will,” You say, checking it quickly before putting it back. You’re still hesitating, not taking a step away from him. He smiles. 

“Go,” He insists, softly. “They need you.”

You look at him for another second, pursing your lips. “Yeah, alright, going now, Dr. Whitaker.”

Victoria’s eyes widen as she rereads the same line on her tablet for the millionth time. A blush blooms on Dennis’ neck, and he brings a hand up to try and cover it immediately, his blue eyes following you as you get closer to the doors, filled with adoration. 

He gets another secure chat five minutes later. Victoria squints to see what it says. 

made it :) don’t work too hard while im gone

He types back right away. 

Yes ma’am

Victoria gasps. Dennis glances back at her. 

She brings her elbow up to her face, pretending to cough a few times, clearing her throat once she’s done with the performance. 

“Sorry, dry in here today,” She says, trying to give him a reassuring smile. He nods once, unconvinced, but he doesn’t press her on it. 

Her own secure chat lights up. 

TRINITY SANTOS, MD smooth, crash

Seven finally rolls around, signalling the end of your shift. You go back downstairs, waiting outside the ER, like usual, backpack on and changed out of your scrubs. Dennis comes out ten minutes later with Trinity and Victoria trailing behind, his eyes softening when he sees you. 

“Hey, ready to go?” He asks, making you look up from your phone. You nod, greeting his friends before falling in step beside him, bumping your shoulder against his. 

“Oh, gross,” Trinity says, frowning at the heavy rain that’s pouring outside. “You want a ride, Crash?”

“Yes, please,” Victoria says, already bracing herself as Trinity opens the door, turning back to you and Dennis for a second. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” You both say, giving her a tiny wave as they step out into the rain, running to Trinity’s car. 

Dennis pulls his keys out of his backpack, squeezing your wrist quickly. “Stay here.”

You smile. “I know.”

He goes outside, rounding the corner and speedwalking away from the doors. You stay inside, waiting, until you feel someone stop beside you. 

“Waiting for Whitaker?” Robby asks. “I swore he left a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, yeah, he did,” You confirm. “He went to grab the car.”

Robby hums, chuckling. “Of course he did.”

You laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, hands in his pockets. “He just really loves you, is all.”

Your chest and neck start to heat up, making you look towards the ground, scuffing your shoes against the floor. “Yeah, he does.”

“Well, have a good night,” He says. 

You smile. “Goodnight, Robby.”

He walks off just as Dennis pulls the car in front of the doors, shifting it into park as he leans over, gripping the inside handle of the passenger side door. You tense up the moment you’re outside, rain pelting against you, thankful that you still have his fleece on as you run to the car. He opens the door right before you make it so you can just jump inside, slamming it shut behind you, wiping some water off your face. 

You’re both soaked, him more than you, obviously—but he doesn’t care. He leans over the centre console, hand looping around the back of your neck and pulling you close, kissing you. You kiss him back, smiling into it, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. He kisses your forehead after, then pecks your lips again for good measure. 

“Love you,” He says. 

“I love you,” You echo, still smiling. 

A/N - i love that u guys love dennis and hot shot bc i think about them constantly

tags:

“You’re sure you don’t mind having her overnight?” Dennis’ sister-in-law asks, hovering in the doorway of your apartment, eyes trailing over you and your niece. She’s resting on your hip, toying with your necklace, babbling to herself as you give her a reassuring nod. 

“Are you kidding?” You ask. “We love her, and you guys deserve a night off.”

“She’s gonna’ be fine, sweetheart,” Dennis’ brother says, already partially turned away, ready to get to their hotel for the night. “We’re leaving her with the smartest people we know.”

You laugh at that. “We can handle any medical emergencies, I swear.”

“Yeah, okay,” She says, nodding, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her baby’s forehead. “Be good for your aunt and uncle, bye baby! I love you!”

“Say bye!” You exclaim, and she lifts her tiny hand up, waving it back and forth a few times as the door closes. “Okay, monkey, we’re unsupervised. What should we do?”

She stares at you for a few seconds, eyes wide before she breaks into a grin, giggling. You smile too, walking back into the living room, listing options as you go—not that she knows what any of them mean. 

You start getting her ready to go pick Dennis up around six-thirty, hoping that he’ll be off relatively on time tonight. You strap her into her carseat, climb into the drivers side, and pull out of your parking spot. She babbles along to the music you’re playing the entire drive, which is a country playlist of Dennis’, mostly featuring songs his parents listened to when he was a kid that always seem to come on at his family get-togethers. 

You park the car in one of the staff spots, checking the time before twisting around in your seat. “Uncle Den should be done soon, yeah?”

“Den!” She exclaims, and you nod. 

“Exactly,” You say. “Crushed it.”

The first fifteen minutes of waiting are fine, but then she starts to get restless, wiggling in her carseat and pulling on the straps. You try to keep her distracted as best you can, but there’s only so much you can do in a car. She starts to whine, tears pooling in her eyes. 

“Okay, why don’t we go for a walk, hey?” You ask, getting out and opening the backdoor, unclipping the belt and scooping her into your arms. She huffs, and you can’t help but smile. “I know, sorry, I thought he’d be done by now.”

She perks up now that she’s no longer trapped in the carseat, head turning as she takes in the outside of the hospital. You shiver, the temperature having dropped now that the sun is setting, taking her through the front doors and into the main foyer. 

“This is where me and Den work,” You explain, bouncing her a few times. “I usually work upstairs, he works just through those doors.”

You point to the double doors that lead to the ER, and she follows your finger. 

“That’s where he’ll come out,” You add, checking the time quickly. “Soon. Hopefully.”

You walk laps around the main floor for a bit, avoiding getting in anyone’s way, letting her stare at all the paintings on the walls and the people passing by. You circle back to the main lobby at seven fourty-five, your arms growing tired from carrying a one-year-old around for thirty minutes. 

You sit on one of the benches, shuffling her so she’s facing you, putting both hands on her back to keep her upright on your lap. She rubs her eyes, making you frown. 

“Yeah, it’s almost bedtime,” You say, letting her settle against your chest.

The door to the ER swings open a few minutes later, revealing Dennis, Trinity, Cassie, and Dana. Dennis’ face lights up when he sees the two of you, and she lifts her head off your shoulder, sitting up straighter as he gets closer. 

“Hi peanut!” He exclaims, kneeling in front of her. 

“Den!” She says, but in her tired state it comes out a little garbled, sounding an awful lot like ‘dad.’ Neither of you realize, knowing exactly what she said, but Trinity stops dead in her tracks, casting a look over her shoulder to see if Cassie and Dana heard the same thing. 

“Dad?” Cassie whispers, just as Dana’s eyebrows lift, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. Trinity shrugs, mouthing ‘I don’t know?’ in response. 

“How are you, sweet pea?” He asks, lifting her up when she raises her arms towards him, settling her on his hip. She tucks her head into his neck, sighing, tiny fists grabbing handfuls of his hoodie. 

You stand up, smiling at the pair, reaching over and smoothing some of her hair out of her face. 

“Hi,” Dennis says, his attention now on you. 

“Hi,” You echo. “Rough day?”

“Yeah,” He breathes. “Sorry for taking so long, a trauma came in right before seven and Ellis was running late, so-”

“It’s okay,” You promise, eyes finally looking over his shoulder, seeing the three women standing across the foyer, watching you. You lift your hand to wave, but the action is cut short when a sharp cry rings out from your niece.

“Okay, yeah, fair enough,” Dennis says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You actually wave as you and Dennis rush through the doors, leaving them dumbfounded for a few moments. 

“Do they have a fucking kid?” Trinity asks, incredulous.

Dana chuckles. “Seems like they might.”

“Wow,” Cassie says. “I thought they’d only been together for…I dunno’, maybe a few months?”

“The kid was probably a year old,” Trinity adds. “Was she ever on leave or anything?”

Dana shakes her head. “Not that I know of, but she was almost entirely up in the ICU until last year, then she got started on the trauma team by doing the night shift. I didn’t see too much of her.”

“No. Fucking. Way,” Trinity says, laughing in disbelief. “She’s got a kid.”

“You think she isn’t Whitaker’s?” Cassie asks. 

“He only started here, like, a year ago,” She explains. 

“Well, maybe they met before that,” Cassie counters. 

“Who knows?” Dana asks, already walking away. “Good night!”

Cassie leaves too, but Trinity turns right around, heading straight back through the doors to go find Princess and Perlah. 

Robby and Jack finish up with the trauma patient, coming out of the room to see that there’s still a decent portion of the dayshift around, most clustered by one workstation. Princess has her phone out, typing variations of your name into the Instagram search bar, trying to find your account. Perlah, Trinity, and Victoria all hover nearby, tossing out suggestions that she should try.

“Maybe she uses her middle name?” Victoria asks. “Is there a way to find that in the hospital system, or something?”

“We only have doctors middle names,” Perlah says, shaking her head. “What about Facebook?”

“She’s, what, twenty-five?” Princess asks. “She doesn’t have Facebook.”

Jack leans over the desk. “Who are we stalking?”

Trinity says your name, not taking her focus away from the phone. “You know her middle name?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Uh, no.”

“Why are you looking her up?” Robby questions, taking a spot beside Jack, both attendings now thoroughly invested, even if they’d never admit it. 

“Santos saw her and Whitaker with a baby,” Princess explains. “Said the kid called him dad.”

Robby’s eyebrows shoot up, whereas Jack just leans closer. 

“She never took time off when she worked nights with you?” Victoria asks, having been filled in completely by Trinity. 

“Not that I remember,” Jack says. “How old was this kid?”

“At least twelve months,” Trinity says. “Maybe a little older.”

“So your theory is…what?” Robby asks. “She kept the pregnancy a secret?”

“We’re open to suggestions,” She counters. 

He lifts his hands up with an exaggerated shrug. “It wasn’t their kid?”

“She called him dad.”

Robby sighs, rubbing his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment. Jack smirks. 

“Pretty damning evidence,” He says. He knows the two of you don’t have a kid, but he’s not about to ruin the fun—nor give them your Instagram handle, which contains several photos of your nieces and nephews.

“Okay, everyone go home, get some sleep,” Robby says. “You can all hound him about it tomorrow.”

Dennis arrives at the hospital the next morning, gaining the attention of everyone sitting at the central hub. He nods as he walks by, smiling a bit. 

“Morning,” He says, getting various responses back, all of them teetering on the edge of being too enthusiastic. He keeps moving, ignoring the strange behaviour. 

Cassie lands beside him once he’s out of the locker room, both of them looking up at the board. Dennis blinks a few times, vision a little blurry from the lack of sleep he got last night. 

“Tired?” Cassie asks. 

He hums. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, no, not really,” She says. “She sleeping through the night yet?”

He raises an eyebrow, confusion evident. “...who?”

Cassie falters for a second, now equally as confused. “Your daughter?”

“My—my what?” He asks. 

“The baby yesterday?” She questions. “Your daughter?”

Dennis’ eyes go wide with realization. “Oh! Oh, uh, no—that was our niece.”

“Oh!” Cassie exclaims, letting out a breath, laughing. “That…makes more sense. We were trying to figure out the timeline yesterday, and it really wasn’t adding-”

She cuts herself off, finally processing what he said. 

“Wait, our?” She asks

“Uhm, yes?”

“Our niece,” She repeats. 

“Yeah, my brother’s daughter,” He says, the sentence coming out slowly, having no clue where her confusion’s coming from now. “You know…?”

“Your niece, then,” She clarifies, and he shakes his head. 

“No, well, technically yes,” He stutters. “All my nieces and nephews are her nieces and nephews, too. They call her ‘auntie’ and everything.”

Cassie nods, brows furrowing a little. “Wow, that’s…wow. That’s sweet, especially since they haven’t known her all that long.”

“Well, uh, actually they’ve known her for awhile,” He says. “I took her back home when we had only been together for a few months, so, she’s been around.”

She nods. “Right, and how long have you been together?”

“Almost four years now,” He says, as though it’s the most casual answer in the world. “The youngest three hadn’t even been born yet when she visited for the first time.”

“Huh,” Cassie says, too stunned to say much else. “Well, hey, congratulations.”

She pats his shoulder before walking off, leaving Dennis slightly bewildered. 

“Uh, thank you?”

Frank comes out of a room across the department, closing the curtain behind him and walking towards the board. Mel intercepts him on the way, falling in line beside him, hands clasped in front of her. 

“Morning,” He says. 

“How old were you when you had Tanner?” She asks, bypassing the small talk, her eyes trailing after Dennis as he goes to see a patient. 

“Twenty-seven,” He says. “Why?”

She shakes her head, scrunching her face up and raising her shoulders up towards her ears. “I don’t understand having kids in medical school.”

Frank clicks his tongue behind his teeth, chuckling. “Yeah, fair enough. It was pretty brutal.”

“Did, uhm, was Abby working too?” She questions. 

“No, no, her job had decent benefits, she was off for six months,” He explains. “Why?”

She gestures vaguely to where Dennis had been standing. “Just…wondering how they managed.”

“How who managed?”

She says your names. “She never took mat leave, and he would’ve been in his last year of school.”

Frank stops entirely, turning to look at her. “Hang on, they have a kid?”

She nods. “That’s what I heard.”

Robby and Dana are working side by side a few hours later, a rare moment of downtime giving him the opportunity to ask her if she knows anything about yours and Dennis’ supposed child. She smirks, putting her glasses up on her head and leaning back in her chair. 

“Overheard him tell McKay she’s his niece,” She says. 

“So…she didn’t call him dad?”

Dana scoffs, laughing. “Definitely sounded like it.”

The hushed conversations continue for the rest of the day, various theories bouncing around to the point that Ahmad pulls out the betting board, but Dana tells him to put it away before it can go anywhere. Somehow, the story spirals into absolute ridiculousness, with far too many people believing that the niece story was a lie. 

Frank walks out of the ER with Dennis at the end of their shift. 

“It’s a tough age,” Frank says, opening his car door. “Penny barely slept until she was eighteen months.”

Dennis slows, hand pausing on the ‘unlock’ button on his key fob. “She’s not-”

“I know how tough it can be to have a baby during residency,” Frank continues, getting into the drivers seat. “But it's worth it. Hang in there, man.”

He closes the door before Dennis can say anything else.

You laugh so hard you can barely breathe when he relays the story to you later that night. 

Your shifts don’t overlap for a few days after that, but you feel the energy change when you walk into the department for a non-urgent page halfway through the day. Dennis looks up from where he’s sitting, watching you approach the desk wearily. 

“What?” You ask, looking right at Princess, knowing you can get her to talk. 

She smiles. “What?”

You narrow your eyes. “Is this about the kid?”

Her face lights up. “So there is a kid?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No! She’s our niece.”

“Yeah, that’s what Whitaker said,” She counters. “But she called him dad.”

“What?” Dennis asks. “No, she didn’t.”

Princess holds her hands up. “Santos said she did.”

“She definitely called him ‘Den,’” You clarify, grinning. “Not dad.”

Princess processes that for a second, her mouth dropping into an ‘o’ shape. 

“Did you actually think that I managed to hide a pregnancy from the entire hospital?”

A/N - see u all tomorrow for dennis x ballerina!reader happy pitt thursday eve!

tags (not the full list im so sorry i need to go through it and do some reconfiguring lmfao):

“Hey, are you able to cover the ED today?” Your coworker asks. “I’m still getting over that flu I had last week, and I think running between here and there might just kill me.”

“Of course, yeah, no problem,” You say, accepting the trauma pager from her, tucking it onto your scrub pocket. “Did you test?”

“Yeah, flu A,” She says, and you grimace. 

“Rough,” You say. “I’ve got it covered, let me know if you need anything else, yeah?”

The first trauma that requires respiratory assistance rolls in around nine. 

“Eighteen-year-old male, motorcycle versus SUV at approximately sixty MPH,” The paramedic says, wheeling the gurney through the doors as people begin to crowd around. “Helmeted, significant damage to the bike.”

They push him through the trauma bay doors, still listening intently as the paramedic continues. 

“Airway intact, alert and oriented times four, awake and talking on scene,” She adds. “GCS fourteen—confused, repeating questions. Obvious deformity to the left femur, no open wound noted, distal pulses weak but present.”

“Heart rate one twenty-eight, BP ninety-eight over sixty-two, resps at twenty-six,” The secondary paramedic says, just as Samira counts down from three, everyone lifting the sheet up and transferring the patient onto the hospital bed. “Two large bore IV’s, fifty of fent, femur splinted in traction.”

“Great, thank you,” Robby says, letting them leave. 

Princess cuts the rest of the patient’s clothes off while Donnie hooks him up to the monitors, the screens coming to life and showing the mildly concerning vitals. Dennis is already examining the chest, stethoscope in as he listens to his lungs. 

“Sir, can you tell me your name?” Samira says, getting a confused groan in response. 

“My fucking leg,” He mumbles. “Where—what happened?”

“You were in an accident,” She explains. “You’re at PTMC now, we’re gonna’ take care of you, okay?”

She looks at Dennis, asking what his next steps are. 

“Uhm, trauma labs, chest and pelvis ultrasound,” He says, glancing towards the monitors, watching his sats come down a few points. “Let’s get him started on high flow, page RT and ortho.”

“Okay, let’s do it,” Samira says. “Who’s here for respiratory?”

“Adams,” Robby says, having already asked Dana earlier that morning. 

Samira frowns. “She’s not here?”

The question is directed at Dennis, who stutters for a second. “Oh, no, she is. She’s just in the ICU today.”

“Too bad,” She says. 

When the door opens to reveal you everyone reacts a little more enthusiastically than they usually would, happy to have you instead of anyone else. 

“Dana said Adams was here today,” Robby says, watching you pull on gloves. 

“Yeah, she had the flu last week, still struggling with some SOB with exertion,” You explain. “Is it okay that it’s me?”

“Definitely,” Samira says. “Motorcycle versus car, GCS fourteen but his sats keep dropping, eighty-seven on a hundred percent.”

“That’s not great,” You say, making your way to the head of the bed. Dennis’ hand comes back as you move behind him, gripping the front of your thigh for a second, making you smile. You introduce yourself to the patient. “I’m with respiratory. Can you tell me your name?”

“My…leg,” He says, taking an obvious breath between the two words. 

“We’re gonna’ get it fixed up for you, okay?” You say. “Your chest hurt at all?”

He doesn’t respond. 

“Can I grab an ABG?” You ask, and Samira nods. “How was the eFAST?”

“Negative,” Dennis says. “No pneumo, no fluid.”

“Femur fracture?” You question, making the assumption from the splint that’s wrapped around his thigh as you grab the syringe, positioning it over his wrist. 

“Yeah, a bad one,” Samira says. “Why, what’re you thinking?”

“FES?” You suggest, drawing his blood up, capping the needle and passing it to Princess. 

“Definitely a concern,” Samira says. 

“Non-rebreather?” You ask. “He’s too agitated for BiPAP.”

“Yep, do it,” She says. “Let’s prep an intubation tray, just to be safe.”

You slip the mask onto his face, assuring him that everything is going to be just fine, then you start collecting the supplies you would need to intubate. Robby leaves at some point, his attention being pulled by another trauma, putting Samira completely in charge. 

“Did you tell ortho this was urgent?” She asks, and Donnie nods. 

“Sure did.”

“Who’s on for ortho?” You ask, mindlessly adjusting the tube you’ve chosen, lining everything up perfectly. 

“Shark,” Donnie says. Dennis rolls his eyes at the mention of the name, shaking his head a little to try and focus on the patient again. 

“Oh, I’ll call,” You say, making everyone raise an eyebrow, not sure why that would change anything, but they don’t stop you. You pick up the phone on the wall, putting in the right number and bringing it to your ear, waiting for a few seconds before someone picks up. “Hey, is Park still up there?”

The room stills, especially Dennis, his hands coming to a complete stop over the patient’s abdomen that he’s about to palpate again. 

“Great, can you let him know that we need an urgent ortho consult down in trauma three?” You ask. You ask for the person on the other end to tell Park that it’s you asking, and Princess smirks. “Thank you so much.”

The door opens four minutes later, Park coming through, his eyes immediately finding you—then the patient. 

“What’ve you got?” He asks, and Samira gestures for Dennis to go ahead. 

“Motorcycle versus car, closed femur fracture, concerned about FES,” He explains. Park nods, leaning over the patient, gloved hand raising to touch the area. 

“You calling me personally now?” He asks, looking at you again. 

“When the situation calls for it,” You say, a small smile on your face, one Dennis does not miss. “Wouldn’t be necessary if you guys would actually answer pages at a reasonable pace for once.”

“I like to make an entrance,” He says, crouching a little to get a better look at the injury. “Especially when you’re here.”

“Okay, relax,” You say, but you’re laughing through the words. “Just fix his fucking thigh, Brendon.”

“For you?” He asks. “Anything.”

That was when things started going downhill for you and Dennis. 

Had that happened any other day? It wouldn’t have been an issue. People flirt with you all the time, not just at work, but everywhere. It’s a constant that he’s grown used to, and up until today he thought that he could handle any amount of people throwing themselves at you. 

But, apparently he can’t. 

The mass casualty happens at three-fifty-nine. 

A multi-vehicle pile up on the highway with twenty of the thirty-two victims arriving by ambulance and helicopter fifteen minutes later. 

You spend the first hour floating from room to room, assisting with oxygenation and administering medications when the nurses are already stretched thin. You start a few arterial lines, intubate two patients, and do six rounds of chest compressions all within sixty minutes. 

Your name is called from one of the rooms, making you quickly tape an arterial line in place, asking Mel if she needs anything else before making your way over to Dana. You dodge people as you move, following her through the curtain, revealing Dennis standing at the head of the bed, preparing to intubate. 

“Where do you want me?” You ask, looking at Frank, who’s squeezing a bag of blood. 

“You can assist Whitaker,” He says, and you nod, taking the spot beside your boyfriend and accepting the bag mask from Sophie, placing it over the patient’s mouth. 

The ED is loud. 

That’s all Dennis can think about until you’re standing next to him, and then he starts thinking about you and Park earlier. Someone asks what size tube he wants just as he puts the laryngoscope into place, turning the light on and glancing towards the monitor that’s been wheeled in, revealing the patient’s throat. He doesn’t realize that the question was for him, clearly, so you answer.

“Seven, probably,” You say, turning around and opening the drawer, grabbing the correct tube.

Dennis inches farther into the mouth.

The cords still aren’t visible. 

“That’s super anterior,” You say, already reaching towards the patient’s neck, pressing your hand against it. You watch the screen, adjusting to try and bring the cords into view, but the visualization still isn’t great. “Lift the blade slowly, that might help.”

“Yeah, I know,” He says, his tone a little firmer than usual, but you quickly brush it off as the pressure of the mass casualty. 

Her airway is swollen, and even when the cords come into view he doesn’t feel good about the landmarks. He keeps looking down into her throat and back up at the screen, and then Sophie speaks up. 

“Sats down to seventy-one.”

Dennis shakes his head, pulling back in a swift motion. 

“Switch?” You ask, and he nods, passing you the tools. You take his place, and he sets his hand where yours was moments prior, mimicking the pressure that you were doing for him. 

You get the same view that he had, but you’re much more confident as you adjust the blade, sliding the tube into place without even looking at the monitor. Dennis puts his stethoscope in to confirm breathsounds. 

“Waveform looks good,” Frank says. “Yellow on end-tidal.”

“Good breath sounds bilaterally,” Dennis adds. 

“Thank you,” Frank says, and you nod, your hand landing on Dennis’ side as you walk past him, a slight action of reassurance. 

“Call if you need anything else,” You say, then you slip through the doors, off to the next critical patient. 

He’s rattled after that, and he can’t help but notice the difference in how you’re doing compared to him. People call for you specifically, anticipating your next move and passing you whatever you need before you can even ask, thanking you or even congratulating you once you finish up with patients. You move through the chaos in a way that he can’t, and it seems like everyone does their best to make it easy for you. 

He ends up in one of the back hallways between crises after Robby tells him to take a breather. 

He lost the patient that you intubated, and he can’t stop wondering if maybe he wouldn’t have if he had been able to get the tube in. You eventually come into the hallway, sliding down the wall beside him, tucking your knees up to your chest, a small amount of dried blood on your scrubs. 

“You okay?” You ask, nudging his leg with your own. 

He nods. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah,” You say. “Heard you lost a patient.”

He inhales sharply, shifting his legs away from you ever so slightly. “I did, yeah.”

He pauses for a second before continuing. 

“I should’ve let you intubate from the get-go,” He says, but it’s not proud like usual—it’s bitter. “Maybe that extra minute of oxygen would’ve saved her.”

“Don’t do that,” You say. “Don’t blame yourself, you did everything right.”

He scoffs. “Not as right as you.”

“I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have, Denny,” You counter. “You’ll get used to it, I promise. And, I’ve got your back. Always.”

He nods, his frustration finally coming to the surface, spilling out with his words. “Would be a lot easier if the entire department wanted to sleep with me.”

You stiffen, and he doesn’t see the way your face drops. 

“What?” You ask, incredulously. 

“Surgeons don’t come quickly when I page,” He continues. “People aren’t lining up to make my life easier because they think I’m attractive.”

You don’t speak for a minute, but you push yourself away from him on the floor, hurt rising in your chest. 

“And if they were? I at least wouldn’t be entertaining it in front of you,” He adds. “Is that why you always want to look nice at work? So people will trip over themselves to try and impress you?”

You blink a few times. 

“Is that really what you think?” You ask, already standing up, wanting to put as much distance between you and him as possible. “Cool, good to know.”

You’re gone before he can say anything else. 

Somehow, because the universe hates you, you end up in a trauma together during the last thirty minutes of your shift. 

Your entire demeanor changes the second you see that he’s in there, silently adjusting oxygen settings and doing whatever you’re asked as everyone works around you. Dennis keeps trying to catch your eye, but you barely look in his direction, keeping all your focus on staying fucking professional. 

Jack, who showed up shortly after the pile-up was on the news, notices the tension between the two of you right away.

“Everything okay?” He asks, mostly to you. 

“Yep,” You say. “You want BiPAP?”

“Yeah, and let’s page ortho for that arm,” He says, raising an eyebrow, watching closely as you set the mask up. “Then you can get out of here, pass this off to the nightshift.”

“Great,” You say. “Thanks, Jack.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

“You wanna’ give them a call, let Park flirt with you again?” Princess asks, to which you shake your head. 

“Not this time, sorry,” You say, a tight smile on your face. “Can’t pull that card too often, people might start questioning my clinical abilities.”

Dennis goes completely still over the chest, one hand holding the diaphragm of his stethoscope mid-air. Jack raises an eyebrow, barely looking up from his task.

“Why would that make someone question your clinical abilities?” He asks, to which you shrug, reaching for the BiPAP settings. 

“Beats me,” You say. “Eight over four?”

“Whitaker?” Jack asks. 

“Yeah, eight over four, please,” He says, giving you a quick nod. 

You adjust them accordingly. “Anything else I can do for you, Dr. Whitaker?”

He glances up at you, shaking his head. “No, uh, thank you.”

Your last name stumbles awkwardly out of his mouth at the end of the sentence, and Jack watches as you leave before turning back to Dennis.

“That was fun,” Jack says. “You wanna’ tell me what happened?”

“Not really,” Dennis mumbles. 

You’re standing by the central hub when Park comes back down into the department, pivoting away from the room and instead heading towards you, calling your name to get your attention. 

“Hey,” You greet, giving him a small smile. “Here for two?”

“Yeah, the broken arm,” He says. “You intubate?”

“Nope, just BiPAP,” You answer. “They’re A&O times four.”

“Great,” He says. “You still somehow look amazing, even after that mass cas.”

Your response is foreign to him. He’s been harmlessly flirting with you for years, and both of you would go as far as saying the other is a friend, and you’ve always joked back or at least smiled. Now, you take a half step away from him, eyes flitting towards the trauma room, your expression neutral.

“Hey, don’t,” You say, making him chuckle a little. 

“Okay, sorry,” He says. “Didn’t realize I couldn’t compliment my favourite RT anymore.”

“Yeah, you know, we’re at work,” You say. 

“When are we not?”

Your eyes land on Dennis when he comes out of the room, only for a second, but Park turns around, seeing your boyfriend. 

“Did Whitaker say something?” He asks. 

“No, no, I just think we should keep it professional, okay?” You say, wanting today to end. “I’m sorry.”

“He said something,” He says. “After he choked in that trauma and lost his patient?”

“Don’t fucking say that,” You counter. 

“Did he take that out on you?” He questions. “Couldn’t handle the fact that you had to swoop in and save his ass?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t ‘save his ass,’” You argue. “I’m an airway specialist, I’ve had to step in for practically every doctor in this department at least once. I lost that patient just as much as he did, and he didn’t do anything wrong.”

The nurses at the hub go completely silent, quickly acting as though they weren’t listening to the conversation. Jack smirks, reminding himself to never get on your bad side. You look to Dennis again, who heard the majority of the exchange, before pushing off the desk. 

“I have handover,” You say. “See you later.”

Dennis reaches for you as you walk by. “Hey-”

You twist your body away, avoiding him entirely as you make it to the door, heading back up to the ICU without another word. Trinity lets out a low whistle, waiting until you’re gone before speaking. 

“You fucked up, Huckleberry,” She says. 

Dennis grits his teeth. “Yeah, I know.”

He’s actually shocked to see you waiting for him outside the ER once he’s finished. 

You’re leaning against a pillar, headphones in, a grim look on your face. Trinity widens her eyes at Dennis, the look saying something along the lines of ‘fix this, you fucking idiot.’

She says bye to you as she walks past.

“Night, Santos,” You say, tugging your headphones out and putting them in your jacket pocket. Dennis approaches slowly, holding the straps of his backpack, head slightly tilted towards the floor. 

“I-”

“Can we stop and pick something up for dinner?” You ask, reaching for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “We don’t have any leftovers and I don’t feel like cooking.”

His fingers are frozen around yours for a second, then he curls them over your hand, falling in step beside you. 

“We can do whatever you want,” He says. “Do you want me to take you home first? Then I can go-”

“No, I wanna’ come with you,” You interrupt, swinging your arm a little, leaning into him like you usually do. He’s warm, protecting you from the wind as you step outside. 

He doesn’t say anything as you walk to the car, just opening your door for you, shutting it as gently as he can before hopping in the driver’s seat. 

“You can pick what we eat,” You say. “My brain hurts.”

He nods. “Fair enough.”

You’re almost at your favourite restaurant when he speaks again. 

“You waited for me,” He says, quiet, a little nervous. 

“Of course I did,” You say. “Me being mad doesn’t mean we don’t go home together.”

You pause for a second. 

“You had a shitty day,” You add. “Let’s talk about it later, yeah?”

Later comes after you’ve both eaten, showered, and sat in silence for awhile, you tucked into his side on the couch and your cat curled up beside you. 

“Okay,” You say, making him jump a little. You shift away, turning so you’re facing him. He spins too, anxiety written all over his face. 

You take a deep breath. 

“You can’t talk to me like that,” You say, getting straight to the point. “Or even think about me like that.”

He nods, slowly, not wanting to sound remotely defensive. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t know,” You insist, keeping your tone from dipping into anything close to anger. “Because if you did you wouldn’t have said it.”

“I don’t think that about you,” He says. “Not at all.”

His voice wobbles a little. 

You inch a little closer, touching your knees to his, looping a finger into the bottom of his sweatpants, toying with the hem. 

“You’re so good at…everything,” He continues, swallowing roughly, clearing his throat. “I don’t know why seeing you so…fine in the middle of it all made me so upset.”

You shrug. “You had just lost a patient and felt like it was your fault.”

“Yeah, but that happens everyday,” He counters. “And you come and fix my mistakes everyday. I don’t usually react like that.”

“Are you looking for help psychoanalyzing yourself?” You ask, the tone a bit teasing. 

He smiles. “A little, yeah.”

You purse your lips, shifting closer again. 

“Park was flirting with me in front of you,” You start. “I didn’t think anything of it because that’s the relationship we’ve always had. You felt...bad about that.”

You stop, realizing that sounded better in your head. 

“Tell me if I’m wrong, please,” You add, and he nods, gesturing for you to continue. “You lost a patient after having to pass the intubation to me, and I don’t think it being me had anything to do with it. You would’ve been upset no matter who took over, because you felt like you should’ve been able to get that airway.”

His face flickers, and you can tell that you’ve said something that doesn’t completely resonate. 

“It did matter that it was you,” He corrects, gently. “I…I always wanted to impress you when we worked at the clinic, and I still do. Even five years later.”

“You do impress me,” You promise. “Every single day. Do you have any idea how proud I am of you?”

You don’t give him the chance to answer. 

“I tell literally anyone who will listen that my boyfriend is the most caring, patient, amazing doctor every chance I get,” You continue. “I’ve seen so many interns in that emergency room and you’re better than all of them. And I’m not just saying that because I’m in love with you.”

“Wait, you’re in love with me?” He asks, smiling, the joke making you grin, the tension genuinely starting to loosen now. 

“Extremely,” You say.

He clenches his jaw, on the verge of tears. 

“I love you so much,” He says. “And I know that your job is just as hard as mine, and that people finding you attractive doesn’t make it any easier.”

You squint, tilting your head to the side. “Well…”

He wipes a tear off his cheek, chuckling. “Yeah, the thing with Park was pretty helpful.”

“Sometimes people listen more,” You say. “Sometimes they don’t take me seriously. It balances out.”

He nods. “Right.”

His hand moves towards you, but he hesitates, placing it back in his lap. 

“I had no right to say that to you,” He says. “Not during a mass cas, not ever. I’m so sorry, angel.”

“I know you are,” You say, reaching for his hand, taking it in your own. “I’m still upset, but-”

You feel him stiffen, eyes dropping to your lap, more tears pooling on his lashline. 

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere,” You say. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, nodding. “Okay.”

“I’m still upset, but I just need time,” You continue. “And I need you to not do that again.”

“I won’t,” He says, opening his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

An hour later you’re curled up on the couch, a blanket over you, the light from the TV flickering over your face. You’re not really paying attention, but it’s nice to have in the background as you process the day while Dennis busies himself in the kitchen, putting your leftovers away and making some tea. 

He sets a mug in front of you on the coffee table, earning a tired smile from you. He looks towards the couch, then back to you. 

“Can I—”

You sit up a little, nodding. 

“You don’t have to ask,” You say. 

He sits beside you, leaving a few inches of space, not wanting to overstep. You lean over, setting your head in his lap, pulling the blanket up to your jaw and putting your hand on his thigh. He exhales with relief, slipping a hand under the blanket and resting his arm across your chest. 

Trinity barely gives him a second to put his bag in his locker before she’s on him the next day, her arms folded over her chest as she squints slightly. 

“What?” Dennis asks, his actions slowing when he notices her. 

“Did you apologize?” She questions, and he sighs. 

“Yes, of course I did,” He says. 

“So, you guys are good?”

“Why are you so invested?” He asks, holding the door open for her as they both walk out of the locker room. 

Trinity hesitates on the answer for a second. 

“She’s Garcia’s best friend,” She says. “That means I give a fuck about her, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dennis says, smiling a bit. “You’re that serious now, huh?”

“Shut up,” Trinity counters. “I’m glad you didn’t fuck anything up too badly.”

He exhales sharply. “Me too.”

Gossip spread fast about you and Dennis acting ‘weird’ towards eachother yesterday, so all eyes are on the two of you when you’re paged to help with a conscious nasotracheal intubation. You join the small group of people outside the patient’s room, already having been briefed on the situation by Dana. 

“Just in time,” Cassie says, making room for you in the circle. “We were just going over the plan.”

“Great, keep going,” You say, glancing towards Dennis for a second, who’s already looking at you, giving him a small smile. He returns it, along with a nod, then both of you focus on Cassie again. 

“We’ll topicalize, that’ll be you,” She says, setting her hand on your shoulder for a moment. 

“Got it,” You say. “Who’s doing first pass?”

“Uh, me,” Dennis says, raising his hand up a fraction. “Never done one outside the cadaver lab, so…”

You smile again. “Cool, sounds good.”

“We want to work quickly to avoid any complications,” Cassie emphasizes. “We need all meds ready, and second pass is you, too. What meds do you prefer?”

The reliance that she shows on you makes Dennis’ heart race, and not in a bad way this time.

You don’t hesitate—because you never do. Not because people make your job easier, but because you know your shit. 

“Atomized lidocaine, four percent for MAD,” You say. “Viscous lidocaine for the passageway and a little phenylephrine is what I’d start with.”

“Nasal spray or pledgets?” Cassie asks. 

“Pledgets,” You answer. “Let it sit for sixty seconds.”

“Okay, perfect,” Cassie says. “Whitaker, can you walk us through the plan step by step, please?”

“Oh, uh, Princess and Jesse will prep meds, I’ll insert the pledgets with…point two-five PE?” 

He looks to you after asking, and you nod. 

“Let those sit for a minute, set up suction, administer viscous lido,” He continues. “Start numbing the airway with MAD, give fent as needed for comfort while keeping her awake. Then I’ll do first pass.”

“You want me to set up your tray?” You ask. 

He nods. “That would help, yeah, thank you.”

“You got it.”

Everyone can see that you’re slightly different with eachother, but not in the way they thought you might be. They expected a day filled with awkward tension, maybe even wished for it, but the two of you are just…softer. Leaving less unspoken than you usually would, making sure you communicate everything you need. 

“Okay, let’s get in there,” Cassie says, and the five of you step inside the room. 

You introduce yourself to the patient before Cassie can do it for you, saying your first name and walking over to the side of her bed. 

“I’m a respiratory therapist,” You say, smiling, reassuring the patient with ease. “We’re gonna’ get you breathing better, yeah?”

“Yeah, right,” She says, smiling back, but her voice is laced with anxiety. 

“You’re gonna’ do great,” You say. “You’ve got a really good team here.”

Dennis feels his chest and neck start to heat up when you look directly at him as you say it. 

You move towards the cart, opening drawers and setting up the intubation tray for Dennis, placing two tubes down incase the larger one doesn’t fit. He walks her through what he’s doing as he moves, inserting the cotton and explaining what she’ll feel once it starts to kick in. You set up the MAD, coming back to the side of the bed once you’re done, viscous lidocaine in hand.

“I’m gonna’ put some of this in both nostrils, okay?” You say, showing her the syringe. “It’s like a jelly, it’ll be a little cold. Ready?”

She nods, leaning her head back. You apply the medication, handing the empty syringe to Princess. You pick up the MAD again.

“This’ll slowly go down your throat so I can numb your airway,” You explain. “It might not feel super nice, but there shouldn’t be any pain. If it hurts just grab my arm and I’ll stop.”

You advance the tube into her nose, the pacing muscle memory, keeping an eye on her to make sure she’s okay as you work. 

“Push the fent,” Cassie says. Princess does. 

“Almost there,” You say, eyes on the monitor. “You’re doing great, almost done.”

You pull out once you’re finished. “Dr. Whitaker’s gonna’ put the tube in now, okay?”

“Same thing, goes in slow,” He says. “Let me know if it hurts.”

You shift to stand beside him, not too close, just wanting him to know that you’re there. He takes the tube in his hand, gently inserting it into her nostril. 

She coughs at one point, her sats dipping for a second, making him look at the monitor. 

“Feels awful even with the numbing, I know,” You say. “Slow, deep breaths.”

She listens, the coughing fading out, her chest rising and falling more rhythmically now. You give Dennis a nod. 

You set up the vent once the tube is in place, then you step outside, finding a computer to start charting at. He comes out a few minutes later, landing beside you, making you look over. 

“Thank you,” He says. “You were amazing in there.”

“I try,” You say, teasingly. “You did great too, you didn’t even need me.”

“I did,” He counters. “I always do.”

Robby calling his name cuts the moment short, and he glances over his shoulder before looking at you again, quickly. 

“See you later?” He says.

You nod. “Yeah, I’ll be around.”

tags:

“Hey, can you get a VBG for fifteen?” Samira asks. “I wanna’ see if it’s come up since he’s been intubated.”

“Definitely,” You say, already pulling up the chart on your tablet, nodding. “I’ll go right now.”

“Could I observe?” Ogilvie questions, perking up from where he’s standing, having heard the brief exchange. 

You look at Samira, who shrugs. “Your call.”

“Sure, come on,” You say, already walking towards the patient’s room. “You ever done one?”

“A VBG?” He clarifies. “A couple.”

“Great, you can get more practice,” You say, pushing the door open. 

He smiles. “Seriously?”

“Yep,” You confirm, already grabbing the syringe he needs from one of the drawers, setting up a tray. “The less work for me the better.”

You ask him a few questions as he sets himself up, leaning over his shoulder to watch what he’s doing—how deep he needs to go, what angle, which vein. He answers without hesitation, unsurprisingly, and you nod for him to go ahead. The blood fills quickly, and he pulls the needle out once he’s done, capping it and setting it on the tray beside him. 

His eyes widen when he turns back to the patient, seeing blood dripping off his arm and onto the floor. 

“Oh, shit,” He says, not realizing that you’re right behind him, already holding a wad of gauze. He pushes back on the stool, reaching for the drawers, knocking you off balance when it collides with your knee. 

You step back to try and catch yourself, not realizing that the suction canister is sitting farther from the bed than usual, making you fully trip. You try to grab something, but it’s futile, and you feel something sharp thack against the back of your head before you’re on the ground. White spots flash across your vision. 

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Ogilvie asks, eyes leaving the patient, who’s still bleeding. 

You blink, embarrassment washing over you. “Yeah, I’m good—hold pressure.”

“Right, right,” He says, finally grabbing gauze and pressing it to the wound. “Did you hit your head on the monitor?”

Ah. That’s what it was.

“Possibly,” You say, carefully pushing yourself to your feet and setting a hand against the back of your head. It’s warm, and you already know that there’s going to be blood on your fingers when you pull away. You grab more gauze for yourself, moving your hair out of the way to get it as close to your scalp as possible.

“Are you bleeding?” Ogilvie asks, a small amount of horror in his voice. 

“I’m fine, you know scalp lacs bleed like crazy,” You insist. “Keep holding pressure, it’s just because he’s on anti-coags.”

You continue to watch him for a few minutes, until the bleeding slows enough to put a dressing over the wound, all while trying to keep your own under control. By the time Ogilvie’s finished you’re starting to feel a bit nauseous, dizzy, and your head throbs with your movements. 

“You need a CT,” Ogilvie says, holding the door open for you. “Again, I am so sorry-”

“Hey, it was an accident, you’re alright,” You promise. “You can make it up to me by finding some dermabond.”

“What happened to you?” Dana calls, speedwalking towards you, setting a hand on your shoulder as she looks you over. 

“I tripped on the suction canister,” You explain. “I’m okay, seriously, Ogilvie’s already grabbing dermabond.”

Dana ignores you, spinning you around to look at the injury. She pulls the gauze away, despite your protests, shaking her head. 

“This is not a dermabond situation, sweetheart,” She says. “Let me see what’s open.”

“There’s no need for that,” You counter, but it’s no use, because she’s already looking up at the board. 

She steers you towards an open room, holding the door for you, keeping her hand up to guide you inside. You sigh, stepping in, sitting on the bed when she gestures for you to. She lifts the head up so you can stay upright, then passes you a new piece of gauze, throwing the old one in the biohazard bin. 

“I’ll be right back,” She says. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Frank opens the door thirty seconds later, Dana hot on his heels. He smiles a bit, raising his eyebrows. 

“You better not be out for the day,” He jokes. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my shift without an RT.”

You roll your eyes, the action sending a shot of pain through your head. “Just put some staples back there, or whatever, then I’ll be fine.”

He leans over, already pulling his penlight out. “Can you tell me your name and where you are?”

“Seriously?” You ask, but he doesn’t let up. You say your name, first and last. “I’m at PTMC.”

“Great,” He says, flicking the light away and taking your hands in his. “Squeeze my fingers.”

You do, satisfactorily. Frank steps back as the door opens again, revealing Robby. 

“What happened here?” He asks. 

“She fell and hit her head on a monitor,” Dana explains, clearly having gotten the full story from Ogilvie while she was gone. “Occipital laceration, bleeding pretty badly, about three centimetres long.”

“Neuro exam okay,” Frank adds. “Do you have any pain, nausea, or dizziness?”

“My head hurts a little,” You admit. “But other than that it’s fine.”

Robby watches as Frank leans you forward, examining the cut himself. You stop yourself from grimacing when he palpates the surrounding area. 

“Yeah, sorry, that’s gonna’ need a couple staples,” He decides, letting you sit back again as he stands up. “You want a CT to be safe?”

Robby thinks for a second. “Let’s hold off for now, but you’re staying down here for the time being.”

“As long as I don’t have to be the one to break that news,” You say. Everyone chuckles, and Dana volunteers to let the ICU know what’s going on. Robby steps closer, arms over his chest, face comforting. 

“You want me to give Whitaker a call?” He asks. You shake your head, immediately regretting the action. 

“He’s probably still sleeping,” You say, seeing that it’s only nine on the clock hanging on the wall. “I’ll talk to him later.”

He nods. “Okay, come find me if anything changes.”

“Will do,” Frank says, already logging on to the computer, making a chart for you and filling it in. He asks you about allergies, prior injuries, and a handful of other things before Dana comes back. She sets up a tray for the staples, then draws up lidocaine. Frank puts on a new pair of gloves, taking his place beside you. 

“Lean forward, hon,” Dana says, and you listen, giving them access to the wound. Frank picks up the syringe, adjusting his grip on it and placing the other hand on the back of your head. 

“Small pinch,” He says, inserting it. You clench your teeth for a second, but then the worst of it is over. He pulls back, passing the empty syringe to Dana, who disposes of it. “Some pressure as the staples go in, doing okay?”

“Yep, all good,” You say, feeling the tool press against your head. A resounding ‘snap’ echoes in the room when he puts the first one in, making you flinch. 

“Still okay?” He asks, moving higher up the laceration. 

“Mhm,” You hum. The next few are easier, and he’s finished in a few minutes. Dana disinfects the area as he updates your chart. 

“Alright, just hangout for a bit, yeah?” He says. “Let us know if anything changes.”

“Okay, I will,” You say. “Thank you.”

You’re only alone for about twenty minutes before Dana comes back. 

“How’s it going?” She asks, and you give her a smile. 

“Good, no changes,” You say. “My head still hurts, but nothing crazy.”

She does another neuro check, making sure everything’s functioning the way it should be. Your vision starts to swim a little as she’s finishing up, making you blink a few times, trying to clear it. She frowns at the action, ducking so she’s in your line of sight. 

“You alright?” 

You swallow, still blinking, trying to quell the nausea that’s building in your chest. 

“Uh, I’m a little nauseous,” You admit. “Dizzy, too.”

“Okay, that’s alright,” She promises, setting a hand on your knee, squeezing it. “Lean back, close your eyes if you need to.”

You listen, screwing them shut, taking a few deep breaths. 

“I’m gonna’ go grab Langdon,” She says.

You start to get anxious when the feelings don’t subside after a couple minutes. Your head is still throbbing, you feel like the room is spinning, and the nausea is unlike any you’ve experienced before. 

“Litre of LR, four of zofran?” Frank suggests, and Robby nods. Princess has taken Dana’s spot, setting up your IV. Robby watches as your heart and respiratory rate tick upwards on the monitor, and he can see the nerves creeping in on your face. He sits beside your bed, wheeling the stool close, resting his arms on the guardrail. 

You don’t look at him. You’re avoiding moving your head as much as possible, and you don’t think you can take his casually disapproving gaze right now. 

“We’ve got you,” He promises. 

“I know,” You insist, trying to keep your breathing even. Princess hangs the requested fluids and medication on the IV pole, adjusting the pump settings. 

“I think we should get a CT,” Frank says. 

“Agreed,” Robby confirms, and your heart rate jumps as you close your eyes again. The three of them exchange a look, but no one gets the chance to say anything before you speak. 

“Can you call Dennis, please?” 

“Absolutely,” Robby says. “I’ll do it right now.”

“You might have to call twice to get it to go through,” You say, eyes still closed.

“Okay,” Robby says. “I’ll get a hold of him, don’t worry.”

He steps out, already unlocking his phone and clicking on Dennis’ contact. He heads towards the central hub as the line rings, leaning against the desk. 

“Calling Whitaker?” Dana asks. Robby nods, hearing the intern’s voicemail. He calls again, just like you said he might have to, putting the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” Dennis’ voice comes through, slower than usual, a byproduct of the phonecall pulling him out of a deep sleep. 

“Hey, it’s Robby,” He says. “Sorry to wake you.”

“All good,” Dennis says. “You need some extra hands?”

“Actually, no,” Robby clarifies, then he says your name. “She hit her head earlier, gave herself a pretty decent head lac. She’s probably got a concussion, and we’re sending her to CT to be safe.”

There’s rustling on the other end. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, the phone clearly now on speaker as he gets himself together. 

“Neuro exam is normal, but she’s not feeling great,” Robby explains. “Dizziness, nausea, headache. She’s getting some fluids and Zofran right now.”

“Okay, uh, I’ll be right there,” He says. “Thanks for calling, Robby.”

“Yep, ‘course,” Robby says. “See you soon.”

Frank watches as Princess takes your hand in her’s, patting it a few times, trying to reassure you. You haven’t opened your eyes since Robby left, and you keep shifting as your anxiety continues to rise. You feel as though you're on a boat, even with your eyes closed, and the Zofran has barely touched the nausea. 

Robby comes back in. 

“You talked to him?” You ask. 

“He’s on his way,” He says, looking at your monitor. “Do you want some lorazepam?”

You think for a moment, wondering if you can make it until Dennis gets here, but the tachycardia is starting to get uncomfortable. 

“Yeah, please,” You say. 

“Dr. Langdon?” 

“One milligram,” Frank says, and Princess goes to grab the medication. “Any estimate on when CT will be ready?”

“Hopefully soon,” Robby says. 

Keeping your eyes closed is starting to not be enough to keep the nausea manageable, but you do not want to throw up right now. You focus on your breathing, fingers curling into the sheets. 

“How’s the Zofran feel?” Frank asks. You don’t dare open your mouth, simply giving him a thumbs down in response. “Alright, you think you could swallow a pill?”

You shake your head. 

“Okay, we’ll get you some more through your IV,” He says, trying to reassure you as best he can. “I’ll go find Princess.”

Robby silently grabs a bin, placing it beside you on the bed before reaching over and dimming the lights. You place the bin on your lap, relishing in the sensation of the cold metal against your fingertips. 

“You’re doing great,” He says. 

Princess and Frank come back a few minutes later, and she administers the medications. He does a repeat neuro check, which makes you feel even worse, but at least there’s still nothing suggesting it’s anything more than a concussion. 

Trinity sees Dennis first, making her brows furrow. He’s wearing jeans and a sweater, his curls more chaotic than usual as he walks through the doors, looking around as though he’s trying to find something. 

“Hey, what are you doing here?” She asks, stepping away from the trauma room that she just finished up in. “Missed me too much?”

He barely reacts, he just says your name. “She hit her head earlier, Robby called me.”

“Oh, shit,” Trinity says. “She okay?”

“Sounds like she’s got a concussion,” He says, walking further into the department, Trinity beside him. Dana sees him coming closer, and she calls his name. 

“She’s in fifteen,” She says. He nods, pivoting towards the room. Trinity follows, at least wanting to lay eyes on you before she gets back to work. Dennis pushes the door open, slowly, seeing that the lights are dimmed. Trinity steps in after him, closing it behind her to keep as much noise out as possible. 

Robby’s been pulled away, but Frank’s still in there with you, his hands on the railing as he watches your vitals. You’re clammy and visibly shaking now that the adrenaline has fully worn off, leaving you with nothing to work with. Your hands are clutching the emesis bin like your life depends on it, breathing slow and uneven as you try to keep it together. You don’t open your eyes when he walks in, assuming that it’s Princess or Robby coming back to check on you. 

“Hey, he’s here,” Frank says, softly, and you squint. Relief crashes over you at the sight of your boyfriend, and tears start to pool along your lower lash line. He’s by your side in a second, setting a comforting hand on your thigh, squeezing it softly. 

“Hey, sweet girl,” He says, keeping his voice down, not wanting to make your headache worse. “How’s-”

You lean forward, throwing up, cutting him off. He jumps into action, steadying the bin with one hand and putting the other on your upper back, rubbing softly. 

“Okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” Dennis murmurs, taking the tissues that Trinity’s holding out once you’re seemingly finished. Frank takes the bin wordlessly, passing you a bag instead. Dennis keeps his hand on you, but he looks towards your monitor, then to Frank. 

“First episode,” He says. Dennis nods, helping you lean back, letting you take the tissues from him and wipe your mouth. 

You slump against the bed, curling into yourself slightly, tears starting to drip down your cheeks. 

“Den,” You whisper, reaching for his hand. He takes it, coming closer, kissing your hairline before taking a seat on the stool. 

“I’m here,” He says. “Do you feel any better?”

“No,” You say, voice trembling. Your heart rate has come down with the lorazepam on board, and the nausea has eased a touch, but your head hurts worse now. “Not really.”

“I’m gonna’ call CT, see how much longer,” Frank says, leaving the room. Trinity leaves too, not wanting to hover. 

He doesn’t talk for a minute, instead lifting his hand, pushing some hair off your forehead. He rubs his thumb over your cheek a few times, closely listening to your shaky inhales, making sure you’re okay. 

“What’s the prognosis?” You mumble, leaning into him. He smiles. 

“Probably a concussion,” He says. “You’re alert and oriented, tracking well—some vomiting’s expected.”

You nod, fingers curling into the sleeve of his sweater, moving to play with the ring that he wears whenever he isn’t at work, spinning it. He flattens his hand out, letting you focus on the movement, not saying anything. 

“Knock knock,” Princess says. “Antoine’s gonna’ get you up to CT.”

Antoine waves as he steps into your room. “How’s it going, kid?”

“Okay,” You say, begrudgingly letting go of Dennis’ ring, letting him put his hand in his lap. Antoine makes sure your bed is ready to move, then he sets his hands on the guardrail as Princess takes the other side. 

“I’ll be here when you get back,” Dennis says. “You’re gonna’ be fine, promise.”

You nod, keeping your eyes on him for as long as you can, then shutting them the second the bright overhead lights hit. You cover your face with your arm, making Dennis frown as he steps out behind you, trailing off once you’re past the nurses station. He can’t go with you, despite how badly he wants to. Robby comes out of a room as you’re wheeled by. 

“CT?” He asks. Princess nods, pushing you towards the elevators. 

Frank catches Robby before he can make it to Dennis, gesturing in your direction. “She had a single episode of vomiting, but seemed a bit better after that.”

Robby nods, humming. “Probably had more to do with him showing up than anything else.”

Dana smiles when she overhears that, glancing over at Dennis, who has both hands in his pockets as he watches you go.

“How you doing, Whitaker?” She asks, coming over to him, setting her tablet down on the counter. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” He insists, then pauses, hesitating. “She looked…worse than I expected, I guess.”

Dana hums. “The nausea came on pretty fast, before that she was insisting that she just needed a little dermabond.”

He laughs a little, shifting his weight between his feet. “Sounds about right.”

“She stubborn?” Dana asks, smiling. 

“No, well, a little,” He admits. “Doesn’t really like to be ‘babied.’”

The quotes around the last word make Dana chuckle.

“She must’ve been feeling pretty crappy then, hey?” She says, and Dennis nods. 

“Yeah,” He says, frowning.

Dana rests her hand on his arm for a second. “Why don’t we go get you some water?”

He watches the clock tick while he waits, allowing himself to feel anxious when it hits thirty minutes since you left. It should’ve only taken ten to get the image, maybe twenty total. Everyone else in the vicinity keeps glancing over too, awaiting your return. Frank’s moments away from calling to figure out where you are when the elevator dings, and Princess and Antoine wheel your bed back into the department. 

Dennis stands, wiping his hands on his jeans. You look worse, somehow, and Princess taps Frank on the shoulder as she walks by. She leans in, saying something to him before pushing you back into your room. Dennis waits for a second, letting them get you back in place. 

Frank slips past Antoine as he’s leaving, standing beside your bed. “Status?”

“Neuro’s still good,” Princess says. “Another vomiting episode before we got upstairs, but the nausea’s better now, right?”

“Yeah, mostly,” You say, already closing your eyes, fatigue starting to take over. 

“How’s the pain?” He asks. 

“Not…great.”

“Yeah, I bet,” He says. “As soon as your CT comes back we’ll talk about pain meds, okay?”

“Okay,” You say. “Where’s Den?”

“Right here,” Dennis says, stepping fully into the room, letting the door close behind him. “How you doing?”

You smile when he sits on the stool, putting his hand back where it was, letting you fiddle with his ring again. “A bit better.”

“Good,” He breathes. 

“Let’s do two more of Zofran,” Frank says, quietly, and Princess nods. “I’ll be back once we get results.”

You’re falling asleep when you’re left alone again, Dennis watching your chest rise and fall, holding your hand. You grimace when the dizziness returning with a vengeance. He notices immediately. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, shifting closer. 

“Dizzy,” You answer. 

“Okay, just keep your eyes closed,” He says, checking your vitals quickly. “I’ve got you, angel.”

He lowers the guardrail, his knees touching the edge of the mattress, letting you hold both his hands tightly until it passes. Your grip relaxes, and you slowly open your eyes, exhaling with relief when you confirm that it’s over. 

“Better?” He asks, and you nod. 

He eventually puts his arms on your bed, resting his head on them, keeping his eyes on you while you sleep. 

Robby knocks half an hour later, and Dennis stands up, moving quietly. He blinks, trying to adjust to the chaos of the rest of the department once he’s out of your room. 

“How’s she doing?” Robby asks, and he nods. 

“Okay, yeah,” He says. “CT back yet?”

Robby hands him the tablet, showing your scan. He lets go of a breath when he realizes that it looks completely normal, scrolling to read the radiologist’s comments, which confirm exactly that. 

“All clear,” Robby says. “We’ll monitor her for a few hours, make sure she can keep things down, then you can take her home.”

Dennis passes the tablet back. “Thanks, Robby.”

“Of course,” He says. “Get back in there.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

A few people come and go over the next few hours, but they mostly leave the two of you alone, trusting Dennis to come find someone if anything changes while you rest. Dana brings another blanket by at one point, draping it over his shoulders without a word. One of the ICU nurses comes down with your belongings, quickly asking him how you’re doing before leaving too. He notices the way people keep poking their heads over the frosted glass, which makes his chest warm with how much everyone cares about you. 

You wake up around one, eyes fluttering open, and Dennis immediately lifts his head up. 

“Hi,” He says. 

“Hi,” You repeat, quiet, squinting a little despite the lights being off. “My CT come back?”

“Yeah, yeah,” He says. “Everything looks great, but you’ve got a pretty bad concussion.”

You nod. “Could be worse, I guess.”

“Definitely,” He agrees, moving closer, picking your hand up and intertwining your fingers. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry if I scared you, Denny,” You whisper. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” He insists. “But you did scare me a little.”

The door opens slowly, making both of you look over. Frank steps inside, smiling when he sees that you’re up.

“You’re awake,” He says. “How’s it going?”

You shrug. “Bad. But better.”

“I’ll take it,” He says. “How’s the pain?”

“Not the worst,” You answer. 

“Nausea? Dizziness?”

“Yes and yes,” You say. “Not as bad as before, though.”

“Okay, I'll get you some Compazine, and then maybe you can try to eat something?” He suggests. “If that helps then I’ll send you home. Usually, I’d keep you overnight, but I think Whitaker’s got you covered.”

You laugh a little. “Sounds good, Langdon, thank you.”

He gives the okay for you to go home a few hours later, once you’ve perked up a bit and your headache and nausea is under control. Dennis helps you off the bed, holding your discharge papers, letting you lean against him once you’re on your feet. He takes your hand in his own, holding the door open. 

“Hey, heading home?” Robby asks, stopping in front of the two of you. 

“Yeah, good to go,” Dennis says, holding the discharge papers up. 

“Good, I’m glad you’re okay,” He says, looking at you, giving you a soft smile and setting his hand on your shoulder for a second. “Would hate to lose my favourite respiratory therapist.”

You smile. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, Robby.”

He points at Dennis. “I better not see you in this hospital for at least a week.”

“Yes sir,” Dennis says, definitely not wanting to argue that. He’d stay home with you for months if he had to to make sure you were okay. “See you next week, boss.”

Other people tell you to feel better as you go, letting you know that they’re happy it wasn’t anything serious, then you finally make it through the front doors. The bright, summer sun beams down on you, making your head spin. Your grip on Dennis’ hand tightens, and he stops, turning to look at you. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks. 

You exhale. “Dizzy. Again. One second.”

He adjusts his grip, holding your lower back, keeping you upright. You try to breathe through it, but that doesn’t work—the dizziness just gets worse.

“Let’s sit down for a minute,” He says, guiding you over to a bench. “Deep breaths.”

He positions himself so the sun isn’t hitting your face, keeping a hand on your shoulder until you open your eyes again. 

“I’m gonna’ go grab the car,” He says. “I’ll be right back.”

You’ve never been happier to be home in your entire life. 

Dennis sets you up on the couch, propping your head up with a few pillows and tucking a blanket around you once you’ve changed out of your scrubs. You sit in silence as he moves, closing blinds and turning on a few lamps that won’t be too hard on your eyes. 

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask, dramatically. “I can’t read, I can’t go on my phone, I can’t watch TV.”

He laughs a little, poking his head over the back of the couch. “I’ll keep you entertained.”

“Really?” You ask, grinning. 

“Absolutely,” He says, going over to the bookshelf, scanning the several options that you’ve collected over the years. He pulls your favourite off, then sits in one of the chairs. You whine, extending your hands towards him, making him smile. 

You lift your head up, pushing the pillows onto the ground and letting him take their place. He smoothes your hair back once your head is on his lap, before opening the book and reading aloud. You fall asleep within minutes, and he just watches, scratching your scalp gently, making sure to avoid your staples. 

He moves you into the bedroom at one point, putting your cat in there with you, smiling when he curls up on the bed beside you. He opens the fridge just after six, frowning at the lack of food, already thinking about what he could order you for dinner. Then, there’s a knock on the door, making him raise an eyebrow. 

Garcia’s standing on the other side, holding a bag of takeout, along with a few plastic bags. 

“Dr. Garcia,” Dennis says. “What’re you doing here?”

“Santos texted me, said Hot Shot lost a fight with a monitor today,” She says. “I brought dinner and some groceries for the next few days so you don’t have to leave the house.”

She thrusts them towards him, and he’s stuck for a moment, but then he takes them in his arms. 

“Oh, uhm, thank you,” He says, setting everything on the bench by the door. “That’s…really nice.”

She nods, moving on from his gratitude quickly. “How’s she doing?” 

“Her head hurts, and she’s still pretty nauseous,” He explains. “I can give her some more Zofran in a bit.”

“CT was fine?”

“Yeah, totally clean,” He says. “She should be back to normal in a couple weeks.”

Garcia exhales, and Dennis thinks it’s the most emotion he’s ever seen her show. “Good, I’m glad she’s alright.”

“Me too.”

“Take care of her,” She continues. “Let me know if you need anything else, okay? I can come babysit if you’ve got anywhere to be tomorrow, and people are already fighting over who gets to bring dinner for the next few days.”

“Okay, yeah, will do,” He says, slightly shocked by the amount of support. “Thanks again.”

“Have a good night, Huckleberry.”

A/N - love u currently working on a little part two to self explanatory and also poly!garsantos x reader 🤩🤩🤩

tags:

Today’s shift has been brutal. 

Dennis has barely gotten a second to breathe all day, let alone chart or just sit down. Seven o’clock doesn’t come with the relief of finally getting to go home, no—it comes with the dread that he’ll be spending at least the next two hours catching up on notes, and he isn’t the only one. Trinity, Mel, and Frank are all scattered around at various computers, eyes half-closed and voices quiet as they dictate. Robby’s doing the same, minus the dictating—since he refuses to chart out loud for whatever reason. 

You come downstairs, hoodie on over your scrubs and backpack on your shoulders, swinging your hospital-issued lanyard around your hand. Your eyes pick over the central hub until you find him, approaching quietly, not wanting to interrupt the sentence he’s in the middle of. He gives you a quick smile as he finishes up, then sets the device on the desk. 

“Hey, you got my text, right?” He asks, pushing off his chair, standing up. 

“Mhm,” You hum, thrusting an iced coffee in his direction, one you had run out to get when he told you he’d be staying late. “Thought this might help.”

His eyes light up, more than they already had at the sight of you, taking it and setting it on his workstation. 

“It definitely will, thanks,” He says. “I’ll go grab the keys-”

“I’ll just hangout upstairs until you’re done,” You interrupt. “I already found a call room.”

He frowns. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” You insist. “Any chance you can spare fifteen minutes? I got dinner.”

Robby answers for him, sensing the way he’s about to decline and push through, even though he’s on his last legs. 

“Go have dinner with your girlfriend, we’ll be here when you get back,” He says. You raise your eyebrows at Dennis expectantly, gesturing in Robby’s direction.

“Boss says it’s okay,” You add. 

Dennis smiles, nodding. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He follows you upstairs, coffee in hand, rubbing his eyes a few times, trying to wake himself up. You push the call room door open, dropping your backpack on the desk, unzipping it and pulling out a few containers. It’s nothing too fancy, just some decent things from the cafeteria, but neither of you mind. You lay everything out while Dennis watches, eyes fond and chest warm. 

Your hands grab the bottom of your hoodie, pulling it over your head, revealing the black long-sleeve underneath. You don’t think twice as you toss it onto the bed, still focused on setting things up. Meanwhile, Dennis’ eyes fall, landing on the sliver of your waist that’s exposed between your waistband and shirt. He swallows, blinking quickly, already feeling heat spreading over his neck and cheeks. 

He’s almost gotten himself together by the time you’re done, but then you turn around. 

The long-sleeve is a v-neck, one that would be wildly inappropriate if you hadn’t been wearing a scrub shirt on top for your shift. Your necklace, the one he had saved so hard to get for your first birthday after you started dating, glints against your skin. Your chest is exposed, curves of your cleavage on display. Your pants hang low on your hips, and he knows every inch of you so well by now that he can practically see them through the fabric.

“I didn’t have much to work with,” You admit. “Figured it was better than nothing.”

Dennis nods, stepping towards you. “Yeah, no, this is really sweet, angel.”

You smile when he grabs your waist, pulling you close, kissing you quickly. 

“How mad would you be if I didn’t eat any of it?” He asks, voice just above a whisper, forehead resting against yours. You frown, face shifting with confusion, about to ask what’s wrong, he’s sure. He doesn’t let you. 

“There are…other things I’d rather do with my time,” He adds, tightening his grip on you, both thumbs dipping under your waistband. “But it’s completely fine if you don’t want-”

You take a second to recover, the proposition shocking, but then you’re all in, cutting him off. 

“Fuck the food,” You say lowly, looking over his shoulder towards the bed, the thrum of desire already settling in your stomach. He exhales, mouth tugging up into a small smile. He stares at you for a few seconds, then his lips are on yours again. It starts soft, but it spirals fast, your arms wrapping around his neck, lips locked. He slides his hands under your shirt, cold fingertips digging into your sides, sending a shiver down your spine. 

He pulls back for a moment, lifting your shirt over your head, tossing it off to the side. Your heart pumps against your sternum, blood rushing to your chest as you reconnect. You grab either side of his face, trying to get impossibly close, lips haphazard and frantic. Dennis’ movements aren’t any more precise, guiding you away from the table until you feel the wall against your back, both of you almost tripping over your own feet. He reaches towards your spine, unclasping your bra, letting it fall to the floor. 

He ducks his head down towards your chest, lips closing around your skin, nipping softly. You gasp, fingers threading through his hair as he leaves small bruises, barely leaving any skin unaffected. He eventually takes your nipple in his mouth, sucking hard.  

“Ah, Den,” You sigh, tilting your head back, eyes closing. He unties your scrub pants, shuffling them down your thighs along with your thong. He comes back up, kissing you again, chest heaving. You whimper against him when he drops a hand down, pushing two fingers inside of you. 

He doesn’t break the kiss as he pumps them up and down, feeling how you tighten momentarily, thighs clenching and legs already starting to quiver. You rock your hips in time with his fingers, needing more. 

“What do you want from me, angel?” He asks, the question murmured against your lips. 

You shake your head. “Anything you want.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, licking his lips. “Yeah, okay.”

You can still remember when you first started dating, when he would’ve asked if you were sure. Now he knows that you’re more than sure. 

He pulls his scrub top off, along with the t-shirt he was wearing underneath. You watch his chain fall back against his chest, his muscles rippling as he throws his clothes aside. His collarbones catch your eye, and you kiss the left one, then the right. You nip at the bone, knowing how sensitive he is there, then you give him a bruise to match the myriad he’s given you. It throws his focus for a second, his breath catching with a soft groan. 

He grabs the back of your thighs, setting you on the bed, climbing on top of you. He puts his lips back on you, starting just below your ribcage, leaving bruises and kisses all over your stomach. He continues down to your thighs, occasionally biting into your skin. You admire the gradient of hickeys he’s left, the ones on your chest already dark. You bite back a comment about him ‘marking his territory.’ 

He lifts his head, panting, one hand holding himself up on the mattress while he raises the other, turning his watch towards his face. The action is so unreasonably hot you have to bite the inside of your cheek to avoid moaning. 

“Eight minutes,” He comments, looking at you. His eyes are dark, matching your own. “I can get you off-”

“Don’t worry about me,” You breathe, eyes flicking between his face and his chain, which is hanging off his neck, swinging back and forth lightly. “Just fuck me, please.”

He raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t object, especially when you reach out, fingers curling around the silver necklace. You tug on it, pulling him close. He fumbles with his own scrub pants, untying them and pushing them down, keeping them around his thighs. His muscles press against the elastic waistband, visibly flexing. 

“Jesus fuck,” You say, making him look at you, eyes wide. 

“Something wrong?” He asks, concern flashing on his features. 

“No, no, fuck, you’re just-” You pause, his thigh muscles still commanding your attention. “I love you so much, and you’re so hot.”

He smiles, all worry washing away. “I love you too, baby.”

You gesture to his watch. “Eight minutes, Denny.”

“Right, right,” He says, shifting so he’s in line with you. You arch your back as he slides a hand underneath you, bracing your pelvis as he slowly pushes in. The lack of foreplay makes it hurts a bit more than usual, your face scrunching up, grip on his chain tightening. He watches you closely as he moves, making sure he’s not going too fast. 

You wince at one point, and he freezes. 

“You want me to stop?” He asks. 

“No, please don’t,” You say, visibly relaxing a touch. “Keep going.”

Your eyes rolls back once he’s in, reaching for him. He lowers himself onto his elbow beside your head, his other hand coming up to your cheek. The feeling of cold metal on your chest makes you flinch, looking down to see where the bottom of the cross grazes your bruised skin. 

“Jesus,” He murmurs, hitting your cervix easily. The cross moves with each thrust, occasionally hitting your jaw. “You feel amazing, angel.”

You moan in response. 

“Shh, don’t want anyone hearing you,” He murmurs, adjusting so the pendant hangs above your mouth. You take it between your teeth. 

He rolls his hips again, making your eyes flutter closed as you whine. Dennis looks you up and down, realizing that you’ll definitely be sensitive for the next few days while your bruises heal. He’s about to speak again when there’s a knock on the door. 

You both go still, listening closely, not entirely sure if it was really a knock or just someone out in the hallway. Dennis turns his head towards the door, squinting. 

“Was that-”

There’s another knock followed by his last name, then yours. It’s Lena, undoubtedly. Dennis is off you in a second, already pulling his pants back up. He scoops his t-shirt off the floor, yanking it over his torso while you do the same with your long-sleeve, pulling the thin blanket at the end of the bed over your exposed legs after. You reach your arms up, acting as though you’re tying your hair back when he turns around, making sure you’re decent before opening the door. 

“Hey, Lena,” He greets. “Everything okay?”

“We’ve got a pileup,” She explains. “Four victims, five minutes out. We need all hands on deck.”

“Shit, okay,” Dennis says. “Yeah, we’ll be right down.”

She gives him an apologetic smile, looking past him towards you. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Oh, uhm, you didn’t,” He says, stuttering, face heating up quickly. “We weren’t-”

“See you downstairs!” She calls, walking away from the door. Dennis let’s it close, leaning against it when he faces you again. 

“You think she knew?” He asks. You laugh, swinging your legs out from under the blanket and standing up, stepping into your pants and shimmeying into them. You press a quick kiss to his lips and pass him his scrub top. 

“I think she definitely assumed,” You say, pulling your own scrub top out of your hoodie and back on. “You played it off nicely, though.”

“Really?” He questions, voice slightly muffled from behind his shirt, his head poking out the top a second later. 

You grin, patting his shoulder as you step into the hallway. 

“No, not at all.”

He huffs, following you out. You take the stairs down, stopping at the bottom, moments away from shouldering the door open. You stop, reaching out for him. He takes your hand in his, bringing it up, lips grazing your knuckles. 

“Ready?” He asks. 

“Lets do it.”

Jack spots you immediately, calling your last name. 

“Need you in here,” He says. “Whitaker, help Ellis in trauma three.”

“On it,” Dennis says, dropping your hand as you go your separate ways, both already focused on the task at hand. 

You follow Jack into the trauma room, the number of people half what you’re used to. You aren’t sure how many dayshift doctors are still around, but Mel’s already there when you walk in. The patient is tugging against restraints, ones EMS must’ve put on, as she tries to finish up her primary exam. 

“Ready for RSI,” Bridget says. Jack nods. 

“On her,” He says, nodding his head towards you. “Findings, Mel?”

“GCS nine, confused, unresponsive to questions or commands,” She explains. “Decreased breath sounds on the left, gurgling. GCS is right on the brink, but I think we should intubate.”

“Do it,” He says, already halfway out the door. “Come to trauma three when you’re finished!”

“Wait, where are you going?” Mel asks, worry edging into her tone. 

Jack pauses, watching as you move to the head of the bed. “You’re good, she’s got you.”

The door closes behind him, and she looks at you. You give her a reassuring nod. 

“We’ve got this, Dr. King,” You say. “Let’s push paralytics?”

She nods. “Yes, please.”

Bridget administers the meds, and you open the patient’s mouth, positioning the blade correctly and turning the light on. 

“Do you, uhm, do you want the monitor?” Mel asks. 

“Nah,” You say. “Seven-five.”

You’re finished in under thirty seconds. 

The patient’s sats come up, but they plateau in the high-eighties. Mel listens to the chest again, frowning. 

“eFAST,” She says, lifting his shirt up and placing the tool against his chest. “No lung sliding on the left.”

“Tension pneumo,” You agree, also looking at the screen. 

“Decompression needle,” She orders, putting the wand back and pushing the screen off to the side. She takes the needle in her hand, positioning it above the correct intercostal space. You’re squeezing the bag attached to the patient’s tube, watching as she inserts it, hearing the telltale rush of air escape. 

“Sats improving,” You say, seeing them climb into the mid-nineties. “Nice work, Dr. King.”

Someone yelling your last name makes you look away from the monitor, passing the bag off to Bridget and running out of the room. You pull your gloves off, throwing them out, seeing Parker standing in the doorway of trauma three. 

“What’s going on?” You ask, skidding past her. She takes her place beside the bed again, where Dennis is already doing compressions, each push showing up as a wave on the screen. “Shit.”

“We need an airway, now,” She says, despite it being obvious. 

You grab new gloves. “Mac blade with video scope.”

“Rhythm check,” Parker says, making Dennis stop, raising his hands. The line flattens, the hallmark ‘beep’ ringing out. He leans back over the patient, one knee resting on the edge of the bed, not noticing when his shirt gets caught underneath. 

“Do you want a pause?” Parker asks, looking at you, rolling her sleeves up in preparation to take over compressions if needed. You shoot her a glare, one that makes her smirk.

“Need me to teach you how to intubate through compressions, Dr. Ellis?” You counter, already visualizing the chords on the screen. “Don’t stop, Whitaker.”

He doesn’t, but his mind drifts for a moment, seeing countless times you’ve said those two words to him in a vastly different context. The door swings open, revealing Trinity and Robby. 

“How long has she been down?” Robby asks. 

“Four minutes,” Parker says. “Rhythm check.”

Dennis leans back again, his knee still up, pulling his shirt down even farther. He’s panting, and he takes the opportunity to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Push another epi,” Parker directs, looking up at Dennis, her eyes landing right on his collarbone, where a dark bruise is forming. “Uh, compression swap.”

He steps back, his shirt springing back into place as someone else takes over, but it’s far too late. Robby’s obviously averting his eyes, Trinity is nodding, swallowing whatever comment she wants to make, and Parker’s trying to stay professional. 

You place the tube, letting one of the nurses put the bag on. Parker slips her stethoscope in, placing it against the patient’s chest, nodding. 

“Good breath sounds,” She says. 

“Want some ice for that bruise, Huckleberry?” Trinity asks, tone completely serious. 

Robby closes his eyes, shaking his head. 

“What?” Dennis asks, confusion obvious, but you know exactly what she’s referring to. You take over compressions, desperate to be doing something in this moment, knowing that the two of you will never live this down. 

“On your collarbone,” She says. “Looks painful.”

You can’t see his face, but you can picture how red he is as he starts to stutter. 

“I, uh, no, I’m fine-”

He stops, not wanting to dig himself any deeper. 

“Rhythm,” Parker says. “Keep it together, everyone.”

You lift up, identifying the waves quickly, placing two fingers against the patient’s carotid. “Pulseless.”

“PVT, let’s charge to two-hundred,” Parker says, taking the defibrillator pads in her hands. “Clear.”

You’re back on the chest the second you realize that she hasn’t gone back into sinus, sweat starting to drip down your neck from the exertion. 

“Walk me through reversible causes,” Robby says. 

“Uh, hypovolemia, but her BP’s okay and we’ve already given two units,” Dennis starts. “Hypoxia, but her sats have come up. Acidosis?”

“I can grab an ABG if someone can switch,” You say, breathless. 

“I’ve got it,” Santos says, stepping up beside you, taking your place once you come off. 

“Keep going, Whitaker,” Robby instructs. 

“Pneumothorax, good breath sounds though,” He adds. “Tamponade.”

You’ve moved towards the patient’s thigh, heparinized syringe in hand, palpating before inserting it. The tube fills slowly with blood, the colour deep red, a result of her low perfusion. You cap the tube, passing it off to a nurse, then you return your focus to the airway. You set your own stethoscope to the patient’s chest. Air is moving, but it’s not sufficient. 

“I’m adding a PEEP valve,” You say, grabbing the piece from the drawer, attaching it to the exhalation port, setting it correctly. 

Trinity takes her hands off the patient. 

“Charge again, two hundred,” Parker says. “Clear.”

The phone rings, and you rip a glove off, grabbing it off the wall, saying your last name once it’s against your ear. Robby and Dennis wait for you to say something, ready to take action based on whatever the lab says. 

“Potassium seven-point-three,” You say. “pH is the same.”

“What next?” Robby asks. 

“Calcium glutonate, three gram IV push over two minutes,” Trinity says, letting someone else take over compressions. “Ten of insulin, one amp D50.”

There’s only two nurses in there, and both of them already have their hands full, so you step in. 

“I can do calcium,” You say, grabbing three syringes and three bottles. You draw the medication up, setting each down on the tray beside you. “Going in.”

You push each syringe over fourty seconds while the insulin and dextrose are set up, everyone moving in sync, compressions still ongoing under Parker’s lead. The third shock finally gives sinus rhythm, and you sigh in relief, tossing the used syringes and vials into the correct bins, then adjust the vent settings to avoid hyperventilation. 

“ET looks good, fourty-two,” You say. 

“Whitaker, place an arterial line,” Parker instructs. “Let’s give norepi.”

“Got any beds upstairs?” Robby asks, and you laugh. 

“For you? I’ll make it work,” You say. “Give ‘em a call once she’s back from CT, tell them I’ll bring coffee on Monday.”

You walk out of the room, stretching your arms above your head, tilting to one side to try and ease the ache that’s starting in your muscles. 

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Jack asks, stopping mid-stride, looking down at your slightly exposed stomach. You drop your arms once he gets closer, but he’s already seen enough, one eyebrow raised as he gives you a stern look. “I’m gonna’ kill him.”

“What?” You ask, laughing through the word. “Relax, I was a willing participant.”

“Oh my god, I did not need to hear that,” He mumbles, reaching out towards your shirt, patting it down. 

He sighs, closing his eyes. “Those things can give you a stroke, you know.”

“They’re not on my carotid, Jack.”

“Doesn’t matter,” He counters. “You should ice them.”

You roll your eyes as you walk away, wanting to get your charting over with so you can go home. 

Back in the trauma room things have settled down. Dennis finishes with the arterial line, repeat labs are drawn, and the patient is taken up to CT. Trinity reaches towards his shirt, tugging the collar down, exposing the bruise again. He swats her hand away, yanking it back up, cheeks burning again.

“Had some fun in that call room, hey?” She asks. 

Dennis shrugs, knowing he can’t defend himself. “Maybe. Whatever.”

“I knew I was interrupting,” Lena adds, holding the door as people start to file out. Trinity calls your name, pointing to his collarbone with her thumb. 

“You trying to kill him or something?”

You glance over, shrugging. “He bruises easily.”

“Hang on, he has them too?” Jack asks. “This is a hospital, people.”

“Too?” Trinity echoes. “Oh my god, this is the best day of my life.”

“Leave them alone,” Parker says. “If my girlfriend looked like her I’d be marking her up all the time.”

Dennis’ face scrunches up. Robby pats him on the shoulder. 

“You good?” He asks, genuinely curious, not trying to embarrass him any further. 

“Uh, yeah, all good,” He says. “You wanna’ finish the charts at home?”

You’re already turning the computer off. “Yes, definitely.”

“Need to finish what you started?” Trinity asks, but Dennis is half-way to the locker room. 

“It'll help him get the charting done,” You say, face completely blank. "Positive reinforcement, or whatever."

Trinity’s jaw drops, Robby rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, Parker loses it. Jack raises his arms, walking away from the hub, calling over his shoulder.

“I expect no errors in those charts!”

“You know I’m very thorough!” You call back, not able to stop yourself from smiling when he groans from across the department. Trinity’s typing quickly on her computer, too fast to be updating a chart. Parker snorts from where she’s working, and you determine that they’re almost certainly sending messages back and forth. 

Dennis comes back down a few minutes later with your belongings, having gone upstairs to grab them while everyone was distracted. He passes you your hoodie, and you tug it over your head. You bid them goodnight, getting some waves and ‘night’s in response, along with a very pointed look from Trinity. Dennis’ hand hovers over your lower back as you leave the department. 

You wait until you’re in the car to bring it up. 

“Sorry, baby,” You say, tugging his shirt down, exposing the injury. “I didn’t mean to do it so hard. Does it hurt?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” He promises, laughing a bit. “That was…something.”

“That’s what they get for interrupting,” You say, softly running your thumb over it. “You do bruise easily, hey?”

He jokingly pushes your hand away. “I’m…pale!”

“Right,” You say, smiling. “Seriously, we should ice it when we get home. Might as well ice your arms while we’re at it.”

“Why would you ice my arms?” He asks, face showing that he knows your answer is going to be far from serious. 

You shrug, leaning over to him, rolling his sleeve up a few centimetres. Then, you bite his fucking bicep, just for a second. It’s light, but Dennis still flinches, despite the fact that you do this constantly. 

“Every time,” He murmurs. You kiss his arm after, laughing when he flexes it, kissing it again. 

“Let’s go home,” You say, tilting your chin up. He looks at you for a moment, face soft and eyes loving in the way that makes your stomach fill with butterflies.

"Yeah, lets go."

tags:

Trinity’s sitting in the break room, phone in hand, a brief moment of respite from the emergency department as she scrolls through TikTok. She’s not really paying attention, eyes scanning the screen quickly before swiping away, numbing her brain for a minute before she has to get back to work. 

She scrolls past a video, pauses, then goes back to it. 

“Holy shit,” She mumbles, realizing that it’s you and Dennis. 

You stand beside him, fighting a smile, mouthing along to the lyrics of ‘Slim Pickins’ by Sabrina Carpenter. He looks focused, eyes a little wide and bottom lip slightly tugged between his teeth. 

“A boy who’s jacked and kind.”

Dennis bends down slightly, hands grabbing your hips, effortlessly picking you up on ‘jacked,’ hoisting you onto his shoulder. You grin, holding one of his wrists, looking down towards him just as he shifts, sliding you off and into his arms, catching you against his chest. He says something to you, and you nod, then he spins you around, your head falling back with laughter. The video ends, and the beginning starts to replay as she opens the comments section. 

holy sleeper build

bro is winning

woooow so happy for u!!! (trying to explode u with my mind)

There’s thousands more, some commenting on how hot you are, others complimenting Dennis. Most of them are playfully jealous, and you’ve liked a handful of the funnier ones, plus a sweeter one a few comments down. 

may i find a man who looks at me EXACTLY like this

She swipes out of the comments, hitting your username, her eyes almost popping out of her head when she sees that you have over a hundred thousand followers. 

There’s huge variation in your content—outfits, little vlogs showing your life, a few trends (including some dances, which you’re annoyingly good at). The one constant, though, is Dennis, who appears in quite a few videos. Trinity clicks on another one. 

You’re both in scrubs at the beginning, yours navy blue and his the usual black. She squints, seeing that it was filmed outside PTMC, around the back of the building against the brick wall. He takes your hand in his, spinning you around, dipping you towards the camera. The lighting changes with the transition, and he lifts you back up, catching you quickly, turning you so you’re in frame. 

Trinity’s jaw drops. 

You’re wearing a stunning outfit, one that highlights your figure perfectly. Your makeup and hair are done, different from how you usually wear them at work. The makeup accentuates your eyes, and your hair looks perfect.

Dennis looks good too, she has to admit. He’s wearing all black, from his button down to the shoes, his silver chain peeking out from where he has the top few buttons undone. His hair is also styled differently, his curls directed away from his face instead of hanging over his forehead, waving across the top and sides of his head. 

The comments on this one are a bit more…to the point than the last, the entire internet thirsting over you and your boyfriend. 

this is why im bi

chill guys my bfs girlfriend is on this app (we aren’t that serious though it’s actually pretty casual and im free anytime)

i love when hot people date hot people

She glances at the door, not hearing any chaos coming from outside, so she keeps scrolling. There’s content dating back a few years ago, and she can’t help but smile at how young Dennis looks, especially beside you. You’re hotter now, but you were still absolutely stunning back then, and the comments did not let you forget it. 

She tears her attention away for long enough to check the time, realizing she’s stayed long past the initial five minutes she planned. She jumps to her feet, phone still in hand, walking straight over to Dennis, who’s charting at one of the workstations.

“Why didn’t you tell me your girlfriend was famous, Huckleberry?” She asks, earning a raised eyebrow in response. It takes him a second to realize what she means, then his face relaxes with recognition. 

“Oh, like on TikTok?” He questions. “She’s not famous.”

“Sorry, what would you call it?” She counters. “A hundred and twelve-thousand followers seems pretty famous to me.”

“Who has that many followers?” Victoria asks, setting her tablet on the counter and leaning over. 

Trinity says your name, and Victoria’s eyes widen. 

“Seriously?” She asks. Trinity turns her phone towards her, showing her the profile. She takes it in her hands, slowly scrolling through the posts. “Wow. I don’t even have half that.”

“Was she one of those super annoying people who never had an awkward phase?” Trinity questions. “Just…disgustingly photogenic since birth?”

“Yeah, I mean, she’s basically always looked like that,” He says, trying to finish up the chart for a patient he discharged hours ago. 

“Everyone has an awkward stage,” Victoria says. “You’re probably just too obsessed with her to see it.”

He shrugs. “I dunno’, I’ve seen pretty much every photo of her growing up.”

“Do you have any?” 

“Uh, on me? I don’t think so,” He says, still not looking in her direction, his fingers flying across the keys. “She’s around here somewhere, why don’t you ask her?”

“She’s your girlfriend,” She counters. “You ask.”

“I’ve already seen them,” He argues, signing the note and turning the computer off, getting to his feet. 

“Are you friends with her mom on Facebook?” Victoria asks. “My mom has like, a million pictures of me on hers, awkward phases included.”

“That I also want to see,” Trinity says. “Are you?”

Dennis sighs, but he’s already pulling his phone out, tapping on the blue app and typing your mom’s name into the searchbar. He clicks on her profile, opening the ‘photos’ tab and starting to scroll through. Trinity and Victoria crowd a little closer, looking over his shoulders, gaining the attention of a few people that are working nearby. Dana raises an eyebrow, shaking her head, waving it off with an ‘I don’t wanna’ know’ muttered under her breath. 

“Oh, wait, that one,” Victoria says, making him stop. She reaches over, tapping on the image. You’re probably thirteen or fourteen, wearing athletic clothes, very obviously in gym class. She frowns when she zooms in, realizing that you still look fantastic, your hair the perfect amount of messy and your clothes unreasonably normal. “Nevermind.”

“You’re not gonna’ find anything,” Dennis says, swiping out and continuing to scroll. “The awkward phase doesn’t exist.”

“I’m determined,” Trinity says. “No one makes it out of middle school unscathed.”

That pattern continues for a little while longer—one of them telling him to stop, zooming in on the picture, swiping away when they realize that you look…normal. It doesn’t matter how far back they go, you just went from adorable to beautiful to absolutely gorgeous, all without a single dip or deviation. 

“I kind of hate her,” Victoria says. “I’d kill someone for my digital footprint to look like this.”

“What are you doing?”

The sound of your voice makes Trinity and Victoria jump, all three of them turning to face you. You’re already smiling, hoping to be included in whatever fun they’re having now that you’re finished with your patient. 

“Showing them your childhood photos,” Dennis answers. You raise an eyebrow. 

“Why?” You ask, laughing a little. 

“We wanted to see if you, uhm, if you had an awkward stage,” Victoria says. “Whitaker said you didn’t, we didn’t believe him.”

“Oh my god, are you kidding?” You ask. “I had multiple.”

“You are a liar,” Trinity says. “There was not a single bad photo of you on there.”

“On where, exactly?” 

“Your mom’s Facebook,” Dennis explains. 

“You clearly weren’t looking hard enough,” You say, holding your hand out for Dennis’ phone. He passes it to you, and you start copying their actions, swiping through the various images of you throughout your life. Your brows knit closer and closer together the farther you go, and you eventually pass him his phone back, not saying a word. 

“Exactly,” Trinity says. “You’re annoying.”

“No, my mom just cherry-picked those,” You insist. Dennis shakes his head, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Cherry-picked for literal years of your life?” Trinity asks. 

“Yes!” You exclaim. “She probably just…didn’t post the bad ones. She wouldn’t do that to me.”

“She would,” Dennis counters. You glare at him, pulling your own phone out now, opening your camera roll. You quickly go to the top, the first images from your freshman year of high school. You look for a specific month, picking one of the photos, nodding to yourself before turning it around. 

“Here,” You say. Trinity slowly takes your phone out of your hand, looking through them, Dennis and Victoria watching as she scrolls. You stand there for a second, watching their faces, trying to gauge the reaction. 

Victoria tilts her head to the side, blinking a few times, as though she’s missing something. Trinity laughs under her breath, shaking her head, disbelief obvious in her expression. Dennis squints, then smiles, leaning back and looking at you. 

“You think these are bad?” Victoria asks. “You look…you look really good.”

“Look at my eyebrows!” You exclaim. 

Trinity passes your phone back. “What about them?”

“They’re so thin,” You insist, looking at the photos again, zooming in on your face. 

“Yeah, a little, but they suit you,” Victoria counters. 

“I like them,” Dennis says. 

“Me too,” Trinity agrees.

“How did you even get on this topic?” You ask, about to put your phone away when Mel walks over, and you perk up. “Mel!”

“Yeah?” She says, coming up to you, rubbing hand sanitizer in. 

“Settle something for us,” Trinity says. Mel raises an eyebrow, shaking her head. 

“Uh, I don’t-”

You turn your phone around, showing her the photos. “What do you think about these?”

She takes your phone, adjusting her glasses, clicking on one of the pictures. Her expression softens a little, only enough to be noticeable if you’re paying close attention, which Trinity is.

“Oh, wow,” She says. “You look...really nice.”

“Okay, that was not the correct answer,” You say, raising your hand to take your phone back, but Mel doesn’t pass it over. She scrolls a little farther down, tapping again. 

“What was?” She asks. 

“She’s trying to convince us that she had an awkward phase,” Dennis says. “But she obviously didn’t.”

“I hate it here,” You say. 

Mel frowns, shaking her head. “I don’t really see one, to be honest. I think you look…cute.”

“Right, exactly,” Trinity says. “Thank you.”

Mel passes your phone back over, and you give her a smile when she finally looks at you again, one she returns. Her cheeks are slightly red, and she gestures to the board, reaching around you to grab a tablet. 

“I, uhm, I have a patient,” She says. “Excuse me.”

She only makes it a few steps away before she turns around, looking at you again. “I could actually use your help, if you’re free, of course.”

You nod, slipping back into work easily, adjusting your badge as you follow her into the patient’s room. Trinity, Dennis, and Victoria watch the two of you walk away. 

“She is so in love with your girlfriend, Huckleberry,” Trinity says. 

“Who isn’t?” Victoria asks. 

Dennis shakes his head. “You guys need to get out of here more often.”

A/N - in my head this takes place after blurred lines but definitely does not need to be read like that so...this disclaimer is at the bottom...but feel free to imagine that as well !

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