Archive of Our Own

Robby wakes up at 5:00 on the dot, just as he has pretty much every morning for at least the last decade. It's his day off work, but his internal clock doesn't know that. 

Robby's morning routine occurs on autopilot: he lumbers downstairs to put on a pot of coffee, then heads back up to the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. His electric toothbrush beeps a few times, telling him it needs to be charged soon, but he ignores it for the second day in a row. He takes a quick shower before wrapping himself in a soft blue bathrobe and descending back to the kitchen to pour himself his first cup of the morning. It's about 5:20 when he sits back in his worn-in recliner to read for a bit, wishing it wasn't November in Pittsburgh so he could maybe sit outside to see the sunrise. 

By 6:30, the sky is starting to lighten and Robby's getting antsy. The book he's reading is good—on a normal day he'd even consider it to be pretty excellent—but he's struggling to not let his mind wander. His eyes land on the pile of dirty clothes laying at the foot of the stairs and he decides to spend some time tidying up.

He kills about an hour puttering up and down the stairs putting things back where they belong and dusting any hard surface he can find, but he realizes too late that anxiously cleaning his house had made him more than a little sweaty. Robby stands outside his bathroom for a full minute, frozen with indecision. Finally, deciding there's no way for him to know with absolute certainty if he smells gross after exerting himself mopping his stupid kitchen floors, he turns the water on and steps in.

He finishes his second shower of the day around 8:00. This time, after he's toweled himself dry, he stands in front of the steam-covered mirror to run a few drops of beard oil through the wiry hairs on his face. The gray patches make him grimace. He leans in close, pulling the skin around his eyes taut in a fruitless attempt to smooth out his wrinkles. Reminds himself to accept that which he cannot change, and sighs. 

Robby digs through the cabinet below the sink and manages to find a bottle of moisturizer that Heather had bought for him, months before he'd blown their relationship to smithereens. He doesn't think about that now. He smears a couple pumps of the watery white cream into his cheeks, nose, and forehead, closing his eyes and scrubbing his palms up and down with vigor. Is only slightly disappointed when his reflection in the mirror looks exactly the same as before, maybe a little shinier. He trims his beard and mustache and clips his fingernails.

Now, it's barely 8:05. Robby feels like time is moving in slow motion. 

He manages to watch SportsCenter for a few minutes—not even long enough to get to a commercial break, and SportsCenter is basically one long commercial break these days—before giving up. He'll just get there a little early. 

He pulls into a parking spot near the address that Dennis had sent him at 8:30, an hour and a half before their agreed upon meeting time of 10:00. The surrounding neighborhood seems young and artsy, most of the homes freshly-painted and clean. Robby feels like a senior citizen when a woman rollerblades past his car, her hair dyed the same bright green hue as the parrot on her shoulder. 

Other than the young lady and her parrot, the only people around seem to be a pair of women waiting at the nearby bus stop. Robby puts a few quarters in the meter—rolling his eyes at the newer parking meters being installed across the street with QR codes on them instead of coin slots; ridiculous—and decides to roam around a bit, stretch his legs and hopefully calm his racing mind. 

He's not sure why he's so nervous (yes, he is). This is just him helping pave a path for the next generation of emergency medicine doctors (that excuse is full of holes). He used to meet with Langdon for coffee all the time (do not think about Langdon).

It's not like he's in danger of ruining Dennis's life by continuing to spend more and more time with him (that's exactly what he's doing). 

The coffee shop—a locally-owned place with a sign on the door saying they open at 9:00 and close at noon on Sundays—is on the same side of the street as a paint-your-own pottery studio, a flower shop, what looks to be a stationery store, and a Mexican restaurant. Across the road is a salon, a bookstore, an art gallery, and a vacant storefront. Robby strolls up and down the sidewalk until the coffee shop opens and—not wanting to be their first customer of the day—another customer has already entered.

Robby orders a small black coffee and decides to take it back outside with him to continue pacing, figuring he has a little less than an hour before Dennis is due to arrive. On his way back out, he holds the door open for a shorter curly-haired man without taking a second look. 

"Michael?" 

Robby chokes on his sip of coffee, sending a drop of scalding hot liquid down his windpipe. He begins to do that horrifically uncomfortable cough that people do when they're choking in front of someone that's waiting for them to respond. "I—" he manages to cough out. 

"Oh my God!" Dennis says, hand hovering nervously over Robby's back. He shoves his phone, wrapped in a pair of earbuds, into the pocket of his puffy black coat. "Um, are you choking?" 

Robby manages to chuckle through his wheezing. "Yes," he rasps. Finally, after what seems like an eternity but was really only a few seconds, he catches his breath and manages to compose himself. "Sorry. I was choking," he says unnecessarily. 

"Oh my God," Dennis repeats, eyes wide. 

"Sorry. I'm fine," Robby says quickly. His throat hurts and he can't feel his tongue. "Um. You're here." 

"I'm here," Dennis says weakly, the tips of his ears going a little pink. "You're... also here." 

"Yeah. Um. I wanted to... make sure we could get a table," Robby says, gesturing to the cafe's expansive seating area, where every single table is currently empty. 

Dennis cracks a small grin. "Yeah, it looks pretty busy." 

Robby laughs nervously. "Ha. I, uh, guess I underestimated how busy they'd be?" Dennis laughs a little, too, before tilting his head to the side a bit and chewing on his lip. He opens his mouth, then closes it.

"Excuse me," a man says kindly from behind him. Robby startles and realizes they're blocking the entire doorway.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he apologizes. He and Dennis both step inside to clear the entrance; the man thanks them and goes up to the register to place his order. Robby takes a sip of his coffee—which is still boiling hot, but at least his mouth is already numb—and shoves his free hand into his pocket. 

"Well, I'm here early because I was nervous," Dennis blurts out. Robby looks at him in surprise. "To be honest." 

Well, that makes him feel marginally better. Robby knows that he shouldn't admit this. "I was a little nervous, too," he admits anyway. Quickly pulls an innocent explanation for his nerves out of thin air. "I don't like to be late to things, so sometimes I leave way too early." A lie. Robby's fine with being late to things, to be honest. Most things. Not work, or pre-arranged dates-slash-appointments. He firmly reminds himself that this meeting with Dennis falls in the appointment category. 

Dennis smiles and a matching grin grows on Robby's face before he can stop it. "I'm the same way," Dennis says. Robby immediately regrets lying. Oh, well. He can just be a get-there-early person from now on, that way it's not technically a lie from this point forward.

Dennis continues, "Well, I'm kinda glad you're here now, actually." Robby feels his heart grow three sizes. "I was planning on just sitting here for an hour, you know, ruminating, but now we can get started—er, well." Dennis stops himself. "Unless you didn't want to start until ten. I can, uh, go sit over there until ten if you wanted, like, alone—"

"Dennis," Robby interjects, laughing and shaking his head. "No, no. I don't want you to go sit over there."

"Okay," Dennis says, looking relieved. 

"Pick out a table and then let's order." 

Dennis points to the cup in Robby's hand, eyebrows furrowed. "You already ordered, though." 

Robby thinks fast. "I'm getting a pastry, too." After many years of dating women who liked to insist that they split the check (it's a complicated trap he's set for himself; Robby is attracted to independent, strong-willed people, but he also likes paying for dates and feeling useful and, well, sort of pampering his partner wherever he can), Robby had gotten very skilled at putting things on his tab instead. The trick was to add something to the order that was just for him, then get his credit card to the cashier as quickly as possible. Credit cards switching from chip to Tap to Pay had made things even easier. 

"Alright," Dennis shrugs. "Any preferences on where we sit?" 

"No, anywhere's fine." Robby prefers a booth over a table, but cares more about sitting where Dennis wants than expressing his preference.

Dennis nods and chooses a booth—score—tucked away in the far corner, the seat cushions upholstered with chocolate brown leather. He drops his backpack on the table, hangs his coat on a hook on the wall, then heads for the counter while digging his wallet out from his back pocket. Robby hurries to set his coffee down next to Dennis's backpack and join him. 

When Robby gets there, Dennis finishes flipping through the bills—all singles, from what Robby can see over his shoulder—in his wallet and orders a small vanilla latte and a croissant. "And could I get a croissant as well?" Robby asks from over Dennis's shoulder. Dennis shoots him a look that Robby ignores. 

"Anything else?" the barista asks them. 

"Nope, that's all." Robby taps his credit card on the reader as soon as they read them their total, much to Dennis's visible chagrin. 

"Michael," he says through gritted teeth once the barista, a young person with pink hair and a name tag on their apron that says THEY/THEM in bold letters, has hurried off to make his drink. 

"What?" Robby asks innocently. "Let's wait down here for our stuff." He directs Dennis over to the pick-up spot to the left of the register. 

Dennis complies begrudgingly, then stares at him. "I can afford my own coffee, you know," he says quietly. 

"Oh," Robby says, starting to panic. "I know that. I didn't mean to... offend. I apologize. I truly enjoy paying for things, please don't think that I'm... thinking less of you, or patronizing you or anything like that." 

Dennis arches a brow. "Who likes paying for things?" 

Robby does. He purses his lips. "I do, I guess. I'll stop if it makes you uncomfortable. Seriously, say the word and I'll never do it again."

"Well," Dennis blushes, "I mean, let's not get ahead of ourselves. And I'm not uncomfortable—"

The barista politely interrupts to hand them Dennis's latte and their two croissants, warm and flaky on little white plates, and Robby silently decides to take Dennis's admission that he isn't uncomfortable as permission to keep footing the bill. They both thank the worker and return to their table, Robby grabbing the plates and Dennis taking his latte. The cafe is already filling up around them with customers.

"Thank you," Dennis says once they're seated. He takes a tiny sip of his latte. 

"No problem," Robby says. He points to the latte. "Good?"

"Mm, good," Dennis confirms. Robby adds vanilla latte to his Dennis Dossier. "Is their coffee good?" 

Robby nods, even though he still hasn't really formed an opinion on the coffee other than holy fuck this just burnt the fuck out of my mouth. "Really good, yeah." He takes a bite of his croissant. 

"Nice." 

The two of them eat their pastries in silence and finish at about the same time. Robby takes their empty plates back up to the counter. "So," he says as he slides back into the booth. Dennis, who had been typing something on his phone when Robby returned, quickly shoves his phone in his pocket. "How did you want to do this? Do you have, like, questions for me? Or should I just start talking?" 

Dennis grins at him. "I mean, if you have a monologue prepared, please go ahead." 

Robby laughs. "Okay, no, no. Maybe I shouldn't have offered that option." 

Dennis, still smiling, pulls a laptop out of the backpack that he'd brought with him and opens the lid. "I actually do have some questions if that's okay." 

"Yeah, of course." Robby nods. "Go ahead." 

The next two hours fly by. Dennis asks Robby to describe his own residency years—"if you can remember back that far," he says cheekily—and what'd he do differently, if he could go back. He makes Robby think back to the first time he'd ever called time of death, the first time he'd told a mother that her child was no longer breathing, the first time he found signs of cancer on someone's lab results and had to break the news to the patient. Dennis rattles off something called his "elevator pitch"—Robby hadn't had to invent bullshit like that when he was in school—and asks for feedback, which Robby does his best to do. He asks Robby to describe other emergency departments that he's worked in and how they differ from the Pitt. They must get to the end of the list of questions that he'd come prepared with because, after a while, Dennis's laptop screen falls asleep and he doesn't even appear to notice.

Eventually, the conversation meanders away from work. Robby can't figure out how it happened; he'd told himself to keep things entirely professional today, to not pry into Dennis's personal life anymore. And yet, here they are.

"So anyway," Dennis is saying. The near-afternoon sunlight shining through the nearby windows is making his eyes sparkle. They look more green than hazel in this light, Robby decides. "After that, my mom banned us from ever getting another pet lizard. Mammals only from that point." Dennis bats his empty coffee cup back and forth on the tabletop, a bit like a cat. 

"That might have been for the best. For the safety of all those Nebraskan lizards, you know." 

Dennis's laugh is like music. "I swear, I had nothing to do with that lizard's demise. My stupid brothers did it! I cried all night just thinking about that poor thing's last moments. And, well." His cheeks go a little pink. The next laugh out of his mouth sounds much less musical. "My dad whooped me for crying just as bad as he whooped my brothers for killing that lizard."

Robby grits his teeth. He's not surprised, exactly, but he isn't happy to have those fears confirmed. "You didn't deserve that, Dennis," he says quietly. 

Dennis nods, meek. "I know," he laughs awkwardly. "I know that... mostly."

"Would you tell a patient that a beating was 'mostly' not their fault?" 

"Michael," Dennis grins wryly. "It was hardly a beating. And if I treated my patients the way I think I deserve to be treated some of the time, I'd have been kicked out of the program by now." 

Robby hates to hear this. Dennis is compassionate, intelligent, hardworking, and resilient. He wishes he could tell him so. "I wish I had better advice," he says instead. "I think you know by now that I'm, uh, the same way."

"Maybe you can get some tips for us from your new therapist," Dennis says. 

Robby huffs, shifting a little uncomfortably in his seat. Two days from now, he has an appointment with Caleb to go over what Robby is looking for in a therapist. What exactly that means, Robby isn't sure. He wants to tell Caleb that his ideal therapist would be one with magical powers who can alter the space-time continuum, because he's pretty sure that's what it would take to repair everything he's broken. But, Caleb has the authority to put people on involuntary psych holds. So Robby won't say that. "I, uh... Maybe. I've never done... That. Before," he says haltingly. 

"Therapy, you mean?" 

"Yeah." 

Dennis wrinkles his eyebrows. "Didn't you have to do the mandatory grief counseling session that the hospital paid for after Pitt Fest?" 

Robby had skipped that, knowing that hospital admin didn't care enough to make sure everyone attended. "I was exempt from that," he lies. 

"That doesn't seem right," Dennis says, shaking his head. "The hospital should—"

"I'm fine," he interrupts, waving a hand. This topic is making him feel itchy. He checks his watch for the first time all morning and is shocked to see that it's nearly noon. "Oh, shit. I just realized how late it is. Did you have anywhere you needed to be?" 

"No, no. Nowhere. Um, did you? Sorry if—"

"No! Nah. Can I, uh?" Robby points to Dennis's empty cup and then to the trash can by the door. 

"Oh, sure. I mean, you don't have to," Dennis says, but Robby has already grabbed the cup and is striding away. He spends the short journey telling himself to chill the fuck out. When he comes back, Dennis is slipping his laptop back into the largest pocket of his backpack, a dark green JanSport with a rainbow pride flag pin on the outside.

"So," Robby says, tearing his eyes away from that pin. "Do you feel... prepared?" 

Dennis stands, shouldering his bag. "Oh, yeah. Definitely way more than I did before. Thank you so much," he gushes. 

Robby waves him off, relieved that the awkward energy from before seems to have dissipated. "It was my pleasure. You know, you're going to do great. Just do the best at your interview with us." 

Dennis laughs loudly and starts for the door, shaking his head. Robby follows close behind. "You guys keep saying that!" Dennis says. "You and Dana both. The pressure is too much." 

Robby beats Dennis to the exit so that he can push it open for him. "Don't feel any pressure," he says, knowing that advice isn't helpful. "Just be yourself. Seriously." They step into the shade under a nearby awning, out of the way of the steady flow of foot traffic now filling the sidewalks. Robby spots an A-frame sign on the sidewalk outside of the art gallery advertising an exhibit titled "Whither Chemistry: Post-Painterly Art of Complacency." 

Dennis looks up at him, his face unimpressed. "Be myself? Right." 

He's not sure what to say to that. "I, uh..." he starts, but trails off. 

"Sorry," Dennis sighs. "I killed the mood." 

"No, no," Robby rushes to assure him. "That was me who killed the mood with my bad advice." 

"I don't think that." 

"Well, if neither of us think that the other did something, then why are we worrying about it?" Robby tries to laugh. Fortunately, this breaks the tension and Dennis laughs, too. 

"Okay, you're right. Um. Thank you, again." 

"Yeah, of course. Of course." Robby rocks up and down on his heels. Dennis doesn't say anything, so Robby points in the direction of where he'd parked. "So, um—"

"Yeah! Um, I'll see you." 

"See you." 

"I'm, uh, heading this way." Dennis points in the same direction. 

"Oh. Me too." 

"Oh." Dennis laughs. "Alright, well, we said goodbye too soon, then." 

Robby chuckles. "I guess so." The two of them start walking. Robby's brain is rapidly compiling a list of reasons why he should and should not say what he's about to say. "Well, can I give you a ride home? You're nearby, right?" 

Dennis blinks up at him as they walk. "Oh, that's fine!" he says. "No, no, I'm, like, within walking distance." 

"Well, you're also within driving distance, then." He can't stop the grin that spreads across his face at Dennis's responding half-laugh, half-groan. 

"Look, I guess I'm not going to say no," Dennis sighs. 

"Then I'll take that as a yes," Robby says happily. He opens the passenger door for Dennis, who blushes handsomely as he climbs in. Robby walks around the back of the truck to get to the driver's side, pausing at his rear license plate to take a calming breath and remind himself to chill the fuck out. 

Once he hops into the driver's seat, he opens his navigation app and goes to the History tab, then selects the address that he's already starting to instantly recognize as Dennis's. He realizes a moment too late that maybe he shouldn't have done that when Dennis wrinkles up his face in confusion as directions to his house pop up on the car's screen. "I, uh," Robby rushes to explain, "I never clear the history on this thing, so I still have your address in here from... the first time." He's referencing that evening in mid-September when he had first given Dennis a ride home.

"Oh, right," Dennis says, nodding. "That makes sense. For a second I was like—" He makes a confused face, then laughs. Robby laughs too, nervously. 

"Yeah, sorry. That's maybe weird." He pulls away from the curb and starts driving. 

"No, not weird. You're fine." Dennis sounds pleased, but Robby's afraid to look over and check his face to be sure. 

"So," he says, a bit too loudly. "Any plans for the rest of your day off?" 

"Nope."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing." Dennis shrugs. "Trinity's working, so I'm just going to have a quiet afternoon at home."

"Sounds nice." 

"Yeah, I guess." 

Robby glances over. "Is that... not nice?" 

"No, no. It's nice." Dennis pauses. "The quiet just drives me crazy sometimes," he finally admits.

"Oh. I feel ya," Robby says. "I, uh... I mean, I can't even fall asleep unless the TV is on. Can't handle silence." The TV in Robby's bedroom has been the subject of many an argument with previous girlfriends. 

"Yeah?" Dennis asks quietly.

"Yeah. It's almost easier for me to be at work," he confesses. 

"Yeah, same," Dennis says, breaking Robby's heart a little. 

"I don't like to hear that," he says. "You're still young! You have decades left to work yourself to the bone. Spend your youth having fun." 

Dennis is quiet until they reach a stop sign and Robby comes to a stop, then looks over at him. There's a tiny smile on Dennis's face that makes Robby think of soft pillows and warm sunrises and whispered secrets. "Maybe I have fun at work," Dennis finally says. "At least, lately I do." 

Robby quirks an eyebrow. "That's concerning."

"No, it's not!" Dennis laughs. "I've already made some great friends here."

"Well, I'm happy to hear that. The ED is full of great people to be friends with."

"We're friends, right?" 

Robby whips his head around in surprise, eyes wide. "We?"

"You and me," Dennis says. "I feel like we are? Or am I... misreading things?" 

"No, no. I mean, I'm just—"

"That was really strange of me, I'm sorry." 

"No! I—"

"You're my boss."

"You aren't misreading things," Robby says quickly. He's fucking this up, royally. "We're friendly with each other." 

Dennis cracks a grin. "'Friendly with each other.' Let me guess, you're one of those old men who's allergic to admitting that they have friends?" 

"Fuck off!" he gasps through a startled laugh. Dennis is already giggling. "This old man has plenty of friends, thanks." A lie, but Dennis couldn't possibly know that. 

"I'm sure you do," Dennis says. "And, you know, thanks. For including me in that category." He smiles. 

"Right," Robby says. His chest kind of hurts. He's pretty sure this is what the kids call 'being friendzoned.' "I mean, you're welcome?"

Dennis laughs again, and Robby decides that maybe he can live with being friends if it means he gets to keep making Dennis smile like that. 

Robby drops Dennis off, then makes a quick stop at home to grab his gym bag. He probably pays way too much money for membership to a gym right down the street from his house that allows him 24/7 access and is usually empty, but he thinks it's worth every penny. He doesn't usually do much more than run on the treadmill or some basic weightlifting, but having access to a clean, quiet gym at the end of a long work day has saved him from a night of desperate insomnia more than once.

It's about two hours after he dropped Dennis off when his phone lights up with a text message. He finishes his last set of bicep curls before walking over to grab his phone and see who texted.

3:34 p.m.
Jack:
Morning
You free to grab a coffee with me? 

Robby huffs a laugh, both at Jack's idea of 'morning' and at him being invited out to coffee again. He usually goes to zero coffee shops a day, today he'll be going to two. 

3:35 p.m.
Robby:
Yeah, I'm free.
Where and when?

He puts the dumbbells he had been using back on the rack, then uses a little sanitizer wipe from a dispenser on the wall to wipe down any surfaces he touched. The gym is empty except for a guy around his age that's dripping sweat onto the stair climbing machine. Robby steps into one of the bathrooms to wash his hands before checking his phone again, where he sees that Jack has responded with a time and a location. His heart skips a beat. The address that Jack sent looks horrifyingly familiar, and he swipes back to his text thread with Dennis to confirm. 

Jack wants to meet at the same coffee shop that Dennis and Robby had visited that morning. That's fine. 

What are the odds that someone there would recognize him? That would be crazy.

"Oh, hello! Small black coffee again?" the pink-haired barista asks. Robby blinks at them rapidly. What the actual fuck? Does this person ever clock out? 

"Um. Yes, please. Just a small black coffee," he replies. Jack is looking back and forth between Robby and the barista. 

"Do you come here a lot?" Jack asks Robby, laughing a bit. 

"Ah, sometimes," Robby lies.

"Sorry to be weird," the barista laughs jovially, "I just remember you from this morning!"

"You came here this morning?" Jack asks.

"Um, yeah," Robby says. Jack just quirks an eyebrow in response and orders a large coffee with extra cream and sugar. After paying, they take their drinks to a small table near the door. 

"So," Jack starts. "What's new with you?" 

"Man," Robby sighs, relieved that Jack isn't pursuing the conversation about him getting coffee here this morning. This shop isn't anywhere near Robby's place, and Jack obviously knows that. "Nothing. You know I'm boring." Jack laughs. "What about you?"

Jack eagerly tells him about a woodworking class he had taken recently; Robby can only laugh incredulously when Jack explains that most of the other guys in the class were born after 9/11.  

"Mm," Jack says after a sip of coffee. "You know, speaking of infants... Dana told me that Whitaker kid wants to do his residency with us."

Robby swallows and nods. "Oh, yeah, he, uh, mentioned that to me," he says. A half-truth is safer than a lie. 

"He did?" 

"Yeah."

"It wasn't Margo that told you?" 

Robby freezes. Blinks a few times. Margo is the EM Residency Program Director at PTMC. He'd found an opportunity to converse with her yesterday right as she was leaving—by "found an opportunity" he means that he hung around the staff entrance until she appeared—and Jack happened to be arriving. He should've known he was in trouble as soon as Jack had raised an eyebrow at him as he walked past. "No, Dennis told me himself," he says, recovering as quickly as he can. 

"Interesting." Jack takes a long drink of his coffee, but Robby doesn't break the silence. Jack finally continues, "Margo is pretty." 

Robby makes a face before he can stop himself, then feel a pang of guilt. Margo is a perfectly fine-looking woman, she just isn't his type. "Do you want me to give her your number or something?" he asks. 

Jack rolls his eyes. "No. I was implying that maybe you should give Margo your number." 

"That's..." Robby shakes his head. Jack has misinterpreted this so badly, it's almost funny. "I'm not interested in Margo. I'm sure she's very nice," he says quickly, "but I'm not interested." 

"Hmm." Jack takes another drink.

"What 'hmm?' What?" Robby asks, slightly irritated now. 

Jack holds up his hands placatingly. "Nothing, nothing. Sorry. I think I misread things." 

"I think you did."

"So what were you talking to Margo about, then?" 

"I—" he starts. He'd been asking her—well, encouraging her—to please send Dennis a request for an interview soon. Knowing Jack, he's already put out feelers to try and find out what Robby and Margo had attempted to privately discuss. There's no such thing as a private conversation in the Pitt, and there's really no use lying to the one man who's known him for decades. "I was asking her when Dennis's interview would be," he says. "Dennis had mentioned that he was still waiting for them to email him." 

Jack nods slowly, an unreadable expression on his face. "Oh. Huh." 

Robby swallows a mouthful of coffee. "What?" 

"Nothing! Jeez," Jack says. 

Robby rolls his eyes. "Feels like I'm getting the third degree for something and I don't even know what I did." 

"Hey man, I apologize. I didn't know that those coworkers were such sensitive topics." Jack takes a tiny, sassy sip. 

"They aren't," Robby says tightly. Decides to go in for the kill. "Speaking of coworkers, what's the deal with you and Mohan?" 

Jack's face twitches into a grimace almost imperceptibly before smoothing back out. Bingo. "Deflection. You're just making me more suspicious, you know." 

Robby sighs. "Suspicious of what? Spit it out. Come on." 

"I just get the feeling you're... into someone right now," Jack says.

Robby's stomach dips uncomfortably. He tries to force out a chuckle. "What? Explain," he demands. 

Jack, the fucking bastard, laughs easily. "You're just a little... smilier lately. Less gloomy. You're acting more like you did when you were with Janey." Robby can't help but flinch a bit. He and Janey are on good terms; it's Janey's son, Jake, that he misses most lately. Jack continues, "Are you dating someone? Were you with them this morning, here?"

"No, no. I would tell you if I was seeing someone, you know that." Robby's mind is racing, trying to somehow remember everything he's said and done in the last few months. Has he been acting out of the ordinary? 

"I would hope so, brother," Jack says, sounding relieved. "Well, that's good. I was worried you'd been keeping your new lady from me or something." He grins goofily. 

Robby swallows uncomfortably. "Nope. No lady." He covers his grimace with another sip of his coffee. 

"So you're not even... pursuing someone? Maybe taking them out on coffee dates?" Jack asks, still smiling. 

"Pursuing?" Robby scoffs, trying to laugh through the ache in his chest. "God, no. I think I'm about ten years too old to be pursuing." 

"With that attitude, you are!" 

"Oh, you'd know, huh?" 

Jack screws up his mouth and closes one eye. "Alright. Not pursuing. Maybe you're interested in pursuing someone?" 

Robby releases a heavy sigh that's probably too telling. It really is difficult to lie to Jack; the man's known him since they were in med school and has never been less than supportive. "If I say yes, will you stop asking for more details?"

Jack, to Robby's horror, claps loudly. "Hey!" he yells excitedly. 

"Jack!" he whispers through gritted teeth. "Keep your damn voice down, Jesus." 

"I knew it," Jack continues at a more appropriate volume. "I had a feeling. And it's not Margo?" he asks quickly, leaning forward.

Robby rolls his eyes. "No, good Lord, it's not Margo."

"So it's Lena, then? I know you like them feisty." 

Robby snorts. Lena is absolutely wonderful, but again, just not someone he's ever viewed romantically. He sees her and Dana as strictly sisterly figures. "Right. You're a dumbass."

"Well, is it someone at the hospital?" 

Fucking hell. Robby's starting to worry now. "No," he lies. "And I'm done talking about it. It's hardly anything. In fact, it's nothing. You misunderstood." He stands abruptly, crumpling the now-empty coffee cup in his hand. Jack is grinning up at him like a fool. Robby huffs and spins on his heel to go throw away his cup in the can by the exit, feeling a strong sense of déjà vu. 

Jack meets him at the door, shit-eating grin still on his face. "Well, definitely seems like you told me everything," he says, the sarcasm clear in his voice. 

Robby makes sure to let the door close in Jack's face on his way out. 

A week passes.

Dennis does text him that week, once, to thank him again for answering all of his questions. Robby tells him it was his pleasure, and then he adds the little heart reaction to Dennis's message, which he immediately realizes must be fucking weird so he removes the heart right away.

Then Dennis adds the little heart reaction to Robby's message. Robby waits a full minute before adding the heart reaction back to Dennis's 'thank you' text, his own heart—the anatomical one—in his throat. He stares at those little pink heart emojis until his eyes burn. 

He doesn't text Dennis. Still thinks it would be inappropriate to initiate conversation, lest Dennis feel obligated to respond. 

Dennis asks to take a day off to go to Altoona for his interview, a request that Robby has no qualms granting. He asks Dennis if he should schedule Santos off for that day as well, remembering that Dennis doesn't have a car at the moment, but he declines. "Or, well, I guess you should ask her," Dennis amends, "but, like, don't schedule her off just because I'm off." 

Robby doesn't ask any follow-up questions. 

He doesn't ask Dennis, at least. 

"Dr. Santos," he greets her around midday. "How's it going?"

"Fine," she says, audibly bored as she slumps over a keyboard, typing a few letters a minute. Robby fights against the urge to purse his lips. 

"Caught up on your charting?" She isn't; he'd just checked. But she's less behind than she has been, and her patient satisfaction scores are slightly above average, so he can't exactly complain.

"Just about." 

"Hm," he hums. Santos blinks up at him, unimpressed, without tilting her head back to fully face him. He continues, "And you're... feeling good? Here?" 

She grimaces. "Do you, like, need something? This is so strange." 

He sighs. "Why is it strange for me to ask one of my interns if there's anything I can do to make her feel like a better doctor?" 

"Well, you didn't ask that. Like, at all." 

"I was about to." He tries to sound positive, upbeat. "So, anyway, is there anything I can do to make you feel like a better doctor?"

"More money?" she asks, smirking. 

"Anything besides that?" 

She snorts and clicks around on the screen in front of her. "No, Dr. Robby, I do not need anything at this time." 

"Well, good. Good." Robby drums his fingers on the countertop a few times. "So. Everything's good at work. Is everything good at home as well?" 

Santos wrinkles her nose. "Are you asking me if my mommy and daddy have been fighting or something?" 

He laughs despite himself. "No. I meant, uh, your roommate. How's everything going there?" 

There's a little twitch in one her eyebrows, nearly imperceptible but definitely there, that Robby isn't sure about. "Living with Huckleberry is good," she says. "Did he say something to the contrary?"

"No!" Fuck. "No, God no. I'm just being nosy." 

"Hm." She arches a brow. "Well, it's good. Everything's good." 

"Good. He told me he's interviewing for a residency program in Altoona next week?" 

"Oh, yeah. Should feel more like home for him out in the sticks." 

"I'd hardly call Altoona the sticks," Robby starts, then stops himself. He's getting off track. "Are you going to drive him, then?" Santos looks at him. "I just want to know for the schedule," he says quickly. 

"No, he told me he has a ride," Santos says. "To be honest..." She trails off and doesn't finish her sentence. 

"What?" Robby asks. "'To be honest' what?"

"Well," she half-laughs, "he wouldn't tell me who was giving him a ride, so I kind of thought it was you." 

"Me?" Robby blurts out, far too loud. He sees heads turning his way in his peripheral vision. "Sorry." He shakes his head, fast and short. "Me?" he repeats, voice lowered. 

"Yeah," Santos says slowly. "I mean, you guys met up yesterday for coffee, right? I thought... I'm not sure." Robby's not sure, either. Of anything. Who's giving Dennis a ride to and from Pittsburgh, if not Santos? Maybe he's renting a car? Surely he's not going to Uber 200 miles?

"Well," he says, his tongue feeling awkward in his mouth, "he didn't ask me. I'm not sure."

"I'm not sure, either. I have a hunch, though." Santos grins wickedly as Robby's stomach tanks. A hunch?

"A hunch?" he asks. 

She leans in conspiratorially. "Dennis has been texting someone, since at least Halloween, I think. He told me it's some guy named Cole." 

Cole. 

Okay. 

Dennis is dating a guy named Cole. Or, maybe not dating, but pre-dating. Text-dating. What do the kids call that now? It doesn't matter. 

Cole. 

Or maybe Santos is entirely wrong, and Dennis is just renting a car. 

"Okay," Robby says, nodding. He wants to leave now, needs to spiral in peace because somehow this is the first time he's considered the possibility that Dennis might an active romantic life outside of the hospital. "So, anyway, you're okay to work that day next week?" 

"Yeah," Santos replies, eyebrows raised. He's probably being abrupt and weird and rude. He doesn't care. Cole? "That's fine with me." 

"Great. Later, Dr. Santos." Robby pivots on his heel and heads straight for the bathroom, shutting himself in the stall to just stare off into space for a minute. 

Cole.

Robby does not, and will not, ask Dennis about 'Cole,' and he does not, and will not, ask Dennis how he's getting to and from Altoona. Because it's none of his business.

That doesn't mean he's not curious.

Over the few days leading up to Dennis's day off, Robby finds himself watching Dennis closer than before—if that's even possible—to see if this budding relationship with Cole is affecting his work. The student doctor rarely even pulls his phone out of his pocket, though, let alone stands around texting.

So, he's not flirting with Cole while he's on the clock. That's good. Cole must be understanding of the rigorous schedule required of a physician, especially one in emergency medicine. He must be a really great partner to Dennis, going entire 12-hour shifts without being able to see Dennis's face or hear his voice, and probably not even making him feel guilty about it because Cole is probably completely mentally sound and has never needed a shrink in his life. 

Robby feels like a loser. Why in the hell is he concerned about who Dennis is texting, or seeing, or dating, or anything? 

Somehow, he's even mopier on the day Dennis is scheduled out than he is on the days he spends watching Dennis from afar with a little green monster whispering in his ear. The monster's name is Envy, and it doesn't let Robby's brain go quiet for a second; constantly reminding Robby that he never had a claim or a chance to begin with, so his jealousy is both unwarranted and pathetic. 

"Everything okay with you?" Dana asks, jolting him out of his slight inner meltdown. He wonders what Dennis is doing right at this moment.

"Fine," he says curtly. On autopilot, he takes the tablet that Dana is holding and taps the dark screen. "What do you got for me?" 

"Nothing," she says slowly, taking the tablet back. "I was just coming over here to see if you are okay." 

"I'm great." He claps once. "Let's get back to work." He spins on his heel and walks away, looking around for a trauma case that needs his supervision. Javadi, fortunately, needs his assistance, and he lets her ask as many questions as she wants just to take up more time. He spends the rest of his shift doing his best to ignore the ringing in his ears, ducking into exam rooms to take deep breaths when he can. 

Jack arrives a little before 7:00 and makes a beeline for Mohan; Robby only notices because he had been staring at the entrance waiting for Jack to walk in for at least ten minutes. He continues his unabashed staring, this time angling his gaze toward Jack. Mohan says something that makes him smirk and wrinkle his nose at her, a gesture that—to Robby—is undeniably flirtatious. 

He decides not to bother Jack; forgets what he was going to say, anyway. He slips into the bathroom again to dry-swallow a few extra strength acetaminophen covered in lint from the inside of his pants pocket. 

Robby's able to hand over all of his cases and to debrief the night shift attending thoroughly enough, but just barely. He drives home in silence. It's not until he's parked in his garage that he pulls his phone out of his pocket for the first time in hours. 

He's shocked to see that he has more than one unread text message. From Dennis. 

7:45 p.m.
Dennis:
just got back from Altoona!!! whew! long day 
the interview went really well, and so many of the things they asked me, i only had an answer prepared because it was something you had told me about. so thank you again!!! you helped me a lot! 
sorry if youre getting these while at wokr!
work*
even if i don't get the residency position at Altoona, i feel much more prepared for my interview at PTMC now :) 

Robby turns the car off and rereads the texts a few times, finding himself with a smile on his face. He sits for such a long time trying to think of a response that the interior lights of his truck go off. Finally, he thinks he has something decent cobbled together. He's still too tired to get out of the driver's seat and go inside. 

8:37 p.m.
Robby:
Glad you got home safely. I hope the drive wasn't too bad. And you're very welcome, I'm happy to help. I already know you're going to knock all of your interviews out of the park.

Dennis reads the text right away and immediately begins typing. Robby takes a deep breath and finally forces himself out of the car, shuffling up to his bathroom to shower the day off of him. He reads Dennis's reply as he waits for the water to warm up. 

8:38 p.m.
Dennis:
thank you! for everything :) and thankfully the ride wasn't too bad at all
[image]

The photo attached is a selfie. Dennis took the photo while holding his phone a little above his head and has one eye squinted shut against the bright sun. In the background is the sign for the Altoona Emergency Department, but Robby is only focused on the man in the foreground. Dennis is smiling, his teeth big and white, his nose crinkled the tiniest bit. He looks beautiful. 

Robby saves the photo to a locked photo album on his phone named "secret," to join the adorable hungover selfie that Dennis had sent him the morning after Halloween, even though he feels like a perverted creep for doing so.

He's not even planning to jerk off to them, truly. It's not that. The photos aren't remotely sexual, or erotic, or inappropriate. It's just... would Dennis be weirded out if he knew that Robby had saved them to his phone?

But then, why is he sending photos if he's not okay with them being saved? But is Robby now victim-blaming Dennis? Does that make Robby a perpetrator of... something? A perpetrator of saving photos? 

Dennis just looks so sweet in those two pictures. Sweet and handsome. Robby wishes he'd send more. 

Robby tells himself that these are the only two he'll save, if Dennis were to—for some insane reason—send more. He won't download another one.

As Robby is lying to himself, Dennis is sending more messages. Robby wonders if he's sending the same ones to Cole, then hates himself even more for thinking that.

Be normal, he coaches himself. Dennis had just said the other day that he considers them to be friends. This is probably how Dennis talks to his friends. 

8:39 p.m.
Dennis:
the hospital was nice but kind of ugly lol
not that PTMC is beautiful 💀 lol but it at least has some character

8:40 p.m.
Robby:
Lol. Yeah, I've been to that hospital. It looks kind of like a prison.

8:40 p.m.
Dennis:
you've been to altoona general?? when?

8:40 p.m.
Robby:
Maybe 5 years ago. There was a conference held there that the hospital required me to attend because it was so close by. They gave me a box of PTMC stress balls to pass out but I threw the whole box away.

Robby realizes with a jolt that the water has been running for way too long at this point, so he abandons his phone on the counter and takes his shower. 

Dennis's reply is waiting for him once he has a towel wrapped around his waist. 

8:42 p.m.
Dennis:
how did you not mention this to me before?? 
that's funny lol
i know everyone says they're boring but i kind of can't wait to go to medical conferences 

Robby bites his lip as he smiles. 

8:50 p.m.
Robby:
Sorry, I guess it didn't even cross my mind.
They can be pretty boring, but they're not terrible. Free food and alcohol is nice.
Next time PTMC tells me they want to send some doctors from the ED, I'll put in your name. There's always at least one cool presentation on a real-life trauma case.

His mind is already running through what the next conference might be—he's pretty sure there's a yearly Symposium on Pediatric Trauma Care around the start of January. 

8:52 p.m.
Dennis:
that would be amazing! wow, thank you so much
i should probably let you go, youre probably driving home from work soon right? 

Robby settles into bed, clicks on the TV that sits on his dresser. He's been slogging through Love Island since Dennis mentioned that he and Santos watch it, though so far he hates every second. Every person on this show is vapid and insufferable. Plus, he doesn't even think it's set on a real island. 

Nonetheless, he can't stop watching. Maybe, someday, him knowing who Mallory and Weston are could really help him out.

He wonders if Dennis talks about this show with Cole. Robby decides he'd rather not know, as no matter what the answer is, he's still a 52-year-old man watching a reality television show that was recommended to him by his 27-year-old crush. 

Crush. He's a loser.

8:54 p.m.
Robby:
I just got home a little while ago, actually.
I told you I don't work too much!

Robby secretly, a little bit, likes that Dennis thinks he works too much. It feels like something that points toward Dennis... caring about him? Or at least, about his wellbeing? It's nice. 

8:55 p.m.
Dennis:
oh!! good!!!
well in that case, is there any way you'd want to meet some of us at a bar? so far it's me, trinity, garcia, donnie, dana, mel, and samira here

It takes every ounce of Robby's willpower not to throw his phone across the room in shock. Dennis thought to invite him out to drinks. Maybe he invited stupid fucking Cole, too, but at least he invited Robby for sure. 

Instantly, though, Robby knows that he won't go. Can't go. Even with Dana there—he knows she's likely to head home soon, anyway; wonders who the hell convinced her to go out after a shift—he knows that the chief attending wouldn't exactly be welcome. It was kind of Dennis to invite him, but Robby knows that the rest of his subordinates wouldn't want him there. 

8:57 p.m.
Robby:
That's really kind of you to invite me, thank you. But I'll have to pass tonight.
This old man is already getting ready for bed.

After a moment of thought, he sends a third text. 

8:57 p.m.
Robby:
Do you have a designated driver, though? I can come pick you up later if not. Or send you money for an Uber.

Dennis replies right away.

8:58 p.m.
Dennis:
oh that's okay!!! 
no no i'm not drinking tonight actually, so i guess I'M the designated driver if anyone needs one lol
i'll let you get to sleep then!

A large part of Robby wants to talk to Dennis into the wee hours of the morning. A larger, more rational part of him knows that Dennis has far better people to talk to. 

8:59 p.m.
Robby:
You have my number if you do end up needing a ride. Please don't hesitate to use it.
Good night, Dennis.

He clicks his phone off and sets it on his nightstand, then snatches it right back up when it vibrates a minute later. 

9:00 p.m.
Dennis:
good night, Michael :) 

Then, Dennis reacts to both of Michael's messages with the heart emoji. 

Robby swallows.

He adds the same little heart reaction to Dennis's text with a slightly shaky thumb. Places his phone back on his nightstand, face-down this time. 

Robby stares at the ceiling, mind racing, for three entire hour-long episodes before he finally manages to fall asleep.