Don’t You Want Me, Baby?
pairing - dennis whitaker x reader
word count - 6.4k
summary - you really do like dennis, even when you don’t show.
a/n - first huckleberry fic 🤭 this one is super cute. denny gets sad but then he feels better. this is not how this medical emergency would be treated btw, but plot. in my head for some reason reader has a bunch of tattoos but it’s not in the story. denny is a smitten kitten. i’m craving greek rlly bad now. enjoy!
—
Trinity was sick.
She was sick of watching Whitaker trail after you like a puppy. Sick of his heart eyes. Sick of hearing him gush.
“Did you see her with that little kid? She’s a natural.”
“She wore a bubble braid today. I didn’t even know that was a thing.”
“Have you ever seen Fargo? I haven’t, but she says it's really good, I need to try it.”
“I wish I was as smart as her, did you see how quickly she clocked that liver laceration?”
Not that Trinity couldn’t appreciate an intelligent woman, but it was a liver lac for Christ's sake. There was a time when the boy would shy away from saying things like that, from opening himself up to ridicule. After growing up with three older brothers, he learned quickly what could put a target on your back, and having a crush on a pretty girl was high on the list.
But Trinity just had to push, to dig, to force his obvious feelings out into the open. Once they were, it was like a dam broke.
Because Dennis Whitaker was head over heels in love with you.
From the moment he stepped foot into the pitt, you were on his mind. Almost twelve months ago, as a fresh faced MS4 hiding out in an empty hospital wing, homesick for Nebraska, he had no one. When he caught sight of your face, a bit nervous like his, but with an edge that told him “I know more than you,” he latched.
You were an intern then, like Trinity, and the two of you became fast friends, much to Dennis’ chagrin. Dennis spent his entire disastrous first shift blushing whenever you looked at him, boiling when you started calling him Huckleberry too, and trying not to think too hard about how insanely out of his league you were.
You were strong willed, from the get go. You didn’t waste time stuttering like he did, you didn’t seem to care too much if people liked you, so long as they respected you. But Dennis did both, and he was pretty sure you had no idea.
You teased him, not quite as meanly as Trinity, but there was no way you didn’t notice the way the tip of his ears flamed each time. The way you talked to and about him made him sure you saw him as nothing more than Trinity’s annoying friend. When she sniped, you laughed along, snickering into her shoulder. When he made mistakes, you’d slap him on the back, and tell him he’d “get ’em next time, Huckleberry,” with a little smirk. The first time you’d done that, he’d let out an odd, involuntary little squeak that had Robby cocking his head.
But you had a soft side. And while you and Trinity were much like peas in a pod, you didn’t keep your softness as close to the chest like her. Trinity reserved it only for the quietest moments, the closest of friends. You, on the other hand, were confident enough in your emotional security and standing to provide people with a soft place to land, when you could tell they really needed it. And you were great at reading it.
It was calling Robby away to a quieter place away from everyone when he was about to snap. It was inviting Mel to a girl’s night when she seemed burnt out, and making friendship bracelets to give her something permanent and tangible to commemorate your friendship. It was getting the nurses coffee when patients were disrespectful. It was knocking your knee against Trinity’s and handing her a snack when she was behind on charting, or inviting yourself over after tough shifts when you knew she shouldn’t be alone.
The first time you helped Dennis, he nearly threw up his heart at the gesture.
It was just a week or two after PittFest, your first shift, when Amy’s husband died in the ICU. Everyone knew Whitaker had been holding out hope he would survive. It just didn’t seem right, didn’t seem fair. They had a good, pure, young love, one that didn’t happen to many people. And in an instant, it was gone. And Amy would birth her baby alone.
That night, he’d told Santos to just drive home without him. As he started his trek back to their apartment, breathing in the cool night air, he heard your voice.
“Hey, Huckleberry!” He whipped around. “Wait up!”
For perhaps the first time since meeting you, he didn’t immediately smile at the sight of your face. He gave a weak attempt, one that fell flat, but you didn’t seem bothered. Just fell into step beside him. He eyed you a little, unsure of your motives as you huffed and adjusted your bag.
“What’s up?” he asked.
You shrugged, glancing at him.
“Can’t I just want to walk with you?” you asked, a hint of your usual teasing hidden in a much more sincere voice. “I’m headed this way anyways.”
He didn’t fight you, even if he knew your apartment was in the opposite direction. You walked in silence for a while, letting the air be filled with distant sirens and the scraping of your sneakers against the pavement. Eventually, you broke it.
“Got any plans tonight?” you asked.
He gave an almost chuckle.
“Yeah, me and leftover takeout,” he muttered. “How about you?”
“Well, Trin promised me a ride home this morning,” you said, pretending to sound more annoyed than you were. “We were gonna have a movie night, but I got bumped by you know who.”
He did know who, unfortunately, all too well. He’d heard Garcia’s name screamed through the walls more times than he’d care to remember. He nodded.
“Why not just go home?” he asked. “Call an Uber.”
“Are you kidding? And miss this weather?” you asked, pulling some tangled earbuds out of your bag. “I love fall. October’s probably my favorite month. Didn’t you celebrate Halloween in Amish-land Arkansas?”
His lips actually twitched.
“Broken Bow, Nebraska,” he corrected gently. “And I’m not Amish.”
It was a nice night, he thought, taking it in truly for the first time. The air was crisp, but not biting, and the sky was crystal clear, and spattered with the few stars you could make out from the city. Red, orange, and brown leaves crunched under foot.
“Well, don’t worry,” you said, fiddling with your phone. “We’ll get you to a proper Halloween party this year.”
That made him nervous. He wasn’t a big drinker, a lightweight, Trinity said, and he wasn’t big on crowds, either. Especially in the dark, with free flowing alcohol lowering people’s inhibitions. But perhaps it was the idea of being close to you, in your little homemade “slutty Hannibal Lecter” costume, that made him so nervous. He’d overheard you talking about it with Trinity and Samira, like a creep. He didn’t know it would be “little”, exactly, but if it was anything like your Fantastic Mr. Fox costume from last year, that he’d seen when stalking your instagram, like a creep, he wasn’t far off in his imagination.
Before he could think of something to say, some excuse to lay the foundation for, you were handing him an earbud. He just looked at your hand, then up at your face. You quirked a brow.
“You put it in your ear, and music comes out of it,” you said slowly, hint of a smile on your mouth. “Sure you're not amish?”
He swallowed, and his lips twitched again. He took the earpiece, hesitantly, and was shocked to hear Stevie Wonder. You were watching his expression.
“Don’t be so surprised, you’re not the only one who has taste,” you said. “It’s not like I live under a rock.”
He’d smiled fully then, which seemed to be what you were aiming for. He’d gone to bed that night, still heavier, still sad, but with a nice memory to color his dreams. You had walked with him. You had shared your earbuds. You had been close enough for your elbow to brush his several times on the way home.
He’d always had a crush, but that was the night he realized he was really falling for you.
It took about two seconds for Trinity, and the rest of Allegheny General, to notice it. It took about two months for her to get him to admit it out loud.
He was just glad his brothers weren’t there the night he let everything loose. Ever since he was little, he’d had a tendency to fall at the feet of girls he could never get. Or else, in Trinity’s opinion, girls he could never bring himself to approach. Because although she’d be slow to admit it outloud, her little Huckleberry was a catch, in a lot of ways. He was sweet, genuine, and gentlemanly. Not that she’d ever looked for a boy herself, but from what she heard from her straight girlfriends, those types of men were hard to come by.
When she’d talked to you, tried to gauge interest, you’d said you “wouldn’t be opposed to it.” Which, in your language, meant you wanted to kiss him silly.
Now, almost a year after that night, she was officially at her wits end. She stared at Whitaker where he sat staring at you, head in hand, practically radiating lovesickness.
Pathetic.
You were all technically in the middle of hand off, bright and early. You’d always gotten along well with Jack, and everyone knew you were one of Robby’s favorite residents. You stood between them as they checked patients off the list, preparing day shift. Samira, Mel, McKay, and Langdon all stood clustered around the hub while Abbot’s team gathered their belongings.
Trinity watched in second hand embarrassment as Whitaker’s name was called, once, twice, thrice, before he snapped out of his trance. He straightened up to see all eyes on him, and instantly his pale skin flushed red. No one seemed surprised. On the contrary, they all appeared to have a bit of knowing tease in their expressions as he floundered. All except you, of course.
“What?” he asked stupidly.
Robby pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You’re taking Mr. Gibson, in South 4,” he said tiredly. “And please, do try to listen during hand off. It’s your patient’s life or death.”
Whitaker flushed even darker, eyes flickering to you for only a fraction of a second, before focusing entirely on the tablet that was handed to him.
Robby shot Santos a look, who shrugged helplessly. You just gave Dennis a short smile, and headed off to your own mountain of work.
As everyone dispersed, waving goodbye to Abbot and the night shift, Trinity held Dennis back.
“I’m done,” she hissed, causing his brow to furrow.
“Done?”
“Done taking all your redirected yearning energy!” she said. “No more nights filled with, she looked at me today, oh, she wore a green sweater, can you believe it? She —”
He shushed her furiously, whipping his head around and scanning the area in panic.
“Would you keep it down?”
“Oh please, like everyone doesn’t already know,” she waved away.
“Everyone knows?” Whitaker asked weakly, sounding like a kicked puppy.
“I really don’t have time for this,” sighed Trinity, rubbing her temples. “You are asking her out. Today.”
All the pink drained quickly from Whitaker’s face, leaving him even paler than usual.
“I can’t do that, are you crazy?!”
“Why not?” she asked. “Look, you're not still the bumbling idiot she first met. You're an intern now, you got a haircut, you're doing great!”
He let out a humorless laugh, hand tugging at the haircut she’d convinced him to get by hinting it was your type.
“I’m still a bumbling idiot, around her, at least,” he said defeatedly.
“Yeah, but she likes you,” said Trinity.
Whitaker’s eyes lit up with something like tentative hope.
“Really? She said that?”
“Well, not — not in so many words,” said Trinity, and Whitaker’s face fell again. “But I can tell! You have to trust me.”
“Trust you,” he scoffed. “Like you’ve never steered me wrong.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You’ve got to at least know,” she said. “Maybe she’ll say no, but what if she doesn’t? What if you both like each other, and you never say anything, and she moves on with someone else?”
His mouth opened as though to speak, but he just shook his head.
“I’m not exactly good at talking to girls,” he said.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
He glared.
“So then help me, smartass.”
She clapped her hands together excitedly, before Dana barked at them to get to work.
Trinity found little breaks throughout the day to help Whitaker work out a strategy. Did it feel a little like high school? Yeah, but it was kind of sweet, too. One of his nails was nearly bitten off by the end of the day.
His head was swarming with pick up lines, and tips he knew he’d never remember.
Eye contact. Stand up straight. Smile. Be concise, don’t ramble. Cut straight to the point. Practice an understanding rejection face, just in case.
He ran through his “lines” in his mind as he watched you at your locker from behind the door of his own. He felt nauseous. He felt stupid. He knew Trinity would force him to do it, no matter the medical emergency he could fake. He could feel her watching him.
As he made his shaky way out through the ambulance bay, staying a careful ten feet behind you, he ran into Robby, who was of course staying late to finish up some last cases. He didn’t look at Whitaker, stayed focused on his cup of something hot, but spoke.
“You might want to be standing next to her for this,” he said quietly, eyes twinkling with amusement. “You look like a stalker trailing behind her like that.”
Dennis couldn’t bring himself to string together a sentence before Robby was gone. He was caught up in the mortification of realizing his boss knew about his silly school boy crush, and he didn’t realize he was even still moving until he walked straight into you.
The two of you stumbled, and you looked around at him.
“I’m so sorry!” he said urgently, face already burning. “I — I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry. Really.”
You just smiled tiredly at him, swinging your bag back over your shoulder.
“You’re good, Huckleberry,” you said, starting your stroll again and letting him keep next to you.
His eyes never left you, wide and terrified, while his mouth opened and closed like a trout. You sent him a glance out of the corner of your eye.
“Everything okay?”
He pictured Trinity’s angry face, and forced himself to speak.
“Hey,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Yeah. You — are you… okay?”
You nodded slowly.
“Pretty okay,” you said. “Got some cramps. Nothing a bubble bath won’t fix.”
“Right,” he said weakly, swiping his sweaty hands on his pants. “Right. So…”
You were reaching the edge of the parking lot, where he knew you’d part ways.
“So,” you repeated.
He cleared his throat again.
“Are you doing — what do you have tomorrow? To do, I mean. Tomorrow.”
Smooth.
“Absolutely nothing,” you said blissfully. “I’m off work, so me, in bed, watching reality TV and ordering pizza. What about you?”
His heart was pounding painfully hard and fast in his chest. He was grateful for the dark, covering his flushed face.
“I’m off too,” he said, then he bit his tongue.
“Cool,” you said.
You were at the rusted railing now, that marked the end of hospital property, and did nothing to keep anything in or out. He could feel you preparing to turn right, nod goodnight and disappear, while he continued home to the left.
“Okay,” he said, resolute, stopping in his tracks and turning stoutly towards you.
You stopped too, confused. He swallowed. His mouth suddenly felt very dry.
“I — I was just wondering,” he said faintly. “I mean, I just — would you want to go out with me?”
He surprised even himself with how quickly it slipped out, eyes widening along with yours. There was a second you just stood together.
“Out?” you asked, slowly.
He gripped the strap of his backpack like a lifeline. If he wanted to back pedal, this was the time. Out as a group! Out to the movies, as friends! But he didn’t. He grit his teeth.
“Like,” his voice cracked and he coughed. “Like on a date.”
You still looked surprised. It wasn’t a great sign, he thought, if you couldn’t even comprehend the idea of him asking you on a date. Couldn’t comprehend the idea of him being that type of person for you. His gaze dropped to the ground.
“You’re asking me out?” you said, still moving slowly, like you were trying to process. “Huckleberry?”
Alright, so it was a bust. He tried to keep a brave face, as he plastered on the realest smile he could muster, wanting just to get home where he could nurse his broken heart in peace and solitude.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It was just an idea. I don’t… expect anything, or anything. I just —”
“Tomorrow night?” you interrupted.
He blinked owlishly. He wasn’t sure how to receive the small smile sneaking onto your face.
“Tomorrow night?”
You nodded, a bit of mirth lining your pretty features.
“Because tomorrow night would be best for me,” you said. “Timing wise, I mean. Unless you want to wait a week.”
His jaw fell a bit. He was pretty sure you just said yes. He shifted his weight nervously.
“Yes, yeah, me too,” he said. “That’s — that’s what I was thinking.”
“Great,” you said sweetly, already taking steps backward. “We should try that new Greek place on Hancock. I’ll text you. Okay?”
He could only manage a small, spasming wave as you smiled and turned, earbuds fit in your ears. He watched you walk away, heart still beating like a drum, although the perceived “danger” was retreating. He might have stood there, frozen on the sidewalk, for hours, if Trinity didn’t come rushing up to him.
She barrelled into him, tugging his arm like a little kid. He just swayed, eyes still fixed on the spot you had turned out of sight.
“Well?” asked Trinity, impatiently. “What did she say?”
Dennis had to make a concerted effort to unstick his throat and form words.
“She said yes,” he said, hushed, like he still didn’t believe it.
Trinity let out an uncharacteristic squeal, throwing an arm around his shoulders.
“I told you she liked you!” she said, giving him a hearty shake. “Seriously, Huckleberry, you’ve got to have more faith in yourself. But more importantly, you’ve got to have more faith in me.”
She started steering him back into the parking lot to her car. He shuffled alongside her.
“So, where are you going?”
“That new Greek place, uh — Bistro Elysium, I think it’s called.”
“Nice. What are you gonna wear?”
He stopped dead.
“Oh my god. What am I gonna wear?”
***
Whitaker kept Trinity up until 11 pm helping him pick an outfit. And simultaneously, curbing his pits of panic. Unlike him, she was working the next day, so she stayed half awake as he pulled out options. He didn’t have too many clothes, having spent the last few years completely broke, but Trinity knew some good thrifting spots.
Once she snapped, sick of his whining and second guessing, she pulled something from his closet herself, and stalked off to bed, grumbling. He was grateful all the same. A white t-shirt, some dark jeans, and a worn leather jacket. Simple. Easy.
He got into bed and tried to sleep, but his mind was buzzing. Would you like the outfit? What would you wear? He hoped you would wear the knit cardigan with the flower buttons, he loved seeing you in it. You always looked so happy, and so proud to answer “I made it myself!” whenever anyone asked where you’d gotten it. But he knew he’d be floored if you showed up to the restaurant wearing a paper bag.
He hadn’t had much Greek food, but he knew it was one of your favorites. He cursed himself for not getting it more. Then at least you’d have something to talk about should silence persist. He could impress you, ask you your favorites, tell you his in return.
The next day, he woke up to a text from you.
Goodmorning :D wanna meet there @6?
His stomach jolted. The entire history of text threads between the two of you were about plans surrounding Trinity’s birthday, work, or tiktoks. You also liked to send him movie and music recommendations, classifying him as “uncultured” when you found out he didn’t know who Orson Welles was. He’d of course done his research since then, and The Magnificent Ambersons was now one of his all time favorites.
He typed out a message with a thumbs up that seemed too forced, then one with a period that seemed too somber, before he landed on one.
Sounds good! See you then :)
Then he agonized over whether or not the smiley face was too much, though he couldn’t unsend it, because you had already seen it and responded with… a sticker he didn’t understand of a person he didn’t know. He just hearted it happily and went to make himself some breakfast.
As he ate eggs and microwaved hashbrowns, he poured over the restaurant’s menu, trying to memorize all the dishes he was pretty sure he heard you mention before. Trinity graciously agreed to late rent so he’d have the cash to get you whatever you wanted.
Of course he would need to pay for the date. It was the same christian farmboy part of him that added a light blue button up over his t-shirt as he got ready. He knew Trinity would roll her eyes, but he couldn’t help hearing his mother’s stern tone, tearing him a new one for taking a girl out in a shirt without a collar. He already wasn’t picking you up. He had tried to convince you, but you insisted walking was fine, since your apartment was “so close anyways.”
After spending the entire day rehearsing his order in his head, double checking his outfit from every possible angle, texting Trinity throughout his fluctuating anxiety levels, and practicing talking points in front of the mirror, he was shaking as he tied his shoelaces. The drive wasn’t far from the apartment, about ten or fifteen minutes, and he was unsurprised he beat you there.
“How many?” the hostess asked as he stepped inside.
“Two,” he said, suppressing a smile.
He checked his watch as he sat down at a table for two. It was only 5:45, and you’d agreed on 6:00. He’d been determined to get here before you, but now he regretted it. He wished he had brought a book, but would that have been rude? He could have looked at his phone, but he didn’t want to be scrolling when you walked in. He wanted to look engaged and excited. So he fiddled with the menu, pretending to read, though he’d had his order memorized for at least six hours.
He couldn’t help glancing at the door periodically, and by periodically, it was every two minutes. Every time someone came in, or even just walked past the door, he jolted a little, straightening. But he was always left disappointed. Around 6:28, someone with your same haircut passed by the window, and he sighed.
By 6:45, he was getting worried, and he was starting to get pitying looks from the staff. You weren’t often late, but it happened. Maybe your clocks were behind. Maybe you took a nap and slept through the alarm. Maybe there was a plumbing emergency, and you had to wait for the super. But surely, you would have texted.
He checked his phone. There was nothing. He sent off his own text, desperately hoping it came off as casually concerned, and not almost-out-of-my-mind anxious.
Hey, just checking in. Everything okay?
He stared at the little blue bubble for too long. Then the door chimed — he snapped his head up, only to be met with a sweet looking couple. He tried not to get sulky as he watched them sit across from one another, smiling, holding hands, and being happy. Good for them, he thought bitterly, picking at a grain in the wood table.
He sent another text. Then another.
At around 7, someone finally came over, to fill the empty water glass he was rotating. It was lucky the restaurant wasn’t busier, or he was sure they’d ask him to leave. But the nice-looking older woman whose nametag read “Lydia”, looked nothing but sorry for him.
“Waiting for someone, dearie?” she asked, in that too-sweet tone that clearly said poor thing.
He tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.
“She’s on her way,” he said, not sure if he was trying to convince Lydia or himself. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”
He hated the pitying smile she gave him. She patted his hand.
“Sure you don’t want to order anything?”
He started to say no, but hesitated. He checked his watch again: 7:07. You weren’t coming, but he might as well get some good food.
“Actually, can I order some things to go?”
He shot Trinity a quick text.
Still at work?
She responded quickly.
of course
who do u think i am someone with a work life balance?
He ordered a few pita wraps, souvlaki, some vegetarian moussaka, and some baklava. He almost forwent the spanakopita, your favorite according to Trinity, out of spite, but it felt stupid. He was mad, he thought, as he loaded the bags of food into the passenger seat. But more than anything, he was hurt.
Why? He would have understood if you had rejected his advance, but why say yes only to stand him up? The most invasive parts of his mind were convinced it was all a prank from the start. Maybe one of those little games you played. Maybe you were at your apartment right now, laughing at the idea of him sitting alone, stupid enough to actually think you’d go out with him.
The logical part of him knew that that was crazy. You could be a little mean, but you weren’t cruel like that. And even if you didn’t want to date him, he was your friend. You’d probably gotten cold feet. Said yes in the moment to make it less awkward, out of pity, but couldn’t bring yourself to go through with the date nor face him with rejection.
None of the options made him feel any better. The smell of the rich food next to him, though he’d barely eaten, was nauseating rather than enticing. He wanted to take an advil, get in bed, and forget the day ever happened.
As he pulled into the PTMC parking lot, he texted Trinity that he was outside, and to come get the food. He didn’t feel much like interacting with people, who might ask why he got the food, why he was dressed nice, what he was doing out. He wasn’t about to tell them what a loser he was. Trinity, he realized, had probably already told everyone about the date.
He rested his forehead on the steering wheel with a long suffering groan. He needed to go home. Where the hell was Trinity?
He texted her again.
Where are you???
Trin I really need to go home.
Please come outside.
I swear I will leave you here.
But he wouldn’t, and the food would start getting cold soon. So, against better judgement, he grabbed the bags and got out of the car.
He was going to kill Trinity in her sleep, he thought, as he walked through the side entrance and immediately caught the eye of three people he knew. He kept his gaze on the ground, maneuvering the turns on muscle memory until he reached the break room. He dumped the food on the table.
He tried to sneak back out the way he came, but he was spotted the second he stepped through the door.
“Whitaker!” Robby shouted.
He went over to the hub, reluctantly. Robby had his glasses perched on his nose, arms crossed, like a father about to give a lecture. Dennis chewed his thumb nail.
“I brought a bunch of Greek from that new place,” he said, averting his eyes. “It’s in the breakroom for whoever wants it.”
“You said Greek?”
Great, the night shift was here to share in the moment. Shen was rubbing his hands together.
“Break room,” said Robby.
Shen and Ellis turned right around and headed in that direction, throwing weak thanks at Dennis behind their shoulders.
“We appreciate that,” said Robby good naturedly. “Look, I’m sorry —”
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” said Whitaker with a stiff smile, face pinkening quickly. He was humiliated enough as it was. “Do you know where Santos is?”
Robby raised a brow.
“South 4.”
Without another word, Dennis marched on, keeping his head down to avoid eye contact.
“You’d better have a good reason for ignoring me,” he said with an edge as he opened the door. “Because I’ve been sitting —”
He ripped the curtain back, but cut himself off when he saw the scene.
Trinity, Mel, and Jack were standing around the bed, and in the bed, was you.
His heart dropped down to his stomach as he took in the monitors and tubes connected to you under a gown. You were on an IV, heart rate elevated, fever, and looking a little green around the gills. You opened your eyes sleepily as he entered, and a weak smile pulled at your lips.
“Denny,” you said, stretching his name out long like you were happy to see him. “You’re here.”
His cheeks flamed instantly, an initial reaction of embarrassment. You’d never called him Denny before. You’d barely called him Dennis. No one called him Denny.
His second feeling, that hit him like a wave, was guilty relief. You hadn’t stood him up, at least, not on purpose. You’d been stuck in a hospital bed, apparently sick as a dog. You hadn’t forgotten him, or ignored him.
What anger he’d built up at you quickly dissolved into worry. He looked to Trinity for an explanation.
“Appendicitis,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “Sorry about date night, Denny. She didn’t text you?”
He just shook his head and took a seat by your bedside. He opened his mouth to say something to you, ask if you were alright, but you booped his nose and sent him melting again.
“You’re cute,” you giggled. “Like — like a ghost. A British ghost.”
“She’s also on some painkillers while we wait for surgery to open up,” Jack supplied with an amused lilt.
It made sense, Whitaker thought, as you played happily with his hands, but it didn’t stop his cheeks from flaming from a familiar fluster. Even laid up, you were the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. And any smile like the one you wore now could only prove to brighten your face more, no matter how gray you looked.
“We’ll give you two some privacy,” said Mel.
She practically had to drag Trinity from the room.
“Keep it PG in here!” she called with a smirk.
Jack chuckled, looking reluctant to leave himself, but pulled the curtain closed as he left the room. With them gone and the glass door shut, it felt weirdly quiet. And Whitaker was suddenly rather nervous to be alone with you.
You, on the other hand, seemed too content, threading your fingers through his. He wasn’t about to stop you. Your hands were soft, and he loved the heat of them close to his. It was then he realized just how long it’d been since he’d even held hands with someone.
“You gave me a good scare there,” he said softly, eyes trained on your expression.
Yours moved slowly up to his and blinked lazily. Your smile was widening.
“What do you mean?”
He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.
“I just didn’t know where you were,” he said. “You never showed up, and you never texted.”
In an instant, your pretty smile fell into a frown. He immediately regretted saying anything, he should have waited until you were out of surgery, and out of pain meds. He tightened his hold on your hand and tried to smile. You were still frowning.
“Oh, no,” you said. “I didn’t think of it. I didn’t — were you all alone? Did I leave you all alone?”
“Not all alone!” he said quickly, leaning forward. “There — um… there was a waitress!”
You started blinking faster, and your lip started trembling.
“No, no, no!” he said desperately, scooting his chair ever closer. “Don’t cry, don’t cry! It wasn’t for that long, and — and we’re together now, right?”
You sniffled, tears welling but not falling. You looked thoughtful.
“Right,” you said eventually, and his smile turned true. “That’s right. This is the date then.”
He glanced around the sterile white room, needles in your arm, and though he couldn’t see it, he was sure a group of coworkers were outside your door talking about you, and he grimaced.
“Or,” he said, being careful not to upset you any more, “we could just hang out tonight, and when you get better, we can try going to a restaurant again. How’s that?”
Your tears were now forgotten, but you huffed. You seemed to be cycling through stages of grief.
“I can’t believe this,” you said with a childish pout. “All the shitty dates I’ve been on in my life, and for a guy I actually like, I get appendicitis. Now?”
He couldn’t help but feel a bit giddy at that.
“A guy you like, huh?” he said shyly.
“Duh,” you said. “I’ve never agreed to go out with a coworker before, you know. You’re just — too fucking cute!”
His whole body felt flooded with heat.
“Well,” he said, somewhat squeakily, “you’re pretty fucking cute yourself.”
You let go of his hands and pulled the sheet over your face. He couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d never seen you like this, and he doubted he’d ever see it again. Embarrassed, and smiley, and open. He was sure you’d regret it later, but he was enjoying it greatly. Not only did you not stand him up, you liked him.
He felt like a teenager, butterflies taking over his stomach. He reached over and gently pulled the sheet from your face, only for you to immediately throw both arms over it. He could see a small smile underneath, though.
The door pushed open suddenly, letting the bustling noise of the ER in briefly. The curtain was whipped back to reveal Garcia. When she saw Whitaker sitting so close, hands resting on your bed, and you, flustered and hiding, she raised a brow.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said smugly.
Dennis moved his hands back to his lap as you peaked out from under your arms.
“Yoyo!” you said happily, dropping them completely. “Did Trin send you in here to find out if Denny had kissed me yet? Because he’s still holding out on me.”
Garcia grinned devilishly at Whitaker, who spluttered.
“Denny?” she asked, moving over to check your stats on the monitor. “No, unfortunately. I’m here to send you up to surgery.”
“Are you doing it?” you asked, eyes going wide. “You’re so smart, Yoyo. I hope it's you.”
“You’re in luck,” she said, smiling with a touch of fondness as she looked down at you and unlocked your bed wheels. “Move over, Huckleberry.”
“Yeah, Huckleberry,” you giggled, with none of Garcia’s snap.
He jumped quickly aside to let Garcia wheel you through the door. He trailed behind as you rolled out towards the hub. As soon as he was out of your sight, you whined.
“Where’s Dennis?”
He jogged quickly ahead to walk at your side, and you calmed instantly, holding out your hand. He took it, careful not to upset the pulse ox.
“Well isn’t this sweet?” said Dana as they passed by the hub. “You’re keeping her company.”
She was standing with an impressive group, composed of Mel, Samira, Trinity, Abbot, Robby, Shen, Princess, and Perlah.
“Isn’t your shift over?” he said awkwardly, eyes darting anywhere but at them.
“Isn’t this supposed to be your day off?” said Abbot teasingly
Trinity raised her phone and snapped a photo.
“Hey, what about — what about HIPAA, or something!”
“I didn’t see anything,” said Robby.
“Goodbye!” Whitaker grumbled as they reached the elevator.
“Yeah, you go wait hand and foot, like a good boyfriend!” said Trinity as the doors closed.
He flipped her off.
Still, he was there by your bed side almost two hours later when you came to, and helped you shuffle back and forth from the bathroom. Unfortunately, not long after that, the nurses could no longer ignore that visiting hours were long over, and they kicked him out.
You were barely awake at that point, but your grip proved to be very strong still, as you clinged to his hand.
“Why do you have to go?” you whined.
“They’re making me,” he said. “I’ll come back and visit you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” you sighed, like it was a great emotional charge.
You let go, but he hovered by your bed for a second. Cheeks already heating for the millionth time that night, he leaned down and gave you a quick peck on the forehead. You practically preened, smiling wide, eyes closed.
“See you tomorrow,” he said, lingering by the door.
“Night,” you muttered, before falling into sleep. He stayed for just a second, watching your chest rise and fall slowly, before leaving.
Despite everything, it was one of the best dates he’d ever been on.
The next morning, just as he was parking his car in the lot, his phone pinged with a text from you.
I STOOD YOU UP OMFG
He just chuckled, preparing to type back, when another text came in.
Promise I’ll make it up to you ;)
His face glowed red and he choked on his coffee. He was in for quite the ride.
---
requests open!
masterlist
