This is the Sabbatical
After finally watching S2 of The Pitt I knew I had to write the exhange that was living rent free in my head so tada! HuckleRobby you have my damn soullllll 😩😩 ~~Read here on AO3 or below the cut~~
Tags: Robby is a mess, hurt/comfort, hucklerobby, mature, first mlm, first kiss W/C: 3.75k one-shot
~~Read here on AO3 or below the cut~~
It's been a day from hell and Dennis tiredly fidgets with a key in his hands as he takes the lift up to the tower's upper levels—the high-rise tower Robby lives in is far nicer than he expected it to be. And the shock from being asked to look after the place while he takes his sabbatical hasn't yet worn off. He hadn't realised Robby trusted him that much, in the ED, maybe, but with his personal life… Dennis always thought no one got that kind of trust from him.
The floor to ceiling window at the end of the hallway he steps out into shows the Pittsburgh skyline, lit up and alive. Home to Dennis now, despite his itches of homesickness that he'd been scratching with helping Amy on the farm. He unlocks the door, muttering the security code to himself, but when he steps through to the evident bachelor pad, the alarm doesn't sound. He shrugs. The apartment itself is evidence of the kind of money that Dennis could be earning if he ever makes it up to Attending, but the decor is modest. Clean, orderly, a little plain even, but well looked after in a way that says importance for the sake of practicality. It's very fitting for Robby, he thinks. He sets the key down on the table by the door, a semi-neat stack of unopened letters already sitting there, and walks into the apartment proper. And then immediately stops. On the couch with his head bowed, elbows on his knees, beer in hand is… "… Dr Robby?" He doesn't respond and Dennis takes a step closer. The red rings around Robby's eyes are a beacon for his attention, even across the distance of the room, even in the dim lamp-lit space. "I can go — er, sorry. I thought—" "Just come sit down, Whitaker." His voice is rough, harsh, gruff, and yet, lethally quiet. Dennis drops his rucksack unceremoniously, his brow knitting in concern at the state of his mentor and friend, and shifts himself quickly to sit on the couch adjacent to him. "I thought you went to the farm." Robby says flatly, it's not a question. They'd waved goodbye to each other in the emergency bay—and Dennis had been sure he wouldn't see him again for three months, if not longer. But as he looks at the face of the man opposite him he realises that all the jokes he'd caught wind of today, might very well have not been jokes at all. "Yeah, I did… b-but I think you and Santos were right about that." Dennis smiles weakly and shrugs his shoulders as Robby slowly nods, listening. No cutting remark, no biting sarcasm or ad-libbed glib, something definitely isn't right.
"Uh… why are you here?" Dennis asks after a beat of silence. Robby scoffs, at any other time it could have been mistaken for his trademark dry laugh, but not right now. "Aren't you meant to be hitting the road?" Robby shakes his head slowly, takes a deep breath and smiles. Dennis knows that smile, it's the same one he saw all those months ago in pedes. And yet, this seems different to then. Worse. "I wasn't going on a ride." "Oh…" Dennis scrunches his face up as he tries to make sense of what he's hearing. "But then, why did—" "I just wanted everyone to leave me alone." Robby admits roughly, the beer can in his hand crunching under his grip. He finally looks at Dennis then, watery eyed and with a grim expression marring his face. But Dennis doesn't know what to say. "Here." Robby hands him a beer. "…thanks." He takes it, looking down at it as if it will offer him some answers. The hiss of the can opening eats up the silence between them for a split second and Dennis swigs with his confusion clearly etched on his face.
"Uh, Dr Robby…" "Just, Robby." "…Robby… why'd you ask me to look after the place if you'd be here?" "I don't know—" That same dry laugh again, but this time when he raises his eyes to Dennis' face there's a shimmer of something in them. "All I know is you're the only person that I don't want to punch when you look at me like that." "Like… what?" "Like that." He scoffs again, "Sad, puppy dog eyes." "Do other—" "I think…" Robby cuts him off, not wanting to be interrupted while talking about his feelings feels like navigating a foreign language with a mouth that's not his own, "I think I wanted you to check on the place… and me." He rolls his eyes at himself and avoids Dennis' shocked gaze—quickly, he clears his throat. "As multiple people have told me today, I think…" he sighs with frustration, "…I need that right now." Dennis waits, lets everything that Robby just said settle in his brain before he feels safe to even let himself think. "Oh. I mean, absolutely, I can be here for—" He pauses as Robby levels a scowl at him, "…that. I can be here for that, yeah."
Dennis takes a moment to look around the living room closer now, feeling like Robby would appreciate his eyes being anywhere but on him for the moment as he blinks back his emotions. It's not like his and Trin's place where there's evidence of his life on every surface; mess, clutter, dust—a life lived in a rush. Here it's just a bit… devoid. "So, do you want to talk—" Dennis begins. "Nope." Robby cuts him off instantly. "Oo-kay…" "I just wanna drink. That alright with you?" "Sure. Yeah." Dennis raises his can somewhat awkwardly, stuck for how to be the person Robby needs. "There's a game on." The TV blinks to life and Dennis side-eyes the other man as he flicks through the channels—takes in the alcohol flush up his neck, the deep set crow's feet at his eyes, and the enduring furrow between his eyebrows. "Oh, basketball. Cool." He says, glad it's a sport he at least understands on the surface.
Robby sits back into the couch, chucking his empty can in the small bin against the wall, and he ignores how the clang of metal on metal draws Dennis' attention. He opens a fresh beer immediately. Dennis pretends to be interested in the game playing on the TV, but can't quite stop himself from looking to Robby every minute or so. His hands nervously fiddle with the ring pull on his can as he holds it. "You know, it's okay to be struggling. It's normal, and in our line of work—" "Don't push it, Whitaker." Robby scowls at him again, briefly, before turning back to the game, but there's less weight to that glare than the last time. "Gotta try and use my privilege, haven't I?" Dennis rubs the back of his neck and smiles apologetically. "I can still revoke that privilege." Dennis raises his eyebrows, but he also clamps down his smile, reverting his face back to neutral, as he nods in understanding.
They drink in silence for some time; one man too engrossed in the game and the other painfully not. Dennis finishes his beer and places the empty can on the glass coffee table. "More in the fridge." "Oh, that's okay." He protests politely. "No, you need to catch up." "I… do?" Robby nods, not taking his eyes off the TV, and Dennis has no choice but to accept. He backtracks through the apartment to the kitchen and pulls open the fridge—30-ish cans of beer, no food. With only a little reluctance, he grabs a 6-pack, still held together by the packaging, and closes the fridge door. Before he rejoins Robby though, he pauses, slides his phone from his pocket but stops with his thumb hovering over the screen as if paralysed. He shakes his head and puts his phone away. Back in the living room, he sits, chewing his lip as his eyes dart back to Robby, already by habit. "I don't usually drink much…" He says. "Won't take much to catch up then." Robby answers gruffly. Dennis smiles to himself in response to the fraction of Robby's normal sardonic tone returning. Another empty can arcs across the room then, and lands perfectly against the pile evidently already in the bin. Robby hisses at a badly missed shot on the TV but sticks his hand out to Dennis at the same time, a silent request. "Oh. Yeah. Here." He puts a new can into his hand and settles back into the couch cushions.
By the time the game is over Dennis is feeling the effects of the beers and Robby has clearly had more than enough too. "I gotta break the seal." Robby declares roughly, stretching as he stands from the couch. Dennis stands too in his absence, wringing his hands together. He casts his eyes over the room again, picking out details about the man he knows — motorbike themed wall decor blemished with dust along the tops, a collection of vinyls still in the shrink wrap, and a small home set of weights in the corner along with a deflating basketball. There should be more life here, more of the spit and passion he expects from his mentor. How long has Robby been living this double life; how long has he been hiding from who he is, burying himself in work and distractions. It's worse than he thought. "Time for a new 6-pack." Robby says as he reenters the room, adjusting the fit of his trousers on his hip as he walks. "No, I think I should make coffee." Robby scoffs. "Yeah." His nuclear level of sarcasm is the closest thing to normal Dennis has heard since he's been here, but he can't accept it. "Robby, I'm serious. You can do what you want, but I don't have to give you the shovel…" "Ohh okay! Really?" He looks at Dennis, piercing brown eyes over flaring nostrils and with his jaw dropped in incredulity. "You said you wanted me to check on you? You gave me the keys to your place!" Dennis' voice pitches slightly higher and he gestures with both hands to the apartment around them, "But you've got to let me in to do that." Robby's shoulders hitch with a silent huff of contempt, like the very idea is not even worth thinking about. "I'm not doing that." "Why'd you want my help if you don't want my help!?" "I don't know, Whitaker!" Robby growls, "I don't want to hurt myself, okay? I wrongly thought you'd be least likely to drive me towards it." Dennis blanches. The abruptly silent atmosphere in the living room is fraught with fragile tension. Across the room, Robby scrubs his face hard with both hands and then sets a palm over the Star of David that's always hiding against his chest. "I just… Can't. Stop. Drowning." Robby's voice breaks as he bites out his words in a rasp, and he shakes his head like he's both frustrated and disappointed with himself. Dennis goes to take a step closer, the weight of his concern growing by the second, but Robby only steps back from the couch further. "Don't, Whitaker. Damn it!" He slams the side of his fist on the couch backrest, anger erupting out of him. "How do you do that, huh?" He shakes his head again, smiling a smile with zero humour in it, and storms through to the kitchen.
"Do what?" Dennis follows him. Robby just groans his frustration as he wrenches open the fridge, opening a can with the same amount of force and not caring about the froth spilling over the sides. "Make me say things. Admit things I don't even let myself think." He taps his own temple sharply as he speaks as if punctuating his words. "I am not that person. I'm not weak!" Dennis' legs twitch as he restrains himself from stepping closer to his mentor. "You're not—" "Save it." "No. You wanted me to check on you, I guess… physically?" Dennis' eyebrows knit over his steel blue eyes, "but I care more than that whether you like it or not, Robby." "You should just be happy when you show up and I'm still breathing." "And I will be. But I'm not going to let you drink yourself to death either." Dennis pauses, the atmosphere in the kitchen is oppressive and heavy on his back, and his voice comes out quieter when he speaks again, "First, do no harm." Robby grimaces and slams his beer can down on the kitchen side. "Don't preach that to me like I don't know it." He growls a sharp-edged laugh, stepping into Dennis and bearing down so the smaller man has to step back. Dennis just swallows and sets his jaw. His shoulders are squared despite having to look up so much to meet Robby's eyes where he towers over him. "I'm not going to enable you." He says, and he sets his hand on the outer edge of Robby's arm much gentler than his words came out. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He knocks his hand away, pressing his own to Dennis' chest as he steps back as if pushing him as far away as he can. "I don't want your pity." "I was just trying to d-deescalate. I just want to help!" Dennis wavers, moving to take a step closer again, but deciding against it. "I don't want your help." "Except that you clearly do." He takes that step now. "Stay the fuck away from me, Whitaker." Robby's voice breaks again and his eyes well with tears he refuses to shed; they don't come loose even as he runs his hand through his cropped hair and backs up to the counter to fumble blindly for his beer. He drinks deep, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and blows out a hard breath.
Dennis watches him, as if in slow motion, sink down and slide to the floor. Knees in his chest and back against the kitchen cabinet, cowering from himself as much as Dennis. Robby cradles his beer can to his chest and drops his head, a ragged noise coming from his huddled up form as the dam breaks. But Dennis is paralysed, unsure and uncertain for what to do. All Robby has done is push him away, both physically and emotionally — he doesn't want comfort, or doesn't know he wants it. His brow crinkles as he looks down at him. In a quick moment of internal judgement, he decides, and taking the risk with no more thought needed, Dennis crosses the kitchen and drops to his knees at Robby's side. His mentor turns away more, wedging himself into the corner, but Dennis can no longer be deterred. He grabs Robby's crossed over forearms like he's wrangling a stubborn bull, shifting the weight of his entire torso until he's leaning the other way, into Dennis' chest. He wraps his arms around Robby's shoulders, tight, and rests his chin against the top of his head. It's all he can think to do. "Get off me, Whitaker." Robby gets out, but his voice is stained through with all the emotions he's carrying. "No." He shifts himself slightly closer, repositioning his hold on the much bigger man so it feels less awkward, "Even when my knees hurt, I'm not moving." Dennis doesn't know if that's the right thing to say, but it's what's in his heart to say regardless. Robby just tenses under his embrace— silent and stock still like a statue — before he releases a dry bark of a sob.
There's nothing to say. Neither of them speak or attempt to speak. But Dennis doesn't loosen his hold even as Robby whimpers, pained and begrudging, in his arms. The sound of nearly hollow metal against tile echoes in the kitchen as Robby sets down his can, his newly empty hand coming to grip Dennis' wrapped around forearm instead. He grabs hold of him like he's his only life raft while he's at sea, an iron vice of fingers dimpling the fabric of Dennis' hoodie. It takes another minute or so like that before Robby lets himself surrender any more, but he does relent, turning his head down and pressing his face into the younger man's chest. Dennis tucks his chin, Robby's hair tickling his face as he does so, and before he can register what's happening he's being pulled closer and tighter. Robby flings an arm around his back and crushes himself to Dennis, burying his red and tear-streaked face into the scrubs he still hasn't had a second to change out of. His clothes pull taut over his torso with the force of Robby's returning hold, stretches the patch on his chest that's soaked through with tears until it feels like it's seeping into Dennis' heart — just the same way Robby’s anguished sniffles are. Despite himself, Dennis' eyes well up too. The raw emotion is palpable in the air between them both, the kitchen is thick with it in the atmosphere, so much so it could be suffocating if this was anyone else. But it's Robby. The man Dennis respects and admires more than any other he has in his life. And he's trusting him right now more than he ever thought he would. "You're strong enough to beat this." He tells the man in his arms, closing them round him slightly tighter still. "I don't know if I am." Robby chokes out against the hollow of his neck. Dennis squeezes him, an automatic reaction, but then releases. He shifts himself down to rest against his heels so he can make Robby look at him through his shattered brown eyes. "You are." He holds Robby's face firmly, like he's trying to shove his thoughts into his mind by force, " The world needs you, Robby — I need you." He breaks again, grabbing onto the sides of Dennis' clothes to anchor himself in the room, but he drops his face from those firm hands to hide the tears that start to fall again.
The room is spinning around him through the tumult of his own emotions and the surprising solidity of Dennis' presence. "You don't need me." He sucks in a harsh breath and screws up his eyes, "You'll leave like everyone else." But still he doesn't let go — he can't let go. "I won't. Not if you don't want me to." Robby tries to scoff his disbelief but all that comes out is another sharp sob, and his fingers twist savagely in the other man's clothing, pulling him closer again involuntarily. "Robby…" But Robby doesn't look up, he twists his head this way and that in agony before he can drag his eyes up to those blue ones he's grown accustomed to seeing every day. "I'm not going to go anywhere." Dennis tells him with a small sigh and an easy smile of reassurance on his face. Robby blinks away the remaining tears in his eyes as he finally holds Dennis' gaze properly — assessing the other man like he's a complex case in the ED. His brows quiver with his reluctance, and Dennis notices him wrestling with something, but doesn't say anything. "Damn it, Whitaker." He says finally, the anger from earlier now faded into resignation. Dennis relaxes, grins small with relief, and squeezes Robby's shoulders comfortingly. Robby's eyes dart over his face, then away to the floor as he huffs something between a laugh and a sigh, his shoulders hitching under Dennis' hands. But then they return, locking eyes meaningfully this time as Robby's slightly rough but warm hands grab his face.
"How do you do that?" Robby echoes himself from earlier, now quiet and laced with an almost soft scepticism. And then he pulls his face in close, haphazardly planting his lips against Dennis' in a rough and desperate kiss. Dennis closes his eyes instantly, as soon as their lips connect, returning his kiss without a beat of hesitation, but Robby doesn't, the shock in his wide eyes is evident — shock at the way he reaches for Dennis in a way he hasn't anyone, especially not another man. He pulls his face back from Dennis’ only to see how much he’s turned a vivid shade of red… and he smiles. A real one this time, and then his eyebrows raise and crease again at his own reaction. “I… what—” “Shut up, Whitaker.” Robby says, but his voice is stunned like he’s been hit with a pair of taser barbs. He’s still holding Dennis’ face, he’s reluctant to let go, he can’t even seem to move any further away from him now. And Dennis is just grinning coyly at him, cheeks still dashed with a warm flush of red and eyes lit up like it’s Christmas morning. He lets go of him suddenly, drawing back into himself or at least trying to. But Dennis doesn’t let him, he reaches out and grabs his wrist, eyes cast down at where his fingers wrap around his forearm. “It’s okay…” he says quietly, “I… liked that.” “I don’t like men like that.” Robby says, but his voice lacks all conviction as he says it and Dennis just looks at him with those big blue eyes like he doesn’t believe him. The muted sounds of the TV in the living room drone on in the background for a moment, only just audible over the fresh bloom of startled silence. “I’m going to make that coffee now, I think.” Dennis tells him and he just nods mutely, not taking his eyes off him as he stands and starts looking through the kitchen cupboards. He slowly gets to his feet, staring at Dennis’ back the whole time with his shock and wonder etched in every line on his face. Even the tears in his eyes have dried through like this conundrum before him has somehow taken precedence over everything he was feeling before. He clears his throat sharply before he finds his voice again. “So, will you still check on the place while I’m off work?” “Of course. As often and for as long as you need me to.” Dennis answers, pausing to turn to him as he speaks, lips curved in something near to a timid smirk. “Good.” Robby clears his throat again, his own smile only developing as soon as Dennis turns back to the coffee he’s making.
