Archive of Our Own

“Hey Huckleberry,” Santos says from her perch on the counter. She’s sitting criss cross in a way that makes him a little nervous, like she’s just precarious enough a hard door slam might knock her off. Her pajama shorts have little ice cream sundays on them. “Are we telling people the truth about why you’re crashing here?”

“Uh,” Dennis twiddles the spoon in the bowl of cereal he’s halfway through (Santos’ bowl, with Santos’ spoon, Santos’ cereal). “I guess I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Well, think about it. I don’t want people to think we’re–”

“No, no, definitely not.” Santos shot him a look, “I mean- not that- yeah, okay. I just can’t tell people I was living on the 8th floor. Especially not Robby. I’d kinda prefer not to lose my job.”

“Got it. No breaking and entering charges. We’ll just say you were living off the land,” she fixes him with a catlike, self-satisfied smile, and he feels the urge to preemptively roll his eyes. “Like a true farm boy, Huckleberry.”

Dennis raises his eyebrows and drops his gaze back to the cereal that’s starting to get soggy. 

“Yeah, sure. Living off the fertile Pittsburgh asphalt.”

Santos snorts, and Dennis feels an odd curl of pride flare up at the noise. He bites back a smile of his own. 

It’s literally the second day they’ve known each other. Not that he’s counted, but he’s pretty sure that it’s barely been 24 hours since they first spoke to each other. His mother would be appalled that he’s moved in with someone he barely knows, let alone a woman. The thought almost makes him grin again, but he’s held back by a second thought- that he doesn’t want to be a weirdo that laughs at his cereal. After all, Santos barely knows him. He barely knows her.

And yet, he feels oddly comfortable around her. Maybe it’s the ice cream Sunday pajama shorts. 

Santos jumps off the counter.

“How about this. You… got a call from your landlord on the way out of work last night that you were getting evicted and left stranded with nothing but the clothes on your back. Poor medical student in your second year of rotations, no one’ll question it. I overheard your damsel in distress story, and decided out of the goodness of my heart to take you in. Now you’re in a life debt to me.”

“How benevolent of you.” Dennis intones flatly. It’s easier than acknowledging that she’s doing probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for him out of what is truly just the goodness of her heart. 

Santos frowns and drops her plate into the dishwasher. 

“Ew. Don’t call me benevolent.” 

The dishwasher is half full. He looks at it, notes the kinds of dishes that have piled up. Mostly plates and bowls, silverware, and a casserole dish tucked behind a few stray tupperware. Typical of a twenty-seven year old living by herself. Especially one that probably doesn’t have a lot of extra money lying around to spare on a whole entire other person.

That coupled with the fact that whichever roommate vacated just in time for him to move in was definitely paying the other half of her rent… means that Santos is putting her neck out for him majorly.

Before he can second guess himself Dennis takes a deep breath.

“Look, Santos- It’s really nice of you to let me stay, but I can’t just eat your food and use your stuff for free. You let me spend the night, eat your food, take a real shower- that’s more than enough. I can figure something out until I start getting paid. I don’t want to put you out on the street too.”

“Are you taking back your offer of fixing my washing machine?”

“What? No, but I-“

“Then it’s not for free.”

“You know what I mean.”

Santos squints.

“Alright Whitaker, level with me. Are you trying to get me to kick you out?” She turns back to the dishwasher so she’s facing away from him. “Maybe so you don’t have to feel guilty about wanting out?”

“What?” He splutters. “No, it’s not about not wanting to live here, it’s that it’s too nice.” She shoots him a halfhearted glare over her shoulder. “Not like that either. It’s- it’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just way too much, and you know I can’t pay you back, and you don’t even know me.”

“Really not making your case stronger.”

“Yeah, well…” he shrugs.

“Look, I did it because I wanted to. You might be able to guess, but,” Santos takes a quick look at her watch and sighs heavily, “it’s pretty hard to get me to do something I don’t want to do. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, okay? It’s twenty after, we should get going.”

Before he can respond, she leaves the room.

Dennis takes one last look at his regrettably empty cereal bowl, sighs, and drops it in the sink, defeated.  

~~~

The car ride is predictably awkward. In part because of their sort of fight, in part because they have nothing to talk about, and in part because it’s the day after Pittfest. Last night, when they were both still up in the kitchen, sharing a beer that Santos found in the back of her fridge, she told him she was still going in the next day. He didn’t really need to ask her why, but she told him anyway:

“Only thing worse than going into work after a day like today is staying home with nothing to do but think about it.”

He sort of wanted to disagree, especially after coming across Dr. Robby in the pedes morgue. It sort of seems like that’s what happens if you never think about anything. But, he couldn’t tell her that without breaking his promise to Dr. Robby, and it wasn’t the kind of conversation he wanted to have with Santos either. That technically left him with the option to stay home and have some time to himself, but it wasn’t really a choice. They both knew he wasn’t going to spend hours alone in Santos’ apartment, and Dennis knew himself enough to not pretend like he’d muster up the energy to go out and do something. To be fair, he’s not sure what it would be like to have both of them in the apartment either. But that isn’t a bridge he has to cross yet. 

He had reasoned that it would be good for him to go into work. Since he’s coming up to the end of his MS4 year, he’s entering a critical decision making period. Now is the time to figure out where he wants to try and match. For a while, he was sure it was cardiology. That’s probably out after yesterday, seeing everything that happened with Mr. Bennett. There was also a point where he’d thought about internal medicine, because practically speaking, he needed somewhere to live, and staying in Pittsburgh gave him unadulterated access to the eighth floor.

After yesterday, though, he isn’t so sure anymore. For one, he has somewhere to live. Suddenly Internal Medicine doesn’t seem so appealing. Second, well, he’s not sure if it was just the day they had, but there was something about the Pitt that drew him in. In particular the people that worked there. He stole a quick glance at Santos. 

She worked her jaw subtly like she could feel his eyes on her. Dennis snapped his eyes back to the road ahead. 

Despite having lived in Pittsburgh for the past several months, Dennis really doesn’t recognize where they are. He figures they’re about five minutes out from the hospital, just because he recognizes the place they got takeout from the night before on the drive to Santos’ apartment. Which- he was actually able to pay for. Come to think of it, he’s not sure he’d really left the hospital for close to a month, before last night. Probably not since his old undergrad roommate had visited, and he’d had to pretend he knew his way around the city.

He’s gotten uncomfortably good at lying to people. The thought makes him squirm. It also reminds him that, even though he has somewhere to live officially, he’s still going to have to lie about why he was even living there in the first place, and that paperwork that Dana slid him with a comment about how the hospital flagged that they didn’t have his address was burning a hole in his bag, and what the hell was he going to tell his mom? Was he even cut out to be a doctor, especially after yesterday? And after seeing Dr. Robby- competent, sure of himself- curled up on the floor of pedes, he wonders if that’ll be him in twenty years. He already feels like curling up and crying and he hadn’t even started his second day yet. The thought makes him feel nauseous, and then he's thinking about throwing up, and then he's pretty sure he's going to throw up all over Santos’ car–

“I can hear you spiralling from here, Huckleberry.”

“What?” He responds a little too quickly, high pitched, then cringes. She gives him an unimpressed look, and he presses his lips together. “Just thinking.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

The car falls silent again. Dennis feels a little too present to disappear into his thoughts again; all too aware of Santos in the driver's seat. Driving him to work, in her car, using her gas- he needs to stop.

It’s somehow a relief when the PTMC sign appears.

Explaining his new situation goes smoother than he expected by a mile. When he hands the charge nurse- not Dana- his paperwork with the updated address, she barely takes a look at it. Just thanks him, and sets it off to the side, then fixes him with a more intentional look and asks if he’s okay, tells him that breaks are fine, and that the hospital’s called on reserves to pick up slack today. She tells him that a lot of ambulances the night before were rerouted to other EDs, and that the night shift was slow. Dennis knows it might not last, but it’s nice to anticipate a slow morning.

Samira does give him and Santos a strange look when they walk in together, just because she’s standing near the charge station at the right moment. Dennis avoids meeting her eyes. 

Once Santos gets checked in he follows her to the employee locker room, feeling a bit like a lost dog with the way he’s trailing after her. She gives him a look, like she’s maybe regretting their new arrangement. He has a goal though: get through that day without messing up anything big time, keep the peace between the two of them, and ideally not kill anyone or get on their nerves.

Then Dennis walks full on into Dr. Robby when the two of them turn the corner into the hallway. 

“Woah, hello.”

Robby grabs his shoulder to keep him from veering off into the wall, Dennis already spluttering apologies.

“Ah- shit, shit, sorry, Doctor Robby-” 

Robby smiles, but when his eyes flick to Santos, the smile tightens just slightly. Dennis glances at her to see that for some reason, she doesn’t look surprised. 

“No problem, Whitaker. Surprised to see the two of you in today, I would’ve thought you’d want the day off?”

“You too.” Dennis says before he can stop himself. Robby's eyes flick back to him. The smile tightens a fraction more. “Just- because yesterday was a lot.”

“Well, it wasn’t my first shift. Unlike the two of you. So-” Robby sighs, and his eyes move past them, like he’s looking for an excuse to duck out of the conversation. “-remember to take it slow, alright? Give yourselves breaks. We’ve got backup today.”

“Could’ve used that yesterday.” Santos mutters. 

“I’m not arguing with you there.” His eyes returned to the two of them. He smiles, more genuinely this time. “You two were great though. I’m glad you’re with us, Dr. Santos, Dr. Whitaker. This job isn’t easy, but you… learn to handle it, with time. Excuse me.” Dennis squirms just slightly when Robby says that, but a moment later, he’s being gently pushed aside as Robby moves past him with eyes on a nurse peeking around the corner with a clipboard. 

Dennis swallows hard. It feels impressive the way it took approximately five minutes for him to screw up. Not only that, but the little trust, or leeway he’d maybe gotten with Doctor Robby after finding him in pedes…

With the way his own memory of the night before has lapsed into blurry snapshots, it’s possible Robby remembers pushing Dennis away more clearly than he remembers laughing in the hallway once things were calmer. 

He tries to shake the thought off.

The locker sticks, but he gets it on the second try. Pulls the jacket he’s wearing and crumples it in, then slides the bag he packed in behind it. A bag with lunch. Real lunch, all balanced and everything. Four main food groups. It almost pains him to leave the food behind, even though he had cereal, an apple, and a protein bar this morning. It just feels so novel to have consistent food for the first time in months that he’s sure what to do with the urge to ration it yet. Especially since he and Santos haven’t had a real conversation about food yet.

The locker above him and to the left slams open.

“That was weird.”

Dennis’ head snaps over in Santos’s direction. She side eyes him.

“Huh?”

“That whole interaction with Robby just now?”

“I don’t-”

“Whatever’s going on between you two, you can tell me.”

“Okay, can you please not say it like that?”

“I call it like I see it, Huckleberry.” Santos shrugs, looking unconcerned. Dennis shuts his locker a little harder than he means to and sighs, glancing up at her, then dropping his gaze in defeat.

“I just gave him a helping hand yesterday.” He fixes his nametag onto his scrubs and stands up. Santos pins him with a look. It takes his brain a half second to catch up. “Ew, Santos. He just gave me advice on how to handle myself when- I’m gonna stop talking now?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

He presses his lips together and slips past her, eyeing the end of the hallway like it’s a lifeline, even though he’ll be stepping out into what’s sure to be an exhausting shift.

“Still not off the hook! I wanna know what big secret you’re hiding, Whitaker.”

Dennis flips his stride right before he gets to the end of the hallway to face her, and rolls his eyes. She’s got no ground to stand on with the way Robby looked at her either. 

This time, what he says is very much intentional.

“You too!”

He takes a little pride in how quickly her face scrunches in annoyance, then he’s turning the corner- making sure to check this time that there’s no one to run into- and stepping out into the madness of the ED.

~~~

The first few hours of his shift go quickly. They also go shockingly well. Having even just one day of experience there the day before, knowing where everything is and who’s important, as well as already being on good terms with most of the people there works wonders. For some of his other rotations it took days, or even up until the last few days of his station for him to feel this comfortable. 

Obviously having such a trial by fire with the MCI helped, but he thinks it’s a structure thing too. No one’s all that territorial, and like yesterday, there are always people popping in and out of rooms, grabbing each other what they need, slipping each other energy drinks and electrolyte packets. Even bumping shoulders or lingering near each other a little closer in subtle shows of comfort and support.

Most of the time when people grab him they’re asking for a sandwich or more medication. Or, they’re Dr. Robby pulling him from one patient to another, setting his pace. But there are ways that the staff nudge him to communicate some sort of acceptance into their ranks. Perlah drops a small chocolate bar in front of him while he’s charting, which he pockets immediately. A nurse he’s never seen before gently fills in the gaps when they’re dealing with a patient suffering from a nasty sunburn, and Dennis asks for medication the chart clearly notes that they’re allergic to. Samira fondly cautions him whenever she sees him with a liquid of any kind about not wanting to get a laundry bill from the hospital. 

Dennis isn’t sure whether there’s anything in particular about him that makes people think they need to look out for him, or whether it’s just the aftermath of a spectacularly shitty day. Regardless, he surprises himself when it barely takes until ten before he’s seriously considering doing this forever. 

That certainty takes a knock when a kid comes in a bit before eleven with a brutal gunshot wound to the shoulder.

Santos gets pulled into Trauma 1 with Robby- Dennis does not, to his reluctant relief. When he sees the kid laid out on the stretcher his chest pulls with the same exhausted adrenaline from the night before. 

“Poor kid.” The charge nurse- Lena, he learned- intones while looking off toward the room that just swallowed Robby, Santos, and Mel.

Dennis turns to her, takes a deep breath to remind himself that he’s got a whole fourteen hours in between him and treating his last gunshot wound. 

“Do you think he’s going to be okay?”

Lena purses her lips and gives him a faintly appraising look, then shakes her head. 

“Paramedics didn’t think so, hon. But they said it just happened, friend called the ambulance right away, so we’ve got time on our side. And he’ll get their full attention.”

Dennis thinks about the six people they lost last night. Would they have made it if they’d had time on their side? If they’d had the ED’s full attention?

“That’s good.” He responds quietly. He feels a little sick.

He thinks of Mel, and Santos, and of them having to almost certainly watch someone die when it’s barely 11 in the morning. He pointedly doesn’t think of Robby.

Last night, when he and Santos got- he can’t call it home yet, but back to the apartment, he ducked out almost immediately after a brief tour to shower. It was what he was going to do anyways when she caught him on the fourth floor, and it felt amazing to truly wash off all of the spills and blood and hurt that piled up over the course of the day. 

When he got out there was a little pile of toiletries and clean clothes waiting for him on the bed. When he re-entered the main area of the apartment, Santos had retreated to her bedroom, but there was a cup of hot chocolate steaming on the kitchen table. She gave him a look like he was stupid when he knocked on her bedroom door to confirm that it was for him. Other than the hot stir-fry and dumplings they’d had an hour before, it was probably the best thing he’d ever tasted.

Dennis has a sudden impulse to get something for when she gets out. He coughs lightly to get Lena’s attention, then points vaguely off toward the staff breakroom.

“I’m gonna…?” 

She smiles kindly, and nods. 

“We’re good out here. Take a minute.”

He smiles gratefully, then beelines for it, nearly bumping into Mateo on his way. 

In part, the task is a good distraction. A knot he didn’t even realise had built up loosens just a touch when he steps into the fluorescently lit staff room, and the door cuts off the noise outside.

The tour of the ED that he got yesterday didn’t exactly cover this room. He walks to the closest cabinet and pulls it open to find a few stacks of paper napkins, some stir sticks, and disposable coffee cups. Hot chocolate would be a good idea right now. Maybe for both of them. He snags two cups. 

The rest of the drawers and cabinets turn up honey, sugar, and swiss miss packets that he intentionally doesn’t check the date on. There’s a little fridge tucked away in the corner that he opens to find a small collection of lunches and energy drinks, and a half filled creamer container. 

Dennis gets to work. 

When he was a kid his aunt touted her hot chocolate recipe like a badge of honor. Now that he’s older than she was when it all went down he wants to call her and thank her on behalf of his six year old self. She was so proud to sit down with him in the hospital waiting room with a cup of shitty, watery hospital hot chocolate that she doctored up with sugar packets and honey from the complimentary coffee station. 

He remembers her keeping him entertained even though that was the first time that her older brother ended up in the hospital because his kidneys stopped working. They gave out for good less than a year later. He became very familiar with their family hot chocolate recipe over those months.

It only takes him about five minutes to make them. When he looks out to check, the trauma is still ongoing, so he crosses back over to Lena and sets the cups of hot chocolate down in front of her carefully. She looks up at him curiously.

“Can you please get these to Dr. Santos and Dr. King when they finish up in there? It’s hot chocolate, I thought they could maybe use a morale boost. If they don’t want them, then, please, feel free to give them away.” Then, because he remembers she’s one of the busiest people in there, and he doesn’t want to add to her plate, he adds: “Or, you know what? Don’t even worry about it, I’ll just-”

“I’ll make sure they get them. There’s a patient in North 3 with a burned forearm, do you think you can pick up?”

“Yep, yes, I can do that.”

“Great, appreciate it!”

She smiles warmly at him and takes the hot chocolates to tuck them out of the way. For a split second Dennis fights the urge to check she won’t forget about them, then settles for pressing his lips together in a thin smile.

The patient isn’t a complicated case. It’s a guy in his thirties who burned himself setting up the outdoor smoker to make brisket for his family. They have a surprisingly pleasant conversation, since it turns out he’d grown up in a more rural area of Pennsylvania. Not quite as rural as Broken Bow, but then, nowhere really is. Less rural means that he isn’t as annoyingly macho about needing to get ointment and dressing as Dennis’ brothers would’ve been, though.

He resists asking if he somehow knows the wife of the burn victim that died yesterday. 

By the time he gets to a stopping point so he can duck away to check on another patient, Robby, Santos, and Mel are finished in trauma 1. Mel is standing by the nurse’s station cradling her hot chocolate. She smiles when she sees him, then points to the cup and gives him a thumbs up. Dennis smiles back. He’s glad she doesn’t seem too thrown by the GSW.

There’s no sign of Santos, but Dennis catches a glimpse of Robby leaning against the workstation with a tablet in one hand and the second cup in his other. Apparently Santos wasn’t in the mood for hot chocolate. It bothers him just a little, even though he can’t figure out exactly why.

Before he can dwell for longer than a minute though, Samira is pulling him off to check on the blood tests that finally came back for a patient out in chairs.

Working in the ED is more fast paced than any of his other rotations. Thankfully, Samira is off base with her predictions that he’ll need to change scrubs. Still, he barely has time to think about his own problems when there’s five people that all need his attention at the same time. 

Over the course of the morning, he sees a kid who swallowed a magnet ball from a toy set, an old man who broke his pinky trying to move his couch, a teenager who superglued two of his fingers together, and a few more that he doesn’t remember. Around 12:30 there’s enough of a dip that he’s able to sneak away to the break room to scarf down the lunch he packed. Santos comes in at the tail end, and he tries to give her half of the chocolate bar that Perlah gave him that morning, but she brushes it off disinterestedly. 

Then he’s sent out to triage for a while with Dr. Ellis from the night shift. She’s, well, nice might be too strong of a word, but he appreciates the fact that she knows what she’s doing. It’s not like she’s rude to patients either. Just him, sometimes. Mostly he deserves it.

Working in chairs is a little slower paced, and it gives him time to think, and breathe for the first time that day. It gives him a chance to realize that he’s a little lightheaded. That happens, sometimes, since he’s pretty sure his iron is low. Probably because he spent a few months taking whatever food he could find. When he gets a minute, he ducks out to the vending machine to spring for an energy drink. Ellis gives him a look when he comes back, so he chugs it as fast as he can, which makes him jittery.

It doesn’t take long to decide that he’s not a fan of working in chairs. The people there are a lot more impatient, since each person seems to think they’re the sickest, most in pain person there, and Dennis gets an earful of complaints every time he brings someone back, whether it’s for an IV drip or cut or a cold. Some people get sent back, some people he’s able to direct to the nearest urgent care. It’s enough to legitimately give him a stress headache.

Then, around 2ish, Santos pops in.

“You’re back up front, Huckleberry.”

He looks up from the IV he’s inserting. Although he wouldn’t show it, he’s relieved.

“Uh, got it, hang on.” It only takes another moment before he gets a flashback, then he screws the pigtail on, tapes the needle, and with a touch of satisfaction, he sits back and pulls his gloves off. Definitely not the first time he’s done one, but IVs still make him nervous for some reason. The man visibly relaxes too. “Okay Mr. Johnson, all you have to do now is sit here for about 45 minutes, Dr. Santos is here if you need anything.”

The man nods gratefully and tips his head back, so Dennis takes that as his cue and steps out. As soon as they’re out of earshot, Santos squeezes her eyes shut and groans.

“I can’t wait to get out of here.”

Dennis grimaces sympathetically.

“This guy’s easy. Don’t worry. I actually just think he’s hungover.”

Santos shakes her head.

“Easy is boring, boring is just gonna put me to sleep faster.”

“Ah. I’ve got an electrolyte packet if you want one? Other than that, I can’t help you.”

To his surprise, her expression closes off a little. Almost like she’s offended that he offered her an electrolyte packet, which doesn’t make much sense.

“No thanks,” She says lightly, “I’ll just hope someone needs an emergency tracheostomy or something.”

“That’s kind of horrible.”

She gives him a tightlipped smile and a two fingered salute. 

“Try not to kill anyone up there, okay?”

Dennis scrunches his face.

“I-”

But she turns on her heel and starts walking towards chairs.

“Tell Robby I said hi!” And she’s gone. 

Dennis opens his mouth and closes it again, then heads back towards the main hub. His headache’s only gotten worse and now his chest feels a little hollow. He’s not sure how, or what for, but that last comment feels pointed. Especially after this morning. But when he replays the day, he’s at a loss for what exactly it was that he did to piss her off. 

Hopefully she remembers that they’re living together now. Maybe this is her way of quietly trying to get him to move out again— maybe she changed her mind about letting him live there. He wouldn’t exactly blame her, since they barely know each other, but if that were the case, he’d kick himself for getting attached so quickly. 

Robby’s waiting when he gets back to the central nurse’s station. If he notices that Dennis is distracted, he doesn’t say anything. His hand comes down gently on Dennis’ shoulder.

“Whitaker, I’ve got a question.”

“Uh, okay?”

Robby smiles, which actually only puts him more on edge, then releases his shoulder, folds his arms, and inclines his head toward the staff lounge.

“Why don’t we talk over there?”

“Sure. Am… I in trouble?”

Robby shakes his head and brings a hand up again to push him in the direction of the room. 

“No, but, Lena did notice something interesting when she was updating your address in our system.”

Dennis’ stomach drops. He’s pretty sure his heartbeat must be audible with the way that it starts pounding in his ears. It’s ridiculous, he knows, because Robby has no way to guess that he was very much breaking the law by living on the eighth floor of the hospital. Still, he’s maybe the world’s worst liar. 

Shit. 

Shit-

The cover story Santos gave him that morning is at the edge of his memory, but he’s pretty sure he needs to get it right in case someone else asks her, and then they realize their stories don’t line up, and then they start wondering why the hell they’d lie about something like that. 

Robby opens the staff lounge door and then Dennis blinks and they’re both inside. He’s sweating profusely. 

What was it? What was it- something about a landlord. Something about getting kicked out? Why, because he broke something? Got evicted? Rent went up?

Robby folds his arms again, and smiles, not unkindly. Dennis might throw up. He might lose his job, or go to jail. He doesn’t even have a job, that’s the whole problem.

“So. Lena was sending your updated file off so the hospital has everything in order, and she noticed that your new address matches Santos’ current address. The dates you put down seemed to indicate that you moved in yesterday?”

“Yeah.” Dennis replies stupidly, because his mind has blanked out, and he can’t think of anything else to say. “Last night.”

“Last night?” Robby’s eyebrows shoot up. “After Pittfest?”

“Yeah.”

Robby pauses, obviously waiting for Dennis to add on to that. When he doesn’t, he sighs.

“Can I ask why?”

There’s a split second where Dennis considers spilling everything. Not a single person in his life knew until yesterday that he was homeless. Not his parents, brothers, relatives, friends. All the stress that compounded over months of worrying about getting found out or running out of money laps at the base of his throat, threatening to spill. But Robby is not a friend. He’s a mandated reporter. So, Dennis rallies, and scrapes the back of his memory for the story that Santos came up with that morning.

“Yeah, sorry- my landlord called last night to let me know that he was kicking me out. Santos overheard, I guess, and she has a spare room in her flat? So, I, uh- I moved in last night.”

“That’s very generous of her.”

“Yeah,” Dennis laughs awkwardly, “pretty benevolent.”

Robby squints at him for a moment, and Dennis braces himself for the worst, but then he shakes his head and lets out a sharp burst of laughter. 

“I do not miss being a med student, I can tell you that. Look, Whitaker, just- let us know if you need anything, okay? The hospital has resources, programs- not saying you need them, but in case this situation with Santos falls through, you have a safety net.”

Dennis suddenly feels thrown off balance. Not just because there’s no suspicion or reprimand.

Robby’s words make sense. What he’s describing isn’t even anything that Dennis doesn’t know already- he’s talked to Kiara, he’s read through the pamphlets, he shows up for whatever free food the hospital offers, but the offer still hits him hard. However much he trusts Santos- and he’s trusting her a lot- they barely know each other. And if there’s some way to lift her burden of him, he’ll jump on it. Plus it’s the second show of compassion from someone he’s known for less than a day in the past 24 hours that’s eased the constant anxiety about how he’s going to make it through the rest of med school. 

He feels a little bit like crying. But if he cries, he risks Robby figuring out just how much the offer means- what must seem like a really simple offer from his perspective.

“Uh, thanks, Doctor Robby.” Is all he can trust himself to get out.

“No problem.” Robby smiles. If he senses anything, he doesn’t let on. “Alright, I’ve got a patient in 12 that needs stitches, can you take that?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Great. Oh- and Whitaker? Let me know if you need to switch to nights.” 

Dennis pauses, not entirely sure whether Robby’s joking or not. Then he catches a barely there teasing sheen in his eyes, and he laughs hesitantly.

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

Robby smiles again, nods, and then opens the door for the two of them to step out. Dennis takes half a moment to feel pleased that he read Robby correctly, then it catches up with him again how unfathomably well the interaction went.

It feels like a weight is lifting from his chest. When he moves back towards the board, the prospect of having so many people to take care of doesn’t seem nearly as daunting anymore. Although- there still is Santos. The weight pauses its ascension and settles somewhere around the base of his throat. He’ll just make a point to apologize for whatever he did next time he sees her.

But like everything else that day, there’s barely more than a minute to dwell.

~~~

The patient in 12 doesn’t take that long. Next is checking in with a patient with respiratory issues who was waiting on a chest x-ray and blood tests in chairs until their cough got a lot worse. He sets up an IV for her and then moves to check on a kid with a sprained wrist and very concerned parents, does a history on a patient with chest pain and orders tests, and then he’s back to the first patient because her tests came back to show that she does in fact have pneumonia. Then it’s back to the chest pain patient because he doesn’t want to let something slip like Mr. Bennett yesterday. 

While he moves back and forth, the low level anxiety about Santos, and his conversation with Robby, and just money in general fades to accommodate the much more immediate stress of the ED. 

If it weren’t for yesterday, he would’ve thought he was having a pretty stressful first day, but as it is, the lack of horrible drawn out deaths and blood has him feeling almost relaxed. 

It’s weirdly nice how hands on everything is. Internal medicine was interesting, but neurology and general surgery were a lot of observation, and labor and delivery was downright terrifying to him.

Being in the ER strikes the right balance of actually doing things with a pace that forces him to keep moving. 

They don’t get that many truly bad cases. Lena must’ve been right in predicting a slower shift, or maybe they’re just lucky, but the worst thing that comes in is an old man in anaphylactic that ends up dying on the table while they’re administering epi. They can’t get his heart started again.

Dennis finds that he doesn’t envy Robby, who has to tell the guy’s wife that he didn’t make it. 

He and Santos watch him while hiding in the now near empty trauma room. 

Santos is quiet, but it doesn’t seem like it’s because of the case. At least, as far as he can tell, because she’s testy with him, like she has been the entire rest of the day.

He tells himself that he’s not going to bring it up. 

Instead, what he says is: “I don’t know how he does it.”

Santos presses her lips together.

“Just gotta keep moving. You can’t let every patient you see mess you up.” Her eyes flick towards him. “Especially not if they’re the first person you see.” 

Fighting words for someone who gingerly handed the guy’s wedding ring off to Robby on his way out just a minute ago. Dennis just folds his arms though and bobs forward in silent concession. 

They both watch as the guy’s wife raises a trembling hand to her mouth with her eyes locked on Robby. Dennis notices that she doesn’t look entirely shocked. Heartbroken, sure, but it must be that once you get to a certain age, you have to start bracing for the worst. She lowers her hand to take something from Robby. He can’t quite make out what it is, but assumes it must be the wedding ring. 

She and Robby exchange a few more words, and then she nods, and turns her gaze back into the trauma room again. Dennis and Santos shuffle to turn away and look busy. 

The door opens and the sounds of the rest of the ED trickle in alongside the woman’s gently hitching breaths. Dennis turns in sync with Santos toward Robby, who tilts his head just slightly to gesture them out of the room. Santos complies quickly, sparing only a brief glance for the woman. 

Something about her makes Dennis hesitate though. She looks like an older version of his aunt. The one with the hot chocolate recipe. The way her hair is braided back, and the earrings she chose that morning, and maybe the expression on her face too. Dennis’ heart twists. This is one of the worst days of her life, and for him it’s just his second ever shift in the ER. 

She’s not paying attention to him, standing like an idiot halfway between the bed and the door, so he takes his safety glasses off and closes them with a click so she knows he’s still there. He pauses a step away. Flashes of empty platitudes pass through his mind, all things that he heard after his uncle passed away. I’m sorry- he was amazing- there was nothing to be done- he’s not in pain anymore- and realizes there’s nothing that he can say about the guy. All that he manages to get out is a weak:

“I’m so sorry about your husband.”

The woman starts and Dennis curses internally. Her head turns jerkily in his direction,  but she sniffs and rallies enough to give him a watery smile. She pats his forearm then squeezes it gently.

“Thank you hon.”

She turns back to her husband’s body. He takes that as his cue to go and slips out. 

Robby and Santos are still standing just outside the trauma bay. Dennis finds that he’s actually more ready to leave for the day than he thought a couple minutes ago, so he’s definitely not looking to get a pep talk from Robby right then. All he really wants is to go back to Santos’ apartment to get a real night’s sleep before their next shift, maybe start some laundry. 

Turns out the alternative to talking with Robby is Santos pushing his shoulder the moment he steps out so he’s forced to make a harsh right turn towards the nearest hallway. 

“Uh-” 

“We’re going to be right back.”

Dennis looks to Robby for help, but he just shrugs, bemused. It seems like she’s steering him to the breakroom.

“Everything okay, Dr. Santos?”

Santos presses her lips together tightly. 

“Yep, I just…” She pushes the door open and holds it for him, then gives the surrounding area a brief one over, which in Dennis’ opinion only makes her look more shady. After a moment she seems satisfied and steps inside the room enough to let the door close, although she hovers by it with her arms folded. Not quite making eye contact. “That was cool. That you checked in on that guy’s wife.” She laughs a little awkwardly and scrunches her nose. “I… am not sure if you can tell, but that sort of thing- not really my speed.”

Dennis nods stiffly, more a reflex response than anything else. 

“Yeah, uh, I guess I just felt bad.”

Santos inclines her head jerkily. 

“Right.” She turns, still pressed against the door, to peer through the window, then drops her gaze down again. “So, if we’re going to do this roommate thing, I just thought…” She sighs, scrunches her face. “You seem like a good person, Huckleberry.”

“Thank you?”

“People like you. I’m… not sure that as many people around here like me. I got told yesterday that I have a ‘rough bedside manner.’” She does exaggerated air quotes around the words.

Dennis grimaces in sympathy.

“At least you haven’t killed anyone.”

Santos finally looks at him. It seems like she’s trying to tamp down a smile. 

“Yeah. At least that.” Her smile turns down just slightly. “Look, Huckleberry, I think there are at least a few people that kind of hate me right now, and I’m trying to keep that number down, so, I am… sorry if I was snappy earlier.”

Dennis blinks in surprise. 

“Oh. Uh, thanks, actually. I thought I did something wrong.” 

Santos looks instantly a little relieved, but the expression is quickly tucked away, then replaced by another scrunchy look that Dennis is learning quickly to read as discomfort. She shrugs and glances off to the side of the breakroom.

“It was sort of nice not to be alone after yesterday.”

Dennis swallows. This feels delicate.

“Yeah. Yesterday was rough.”

“Putting it lightly.” 

Santos meets his gaze for the second time with a small smile. Dennis returns it. 

“Thank you, again, Santos.”

“Stop thanking me before I change my mind, Huckleberry. You’re on thin ice as is.”

“Woah, I thought I was in the clear.” 

Santos shrugs. 

“Gotta stay on your toes-” Santos’ eyes suddenly take on a note of gleeful disbelief. “What even is your first name, Huckleberry?”

Dennis snorts. It’s absurd, really, that both of them forgot to introduce themselves properly. Considering they live together.

“It’s Dennis. Dennis Benjamin Whitaker. I’m named after my dad’s friend- he drove out to pick up the midwife during a snowstorm when I was born.”

Santos gives him a faintly judgy look.

“That explains so much about you. Trinity Flores Santos. Named after both my parents.”

“Nice to meet you, Trinity Santos.”

Dennis sticks out a hand hoping that he doesn’t immediately get made fun of. Santos looks like she deeply wants to crack a joke, but she takes his hand, looking amused. 

“Nice to meet you, Dennis Benjamin Whitaker.”

They shake twice and then step back at the same time. 

A slightly uncomfortable silence falls. He’s not really sure how to do this. Be friends with people. The first time he’d left Nebraska was for undergrad, and it was easy most nights to end up alone in his dorm after classes finished. Then by junior year everything was a nightmare blur of med school applications and grades, so the only person he really talked to was his roommate.

But right now he realizes, with some surprise, that he does actually want to be friends with Trinity Santos. And not just because she saved his ass by giving him a place to stay. She might be kind of abrasive, but there aren’t a lot of people that would let a total stranger live with them after only 24 hours of knowing each other. 

“Does this mean you’ll stop calling me Huckleberry?”

Trinity shrugs, deadpan. 

“You make a really good Huckleberry.”

“Right.” 

She smiles, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“I should probably go. I have patients. Dana’s on my ass about charting, so…” She glances behind her through the small window. 

“I’ll see you at the end of our shift?”

“Yup.” Trinity pops the p and steps back towards the door. Right before she opens it, she turns back to give him a two fingered salute. “See you later, Dennis.”

He laughs again.

“Uh, bye, Trinity-” 

She’s already gone. Dennis takes a deep pull of air and checks the time. Almost four. Just over two hours of his shift to go. 

As he steps back out into the ED to pick up another patient, he realizes that he sort of accomplished all three of his goals. Nothing messed up big time; whatever weird dynamic he’d established with Robby the day before seems like it’s stabilized. Him and Santos are on good, though still shaky, terms. Yet to be determined whether or not he’ll let someone else die. 

Only thing to do is get through the rest of the shift unscathed. 

He steps back out and almost immediately bumps into Princess. She lights up when she sees him, which is not the response he’s used to getting for being spatially unaware. 

“Did you and Santos really move in together yesterday?”

Dennis sighs.

~~~

The rest of the shift goes smoothly. No one else dies, although a few more staff catch on somehow to the fact that he and Trinity are living together. They both make it exceedingly clear that it’s for practical reasons only. Mateo still pulls him aside to warn against dating in the workplace, which Dennis takes as an opportunity to vehemently deny any and all dating accusations. 

Once again though, Dennis is shocked by how well things go. For the most part no one second guesses their explanation about the landlord, or pushes back on their insistence that they’re not dating or otherwise involved. 

Things start to wind down, and Dennis gets a sense of what things actually look like in the ED when people leave on time. Since he’s still just a med student there’s not a lot he needs to do in terms of charting. The last patient he sees is a kid that broke his toe playing hide and seek, brought in by a very concerned babysitter. 

The night shift comes in right around when Dennis and Trinity are getting ready to leave. There’s a headache that’s starting to press between Dennis’ eyes though, so he doesn’t protest when Trinity seems pretty set on beelining it out of there. 

For the first time in a long time, once Dennis is clocked out, he’s not headed for the staircase and up to the eighth floor. Instead he and Trinity are walking out to her car. 

The evening air is cool and a little damp with humidity. The city hums as people drive home from the office, or out into the city to get dinner. All oblivious to the rooms of people in pain waiting for care just inside the PTMC. It’s just starting to get a little dark out. 

Pavement gives way to soft grass and then a dirt pathway as they cut across the park to get to the garage. There’s something painfully homesickening about the feeling of grass under his shoes, even in this little closed off piece of land in the middle of the city. His chest pangs when he thinks of home. 

What is his family doing right now? Maybe sitting down for dinner, maybe finishing up chores around the house. It’s an odd thing to feel nostalgic for his family’s farm when he was so ready to get out of Broken Bow by the time he was finishing undergrad, but it hits him especially hard after last night. Seeing families flock to each other, and the ones that couldn’t. Today too, with the woman that looked like his aunt, and the kid with the gunshot wound. Suddenly his throat feels a little tight.

Trinity glances over. Her hair’s been freed from the tight ponytail, and with a light jacket zipped over her scrubs and a backpack slung over her shoulder it’s almost possible to forget they’re both doctors. Well, doctor and almost doctor. He’s not quite anything just yet.

“I can hear you spiralling from here, Huckleberry.”

Where is Trinity’s family right now? Does she have parents who live nearby, or siblings? Does she have grandparents that are still alive? Cousins? Who does she know here in Pittsburgh other than him and the other staff at the Pitt? Dennis drops his gaze back to the grass and adjusts the bag hanging against his back.

“Why do you have a spare room?”

“You worried I’m gonna kill you in your sleep or something?”

Dennis falters.

“Uh-”

Trinity smirks.

“Relax, Whitaker. I’m just teasing.” They reach her car and Dennis pauses to let her unlock the car. He slides into the passenger side, then twists and stuffs his back into the backseat. A moment later the engine purrs to life, but they don’t pull away just yet. “I was supposed to room with someone, but she backed out last minute with very little notice.”

“So you’ve just been living by yourself?”

She gives him a tired side eye.

“Yep.”

“So have I.” Trinity snorts and he feels that same curl of pride flare up again from that morning. He pauses a moment, then pushes on. Maybe he’s a little desperate to talk to someone that he doesn’t have to lie to. “My parents helped me pay for medical school, but I’m the first person in my family to go to college. They don’t exactly have a ton of money lying around to spend on me- I told them I got a part time job, and took out some loans, so I am technically set for school. But I couldn’t afford to pay for student housing again this year, so I spent a few weeks in different shelters around the city. Only, without a car, I had to pay for public transport, and it added up quickly, so most days I was only eating what I could get from the hospital. Then one day I got sent upstairs to escort a patient’s family. On the way back I took a wrong turn and found the empty wing. It was sort of easier to just keep crashing there, but… not a long term solution.”

He swallows hard and sends Trinity a brief glance. Her lips are pressed tightly together. It’s embarrassing, freeing, and a little anxiety-inducing to drop so much in one fell swoop. For some reason, the image of the abandoned hot chocolate in Robby’s hand from earlier that day flashes through his mind.

Somewhere nearby there’s an ambulance siren blaring.

To his left, a soft exhale.

“Last year, I seriously considered selling a kidney just so I wouldn’t have to fill out another fucking FAFSA.”

Dennis smiles hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Before he can help himself, he laughs, “Yeah, I’ve been there. I think I’ve applied to every scholarship Pittsburgh offers.”

“How’s that working out?”

“Still broke.”

Trinity laughs. It sounds exhausted, but there’s some quality to it that reminds him of home again. It’s easy to pretend the sun is still visible on the horizon. He thinks he could maybe live in this moment for a few months. 

After a minute Trinity leans back against the seat and presses her forehead into the heels of her hands.

“Fuck, I need to sleep for a week.”

“I’m guessing you don’t want to work tomorrow?”

She shoots him a mildly incredulous side eye.

“Do you?”

“No. No, definitely not.”

“Good.” She groans and puts the car into reverse. They finally pull out of the spot, headlights washing over the asphalt and creating weird overlapping shadows. “I’m going to heat up some leftovers and crash.”

That morning Dennis was told to help himself to anything in the fridge. Thinking about that moment again now, a little breathless from laughter and a little sore from the day, his throat gets embarrassingly tight once again. In a way, he’s indebted to her. 

He’s indebted to a lot of people, really. 

But he likes to think she’s getting something out of this arrangement too. He makes a promise, right then, that he’s going to be a good friend to Trinity Santos. 

It’s the least he can do.