Chapter Text
"What the fuck is this?" Trinity asked, eyebrows rising to her hairline as she took in the sight.
"What are you- Trinity!" Dennis stepped into his room, trying to shove the wardrobe door closed. Trinity sidestepped to block his access as she reached in and pulled out a green plaid shirt. Dennis spluttered, "Boundaries! We talked about boundaries literally last week!"
Trinity ignored him. "You have two shirts, three t-shirts, and a hoody in here."
Dennis gave up trying to stop her ransacking his belongings, throwing his hands up as he shook his head. "It's a wardrobe, why are you surprised there's clothes in there?"
Her head snapped towards him. "This is not a wardrobe. It's a cry for help."
Dennis tried to remind himself that, after a few months of living with Trinity Santos, he actually had grown to like her. Yes she was stubborn, and had a tongue like a viper. But she also kept buying him avocados, and she sang softly when she reheated leftovers on the stove and thought he couldn't hear her. When he'd gotten sick with a fever she'd shoved him forcefully into the shower (albeit whilst insulting his stench) and when he'd stepped out, feeling slightly more human, he'd returned to find his bed stripped and fresh sheets on it. She was a good friend and he liked her.
"If I'd known I'd let Oliver Twist move in I'd have cooked some gruel for you. Made you feel right at home."
He liked her, sometimes.
"Why were you even in here?"
She shrugged, shoving the shirt back into the wardrobe (without hanging it up, he noted). "I'm going out tonight and need an overshirt to complete the look." She gestured down at herself, where she was wearing dark jeans with a thick belt, and a sleeveless crop top. "Mines in the laundry pile. I figured you'd have at least one I could steal."
He rubbed his temples. "You could have asked?"
Her mouth twisted in a familiar way that meant she was at least trying not to openly smirk at him. "Wouldn't be stealing then, would it?"
Dennis sat on the edge of his bed with a slump. "I haven't really had the time or the money to go shopping." It had only been a month since he started his R1 and his first paycheck had quickly vanished on essentials, like his bus pass and paying his overdue phone bill.
Trinity stood in front of him, arms crossed. She gave him an assessing look, and he braced for the inevitable interrogation. Questions about why he moved here with only a backpack's worth of belongings. Why the only clothes he did own were clearly on the threadbare side. She still hadn't ever really asked him why he was squatting in the hospital all those months ago.
He felt his pulse quicken, not brave enough to actually meet her eye.
"Get up, we're going shopping."
At this he did actually turn to look at her. "What?"
She pulled at his shoulder, manhandling him to stand up then pushed him towards the door. He threw a confused glance back at her but she simply shoved between his shoulder blades, saying, "Chop chop, Huckleberry."
He stumbled into the living space, pulling his shoes on on autopilot after Trinity all but threw them at his chest. "You know I don't have the disposable income right now to-"
Trinity interrupted him with a scoff. "You live with a lesbian now, it's actually part of the rental contract that your wardrobe reflects that."
Dennis frowned as he tied his shoelaces. "I don't know what that means."
"It means," Trinity said with a dramatic sigh, "that I am bound by Sappho's law to be your sugar daddy today." She put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at him.
"Um, okay." He stood up, grabbing his jacket. "I guess a couple of new shirts would be fine."
"And maybe a haircut."
He reached up to grab the curls at the nape of his neck. "What's wrong with my hair?"
A while later Dennis finger-walked his way through yet another rack of shirts. They'd been at this nearly an hour and he'd yet to actually pick something. His fingers paused on a dark blue Henley, before clocking the price tag and swiftly moving on.
Behind him came an obnoxious slurp. He rolled his eyes and turned to where his roommate was judging him over the biggest cup of boba he'd ever seen. Seriously, the tapioca balls alone were probably more food than they usually managed to eat whilst on shift.
"Something you wanted to say, Trinity?" He asked, with slightly more snark in his voice than was probably warranted. She was the one paying, after all.
The corners of her mouth twitched upwards, pleased. Dennis had noticed that they often did whenever he bit back.
"Just didn't peg you for having a clothing fetish, is all. You've done nothing but rub all that fabric since we got here."
Dennis resisted the urge to sigh. "Don't you have somewhere to be? You said you were going out."
"Not until this evening. But you're right, at this rate we'll be here until Fagan gets back."
Dennis narrowed his eyes. "For someone who claims to hate musicals you sure do reference them a lot."
Trinity dropped her now empty cup into the trash and approached. "Who said anything about musicals? I'm a fan of the literary classics."
"Reading Dickens on your days off? Please. I've seen you yell at the cast of Real Housewives often enough to know your taste in media."
Something flashed across Trinity's face, disappearing fast enough that Dennis almost thought he'd imagined it. He blinked and her normal expression was firmly in place again. She continued on, not quite looking at him as she started pulling items from the rack. "Go to the changing room, I'll be there in a minute with some options."
He felt oddly like he was being dismissed, not quite sure where he'd stepped wrong. He nodded, before joining the queue for the changing cubicles.
Trinity reappeared a few moments later, seemingly at ease again, just as he reached the front of the queue. She held out a worryingly large pile of clothes to him.
He said, "I thought I said just a couple of shirts."
She shrugged, pressing the horde of cloth to his chest until he was forced to accept it. "You can try a bunch, you don't have to get them all. Just make sure to come out and show me each outfit."
"Every one?"
She smiled at him, and there was something wolfish in her expression. "Yes," she said, "Every one."
When Dennis finally managed to drop the pile onto the bench in the changing cubicle his eyes caught immediately on the dark blue fabric peeking out. He stared at it for a long moment, before pulling off his jacket.
Dennis's original intention with the magnetic whiteboard was for it to be a place to write their grocery list. It seemed sensible to stick it on their fridge, a little marker pen dangling from it, so that when he opened it to realise that Trinity had used the last of the milk and put the empty carton back again, he could channel his annoyance into a something productive. Like writing 'MILK' in angry block letters, instead of yelling at his roommate down the hallway.
His best laid plans quickly went awry when he stumbled into their kitchen, bleary eyed before his upcoming night shift, and saw Trinity's scrawl declaring "MY NETFLIX ALGORITHM IS NOTHING BUT FUNK DOCUMENTARIES. SLEEP WITH ONE EYE OPEN." There was a swirly blob drawn next to it. Dennis blinked at it, until he made out what was maybe a berry getting squished by cartoon mallet.
He wiped the message away, before writing back, "You're welcome btw. Also we need bread."
They never addressed their whiteboard drama in person. Whole conversations were exchanged in erasable ink. It wasn't a daily thing but Dennis found himself checking the whiteboard like it was a morning newspaper, and found himself strangely disappointed whenever it was blank.
"WOULD IT KILL YOU TO HANG UP YOUR TOWEL. ALSO, TAKEOUT TONIGHT?"
"Heads up, 4B has a new girlfriend staying. I repeat, GIRLFRIEND. Not Mom."
"THANK YOU FOR THE REDBULL. FUCK YOU FOR BUYING THE ZERO VERSION."
"Perlah brought Lumpia again. Your tub is under the yoghurts."
"WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT CATS?"
"We work too much. But they are very cute."
"SPOILSPORT. I'M DOUBLING YOUR RENT."
"Then I'm going on a chore-sabbatical."
"DID YOU MOVE MY SHIT IN THE BATHROOM?"
"I borrowed your cologne. Why do you need to smell like a cedar forest?"
"WHY DO YOU?!"
Dennis's eyes widened slightly when they entered the club but he gave Trinity a smile. She grinned, grabbing his hand, and pulled him through the crowd to the bar.
The bartender, a woman with a septum piercing and an appreciative gaze sent Trinity's way, slid their beers over. Trinity bumped her shoulder against his and took a long drink.
Dennis took a more tentative sip as he took in the sight around him. He was not completely new to the ways of the world, despite what some rude roommates might say. He'd been clubbing before. He just maybe hadn't ever been to this kind of club before.
"You doing okay, Huckleberry?" Trinity asked, a strange edge to her voice.
He looked at her. She was watching him right back, something not quite nervous and not quite searching in her gaze. He didn't know what she saw, but she smiled at him when he replied, "Yeah. This is great."
Dennis leaned back against the bar, enjoying the view, sharing this with Trinity. They finished their drinks quickly, having already both worked a buzz up whilst they were getting ready to go out.
"Dancefloor?"
Before he could reply to her question Trinity had already grabbed his hand again, dragging him into the writhing masses. It was much darker here, the bodies pressing around him like a shade drawn tight. The lights flashed above them, creating polaroids in time with the thumping music.
Dennis tried to bounce along, mirroring Trinity opposite him. She seemed looser here, hair down and lips turned upwards in a grin. She shouted along to the song and when Dennis realised he knew the lyrics as well he shouted it back at her. He hadn't known it before he met her.
Later, as they waited outside for their cab, both too drunk and exhausted to speak, Trinity looped her arm in his. She let her head fall against his shoulder, eyes closed, using him for support. He tried his best to remain solid, despite his own wobbly legs.
It was always cold at 3am in Pittsburgh. But there must have been something strong in their drinks because Dennis felt warm anyway.
Dennis had known where he'd find her the minute Javadi had messaged about the shift she and Trinity had been on that day. He walked into their apartment, dropping his Street Team bag at the door. The only light came from the lamp on the breakfast counter, spilling a low orange glow across their small living room/kitchen.
The large sash window was open and Trinity straddled the sill, leaning back against the jamb.
The first time Dennis had seen her there his heart had stopped, and he'd called her name, something too close to fear in voice. She'd glanced up and laughed at him, waving him over. She'd showed him the outcropping of the building below, the concrete roof of the neighbouring parking garage, just a couple of feet below her dangling leg. She'd asked him if he was scared, and when he'd denied it, she'd laughed at him again, loose and relaxed.
She wasn't relaxed now. Her shoulders hunched over herself, where one leg was drawn up, chin resting atop her knee. She didn't react as he approached, keeping her gaze fixed on the dark street outside. She wasn't wearing a jacket and Dennis could see the goosebumps on her arms from the cool November air.
He pulled a dining chair round (the only one of two they owned that had four functional legs) and sat opposite her, leaning his head against the window sill. The Pittsburgh streets were never quiet, even this late in the evening, and for a while they shared their silence with the car horns and chatter of the city.
"You wanna talk about it?" Dennis asked quietly.
He expected Trinity to tense, to snap at him to mind his own business. Instead her chest heaved and a noise broke from her like it was being ripped away. He tried not to panic as he spotted wet tears run down the cheek he could see.
"No." Trinity's voice sounded hoarse, but it didn't waver.
Dennis said simply, "Then we won't talk about it."
Something in Trinity seemed to break at that. She pulled her arm up, burying her face in her elbow as she cried, curled in on herself. Her shoulders shook but she hardly made any noise, swallowing her sobs silently.
Dennis stood, but before he could take a step a muffled voice asked, "Please don't leave."
He paused. Then he reached to grab the blanket from the back of the couch, before gently laying it around her shoulders. She flinched at the touch but wrapped the soft fabric closer to her body.
He sat back down, legs stretched out, getting comfortable. "I'm not going anywhere."
Dennis felt eyes on him as he shoved his belongings back into his backpack, having just changed back in to street clothes after his shift. He sat down to grab his shoes and saw Dr Abbott step into view, gaze intense. Dennis tried not to panic as he was stared at.
Abbott asked, "Who'd you get for secret Santa?"
That... was not what he thought would come out of his attending's mouth. All he could think to reply with was, "You're not meant to tell people.
Isn't 'secret' in the name?"
Abbott huffed in amusement. "Come on kid, I'm just looking for an honest source of bribery here. Who'd you get?"
Bribery? Why would Abbott need bribery material? Dennis eyed him dubiously before admitting, "Dr Shen."
Abbott's eyes lit up. "Perfect. I'll tell you what to get Shen and then you can tell me what to get Santos."
Ah. Bribery material. Dennis relaxed. "I already know what to get him, so there's really no incentive here."
Abbott scrutinised him for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Dunkin's giftcard?"
"Dunkin's giftcard."
"Damn, this is why I was hoping you had Ellis." The attending leaned against the wall as Dennis finished putting on his shoes. "Look, I'm bad at gifts. Last year I tried to get away with a fifty dollar bill in a greeting card and Dana ripped me a new one. So if you've got any ideas I'd be grateful if you shared them."
Dennis looked up at him. "Why me?"
The look Abbott gave him was one of concern for his mental faculties. "Aren't you two friends? Who live together? You certainly spend your shifts bickering like twins."
"I -." Dennis closed his mouth after it flapped a few times. "Yeah but we're not that close, I don't even know that much about her."
"What's her favourite colour?"
"Blue."
"Favourite musician?"
"Ethel Cain."
"Siblings?"
"Only child."
Abbott raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, you're practically strangers."
Dennis' head rocked a little. He didn't even realise he knew that stuff about her. It's not like they'd ever sat down and talked about it, but he guessed living with someone was kind of like learning through osmosis. Like the way she listened to MUNA on the way to work, and Ethel on the way home. How she didn't really accumulate knicknacks but most artwork or furnishings she had were a deep blue. Or how she'd told him that the only person she'd ever considered like a sibling was a girl she did gymnastics with as kid.
"Um, there's some books I know she wants physical copies of. And she has a record player, I can send you a list of some vinyls she doesn't have yet."
Abbott smiled warmly and clapped him on the shoulder. "You're the best Whittaker."
"No problem."
It was probably a good thing that now Trinity would get something she'd actually want, Dennis thought. She deserved good things.
"Yes, you too. Okay, bye."
Dennis hung up the phone and tried to convince his shoulders to relax. He still had to get ready for work.
"You know, you get all farm-y when you talk to your family."
Dennis looked up with a frown, seeing Trinity eyeing him from the kitchenette as she tore into a new box of cereal. He said, "Farm-y's not a word."
"Doesn't have to be a word, doesn't mean it's not true." She raised an eyebrow as she reached for a bowl, and at his nod she grabbed two before pouring. "You get all Midwestern-with-a-side-of-cow."
"Yeah well, old habits..."
"Who was that anyway, your Mom?" She slid a bowl over to him.
"No." Dennis shovelled cereal in his mouth, hoping that would slow this conversation. "It was my brother."
Trinity seemed to have sensed his tension and didn't ask a follow up question. The moment hung between them, and Dennis found that the fact she hadn't pried actually had his mouth opening to say, "I'm the youngest of five. By a lot, actually. Four older brothers, then I came as surprise about ten years late."
Trinity carefully eyed him over her spoon. "A welcome surprise?"
And fuck, of course that would be the question Trinity would ask. A normal person would have stuck with appropriate small talk. Are they doctors too? Any nieces and nephews? What are their names?
Not Trinity Santos, who wielded her powers of observation like a scalpel. One of the things Dennis had learned very quickly about Trinity was that she saw a lot and said very little. Actually that wasn't true. She would joke about almost everything she saw in people, calling him Huckleberry before he even told her he grew up on a farm. She would spin her observations about banal tells of someone into a jibe, a nickname, a running gag. She had the grace of a battering ram, when it came to mundane aspects of someone's existence.
But the rest of it... The stuff he knew she saw that most others didn't. With patients, with colleagues, with him. That stuff she kept to herself, right up until she decided to pick up her verbal scalpel and make one, decisive cut.
He swallowed, the cereal suddenly feeling thick and heavy in his throat. "No one really plans for a surprise like that."
"Kind of the definition of 'surprise'."
Dennis set his bowl down, suddenly no longer hungry. Trinity mirrored him, although her bowl was empty. She didn't say anything else, and Dennis knew that if he changed the subject, or told her to back off, she would. The realisation startled him. Knowing they'd just go back to normal, bickering about groceries or whose turn it was the clean the bathroom.
That she would accept his lack of discussion without condition.
"I kind of lived separate to them. Still in the same house but..." He frowned to himself, remembering. "They all had lives. Even my parents. They didn't have the savings for an extra mouth, they'd already budgeted it all for their early retirement."
Trinity, in a move that shocked him, clearly bites her tongue, allowing him to continue.
"It wasn't that bad, really. Made me independent. My brother's all left before I started middle school, and my parents left when I turned 18."
Trinity clearly didn't mean to let the question escape her, "When you were still a senior?"
Dennis hummed an agreement. He needed to move, to be useful, to quiet his shaking hands. He grabbed the bowls and started filling up the sink, his back now safely facing her gaze. "They went on a year-long retirement cruise."
"They couldn't have waited, like, another few months?"
"Well they'd already sold the farm, the sale went through faster than they thought, so-"
"Wait, where did you live? If the farm had been sold?"
Dennis shrugged, settling into the rhythm of rinsing the dishes. "My oldest brother, the one I was just on the phone with. He let me crash on his couch until I graduated. Then I went to college. And he's the only one I really still keep in touch with." There were some missing parts to that story, he knew, but he couldn't quite bring himself to discuss them now. He was sure Trinity would sense that as well, but some things were better left said, either never, or at least after several drinks in the 2am liminal darkness.
He set the last spoon in the drying rack, and turned around to dry his hands, pausing when he caught sight of Trinity.
She was gripping the countertop, knuckles white with the pressure, her elbows straight. She stared up at the ceiling, as if it had offended her.
"I'm sorry if I upset you." He offered.
Slowly she released a breath, grip easing off slightly, head dropping between towards her chest. "Fuck, Huckleberry. You shouldn't be apologising to me."
He didn't really know what to say to that, so he just stared at her.
She finally let go of their breakfast bar, straightening up with an angry sigh. She turned as if to leave before immediately spinning back to him. She looked pissed, anger seeping into her limbs. She stomped around the counter towards him and he would have been scared, if it were anyone but her stalking towards him like that. Instead he just stood, unmoving at her approach.
She stopped in front of him. The anger left her eyes and was replaced by a tenderness he'd never seen her wear, at least not so openly. His only conscious thought was relief that there was no pity there.
Suddenly her arms were around him. It took him longer than he should have to realise that Trinity was hugging him. He'd barely brought his own arms up to hug her back, managing only a quick squeeze around her waist before she was pulling away.
She immediately walked away, grabbing her coat from the hook and pulling her shoes on. When he didn't move she glared at him. "Look alive, Huckleberry, we're going to miss the bus."
He stared at her, dumbfounded. "I haven't brushed my teeth yet."
"That's what locker mouthwash is for." At his disgusted expression she laughed, and something he didn't realise was tight in chest eased at the sound. She sighed and said, "Two minutes. Then I'm leaving without you."
Dennis felt himself grinning back at her, a warm confidence spreading through his body. "No you won't."
She rolled her eyes, but smiled back. "No I won't."