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The apartment is dim except for the flicker from the TV. A stupid action movie neither of them is really paying attention to, plays loudly. Trinity has her feet tucked under Dennis’s thigh, stealing his warmth without asking. He has one arm stretched along the back of the couch, fingers picking away pieces of the peeling leather.
“I can't believe you picked this,” she says, eyeing the screen. “This is your taste. Explosions and bad dialogue.”
Dennis snorts. “You cried during a commercial last week. I don’t trust your judgment on quality TV.”
“It was emotional.”
“It was a dog food ad.”
“They looked so happy.”
He turns his head, finally looking at her fully, mouth pulling into that crooked grin. “I am going to tell everyone you are really gushy inside.”
“I will kill you.”
“No you won't. You like living with me.”
“Debatable.”
Dennis gasps, offended, shoving at her ribs. She catches his wrist easily, fingers closing warm and firm.
“Ah ah ah careful,” he murmurs. “I will pack my shit and stay at Robby’s ”
“Whatever, Fuckleberry” she says rolling her eyes.
Then the crash comes from across the hall.
It is loud enough to rattle through the walls. Glass shimmering against something heavy. Trinity’s head snaps toward the door. Dennis is already upright, body going rigid.
Another crash. Then a man’s voice, yelling. Slurred with anger.
Trinity grabs the remote, pauses the movie. The silence inside their apartment makes the noise next door worse. Muffled shouting now. A woman’s voice under it. Pleading. Cut off, with the sound of a hit.
It's the unmistakable sound of skin to skin.
Dennis’s hands curl into fists.
Trinity is already standing.
Another hit. A choked cry.
That is it.
He is moving before they hear anything else. The door swings open hard enough to slam against the wall. Trinity is right behind him, heart already racing, brain catching up.
They hit the hallway. The noise is clearer now. A man shouting, words blurring into threats. A woman crying, small and broken.
Dennis does not knock.
He tries the handle. Locked.
He steps back, eyes dark, jaw set.
“Dennis,” Trinity starts, but she already knows what he has to do.
He drives his shoulder into the door.
It splinters on the second hit.
They burst inside.
The apartment is a mess. Furniture overturned. A lamp shattered on the floor. Vivian, their neighbor, is backed against the wall, arms up, trying to protect her face. The man turns at the noise, eyes wild.
“Get out,” he snaps, then sees who it is fully. “Get out, faggot.”
Dennis does not even react to the word.
He pivots, stepping in, pulling the man’s focus like gravity. His body shifts automatically, placing himself between the man and Trinity without thinking about it.
“Hey,” Dennis says, voice low and dangerous.
Trinity moves when he gives her that opening. He angles his body just enough, guiding her path without looking back. She slips past, dropping to Vivian’s side.
“Hey,” Trinity says, hands gentle as she reaches for her. “Hey, I’ve got you. You’re okay. We’re here.”
Vivian is shaking, eyes unfocused, breath coming in broken gasps.
Behind them, the man lunges.
“Stay away from her,” he shouts.
Dennis catches his arm mid swing. His grip is brutal.
“Don’t you dare fucking touch her,” Dennis says.
The man swings with his other hand. It connects clean with Dennis’s face.
There is a crack.
Dennis’s head snaps to the side. Blood hits the floor.
For a split second everything goes quiet in his head. Pain blooms sharp and immediate.
He does not let go.
He tightens his grip instead, dragging the man’s attention right back to him, keeping him locked in place.
“Oh my god,” Trinitys voice calls, the urgency and concern threading through it.
“I’m good,” he throws back, voice rough, already resetting.
Another punch lands. Then another. Dennis absorbs them, shoulders braced, keeping the man exactly where he wants him. Away from Trinity. Away from Vivian.
“Move,” he says over his shoulder.
Trinity does. She gets Vivian up, one arm around her, guiding her toward the door.
The man tries to twist free, to follow.
Dennis slams him back.
“No,” he growls.
The man swings again. Sloppy now. Angry. Dennis ducks, then drives his fist straight into the man’s face.
The man drops.
Out cold.
Dennis stands there for half a second, chest heaving, blood running from his nose, vision slightly blurred.
Then he turns and runs.
The parking lot air stings against the open wounds on his face. Trinity is already at the car, getting Vivian into the passenger seat.
Dennis reaches them just as she shuts the door.
Trinity turns.
Her eyes lock on his face and sharpen instantly.
“Jesus,” she mutters, stepping in close.
Her hand comes up, fingers firm on his chin. She tilts his head side to side, quick and precise.
“Don’t,” he starts, voice thick.
“Stop talking,” she snaps. “I need to look.”
He lets her.
“It’s broken,” she says after a beat. “Badly.”
She meets his eyes. For a moment the clinical look drops and a vulnerable expression slips in. But just as quickly her mask is back up.
“Farm boy stayed standing,” she says.
He gives a small shrug. “I wasn’t letting him past me.”
Her jaw tightens, then she nods once. “Get in the car.”
The drive to the hospital is fast and tense. Trinity is focused on the road, one hand occasionally reaching over to check Vivian. Dennis leans back in the seat, head tipped slightly, blood drying against his skin.
“You dizzy?” Trinity asks.
“No.”
“Vision?”
“Fine.”
“Liar.”
He huffs a quiet laugh that turns into a wince. “Little blurry.”
“Yeah,” she says. “No shit.”
He turns his head slightly, watching her. “You okay?”
She glances at him, just for a second. “I will be once we get you both there.”
They pull into the ER bay.
The doors slam open, the familiar chaos of the department wrapping around them instantly.
Shen and Abbot are on them before they make it three steps inside.
“Dr. Santos, Dr. Whitaker,” Abbot says, eyes scanning quickly. “What happened?”
Trinity jerks her head back toward the entrance. “Neighbor decided beating his wife was a good use of his evening.”
“Huckleberry showed him otherwise,” she adds.
Abbot’s gaze flicks to Dennis’s face, blood, swelling already setting in. His expression tightens.
Shen steps in closer, already reaching for Dennis.
“Check her,” Dennis says immediately, stepping back.
Shen pauses, reading him for half a second, then nods and pivots to Vivian.
“Trauma bay two,” Shen calls, guiding her away with practiced efficiency.
“I’m going with her,” Trinity says, already moving, then she hesitates, eyes flicking back to Dennis.
Dennis nods once. “Yeah. Go. Keep me updated.”
Her shoulders ease just slightly. “I will.”
Then she is gone.
Abbot steps into Dennis’s space, “Come on. Let’s take care of you, Dr. Whitaker.”
Dennis lets himself be guided into an exam room.
The door shuts behind them, muting the chaos outside.
Abbot gestures to the bed. “Sit.”
Dennis does, finally letting some of the tension drain out of his body. Now that Vivian is safe, for now, and with Trin.
Abbot grabs gloves, tilts Dennis’s head under the light.
“That’s definitely broken," he says. “He did a number on you.”
“I hope he looks worse,” Dennis mutters.
Abbot huffs. “I don’t doubt it.” as he inspects Dennis split knuckles.
He pauses, then looks at Dennis more directly. “You put yourself between him and them.”
Dennis does not answer right away.
Then, simple. “Yeah.”
Abbot nods once, but a flicker of pride shines in his eyes.
“Alright,” he says. “Let’s set that nose.”
Dennis leans back, eyes closing for a brief second before opening again, steady.
“Do it.”