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Frank pulls into his usual parking spot and kills the engine, leaving only the radio playing. He dials Robby again, a compulsion at this point, but unsurprisingly, it goes straight to voicemail. After thirty-four rejections in two hours, you’d think it would sting less, but it doesn’t. That’s okay, Frank’s always been kind of a glutton for punishment. How else would he have survived med school?
He dials again and again, watching the ambulance bay for a glimpse, any hint that he hasn’t completely fucked up the last thing in the world that means something to him. Nothing. He slams his fist on the dashboard. “Goddammit, Robby!”
Perhaps Frank should have anticipated this; the rest of his life has been crumbling for months now, longer if he’s honest. It was only a matter of time until his career took a dive, too. The thing is, it shouldn’t have happened today. He was careful, smart even. He only took the meds that nobody would miss--Louie was never going to take that Librium. He has no desire to quit drinking. He’s an addict.
Frank is just…medicating.
There’s no telling how long Frank’s habit could’ve gone unchecked if not for Dr. Santos. She came in hot with something to prove and locked in on Frank when he checked her ego. It was nothing personal on his end; in fact, he’d only done it to benefit her, because he thought she could be great with a little fine-tuning. He got a similar dressing down in his intern year by Robby—a reminder that cockiness has to be earned— and he respected the man more for it.
That’s what I get for trying to be a good teacher, he thinks bitterly, reaching for the baggy in the center console.
He stares at the pills. Tiny white bars that promise what he’s been seeking his entire life—an ounce of peace. A way to quiet his mind, the voice that sounds suspiciously like his father, telling him what a disappointment he is. Frank fishes two out of the bag, running his thumb over the letters stamped into the side, but pauses when the radio cuts off, a breaking news report filling the cab of his truck.
“…An active shooter at PittFest, authorities are urging citizens to shelter in place until this situation is resolved. There is no information yet on how many are injured, but Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, the nearest hospital, is preparing for a mass casualty event.”
Frank snaps his head up as several vehicles pull into the ambulance bay. It’s absolute chaos unfolding before him, and he has a choice to make: take the pills in his hand and distract himself from the dumpster fire that has become his life, or put his own needs aside and do what he was trained to do.
******
The following months are a blur; they play in Frank’s mind like a highlight reel.
Robby agrees not to turn him in, with stipulations. Frank takes two weeks off from work, ostensibly to care for an ailing aunt. The truth is, he detoxes in the spare bedroom that Robby made him move into when he finally confessed that Abby kicked him out weeks ago. At first, the drug tests and locker searches are daily, but with time, the leash lengthens. When Frank returns to work, Robby runs interference with Santos, insisting Frank give her a wide berth. That’s the easiest stipulation to adhere to, as any interest he had in mentoring her dissipated when she went over his head. Instead, he focuses all his efforts on the one resident who seems to value what he has to teach: Mel King.
From their first case together, he knew she belonged here. She is a breath of fresh air on the stale merry-go-round that is the ED. Mel is kind and empathetic, with a unique ability to connect with even their most difficult patients. She’s by far smarter than even the senior residents, and quick to adapt her knowledge into the emergency setting. At first, Frank was a little shocked that Robby trusted a second-year resident to run a triage zone during a mass casualty incident on her first day, but that had more to do with Robby’s control issues than Mel’s skills.
After that first shift, she carries herself a little taller, more confident. Gone are the wringing hands and the awkward attempts at making friends. The others treat her differently, too. They never walk away when she’s talking. Like Frank, they are eager to hear what she has to say. Frank finds deep satisfaction in being the first to see Mel’s value, before she “proved” herself.
“Dr. Langdon.” Speak of the devil. “The labs are back on our patient from the nursing home complaining of pain. Everything is normal, just a slight vitamin D deficiency.”
Frank’s lips twitch. “I want to make a comment so bad right now, but I’m already in enough trouble with HR.”
Mel knits her brows, clearly not following his line of thinking. “Well, she’s lactose intolerant, so dietary intake is limited. And she lives in a facility…I know I worry about Becca getting enough sunlight…”
Frank smiles fondly. She still doesn’t get his jokes, but he finds it endearing.
They work nearly every case together. It gets so that if one of them walks into a room without the other, their coworkers scan the hall for their shadow. Frank wonders if their easy camaraderie translates off shift, too. And, well, there’s only one way to find out.
“Hey, Mel,” he jogs to catch up as she heads for the bus stop after a particularly grizzly day.
“Is everything okay, Dr. Langdon? Did I forget something with a patient?”
He raises his hands, soothing her panic. “Everything’s fine, Mel, I was just going to offer you a ride. Maybe…get a bite to eat?”
She looks startled, literally taken aback. “I, uh, with me? ” She squeaks a little on the last word, which only causes Frank to grin wider.
“Yeah, with you. I mean, we’re friends, right?”
Mel’s mouth opens and closes a few times before she gives up and nods, following him to his truck. They go to a nearby diner, where they sit for hours talking about interesting cases and her time at the VA. She asks about his kids and coos happily at the pictures he shares, and she tells him all about her sister, Becca. Conversation flows easily between them, even easier than it ever did with Abby, and Frank finds he doesn’t want the night to end.
It becomes their thing. Every day at the end of the shift, they meet at the lockers, and by silent agreement, they get dinner, and Frank drives Mel home. Sometimes they sit at the diner, sometimes they get takeout and sit in the park, but Frank’s favorite is when Mel cooks for him at her place. He’s careful not to tell her that, because he knows how tired she is after a twelve-plus-hour day, but he thinks she knows. At least once or twice a week, when he asks where she wants to go, “my treat,” she’ll smile that sweet, shy smile that he loves so much and say, “Take me home, Frank. I’ll make something special tonight.”
Mel is a fabulous cook. He knows it’s not fair to keep comparing her to his ex-wife, and it’s not that Abby wasn’t good, but Mel prepares meals like she’s writing a love letter. She pours her heart and soul into even the simplest dishes, and Frank doesn’t think it’s too dramatic to say each bite makes him want to weep. He would encourage her to open a restaurant and share her gift with the world, but he’s always been more than a little selfish. Plus, he doesn’t think he could get through a shift at the pit without her now.
Tonight, she made his favorite, pappardelle bolognese. “You say that about everything I make,” she giggles.
Frank watches her take a dainty bite, his gaze stuck momentarily on the way her tongue brushes against the fork. “That’s because they’re all my favorite when they’re made by you.” His voice is huskier than he intends, but it gives him great pleasure to watch the blush dust her cheeks, extending down her neck and disappearing beneath the collar of her shirt.
“Frank.”
She feels it too, he can tell. There’s been a shift in their relationship. It’s no longer just friendship. (Was it ever?) He reaches up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering on her jaw. Slowly, so slow she can stop him if she wants, he leans in.
The kiss is like…coming home after a long journey. Like every question he ever had has been answered. It’s better than any high he’s ever chased, and he can’t believe he ever settled for pills when he could have had this. (Not to compare again, but he never heard angels sighing when he kissed Abby.) Mel lets out a little moan as she deepens it, her teeth scraping against his lower lip. She tastes like pasta and red wine and just a little bit of heaven, and he never wants to stop.
He does, though. He always regretted rushing into bed with Abby; they never got the chance to really know each other before they were living together, and before they knew it, they were parents and walking down the aisle because that was the logical next step. Mel deserves more than that. She deserves to be properly courted, to be adored, and to never question if he only proposed because the stick turned blue (a question Abby frequently asked and Frank couldn’t answer). Besides, if this kiss is anything to go off of, Mel is it for him, so he’s in no hurry. They have the rest of their lives.
“I want to take you to dinner,” he says against her lips when he finally gathers the strength to break the kiss.
“We go to dinner all the time,” Mel looks pointedly at the fork still in his hand, the bite he was about to take having long ago dropped back onto his plate.
Frank chuckles. “I mean a proper date. Where I wear nice clothes and buy you flowers and walk you to your door.”
Mel smiles, “I’d like that.”
So, they take it slow. He takes her on a date, and then another, and another. Frank keeps his promise to be patient, letting Mel set the pace and ending every date with a tender kiss and a cold shower. Until one evening, instead of allowing him to break the kiss, Mel grasps the lapels of his jacket and pulls him backwards over the threshold.
They make love for hours. He makes her come three times with his hands and mouth before they join, their shared orgasm shuddering through them. “I didn’t know it could be like this,” Mel says when she finally catches her breath, head on his chest.
“Neither did I,” Frank confesses, drawing nonsensical patterns along her back. She lifts her head, giving him a curious look. He was married before, surely he’s experienced this? “It was never like this with her,” he clarifies. “I loved her, but not like this.”
Mel makes a noise in her throat, leaning up to kiss him again.
“You need to tell her,” Robby insists when Frank finally stumbles home for a change of clothes the next day. It’s the same conversation they’ve had again and again.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Mel’s a good person,” Robby insists. “She’s not going to leave you because you were addicted–”
“I wasn’t addicted,” he snaps.
“What will make her leave,” Robby continues on as if Frank didn’t interrupt. “Is finding out you lied to her.”
“Look, you don’t know her like I do, okay? What we have…we’re solid.”
Robby shakes his head, the same frustrated look he gets with overbearing Doctor Google parents. “Nobody likes being lied to, Frank.”
Frank takes a patient breath, turning to his mentor. “Robby, I’m so thankful for everything you’ve done for me, truly. I wouldn’t have gotten through this last year without you; I wouldn’t have a job if you hadn’t trusted that I had things handled. Please trust me now.”
After several long seconds of staring, Robby concedes.
Trinity Santos is a different story.
From the moment Frank came back from his forced vacation, she’s made her distrust clear to anyone who will listen. Luckily for Frank, his reputation is strong enough to endure squawking from an abrasive intern with a grudge. He doesn’t care what she says to Garcia or Mohan or Collins. What he will not stand for, though, is how relentless she is in her pursuit of Mel. Every chance she gets, she tries to separate them, to convince Mel not to trust him.
“What did she say to you?”
Mel cocks her head, taking in Frank’s appearance. He realizes he looks a little crazy, hovering too close, arms crossed and shifting from foot to foot, but he can’t help it. “Dr. Santos? She was just asking for a consultation on her patient. She has a rash she’d never seen before, but I told her it looked just like the one Flynn had the day of PittFest, remember?”
“So it was just case-related,” Frank says with too much desperation in his voice. “Nothing about…anything else?”
She reaches for his bicep, expression drawn into one of deep concern. “Frank, honey, what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he bites, mentally kicking himself when she recoils in response. “I’m sorry, baby, it's just…I don’t trust her. She’s too much of a loose cannon. The ER is no place for know-it-all cowboys.” Mel raises her eyebrows, giving him a pointed look. “That’s different,” he protests. “I didn’t start out this way; I earned my place. She’s barely a second year.”
Mel chuckles, a sound that loosens the knot that has been growing ever since he saw Santos pull Mel into the room. “Well, babe, I don’t think she’s going anywhere, and she’s a really good doctor, so it’d be more productive for you to teach her.” Frank’s scowl returns. “You’ve been a great teacher to me.”
“You walked in the door this way,” he mumbles, reaching for her hips to draw her closer. They are usually careful to keep things professional at work, but Frank needs the reassurance right now. Mel is his. She loves him, and nothing Santos says can change that. It works for a few moments, until he sees the devil herself watching them from the other side of the glass.
“Frank, I’m worried about you.” Mel looks scared, vulnerable. So much like she did that first day when she thought she screwed up the crike, or when that little boy accidentally ingested the pot gummies and it looked like the family was going to be torn apart. It’s been a few weeks, and Santos has found every opportunity to weasel her way between Mel and Frank. Today alone, she pulled Mel into five cases without Frank. “You’re not sleeping, you’re not eating, you’re always on edge.” She reaches for his arm, but he pulls away.
Fucking Santos. She couldn’t leave well enough alone, and Frank is going to lose the best thing in his life because of it. “She got to you,” he accuses.
“What are you talking about?”
“I told you not to listen to any of the shit she said. Santos has had it out for me from day one. All because I called her on her shit, and now she’s trying to turn you against me.”
Mel steps toward him slowly, hands raised like she’s approaching a wild animal. “Honey, this has nothing to do with Trinity. Okay?” She places a hand on each cheek, forcing him to meet her eyes. “You’re not yourself, Frank. I don’t know what’s going on, but I just want to help you.”
He searches her eyes and only sees love. This is it, he thinks. He’s been carrying the ring around for months. It’s now or never. He’ll lose her forever otherwise. He squeezes her hands before placing them back at her sides. “Stay right here.”
She makes a noise of protest, but stays in place. Frank dashes to the foyer where his backpack hangs, opening the inner pocket to dig through it. At the bottom, he finds the baggy he’s looking for, the shining diamond nestled among the tiny white tablets. He fishes it out and blows the dust off it, crossing the room again to kneel in front of Mel.
“Frank,” she says, voice tinted with fear.
“Melissa King,” he starts shakily. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You’re my only light in this dark, dark world, I–”
“Frank, baby, stop.”
“Let me finish, sweetheart. I need,” he swallows back the stubborn tears. “I need you, I can’t…I can’t do this life without you. Y-you can’t listen to whatever Santos or Robby or anyone else says. It’s you and me, baby. Forever. Please, please say you’ll marry me.”
Mel swallows, her face filled with regret. “Frank-”
******
“Clear!”
“Asystole.”
“What the fuck did he take?”
“There was a bag on the floorboard, a couple of Xanax left in it.”
“Fucking Christ, Langdon,” Robby mutters, resuming compressions. The phone calls stopped, and he was relieved. He thought the kid gave up and went home to sober up. If he’d have known…well, he’d rather go back in time and answer the damn phone than this. “Another round of epi.”
“I’ll call Abby,” Dana says, leveling a look at Robby when he opens his mouth to protest. If they’re not successful here, she deserves the chance to say goodbye while his heart’s still beating. Even if artificially.
It feels like hours, though Robby knows it’s not because the ACLS algorithm is seared into his brain. Two doses, one shock, that’s six minutes. Dana returns with Whitaker, who, to his credit, only looks mildly traumatized when he waves Robby away, beginning his umpteenth round of chest compressions on his very first day. If Langdon doesn’t make it (and even if he does), Robby has a feeling the kid is going to be on the first bus back to Nebraska.
“Robby,” Dana says gently, guiding him out of the room. He follows, reluctantly, eyes never leaving the controlled chaos in Trauma Three. “Abby’s not coming.”
That gets his attention. “What?”
“She says she kicked him out. Two months ago, Robby,” she says with a hint of desperation. Despair. “Filed for divorce, she’s goin’ for full custody.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“How did we not see this?”
Robby opens his mouth, to say what, he’s not sure, but he’s interrupted by Mel coming out of a patient room. “Hey, is everything okay? Is there a trauma?” She cranes her neck to see in the room, hands going still mid-sanitization. “Is that–” she stumbles, Robby and Dana reaching out to catch her. “Oh my God.”
Santos slips out, gently ushering Mel toward the family room. Robby watches the women walk away, Santos calmly presenting the case as if Frank were a family member, not the senior resident she’d spent all of ten hours learning alongside. He had hoped Mel’s sensitivity wouldn’t be her downfall; she showed a lot of promise early in the shift, but seemed to flounder once Langdon was no longer around to latch onto.
Before Robby can turn back to the trauma room, the ambulance bay doors open, and in walk Jake and Leah, fresh from PittFest. “Robby, hey, I wanted you to officially meet–” he stops short at the older man’s look. “What, what is it?”
“Stop compressions.”
“He has a rhythm, v-fib.”
“We can shock that,” Whitaker says, too much hope in his voice.
“Clear!”