Chapter Text
Before he scrambles downstairs, Frank finds a room with a view.
If he thought at any point that he would be whisking Mel King up to the abandoned wing with ease, it’s quickly overridden by reality.
“There he is,” Jack looks up from the patient in Trauma 2 as Frank scrubs in. “We’ve got an MTP going here.”
“I’m sorry about that, I—” Was upstairs, trying my best to stake out a room in the abandoned wing so I can drag my secret girlfriend up there? So I can fuck her? You know, while we’re at work? Which is insane of me, I know, but the abandoned wing was her idea. It’s Mel King, by the way, do you know her? And sure, maybe I still have a problem with adrenaline-seeking behaviors, but of all the things, am I not allowed this one little— “What else’ve we got?”
“Triad,” Mateo says, passing by Frank in a blur.
“Jesus,” he responds.
The patient survives, though her long-term prognosis is unclear. Abbot asks everyone to take ten, but leans closer to Frank and Whitaker, asking them both to take thirty. He says something about them being out of here soon. If it was a million-dollar-question, Frank couldn’t tell you exactly what he said, but it was something like that.
It’s a gargantuan effort to shut his brain and body down at the same time, the way he needs to, the way he knows he can. Frank doesn’t remember walking to the ambulance bay— it’s as if he floated there with his eyes closed. He barely registers that Whitaker is standing there with him until the other doctor speaks.
“Fucking hell,” Dennis mumbles. “That guy, the guy— her fiancé.”
“Yeah,” he nods. “That was rough.”
If he’s honest with himself, he’s seen worse. He’s seen worse and there will be worse. It’s the nature of their job, always has been. Seeing the families is always harder. The patient’s fiancé had to be removed from the ED floor and accompanied to the family room because of his wailing and shouting. It was loud; it was human.
It wasn’t the guy’s fault, they all knew that, but it was too distracting and painful to endure while they worked. He didn’t need to see the person he imagined a future with— and what was that future going to be now?— in the state that she was in.
And there’s something else, something Frank’s toiling over in his mind, something that scares him. It’s a quiet rupture, blooming like a bruise under his skin. He fidgets with his stethoscope.
“I never say this, but I need a drink,” Dennis winces as soon as the words leave his mouth. “S-Sorry, Doctor Langdon, I— I wasn’t thinking—”
“You’re good,” Frank says, shaking his head. “I get it. Hard to shake it off sometimes.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
They stand there in silence for a few minutes and Frank’s surprised it’s a comfortable one.
“I’m gonna head back in,” Whitaker says, leaving before Frank acknowledges it.
His brain still feels like it’s been dunked in murky water.
He pulls his phone out.
Hey
It feels ridiculous to send that to Mel, given the context of their other messages.
Hey. I just heard… I can’t leave my patient right now, I’m sorry. Tell me what you need.
It’s okay, Mel
Message me when you can
I love you, he wants to say, but he can’t say that for the first time over text.
The ellipses appear, then disappear.
Tell me the room number.
I’ll meet you there in 5.
Let me help you feel better.
Frank stops at the hub. He wants to cover his bases, at least a little.
“Hey, Lena. I miss the changing of the guard already?”
“Hey, Blue Eyes. You did. Can I help you with something?” she asks, shuffling paperwork.
“If you see Abbot can you just tell him I’m taking a walk?” He glances at the board. “Unless you really need me—“
Lena follows his eyes. “We’re looking good right now. I’ll let him know.” She turns to face him. “Hopefully you’re out of here soon.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
“I’ll add it to your tab.”
Frank takes the stairs. He lingers outside of the heavy door to the abandoned wing, listening for anyone that may cross his path, and continues as soon as it falls silent. He eases the door shut, muffling the sound of it clicking into place.
The chances of someone coming up here are low, but they’re not zero, and Frank isn’t sure he can mentally withstand an interruption. He sweeps his eyes around the hallway, spots an empty waste bin, and kicks it in front of the door.
That stairwell, he reasons, gets more traffic than the other one. He also plainly doesn’t have much time to waste doing it at the other end of the hallway.
He just wants to see Mel.
When he gets to the room, he gives a cursory glance up and down the hallway before opening the door with a small knock. Mel is standing by the windows, looking out at the twinkling city lights, and jumps a little. She wrings her hands, mumbling an apology.
“Hey, no, I— I should’ve texted you. Said I was nearby,” he shuts the door. “Sorry for spooking you.”
“It’s okay,” she says, voice soft. “You know, I’ve never been up here.”
“Really?” He asks. “It’s been a while for me. Years ago, we’d take naps up here on long shifts.” He runs a hand through his hair and peels his stethoscope from around his neck, tossing it onto the nearby bed. “Listen, Mel. I’m— I’m sorry. Can’t turn my brain off. It wasn’t even the patient’s condition, if I’m being honest, it was her—”
“I know. It’s okay,” she repeats, stepping toward him, and that’s all it takes before he’s pulling her into a crushing hug. He kisses her hair, closing his eyes, and breathes in the scent of her lavender shampoo. The bottle she keeps at his place says Calming and Crisp, and yeah, that’s about right.
Her arms come around him, tight, and her hands rest up on his shoulder blades. He’s always felt weak about the way they fit together so perfectly, but now Frank feels stupid.
He feels stupid because this is a very unsexy interlude. This was not what he advertised.
“Tell me what you need,” Mel says, and he feels her words pressed into his sternum, almost more than he hears them. He wants to keep her words tucked away behind his ribcage, carved into the bone; a barely-worthy dedication to the only person who’s ever really asked him that in earnest.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He admits, trying and failing to ignore how hollowed out he feels when he says it. “Ever.”
Mel pulls back to look up at him. “Lots of things are going to happen to me.”
Cute. She’s so fucking cute.
He manages to crack a smile. “Yeah, Mel, I know that. But I think if something bad happened to you— I just—” His breath hitches. “Actually, I don’t want to keep talking about it. My brain feels like a fucking wasps’ nest.”
Mel moves to hold his face between her hands, brushing the soft pads of her thumbs over his cheekbones, then the arch of his browline. He closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. He should ask her to do this more.
“We need to lower your cortisol,” Mel says, reaching up into his hair. She drags her short nails lightly across his scalp and he hums, happy, not at all fearful at the realization he doesn’t want to imagine life without her. That maybe he can’t, and he should have said something about that sooner, in case it’s too much. He already checks the divorced and addict boxes for her, does she really deserve pathetic and needy?
“Don’t I know it,” he laughs, opening his eyes. “Feels nice.” He moves his hands to her hips. He already feels more grounded.
“How much caffeine did you have today?”
He makes a face like he’s doing the math. “Same as I always do. Too much.”
Mel frowns.
“In my flimsy defense, I have also spent half of this day horny and on the precipice of fucking madness about it, Mel.”
“Oxytocin, dopamine, prolactin, norepinephrine— um, I think increased vasopressin— serotonin—”
“Are you— Mel, are you listing off neurotransmitters and hormones associated with arousal?”
“And orgasm. Since you—”
“Please never change.” He leans down to kiss her forehead.
“It could help,” she says, moving her hands down to Frank’s shoulders, along his arms and to his hands at her hips. She squeezes his hands. “To reduce the cortisol flood you must be feeling. When we go through the hard traumas here, it’s important we don’t remain too dysregulated—”
“Why, you wanna co-regulate a little?” He raises her chin up with his fingers.
“Of course I do. I love you.”
He moves his mouth, open and shut, unable to find a single word. The gloating big talker that Frank Langdon is, and not a single fucking word.
“Is that— Frank, is that okay? That I said that—oh!“
Frank imagines if they were anywhere else, and not on the borrowed time of ‘a quick break’ in an emergency department, that maybe this wouldn’t turn into such a blur as he moves her across the room. That if he wasn’t such a fucking weird person, suddenly feeling hornier and outright needier than he’s felt all day, he might slow it down. He should slow it down, he realizes, just before Mel’s thighs find resistance against the wide ledge that juts out from the windows.
“What’re you—“ Mel doesn’t finish, because now he’s kissing her quiet. She parts her lips and he groans, licking into her mouth, against her tongue. He feels her melt into the kiss, breathing hard into his mouth, and they both laugh when their teeth bump. Apologies get uttered, lost between gulps of air.
Before long he drags his mouth down along her jaw, to the slope of her neck. “I love you, too,” he breathes along her skin, licking the patch of skin underneath her ear, making her gasp. “God, of course I love you, too, Mel.”
“I didn’t— I didn’t know if saying that was going to ‘kill the mood’—” she says that phrase like she just learned it, “—um, or something.”
He pulls away and stares at her. Mel touches the side of his face, looking at him like he’s something delicate. He has to remind himself to breathe; in, out.
“One of the things I read was that some people are not, um, turned on by proclamations of love?”
He’s not going to be able to sleep tonight. He needs to know when she’s researching this shit. He wants to sit across from her and watch her comb over articles and online forums, pursing her lips while some random guy online says what assuredly will arouse a partner or not. Does she keep a spreadsheet? A bullet list? What are her sexting annotations like, and can he memorize them? Is she open to comments? Suggestions from the source? Peer-reviewing?
“Yeah, well, I am not one of them,” Frank laughs, kissing her again and moving her hand from his face to the aching bulge in his scrubs. “No issues with that here.”
“I see,” Mel says, taking in his words and rubbing at his hard-on, pulling a heavy breath out of his throat. She drops her eyes and from here, backlit by the city at night, she looks fucking ethereal. She is going to kill him.
“Hang on, sweetheart,” he breaks away from her, hating himself for it, but he moves quickly to grab a blanket from the bed. He pauses, looking back at her, then the floor, and grabs a pillow. “Here,” he lays the blanket flat on the ledge. “And, uh—” He drops the pillow on the floor.
“What’s—” Mel is pointing at the pillow.
He drags his hands down his face, which feels like it’s burning, and laughs. “My fucking knees. It’s for my knees. And I guess my back.”
“Oh,” Mel says, nodding slowly. “That’s a good idea.”
“Haven’t completely lost my touch then?”
“No,” Mel laughs.
“Listen,” Frank says, coming back to stand in front of her, grabbing her hips and pulling her against him. She makes a quiet, breathy sound as soon as his erection presses against her belly. “I want nothing more than to take as much time as possible with you, but we might have to—”
“It won’t, um, it won’t take long,” she looks away, blushing. “Again, I guess.”
“Look at me, sweetheart,” he says, dragging his thumbs along the waistline of her scrubs, finding and making quick work of the drawstring. “What won’t take long?”
“I-If you are going down on me,” she meets his eyes. “It won’t take me long to come.”
His cock throbs at the thought that Mel has been on the edge all goddamn day. That it’s not just him— that she’s probably drenching another pair of underwear. He has two pockets in his coat, he wants to remind her, but now he’s distracting himself.
“I think I could still get you to beg,” he leans down to kiss her. She moans against his lips and he grins against hers. “If you still want that.”
“I do,” she breathes, watching his face as he drops down onto his knees.
Oh, he likes being down here. For a brief moment, he tries to recall the layout of each of their apartments— he tries to calculate the height of every piece of furniture. Maybe the breakfast table in his place— the arm of her couch—
Jesus. Back to the fucking task at hand, Frank.
“How fast can you get your shoes— o-kay,” Frank laughs, unable to finish his question because Mel’s already kicked her sneakers off. “Thank you, Doctor King.” He adjusts the position of the pillow and looks up expectantly at Mel. “You okay?”
She gestures at the windows. “Are people— um, able to—“
“No,” he answers, curling his fingers under the waistline of her pants as he drags them downward.
To his immense fucking delight, Mel’s impatient enough to push her panties down for him, and he helps her step out of her clothes. Again, he really likes being where he is. She’s so wet that he can smell her, and for once, he’s thrilled about the sterile environment of where they are. For so long he’d felt something like a celibate monk when he walked into this building, believing there couldn’t possibly be an unsexier place than a hospital— well, this day has permanently altered that. Mel has permanently altered that.
It remains to be seen if it becomes a problem, but he’s had worse problems, right?
“Sit back,” he points with his chin and she does, adjusting on the blanket he’d set down. “Fuck,” he groans, pushing her knees apart, just like she said she likes. A good teacher listens well. “Look at you, Mel.”
The room is dimly lit, but he can easily see the shiny, swollen evidence of how much she needs this. He brushes his fingertips through her curls, careful— and a little cruel, maybe— to avoid where she’ll want them the most. He does it again, spreading the wet slick up and around. She makes a whining, rough sound.
“Can— can I take my top off?” Mel asks, and Frank wants to cry a little, because he did not prepare himself mentally for Mel wanting to get fully fucking naked while they’re up here.
“Jesus, Mel. Of course,” he nods, choosing to ignore how hoarse he sounds.
“Can you do it, too?”
He takes his scrub top and t-shirt off in one motion, throwing them god-knows-where. Mel follows in kind, pausing halfway to include her sports bra, and her stethoscope clatters to the ground. She almost sits up from the ledge, mumbling an apology, and Frank laughs, holding her where she is by her thighs.
“Leave it, baby,” he teases her clit with a featherlight touch of his thumb while he hooks one of her legs over his shoulder.
Mel gasps and the hinge of her knee grips his shoulder, so he teases her again, holding her other thigh spread apart. His cock is straining at the sight of her. He has never in his life been more thankful for already rubbing one out— a tried and true method, for what it’s worth— he might not embarrass himself because of it.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he rests his cheek against her leg and looks up, hungrily admiring the rise and fall of her bare chest. “I like being down here on my knees for you. Do you like this?”
“Yes,” she answers, looking flustered. “I just—oh, Frank,” she moans. “Y-Yes—“
He’s spreading her cunt open now, with slow drags of his fingers, watching intently as her body responds. Since they’ve been together, he’s charted her body with the utmost dedication, intent to study exactly what gets Melissa King going. He’s since learned that Mel loves when he teases around her opening, that she can barely control the desperate roll of her hips when he does, that if he does it enough she gets outright fucking bratty in a way that makes his dick jump.
As if on cue, “Frank—“
He hesitates, moving his hand away, watching her face. Her brows knit together, adorably, so he kisses her inner thigh.
“Aren’t you gonna beg for it, Mel?”
“Please, Frank,” she says. “I— I want it so much.”
“That’s my girl,” he says, gliding the flat of his tongue up through the wet mess of her, groaning while he does. Frank Langdon would live with his face between Mel King’s legs if she let him. If they had the time. He swirls her clit with his tongue, rolling his eyes back and savoring the taste, still just ghosting his fingertips along where he wants to fuck her.
She wasn’t wrong, he can tell she’s close, but she tugs at his hair, murmuring. “Frank, wait— s-stop—”
He begrudgingly —there’s no need to lie to himself— but obediently stops. “You okay, Mel?”
“Mm,” she nods, looking absolutely wrecked as she leans back on her palms. Jesus, she’s a fucking vision. “I just—”
“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he tries to encourage her. Yeah, she’s shy about it, but that actually makes his dick harder, so—
“I don’t want to come unless it’s on your cock. Please.”
“Fuck, okay,” he laughs, then scrambles to his feet like an uncoordinated idiot. His grey matter is probably just a fucking grey puree at this point, but he has the forethought to grab the pillow off of the floor. “Hey, up,” he instructs, and Mel helps him settle it under her ass. That gives him a much, much better angle.
He should get a taller bed frame, he thinks, tugging at his drawstring, accidentally making an extra knot. “Shit, sorry—”
“Take your time,” she says, running her hands from his happy trail to his chest, leaving goosebumps under her fingertips.
“Jesus, Mel, I wish I could. This fucking thing—” he grunts, finally untying the knot. He looks up at her just as she pulls her braid loose, shaking her hair out over her shoulders. “Fuck me.”
“I’m trying to?”
“I love you,” he laughs, stepping closer, hoping to something that he doesn’t trip, fall, and die as his pants and briefs drop to his ankles. “I love you and I’m fucking obsessed with you, did you know that?”
“I love you,” Mel whispers and reaches for his hips, staring eagerly between them— completely inflating his ego to levels that shouldn’t be allowed. She makes it difficult to be humble.
“Mm, I know what else you love.” He gets to gloat about this, because it’s one thing he’s had enough feedback to be certain about, but he needs to hear it. The head of his cock is already angry, red, and leaking when Frank swipes it against Mel’s wet heat. “You texted it to me earlier, baby. I wanna hear you say it.”
“Ah!—” she whimpers at the contact, and it sounds too perfect for him to not make her do that again. “A-Ah, oh,” she squeezes her eyes shut, digging her fingernails into the skin at his hips. He hopes she leaves ten little marks in his skin. “I—I love your cock.”
“That’s it, baby,” he leans forward to kiss her forehead. “You’re so good. Look at me,” he whispers. “Please, sweetheart.”
When she blinks up at him, he eases himself into her with a loud, low moan. Mel’s head lolls back and she bites down hard on her lower lip, and god, that is impossibly hot. Frank tries his best to go slow, to give her a chance to stretch over the wide girth of his cock, all while feeling dizzy from how tight she is. He waits like a goddamn saint until she tugs at his hips to bottom out.
Mel makes this fucking whining keen that nearly does him in, so he drops one hand onto her hip, and cradles her face with his other hand, as if focusing on grabbing her all over will stop him from finishing too soon. He murmurs her name, struggling to find a rhythm that won’t ruin his chances. He tries not to get lost staring at the filthy bounce of her tits, because that won’t help him, either.
She then does a series of things that Frank Langdon will later think makes Mel King a little fucking evil, because surely she knows he’s trying not to bust too soon—
“More, I need—” she rasps, dropping her hand between them, fumbling for her own clit in sloppy, fast circles. It’s not that she hasn’t done this before— it’s not that he doesn’t fucking love watching it— but then she grabs the hand he’s got cupped around her face.
Then Mel King pushes his thumb right into her open mouth, closing her lips tight over his skin, sucking hard with a muffled sound.
He doesn’t want to know what face he makes and he hopes she never tells him.
“Jesus, Mel, fuck—” Frank Langdon might die tonight. “You just wanna be full of me, huh?” He asks, pressing down on her roving tongue with his thumb, thrusting as hard as he can.
It’s the right question to ask, because he can feel her tighten and pulse around him as she comes. Mel moans around his thumb, loud— probably too loud. She’s fucking perfect.
Frank watches her face, trying to focus on the way more of his hair feels like it’s sticking to his forehead as he rocks into her. He uselessly tenses the muscles in his abdomen, well aware he’s fighting a losing battle.
Mel releases his thumb with a soft pop of her lips. It’s fucking unbearable.
“Kiss me, Frank. K-Kiss me when you come.”
He crashes his lips into hers, murmuring her name while she clutches his hips impossibly harder. Heat licks its way from the heavy weight of his groin, right into his belly, and he comes with a choked sob. Mel seems eager to swallow it down, licking into his mouth, even along his teeth.
“F-Fuck,” his voice is deep and gravelly when he drops his head onto her shoulder. He tries to steady his palms on the ledge beside her thighs. “Mel. Baby.”
“Love you,” she tenderly kisses the top of his shoulder, then his neck. “Love you.”
He doesn’t want to pull out, or away, or scramble around for their clothes, but he knows they have to. He knows this was a fucking crazy thing to do in the first place, but here they are, and they need to get moving.
“I love you so much, Melissa King,” he moves to give her a chaste kiss, then lingers along the side of her mouth. “But we just had sex on the clock— good fucking sex, baby, you are unreal— and uh—”
“Be careful, your pants are still around your ankles.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, bending down to sort himself out, feeling a little lightheaded when he straightens up.
“You’re very sexy,” Mel says.
“Thank you,” he laughs, a little startled by how her saying that makes him feel, like some bashful teenager who didn’t just fuck her. Near a window, for Christ’s sake. “But holy shit, Mel. I mean it when I say I’m obsessed with you. You’re beautiful, just— just fucking perfect.” He fumbles for his phone in his pocket to check the time, a little shocked they haven’t ruined their careers entirely by his estimate. So far. “I mean, seriously, Mel. I wish I could take a photo of you.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Fuck, uh—“ Frank almost drops his phone. “Okay. Jesus.”
He’s a desperate freak, so he winds up snapping a few photos of her, and— dear fucking god— of the mess he made of her pussy. Mel even lets him push his thumb into her mouth again for a photo. He has definitely died and this is the afterlife he was for certain he wasn’t deserving of.
Frank doesn’t expect her to let him be so greedy about it, and promises her that he’ll let her do the same if she ever wants to. This seems to satisfy her and she goes quiet, looking a little like she’s planning it in her head, which breaks his brain a little. She then walks him through how to hide photos on his phone, and why the hell does she know that? Had she gotten to that part in the sexting research?
He sheepishly asks if she wants him to hide every photo he has of her because the MK album is getting larger by the week, but she tells him no, just the dirty ones. He imagines telling himself a year ago that he’d have dirty photos of Mel King on his phone and has to swallow down a bewildered laugh.
They part ways with a kiss in the abandoned wing’s hallway while Mel is redoing her braid. Frank takes the stairs and Mel takes the elevator. He tells her to text him after she’s down there for a minute, as if getting onto the ED floor at a different time could make this look less suspicious. As if Princess hasn’t already sent out a mass text to everyone on the payroll.
Mel’s the one that reassures him they both have hospital-issued phones that would have been called if they were absolutely needed. Frank also knows by now that Jack Abbot has a frightening way of materializing out of the dark, like a fucking poltergeist, or something.
He checks his phone as he reaches the stairwell landing above the ED.
Hello :)
Everything good, sweetheart?
I think so. No one has even asked where I was. We have more empty rooms than not.
Lucky
The luckiest.
you have no idea, Mel
Love you.
I love you!
For the fourth time, Frank is splashing water over his face in the bathroom. This time he even tries washing it a little, because if one thing will give him the fuck away, it’ll be a face covered in Mel King. Regrettably, he thinks about her messages earlier— about smelling her on his skin— and feels unhelpfully bitter that all he can smell now is antibacterial soap.
The thought makes its way to his groin, and he slaps his face in the mirror to chase it away.
They’re almost out of here. Down, boy, and whatnot.
He runs into Parker Ellis in the hallway. She’s carrying a Dunkin tray with four coffees. Frank raises his eyebrows.
“Don’t even,” she shakes her head. “Peace offerings to my other half in my lavender work-marriage. Gratitude. Apologies. I’m never late, Langdon, and today I am late-late.”
“Yeah, you’re usually early,” Frank laughs. “Everything okay?”
Parker shifts on her feet and cocks her head to the side. She looks around conspiratorily. “You want the real reason or the safe-for-work reason?”
“Hit me.”
“Yesterday was my lady and I’s anniversary and I did not take enough time off of work. Late start to my day and a lot of regret about my schedule.”
“Understandable. Oh, and Congrats,” he says, grinning. “You know, maybe we can switch some shifts around.”
“Shit. That’s— that’s nice of you to offer. I think I might take you up on that. You know, Doctor King has done a number on you.”
“Wh-What?”
She narrows her eyes. “I see. Interesting. Noted, Doctor Langdon.”
“Hang on,” he steps closer, fastening his hands around his stethoscope, letting his elbows hang. He lowers his voice. “Is it, like, obvious, or something?”
“Oh my god. Ohhh my god.” She starts laughing and walking, calling over her shoulder as she disappears around the corner, “You just made me fifty bucks.”
Not great.
And fifty bucks seems low, he thinks.
“Walk with me,” Jack says, after relieving Frank and the other day shift cadets of their duties.
Frank looks back at Mel, but she’s already headed toward the lockers.
“Uh, sure,” he follows Jack to the coffee machine by Pedes. “Hey, if I took too long of a break or something, I—”
“Huh? What? No,” Jack swats his hand through the air before crossing his arms. “You’re all set, Doctor. I told you to take the break. You look better, much less like the living dead when I got here.”
Frank nods, ignoring the needling voice that wants him to make some crass joke and give it all away. He’s losing it a little. He needs to get the fuck out of here.
“You’re off tomorrow.”
This… isn’t what Frank expects. “I’m sorry?” For a moment, he can’t help the sinking feeling he’s done something wrong. The last time an Attending told him not to come in—
“It was the only way I could convince Doctor King to take the day. Remember I said the schedule’s getting dicey this week? Well, I’m giving you tomorrow, but I’m gonna need you, and her, on some nights.”
“Um— I mean, yeah, sure, whatever you need, it’s just that—”
Jack laughs. “You’re welcome?”
“Thank you, yes, it’s— it’s just—”
“Dude. Go home with your girlfriend.”
“She’s—”
“Probably waiting for you. Just go. Stop thinking. You’re starting to look like you need a gurney again and I don’t wanna deal with it.”
“Does everyone know?”
“Probably not everyone. Shen doesn’t notice shit.”
“Robby—”
“Isn’t one to talk.” Jack’s face reddens. “Nor am I.”
Oh. So he and Mel weren’t crazy, about how Abbot and Mohan were acting at the New Year’s Eve party— Frank can’t wait to tell her. He will not, however, be making fifty bucks.
“Well, fuck,” Frank laughs. “I should get going, I guess.”
“I’ll let you know about the schedule when I feel like looking too long at a screen with Lena.”
When Frank makes it to the lockers, Mel is waiting for him. She’s changed out of her scrubs into a hoodie and jeans and it takes every bit of inner strength not to reach out and touch her, because he knows that hoodie, and it’s one of the softest things she owns. He’s quick to change, reappearing in a pair of jeans and his undershirt from the day.
“I think I might die if I don’t get a greasy diner burger,” he says, pulling on his jacket. “Are you hungry?”
“Oh, I would love to eat,” Mel smiles, closing his locker for him, so he doesn’t have to bend over— and probably because she hates when he kicks it closed.
Frank stuffs his hands into his pockets. “We could— fuck.”
Mel’s eyes widen, and she whips her head around, which she really shouldn’t do because of her neck, but—
“Um, I’m sorry?” She asks.
“I, uh— I have my hands in my pockets.” And one hand is wrapped tightly around a pair of her panties.
Confusion darts across her face— then a big, red blush. “Oh.”
“Food. Home. Shower. Sleep. If one of us wakes up—”
“—we wake the other one up?”
“Definitely,” he says. “Let’s get to the parking garage, so I can hold your hand.”
“You could do it now,” she says, soft and quiet, still blushing. “I don’t think I care anymore.”
“That’s a relief, because, uh— well, Mel, I think more people know than not.”
Frank holds Mel’s hand while they leave and the world doesn’t collapse around them. They slip out of sight, or at least they think they do, giddily discussing the diner food that awaits them— and the prospect of a day off together. The first one.
Neither of them see Doctor Ellis holding her hand out to Doctor Henderson, who grumpily slips a fifty dollar bill into her palm.
On his next day shift, Frank asks Javadi to post Mel’s broken glasses on TikTok, in the hopes one of her followers can find the exact frames to replace them.
Frank Langdon doesn’t expect to find nine pairs, but he sends money for each one.