Archive of Our Own

He couldn’t point to the exact moment when everything started to fall apart.

Maybe it was love that blinded him or the simple fact that she was his wife - the mother of his children. So when she hit him for the first time, it caught him completely off guard. She had never been a violent person. Not in the begginig at least.

But as the time went on, he began to notice things. The way her lips pressed into a thin line whenever he disagreed with her. How she would scream and insult him, but only when no one else was around. The way her hands curled into fists at her sides when something he said irritated her.

After giving birth to Penny, it all seemed to intensify. The doctors called it postpartum depression. They prescribed her medication and for a while things did get better. She was calmer, softer. She started bonding with Penny, holding her longer, humming quietly under her breath. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe that the woman he had fallen in love with was still there, just buried under exhaustion and hormones.

He didn’t notice the bathroom cabinet emptying. Not at first. Didn’t question how quickly the pills disappeared, or how restless she became when they ran low. Then the prescription ended, and her doctor refused to renew it.

From that point on, everything changed. She was angry all the time. It didn’t matter what he did - he was always in the wrong. Every word he said seemed to provoke her, every silence seemed to offend her.

He couldn’t remember the exact day it happened for the first time. He only remembered how tired he was.

Penny had been crying since early morning. He had slept maybe three hours after coming home late from work. Abby had shoved him out of bed the moment the baby started wailing, muttering something under her breath before pulling the blanket over her head again.

He was standing in the kitchen, trying to make breakfast with one hand while rocking Penny in the other, when Abby stormed in. He couldn’t even remeber what started it - what he said or didn’t say - but suddenly she was yelling. Loud, sharp, relentless. Penny’s crying grew louder. His head throbbed. The world felt like it was closing in.

And then his head snapped to the side from the force of her slap.

„Are you even listening to me?!” she screamed.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He just stood there, frozen, one hand slowly rising to his cheek. The sting spread across his skin, hot and unreal. He stared at her, trying to understand how the woman in front of him could look at him with that much anger.

Then she turned and stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

He was still standing there when Tanner appeared in the hallway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Frank forced himself to move, to act normal, to pretend everything was fine.

Later, she apologized. She said she hadn’t meant it.

That the anger had gotten the best of her. That it wouldn’t happen again.

She was his wife. He loved her, so he believed her.

But it wasn’t the last time.

……………………………

What he remembered more clearly was the first time she asked him for pills.

„You heard me,” she said when he hesitated. „I need more.”

Something in her voice unsettled him - too flat, too certain.

„I can’t prescribe you anything,” he said carefully. „You know that. Maybe you should go back to your doctor, explain how you’ve been feeling. He might refer you to a psychiatrist, or-”

He didn’t get to finish. She shoved him hard. He stumbled backward, barely catching himself on the counter.

„I’m not some fucking psycho, Frank!” she shouted, jabbing her finger into his chest. „Don’t you dare say that again!”

He tried to calm her down, tried to explain that getting help was normal, that people needed support sometimes. But she wasn’t listening.

„I don’t care,” she snapped. „I need those pills.”

A week later, she pushed him down the stairs.

……………………………

It happened in the late afternoon, when the light in the house turned dull and heavy. Tanner was upstairs, door half-closed, some cartoon murmuring faintly through the wall. Penny had finally fallen asleep in her crib.

Frank was halfway down the staircase, one hand sliding along the banister, when Abby’s voice cut through the quiet.

„Frank.” He paused, turning slightly. She stood at the top of the stairs, one hand braced against the wall. Her face was unreadable, too still. „We need to talk.”

There was something in the way she said it - not anger exactly, but a kind of pressure - that made his chest tighten.

„I’m listening,” he said.

„No,” she replied, taking a step closer. „You never listen.”

He exhaled slowly, already tired. „Abby-”

„You think I don’t see it?” she interrupted. „The way you look at me. Like I’m broken.”

„That’s not-”

„It is.” Another step. Closer now. He shifted his footing, uneasy on the narrow step.

„I’m just trying to help.” he said.

„I don’t need your help.”

Her hand struck his shoulder - not a slap this time, but a shove. He wasn’t ready for it. His foot slipped. For a moment, there was only the sensation of falling - his grip missing the railing, his body tilting backward. Then impact.

His back hit first, hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. His head clipped the edge of a step, light bursting behind his eyes. He slid the rest of the way down in a blur of pain and disorientation, coming to a stop at the bottom.

For a few seconds, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Somewhere above, the cartoon stopped.

„Dad?” Tanner’s voice - small, uncertain. Frank forced himself to move, panic cutting through the haze. He pushed himself up, ignoring the sharp protest in his back.

„I’m okay!” he called quickly, before Tanner could appear at the top of the stairs. „Just slipped, buddy!”

There was a pause.

„You sure?”

„Yeah,” Frank said, steadying his voice. „Stay where you are. I’ve got it.”

He didn’t look up at Abby. He didn’t need to. After a moment, he heard Tanner’s footsteps retreat. Only then did he allow himself to sag slightly against the wall, breath coming shallow and uneven. When he finally glanced up, Abby was gone.

And that was the first time he realized he was afraid of her.

……………………………

When his own doctor prescribed him benzodiazepines for the pain in his back, dread settled quietly in his chest. He knew, even then, that this would only make things worse.

At first, he tried to hide the medication. It didn’t work. She found them within days.

His pills became her pills. And he learned to endure the pain with whatever he could find - ibuprofen, paracetamol, anything that didn’t require a prescription.

After a month, his doctor cleared him to return to work. Abby lost her source of medication, and her temper grew even more unpredictable.

The bruises became harder to hide.

He thought that was when she realized something - that he didn’t care what happened to him, as long as the children were safe.

So she changed tactics.

„If you won’t get me my medicine,” she said one evening, her tone eerily calm, „you can say goodbye to the kids.”

At first, he didn’t believe her. He wanted to believe she would never go that far. But then one day he came home from work and found her standing in the living room, a suitcase in one hand.

„I warned you, Frank,” she said quietly. That tone - the one that meant she was beyond angry - made his stomach drop. „You have one day. I’ll be staying with my parents. Decide what matters more.”

He didn’t sleep that night. The next day, he took half the pills that had been prescribed to Louie and drove to her parents’ house.

When Abby opened the door and saw him, she smiled. It was the first genuine smile he had seen from her in what felt like forever. „I knew you’d make the right choice,” she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Behind her, Tanner peeked out, relief flickering across his face. Something inside him broke then.

He knew it wasn’t a solution. He knew it was wrong. But he didn’t know what else to do.

He was ashamed. Ashamed that things had gotten this far. Ashamed that he was stealing.

Ashamed that he was afraid of his own wife.

He told himself she didn’t mean it. That she was sick. That she was lost.

And the children - they needed their mother. He couldn’t take that away from them.

He couldn’t be that selfish.

……………………………

The medication never lasted long.

Soon, it became routine. Taking small amounts here and there, careful not to draw attention. Just enough to keep her from spiraling. Just enough to keep the house quiet.

But it was never enough.

If he didn’t bring anything home, she screamed. If he did, she barely acknowledged him. Home stopped feeling like a safe place. The injuries grew worse. Harder to hide. Harder to explain.

She never did anything in front of the kids. But Tanner was beginnig to notice. 

It showed in small ways. The way he watched too closely when Frank moved, as if tracking something he didn’t understand. The way his questions came out sideways, wrapped in other concerns.

One evening, Frank dropped a glass. It slipped from his hand and shattered loudly against the floor. Penny startled in her seat, letting out a sharp cry.

Tanner flinched, then looked straight at him. „Did it hurt?” he asked.

Frank blinked. „What?”

„Your hand,” Tanner said, pointing.

Frank glanced down. A faint bruise marked his wrist, yellowing at the edges. „No,” he said. „I’m okay.”

Tanner didn’t look convinced. „Mom gets mad when things break,” he said quietly.

Frank forced a small smile. „It was just an accident.”

Tanner stepped closer, lowering his voice as if sharing something important.

„Sometimes she gets mad when nothing breaks.” The words landed heavier than they should have.

Frank crouched to clean the glass, careful, deliberate.

„Everyone gets upset sometimes,” he said.

„Not like that,” Tanner replied. Frank’s hands stilled for just a second. When he looked up, Tanner was watching him in a way no five-year-old should - trying to make sense of something too large, too complicated.

„Hey,” Frank said gently, softening his tone. „How about you go check on Penny for me?” Tanner hesitated, then nodded and padded off.

Later that night, Frank passed by Tanner’s room. The door was slightly open. Inside, Tanner lay awake, clutching his toy car, eyes open in the dim light.

„Dad?” he whispered.

„Yeah?”

„Are you really okay?” Frank swallowed.

„Yeah, buddy,” he said after a moment. „I am.” Tanner nodded, but he didn’t look reassured. Frank stayed there a second longer than he should have, watching him. Because even if Tanner didn’t understand it yet, he was starting to feel it.

And that, in some ways, was worse.

……………………………

That morning, nothing suggested how badly the day would go.

He woke at five, as he always did. For a moment, he stayed still, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet rhythm of Abby’s breathing beside him. It was one of those rare mornings when the house felt almost peaceful, when whatever lived between them had not yet risen with the light.

Carefully, he slid out of bed.

He had learned how to move without making noise - how to avoid the loose floorboard near the door, how to ease the handle down before pulling it shut, how to breathe shallowly until he was out in the hallway. Only then did he allow himself a quiet exhale.

Lately, getting dressed had become its own ritual. He pulled on a long-sleeved shirt before his scrubs, the fabric brushing over bruised skin. His ribs ached more sharply this morning, a deep, persistent soreness that flared when he twisted or inhaled too fully. The sleeves hid the fading marks along his arms: fingerprints, yellowing bruises, a thin line where skin had split and healed unevenly.

He caught his reflection for a moment. Tired eyes. Pale. Something hollow behind them he didn’t quite recognize anymore.

At least she left his face alone.

He tried a smile. It didn’t sit right. Too forced. Too tight at the edges. He adjusted it, softened it, lifted his eyebrows just slightly - something lighter, easier. He had learned that too. People expected a certain kind of energy from him. Open. Capable. Reassuring.

He practiced it again. Better.

He stepped out into the hallway and closed the bathroom door behind him with practiced care. The house was still. Tanner’s door was closed, a faint strip of light underneath - he must have left his night lamp on again. Penny’s soft, intermittent breathing carried faintly through the baby monitor clipped to Frank’s waistband.

For a few minutes, everything felt manageable.

He moved through the kitchen with practiced efficiency, careful not to make unnecessary noise but there was a slight edge to his movements- just a fraction too quick, too precise. He packed Tanner’s lunchbox, rearranged it once, then again, not quite satisfied with how it looked. Set out breakfast. Checked the coffee. Checked it again.

His gaze kept flicking toward the hallway.

Waiting.

Listening.

Because the moment Abby woke, the atmosphere would shift. It always did.

And if she woke up because of him-

He swallowed and forced himself to move on.

Despite everything, he knew she wouldn’t hurt the kids. He clung to it, repeated it in his head like something that could become true through insistence alone. She cared for them. Held Penny when she cried. Tanner still ran to her sometimes, still laughed around her. That had to mean something.

At 6:20, he stood in front of the mirror near the door, adjusting the neckline of his scrubs, smoothing out imaginary creases. He flashed that practiced expression - light, easy, almost cheerful. Normal. He held it for a moment, testing it, before grabbing his bag and stepping outside.

……………………………

By the time he reached the hospital, he was already buzzing.

Not awake exactly - wired.

The fluorescent lights hit too sharp, too bright, but he pushed through it with a quick smile to whoever passed him. A nod here, a brief “morning” there, just enough to signal ease.

He was ten minutes early. He always was.

He dropped into his seat at the station and pulled up the charts, scanning them quickly - too quickly. His eyes moved ahead of his focus, forcing him to backtrack more than once. He tapped his fingers lightly against the desk without noticing.

„As you can see, we have some new faces with us this morning.” Robby’s voice cut in. Frank looked up immediately, smile already halfway there. A small group stood gathered nearby, their posture giving them away instantly - too stiff, too alert, caught somewhere between anticipation and anxiety.

„Good morning, good morning. Come on over.” The group gathered, and Frank leaned back slightly, studying them with that same easy expression, though his leg had started bouncing under the desk.

„Starting with second-year resident Dr. Melissa King, fresh from the VA.” The blonde stepped forward, braid draped over one shoulder, glasses slipping slightly down her nose. There was something earnest about her, something almost disarming in the way she smiled.

„Everyone calls me Mel. I’m so happy to be here,” she said, her voice carrying just enough to stand out. Eager. Open. The kind of person patients trusted quickly.

„Trinity Santos, intern.” The shift in presence was immediate. She carried herself differently - steady, composed. When her eyes met his, he held the look for a second, smile still in place, but something about her gaze made him feel… measured.

„Victoria Javadi, MS3.” The next introduction brought a softer energy - nervous, tentative. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, her smile brief and uncertain.

„Uh, Dennis Whitaker, MS4.” The last one looked like he had barely kept up with the morning. Slightly disheveled, eyes darting around as if trying to take everything in at once. Overwhelmed already.

He barely registered the rest of Robby’s speech. His name came up alongside Collins, and he gave a quick nod, already reaching for the Red Bull on the desk. He cracked it open and drank half of it in one go.

His back was already beginning to ache, a low, constant pressure that spread with every movement. The bruising along his ribs made itself known with each breath he took too deeply. Abby had been worse lately - more volatile, more unpredictable - and the nights had offered little rest.

„-Senior residents, you got your sign-outs?”

„Yep,” Frank said quickly, already standing, a little too fast. The room tilted for half a second before settling. He ignored it.

……………………………

The Pitt swallowed him whole.

He could feel it - the jitter under his skin, the edge. Too much caffeine, not enough food. He’d been running on protein bars and cafeteria salads, most of which he barely touched.

„Hey, Doc.” Frank flinched internally before turning.

„And we all know Louie Cloverfield. Blood alcohol of .420 at 11:00 PM.” he forced himself to say.

Louie Cloverfield. A regular. An alcoholic. A patient who always ended up with a Librium prescription he never used.

Frank felt the familiar weight settle in his stomach.

Louie didn’t notice. Never did. Said he lost the pills. Threw them out. Didn’t care.

Frank cared enough for both of them. He was supposed to help people. Instead-

He cut the thought off and moved on.

……………………………

The ER filled quickly after that. Two traumas came in almost back-to-back, forcing the department into that heightened state where everything sharpened. The first - a middle-aged woman, brought in with a severe open fracture-dislocation of the ankle, bone exposed, blood soaking through the temporary dressing. It looked bad, but manageable. He had seen worse.

He focused on the mechanics of it. Stabilization. Pain control. Coordination with ortho.

Through it all, he remained steady. His hands did not shake. They never did when it mattered.

The pills in his pocket, however, felt like they burned against his thigh, a constant, unwelcome awareness. He had taken them earlier - too quickly, without thinking - and hadn’t had a chance to secure them.

He shifted his weight more than necessary, adjusting, readjusting, as if trying to ignore them. If someone noticed-

He pushed it aside, forcing his attention back to the patient in front of him. This, at least, he could control.

……………………………

The students followed, observed, absorbed.

He could feel it constantly - their eyes tracking his movements, listening to his decisions, measuring him in ways they probably didn’t even realize.

It unsettled him more than he liked to admit. He felt exposed under it, as though if they looked closely enough, they might see past the competence, past the routine, into something he had worked very hard to keep hidden.

Cases blurred into one another. An elderly woman with a delayed DNR order. In his opinion a complete waste of time and money. This woman wanted to die in piece and because of her facility incompetence she was exposed to unnecesary stress in her last moments. Then a lethargic four-year-old who’d ingested cannabis gummies. That one lingered. Hit too close. Tanner’s age.

His chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with his ribs. It was too easy to imagine Tanner in that bed instead.

He remained composed, of course - professional, efficient - but the image lingered longer than it should have.

……………………………

By the time the initial rush faded, the pain had crept back in. His back tightened, ribs protesting with every breath.

He couldn’t take anything yet. He already maxed out.

He leaned against the counter for a second longer than necessary, forcing himself to stay upright.

Mel was talking. He tried to focus. She was good. Warm with patients, attentive, quick to connect. The kind of doctor people trusted. On another day, he might’ve appreciated that more.

„Can I present my headache patient?” Santos. He turned to her, expression resetting into that same easy attentiveness. She stood closer this time, posture unchanged, voice steady.

„Uh, yeah,” he said, forcing his attention into place. „What do you got?”

„A 36-year-old woman with severe headache due to paracervical trigger point. Her pain went from 11 to zero after 2 ccs of IM Marcaine to the- ”

He blinked.

„Wait, wait, wait.” he interrupted, more sharply than intended. „You did a trigger point injection before presenting the case?”

She hesitated. „Yeah, I-”

„Interns present first.” The words came out firm, clipped.

He saw the shift in her expression, subtle but there. He didn’t soften it. Protocol existed for a reason.

He had seen what happened when it wasn’t followed - when confidence moved faster than caution. And in this place, mistakes didn’t stay small.

He meant to explain. To add context. But another case was already pulling his attention away, demanding it. And when he glanced back later, he caught her watching him.

Her gaze lingered just a little too long, tracking him in a way that made something in his chest tighten. He flashed her a quick, nervous smile when their eyes met. Then he looked away.

Because for all the effort he put into seeming normal - he had the uneasy feeling that, to someone paying close enough attention, he might look anything but.

……………………………

He should have seen it coming. In hindsight, the signs felt obvious - too obvious - but the moment still caught him off guard, as if some part of him had stubbornly refused to connect the pieces.

„I heard there's been some inconsistencies with meds intended for your patients.” Robby’s voice was measured, almost casual, but it landed with a weight that seemed to press the air out of Frank’s lungs. For a second, everything around them - the noise of the ER, the distant beeping monitors, the low murmur of voices - faded into something dull and distant.

Frank blinked. „What?” It was instinct, that response. Buying time. Pretending confusion.

„Frank,” Robby continued, more firmly now, „have you been helping yourself to benzos from the ER?”

The words settled in his chest like something heavy and irreversible. There it was. Out in the open. No room left to maneuver, no easy way to laugh it off - not really.

„Yeah, I’ve been stealing blood to.” He said, a sharp, brittle edge to his voice.

Robby didn’t react. „I asked you a question.”

„Wait, are you serious right now?” His voice rose, just slightly. Too fast, too loud, that same jittery energy threading through every word. „What are you doing? Really? Santos?” He let out a short, disbelieving breath, something close to a laugh but not quite. „Whatever the hell she told you is bullshit.” Even as the words left his mouth, he felt it - that slip.

He didn’t meant to say her name.

But of course it was her. He’d known it somewhere in the back of his mind all shift. The way she watched - too sharp, too attentive, like she was always a step ahead of him, quietly putting things together. Suspicious.

But suspicion was one thing. Actually going to Robby? Actually saying something?

„I didn’t mention Santos.” Frank stilled for half a second. Then he pushed forward anyway, because there was nothing else left to do but keep going.

„You didn’t have to. I told you, she is trouble-”

„Have you ever taken patient’s medication?” The interruption cut straight through him.

Frank let out a hollow, disbelieving sound, dragging a hand through his hair. „This is insane. This is completely fucking insane.”

Because what was he supposed to say?

Yes, I’ve been taking them - but not for me?

That sounded worse. That sounded unhinged. Desperate.

And the worst part was, he could feel it - feel how he must look right now. The too-wide eyes, the restless movements, the way his thoughts kept tripping over each other. Not calm. Not controlled. Not believable.

„I need you to open your locker.” The words dropped like a verdict. Something cold slid through him, sharp and immediate.

No. He couldn’t do that. He knew exactly what was in there.

Somewhere between patients, between adrenaline spikes and crashing exhaustion, he had shoved the pills inside without thinking. Careless. Stupid.

He’d told himself he’d fix it later, move them, hide them better. But later never came and now-

„Yeah, right.” he said, forcing a weak, disjointed laugh, clinging to the last fragile thread of denial.

„Open your locker.” Robby didn’t raise his voice yet, but there was steel underneath it now, something immovable.

Frank’s pulse kicked up, fast and uneven. His hands felt suddenly unsteady, fingers twitching at his sides. „You’re gonna regret-”

The slam of metal cut him off.

Robby’s hand hit the lockers hard enough to make the whole row rattle, the sound sharp and explosive in the confined space.

And just like that-

Frank wasn’t in the hospital anymore. For a split second, he was back at home, the crash of something breaking, Abby’s voice cutting through the air, that same sudden violence in the movement-

„Open your fucking locker, or I will have security smash it open.” The words snapped him back, but the echo of that other moment lingered, clinging to him, making his chest tighten.

His hands were shaking now. Not subtly. Not something he could hide.

He stepped forward anyway. Each movement felt disconnected, like his body was operating a fraction of a second behind his thoughts. He punched in the code once - wrong. Swore under his breath. Tried again.

The lock clicked open.

And before he could even react, Robby pushed past him.

Frank stumbled back, his shoulder hitting the edge of the lockers, pain flaring briefly through his ribs, but it barely registered. He could only watch.

Robby went through his things quickly, efficiently - no hesitation, no doubt. Papers, a spare shirt, scattered items hitting the floor one after another.

It felt like it stretched on forever. In reality, it took seconds.

Then Robby straightened, slowly. And turned around.

The bag of pills in his hand might as well have been a weapon.

Frank’s stomach dropped.

„Is the imprint code on these pills gonna match Louie’s Librium?” Robby asked, his voice colder now. Final. „Go home, Frank.”

No. The word hit him immediately, sharp and panicked.

He took a step forward. „No, no, it's not like you think. You remember, whenever I helped my parents move, I was too cheap to pay for movers. I hurt my back. I told you that. You teased me about it, remember?” The lie started spilling out, too fast, words tumbling over each other. „Well, our own Dr. Hagan prescribed me some pain meds and muscle relaxants. I was just weaning myself off. It was just for maintenance. I'm done now, I swear.”

He could hear it as he spoke - the desperation, the lack of coherence - but he couldn’t stop.

„Robby, come on. You know me, Robby. You know me, man. I'm sorry.” He pushed, voice tightening. „I fucked up. I just... I... I was trying to-”

„Trying to what?” Robby cut in sharply. „Steal pills without getting caught?”

The words hit hard enough to make him flinch.

„No it’s not like- you don’t under-” he tried to say, to explain.

„I don’t fucking understand?” Robby’s voice rose now, anger breaking through. „You’re stealing controlled medication from patients, and you think I’m the one who doesn’t understand?”

Frank recoiled slightly, shoulders tensing. „It's not like you think! I'm not high,” he said quickly, almost urgently. „I'm not high. You've seen what I do, Robby. Could a drug addict do what I do?”

„Apparently,” Robby shot back. „And I just fucking let him!”

That landed deeper than anything else.

„You're done.” Robby continued, the anger flattening into something colder, heavier. „Leave now, or I will have Ahmad escort you out.”

The words hadn’t even fully settled before Robby moved.

Frank barely had time to react as his locker was yanked open again, whatever remained inside grabbed without care. A second later, it all came flying at him.

The impact caught him off guard.

Something solid struck his chest - hard enough to drive the air from his lungs in a sharp, involuntary breath. Pain flared immediately along his ribs, hot and blinding, forcing him half a step back as the rest of his things hit the floor or his arms.

He caught what he could on instinct, clutching it against himself, fingers tightening almost desperately around the fabric and loose items, as if holding onto them was the only thing keeping everything else from spilling over.

Don’t.

The thought came fast, urgent.

Don’t do this here.

His vision blurred for a second, pressure building behind his eyes, sharp and sudden. He swallowed hard, jaw tightening, forcing it back down with everything he had.

Not here.

Not in front of him.

„Robby, please.” The words came out quieter than he intended - strained, rough at the edges, like they had to push past something lodged in his throat. He hated how it sounded. Hated the way it felt - too close to begging.

For a moment, something flickered across Robby’s face.

Not doubt. Not exactly. But hesitation.

His grip tightened almost imperceptibly where his hand still rested against the locker door, knuckles paling for a second before he let go. His jaw shifted, like he was about to say something else - something that didn’t quite make it out.

Because this wasn’t just anyone.

And that was the problem.

„You should’ve come to me,” Robby said finally, the anger quieter now, but heavier for it. Not sharp anymore - worn down, edged with something closer to hurt than rage. „Whatever this is - whatever you’ve got going on - you don’t get to do this. Not here.”

Frank didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Robby held his gaze for a second longer, like he was looking for something - an explanation, maybe, or something that would make this make sense.

But Frank had nothing he could give him. The moment stretched.

Then Robby looked away first. It was subtle, but it felt like a decision.

„You are done,” he repeated, more quietly this time. Final. „Go home.”

Something inside Frank gave way then, the last of his resistance collapsing under the weight of it.

He grabbed the rest of his things blindly, barely registering what he picked up and what he left behind, his movements clumsy, uncoordinated.

He needed air.

He needed out.

By the time he reached the stairwell, his breathing was already uneven.

By the time he pushed through the door to the roof, it had turned into something jagged, shallow, impossible to control. He bent forward, hands braced on his knees, dragging in air that didn’t feel like it was reaching his lungs.

Fuck.

His vision blurred, edges darkening slightly as his pulse hammered too fast, too hard. His hands came up to his hair without him realizing it, fingers gripping tight, grounding himself in the sharp sting against his scalp.

He let Robby down.

The thought looped, over and over.

He let everyone down.

And underneath that-

Abby.

A cold, creeping dread spread through him, heavier than the panic. He had nothing to bring home. No pills. No excuse.

He squeezed his eyes shut, breath catching again.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that - minutes, maybe longer - caught somewhere between panic and collapse, until eventually the intensity burned itself out, leaving him hollowed and exhausted.

When he finally straightened, his reflection in the rooftop door glass barely looked like him. Red-rimmed eyes. Blotchy skin. Something frayed at the edges.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, forced his breathing to steady.

Then he left. Numb this time.

The thought came quietly, almost detached.

She’s going to kill me.

Not dramatic. Not exaggerated. Just certain.

He didn’t make it far. The call came through fast - an active shooter at Pitt Fest - and everything shifted again. Instinct took over before anything else could. Training. Habit. The part of him that still knew exactly who he was supposed to be.

He turned around. Because no matter what Robby thought - no matter what happened-

He was still a doctor.

And they were going to need him.

……………………………

By the end of it, exhaustion clung to him like a second skin.

Six casualties. Over a hundred treated. The kind of controlled chaos that left no room for anything but action, decision, movement. He had thrown himself into it without restraint, letting adrenaline carry him past the limits his body had been warning him about for hours. His ribs burned with every breath, his back ached with a dull, grinding persistence, but he welcomed it in a distant way.

It was easier that way. Easier than thinking.

He stood near the ambulance bay when things finally began to slow, the noise tapering into something more manageable - voices lower, movements less frantic, the sharp edge of urgency softening into aftermath. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and exhaust, and for the first time all day, there was space to stand still.

Robby found him there.

Frank saw him coming and, for a brief second, considered walking away. Not out of defiance - just instinct. Avoidance. Delay.

But his body didn’t move. He stayed where he was, shoulders tight, hands restless at his sides.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Frank did what he always did when the silence stretched too long - he filled it.

„I was careful,” he started, too quickly, the words tripping over each other before he could stop them. He dragged a hand over the back of his neck, forcing a breath that didn’t quite settle in his lungs. „It’s not - this isn’t what you think it is.”

He didn’t look directly at him at first. His gaze flicked somewhere past Robby’s shoulder, then back again, unable to settle. „I had it under control. I wasn’t-” he cut himself off, jaw tightening. „It wasn’t like that.”

Not the truth. Never the truth.

Just something close enough to pass, if Robby let it.

Robby didn’t.

„You need help.” The words landed flat, heavy, stripped of the heat from earlier but no less final for it.

And something in Frank gave way.

„I’m not addicted,” he shot back immediately, the response too fast, too sharp, as if he’d been waiting for it. His hands came up slightly, restless, before dropping again. „You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Because he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Those pils weren’t for him.

But he couldn’t say that.

Wouldn’t say that.

Robby’s expression didn’t change much, but there was something there—something tighter now, more contained. Not just anger. Something else threaded through it. Hurt, maybe. Or something close to it.

Frank saw it, and instead of pulling back, he pushed.

„You’re a fucking hypocrite,” the words slipped out, edged and uneven, driven by something raw and defensive that he couldn’t quite rein in. „I’m not the only one who’s a little fucked up here, Robby. Why don’t you look in the mirror?”

Even as he said it, part of him knew he was crossing a line he wouldn’t be able to step back over.

The space between them shifted. Robby’s jaw tightened, something sharp flashing across his face before it settled again - not gone, just pushed down, contained. „That’s not the same thing,” he said, voice low, controlled in a way that felt more dangerous than shouting. „And you know it.”

Frank let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but there was no humor in it. His fingers curled into his palms, restless, grounding. „Yeah? Do I?”

Robby watched him for a moment longer than necessary, like he was trying to line something up that refused to fully come into focus.

„You think I don’t see it?” Robby said finally, quieter now, more measured. „You’ve been… off. Edgy. Not yourself.”

The words were less certain than before, like he was reaching for something he couldn’t quite define, and that made them land differently.

Frank stilled.

Because that was true.

Not slipping. Not falling apart in any obvious way. Just the small things - the smiles that didn’t quite reach, the way irritation came faster than it used to, the constant tension sitting just under his skin like something waiting to break.

„You’ve been pushing,” Robby added after a moment, his voice tightening slightly. „Snapping at people. Cutting corners you normally wouldn’t. I noticed.”

Santos. The memory flashed - his tone, too sharp, the way he’d cut her off without thinking. Not the first time, either. Just the most obvious.

„You could’ve come to me,” Robby added, and this time it wasn’t anger that broke through - it was something else entirely. Something tighter. More personal. „Instead, I find out like this?”

Frank’s chest tightened.

He looked away. Because there wasn’t an answer he could give that wouldn’t unravel everything.

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

When Robby spoke again, the edge had dulled, replaced by something heavier. Resignation.

„You let me down.” The words were quiet, but they hit with more force than anything shouted earlier. „You let everyone down,” he continued. A beat. „Including yourself.”

Frank didn’t argue. He couldn’t.

Because the wort part was-

He agreed.

The fight drained out of him all at once, leaving something hollow in its place. The tension in his shoulders slackened, his gaze dropping somewhere to the ground between them, unfocused.

Shame settled in, deep and suffocating, threading through every thought.

And beneath it, creeping back in with slow, familiar certainty-

Dread.

Because this wasn’t over. Not even close.

He still hadn’t gone home.

……………………………

He wasn’t proud to admit it, but the thought of going home sat in his chest like something heavy and unavoidable. Fear - real, physical fear - settled under his ribs, tightening with every step he took away from the hospital.

So he didn’t go.

Instead, he wandered. No real direction, no real purpose - just movement. The city blurred around him, streetlights bleeding into one another, the cold air biting at his face, grounding him just enough to keep going. His body ached with every step, ribs protesting, back stiff, exhaustion dragging at him - but none of it felt as sharp as what waited at home.

It wasn’t until well past 1 AM that he found himself standing in front of his house.

He stared at it for a long moment.

Dark. Quiet.

Maybe she was asleep.

Maybe-

He closed his eyes briefly, forcing the thought down.

He stepped forward and opened the door slowly, easing it shut behind him with a soft click. The house was still. Too still. As he set his bag down by the coat rack, unease crept up his spine, cold and familiar.

Silence like that didn’t mean peace.

It meant waiting.

„Where the fuck have you been?”

His breath caught. 

There it was.

„I- at work,” he stammered. „There was a shooter at Pitt Fest and-”

„Look at me when you speak to me.”

Her voice wasn’t loud.

That was worse.

It was cold. Flat. Controlled in a way that made something in his stomach drop.

He forced his head up.

Her eyes were already on him - dark, sharp, something burning behind them that he didn’t want to name.

„Did you bring meds?”

The question came out calm. Too calm.

And just like that, everything inside him locked up.

„Frank.” Her voice dipped, dangerous. „Where are my meds?”

„I-I-” The words wouldn’t come. His throat felt tight, dry. „Robby… he - he found out.” The sentence broke apart as it left him. „I can’t - I won’t be able to get more. I might lose my job.”

Silence.

Deafening.

„So…” she said slowly, and that was worse than yelling. „Let me get this straight”

Her voice rose, cracking into something sharper. „You lost my pills.” A step closer.

„You got caught.” Another.

„And now you’re going to lose your job?”

The last word snapped.

He flinched.

Her hand closed around his wrist – hard - and yanked him forward. His balance faltered as she dragged him toward the kitchen, her grip bruising already.

She tore open a drawer, shoving things aside until she found a small bottle. Two pills rattled inside.

„Do you see this?” She shoved it toward his face. „Two. I have two left.”

„I- I’m sorry, I-”

The slap snapped his head sideways. Pain bloomed across his cheek, sharp and immediate, his ears ringing.

„I don’t care that you’re sorry.”

And then she shoved him.

Once.

Twice.

Fists against his ribs—already tender, already strained. Pain flared white-hot, stealing the air from his lungs in broken, uneven breaths. He tried to hold himself steady, tried to swallow the sounds threatening to escape, but his body betrayed him - small gasps, sharp inhales, a choked noise he couldn’t quite suppress.

She was worse tonight.

Not just angry - out of control.

„You think this is a joke?” she snapped, hitting him again. „You think you get to just – what – stop?”

„I didn’t-” he tried, voice breaking.  

Another hit.

Harder.

He stumbled back, vision blurring for a second-

„Stop!”

The voice cut through everything. Small. High. Shaking.

Frank’s head snapped toward the stairs.

Tanner stood there, barefoot, clutching the railing, eyes wide and glassy.

„Stop hitting Daddy!”

And then he ran forward.

„Tanner-” Frank tried, but it came out too weak, too late.

The boy grabbed Abby’s arm - the one mid-swing.

„Don’t-!”

She shoved him.

Tanner stumbled back, hitting the cabinet with a dull thud, a startled cry leaving him.

Something in Frank snapped. He caught her wrist before the next blow could land.

„Don’t-” His voice broke. „Leave him alone.”

For a split second, everything froze.

Then her expression changed.

Her leg drove into his knee.

Pain exploded upward as it buckled, sending him down with a strangled sound. The next hit came fast - a kick to his abdomen, knocking what little air he had left out of him.

Then another.

And another.

He curled instinctively, arms coming up over his head, body folding in on itself as the blows kept coming - ribs, stomach, side, wherever she could reach. He couldn’t track them anymore. Couldn’t separate one from the next.

Somewhere in the background, Penny was crying.

Loud. Desperate.

He needed to-

He needed to-

A hand tangled in his hair.

Pain flared sharp across his scalp as she yanked his head up.

He was yanked upward just enough-

And then-

His face hit the counter.

A crack. A wet warmth spreading instantly under his nose.

Not good.

The second hit came harder.

And everything went black.

……………………………

„Daddy…?” Tanner’s voice trembled.

He stayed where he was for a moment, pressed against the cabinet, heart hammering so hard it hurt. His mom stood there, breathing heavy, staring down at Dad like she didn’t even see him. Then she turned and walked out.

The front door slammed.

Silence rushed in after her. Tanner waited.

One second. 

Two.

Three.

Then he moved.

Slow at first, like if he went too fast something bad would happen again. He stepped closer, eyes fixed on his dad.

There was blood.

A lot of blood.

„Daddy?” His voice wobbled. „Daddy, wake up…”

No answer.

He dropped to his knees, small hands grabbing at his dad’s shirt, shaking him.

„Daddy, wake up. Please. Please wake up.”  

Nothing.

His chest hitched, breaths coming faster, messy, uneven.

Think.

Dad always said - what did Dad say?

If someone gets hurt-

Call.

Phone.

„Phone,” he whispered to himself.

He scrambled up, slipping slightly on the floor before catching himself. The wall phone was too high. He stretched, jumped - couldn’t reach.

Bag.

Dad’s bag.

He ran - small, quick steps - into the hallway, digging through it with shaking hands until he found the phone.

He almost dropped it on his way back to the kitchen.

His fingers fumbled, pressing the numbers the way Dad showed him.

9-1-1.

It rang.

„9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

„My - my mom hurt my dad,” Tanner said, voice breaking. „He won’t wake up- he won’t wake up!”

„Okay, hey - hey, you’re doing really good. What’s your name?”

„T-Tanner.”

„Hi Tanner. I need you to listen to me, okay? Is your mom still there?”

„No…she… she left. She slammed the door.”

„Okay. You’re safe. I need you to check something for me. Can you see if your dad is breathing?”

„I- I don’t know…”

„That’s okay. Put your ear near his mouth, and your hand on his chest, okay?”

There was shuffling.

„I- I feel it… his chest is going up… a little…”

„Good job, Tanner. That’s very good. Help is on the way.”

„I hear… Penny… she’s crying…”

„I know, honey. You’re doing the right thing. Stay with your dad.”

„I hear sirens!” Tanner suddenly said, voice lifting just a little.

„Okay, can you go outside and wave to them?”

„O-okay!”

……………………………

The paramedics moved fast the moment they saw the boy waving.

„Inside!” Tanner pointed, already turning back.

They followed - and stopped for half a second at the doorway.

„Jesus… is that Langdon?” one muttered under his breath. 

Frank lay on the kitchen floor, blood pooled beneath his face.

„Alright, let’s move.”

They dropped beside him.

„Airway’s clear.”

„Breathing shallow—rate about 10.”

„Pulse thready, tachycardic.”

„Pupils unequal—left larger than right, sluggish response.”

„Possible head injury. Get a collar on him.”

„Bruising across the ribs and abdomen—guarding. Could be fractures, possible internal bleeding.”

„Let’s get him on oxygen. Two large-bore Ivs.”

„BP 90 over 60.”

„Shit. He’s hypotensive.”

„Let’s move, we need him in the truck now.”

From upstairs, Penny’s cries echoed louder.

„I’ll get the baby,” one of them said, already moving.

Tanner stood frozen in the doorway, small hands clenched at his sides, watching as they worked. Not understanding everything. Something was very, very wrong. And no one was telling him it was going to be okay.

……………………………

Lena Handzo had been grateful  -  genuinely, almost suspiciously grateful  -  that after the catastrophe of the Pitt Fest shooting, the rest of her shift had settled into something almost… manageable.

The kind of quiet that felt fragile. Temporary. Like the air was holding its breath.

She sat at the station, finishing up documentation, fingers moving automatically across the keyboard while her mind lagged half a step behind. Every now and then, echoes of the day crept back in  -  flashes of blood, shouting, the smell of gunpowder that seemed to cling to everything long after it should’ve faded.

She pushed it down. Focused on the screen.

That’s when the radio cracked.

„PTMC, this is Medic 7 with a priority patch.”

She exhaled slowly, already reaching for a pen. Of course. 

„Go ahead, Medic 7.”

Her voice was steady. Professional.

„-We are coming in with a 36-year-old male, victim of domestic assault. Patient is unconscious with suspected head trauma and possible internal injuries. Heart rate 128, sinus tachycardia. Blood pressure 90 over 60, trending down. Respiratory rate 10, shallow. SpO₂ 92% on high-flow oxygen. GCS 8. We’ve established two large-bore IVs, normal saline running. ETA five minutes. How do you copy?”

Lena’s jaw tightened slightly.

Low pressure. Depressed respirations. Head injury.

Not good.

„Copy that, Medic 7. 36-year-old male, head trauma, hypotensive, tachycardic, IVs established. We’ll have Trauma Room 2 ready. See you in five.”

Her hand was already moving, grabbing gloves, turning-

The radio crackled again.

„And – uh - we’ve got his kids with us. Four-year-old boy, and an infant, under one. Both appear physically unharmed. Just… scared.”

That stopped her.

Not visibly. Not enough for anyone else to notice.

But inside-

Of course there are kids.

„Copy that, Medic 7.”

Her voice came out quieter this time.

More controlled.

She set the receiver down slowly.

Domestic abuse calls were always bad.

But this-

Kids present. Severe trauma. Unconscious parent.

This had layers.

……………………………

By the time the ambulance doors opened, the trauma team was ready - nurses, respiratory, Dr. Shen already gloving up. A social worker and psych were waiting just outside, prepared to intercept the children.

The gurney rolled in fast.

„Thirty-six-year-old male,” the paramedic began, walking alongside. „Found unconscious on kitchen floor. Blunt force trauma - suspected repeated assault. Brief response to pain en route. Hypotensive, tachycardic. Oxygen applied. No obvious external hemorrhage beyond facial trauma.”

Dr. Shen stepped in, penlight already in hand - then froze.

„…Frank?”

For a fraction of a second, the room stilled.

The face was swollen, bloodied - nose clearly fractured, dried and fresh blood caked beneath it. A split lip. Bruising already blooming around both eyes, worse on the left. A raised swelling at the temple.

But unmistakable.

Dr. Frank Langdon. He had seen him just hours ago under fluorescent lights, focused and steady, saving lives. 

Shen blinked hard, forcing the recognition away. 

That part of him - the one that knew Frank as a colleague, as a friend - got shoved down, locked away behind something colder, sharper.

„Alright,” he said sharply, snapping back into motion. „Let’s move.”

Behind him, a sharp cry cut through the room.

„No! I want to stay with Daddy!”

A small boy struggled in the social worker’s arms, face red, streaked with tears.

„Tanner,” the woman said gently, holding him close. „Dr. Shen is going to help your dad, okay? You have to be very brave right now.”

„But- I want my dad…” His voice broke into a whisper.

Shen looked at him for just a second.

Then forced himself to turn away.

He couldn’t afford distraction.

Not now.

Frank needed him.

Everything else could wait.

……………………………

Inside Trauma Room 2, the pace didn’t just pick up - it sharpened, every movement becoming faster, more precise, as the controlled chaos of emergency medicine took over completely.

„On my count - one, two, three-”

With practiced coordination, they transferred Frank onto the trauma bed, his body shifting with a disturbing lack of resistance, like he wasn’t fully present inside it.

„BP?”

„Eighty-eight over fifty-eight.”

„Still dropping.”

„Let’s get pressure bags going - fluids wide open.”

„Cut the rest of his clothes.”

The scissors moved quickly, slicing through fabric in clean, efficient strokes, layers peeling away one after another until there was nothing left to hide the full extent of the damage.

The room went quieter.

Because now they could see everything.

Deep, mottled bruising spread across his ribs and abdomen in uneven patterns, some dark and fresh, others already fading into sickly yellows and greens that spoke of older injuries layered beneath newer ones. Distinct, unmistakable finger-shaped marks wrapped around his upper arms, stark against his skin. His left side was worse - swelling already rising along the lower rib cage, the tissue tight and inflamed.

And then there was the other thing.

Too thin.

Not just lean, thin in a way that suggested something prolonged, something wearing him down over time. His ribs stood out more than they should, his collarbones sharp beneath the skin, his overall frame lacking the strength it should have had, his skin slightly dull, lacking elasticity in a way that hinted at dehydration, at neglect, at something deeper than just last night.

„Jesus…” one of the nurses muttered under her breath.

Shen didn’t acknowledge it.

Didn’t let himself.

„Airway still intact,” he said instead. „Let’s get him on continuous monitoring. CBC, CMP, coag panel, lactate. Type and cross.”

„On it.”

„Portable chest X-ray now. And FAST exam.”

He reached for the ultrasound probe himself, movements precise and efficient as gel met skin and the screen flickered to life.

He moved methodically - right upper quadrant, then left, then down to the pelvis — eyes scanning every flicker of grayscale, every shadow, every shift.

Watching.

Searching.

Come on…

No obvious free fluid.

He went again, slower this time, more deliberate, pressing slightly deeper, adjusting angles, refusing to rush it.

Still nothing significant.

Relief came - small, controlled, but real.

„FAST is negative for now,” he said, straightening slightly. “But we’re not ruling anything out.”

„Chest X-ray ready!”

The plate slid behind Frank’s back carefully.

„Hold – shot.”

The image appeared moments later, glowing against the monitor, and Shen leaned in slightly, studying it in silence, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly as he traced the outlines.

„Left side… possible fractures,” he murmured. „At least two ribs. Maybe more.”

„Explains the shallow breathing,” a nurse added quietly.

„Yeah.”

Shen shifted his focus upward then, his hands moving carefully to stabilize Frank’s head, adjusting it just enough to properly assess without causing additional strain.

„Facial trauma,” he said, voice tightening just slightly. „Clear nasal deformity.”

He traced carefully along the bridge.

„Likely nasal bone fracture. Displaced.”

„Bleeding’s slowed but still active,” a nurse added, dabbing carefully beneath his nose.

„Keep suction ready,” Shen said. „Don’t pack it yet - we need imaging first. Watch the airway.”

Frank stirred faintly, a low, involuntary sound escaping him.

„Hey,” Shen said, stepping closer. „Frank, can you hear me?”

No response beyond a weak grimace.

„GCS twelve,” someone called out.

„Let’s get him to CT,” Shen decided. „Head, C-spine, chest, abdomen, pelvis. Full trauma scan.”

„Vitals?”

„Stabilizing slightly - pressure’s 94 over 62.”

„Good enough. Let’s move.”

……………………………

Time stretched the way it always did after the initial rush - no longer frantic, but no less intense, every second filled with motion, purpose, and quiet anticipation.

Transport. Imaging. Waiting.

Frank remained in that fragile middle ground - not crashing, but far from stable - his heart rate hovering in the 110s, his blood pressure holding only with the help of fluids pushing through his IV lines.

In CT, the answers came piece by piece.

Shen reviewed the scans himself alongside radiology, his focus absolute.

„Head CT is clear for bleed,” he said first, voice steady but quieter now. „No intracranial hemorrhage.”

A small release moved through the room.

„But-” he continued, eyes tracking the images, „mild cerebral edema. Consistent with concussion.”

He shifted to the facial cuts. 

„Nasal bone fracture confirmed. Displaced, but not severely. No orbital involvement.”

That mattered.

„C-spine?”

„Clear.”

„Chest?”

„Rib fractures confirmed,” he said, scanning through the slices. „Left side, non-displaced. No pneumothorax. Lung fields intact.”

„Abdomen?”

He paused longer here.

Scrolling. Checking again.

„Soft tissue contusions,” he said finally. „Liver - mild. No laceration. No active bleed.”

Another controlled exhale passed through the room.

„Back?” Lena asked quietly.

Shen pulled up the lower images, studying them carefully.

„There’s prior injury,” he said. „Lumbar strain. Possible small disc bulge.”

He leaned back slightly.

„Not acute. Weeks old, at least.”

Lena’s eyes flicked toward him briefly. So that’s where it started.

Then came the labs

„CBC - hemoglobin stable.”

„Electrolytes - he’s dehydrated.”

„Creatinine slightly elevated.”

„Albumin low.”

Shen frowned, the pieces settling into something heavier.

„Malnourished,” he said under his breath. „Or heading there.”

And that was the thing.

It wasn’t one injury.

It wasn’t one night.

It was everything.

Layered.

Accumulated.

Built over time in ways that didn’t happen by accident.

……………………………

By the time Frank was transferred out of Trauma 2, hours had passed, though it barely felt like it. 

He was stabilized.

Not okay.

Not even close.

A concussion with mild cerebral edema. A displaced nasal fracture. Multiple non-displaced rib fractures. Extensive soft tissue trauma across his torso. Dehydration. Malnourishment. An older back injury that hadn’t healed properly before being aggravated again.

A body that told a story far bigger than what had just happened.

But he was alive.

Monitored carefully, oxygen in place, IV fluids continuing to run, pain management administered cautiously to balance relief with neurological observation.

And still-

He didn’t wake.

Not yet.

……………………………

Shen sat heavily at his station, a deep, exhausted sigh leaving him as the adrenaline finally began to drain.

All that was left now-

Was waiting.

Frank was stable. For now.

They would observe him overnight. Reassess neurological status. Monitor for delayed bleeding, complications, anything that might still turn.

Morning would bring the rest.

Police. Reports.

All the things that came after.

All the things that would make this real in a different way.

Now-

Now Frank deserved rest.

Shen scrubbed a hand over his face.

„Fuck…”

Lena dropped into the chair beside him, her voice low, tired in a way that went deeper than just the shift.

„I’ll have to call Dana.”

„You really should,” Shen replied quietly. „He means a lot to her. And she’s the best person to tell Robby…”

„I know.” Lena leaned back, staring at nothing for a moment. „She just… yesterday was hard on her. With that guy punching her.”

She exhaled slowly.

„I’ll call her. Just… not yet. She deserves a few more hours.”

In the distance, sirens wailed again.

Shen pushed himself up with a quiet groan.

„Well,” he said, voice settling back into something steadier, „for now-”

He glanced toward the doors.

„-let’s get back to work, shall we?”

……………………………

Robby hadn’t expected to see Dana anywhere near the ER that day. She wasn’t scheduled, wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near this place after everything that had happened the day before.

„Hey, Dana- what are you doing here?” he called out, already moving toward her.

She turned.

And whatever casual question he’d been about to ask died immediately.

Her face-

Pale. Drawn tight. Eyes red, like she hadn’t slept or had been crying recently. Maybe both.

Something dropped low in his stomach.

„What happened?” he asked, faster now. „Are you okay?”

Dana didn’t answer right away. She exhaled slowly, like she was trying to steady herself before stepping into something she didn’t want to say out loud.

„Robby… you have to promise me you’ll stay calm.”

That never meant anything good.

His jaw tightened. „What happened?”

„It’s… Langdon.” She hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. The way she said his name made something twist sharply inside him. „He’s here. And by here, I mean as a patient. Room 8. They transferred him after trauma.”

For a split second, Robby didn’t react - didn’t fully process it - and then it hit all at once, hard and immediate, anger rising fast enough to override everything else. 

Sharp, immediate, rising straight up his spine.

A bitter, disbelieving laugh tore out of him.

„I can’t fucking believe it,” he muttered, already turning, already moving before she could say anything else.  „I can’t- after yesterday? That idiot-”

„Robby, wait-!”

He didn’t.

In his mind, the conclusion came easily, too easily, slotting into place with bitter certainty.

Of course. Of course this is how it ends. He gets caught, spirals, overdoses, and lands right back here-

He had it under control his ass.

His hand hit the door to Room 8 harder than necessary, shoving it open with force, a dozen cutting words already forming, already lined up on his tongue-

And then-

They vanished.

Completely.

Robby stopped dead.

Frank didn’t look like someone who overdosed.

He looked like someone who had been destroyed.

Frank lay in the bed, unnaturally still, the harsh overhead light doing nothing to soften the damage - it only made it worse, made every detail impossible to ignore.

His face was almost unrecognizable beneath the swelling and discoloration, the left side worse than the right, deep bruising already darkening into purples and blues around his eye, the tissue swollen enough to distort the shape of it. His nose was clearly broken - shifted slightly off-center, dried blood crusted beneath it and across his upper lip, fresh traces still visible where it had been cleaned but not long enough ago to fully disappear. His lower lip was split, swollen, the edges uneven, and there was a faint abrasion along his cheekbone that looked like it had come from impact-hard, blunt, uncontrolled.

And that was just his face. 

The hospital gown had shifted just enough to expose his upper chest and arms.

His arms – God - his arms-

Finger-shaped bruises stood out starkly against his skin, some darker, some already fading into sickly yellow-green tones, layered over each other in a way that spoke of repetition, not a single moment. There were smaller injuries too - thin, healing cuts, faint scars that didn’t belong to anything recent, the kind of marks that only appeared over time.

His chest rose shallowly beneath the fabric, each breath controlled, limited, like his body was working around pain it couldn’t avoid. Even without seeing it directly, Robby knew what was underneath - knew about the fractured ribs, the bruising across his side, the damage that made every inhale cost something.

He looked-

Too thin.

Not in a way that could be brushed off or ignored, but in a way that made everything else worse, sharper, more alarming - his collarbones too prominent, the lines of his body too defined beneath the gown, like whatever had been happening hadn’t just been violent, but prolonged. 

And he was unconscious.

For a moment, Robby couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. The room felt distant, like he was standing several steps removed from it, watching something he couldn’t fully process. 

This didn’t match anything he’d told himself.

This wasn’t addiction.

This wasn’t recklessness.

This was-

Violence.

Real, repeated, deliberate violence.

And then something else shifted his focus.

Tanner.

The boy was curled up in the chair beside the bed, small body folded in on itself, one hand fisted tightly in the fabric of Frank’s gown like he was afraid to let go, like the moment he did something worse might happen. Tear tracks marked his cheeks, drying unevenly, his face still flushed from crying, exhaustion pulling at him but not enough to let him fully sleep.

Beside the bed, a crib had been set up - Penny inside, quieter now, but restless, small movements breaking through the stillness every few seconds.

Robby’s chest tightened painfully.

This wasn’t an overdose.

This wasn’t anything he had prepared himself for.

Somewhere behind him, Dana was speaking - her voice reaching him, but not fully registering, like it had to pass through something thick before it made sense. 

He flinched when her hand settled on his shoulder, the contact grounding him just enough to pull him back into the moment.

„Robby - hey. Are you with me?”

He nodded, but it felt delayed, disconnected. 

„Come on,” she said gently, her grip firm but careful as she guided him away. „I’ll explain. Just… not here.” 

He let himself be led out, barely aware of the looks from the staff around them, the quiet shift in the room as they passed.

……………………………

The Family Room felt too quiet.

Too normal.

Robby sat heavily, elbows on his knees, hands hanging uselessly between them.

For a moment, he just… breathed.

Or tried to.

„What happened?” he asked finally.

His voice sounded wrong.

Dry. Rough. Like it had been dragged over glass.

Dana sat across from him, hands clasped tight.

„He was brought in around 2 AM,” she began slowly, her composure slipping just slightly at the edges. „Unconscious. Severe trauma. It was-”

She swallowed.

„It was Abby.”

The words hit like a physical blow.

Robby felt the air leave his lungs in one sharp, disorienting moment.

„What?” It came out broken. Barely there.

Dana’s expression tightened, grief and anger threading together.

„Tanner talked to social worker,” she said, her voice steadier now but edged with something bitter. „It’s been going on for months. At first yelling. Then hitting. He said last night she was worse - angrier than usual.”

She paused, breath catching slightly.

„He said Frank came home late. That she was yelling. That she pushed him - that he fell. And then she started kicking him.”

Robby’s hands clenched together in his lap, trembling now.

Dana’s voice broke.

„She grabbed his hair… and started slamming his head into the counter.”

Silence filled the space after that, heavy and suffocating.

„And then?” he managed after a moment, barely above a whisper.

„Tanner called 9-1-1,” she said, softer now. „And that probably saved his life.”

She took a breath, forcing herself to stay clinical for a moment - because that was easier than feeling all of it at once.

„When he came in, he was hypotensive - blood pressure in the 80s over 50s, barely holding - tachycardic, breathing shallow, barely ten breaths per minute. His GCS was eight initially, only responding to pain. They were concerned about a head injury right away - his pupils were unequal at first, left side sluggish.”

Robby closed his eyes briefly.

„He’s got a concussion with mild cerebral edema,” she continued. „No intracranial bleed, but it could’ve gone that way if he’d been left longer. His nose is fractured- displaced. Multiple rib fractures on the left side, thankfully non-displaced, but enough to make breathing painful and shallow. Extensive soft tissue bruising across his chest and abdomen - there’s a liver contusion too, mild, no active bleeding, but still… it adds up.”

She hesitated again, quieter now.

„There’s older injuries too. Lumbar strain - weeks old. Signs of prolonged physical abuse. He’s dehydrated. Malnourished.”

Robby’s head dropped into his hands.

„This wasn’t just last night,” she finished softly. „This has been happening for a while.”

„And if Tanner hadn’t called-” she didn’t finish the sentence.

She didn’t need to.

Robby stayed like that for a long moment, unmoving, everything inside him shifting, rearranging into something far worse than what he had believed before.

Then something clicked.

„Did Tanner say anything else?” he asked suddenly, lifting his head. „What she was saying? Why she-”

Dana frowned slightly, thinking.

„He said she was angry about… something Frank didn’t bring,” she said slowly. „That she kept saying there were only two left.”

The realization hit him like a train.

A broken sound tore out of him before he could stop it.

„Oh God-”

His hands shook harder now, uncontrollable.

„Robby?” Dana’s voice sharpened, concern cutting through. „What is it?”

„Yesterday,” he said hoarsely. „Santos came to me. She reported him. Said there were inconsistencies with meds.”

Dana went still. „Robby… tell me you didn’t-”

„I checked his locker,” Robby continued, voice unraveling. „Found Librium. I thought-” He choked on the words. „I thought he was using.”

Dana covered her mouth.

„And he told me - he told me he wasn’t an addict. He said-”

His breath hitched.

„Oh my God.”

„Robby, that’s not your fault-”

„But it is!” he snapped, the force of it surprising even him. „I saw something was wrong- I knew something was off-”

And then it hit him.

„He was trying to get pills for her,” Robby whispered. „To keep her from-”

He couldn’t finish.

„He was scared,” he added, quieter. „He wasn’t defensive. He wasn’t angry.”

A beat.

„He was scared of me.”

His eyes lifted slowly, meeting Dana’s, wide and unsteady.

„He was fucking scared of me.”

Dana reached for him instinctively. „Robby, listen to me - this is not your fault. Anyone would’ve-”

„But I saw it,” he cut in sharply. „I saw something was wrong. And I still-”

His voice collapsed.

„I still chose the worst possible explanation.”

He looked up at her then, eyes glassy, wrecked.

„I need to go to him.”

Dana didn’t argue.

She stood, stepped closer, and pulled him into a brief, tight hug.

„Go,” she said softly. „I’ll call Abbott in to cover your shift. Do whatever you need to do.”

A small pause.

„Just… don’t leave him alone.”

Robby nodded.

„…Thank you.”

And then he was already moving.

……………………………

Frank didn’t wake all at once.

Consciousness came back to him slowly, unevenly, like something dragging itself through thick water. At first, there was only sound - a steady, rhythmic beeping that seemed far too loud in the silence surrounding it, sharp and insistent in a way that made it impossible to ignore. Then came sensation.

Pain followed immediately after.

It wasn’t localized. It wasn’t something he could isolate and understand. It was everywhere - deep, heavy, layered. His ribs felt like they had been wrapped in something too tight, every shallow breath dragging against something broken and uncooperative. His head throbbed with a dull, crushing pressure, something that pulsed behind his eyes and along his temple. His face – God - his face hurt, a sharp, burning ache centered around his nose and spreading outward, stiff and swollen.

Even existing felt difficult.

Something warm rested against his side - small, steady, grounding in a way that cut through the confusion just enough to anchor him to something real.

He tried to focus on that.

Tried to hold onto it.

Opening his eyes felt like an impossible task at first, like his body simply refused to cooperate with him. His eyelids were heavy, resistant, one side worse than the other where swelling pulled uncomfortably at the skin, making even the attempt feel exhausting. His throat was dry, painfully so, as if he hadn’t spoken in days, the inside of it raw and tight.

And then-

Memory surfaced.

Not all at once.

Not clearly.

But enough.

Abby.

His breath hitched sharply, the sudden movement sending a spike of pain through his ribs so intense it stole what little air he had managed to pull in. The monitors reacted immediately, the steady rhythm breaking into something faster, sharper, betraying the panic surging through him.

Where is she-

What happened-

The kids-

Oh God-

His chest tightened as panic flooded in fully now, his breathing turning shallow and uneven, each inhale catching painfully, his body refusing to cooperate as fear overtook everything else. The room felt too bright even through his closed eyes, too loud, too much, his thoughts spiraling faster than he could control-

„Breathe, Frank.”

The voice cut through it.

Low. Familiar. Grounding in a way nothing else was.

Even through the haze, he knew it.

„There you go… slow. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Safe.

The word didn’t settle right.

Didn’t belong in the same space as the memories still pressing in at the edges of his mind.

„She won’t hurt you anymore.”

That-

That broke something open.

A small, broken sound slipped past his lips before he could stop it, barely more than a breath, but it carried everything he couldn’t say- disbelief, fear, something fragile and cracked. Tears gathered beneath his still-closed eyes, slipping slowly down his face.

He wanted to believe that.

God, he wanted to.

But Abby was his wife.

And fear like that didn’t just disappear because someone said it would.

And then-

Soft hands.

Small.

Careful.

Cupping his face like he was something fragile.

„It’s okay, Daddy… Uncle Robby will help.”

That voice-

That voice cut through everything else.

Frank forced his eyes open.

Or tried to.

Light flooded in immediately, harsh and blinding, forcing them shut again with a weak flinch as pain spiked behind his eyes. His head throbbed harder in response, nausea curling faintly in the background. He swallowed against it, trying again - slower this time.

One eye opened easier than the other.

The other lagged behind, swollen, reluctant.

Blurred shapes came first. Colors. Movement.

And then-

Tanner.

His son’s face slowly came into focus, tear-streaked and flushed, eyes red and glassy, his small mouth trembling like he was trying - and failing - to hold himself together.

„Ta-”

The word didn’t come out right.

It barely came out at all, more breath than sound, his voice dry and broken in a way that didn’t feel like his own.

He swallowed, wincing slightly at the pull in his throat, trying again.

„T… Tanner…”

It still sounded wrong.

But it was enough.

Tanner broke.

A soft, choked sob escaped him as he leaned forward, pressing himself carefully - too carefully, like he’d already been warned - into Frank’s side, tucking himself into the space between his shoulder and chest.

„I thought you were gonna die-” he cried, the words breaking apart between hiccups and uneven breaths.

And that-

That mattered more than anything else.

The pain didn’t go away.

The fear didn’t go away.

But it shifted.

Because Tanner was here.

Alive.

Okay.

Frank forced his arm to move, the effort slow and unsteady, every muscle protesting, his ribs sending sharp warnings through his chest as he managed to bring it just enough around his son to hold him there.

Weak.

Shaking.

But there.

„I-” His voice cracked again, barely holding together. „I’m… here…”

It wasn’t much.

It was everything he had.

After a moment - seconds, maybe longer, time didn’t make much sense - Frank’s gaze lifted.

And landed on Robby.

Standing at the side of the bed.

Still.

Watching.

And the expression on his face-

It made something twist painfully in Frank’s chest.

Not anger.

Not disappointment.

Something worse.

Robby looked… wrecked.

Like he hadn’t slept.

Like he was barely holding himself together, like whatever he was carrying had been sitting there for too long without anywhere to go.

Frank’s stomach dropped.

Instinct kicked in immediately, sharp and familiar.

Explain.

Fix it.

Make it better before it gets worse.

He opened his mouth, already reaching for words he hadn’t fully formed yet-

„I’m sorry.”

The words hit him before he could say anything.

Frank blinked, slow and confused.

„What…?” he tried, the word rough and uneven, barely forming properly.

Robby’s breath caught.

„I’m so-” His voice broke, forcing him to stop, swallow, try again. „I’m so sorry, Frank.”

Frank just stared at him.

Nothing about that made sense.

„Tanner,” Robby said suddenly, voice strained but gentler now, forcing control back into it. „Hey- can you go find Dana for me? Please?”

Tanner hesitated.

Frank felt it immediately in the way the small body pressed against him seemed to tighten, the subtle shift of tension betraying how much the boy didn’t want to move, didn’t want to leave, like stepping away might somehow undo the fragile safety of this moment.

„I’ll go… check on Penny,” he mumbled quietly, wiping at his face with the back of his hand before carefully pulling away.

The warmth left with him.

Frank’s hand twitched weakly against the sheets as that small, grounding presence disappeared, and almost instantly a flicker of panic followed in its wake, sharp and irrational but impossible to ignore.

„Tanner-”

The word barely made it out, his voice too weak to carry, and it was already too late.

The boy was already moving, small steps quick and reluctant as he disappeared out of the room.

The door closed softly behind him.

And just like that-

It was too quiet.

Frank’s breathing picked up again, uneven and shallow, thoughts spiraling faster than he could keep up with.

Why did he send him away-

What’s happening-

Is this about the meds-

Oh God-

A hand wrapped around his.

Warm.

Firm.

Grounding.

„Hey- hey. Stay with me.”

Robby.

The recognition grounded him just enough to keep him from slipping completely.

„I-” Frank’s chest tightened. „I didn’t- I can expl-”

„You’re not in trouble.”

The words cut cleanly through everything else.

Frank froze.

„You hear me?” Robby said, softer now, but steady, his grip tightening just slightly around Frank’s hand as if to anchor the words in place. „You’re not in trouble.”

That didn’t-

That didn’t make sense.

Not with everything else.

Not with what he had done.

Robby shifted closer then, moving carefully, deliberately avoiding the worst of the injuries like he was acutely aware of every place that might hurt, and gently lifted Frank’s hand, placing it flat against his own chest.

„Follow me,” he said quietly. „Just breathe with me.”

In.

Out.

Slow.

Measured.

Frank tried.

God, he tried.

But it hurt - every inhale catching against fractured ribs that refused to expand properly, every exhale trembling on the way out like his body didn’t quite trust the movement - and still, he followed the rhythm anyway, focusing on it with everything he had, clinging to it like it was the only stable thing left in a world that suddenly didn’t make sense anymore.

Gradually-

The panic began to loosen its grip.

Not gone.

Never gone.

But quieter.

Lower.

„Good,” Robby murmured softly, the praise quiet but steady, like he didn’t want to startle him out of it. „That’s it… stay with me.”

There was a brief pause, filled only by the uneven sound of Frank’s breathing and the steady rhythm beneath his hand.

Then-

„Are you with me?”

Frank nodded weakly.

Robby swallowed.

Hard enough that Frank could see it.

„I just-” He stopped, jaw tightening briefly. „Why?”

Frank frowned slightly, confusion cutting through the lingering fog, his thoughts still too slow to fully catch up.

„Why didn’t you tell me?” Robby’s voice cracked again, quieter this time, but sharper in a way that carried more weight. „You could’ve come to me.”

Frank stared at him.

Told him… what?

„What…” he whispered, barely audible. „What are you-”

Robby looked at him like that answer alone hurt.

„I’m sorry,” he said again, softer now, like the words were wearing him down. „I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t.”

Something in Frank’s chest tightened.

Not from injury.

From something else.

„I would’ve helped you,” Robby added, voice breaking completely this time.

And then-

Robby cried.

Not quietly.

Not controlled.

Just openly, the kind of raw, unfiltered emotion that didn’t belong to someone like him - not to the version of him Frank knew, the steady, composed one who always had answers, who always held everything together.

Frank didn’t know what to do with that.

Didn’t know how to process it.

Because Robby didn’t cry.

Seeing him like this-

It didn’t fit anywhere in Frank’s understanding of world.

„I… I didn’t-” Frank swallowed, throat tightening painfully. „I didn’t think-”

The words stuck.

Because the truth was-

He hadn’t thought it would get this bad.

Not like this.

„I was fine,” he finished weakly, the words barely holding together.

Robby’s expression twisted at that, something pained and disbelieving flashing across his face.

„Frank-”

„She loved the kids,” Frank added, quieter now, like that explained something, like that justified staying, enduring, not leaving. „I couldn’t…”

Couldn’t what?

Couldn’t leave.

Couldn’t risk it.

Couldn’t make it worse.

His gaze dropped to his hands, trembling slightly against the blanket.

„Frank.”

Gentle fingers slid under his chin, lifting his head carefully, deliberately avoiding pressure, avoiding pain.

So careful.

And that-

That undid him more than anything else.

Because it didn’t hurt.

„Look at me.”

He tried.

Through the blur of tears.

Through the swelling.

Through everything.

„You didn’t deserve that,” Robby said, voice firm despite the emotion still threaded through it, steady in a way that left no room for argument. „Do you hear me?”

Frank shook his head weakly.

Instinct.

Denial.

Something ingrained too deeply to undo in a moment.

„Frank-” Robby leaned closer. „What she did to you… none of that is on you. Not a single part of it.”

Frank’s breathing faltered again.

„You did everything you could,” Robby continued, quieter now but no less certain. „You protected those kids. You kept them safe.”

A pause.

„And you survived.”

That-

That landed differently.

And then Robby moved.

Carefully.

Deliberately avoiding his ribs, his side, his face-

And pulled him into a gentle, protective hug.

Frank stiffened for half a second-

And then collapsed into it.

Completely.

Because it had been so long since anything had felt safe in a way that didn’t come with conditions attached, in a way that didn’t feel temporary or fragile or dependent on keeping everything just right.

This felt different.

The sobs came without warning, tearing out of him in uneven, painful bursts, his body shaking with the force of it, each movement pulling against injuries that hadn’t even begun to heal, but he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to.

Robby didn’t let go.

Just held him there.

Steady. Present.

„Later,” Robby said quietly against his hair, voice softer now, more grounded. „There’ll be statements. Police. All of that.”

Frank’s grip tightened weakly in his shirt, the words both distant and overwhelming at the same time.

„But you won’t have to see her again.”

Frank broke harder at that, the idea too big, too unfamiliar to fully accept.

Because part of him still didn’t believe it.

Still expected the door to open.

Still expected everything to fall back into place the way it always had.

„And you’re coming home with me,” Robby added, voice rough but lighter at the edges now, like he was trying to anchor something hopeful into place. „No arguments. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

A weak, broken sound left Frank then, something caught between a laugh and a sob, fragile and uncertain.

And for the first time-

Really, truly for the first time-

The thought settled.

Not fully.

Not cleanly.

But enough.

Maybe-

Maybe he didn’t have to go back.

Maybe-

This could actually end.

And as he cried into Robby’s shoulder, exhaustion finally pulling him back under, that fragile, impossible thought stayed with him.

That maybe-

Just maybe-

Everything might, eventually, be okay again.