Archive of Our Own

7AM: Langdon

The day had barely started and Frank was in a shit mood.

For one—and bless her, it wasn't her fault— Penny had kept him up all night since she was teething, crying herself awake every hour in these loud bursts that had Tanner climbing out of his own bed worried and glassy eyed for his little sister, dragging his blanket behind him to wedge himself between Frank and Abby in their bed. Yeah, he was five years old now but Frank couldn't bear to say no. At some point in the dark he was pretty sure a heel had caught him right in the ribs. It still ached when he pulled a full breath this morning.

Secondly, his wife… well…

He knew she had been trying for so long, and he was too. But it seemed like they both knew what was coming, though neither of them had said anything outright yet. Something was hanging there between them getting larger by not being named. But this morning, before he walked out the door, she’d, well, she’d—

Frank shook his head hard, as though to dislodge the memory from his mind completely.

He needed to be clear headed today. He wouldn't risk his patients because of his own personal shit. She'd threatened it before, hadn't she? And who does that to someone at 6AM? Hadn't he been putting all this work in for months? Over half a year of sobriety, of NA, doing all these steps with the chips to prove it.

With Robby still on sabbatical, things were starting to feel like he was actually worth something in the Emergency Department again. Abbott rode him hard but fairly, and Frank chalked some of that up to Jack having to drag himself through day attending duties when everyone knew he preferred nights when he could prowl the department in that feral yet charming way he had when the real chaos rolled in. Al-Hashimi was here too, though there was something no one was saying about her— like there was some cloud over her. She was never left alone without Abbott nearby or a resident drifting in orbit, always some second set of eyes at her shoulder when cases got complicated. Frank knew enough not to ask directly. All he knew was she was smart as shit, fast on differential, and only a little spacey once in a while, where she’d stop in the middle of dictating and stare half a second too long at a monitor before coming back to herself.

As he walked inside, sipping a lukewarm Red Bull he’d forgotten to put in the fridge, the cool air washed over Frank as his eyes moved over the emergency department by habit. Most of the rooms were beginning to clear out, the board looking crisis-less for now. The white noise of monitors chirping guided his steps around the vast arena where he heard chatter over shift changes. Other than that, things seemed quiet.

Fuck him, he knew better than to let that word even pass in his thoughts.

He watched the charge nurses chat as he made his way around the desk, Lena talking Dana's ear off through some story he caught in pieces as he passed. ETOH frequent flyer in four-point restraints, GI bleed boarding since three, still waiting on a bed upstairs and a psych hold that tried to elope through ambulance bay doors before security brought him back.

Same circus, different day.

He took another swallow of warm Red Bull and started towards the lockers, throwing his things in the lower shelves, his breath only hitching a little at the bend of his back. Once he'd thrown on his scrubs, he shut the locker with his foot, stood a moment to collect himself, then pulled a deep breath and headed out into the fray of it all.

His eyes landed on who he'd been looking for the entire way in.

He knew he was beginning to get a bit out of hand with how often he looked for her, the way he talked to her and reached for her. How he was always finding some reason to stop and check in on how her patients were doing, or leaning in over a chart neither of them needed to study that hard, or asking her more than just about her day if time allowed for it.

And on the hard days, the ones that left a mark worse than any physical bruise to bear, he’d sometimes find her in the ambulance bay, looking up at the sky or down at her phone or sometimes nothing at all. He never thought much about going to look for her until he caught himself already there.

She was standing in front of the board now, neck craned, a little frown on her lips and thick glasses catching the fluorescents above. Her shoulders were drawn up with concentration.

He began to walk over to her, to call her name, when—

"Dr. Langdon!"

He turned on his heel to see Javadi jogging over to him, her eyes wide and tablet hugged to her chest with one hand, stethoscope in the other.

“I picked up the chest pain in south fifteen, can I present?” she asked, stopping a foot before him. He nodded a bit distractedly, taking one last swig of his energy drink before throwing it in the nearby trash.

“Scott Andrews is a fifty-eight year old male," Javadi began, guiding him into a walk towards the south end of the department, "pressure in the chest started an hour before arrival while shoveling his garden, radiates left arm, diaphoretic on arrival. EMS gave aspirin en route. First troponin pending. EKG has ST depressions in V4 through V6 but I wasn’t sure if you’d call them dynamic.”

Frank adjusted course with her as she turned toward the room of the patient.

“What’s his pressure?”

“158 over 96.”

Hypertensive if anything. Pain driving some of that, maybe baseline too. Probably not a massive bleed or pump failure.

“Pain?”

“Six out of ten after nitro.”

He gave a small grunt, already listening harder. Still hurting meant maybe ischemia. Maybe ACS.

“Differential?” he asked her.

She quickly, then steadied. “Maybe NSTEMI?”

“Maybe?”

She caught herself. “Concern for NSTEMI. Could be ACS or ischemia.”

He nodded. He kept reminding her to be confident in these sorts of talks.

They stopped just outside the room, Javadi pulling up the tracing on her tablet. Frank leaned in, eyes scanning the EKG while she kept talking, voice picking up speed the way med students did when they worried silence meant they were losing you.

At some point, while Javadi was telling him she hadn’t ordered heparin yet because she wanted him to weigh in, his eyes lifted.

Across the way, Mel had moved.

She was slipping into a bay with a tablet tucked to her side, pushing the curtain with her hand, turning her head as a patient said something from inside. He watched her pause, already listening intently. Then she stepped into the bay, not even glancing his way when she turned to close the curtain. But Frank watched anyway, and only then noticed the patient: young guy, maybe around her age, propped up in bed and looking far too cheerful to be sitting in an ER. The curtain wasn't closed entirely, and Frank could see he seemed to brighten when Mel turned toward him.

“Dr. Langdon?”

Javadi was looking at him.

He looked back at the tablet, avoiding her curious stare, and realized there were two charts on the screen.

“You pull an old tracing?”

“I did.”

He looked at her.

“I checked his history. He came in for a similar complaint last year, got worked up and sent home after they called it ACS rule-out, but they started him on Lovastatin. These depressions were there then too,” she said quickly, a little fidgety, voice shaking. “Same leads. But they’re deeper now.”

Frank took the tablet from her and looked again.

Possibilities ran through his head like muscle memory. Old ischemic pattern maybe. Chronic disease maybe. But worse today…

“Start heparin,” he confirmed, handing back the tablet. “Repeat the EKG in fifteen. Second troponin when due. Get cardiology down here if pain persists.”

She nodded, hurrying toward the computer to put in orders.

“Javadi.”

She looked up at him, expectant.

“Good catch.”

A quick flicker crossed her face, almost surprised. And then, he watched her hesitate before she smiled.

"Hey are you…coming to Whitaker's party tonight?" she asked.

Something in Frank twinged at that, albeit a bit amused.

"I… doubt I'd be welcome." he admitted, maybe a little sheepishly. He looked around the ER for a moment before landing back on the young student doctor.

She shrugged with a smile still on her face, "Well, I'm inviting you. Mel will be there too."

He didn't like the tone in her voice when she said that.

So he made an awkward sort of smile, almost like a wince before he nodded, "Heparin, EKG— let me know if anything changes with Mr. Andrews."

Mel

Dirt was always so stubborn.

She didn’t mind it usually. One time she sat with a road rash patient for an hour pulling out bits of gravel. It gave her a kind of zen, a kind of peace, but… today… she wasn’t sure what it was that was bugging her. Probably that even a month after finding out her sister had a boyfriend, was having sex, had a life…it still got to her. She felt so… so… she wasn’t sure. The only thing she knew was that she couldn’t think about it too much, because then she’d get mad, and when she got mad or frustrated or worried she’d cry, and she could not cry in front of a patient. Who would trust their doctor if they cried in front of them? And then she’d have to explain why she was so upset, she’d look stupid, her patient would never trust her, and this dirt was taking so long to clean—

She squeezed the bottle of saline so it flushed through the wound, watching the water carry a little cloud of gray into the basin.

Then again, and again, and again. Pulling bits of stubborn debris and then flushing again until finally she had a perfectly clean wound to suture.

“I can’t tell if you’re ignoring me or flirting.”

Mel looked up, her glasses fallen so far to the bottom of her nose so she had to scrunch it and peer at his blurry visage above the lenses, feeling utterly silly before nudging them back up with the knuckle of her gloved finger.

“I—I’m not ignoring you,” she said quickly. “I’m cleaning your wound.”

The boy smiled at that.

He had floppy curly hair, brown eyes. He was looking at her funny—crinkles at the corner of his eyes. There was only one other person who looked at her like that on a rare occasion, but looking at this boy now, she only felt confusion, no belly flips or heat in her cheeks. And he was looking at her like he knew something she didn't, and so many people did that, and it always made her feel…

Small.

“What’re you doing after work today, Doctor…?”

His eyes scanned down her body, seemingly looking for her badge. She missed her jacket suddenly even though she left it at home since it was sweltering outside today.

“Dr. King,” she finished for him, looking back down at the open wound, grabbing her suture kit. “I usually hang out with my sister after work. We get pizza and watch Elf. But she’s…” Her throat tightened. “…busy tonight.”

Don’t cry, Melissa.

"Well if that frees you up, maybe you and I could—"

“Good morning,” a voice came from her left, her ears pricking at it. “What do we have here?”

“Um—trail accident off a dirt bike,” Mel said quickly, almost with relief. “Laceration below the patella, no fracture on x-ray, dirt contamination but I irrigated and debrided it. I was about to place three simple interrupted sutures.”

She saw him nod in her periphery and took a chance at a glance up. Langdon stood over her with his arms crossed, eyes on the patient in the bed.

"Boys and I were out on the trails," the patient explained, "tried doing a dumb trick and went down the hill, just my leg got torn up."

“Yikes, sounds like you were lucky,” Langdon replied, then, seemingly to her, he added: “cover him for infection?”

She nodded at once. “I cleaned it thoroughly and I was going to put in for prophylactic antibiotics.”

He looked at her finally. There it was—that stupid belly flip as their eyes met. She averted her gaze quickly, threading needle through driver, trying very hard to look occupied.

“I was just telling Dr. King,” the patient said with some sort of amused tone, “that her bedside manner is awfully quiet for such a pretty girl.”

Mel looked up quickly, the guy smiling wide at her.

“Oh.” She gave a small, uncertain smile in return. “That’s nice of you to say.”

And then as he looked up at Langdon beside her, his smile dropped.

Mel looked at Langdon too, then back at the patient.

For one strange second she had the confused sense she’d missed part of a conversation no one had spoken aloud. Langdon hadn’t moved, but something in his face had gone still. His blue eyes had gone icy cold, arms tightening across his chest.

“Dr. King,” he said, voice even. “This is a job for the med students. Go grab one. They could use the experience.”

“Oh,” Mel said, looking between them so fast again her neck was going to start getting sore. “It's okay, I can finish quickly.”

“I insist.”

She stared at him for a long moment. What had she missed here?

"Mel." he said softly when she'd been staring.

"Right, yeah, okay—"

She set down her suture kit, stripped off her gloves and stood from the stool. Moving quickly to flag down Ogilvie, the tall curly-haired blonde intern, she returned back to the bay and gave a hurried summary of his injury all the while she could feel Langdon watching him with some kind of eagle eye.

“Come get me when you’re done, Ogilvie,” Langdon said as they walked out of the bay.

He walked beside her in silence for a moment, shoulders tense.

“How’s your day so far?” he said it with a sigh, like he was letting something out.

“Oh—” She startled a little, stopping at the computer and scanning her badge. The chart opened. She clicked through the tracking board, checking whether her abdominal pain in seven had come back from CT, whether the repeat lactate had resulted on the septic patient in fourteen, whether the potassium recheck on the dialysis patient had posted yet.

“Fine,” she said. “My day is fine.”

Langdon stepped in front of the workstation, directly in her eyeline.

“How’s Becca?”

Mel's lip twitched, her hand coming up to push her glasses up again, “Good. She’s…with Adam and his family today. They went to the zoo.”

“That’s nice,” Langdon said softly. "Right?"

She nodded, brows scrunching up.

“What was up with that kid?”

Mel looked at him finally.

“Dirt bike accident. I cleaned the debris and flushed with saline—”

“I know, I know.” He glanced back toward the bay, then back at her. “I meant…” He stopped. “Never mind.”

“Dr. Langdon?" Javadi was back, jogging past him, slightly out of breath with every step, "It’s Mr. Andrews—his chest pain jumped back to eight out of ten and there’s new ST depression in the repeat EKG.”

"I'll be right there." he nodded as she passed by. "Call cards."

Mel was closing out the computer now, heading for her dialysis patient to discharge.

“Are you, uh—”

His voice made her stop.

“I heard you’re going to Whitaker’s party tonight. Is it his birthday or something?”

Mel’s mouth twitched into a half smile, coming back to the counter. She liked Whitaker. They made a good team, he was a good doctor. He was nice.

“Oh—yeah. I feel kind of bad, though, I didn’t get him anything.” Her words started coming quicker as she a memory of one Saturday shift came to mind, “I recently found out he’s really into astrology, and Trinity got him into reading birth charts and they were reading mine, and they said I have…” She tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear as she nodded with every word she remembered. “Strong Aquarius energy. Trinity says Aquariuses are eccentric but Whitaker said it just means I'm just kinda aloof, but I'm still not sure if I believe in that stuff.”

Sh shrugged. “And then I thought maybe I’d get him something witchy, because they talk about tarot? But I went into this little shop on Grant Street and the man working there started asking if I’d ever had my palm read and I panicked and bought incense..."

She paused, gripping both long sides of her stethoscope hanging around her neck, and added in afterthought: “I don’t even burn incense.”

She looked back at Langdon, realizing maybe she'd been talking too much—she was really working on that—but she found him smiling at her again. Crinkled eyes, lips pulled wide into a grin. He made an amused frown and nodded, "That actually tracks—I always wondered if Santos put a curse on me, maybe."

Her cheeks hurt from smiling back at him, and then her smile dropped, thinking about how much friction had been between him and Trinity over the past two months.

"Are—will you be there?" she couldn't help the question, it came out quiet and nervous, voice lowered.

Langdon's smile started to drop a bit too, gaze lowering. "Uh…"

Mel looked down at once, fingers tightening around the tubing of her stethoscope.

“Oh. Okay. It’s okay if you can't, or don't want—”

“No, no.” He leaned in a fraction, correcting her gently. “I’m not saying no.”

She looked back up.

“Find me in a few hours and ask again,” he said. “Let’s see how the day goes.” A little amused note touched his mouth. “Depends whether this place tries to kill me first.”

He tipped his head toward the hall.

“I gotta go check on this heart patient, but—hey—”

Mel had already started to turn again before stopping and looking back.

“You okay?”

She stopped, assessed herself silently—yeah, she was fine. Other than her body being a little sore from being on her feet all day yesterday and not enough sleep. She'd been here everyday this week, long days and mostly lonely nights. But there was nothing else wrong with her. Her chest was a little tight, her mind full of the day ahead, of him asking her to find him and not just for a patient update. It hadn’t sounded like an distinct no about coming later to the party. She really wished he would, because knowing Trinity and Dennis and Victoria, this would not be their usual after-work beers in the park she’d joined day shift for once or twice. They were going to a karaoke bar. The music might be too loud, people would invariably be talking over each other, somebody might hand her a drink she didn’t want. There would be people standing too close at the bar, too much happening at once, and sooner or later someone would try to make her sing.

It would be nice if she had a friend there.

“Yeah. Yeah,” she said, though too quickly. "I'm fine."

She watched Langdon study her a moment, then nodded once.

“Alright.”

10AM: Langdon

Frank had already drained an abscess in triage because surgery was backed up, talked a man out of leaving AMA with a blood sugar over six hundred, and now stood half bent over Bed Nine while a woman in her seventies gripped the rails and insisted the room was spinning because “the floor is crooked" by ten in the morning.

Vertigo versus posterior stroke.

He hated when it could be either.

“Follow my finger.”

Her eyes jittered.

Nystagmus.

He had her lift her arms, she was talking normally. He'd order a CT with the nurses, he didn't want to miss a cerebellar stroke so maybe he'd order a CTA too. He stripped his gloves after reassuring the woman he'd get her all taken care of, and headed out of the room. He saw Javadi over at the computer when he came out.

"How's Mr. Andrews?"

“Good. He’s under control now. Cardiology saw him and wants him upstairs for monitoring. Okay if I start the second heparin protocol and send him up?”

Langdon nodded, good, another one off his mental list.

But his head turned at the first burst of commotion behind him, voices rising in the bays, a monitor alarming in an irregular burst that cut through the department noise.

He saw a blonde braid whip behind a curtain.

Then her face.

Eyes wide, terrified behind two glassy frames.

Mel.

"NEED SOME HELP IN HERE!"

He was running before his brain collected a single thought. "Javadi— get Perlah!" he called over his shoulder.

By the time he reached the bed the motorcross patient was in full convulsions, arm knocking against the rail.

Frank hit the brake with his hip, lowering the side rails in the same beat. Perlah was running into the room with Princess on her heels.

“How long has she been seizing?”

“Just started—" Mel said quickly, "he said he felt weird and then—”

“Protect the head.”

She had already grabbed a folded blanket and was wedging it beneath the patient’s skull.

The convulsions kept running, longer than Frank liked, and then the boy stopped abruptly, sucked in a ragged breath, and vomited over the side of the bed. Mel had suction there almost before he asked.

“Two Lorazipam! Keep him on his side."

"On it!" Perlah called, rushing over to the drawer.

Frank flashed his penlight across the patient’s pupils. "Did he hit his head in the crash?"

Mel went pale as she looked up at him.

"He said no."

“Pressure’s 168 over 92. Pulse 126. Sat 94—" Perlah said quickly after pushing the syringe into the IV.

“Head CT now. Get him to the front of the line.”

"He said he didn’t hit his head!" Mel repeated a little louder, sharper, panic in her voice.

The patient was confused now, postictal, trying to form words and failing, and Frank felt the case shift as if cogs in his brain were finally moving together. Leg wound had taken too much attention upon arrival, head injury could have been hiding there all along.

Then he looked back at Mel.

“What was his neuro exam when he came in?”

For one second she looked stricken, and he hated that look on her.

Then she answered quickly, because she knew.

“Alert, oriented, no focal neuro, pupils equal, no loss of consciousness reported."

He nodded once.

She had done everything exactly right with the information provided, there was no way to know for sure. Of course she did.

And when Perlah and Princess were pushing the stretcher out together toward CT, his hand touched the small of Mel's back just long enough to guide her around the corner into a darkened exam room, and he wish he hadn't noticed how her shoulders relaxed at his touch.

"I don't know how I didn't see— he came in completely fine!" she said quickly, fingers clenched together in front of her chest as she turned towards him.

"It's okay—" he began, a little winded, closing the door behind him so they'd be in the dark silence. "Hey, c'mon, look at me."

She made a small sound at the touch of his hands on her upper arms as he cupped them, his wide palms wrapping around easily, and she squeezed her eyes shut once before opening them.

“It happens. We don’t always get it right the first time, right?” he said. “Tell me what you'll do next time.”

“Next time?”

“Motorcycle crash. Distracting injury to the leg with gross contamination in the wound. What’s your first step?”

“I—” She shook her head hard, closing her eyes again.

“Mel.” His thumbs pressed lightly at her sleeves. “Talk me through it.”

She folded in a little towards him, her hands clenched under her chin now. When she opened her eyes they were glossy, fluorescent lights from outside the dark room catching the wet rims.

"I would send him for a CT right away. I should've the second he got here. Motorized vehicle accident—I'm so stupid."

Langdon was shaking his head, "Not stupid, these things hide so easily, huh?"

She nodded.

He did something he maybe should not have done next.

But they were in a quiet exam room, dark with curtains drawn at either side of them, and so he lifted his hands from her arms and cupped her face so she would look at him.

Yeah.

He was letting this get too out of hand.

Because why did it feel so natural?

She inhaled sharply, a tear falling from her eye.

“It’s okay,” he said, swiping his thumb across the trail. "You did everything right with the information you had.”

"But his head—"

She was still breathing too shallow, and he could sense the panic thrumming in her chest, so he said, “Take a breath with me. C’mon, in—” and they both drew one together, his hands still warm at her face, “and out—” and he exhaled with her, watching her shoulders loosen by degrees and some of the strain go out of her mouth as the air left her. He felt her soft breath against his face.

“That’s it,” he murmured, thumbs coaxing and gentle against her soft cheeks. “Better?”

She nodded, Mhm.

Frank told himself he needed to drop his hands now, needed to step back before this became something harder to pretend away, but when her eyes lifted to his he caught himself not looking back into them, but down at her mouth instead, wetting his lower lip without thinking, and only then forced himself to pull away.

"Stay here a few minutes if you need it,” he said, his voice rougher now as he turned towards the door, the sound of the emergency department flooding the room as he opened it. “But you did great out there. You have nothing to be sorry for, okay?”

Mel nodded solemnly, "okay."

3PM: Mel

She knew, rationally, that she had not caused her client's seizure. But still, Mel felt like she had an IV hooked into her skin dripping guilt into her bloodstream as she stood outside his curtain.

"Mr. Reeds? It's Dr. King." she said softly outside the bay.

"You're back," he said cheerfully, and she opened the curtain to step in.

He looked paler now, hair flattened in odd places from whatever they’d done moving him around all day, telemetry leads on his chest now, an IV pump humming beside him, but he was awake, propped up a little, blinking slower and smiling the second he saw her.

“Well,” he said. “Look who it is. My favorite doctor came back.”

Mel looked down at the floor once before moving toward the bed.

“Oh, you remember me. Already a good sign." she said with a nervous smile, "I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

His face pinched. “For what?”

“For not… catching what was happening sooner.”

He stared at her a second, then gave a tired little laugh.

“You're apologizing to me because I had a seizure?”

She frowned, thinking. “Yes.”

That made him laugh harder, then wince. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh, My heard hurts-- think my brain’s expensive now.”

A smile pulled on her cheek before she could stop it, and he looked almost delighted at the sight.

“Might be hooked up here for a while, but … I still was wondering what you're doing tonight, Dr. King."

Mel busied herself, checking his pupils again, looking at the monitor, mostly so she didn’t have to understand why he was even asking.

"I um, I'm actually going to a friend's birthday party." she said simply.

"With your boyfriend?"

She turned off her penlight and looked at him quizzically. "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Good news for me then." he said, smiling crookedly.

She felt so confused by this conversation. But she was just glad he was talking, that his eyes were tracking smoothly and reactive to the light.

“Why?”

“Because that means you’re available.”

She opened her mouth, perhaps to answer, perhaps to ask whether those were the same thing, when a voice from the doorway cut across it.

“Well. Glad to see you’re feeling better, bud.”

Mel turned.

Langdon stood there at the mouth of the bay again, arms folded, looking at the patient in a way that made something in the room get cold before she understood why.

“Neurology wants you upstairs for monitoring for the next few days,” he said. “So I wouldn’t be planning date nights for awhile.”

The patient gave a half smile, trying to hold onto whatever confidence he had five seconds ago.

“Was just asking.”

“Oh, I heard.”

Langdon stepped farther in, close enough now that Mel became aware of his icy demeanor almost immediately, so different from just hours ago. He took his badge and scanned at the computer.

The patient, either brave or stupid, smiled toward Mel and shrugged.

“She seemed interested.”

Mel turned quickly. “I did?”

“No, she didn’t,” Langdon said swiftly, eyes still on the screen. “Oof. Looks like last time you were here you passed out during a routine blood draw. You sure this is the kinda guy you're looking for in a date, Dr. King?"

The boy went red.

Mel felt her whole face burn.

“Dr. Langdon!” she said, horrified. “That is not—”

"Dude what's your problem?"

“My problem,” he said, voice calmer than Mel expected, which made it worse, “is patients mistaking medical attention for an invitation. Just because they're in the same room as you taking care of you does not mean they're yours to flirt with."

Mel could feel heat scalding her neck, her face aflame, her eyes widening and mouth hanging open.

This was unbearable.

And public.

Langdon clicked the chart closed. “I’m getting a nurse to take you upstairs for neuro monitoring, and I’d strongly recommend you spend the ride thinking less about dates and more about the state of your head."

“Jesus Christ,” the kid muttered.

"Dr. Langdon —" Mel snapped finally, "Can I talk to you outside for a moment?"

She was already walking ahead of him, not waiting for an answer. She couldn't even use her usual Megan Thee Stallion lyrics to soothe herself on the way there. Her blood was hot with the frustration rushing through her. She made her way toward the staff lounge, barely taking in the blur of nurses passing, carts rattling over the tile, the overhead page cutting in and out, because by the time he caught up she could feel her pulse everywhere and knew if she didn’t say this quickly she might lose the nerve or explode.

"Mel, wait—"

Her brain felt fried. She blamed the no sleep for that, on the soreness in her feet from a long week, on not enough water, not enough food, anything but what this actually was, because this had come from nowhere and she had no clue what to do with it.

She turned once the door to the lounge closed behind him.

“No. Please let me say this first.” Her voice shook and that annoyed her, but she kept going. “I really think you have the best interests of your patients in mind, I do, but what you just did in there was really unkind.”

He looked almost taken aback.

“Unkind.”

“Yes.” She nodded hard. “He was scared. He'd just had a seizure. He is concussed. And you humiliated him.”

“He was all over you while you were treating him.”

“He was talking to me.”

“He was hitting on you.”

Mel frowned, because that made so little sense to her she almost thought she’d misheard.

“Hitting on me?”

Langdon seemed to struggle with that, and that only made her more upset because she had dragged him out here to understand what on earth had happened and instead it felt like he was speaking in half-finished thoughts.

“He was using the fact you were there, alone with him, taking care of him—”

“That is my job.”

“Yes, and he was flirting with you like we were all in Fiji on an episode of Love Island.”

She stared at him.

“But this...isn't... I wasn't flirting. You thought he was flirting?” The words came out almost wounded. “I was just talking to him.”

And maybe because she said it so plainly, because she meant it so plainly, something in his face tightened.

“I know you were, Mel."

There was something in his tone that was off. She had heard versions of this same conversations all her life dressed up in different condescending language. Langdon had never been condescending to her, but still, it hit a nerve.

People always told her she would never understand, that she was always so serious or not serious enough. That she was too sincere and would be taken advantage of one day. As if she hadn't been able to take care of herself and her sister all this time.

She felt anger come up so suddenly it startled her.

“I am a third-year resident,” she said, and nearly stomped her foot in resolute stubbornness. “That is my patient. I missed something catastrophic with him this morning, I have spent the last five hours trying not to replay every choice I made, and instead of helping me, you walked in there and made me look like an idiot.”

His eyes narrowed.

“If you thought he was being inappropriate, you could have told me privately. If you thought I was distracted, you could have taught me. Instead you embarrassed him in front of me and me in front of him.”

He looked silenced for a moment, and Mel was used to this too, to the strange pause after she said something too directly and people not knowing how to answer, but now she did not fill the silence for him.

Then he said, more quietly, “I was trying to protect you.”

She blinked.

“From what?”

And she meant it. From what? From an alleged flirtatious twenty-something with a seizure issue? From conversation? From being asked to hang out?

The whole premise sounded absurd to her, and because she looked genuinely confused, not combative, something in him seemed to falter, but she was all worked up, anger flooding her veins in hot rushes.

“I’m sorry if you’ve had a bad day,” she said, and now her voice was trembling again because she hated fighting and hated even more that she was close to tears for the third time today, “but I need you to go deal with your own patients and leave me…alone.”

He stared at her for so long she suddenly thought she'd gone too far, that she should take it back, apologize, and her heart was suddenly pounding hard enough she had the absurd thought she was lucky she wasn’t hooked to a machine.

At last he cleared his throat.

“Right,” he said, very controlled. “Well.”

He looked away, nodding.

“Sorry to bother you, Dr. King."

The use of her last name made her flinch.

"I'll let you get back to your patients."

"Thank you." she said quickly.

And it was only as he turned and started for the door, only as she watched the set of his shoulders and the way he did not look back, that she understood he had not meant it kindly at all. It had not been apology or courtesy, but maybe offense meant to sound polite, and somehow that landed too late and much harder in the pit of her stomach.

7PM: Langdon

Shift changes always had a bit of a drag to them, the need to get the hell out hanging over him all the while but the confusing notion of not really wanting to go home. Especially not today. Frank stood with Shen near the workstation listening through hand off or at least trying to. Shen had his classic caramel Dunkin iced coffee but the ice had already melted down from the outside humidity, something Frank was not looking forward to as he thought of going to his car.

“So,” Shen said, “Heart attack is upstairs on tele, neuro took your dirt bike kid, dizzy lady’s still waiting on a CTA because apparently you enjoy ordering expensive tests, and Bed Twelve is…?”

“Clean.”

“Miracles happen.”

Frank almost smiled, but it was more of a grimace.

Shen kept going. “Seventeen’s lipase is still cooking. If he starts vomiting blood in the next five minutes I’m dragging you back.”

Frank muttered something in return, but his attention had already began to slip. Usully he could excuse it for a long day, but he knew better. He'd been trying to catch Mel's eye for the better last half of the day, her ducking out of sight or shooting him long looks of uncertainty. He'd acted out, he knew it. He knew he'd been taking whatever this thing was between them--what was supposed to be just friendship-- a little too far. He just wanted to say something before she left for the night.

But then Shen stopped his monologuing mid-sentence, took a drink, and said, “Helloooo?"

Frank frowned. “What.”

Shen tipped his plastic coffee cup, not at Langdon, but toward the glass doors.

Frank looked like he already knew what he'd see.

Mel was headed outside, phone cradled in two hands in front of her.

She walked with purpose, shoulders drawn up in a way he recognized after only a few weeks of working together meant she was holding tension in her chest and pretending she was okay. She was looking down at her phone intently and hooked a right when the doors closed behind her.

Frank looked back too late. Shen had seen.

And there was a note of amusement in his voice when he said, “There it is.”

“There what is?” Frank asked, maybe a bit too defensive.

“That thing where I’m talking about a possible pancreatitis and you’re staring through glass at Dr. King.”

Frank said nothing, which was answer enough.

Shen took a long sip of coffee, the air at the bottom of his cup making an obnoxious slurping sound.

“You two have a domestic?”

Frank sighed, rolling his eyes, "Shut up."

Shen was still grinning, watching Frank for a long minute.

"Go," he finally said, "I'm good here, I'll bug a dayshift intern for details if I need them."

Frank rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, dragged his hands down his face, buying himself a second because he hated how quickly he was ready to take the invitation. "Okay…thanks, John."

"No prob, ER Ken."

Frank groaned. "Yoyo teach you that one?"

"You bet!" Shen shouted over his shoulder as he walked to the next bay.

Frank headed for the ambulance bay, and the heat met him before the doors fully opened, that muggy August Pittsburgh air that seemed to sit on your skin and the hot breeze never helped. It smelled of hot pavement and Jimmy's Hot Dogs fry grease from down the street.

There was another hour of light hanging on, though it had softened. The sun had gone low enough behind the city skyline that the hospital cast long shadows across the bay, the glass doors catching the beginnings of an orange sunset.

He heard a familiar voice, a little fuzzy through a cellphone speaker.

"Mel! Guess what we saw today!"

"What?" Mel responded, her voice loud over the sound of the city around them.

"A sloth!" Becca exclaimed. Frank could picture Mel's sister's big smile as she talked about her favorite animal.

"Oh, that's awesome!"

"He was sooo big and fluffy! And his nails were so long."

Mel was smiling big, but Frank couldn't help but notice it didn’t quite meet her eyes. He stepped to the side, not hiding exactly, but he was unwilling to interrupt something private before he understood what he was walking into.

"That's great, Bec. Did you have fun?"

“Oh my gosh, yes. Adam is so nice, he even got me a sloth stuffed animal, look! I’m naming him Buddy, you know from—”

"Elf." Mel finished for her, nodding.

"Yes! Best movie ever."

Mel nodded, "What did you eat for dinner?"

"I got chicken nuggets and fries at the zoo! We're going out for ice cream soon."

“You know, you should really try eating some vegetables, Bec. I put them in your lunchbox. for Ms. Richards to give you.”

And there was that note Frank had heard before, the one where Mel slid from sister to caretaker so easily she maybe didn’t know she’d done it.

“I know, Mel, but I left it in the fridge at Middle Hill, and those chicken nuggets smelled so good and it was easier to eat at the park.”

Mel nodded, “Okay, but maybe tomorrow you could have a salad. The Caesar one you like so much?"

"Ohh that sounds so good!" Becca exlcaimed through the speaker. "Good idea, Mel! But why do you look so sad?"

Frank's heart dropped.

"I'm not sad," Mel replied quickly, "Just—I wanna make sure you're okay."

"I'm great!"

"Good, that's good."

"Okay, well, Adam wants to get ice cream now! Bye!"

He saw Mel struggle to try to slip in a goodbye, Oh-but-wait— but the screen had gone dark on her phone.

She sighed, dropping her hand and letting her phone hang loosely in her fingertips.

"Hey," Frank finally called out gently as he let out a breath.

Mel turned around to look at him, her brows scrunched up, a frown that seemed permanent on her face today.

"Oh. Hi."

"Your sister okay?"

"Yeah, she's great. She's having the time of her life."

“Not used to you using sarcasm,” he said, watching her more closely now. “You sound like me.”

Mel grimaced a bit, "I wasn't being sarcastic. Sounds like they had a good day."

He stepped closer, stopping beside her near the metal rail where the paint had chipped off in places, exposing the dull gray underneath. An empty stretcher rattled behind them, wheels catching over a seam in the pavement as a couple of EMS drivers got back in their truck. Someone called for transport down the lane. The air stuck to his skin at the back of his neck, the heat heavy in the air.

She slid her phone into her pocket and immediately brought her hands together, wringing her fingers, elbows locked straight at her sides as she rocked forward onto her toes and then back again.

“I’m…really sorry for how I acted today, Mel,” he finally said, keeping his voice even, trying to steady his gaze on her face and not let them drift. He owed her a real apology. He hadn't acted out like he did today for a long time, at least…not here, at work. Snapping at people, lashing out even on a patient. He couldn't say the same for his behavior at home. With—he let out a long breath through his nose, his jaw tightening a little—his own wife.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he added, quieter this time.

“It’s okay.” Mel shook her head, but she didn’t look at him when she said it.

“No, it’s really not.” He dragged his hand over his face, thumb catching on the edge of his five o’clock shadow that had begun to roughen his jaw over the last twelve hours. “I was a dick, and I’m sorry.”

"Apology accepted." she said easily, but earnestly, in such a Mel way he knew she meant. "But…why were you mad at him?"

Frank Langdon wasn’t sure he could answer that honestly. He frowned, eyes searching her face for something to land on, something she might accept without him saying too much. He didn’t find it. He looked away instead, toward the curb where a dark line of oil had settled into the concrete from ambulances coming and going. The answer was on the tip of his tongue, right there, he wanted to say it so badly, but knew…he knew he couldn't.

He let out a long breath again, he had so much breath in his lungs and yet not enough to fill him with the courage he'd need. His arm brushed hers, and he pulled it back quickly, facing her.

"I should probably get home soon." Frank said.

Mel’s eyebrows scrunched tighter, and now she was fully looking at him, her head tilting just slightly. She caught it for what it was. But she allowed him the grace to not ask.

"Have a good night, Mel."

He didn’t wait for her to answer. He turned and walked back inside, through the automatic doors and into the colder air. The noise of the ER folded back over him as he passed around the chaotic board and towards the lockers.

It all moved fast and slow at the same time after that, like he was walking through thick water. His hands worked without much thought— pulling off his scrubs, the fabric sticking slightly at his back, dropping it into his locker before dragging on his jeans and a dark gray t-shirt. His fingers fumbled once on the button, then again on the zipper, the delay irritating him more than it warranted. He grabbed his keys, his bag, shut the locker and headed out.

His car sat where he’d left it in the muggy garage that reeked of motor oil and piss, the old Honda the same dull color with the same dent along the back panel— the same problem he kept putting off because it wasn’t urgent enough to fix until it was. He clicked the fob out of habit, then remembered that the thing's battery died last week, cursing under his breath as nothing happened, and reached for the door to slide the key it into it, forcing it open with a small jerk.

The seat was searing when he dropped into it, the air stale and warm in the closeness of the cracked leather. He threw his backpack into the passenger seat and sat there for a second, both hands coming up to grip the steering wheel tight, his forehead tipping forward, hovering as he shut his eyes.

What the hell did he do to deserve a day like this? Though, in hindsight, he had to admit to himself that the day really wasn’t even all that bad. No one had died on him. People had been treated, moved along, handed off where they needed to be or sent home. In all other regards it could've been called a good day if not for…

Just as he was shaking the thought away and pulled his keys out to start the ignition, his phone buzzed. It was a text from Abby, his wife.

Frank threw his head back in a groan, hitting the headrest and staring up at the stained fabric of the ceiling. Yeah, no—he had never told her how much Robby hated him now. That the man who was once his mentor was close to never letting him step back into the ED again. That the only reason he was working regularly again was (probably) the fact that Robby had managed to stay away for a month and a half on sabbatical. He'd lost that bet on Ahmad's board that he'd be back within a week.

So…he had no idea where to go. Maybe he could sleep in his car? He had to work the next morning anyway. It wouldn't be the first time.

His phone buzzed again from the cup holder where he'd thrown it aside. He reached for it without much thought, excepting another message from Abby, but the number was one he didn't have saved.

Then, barely a minute later, another text from the same person:

Frank put his keys in the ignition and started his car.

8PM: Mel

The bar was louder than she had expected so early on a Friday, but not overwhelmingly so. She wasn't at the point of needing to step outside or wanting to go home. She was actually enjoying watching her co workers have so much fun , though it was so odd seeing everyone out of their scrubs. They were all scattered around, Victoria and Mateo chatting with Yolanda and Trinity in a booth, a few sweating glasses of beer in the middle of the table from a shared pitcher. The lights stayed low over everything, dim enough that the colored bulbs strung around the room did most of the work, flashing red and purple and blue in slow patterns that caught in the mirrors behind the bar.

Mel watched Dennis ordering something from the bartender, holding up seven fingers and handing over his card. Samira was just finishing her version of Since You Been Gone.

Trinity was called up next for a song, and she left the table to get up on stage, but not before Dennis stopped her and handed her a small plastic cup, bright green liquid sloshing against the sides, and clinked his own against it with a quick, Cheers! before knocking it back in one go. Trinity had a half smirk across her face and tossed hers back, and then headed up to the microphone with renewed confidence.

Dennis walked over to Mel's table next.

"Hey," he said, "I got these for everyone."

“On your own birthday?” Mel asked, looking down at it, the green brighter up close, almost glowing against the table. “What…is it?”

“Green tea shot. It’s sweet. You might like it.”

“Oh, no thanks—I don’t really do shots.”

Dennis smiled easily about it. “Suit yourself, happy birthday to me,” he said, tossing it back, his face tightening for a second as he swallowed.

Mel smiled, lifting her voice a little over the music. “Happy birthday!”

He looked at her a little funny after, and she felt it land a bit late, something about the way she’d said it, maybe too loud, maybe too earnest, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep anything else from slipping out.

But he'd laughed it off, setting the empty shot glass down near her drink. “You goin' up to sing?”

“Umm… maybe?" Her fingers curled around the edge of her cup, turning it slightly against the table. "I don’t know what song I'd pick.”

“You should go up with Trinity,” he said, glancing toward the stage where she was singing fast, barely tripping over her words despite the booze, and she pointed to him and said Huckleberry! Come sing with me!

He laughed, nodding, and then turned back to Mel, “She makes it actually fun to go up. She’s the only one that can get me up there and really let my hair down.”

Mel looked at him, then up at his head to the dirty blonde mop of hair that had been growing out for a while, then back at his face.“You… don’t have long hair.”

Dennis gave her one of those looks again. I know something you don't, I get the joke and you don't.

“Oh,” she said quickly, a small laugh following, trying to match him. “Right. A joke. Got it.” She nodded, filing it away, then pivoted: “How was your day today?”

“Can't believe I actually had the day off,” Dennis said, shifting his weight, hooking his thumb into his belt loop and nodding easily. “Spent the morning at Amy's farm— she's home with the baby now—and checked in on Robby’s plants. Now I'm here. It’s a good one so far.”

Mel smiled up at him, nodding.

“Come on,” he added then, tilting his head toward the group. “Come sit with us.”

“I’m okay, it’s just—” she shook her head, her hands tightening a little around her drink, the condensation making her fingers slip before she adjusted. “Bit loud over there. Table's crowded already.”

“Okay,” Dennis said, still smiling, like it wasn’t a big deal at all.

Mel watched him go back, weaving through the tables, stepping around a chair someone had pushed out too far and got up on stage with Trinity. Her voice was rising over the room, giggling over the lyrics that starting to click into Mel's head now as something she did know after all.

It was Satisfied, from Hamilton. Man, she loved that musical. She and Becca used to play it in the car all the time, still did sometimes on those short drives home from Middle Hill, letting it run just long enough to sing a couple songs together before pulling into the apartment complex.

She’d only heard Santos sing like this once before, quieter, when she’d been singing to baby Jane Doe last month, though Mel was certain Trinity had no clue she knew about that glimpse of gentleness in her coworker.

But Alexander, I'll never forget the first time I saw your face

I have never been the same

Intelligent eyes in a hunger-pang frame

And when you said "Hi" I forgot my dang name

Set my heart aflame, every part aflame

This is not a game.

Mel smiled a little, singing along quietly to herself, taking another sip of her drink. She played with the little umbrella on the top, twisting it delicately in her fingers. A warm draft shifted through the room, slipping in each time the door opened and catching against the AC, the air uneven for a second before settling again, cool brushing over warm and then evening out.

She looked up, that weird sixth human sense that someone was looking at her.

Langdon was walking in the door.

It took her a second to place him there, out of the hospital not in scrubs…but…just standing there in jeans and t-shirt, one hand still near the door as if he hadn't fully committed to being inside yet. He scanned the room, she noticed he did that a lot, even at work. Always taking in everything around him.

Her fingers stopped twirling the yellow umbrella on her drink. She watched him for a moment, and then, his eyes finally landed on her.

As if she'd been the one he'd been looking for.

Mel felt it before she really understood the feeling of something in her chest that pushed up into her throat, her stomach flipping just a little, her back straightening under his gaze.

And in return, his shoulders dropped when he saw her, his mouth pulling into that small, crooked smile, and he started toward her. He only looked away when Trinity picked back up after Dennis’ part—

So so so

So this is what it feels like to match wits with someone at your level

What the hell is the catch?

It's the feeling of freedom, of seeing the light

It's Ben Franklin with a key and a kite

You see it, right?

Her voice didn't falter as Langdon looked over, but he slowed down, his smile falling. Mel followed his gaze up to her, her face stern and eyes tight, but she gave him a swift nod.

He returned it, just as brief.

Then his attention turned back to Mel.

She became aware all at once of how she was sitting, how her hands were wrapped around her sweating drink, her fingers leaving faint prints in the condensation.

"Hey,” he said when he reached her.

"Hi, you're—you're here."

“In the flesh,” he said, his smile widening a little as he glanced around. “You having fun?”

Mel nodded, a little quick.

"What're you doing over here all alone?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to say: waiting for you.

But she knew better than to say that, at least. She pressed her lips together tightly for a moment before choosing her words carefully.

"Just a little loud, is all." she smiled tightly up at him, "Everyone already seems to be having fun, I didn't want to interrupt."

Langdon frowned slightly at that, looking over toward the other tables. Samira had already settled into the booth with the rest of them, leaning into Yolanda, both of them singing along to the music.

When his eyes found hers again, he was looking at her differently, something like understanding and gentle, maybe…sad? She couldn't quite place it.

“Do you want another round?” he asked. “What’re you drinking?”

Mel looked down at her drink, still trying to compute what that look had meant. "A, uh, Malibu Bay Breeze."

"Vacation starting early this year?" he huffed a little laugh.

"It's tasty." she said with a growing smile.

He nodded, "Alright, stay put. I'll be back."

“Oh—do you need my card?”

He shook his head. “On me. For today.”

She frowned up at him.

“For forgiving me,” he added.

9PM

“—no, okay, wait, the sloth,” Mel said, already smiling before she finished the sentence, leaning in a little closer, “She had been talking about it the entire morning. Like, the whole time we were there. We hadn’t even gotten through the first section yet of the zoo and she was already asking where it was.”

She laughed under her breath, shaking her head.

“And then we finally get there, and it’s just… The whole enclosure was empty. Nothing. And there’s a sign that says it’s ‘resting,’ which apparently means it just wasn’t going to come out at all.”

Langdon hadn’t interrupted once. He was turned fully toward her on the shared bench on the one side of the booth, arm stretched along the back behind her, shoulders angled in and close enough that she could feel the heat of him even with the space between them. She couldn’t help the way she leaned into that space, her knee bumping his a few times, a quick—“sorry”—before she kept going on about Becca's first visit to the zoo when they'd first moved to Pittsburgh.

“I think we were there for an hour,” Mel went on, “We sat down at the glass and just waited for the poor thing to come out. And I knew there was no way to get her to leave, I mean, once she gets her mind on something—” she made a very serious face, shaking her head, "So I looked at the schedule and thankfully the cheetahs were going to be coming out, you know they have dog friends? Because they're companion animals? I guess they have anxiety, and it's an emotional support animal for a cheetah!"

Langdon’s mouth pulled slightly at that, a laugh huffing out.

"—Anyway, it worked. She got right up and, even though I knew she was bummed, she was so excited to see the puppies with their cheetah friends."

Mel’s fingers had found the edge of the table, tracing the condensation ring from her drink without looking.

“So when she said she saw the sloth today with Adam,” she added, softer now, worrying she'd maybe talked for too long. “I was really happy for her.”

She stopped, looking back up at him to see what he'd say.

Langdon nodded. “That’s great. Sounds like she had a good day today and they've been doing well together.”

“Yeah,” Mel said, nodding, but her smile was already slipping. “Definitely.”

She picked up her drink, took a sip she didn’t really need.

“I just…” she paused, the words catching slightly, “I really miss her lately.”

Langdon didn’t jump in. He just stayed there, watching her.

“I know she—” she exhaled, trying to line it up in her mind, “remember that day when I found out she’d been with him for six months without telling me?”

Langdon nodded seriously.

"I don't know I just…hadn't realized how independent she'd become, I guess. The fact she…wanted to keep that from me. I mean, we talk about everything. Everything."

“Yeah,” he said, quieter now. “How’ve you been doing since then?”

Mel looked up at him. He looked actually interested in knowing.

“Okay, I guess,” she said. “It just feels… lonely. I’ve been—” she hesitated, unsure how much she should say, but the rum in her drink had loosened her inhibitions to stop oversharing, and so she kept going, “—having trouble sleeping. Not knowing if she’s going to call in the middle of the night wanting to come home, or thinking about if she’s getting enough vegetables.”

Langdon smiled a little. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”

Mel looked at him, puzzled, then it clicked. “Oh—how is Tanner? And Penny?”

He almost looked like he didn't want to talk about it. "They're good, they're good. Getting bigger everyday."

"Do you miss them when you're at work too?"

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging lightly. “Of course. It’s also kinda nice to have my own time, though.”

Mel nodded, her eyes dropping back to her drink.

“I’m sorry that…” Langdon paused, adjusting his angle slightly closer to her, “that it’s been a tough time. Figuring things out now that it’s different. You're a really good sister.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I am glad she’s happy. I just worry sometimes that...”

Mel felt like the coconut rum was really getting to her, loosening her lips.

"What?" Langdon urged softly, leaning in further. When she looked up, he was closer than she realized. The lights caught in his eyes, their sharp blue gleaming with what looked like stars from the string bulbs flashing in them. For a second she forgot what she was about to say.

“I just…” she swallowed, then let it out, “I’m afraid I’ll be all alone. Forever. She has everything now. And I’m… just... here.”

Langdon searched her face, and she felt his hand move down from the top of the booth, and she hitched a breath as it moved to cup her shoulder.

Warm, steady, his thumb pressed in at her clavicle. She kept her body very still suddenly, breath barely making it down to her lungs. His other hand followed, sliding into her braid where it rested over her shoulder and drawing it forward. He took the ends in between his fingers, pinching them.

Her brain felt thick, slowed, the rum sitting heavy behind her eyes, every small movement of his hand pulling her attention tighter. All she could do was stare at his hand—the way his thumb dragged over her hair between his fingers, the heat of his other still anchored at her shoulder.

“You’re not alone, Mel,” he said, softer, close enough that she could feel the shape of the words on his breath more than hear them, and she leaned forward, not wanting to miss a single word.

"I know." she said automatically, though it came out so small, so sad. She didn't mean to let him see so much of her like that.

"Do you?"

She looked up at him finally, in his eyes, and, oh god, he was so close—she knew she needed to back away. But she—she just couldn't. There was something like a magnet to him, pulling her in further.

His eyes flickered over her shoulder, something in him catching, and she saw it happen in real time, that moment where he seemed to clock himself, but instead of pulling away, the look in his eyes shifted, lightening, a trace of amusement slipping in where the intensity had been, and he leaned in closer, turning his head so his mouth was just at her ear.

“Don’t look now,” he murmured, low enough that it stayed between them, “but Javadi and Diaz are kissing.”

Mel shut her eyes so fast it almost made her dizzy, a shiver running up her arms, goosebumps lifting along her skin as she exhaled a small breath of laughter.

“Really?” she whispered back, her voice catching slightly, and she only realized then that one of her hands had left her drink entirely, her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric.

He let out a quiet chuckle, his breath warm and quick against her ear. “Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

When he pulled back, it wasn't far, still close enough his shirt didn't fight against her fingers.

“You told me not to look but I want to so badly,” she said, another small laugh breaking through as she opened her eyes halfway, still resisting it.

"Open your eyes, Dr. King."

This time her last name didn’t make her flinch.

She opened her eyes. For some reason, when she blinked them open, she wanted to shut them just as fast.

He was still looking at her, still close, his eyes on her in a way that made her aware of everything all over again, the space, the angle of his body, the way her hand hadn’t moved yet. Her heart went into her throat again, that same tight pull twisting her insides.

She quickly looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, Victoria and Mateo were now alone in their booth, completely wrapped up in each other, and Mel’s eyes widened before she snapped back to him.

They both broke into laughter at the same time, the tension cracking, her hands finding his, grabbing and shaking them in excitement.

“She’s liked him for so long!”

"Seriously!?" he laughed, "is it the hair?"

“It’s totally the hair,” Mel said, grinning, her cheeks already starting to ache from it.

They stayed close like that, leaning into each other, sharing it, the laughter fading into something quieter, and then it slowed, and Mel felt it again, stronger now—that pull sitting right between them, asking something of her she wasn’t ready to face, and she knew she needed to look away, to break it before she followed it too far, before she let herself—

His phone buzzed at the table, next to his drink.

Abby.

Mel reeled away, the smile wiped from her face.

Langdon looked at her quickly before picking up the phone in his hand. He held it up, thumb hovering over the answer button, and looked at Mel again. Gone was that soft look, the lights that had been twinkling in his eyes from the string bulbs suddenly looking more like warning lights than stars.

She pushed herself out of the booth quickly, running for the bathroom.

10PM: Langdon

The air outside was somehow even muggier than earlier, though maybe that was just the clammy feel of the AC still sitting on his skin as he hit the answer button.

"Hey." he answered shortly, "is everything—?"

“Your son wanted to say goodnight—here, honey,” Abby voice cut in before he could finish, the sounds of her already handing the phone off loud on the other end, and distantly, he heard her say: “And then you promise you’ll go to sleep?”

"Yes mama," Tanner's little voice was on the other end, and then— "Daddy?"

"Hi, buddy. What's goin' on?"

“I can't fall sleep. Where are you?”

“Aw, bud, I’m sorry, I—” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, pacing a step along the cracked edge of the lot. “I have a late shift tonight at work. I can’t… I won’t be home tonight.”

“Oh.” he said, and Frank’s heart twisted in his chest. His hand dropped from his neck to his wrist, fingers catching on the beaded bracelet Tanner had made him, turning one of the plastic beads slowly under his thumb.

"You brush your teeth?" Frank asked softly when Tanner was quiet for a while.

A small, proud, "Yeah," came through the line.

“Good, atta’ boy.” Frank let out a breath, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. “You got school tomorrow, don’t you?”

"Mhm."

"Then you gotta get some sleep for me, alright?"

There was a pause, a soft rustle like sheets shifting.

“Mommy said you're in trouble.”

Frank dragged his thumb along the side of his phone, eyes dropping to the pavement under his sneakers, a thin line running through the concrete near his toe. “Nah,” he said, keeping his tone easy, casual: “she just doesn’t like when I work a lot either. But I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Another pause this time.

“Okay.”

“Hey,” Frank added, gentler, “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

There was a muffled shuffle, voices overlapping as the phone changed hands.

“Hey, I’ll stop by tomorrow for—”

The line went dead.

He lowered the phone, still holding it loose in his palm, staring at the screen. Tanner and Penny stared back at him from the lock screen, the little doodle puppy half out of frame, Tanner mid-laugh.

Frank exhaled through his nose and tipped his head back, eyes finding a thin stretch of sky between the roofline and the string lights.

The door opened to his left.

He turned at the sound. Mel stood there, a little winded, one hand pressed flat against her chest, her phone clutched in the other. A strand of her hair stuck to the side of her neck. She saw him at the same time, and her mouth pulled down when she did.

He pushed off the spot he’d been standing in and walked toward her, shoulders heavy.

"Hey—"

“You were jealous today, weren’t you?” Mel snapped.

Frank thought his stomach might fall onto the asphalt of the parking lot beneath his feet, as if he'd missed a step.

"What?"

"You were jealous. Of Brendan Reeds. My motorcross accident patient. That's why you were mean."

Frank blinked a few times, utterly stunned. Mel didn’t do this. She didn’t accuse, didn’t push, never raised her voice at him.

"I know you were , because that's how I feel whenever I see her name or hear you talk about her and then you make me think— and we're not— we can't be because—"

"Breathe, Mel," he said, it was only thing he could think to say. Because her chest was rising so hard and so fast he thought she might pass out on him. He moved in front of her under the light outside the bar, the yellow glow catching along her hair while bugs buzzed lazily around overhead.

“No!” she said, louder now, shaking her head hard. “I’m not going to let you cheat on your wife, even if it's just—whatever this—whatever you and I—not that we even—" She let out a hard breath of frustration. "You can’t just show up and—and you touch me, and it makes me think things, feel things, and I can’t do that.”

"Mel—"

“And Becca is going to get married and leave,” she pushed on, the words coming faster now, her hands lifting like she needed to keep him from getting too close, “and she won’t need me to pick her up anymore, or remind her about her medication, or make sure she eats vegetables, or—” her voice caught, but she didn’t stop, “—and then it’s just me. I go home and it’s quiet and there’s no one there and no one’s calling me and I don’t have anyone and I don’t—”

“—my wife asked for a divorce this morning—”

“And you can’t just walk in and get mad when—”

She stopped.

Her mouth stayed open for a second, the rest of the sentence hanging, her brows pulling in as she tried to catch up.

“Wait…what?”

Frank shut his eyes, pressing his thumb hard into his forehead before dragging his hand down over his face.

“She…kicked me out,” he said, forcing the words out steady through a thick sigh, stuffing his hands into his pockets, unable to even look at her as he said it. “And when I left for work this morning, there was a guy in my driveway with papers. And I signed them.”

"Oh." Mel said quietly, her shoulders dropped an inch, the anger leaving her face as quickly as it had come."I…I'm so sorry."

Frank opened his eyes and looked at her. “It’s okay. I knew it was coming.”

"But you've been—in therapy, haven't you?"

"Not with her, just…just me. Counseling and meetings and…yeah."

Mel nodded slowly, taking it in, her eyes moving over his face like she was placing it somewhere that made sense. He watched her, watched how her face softened, how those little lines between her brows deepened with concern. His chest tightened.

“I’m sorry, Mel,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “I haven’t been honest with you about…well, about my marriage, I guess.”

“You had no reason to be,” she said. “Don’t apologize. It's none of my business, I just didn’t realize it was like that.”

“Yeah,” he said, letting out another breath, his eyes dropping for a second, his foot nudging at the pavement without thinking, his focus catching on her shoes between his, how small they looked there, how close she was. “Yeah.”

It was all he could think to say. But there was something else he wanted to tell her. He needed to tell her. He thought he couldn't bear to let this moment pass and not tell her the honest truth.

"I don't…" he started, then stopped. Everything was there, at the back of his teeth, begging to be let out. His tongue felt heavy with the taste of truth, his lips pressing tightly together. He finally took a deep breath in, filling his lungs with courage, and went on, "I don't talk about this with anyone else. Especially not at work…" he shook his head, "but… I like talking to you."

He looked at her, and felt like it was for the first time, "You're the only person that I feel like can see all this bullshit and still see me through it."

Mel’s eyes were shining now, moisture sitting along the rim, her lips trembling slightly as she swallowed thickly, holding his gaze in a way that made it hard to look anywhere else.

"I think you're my best friend, Mel and—"

She was suddenly moving towards him.

Up onto her toes, arms looping around his neck, her mouth—fuck—her mouth finding his in a way that was clumsy, uneven and quick. It caught him off guard completely, the kiss landing a little off before she adjusted, kissing him again firmly.

His hands flew up to try to catch her when she leaned in, but she was already pulling away as quickly as she came.

“Oh my god—” she said, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide, her breath coming uneven. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t even think, I just—you—oh god, I’m so sorry, Dr. Langdon.”

He was gasping for air as if she'd pushed him under water for baptism. When he looked back at her, she was flushed and wide eyed, backing away.

His hand shot out before she could get far, catching her wrist gently but firm enough to stop her. She was warm under his fingers, her pulse quick at the base of her palm, and he didn’t let go as he stepped back into her space.

He lifted her hand from her face slowly, his grip easing but not leaving, and when he brought it between them, he turned it slightly, guiding it up instead until her fingertips brushed along his cheek. "Say my name, Mel."

"W-what?"

“My name,” he said again, softer this time. “Not Doctor Langdon.”

“…Frank?”

Mhm, he hummed, nodding. He couldn't do anything but just look at her. Her eyes wide on him, her mouth parted a little in surprise.

"Frank, what're you doing?" she whispered. The only other sound was the bugs buzzing up above, the sound of someone singing Creep inside. Probably Dennis.

“What I've been wanting to do for so long.” he said, just as quietly, leaning in as he spoke, his mouth brushing along her skin first, testing, feeling the way she reacted before taking more. He heard a small sort of whimper come out of her as his lips traced alone the top of her cheek before he said:

“I’m going to kiss you again, Mel, is that okay?”

She whined again, nodding quickly, before adding, "Yeah—yes."

When his lips touched hers, his skin lit up, heat spreading fast under it as if on fire.

She was so soft, so warm, shaped exactly for him, their lips melding just right as he pressed his against hers. His other hand came up to steady her, holding her neck and jaw as the other held her hand against his face. He barely wanted to close his eyes, wanting to catalogue every moment of this. She'd have every right to push him away and tell him this was wrong, that he was technically still married, but she wasn't doing that. She was leaning in further, pressing her mouth firmer against his.

He only pulled back long enough to breathe, to mutter a quiet, breathless “Fuck.”

Then they were both moving again, faster now, her arms sliding around his neck, his chest pressed into hers as he backed her into the wall, into the darker stretch along the side of the bar where the brick was cool to the touch.

Her little sounds she made, the way she felt against him—it was everything his private fantasies could dream of and more. Even though he'd never admit he'd how long he'd thought about this before he signed those papers this morning. Mel arched into him when his arm wrapped around her middle, body lifting into his, her breath breaking against his mouth.

“Dr. Langdon—” she gasped as he pushed her more firmly into the wall, his leg sliding between hers to hold her there.

"It's Frank, Mel, please—"

"Frank, we can't—" she gasped when his mouth went to her jaw, and it was like she couldn't help it, she craned her neck to let him have more, and he'd take it all. Anything she gave. He suckled at her skin, nipping lightly, then kissing up the column of her neck to her jaw again, pressing his lips harder and groaning when he reached her mouth.

"Oh god," she whimpered, taking his face into both of her hands, fingertips pressing into his skin hard as if to keep him in place.

"Wait—wait—" she said, pushing him away.

He was breathing hard, one hand braced against the wall beside her, the other at the small of her back, keeping her close even as he tried to focus. Her hands stayed on his chest, though not roughly. Her glasses were a little bit askew in the most charming way.

“What?” he managed.

“You—you said—you were kicked out?”

He nodded, swallowing dry. He really didn't want to think about her right now—Abby. Not when he was exactly where he needed to be.

"Then you could come to my place?" she said, breathlessly.

Frank paused, his hand still on her, just shifting to rest at her hip and looked her in the eye. "Are you…sure?"

"Where else would you go?"

He let out a short breath of a laugh. “I was kinda planning on crashing in my car.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh—no, you’re not doing that. I have a couch, or—” she hesitated just a second, “a bed, if, you know… if you wanted to stay with me.”

“Are you saying you want to—”

“Yes,” she said, and she smiled like she realized maybe she'd been a little overexcited, and then looked up at him seriously. “But only if you’d… want to.”

He leaned in again, slower this time, kissing her mouth so softly, easing the tension out of the line of her lips until she relaxed into it. When he pulled back, she was smiling up at him a little dazed.

She let out a small breath, like she was remembering where they were. “I—uh… I did drink,” she added, glancing past him toward the bar, then back at him. “I was gonna grab something to eat before heading home.”

His thumb shifted against her hip, grounding, easy. “I’ll drive,” he said.

"You didn't—?"

"Just had a soda," he shrugged, "Over 200 days now, remember?"

"Right." she smiled wider, but then her brows lifted higher, "Are you sure? I'll need my car in the morning to drive to work and—"

"We'll make sure you get your car for work, I promise. Come on. McDonald's?"

She smiled wider, "Oh, that sounds so good."

He gave her hand a small pull, just enough to bring her off the wall. “Lead the way, then.”