Archive of Our Own ^beta

"You alright?" Dana asked when Frank returned to the hub.

He kept his eyes resolutely on the screen and dismissed her show of concern with a quick shake of his head. He was fine. He braced himself on the counter with one hand and used the computer mouse with the other to navigate through the menu. He found the patient file and started to document the grief counseling he'd just come from. He added what he had told the parents and the next steps Kiara had laid out. He clarified a few of his notes from earlier so the file could be closed.

When he was done, he slowly tipped his head to one side, then to the other, to stretch out the tension he'd been carrying all day. It wouldn't get better now, not with the whole department being quiet and muted after his loss. They all took children hard.

What made it worse was that he could feel their eyes on him; they were probably wondering if he'd fucked up. Their looks, their suspicions and doubts, were the reason he itched to go over his notes yet again—in case someone questioned him, in case they didn't trust him to have made the right calls. He wouldn't be surprised if he was asked to provide a urine sample within the hour. Just to make sure the junkie doctor had been sober when he lost that kid. He gritted his teeth.

Maybe it would help that Robby had been there. He'd confirmed that it was time to make the call, had even patted—grabbed, shaken, pulled—Frank's arm to get him to let go, before he had left that trauma room as abruptly as he'd come in, called to another emergency by someone yelling. There had been no accusation in his eyes, just that unintelligible look that he gave Frank these days as he'd rushed out.  

They'd done a quick post-mortem after covering the body. Princess had been rattled and fled halfway through his talk. Whitaker's halting apology still rang in Frank's ears; as if he had anything to be sorry for. There was nothing any of them could have done differently. Frank had thanked them for their efforts, kept his voice low and steady, and he thought the talk had gone well, despite the blood and sweat still drying on his PP fleece.

Frank's head was buzzing. A low thrum vibrated through his body and he let it out by tapping his fingers against the mouse; like a pressure valve.

"You sure?"

A quick peek told him Dana was giving him a once over. "I'm fine," he said to dismiss her concern. He stilled his hand, though, to be less annoying, and rested it flat on the counter; to prove how calm he was.

The moment he stilled, disquiet began to spread through his body again, the anxiety that came with having lost someone whose life he should have saved. He'd done everything he could, they had done everything they could, but it hadn't been enough.

'But we came here. Why couldn't you save her?'

He breathed in and out slowly.

Kiara had tried to calm the mother down, had kept her from grabbing at him, but the words still reached him.

'Why didn't you save her?'

Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed Mohan stopping at the hub with a clipboard and turning towards him, like she wanted to get his attention. He waited for her to say something, resolutely not looking at her or Dana.

When she didn't, he turned impatiently and jerked his chin at her chart. "Mohan. Did you need a second opinion?"

That startled her into shaking her head. "No."

Of course, she didn't need any help from him. He turned back to the computer and whatever she wanted to say obviously wasn't urgent, because she pushed off the counter and left again. He logged out and looked up at the monitor to pick the next patient in line. His whole body seemed to be vibrating with the need to do something; get on with it.

"I'll take the headwound," he told Dana.

"You do that," she murmured. "Take an easy one."

"He's next in line," Frank justified his choice. A straightforward headwound that only needed stitches. Boring enough to be done by an intern with good suturing skills, but next in line nonetheless. He hadn't picked a case other than the one next in line since he'd come back. He clenched his teeth because it was frustrating that she still didn't let that go. He was trying.

"Never mind then. Want me to get D-"

"Jesse," he interrupted hastily. At least Jesse never talked if he didn't have to.

This morning Frank had worked with Donny, who sometimes forgot that Frank wasn't trying to lighten the mood anymore and who had therefore thrown the cleaning rag for the ultrasound at him—the way they'd done in the past. It had startled Frank so badly he'd fumbled the catch and whacked his hand into the ultrasound machine. He'd gladly take the pain if it reminded Donny that Frank wasn't here to play catch.

Donny had looked apologetic afterwards and had been giving Frank a wide berth since. Which would've been great if Frank hadn't seen him talking to Robby—which had fired off all the paranoid alarms in Frank's head. If he'd broken the damn machine, he could go hang himself, because no way could he pay that off on top of everything else.

"North 9 should be free."

He picked up a chart.

"Langdon," Dana tried.

He pushed off resolutely. "Gotta go." Whatever she had to say would have to wait.

The day went on. Time passed with patients back to back, one after the other, one chart exchanged for the next; picked up by a nurse and replaced with a new one. The tablets felt heavy in his hand.

Usually, after losing a child on the table, he felt a little out of sorts. He used to call Tanner sometimes, just to hear his voice, but he couldn't do that anymore. In the beginning, he'd listened to a voicemail Tanner had left him for a birthday two years ago, but that started to feel wrong—like he was using Tanner's voice to get a fix. So now he just pushed through and found his rhythm again. It worked well, he only felt a little buzzy sometimes. It was something else for him to work on. He had to stop letting it get to him, just like Robby had said.

He and Robby passed each other in the hallway a couple of times, but there was no quiet request for a urine sample, no request to submit something or other to upstairs. No one dragged him into an empty room to discuss the calls he'd made. Just piercing looks that made Frank feel small and lost.

Around half past six, for what would hopefully be the last patient of the day, Princess surprised him by volunteering to come with him.

"You don't have to," he told her, but she just shook her head and looked at him with that chipmunk smile, tilting her head towards triage.

"C'mon," she said. "Let's go." She led the way, picked up a med student on the way to Chairs, got the patient, did all the talking, while he just followed until it was his turn to do the examination.

"What hurts?" he asked as he snapped his gloves on.

"Ah, everything," the man joked.

Frank nodded in sympathy. Welcome to the club.

The med student smiled awkwardly. Princess prepared what she knew Frank would ask for without him having to say a word. He thought they worked together well now. In the beginning, after his return, she'd tried to see if she could bait him with jokes and pretend joviality, but he never rose to it. He stayed on topic, didn't say anything that wasn't strictly business, and in return, she didn't have any reason to curse him out in Tagalog. It worked great, although she sometimes hesitated around him; as if she was waiting for him to revert back to being the asshole she knew how to hate. Like she didn't know what to do with him now that he had removed everything grating about his personality from the equation.

"Good work," he told her and the med student after they were done, keeping his eyes on the monitor so he wouldn't see them roll their eyes. He patted the guardrails. Good work. Good job. He took a breath and jerked away from the bed. Everything was good here. Then why was his heart racing like he'd just run a marathon? He threw his gloves in the trash and pushed out the door. He was trying. He just wished people would appreciate it instead of question it.

He returned his chart and after a glance at the clock, nodded at Dana. "I'll be charting in the cubby."

Dana's eyes wandered across the floor behind him, looking for someone.

"Did Robby need me?" he asked. Her searching look reminded him that no one had asked for a drug screen yet.

Dana's eyes turned to him, then to her monitor, then back to him. "No? Should he?"

"Alright. When he does, I'll be at the computer." He looked at his watch. "Anyone here already that I can hand off to?"

"You've got your pick. Shen and Ellis are both early."

"Ellis, then." If he could have his pick, he'd choose her. She was less likely to want small talk. Shen was too unbothered and chill. With Shen, every conversation felt like a flirt.

"One Ellis coming up," he suddenly heard his colleague's voice behind him, just before a hand landed heavily on his shoulder blade. "What have you got for me?" she asked, straight to business.

"An appendix waiting for surgery to pick him up," he began with the top of his list. One by one he surrendered his patients to her. When he was done, she leaned in.

"Drama today?"

"No more than usual."

She sighed. "Then why is everyone tiptoeing around you?"

Frank froze. Because they thought he— He was saved rather abruptly by Abbot barking, "Ellis, don't. Sometimes it's better to keep those thoughts and questions to yourself."

"Sorry, Cap." She raised her tablet. "I'll call up to surgery about that appendix, see if we can move up the schedule to free a bed."

After she had left, Abbot stepped up to the counter. "You good?"

"Everyone's asking me that."

"You lost a kid today. They're just worried."

"Worried I fucked up, more likely," Frank countered. "Nah, Abbot. They just can't keep their eyes off the train wreck."

Abbot snorted and sighed. "Doing as well as always then," he commented drily and ducked his head so he could look at Frank.

"I'm just—" Angry. Sad. Tired of being judged. He met Abbot's searching look, afraid to be found lacking. But Abbot just sighed again, the corners of his eyes tugging down.

"I know," Abbot said. "Okay? I know. I get it." He patted the counter the way he sometimes patted Frank's back. "Just… continue trying, yeah?"

Frank dipped his head. He and Abbot had had this conversation a while ago, about what it was like to come back changed and less capable in the eyes of one's peers. About how he shouldn't let this need to prove them wrong fuck with his head. About having to keep trying to find his way back into the business of the hive. About not giving up.

"I need to go."

"You do that." Before Frank could escape, however, Abbot tugged at his sleeve, pulling him back. "You talk to Robby yet?"

Frank shook his head. No. "No," he said resolutely and took a step back. No. His breath hitched because he knew that look in Abbot's eyes. That was either sympathy or pity, neither of which he deserved; maybe both.

He left his patients with the night shift and went to the little cubby between trauma rooms one and two. He detailed the two boarders he had signed off on that would probably end up in hospice by the end of the week. He added a note about Addiction Services to the file of the drug seeker who had spit on him after not getting anything. He revisited the chest tube he'd fixed that one of his R2s had fucked up.

By the time he finished up the last of his notes, it was almost eight and his eyes were burning. He took a deep breath and sighed. He catalogued his body, analyzed the way his back tingled, how hot the soles of his feet felt, how his eyes burned from the dry air. He dug his knuckles into the sore muscles left and right to his spine and stretched. The clock on the computer told him he had to be back here in less than eleven hours.

That was just enough time to go home and sleep.

Sometimes he felt so drained after a shift that he didn't know how he could ever go on. It was hard, being back here with everybody and yet so removed from them. And instead of getting better, it was only getting worse. Everyone looked at him like they were waiting for something; waiting for him to fuck up or snap or leave. A few more months, then boards, then they could get rid of him.

Frank used to think of the people here as work friends; as a work family. That was his mistake, not theirs. He knew now that they merely tolerated him. That was what people did with co-workers: they tolerated them for a paycheck. At the end of the day, dealing with annoying patients and annoying co-workers was the same thing. But surely, he was easier to work with now. At least he was pretty certain he was no longer someone who caused meltdowns in people. Or maybe his presence was a continuous meltdown for everyone; a thorn in a paw.

He shook himself and resolutely pushed himself away from the table. Today was not a good day to think about that. Not when everything already felt slow and heavy. Not when the notes on his dead patient were still spooking around his head. That tiny body, the narrow chest. The blue ghost pajamas. Macey had a very similar set.

'But we came here. Why couldn't you save her?'

That look of absolute horror on the mother's face; the incomprehension at what he was trying to tell her.

He left the sequestered little nook with the computer and made his way to the lockers, avoiding eye contact just in case anyone wondered why he was still there.

For a moment, he thought he could stay. Maybe it was better to stay and do his job than to pack up and go home. He wasn't useful at home in his apartment. If he stayed, pulled a double, he could maybe save someone instead of watching TV or lying in bed trying to fall asleep.

He looked over to the hub and debated offering that Lena could call him. He could stay in the on-call room. However, when he caught sight of the night shift charge nurse, Abbot who was standing next to her, waved him towards the exit with a deliberate shake of his head.

He felt slow, walking towards the lockers. Sitting down for an hour to do his charting hadn't helped his aching legs, so now he was dragging them along to get his things. He reached the locker room, the door closed behind him, and with it, the busy sounds of the ED became muted and quiet. No more beeping, no more calls, no shouting, no clattering or ringing.

There was a buzzing in his ears, blocking out the last of the noise. The ED felt miles away, even though it was just on the other side of the door. He could see people walking past, but he was here and alone, removed from everything and everyone. The day shift had already left, the night shift had long since arrived. He had to be the last one, the one most unwilling to go home. Everyone else had a life outside of these walls to get to.

His heart was still beating heavily in his chest. His mouth was dry. When was the last time he'd drunk any water? Anxiety rose, the dread of having to go home and having to come back, of doing all of this again tomorrow. There was no one to talk to at home, just him and the TV.

Frank swallowed thickly.

He recognized what was happening.

There was nothing sudden about this feeling of dread. It had probably been building up ever since the afternoon and he'd just missed it, like a frog in a pot, slowly getting cooked.

He typed the combination for his locker into the keypad, grabbed his things, but couldn't even think far enough ahead to worry if he had everything he needed. He had his keys; as long as he had those, he could get into his apartment. Everything else could wait until tomorrow.

He had his head in the locker when someone walked past and called out a goodbye. But by the time his brain caught up enough to answer, whoever it had been was long gone. He continued putting his things away, his stethoscope, his pen light. He emptied his pockets into the catch-all tray he kept there.

Behind him, the door to the ED opened again and he thought, please no small talk. Some people kept trying.

He didn't look. He pulled his shoes out and sat down on the bench to put them on. His physiotherapist, who was strictly against making things easy for himself, would've scolded him, would've told him to get down, bend and crouch. You have to keep limber, Frank. Get rid of the lazy laces. Frank sat heavily and bent over, only able to move the bare minimum tonight.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw that it was Robby who had come in. He could make out the cargo pants and the dark top. The familiar sneakers.

Robby moved quietly, or maybe it was just Frank's ears that were buzzing too much for him to hear anything more than faint rustling. Robby was quick and efficient, packing up, the way Frank usually left—jacket, backpack, Airpods, go. A pep in his step on the way in and depending on the day, a pep on the way out. Leave it all behind. Just go go go; ready to return eleven, twelve hours later with a coffee and a new song. Ready to find some work-life balance. Enjoy the walk home, get that fresh air.

It was easier to leave when there was something waiting at home.

They used to do that together often enough—leave together, elbows brushing, sharing space, walking together, driving together, smiling at each other.

Abby had called them cute whenever he had brought Robby to the house for dinner. She had wholly approved once she'd gotten to know Robby. Looking back, new and improved sober Frank knew that they probably got along so well because they both had to deal with him.

Sometimes Greg had been there, too. Dinner for four adults in a weird co-parenting arrangement and two kids on the large kitchen table that Greg had sanded and repainted.

Greg had taken Frank aside two months ago, confessing with hopeful, apologetic giddiness, that Tanner had called him pops. He'd wanted Frank to hear it from him first; had asked if Frank was alright with that. Of course, he was. Greg was a good man. The guy loved Abby, loved the kids like his own, spent time training the dog. Greg read more books about child development than Frank had ever had time for.

Greg probably had an easy time leaving work to go home to his family—to Abby and the kids and the dog.

Frank used to have Robby.

They used to enjoy walking home together.

It had taken a while to get into Robby's space in public; to be allowed in. It had taken almost until the end. By then he had gotten that quiet, private smile out of Robby where other people could see, that little sparkle of amusement in his eyes, or a bump in the shoulder. They'd never gotten to handholding. They hadn't gotten to so many things Frank had imagined for them. He'd wanted them to last years and decades. He'd wanted to discover new things about Robby years down the line. He was certain he would have worn Robby down eventually to get to handholding.

They would have gotten there—if he hadn't ruined everything.

'No, you just cause them in others.'

He'd wanted to make Robby happy so badly.

The buzzing in his ears became more insistent. Pressure was building up in his head, behind his eyes. He had to get out of here.

He'd barely put on his shoes when Robby suddenly sat down next to him.

Frank straightened, put his hands on the bench and curled his fingers around the edge. Robby hadn't voluntarily spent any time with him since his return. This couldn't be good. This was the unscheduled urine test because he'd failed a patient.

"Long day?" Robby asked quietly.

Frank blinked and looked over. Robby's eyes were on the open door of Frank's locker—he always looked elsewhere, never at him. Maybe this was a surprise inspection of the contents of his locker. Frank's tongue felt thick in his mouth.

Robby looked tired. His beard was unkempt, meaning he'd scratched it too much, meaning he'd forgotten or run out of beard oil. His skin looked dry, too, the way it sometimes did in winter when no one reminded him to switch to the other facial cream. Or maybe today had been a hard shitshow of a day for Robby as well.

Frank used to wake up next to that face. He'd seen it up close, sleeping, happy, aroused, sad, interested, exhausted, relaxed. He used to be allowed to look his fill in the mornings—whenever he'd woken up too early and spent some time just lying there, dozing off again, only to be woken up again later by kisses.

That felt like another life. Like all of that had happened to someone else.

His knuckles hurt from how hard he was gripping the bench.

"Frank?" Robby's eyes were on him now, eyebrows drawn together.

Frank put his fingers in his ears and wiggled them, hoping it would help make that stuffy, cotton feeling go away. His eyes were dry, his arms heavy, his legs tired. He felt so incredibly slow.

"Long day, yeah," he echoed and grabbed his shoes before he pushed to his feet. Next to him, Robby shadowed his movements, getting up as well, hovering.

Frank put his shoes away and pulled his jacket out. It would be a cold walk to the bus stop. He'd known the moment he'd stepped out of the apartment building this morning that he should've picked a warmer jacket, but by then it had been too late. He hadn't wanted to turn around to grab a different one; and maybe, looking back at that first sign of lethargy this morning, he thought it had probably been an indication for something else, too.

He held onto the door of his locker with white knuckles. The question 'Do you need anything?' was threatening to spill out like an attack. He eyed Robby, pleading quietly to just let him go. He'd done everything he could with that patient. He was sober. He didn't need this sign of distrust in his skills tonight.

"Did you want to talk? About what happened?"

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I'm fine," he said and shook his head. He'd lost patients before, even kids. He'd delivered a stillborn once. His losses were too numerous to count by now, no matter how much he wanted to be like Robby and remember each and every one of them.

Sometimes he remembered ones he'd already forgotten about, at arbitrary times and for arbitrary reasons. He'd never told Abby that he'd once cut that same floral dress she used to wear so often off a young stroke victim. Mother of two, with reddish hair, the kids hadn't understood why mommy had suddenly fallen off her bike. Maybe that was the reason they hadn't worked out in the end. Because he couldn't compartmentalize well enough and he couldn't articulate why he didn't like seeing her in that dress.

No, he didn't want to talk. He just needed to get home.

Robby nodded, like he'd expected that answer. "Just know that if you ever need to talk—" At that, his head tipped and his eyes flitted towards the doors leading to the ED. "You're part of a team."

That was a nice thought. "Of course."

"You are." There was an urgency in Robby's tone.

Maybe before everything, Frank would have believed him. He shut his locker and turned to Robby, trying to read what Robby actually wanted to tell him.

The only reason he was still here, was that Robby had been pressured into it. No one could tell Frank that Robby saw it any differently. He'd been forced to keep him on staff, someone who'd betrayed him, who caused meltdowns in people.

And the only reason those people out there in the ED worked with Frank, was that they had to; for the paycheck. Collins, Princess, Dana—they had all tried to tell him that he was awful to work with. He'd just never changed his behavior to make himself easier to deal with—until now. Collins was missing out on new, improved Frank.

He wasn't going to bother reintegrating himself for the few months he had left. Sober Frank was considerate. Sober Frank didn't bother people. Sober Frank was only here to do the work.

So, no, sober Frank was reflected enough that he wasn't part of this team anymore. He'd annoyed them for four years. They'd probably hoped to be rid of him sooner, but here he was, adding a fifth one.

"I know. I'm part of this team," he repeated for Robby's benefit. The guy was only doing his attending duty by talking to this problematic, emotional island of a repeat R4 under his care.

Frank took a step back. "You have a good night, yeah?"

He had to leave now, because they shared the first leg of their respective ways home and unless Robby wanted to awkwardly walk in silence together or just behind each other, he had to let Frank leave now. Or go first.

"Walk you to the bus stop?" Robby asked suddenly.

That surprised Frank so badly that he snapped his eyes to Robby to read his face. He fumbled with the phone in his hand to see what time it was, to check if maybe he could excuse himself to the bus stop in the other direction.

Robby took a step closer, herding him towards the exit.

"Okay," Frank said with a too dry mouth.

For a moment, he lost himself in the two of them from a year ago, in Robby's soft smiles and the way his shower gel had smelled, in the easy way he'd touched Frank. Frank had always felt so fucking loved when Robby crowded him against the kitchen counter with kisses. The smiles in the bathroom mirror. The exaggerated sidestepping whenever they ran into each other on the stairs in Robby's house. The way he'd felt under Frank; the way he'd towered over him. The care. Featherlight fingertips on his skin. Playful lips kissing down his body. Fingers in his hair. Joy. Ease. Love.

Robby had barely touched or spoken to him since his return. He was constantly tense when Frank got too close, like he had to steel himself to talk to Frank, even for those short, terse conversations that he couldn't even make eye contact for.

There had only been looks and glances and conversations about him with others. Frank noticed when they talked about him—there were fleeting looks of concern to make sure he was out of earshot. They were all wondering when he'd fuck up again. He'd thought it would get better, but if anything, it had gotten worse. And after today…  he didn't know what else he could do to prove that he was doing better and trying and not about to crash and burn or run or snap.

He didn't know what Robby wanted from him, other than talk about the kid patient, so he steeled himself.

They pushed through the doors. Robby let him go first. The cold night air hit him right in the face, freezing his breath. Next to him, Robby let out an exaggerated shiver and glanced at the thin jacket he was wearing. "Cold tonight."

"Yeah. Cold," Frank echoed agreeably.

They crossed the street and started down the walking path through the park. There, Robby stopped. He tipped his head back and deeply inhaled the cool, fresh night air. Frank imitated him and enjoyed the burst of wet grass smell in his nose. They slowed down between the streetlamps lighting up the walkway through the park. It was blissfully quiet here. The buzzing in Frank's head was finally quieting down; his headache dissipated with the cold air.

"You doing okay?" Robby asked.

Frank nodded and stepped around a puddle to put a little more distance between them. Robby had none of it and closed the distance again. The familiar smell of his cologne that Frank loved so much wafted over from his jacket.

Frank remembered burying his nose in Robby's neck, in his collar, just breathing in his scent. Those were good memories. The two of them in bed or on the couch or in the kitchen; warm, dry skin, being tucked under Robby's arm, sometimes waking up with his face in the crook of Robby's neck. He remembered curling up behind Robby, feeling like he could protect him from the world. Feeling like he was doing good.

Suddenly, he realized Robby was talking, but he hadn't heard a thing. "Hm?"

"I said, that little ice cream parlor that we used to go to has reopened. Turns out they were just renovating."

Oh. Frank hadn't even known that they'd been closed.

Robby's mouth turned down. "You haven't been by?"

Frank shook his head. "It's not on my way home."

Last summer, before everything had gone to shit, they'd walked there three, four times a week, making that detour even after being on their feet for twelve hours. Sometimes for coffee, sometimes to get dinner at the Italian restaurant next door before sharing ice cream for dessert. They'd been such staples there that the owner gave them new flavors to try.

He looked over and saw Robby nod to himself.

"That's good, though," he said, just in case this was somehow important to Robby. "Good to know."

Maybe he went there with someone else now and that was why he knew. Maybe he'd spent this summer tasting ice cream flavors, licking the flavor off someone else's lips. Frank didn't want to know if that was the case. Didn't want to imagine someone else making Robby laugh that open, relaxed laugh, that little hooting sound he sometimes made when he was excited. He didn't want to know if he put his hands on someone else's cheeks now with that loving smile. If he shared new ice cream flavors with someone he cherished. If someone else got to tell him that there was ice cream melting in his beard, someone stable, someone who didn't fuck up, who didn't betray him, who would never even think of doing the shit Frank had done. Someone good. Someone who wasn't him. Someone better.

Goosebumps spread down his arms and his back and he felt almost faint with how much he hated himself in that very moment. He could never make up for what had happened. Even if he worked his knuckles to the bone in that emergency department, he wouldn't be able to make up for what he'd done.

The emotion welled up and stung high up in his nose. He could never ever go back to being who he had been. And he should have never ever come back here. His heart beat hard against his chest; panic and dread, spreading like icy tendrils through his extremities.

He stuck his hands deeply into the pockets of his jacket and formed fists. He clenched them as hard as possible for as long as he could, then he let go. The relief of released tension spread up his arms.

"Frank," Robby began slowly. "Remember when you told me you'd call me out if you thought I wasn't doing well? That you'd tell me if you noticed me getting worse again?"

Frank huffed. He could guess where this was going. "I'm fine, Robby. Some days it's just harder to be the department fuckup. You know what I mean?" He couldn't look into Robby's eyes. "I know I screwed up and that it's my fault. You don't need to say it. But I'm working on it." Three more months and he'd have his boards and be done. Then he could put some distance between him and his shame and disappear himself to Africa or the Middle East or Ukraine—because MSF didn't say no to shitshows like him. And maybe, one day, he could come back and no one would look at him and tell him it was too early for him to be an asshole or that it was too late to trust him or that he was giving people mental breakdowns.

Robby froze next to him. Out of the corner of his eyes, Frank saw him open his mouth, ready to say something.

"It's okay," he said to stop Robby from having to come up with a platitude.

"You're not well though," Robby said. "I talked to Abby. You haven't spoken to her in three weeks. The kids miss you. Greg is worried, too. Dana came to me earlier, said you were basically monosyllabic with her."

"Yeah, that's kinda the point, Robby."

"What is?"

"To not be a bother. To just… go in and do my job and not be an asshole." He took a breath. "And not make everyone's life harder than it already is."

The furrow between Robby's eyebrows was deep when he asked, "Where is that coming from?"

Frank spread out his arms. "Reflection!" he said—too loudly for the quiet of the park and how close they stood to each other. He dropped his voice. "Feedback, Robby. Just me being an unregulated, unfiltered mess. The way Underwood looks at me. Hell, patient satisfaction scores. Take your pick. I wonder what those parents are going to write, hm? They brought their kid in and she died anyway. And I didn't do enough or made the wrong calls or... who knows. I tried and I'm supposed to be better now, but it still wasn't enough. It's never enough. I didn't— I—"

Robby looked close to tears. What did he have to cry about? Frank was the who had fucked up. Frank was the one who had fucked everything up in his fucking life. His eyes stung. He was the one crying here.

Robby just shook his head. "I know you did everything. I was there. I would have made every single one of those calls, too, you hear me? Every single one." He ducked his head to force Frank to look at him. "If you couldn't save her, with what you did, nobody could." Robby reached out, going for Frank's arm, but dropping his hand halfway through the motion. "And I know this one hit hard."

Frank clenched his jaw muscles until his teeth hurt. His next inhale was still shaky. Still too shaky. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "No harder than any other kid."

"Frank, she looked like Mace. Even had the same pajamas."

"No, she didn't."

"Frank…"

"No." He shook his head, thought back to that body. He'd called it. He'd covered her with the sheet before leading everyone in a moment of silence. "I could've done without you saying that." Every kid looked familiar in one way or another.

"I'm sorry."

Frank heaved a breath. "And don't apologize. You have nothing to apologize for."

Robby snorted out a laugh that sounded bitter; dry and bitter and like cracked concrete. Frank looked at him askance.

"I've got a lifetime of apologies to make, Frank."

"Don't call me that," Frank continued, like Robby hadn't just sounded like he owed any of those apologies to him. Which he didn't. And Robby moving to Frank's first name now when it was just the two of them, fucked with Frank's ability to keep a distance. They were standing too close. The night was too cold. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel the heat emanating from Robby's body.

"It's your name, though." Robby's voice was quiet and deep, just loud enough to fill the space between the two of them. It was intimate in a way Frank couldn't bear. Robby used to flirt with that tone. Used to.

"Yeah, and you stopped using it over a year ago," he snapped back. Because snapping was all he ever did when cornered and defensive. Robby needed to stay back and away and not come any closer with that offered olive branch. He needed to stay the away from Frank, like everybody else; return the courtesy he gave them. They all needed to remove themselves from their side of the equation just like he did on his.

Robby shook his head. "Listen, Frank," he said, stubborn eyes on his, "I want to apologize."

"For what?" Frank snapped back. He didn't want to hear this.

"You weren't the only one having a bad day when we fought. I threw you out when I should've helped. I yelled when I shouldn't have. I said a lot of things I regret. I got defensive, too."

Frank groaned, a growly sound deep in his throat. He had to stop this. He'd gotten used to Robby being mad at him, at the uncomfortable atmosphere, he couldn't adjust that quickly to a Robby who wanted to… what, reconcile?

"I said some things I regret," Robby repeated insistently.

"Me, too," Frank snapped. "I regret everything I said to you back then. We've been through this, okay?" Frank rushed out. "You don't need to apologize. Whatever you said was on me. I yelled first, you just—"

"But I yelled first, Frank. That's the whole point of this conversation. I threatened you. And I called it a betrayal. Because I was hurt. And I said some awful, awful things and it's been following me ever since." Robb rolled his head, eyebrows furrowed, like he couldn't even look at Frank. He'd looked like that back then, too. Like he couldn't bear to look at him anymore; someone he'd kissed just that morning, suddenly not even worth looking at.

Robby wrapped his arms around himself, holding himself tightly. "You didn't let me down. You don't cause breakdowns by being you. And I regret saying that, okay? You're just… you took it to heart and everyone's worried. Including me. Especially me. Because I feel responsible and because it hurts seeing you like that."

Like what?

Frank didn't want to hear this. He leaned forward and awkwardly patted Robby's arm. "You shouldn't." He cleared his throat. "Feel responsible, I mean. I thought about this, okay? This new me is good." He was more palatable; he was sober and considerate and quiet. He didn't let things get to him.

Robby moved his hands up, smoothed his hands over his head and down to his beard, scratching at the bristles. He had to be sore by now, what with how dry his skin had looked earlier. Standing around in the cold wasn't good for that, either.

"Come on, Robby, be honest. I'm enough at a one. No one back there wants me at volume ten." He threw his arms out, gesturing at the hospital behind them. "They're happy I'm finally not an asshole anymore."

"You're wrong. They miss you." Robby took a step closer, keeping eye contact, surprising Frank into standing still. "Princess is so mad at herself. She says she wants you prickly again so she can be prickly back. Mohan says she misses having you to talk to. They miss you."

"They shouldn't."

Robby groaned. "That's not your choice, though. And you're not happy like this. You're isolating. Withdrawing." He sighed. "Irritability. Being overly hard on yourself, decreased appetite. Does that sound like anything?"

"Is that why we're standing here?" To discuss symptoms of depression? Cycle three in his time at the PTMC. "My insomnia is back, my sex drive is non-existent. My ears are doing that stress buzzing thing again. Anything else?"

"You know what those symptoms mean," Robby scolded. "You just don't seem to think it's serious."

They were at a stalemate.

"I miss me, too," Frank suddenly blurted out. "Don't you think I wish I could go back? I had a life. I had… I loved going to work. I enjoyed doing shit in my free time. I had family dinners with you and the kids and Abs and Greg. I had you." He heaved in a breath. "But I don't anymore. I fucked it all up."

"You can get those things back."

"I can't get someone back who can't even look at me half the time." Didn't Robby get it? That on top of everything, he was grieving their relationship? That he had to see Robby daily and be reminded of what he had thrown away?

Robby looked like he'd swallowed a heavy stone. Good. Frank carried that weight every day.

"That… that's not true," Robby said then, but so quiet and with such a questioning tone that Frank could see he was doubting himself.

"Isn't it?" Frank looked away first. "You're always so… tense when you talk to me. Like it's hurting you that I'm there."

"It's not— It may have been in the beginning. But it doesn't anymore and I'm sorry it still feels that way." Robby swallowed.

"Because it sucks," Frank murmured. It hurt. Moreover, it hurt him to know that he was hurting Robby.

"I talked to someone. About how to go about this… being exes, working together. How to make sure I'm not the reason you don't succeed. How to apologize and clear the air…"

Frank snorted. "And what, they told you not to?"

"He told me to let it happen." Robby shrugged helplessly. His broad shoulders went up and down, mountains under the warm jacket. "And I didn't know how. I wanted to give you space to get back into things. I wanted to make sure you wouldn't feel that same pressure that you did before. The environment I created where you felt you had no time to take a breath. Because I want you to take care of yourself." Robby scrubbed his head. "But it's just gotten worse." Robby exhaled deeply. "Everything got worse. I didn't know how to connect, you withdrew."

Frank jutted his chin forward. "You're not mad anymore?" he challenged.

"I'm mostly sorry for what I said." Robby tipped his head back and let out a sad laugh. "You have no idea how that haunts me." Then he gestured at them and their surroundings. "And today was enough. I just had to tell you. That I yelled at you and didn't show an ounce of compassion and that I've been regretting that ever since you came back and locked yourself away from everyone."

Frank nodded quietly. "Thank you. You know that I don't think you need—"

"I know. But I do."

They stood together in silence for a moment. The bus that Frank had wanted to take to get home passed them by, red lights shining in the darkness as it drove past. He looked after it and Robby groaned apologetically, because he was the one who had kept them. "I'm so—"

"Don't," Frank grumbled, because this talk had been long overdue. He'd rather wait another half hour at the bus stop than miss out on this reconciliation they were doing. "It's fine." He looked at Robby. "Are you good?"

"Got everything out, you mean?" Robby asked.

Frank nodded. He saw the hesitation in Robby's eyes, the way he was obviously not done yet.

Frank crossed his arms and rubbed them with his hands. "I'm fucking freezing." He looked around. "Want to get dinner? I know an Italian place, next to an ice cream shop, just ten minutes that way." He pointed in the direction of what had been their usual route last summer.

"Yeah?" Robby smiled, relieved. "I could eat."

Frank smiled back and turned in that direction, towards the nearest park exit. "Just for the record, though," he began quietly as they were already moving. Just for the record, he wanted to tell Robby that new and improved, sober Frank was better.

"No," Robby murmured and pulled him into a sideways hug, effectively interrupting what Frank wanted to say. "We'd rather have you be you. Unfiltered, unregulated… was that it?"

"Unmedicated is the most important one, I guess," Frank added without thinking.

A sudden, loud laugh rang out and Robby's hand went to cup Frank's head, rubbing over his hair. "Of certain medications, yes." He let go again and patted Frank's shoulder.

They crossed the street and quietly walked down the sidewalk side by side. It was so familiar that Frank got emotional. Them, walking this way, together, sometimes bumping elbows, sharing space, smiling… he'd fucked it up, but what had Robby said? He could get things back? When they came within sight of what used to be 'their' restaurant, Frank slowed down. "Mike?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you for this," he said quietly. "I was a little… I'm not doing great tonight." It felt surprisingly okay to admit that to Robby.

"I know." Robby's voice was thick. He tipped his head. "Can I?" he asked and raised his arms a little.

Frank stepped into the embrace without a second thought. He relaxed just seconds in, letting himself sink against Robby heavily. And Robby caught him and, holding him tightly, swayed them in the smallest of side-to-side movements. "I've got you." He cupped Frank's head.

"It'll be okay," he murmured close to Frank's ear. "Not now and it'll take time and we all need to work on it…" his beard bristles scratched Frank's skin, the sensation familiar and deeply missed. Warm and sure. The smell of cologne in his nose. Frank let out a deep breath when he realized that not only was he leaning into the embrace, but Robby was, too. Suddenly, soft lips pressed against his cheek. "But it'll be okay. We'll be okay."