Archive of Our Own

july fourth

Apologies make him nervous, he’s quickly finding out.

He thought walking in the hospital that morning that Robby’s would be the hardest. But then he saw Louie, and it caught him off guard, even though it shouldn’t have, maybe – Louie always seemed to be there. But he was caught off guard, especially as he realized that Louie was the one he had, in a sense, wronged the most.

At least he’d rehearsed for Robby’s.

But Robby isn’t giving him the time of day. And Dana is never-endingly busy, as always, and Santos is sending him side-eyed death glares every time he’s in her vicinity. So he apologizes to Louie first, tries to fit together parts of his other speeches into something semi-coherent. He hopes it’s okay. Louie treats him with grace, lets him hand him over from triage with a smile on his face, so maybe it is. Maybe it will give him confidence to do the rest.

But as his next one draws closer, he feels that same anxiety bubble up, except this time it’s multiplied tenfold, because this time it’s Mel.

It’s almost counterintuitive, because if you had asked him yesterday, he would’ve said that he was most confident Mel would forgive him. And a significant part of him still is; what he remembers the most about her is her compassion, the gentle care she puts in everything she does. She’s not the kind of person who would hold a grudge – at least, he thinks she isn’t. He supposes he’s only known her for one shift.

And when she’d seen him for the first time that morning, when he saw her head whip around at the sound of his voice, when she’d grabbed his arm with careful but firm fingers and smiled, she was so happy.

And that’s why he’s nervous. The thought of taking that joy away from her, of disappointing her, is a knife to his heart. He wonders if she knows why he’s been gone. If she realizes yet that he isn’t who she thinks he is.

The opportunity presents itself, and he seizes it, because he needs to know, one way or the other. Before he does, he cracks a joke, waits a moment and watches the slow grin bloom on her face, in case this is the last time she’ll smile at him for a while. She calls him Captain Scurvy afterwards, and something tugs in his heart, the fact that she’d remembered him just as well as he remembered her.

So he leads her into the exam room, closes the door behind them, and he apologizes.

It feels lame coming out of his mouth. It feels like it isn’t enough; he’s sure the one he’d written out in the back blank pages of one of his old med school notebooks last week sounded better. But it’s honest and true and it’s all he has at the moment.

I let a lot of people down. I’m sorry, Mel, he says. And he is – so, so truly. She doesn’t say anything right away, and he waits for her judgement, her disappointment.

God, he never meant to disappoint her.

But then, her eyes soften, almost in a questioning way, and she gives him something better than It’s alright, or Don’t worry about it, or even I forgive you.

“You never let me down,” she tells him gently, earnestly.

The words nearly take his breath away, and it’s such a tempting thought, to think that there is one person in all of this who doesn’t feel betrayed by him. But he tells her yes, even as she shakes her head, because he did. He’s about to press the issue more, but then the cops interrupt and overwhelm her. He realizes that now isn’t time to burden her with his self-loathing, ushers out the police and gives her a moment to herself.

As he turns down the lights and glances back at her one last time, she sends him the smallest, appreciative smile, one that makes him decide to stop punishing himself for just a moment. One that almost makes him believe her.

And when he leaves the room, he feels just a little bit lighter.

july seventh

“How was the rest of your 4th of July?”

He looks over from the list of patients on the screen and sees Mel has sidled up next to him as she also examines the various illnesses and ailments they have to deal with this morning. He smiles gently. He hasn’t seen her in a few days – she had the rest of the holiday weekend off.

He glances over her once. He can tell by the way she holds herself that she’s much more relaxed than she was for most of her last shift, and he’s excited to work with her today, excited to see the confidence and finesse he suspects she’s gained in the ten months that he’s been gone, now that the deposition has passed without much incident.

He wishes he had been here to watch her grow.

She turns her head to him after a moment, slight confusion in her eyes. Oh, he realizes. She’s waiting for him to answer her, and he can feel the slightest blush begin to creep onto his cheeks.

“It was fine,” he says simply, looking back up to the screen. “Uneventful enough.”

Santos had extended an olive branch to him after his apology, asked if he was coming up to the roof to watch fireworks with a group of them. He agreed, went, but mostly stayed on the outskirts of his colleagues, watching them interact with his arms crossed nervously, wondering if maybe he didn’t belong here anymore.

The feeling was only exacerbated by the fact that Mel, the only person all day who gave him hope that maybe he would make sense in this place again eventually, wasn’t there. After Becca’s trip to the ER, she had left a bit early to take her sister home, saying the two of them were going to catch the fireworks later that night from the riverwalk in front of PNC Park.

“Did your kids like the fireworks?”

Her question makes him pause. He looks down, shuffles a bit on his feet, crosses his arm.

“Uh. They were with their mom up north. Her parents have a cabin just outside of Erie, so they spent most of the day at the lake.”

“Oh,” she says, quietly. “Sorry you had to work, then.”

“Me too,” he answers automatically, and then presses his lips together, his left hand going into the pocket of his scrub pants.

He feels her eyes on him.

“Is everything okay?” she asks after a moment.

He looks at her. From anyone else, the question would annoy him. But he finds her eyes aren’t prying, or searching, or even overly curious. All that’s there is soft concern. He realizes she’s checking on him, just like he does with her.

He feels bad about that, about the fact that he might be burdening her with his ongoing inner turmoil about the shitshow his life is right now. So he doesn’t tell her anything else, just plasters what he hopes is a convincing grin on his face.

“Yeah. Just a long weekend.”

She nods, but looks like she doesn’t quite believe him, so he pivots quickly, to a story about an old woman who brought a litter of kittens in a cardboard box to the ER on Saturday because she didn’t know where the closest veterinarian was and ‘couldn’t find her phonebook.’ He’d made a mental note to tell her.

But before he can even start, a trauma is called over the loudspeaker. They make brief eye contact and then walk towards the EMTs together. He feels the fabric of her coat brush gently against the skin of his arm gently as they do.

july eleventh

He’s had a surprisingly good week.

Sure, he could still feel eyes following him wherever he walked, and knew people were still whispering behind his back. And he’s still on probation, still has to be observed every time he gives a patient some sort of medication.

But he’d finally been able to get his hands dirty a little this week. Dr. Al-Hashimi was much kinder to him than Robby had been before he left for his sabbatical, and she let him work on multiple traumas instead of just having him filter patients through triage. He’d had enough work that he’d actually been able to focus on what he was doing, instead of on how much he’d fucked up and thrown away his entire life.

The ER had started to feel like the ER again. For the first time in ten months, he felt like a damn doctor.

Not only that, he gets to see his kids tomorrow. He’s in a pleasant enough mood that the facts that it has to be supervised visit and that Abby would be glaring at him the whole time because she fucking hates his guts right now don’t even bother him that much.

As he walks out of the hospital, he lets a smile turn up his lips. It’s pouring outside, so he reaches around into his backpack and pulls out his Pens hat and puts it on, preparing to sprint to the entrance of the employee parking garage.

That’s when he sees Mel. Standing just underneath the overhang of the ambulance bay, her messenger bag on the ground by her feet.

He probably shouldn’t bother her. She’s staring down at her phone pretty intently, and she seemed a little down near end of shift. She’s probably tired, with a drained social battery.

But before he can stop himself, he’s calling out her name, telling himself it’s just because he didn’t get to say goodbye to her.

“Hey, Mel!”

She jumps when she hears her name, and he swears under his breath. She probably couldn’t hear him coming over the sounds of the rain. She turns, though, and waves at him, and then he’s walking over to her without thinking, without even meaning to.

When he approaches, he sees that behind her glasses, her eyes are red and wet.

“Shit, Mel. Everything okay?”

She looks at him in confusion for a moment. He points to his eyes.

“Oh!” she says all of a sudden, like she’s just remembering, like she didn’t even realize she’d been crying. “Oh, it’s uh, nothing. It’s silly. Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, yep!” she says, a little too cheerfully. He can tell she’s overcompensating for being sad, and he wants to press the issue, for her to tell him what’s wrong.

He feels a strong connection to Mel. He’d even felt it that first shift, before everything went to shit. He admired her patience, her care, even though he could tell that she didn’t always extend that to herself. So he’d taken it upon himself to try to get her to focus on how she was feeling, and what she needed, at least while she was at work.

He hoped he wasn’t overstepping, but it didn’t seem like she minded so far. In fact, one of his favorite things about being back was that he and Mel had already fallen into the same easy rhythm that they’d found together that first day. They undeniably worked well together. Dr. Al-Hashimi had even commented on it, with a smile that had Mel’s eyes darting from his.

So, he wants to press her, to find out what’s going on in her head. But he doesn’t want to press his luck, so he just stands next to her, watching the rain come down, waiting to see if she’d open up on her own.

“Becca is mad at me,” she says, after a minute of comfortable silence.

He frowns. He’d gotten to meet Becca on that first day back, when she came into the ER with a sprained ankle. Mel had even picked him out specifically to treat her, had asked him to keep an eye on her when she had to step away from her sister’s bedside to do her deposition. He warms now, thinking of it, despite the cool mist of the rain around them.

Mel had thanked him profusely all day, like she was inconveniencing him in some way, and he was doing her some huge favor, even though he’d told her over and over he was happy to do it. In fact, other than seeing Mel again, hanging out with Becca was the highlight of day. She was bold, vibrant and genuinely funny, and he grew fond of her quickly.

He couldn’t picture her angry, but he’d only spent a few hours with her. He doesn’t say anything, waiting for Mel to continue.

“Every Friday, Becca and I get something to eat and watch a movie. I’m supposed to be on my way to pick her up, but I totally forgot to check the weather this morning and didn’t bring an umbrella. And I got an alert on my phone that the bus I would take instead of walking is out of service, so I’d have to wait for the next scheduled run, which is an hour from now. I texted Becca to tell her that it would be too late to do both, and we’d probably have to pick going out or a movie, and she got upset and now she doesn’t even want to come home tonight. She wants to stay at the center.”

He takes a moment, absorbing her words. But she must misinterpret his silence, because she hurriedly starts to speak again.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She looks down at the ground and brings her hands up to rest on her neck. “Sorry, I totally did not mean to dump all that on you.”

“Mel,“ he says, trying to interrupt her, but it seems like she doesn’t hear him.

“I’m sure you have enough going on with…everything, and the last thing I need to do is burden you with all my problems.”

“Mel, it’s okay.”

“Just, just forget I said anything. It’s not even that big of a problem. I’m just being too sensitive. I’m sorry,” she repeats, reaching down for her bag like she’s going to walk out into the pouring rain.

“Mel,” he says, reaching down and grabbing her hand that’s moving towards her bag. His touch makes her stop, and she looks down at his hand, but doesn’t flinch or try to move away.

“Mel, it’s okay.”

She’s still staring down at their hands, and he’s afraid he’s freaking her out or something, so he lets her go, and they both stand up straight. She keeps her gaze to the ground, so he bends his knees slightly, until he finds her eyes.

“You can tell me stuff like that. I don’t mind at all.”

“Really?” she asks, like she almost can’t believe him.

“Really,” he says, smiling slightly before straightening his legs. “I mean, we’re friends, right?”

She pauses, doesn’t answer right away, and he feels his cheeks start to heat up, thinking he maybe read their whole situation wrong.

“I guess,” he starts, clearing his throat. “I know we haven’t known each other very long, considering how many months I was…gone, but I’d like to think – I mean, I’m hoping – “

She’s the one who cuts him off this time, mercifully.

“No, we’re friends. Yeah, I think we’re friends.”

He smiles.

“Good. So, yeah, you can tell me things. Don’t be afraid to.”

“Thanks, Dr. Langdon.”

He frowns.

“And since we’re friends,” he tells her, “please call me Frank.”

Her eyes widen, like he’s stunned her again, but then, the corners of her lips turn up gently.

“Okay. Yeah. Thanks, Frank.”

He’s never really liked his name. He was named Francis after his grandfather, and Frank had always sounded a little clunky to him. Old man-ish. That’s why he has most people call him by his last name. It came naturally at work, but even in high school and college, he was known as Langdon to most people.

But hearing her say it sounds…nice. He might have to change his opinion.

She sighs, and looks out at the rain again.

“It doesn’t seem like it’s going to slow down any time soon. Crap, maybe I should just make a run for it. It’s only a five-minute walk from here.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he says, and her face falls just the tiniest bit, but he keeps going. “I’ll drive you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she assures him. “I’m sure you’re busy. And you want to get home to your family and stuff. I’ll just wait for the bus, I guess.”

“I’m not busy, and I really don’t mind. Plus, my place is only, like, ten minutes from here. It’s no trouble at all.”

He doesn’t mention that his “home” now is a lonely, hole-in-the-wall apartment still filled with cardboard boxes because he sometimes still deludes himself into thinking that one day, Abby will want him back. He doesn’t mention that any excuse to put off going back there, even for a little while, appeals to him immensely. Especially if that means spending more time with Mel.

She nods after a moment.

“Awesome,” he says, grinning at her slightly. “You prepared to sprint?”

She picks up her bag and puts it over her head. He smiles wider.

“Ready when you are.”

The uncovered run from the ambulance bay to the garage is only about twenty yards, but they are still soaked when they finally make it there. She slings her bag back over her shoulder. Her glasses are covered with raindrops, and he has the urge to reach over and take them off her face, dry them off with his undershirt.

But she beats him to it. Instead, he takes his hat off, shaking it lightly to get some of the water off, but he quickly realizes his mistake. Drops fly off and hit both of them, making her jump again.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.”

But she only laughs, a real, deep laugh that he doesn’t think he’s ever heard from her. Something pulls in the pit of his stomach, but before he has time to figure out what it is, she’s speaking.

“I guess it is good I decided not to make a run for it.”

“I’d say. Come on,” he tells her, gesturing with his head, and she follows him. “My car is on the second floor.”

*            *            *

The ride to the center is too short for his liking.

She makes fun of him when he plugs his phone in and his music turns on, and a song by The Eagles starts to play.

“What?” he says, as a smile creeps onto her face.

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head, but when he doesn’t stop looking at her, she shrugs. “It’s just, this is such a dad song.”

He frowns.

“It’s not bad!” she assures him when she sees his expression. “It’s just…dad music.”

“Well, I am a dad, so I guess that fits.”

“Exactly,” she says, the smile not leaving her face as he turns around and backs out of his parking space.

“What kind of music do you listen to, then?” he asks, once they’re out of the garage.

“Oh, well, a lot of different things. I think my favorite artist right now is Megan Thee Stallion.”

He almost swerves.

“Really?”

“Yep. Why, does that surprise you?”

“A little bit,” he admits. “So when I see you with your AirPods in, that’s what you’re listening to?”

“Most of the time. Sometimes ocean waves, instead, though.”

He smiles. He can’t help himself. Every new thing he learns about Mel King makes him like her more and more.

Silence drapes over them for the rest of the drive, with her telling him which turns to make the only words spoken between them. It should be awkward, but somehow it isn’t. And by the time he’s pulling up in front of the center, she’s slightly bopping her head along to a song by The Killers. He smirks, makes a mental note that she likes that better.

There are no open spots, so he pulls over as much as he can and puts his flashers on and then reaches into the backseat to get her bag for her. She unbuckles her seatbelt, looks at him.

“Thanks for the ride, D – “

She catches herself, smiles shyly.

“Frank, I mean. Thanks for the ride, Frank.”

“Anytime,” he says, and she glances away, like she doesn’t quite believe him. So before she can reach over and open the door, he grabs her wrist. “I mean it, Mel.”

She looks down at his hand on her again, just like she did before in the ambulance bay.

“In fact, here, let’s exchange numbers,” he suggests, unplugging his phone and holding it out to her. “That way, next time it’s monsoon-ing outside, or the bus sounds unappealing, or you just don’t feel like walking, you can text me and I’ll pick you up.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to do – “

“I know I don’t have to, Mel,” he assures her. “I want to.”

She still hesitates, so he clarifies, “As long as that’s okay with you, of course.”

“No, it is,” she says. “It definitely is.”

He smiles as she takes his phone.

“Good.”

When she hands it back, he sees she’s added herself as a contact. Something about seeing her name on the screen makes his heart beat a little faster.

“Good,” he mumbles again, mostly to himself.

“Are you working tomorrow?" she asks, and he looks up at her.

She has her hand on the door handle, and her eyes are on him. He lets himself believe that she doesn’t want their moment to end either.

“No,” he says, and he frowns at first, because that means he won’t see her. But then he remembers Tanner and Millie, and smile creeps back onto his face. “I actually have tomorrow off, and I promised my kids I’d take them to Schenley Park.”

“Oh, that’s awesome!” she says, her face lighting up. “Becca loves it there.”

“Yeah. See you Monday, though?”

“Absolutely,” she confirms, opening her door.

The rain has slowed to a light drizzle, so she doesn’t have to run when she gets out, and she turns back to him, leaning down so she can see him past the doorframe.

“Have a nice night, Frank. And a good weekend!”

“You too, Mel.”

They smile at each other a moment more, and she murmurs one more quick bye before closing her door. He watches her walk to the sidewalk and up the steps to center, until someone behind him honks their horn and swerves around him quickly.

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, turning off his flashers and putting the car in drive. “I’m going.”

Still, he watches her disappear into the building in his rearview mirror.

july sixteenth

“Do you like boba?”

He looks up from where he’s charting in central to see Mel has slid into the chair next to him and is logging into a computer. He smiles – he hasn’t seen her much this week. The Pitt had been unusually busy for days. And unfortunately (at least for him), it’s been sunny and pleasant outside since he dropped her off at the center last Friday, so she hasn’t needed to take him up on his carpooling offer.

They’ve worked cases together, of course, but he isn’t ashamed to admit he’s missed just talking to Mel; since their conversation in his car, he hasn’t been able to get her out of his head. He wants to tell her that he put some Megan Thee Stallion songs on his driving playlist, and wants to ask her how she takes her coffee or tea so when he picks her up he can bring her something from the coffee shop up the block from his apartment. He wants to tell her about his day with Tanner and Millie, how they’d spent most of the day rolling around in the grass on Flagstaff Hill.

It’s been so long since he’s had someone he wants to tell things to, who actually seems interested in what he has to say. Not since before rehab.

It’s nice to feel like he has a friend again.

“Are you going to answer her question, Langdon, or just stare at her weirdly?”

Trinity’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts, and she keeps going before he can speak.

“Or don’t you know what boba is?”

“Maybe he’s too white to know what boba is,” Samira fake whispers to Trinity.

“Ha, ha, ladies,” he says, spinning in his chair slightly to see the two women eyeing him. Samira has a smile on her face – she’s joking, he knows. If there’s one person other than Mel who has been welcoming these past few weeks, it’s Samira.

He still isn’t sure where he stands with Trinity, though, so he bites back his proclivity to make a sarcastic comment, and looks back towards Mel.

“Honestly?” he asks, and she nods eagerly. “I’ve never had it. I’ve never had the desire to, I guess?”

“Samira, you were right. He is too white for boba,” Trinity snickers, but he ignores her, because he can’t stop looking at Mel’s expression, eyebrows raised, mouth hanging open slightly. He smiles.

“Oh my God, really?” she says, like that is simultaneously the most interesting and most offensive thing he’s ever said to her.

“Yes, really. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mel.”

“Oh, you’re not disappoint – oh, that was a joke,” she corrects herself, and he laughs lightly, nodding. “It’s just…how have you never tried it?!? It’s so popular now, too. There are shops everywhere.”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “It’s always been, like, the imagined consistency of the actual pearls. Are they chewy? And what am I supposed to do with them? Should I like, bite them, or just swallow them…”

“Usually, it’s advised to chew them so you can digest them better,” she informs him, like this vital information everyone should know, and his smile grows. “And they are a little gummy. But if that freaks you out, they also have these little popping pearls you can get instead, that have this juice stuff inside that a lot of people actually prefer to the tapioca pearls.”

He thinks he could listen to her talk about boba all day.

“Well, I’ll have to try it sometime, then,” he says, and he means it. He isn’t just saying it to placate her. He wants to try it for her.

She stares at him, her brow furrowing slightly, like she wants to say something but has to work up to it. After a minute, he shifts in his chair.

“What’s wrong, Mel?”

“Wrong?” she asks, jumping slightly, like his words startled her. She chews on her bottom lip. “Oh, nothing. I was just wondering – ”

She gets cut off by announcement over the loudspeaker of an incoming GSW to the left upper chest. T-minus two minutes. They both rise from their chairs, and he reaches into a box and pulls two pairs of gloves, passing one to her.

“Mel, Langdon,” Dr. Al-Hashimi says as she passes central. “Can you jump on this with us, please?”

“On it,” he says, while Mel nods. He waits for her to pass, his gloved hand ghosting over the small of her back to guide her around him, and then follows behind her.

*            *            *

He’s at his locker gathering his things when she comes over to him again.

“Hey, Mel,” he says, putting the straps of his backpack over his shoulder. “You headed home?”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, and he watches as she pushes a strand of hair that’s come loose from her braid behind her ear, almost nervously. “I’m actually…I’m actually gonna head over to the center and pick up Becca, and then I’m taking her to get boba.”

“Sounds like fun,” he says, smiling as he thinks back to their conversation this afternoon.

He wishes it was raining, so that he could drive her to get her sister again, but it’s, once again, a lovely evening outside. He’d even checked his weather app as he was finishing charting, just to make sure.

“It will be fun,” she says, and she takes a long, deep breath before continuing. “I was actually wondering if you wanted to come? It’s just, you said you’ve never had it, and Becca has been asking about you. There’s this place right around the corner from the center that’s really good, and I thought it might be nice if you came, too.”

“Yes,” he says immediately. He doesn’t even have to think about it. In fact, in that moment, there’s nothing he wants more than to go get boba with Mel and Becca.

“Wait, really?” Mel asks, almost like she can’t believe he said yes, the corners of her mouth turning up.

“Yes, really,” he says, with a breathy laugh.

“Oh! That’s great. Here, let me just get my stuff.”

He watches as she collects her things and puts them in her bag, and then she closes her locker door, and the two of them fall into step together as they head towards the exit.

“Since you’re going to drive now, do you mind if we go to this place in Squirrel Hill, instead of the one near the center? It’s called Tsaôcaa, and it’s actually Becca’s favorite place, but since I don’t have a car and the bus can be really overstimulating, we don’t get to go that often.”

“Of course,” he says. “Anything for you and Becca.”

“Thanks,” she whispers, and he can swear he sees her cheeks start to flush. He eyes her side profile, swallows slowly.

“So. Becca keeps asking about me, huh?”

She smiles, playfully rolls her eyes.

“How did I know you were going to come back to that? Yes, she does. You must have made quite the impression.”

He smirks.

“I’ve been known to do that.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t let it go to your head,” she tells him, bumping his arm with her shoulder gently.

“Me? Never.”

She laughs, then, and he bumps her back.

*            *            *

“So, I’m trying to get this lady to put down her giant bag so I can examine her properly, but she keeps refusing. And then, the bag start shaking, and I’m just about to call Dr. Robby – our boss, I think you might’ve met him when you came to the ER.”

Becca nods at him from across the table, entranced by his story.

“So, I’m about to call Dr. Robby over, when this cat hops out of the bag and darts out of the room and across the ER.”

“No way!” Becca says.

“Yes, way,” he confirms, and Becca laughs delightedly. He smiles, and shares a glance with Mel, who’s sitting next to her sister and looking at him with some mixture of gratefulness and her own amusement.

“Did you catch him?” Becca asks.

“Eventually,” he tells her, “but it took, like, five of us. That thing was fast, even though he had to be the fattest cat I’ve ever seen.”

Becca almost doubles over in laughter, and his grin grows. He reaches out and takes the last sip of his drink; he’d gotten something vaguely mango-y with the popping pearls – he wasn’t quite ready to venture into the tapioca territory yet – and when he told Mel, You know what? This isn’t bad, her face had lit up in excitement in a way that he’s still thinking about.

He glances at his phone. It’s 9:20. They’ve been here for almost an hour and a half, and his eyes widen. It hasn’t felt that long at all. But when he looks up, he can see the place has cleared out, and he’s pretty sure he can feel the annoyed gaze of the woman at the register boring into the back of his head. He remembers vaguely that the place closes at 9:30.

He turns around, hazards a glance at the counter. Yep, they’re getting the death stare.

“I think we should probably get going,” he murmurs quietly. “I think they close soon.”

“Aw, really?” Becca says, a frown appearing on her face.

“Yeah, we have to go,” Mel tells her, wrapping an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “Before they kick us out. And, it’s getting late. We both have to be up early tomorrow.”

Becca rolls her eyes and sighs, muttering a frustrated Fine. He excuses himself to use the restroom before they leave, and as he walks to the back of the café, he hears Becca talk to Mel in a voice that he thinks is supposed to be a whisper.

“I really like Dr. Langdon.”

“That’s great, Becca. I…really like him too.”

His heart tugs again, like it usually does whenever Mel says something even slightly nice about him. He slows his steps, so he can hear the rest of their conversation.

“You’re friends, right?”

“Yeah, we are.”

“You should invite him to Friday movie night, too, then! Does her like Elf?”

Mel hesitates.

“I don’t know if he likes Elf. You’ll have to ask him. And I…can invite him, I guess. But, Becca, he has two kids, so don’t be disappointed if he says no.”

He frowns, and his stomach drops a bit. He suddenly wonders if Mel thinks this was inappropriate, but then he remembers she’s the one who asked him to come. Still, he’s come to realize in the past couple of weeks that he cares deeply about what Mel thinks of him. The idea that she might think he’s sleazy or unfaithful or untrustworthy actually pains him.

He’s reached the bathroom by now, even with his slow steps, and opens the door, leaving Mel and Becca to finish their conversation without him.

*            *            *

Mel goes to punch her address into his phone’s GPS when they get back in the car, but he stops her.

“Just plug your phone in. That’ll be easier.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he tells her, reaching down and handing her the cord. “Plus, that way you’ll finally be able to grace me with your infinitely superior taste in music.”

She smiles at that.

“You said it, not me.”

The drive back is quiet other than the music playing through the speakers. Becca falls asleep in the backseat – Mel says to him that Becca usually likes to start her nighttime routine at 9:30, and he’d apologized for keeping them out so late.

“Don’t apologize, Frank. She had a really great time. I haven’t heard her laugh that hard in awhile.”

When he pulls into a visitor spot in the parking lot at her building, as Kendrick Lamar’s Not Like Us plays softly in the background, he turns and finds Mel has fallen asleep as well. The corners of his mouth turn up at her peaceful expression, her slightly open mouth, her steady breathing. He almost doesn’t want to wake her up. God knows that ER doctors need every bit of restful sleep they can get.

But then he thinks about Becca, and her already messed up bedtime routine, and reaches over to gently shake Mel’s shoulder.

“Mel,” he murmurs, but she doesn’t move. He smiles.

“Mel, sweetheart,” he says, a little louder this time. “Mel, we’re here.”

Her nose scrunches up, and finally, she opens her eyes. She blinks at him, still groggy.

“Hi,” she says softly.

“Hi,” he answers, laughing lightly.

She stretches, and he looks into the backseat to see Becca has stirred, as well.

“We’re here, Becs.”

“I know, Dr. Langdon.”

“Call me Frank, Becca,” he tells her. “Since we’re friends now.”

Her face twists.

“Frank? That’s an old man name.”

“Becca!” Mel exclaims, fully awake now.

He laughs.

“No, I agree. Tell that to my parents, please, if you ever get to meet them.”

“I will,” Becca promises.

As Mel and Becca begin to gather their things, he hops out of the car, rushing around so he can open both of their doors. Becca sighs after a moment, and he looks down to see her struggling to grab her stuff. She’d brought home a few crafts and two new plants from the center to put in her room.

“I can’t carry all this by myself, Mel.”

Before she can answer, he is reaching down to help Becca.

“Here, give me the plants. I can carry those.”

“Oh, Frank,” Mel says from behind him, “you don’t have to. We can manage.”

But Becca is already handing them to him, and when he turns back around to Mel, she has a cautious look on her face.

“It’s fine, Mel.”

“But we already kept you out so late,” she tells him, frowning. “I’m sure you need to get home to –”

He interrupts her before she can say what she’s going to say. He doesn’t want to think about that right now. Not when he’s in such a good mood.

“Don’t worry about it. Like I said, I don’t mind. I’m happy to help.”

“Are you sure?”

He smiles. He smiles so much when he’s around her.

“Yes, I’m sure. Promise me you won’t worry about it.”

She studies his face for a moment, but then nods.

“Okay. I promise.”

“Thank you,” he says gently, earnestly.

The three of them make the short walk to her apartment in comfortable silence. When Mel unlocks the door and they step inside, he tries to glance around the modest apartment subtly, but it’s dark, and Mel only flips on a single light above the kitchen sink.

“Okay, I’m going to go to bed,” Becca announces almost immediately, as soon as she puts down her backpack and sets her crafts on the couch. “Goodnight, Mel,” she says, giving her sister a quick hug.

“Goodnight, Becca. Let me know if you need anything.”

“I’m fine, Mel.”

She then turns to him, eyeing him.

“Goodnight, Frank,” she says. “Still a dumb name.”

“Becca,” Mel scolds softly.

But her sister is already turning around and heading to her bedroom. Mel turns to him with a sigh when her door closes.

“I’m so sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” he says, grinning. “I agree, remember?”

“Well, I think it’s a perfectly good name,” she informs him, and then motions at the plants he’s still holding. “You can just put those by the sink. I’ll probably have to water them in the morning.”

He walks deeper into the apartment, places the two succulents on the kitchen counter. He turns to her. He knows it’s time to leave, to tell her goodnight. But before he can stop himself, he’s speaking.

“Can I tell you something? And if I do, can you promise not to tell anyone at work?”

She looks at him cautiously, suddenly twisting her hands together, as if he’s made her nervous. It hits him, suddenly.

“Oh, Jesus. No, it’s nothing like that. I swear it’s nothing like that.”

She visibly relaxes, and for a moment, he hates himself. Hates that now every time he tries to tell someone something personal or confidential, they’ll think he might be stealing pills again.

“Then, yeah,” she says, “you can tell me. Is everything okay?”

He sighs, running his hand through his hair. He doesn’t know how to even start telling her this. He hasn’t told anyone else except his mom and his therapist.

So he just blurts it out.

“Abby – my wife – and I are separated.”

Her eyebrows raise slightly, but she doesn’t say anything.

“I mean, I guess nothing is technically official yet,” he continues, starting to ramble. “She said she just wanted to do a trial run – her words, not mine – on being separated before we made any big decisions. But she kicked me out of the house in May and only lets me see the kids for supervised visits every other weekend, so I think it’s official as you can get without signing anything. I’ve just been wearing my wedding ring at work so people don’t have another reason to talk about me.”

She’s quiet when he finishes, and she looks down, picking at the skin around her thumbnail.

“Sorry,” he says all of a sudden, realizing he probably freaked her out. He feels so close to her already, but in the grand scheme of things, he supposes they’ve only known each other for a handful of weeks. “Sorry, I can…overshare sometimes, I guess. I’ll go now. Thanks for everything.”

He feels like an idiot. He starts towards the door, but she reaches out, grabs his wrist to stop him.

“Wait, Frank.”

When he turns around, she’s staring at him intently, sympathy in her brown eyes. From anyone else, he would hate it. But for some reason, coming from her, it makes his heart swell.

“I just didn’t want you to think I was some jackass who hated his family and was avoiding going home to them,” he tells her, before she can say anything. “I…really didn’t want you to think that.”

“I would never think that,” she says, and he can hear in her voice that she’s telling the truth. It makes his chest tighten again. She drops his wrist, and he misses the feel of her fingers on his skin immediately.

“How are you feeling about it?” she asks.

“I’m…not sure, honestly.”

If someone would have asked him that question any time before July 4th, he would have answered unequivocally with one word: shitty. But that word doesn’t come to the tip of his tongue anymore. Instead, it just feels confusing and complicated.

“I think, emotionally, the marriage has been over for a while. I mean, I was sleeping in the guest room sometimes even before rehab. But it’s still hard. Scary. I’ve been with Abby since my senior year of college, so the fear of the unknown is…a lot.

“The kids, though. That’s what really terrifies me. I’m afraid if things do end, she’ll go for full custody. Which she’d probably get. I mean, I am a fucking drug addict.”

She frowns.

“You’re a lot more than that.”

He smiles wryly.

“Thanks, Mel. But for now, that’s all anyone sees.”

“Well,” she says, and she almost sounds indignant, like she could stomp her foot. “They shouldn’t. If it’s any consolation, I don’t see you like that.”

His heart tugs again. Maybe he’s having a heart attack.

“It…” he trails off for a moment, because the word comes out a bit wobbly, and fuck, he doesn’t want to cry right now. “That means a lot to me. More than you’ll ever know, probably.”

He looks down again, shuffling back and forth on his feet.

“Can I give you a hug?”

His head snaps up at that. She’s standing in front of him, arms slightly outstretched, a nervous expression on her face. He nods, his throat suddenly dry.

And then, she walks towards him, wrapping herself against him gently, carefully, tentatively. He puts his arms around her, softly, but he gradually tightens his grip, until he’s crushing her against his chest and blinking back tears for the second time that night.

“I’m so sorry, Frank,” she says into the fabric of his t-shirt. “Thank you for telling me, and trusting me. I want…”

She looks up at him, craning her neck because of their height difference, her chin resting over his heart.

“You said I can always tell you things, but I want to let you know that you can tell me things, too. I mean, we’re friends. Friends tell each other this kind of stuff.”

He nods. He wonders if friends also hug this long. And seem to fit together this well. And don’t want to let the other one go when they touch. It’s been a long time since he’s had a real friend.

They hold each other for a moment longer, and then she pulls away and he takes a step back. They stare at each other for a few seconds, and then he clears his throat.

“I should probably leave now, I guess.”

He doesn’t want to leave. God, he really doesn’t want to leave.

“I see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow. I had a…really nice time, Mel. Thank you for inviting me.”

She smiles.

“I had a nice time, too. So did Becca, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he answers. His whole body is warm.

He starts towards the door, and he can hear her soft footsteps behind him. When he’s walking down her front steps and towards the parking lot, she calls out to him.

“Hey, Frank.”

He looks back at her. She has her arms wrapped around herself, like she’s cold, even though it’s at least 80 degrees out. He can just make out her face, illuminated by the yellow glow of a streetlamp.

She’s so beautiful, he thinks. He’d never really noticed it before. Probably because he was married. He’s still married, he tries to remind himself.

“Do you like Elf? Like, the movie?”

He grins widely.

“Yeah, I do. I actually love Elf.”

august first

He’s been granted a standing invitation to the King sisters’ Friday movie night. He’s never considered himself luckier.

That Friday after boba, he picked up two pizzas on his way to her apartment, plus a carton of ice cream. Becca cheered when she saw him. He’s pretty sure he saw Mel blush when she did.

They watched Elf that first night, with Becca showing off how she could basically recite the entire movie between her bites of cookies n’ cream. Mel smiles at the two of them in a way he can’t – or maybe, refuses to – interpret. If he does, he might do something stupid.

The next week, he convinces Becca to watch A League of Their Own instead of Elf. Mel is standing in the middle of the living room, gobsmacked, when Becca agrees.

“How did you do that?” she asks quietly, as she settles down next to him and the movie begins to play. “We’ve watched Elf every Friday for the past three months.”

He shrugs, but he can’t help the smile the breaks out onto his face.

“What?” he murmurs at her. “I told her it was about two sisters and that I’d take her to a Pirates game afterwards. Easy.”

Mel looks down.

“You…you don’t have to do that. Take her to a game, I mean.”

He frowns.

“Why not? Oh, shit. Do you think it will be too overstimulating for her? Shit, I didn’t even think about that. Sorry.”

She just stares at him for a moment, and he almost thinks he sees her eyes start to get glassy. But then, she glances away, at the corner of the room.

“No,” she says. “Or, I don’t know, maybe. She won’t know until she tries. But I’m thinking if she wears her noise-canceling headphones, it should be fine.”

“What’s up, then?”

She exhales, and then turns back to him. He’s right – her eyes are definitely a little wet.

“What’s wrong, Mel?” he asks, sitting up a little straighter.

“Nothing,” she assures him. “Nothing’s wrong. That’s the thing.”

His brow furrows.

“I’m not sure I’m following here.”

“I guess…” she begins. “I know you keep telling me that we’re not a burden to you, and that you like being with us. But it’s been…a really long time since we’ve had someone else who wants to spend time with us. With me. I still have some trouble believing that it’s actually true sometimes.”

His heart breaks.

“Mel,” he breathes, shaking his head. “Mel, I – “

“Shhhh,” Becca says, glaring over at them with a finger over her lips.

He can’t help but laugh, and grabs Mel’s hand, pulling her off the couch.

“Where are you guys going?” Becca asks, still staring intently at the screen.

“To get drinks from the kitchen,” he tells her smoothly. “You want anything, Becs?”

“Sprite, please.”

“Got it.”

He tugs Mel along with him to the other room, sits her on one of the stools she had pulled up to the counter so they could eat their Chinese food earlier.

“Mel,” he says, but she’s still staring at the floor. He squeezes her hand, waits until she looks up.

“I’m going to be honest with you,” he says. “Like, brutally honest. Is that okay?”

She nods hesitantly, tries to look away, but he follows her gaze.

“When I came back to the hospital in July, I was in a bad place. My marriage was falling apart, I barely got to see my kids. I thought going back to work would fix some of that for me, or at least distract me for a little bit. But it didn’t, really. In fact, I just felt more out of place than I did before. I thought about quitting, like, a dozen times.”

“You did?” she asks, eyes widening. A quick flash of fear passes over her features.

“Not anymore,” he assures her. “But, yeah. For a while, I was strongly considering it.”

“What made you change your mind?” she asks.

He smiles, exhaling slowly and shaking his head slightly.

“You know, you’re one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever met, but you’ve been a little slow on the uptake on this one.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mel,” he says. “I didn’t quit because of you. Because all I could think about was how if I quit, I’d probably never see you again. And that felt unbearable to me.”

Her mouth fell open slightly.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but outside of my kids, you’re kind of my favorite person.”

She surges forward all of a sudden, throwing her arms around his neck. The last time they hugged, they were also in her kitchen. It’s easily becoming his favorite room in her apartment.

“You’re my best friend, Mel,” he murmurs into her hair, but the words don’t seem like enough. They don’t convey how important she’s become to him. So he tacks on, “Seeing you is always, always the best part of my day.”

“You’re my best friend, too,” she says, gripping the back of his t-shirt with tight fists.

He’d be content to stay like this, right here, holding Mel, for the rest of the night, he thinks. Maybe for the rest of his life. But soon, Becca’s voice calls out from the other room.

“What’s taking you so long? You’re missing the movie.”

He feels Mel’s shoulders shake as she laughs.

“We’re coming, Becca,” she shouts, squeezing him one more time before pulling back and heading towards the fridge to get Becca her Sprite.

Then, she takes his hand again, leading him back into the living room and down onto the couch. She hands Becca the can of pop, and then sits down next to him, leaning against his side and laying her head on his shoulder. She isn’t usually this deliberate about touching him, but it’s like a dam has been broken, or boundary erased in her mind.

It’s like she finally believes him. That he cares about her. That they’re best friends.

The corners of his mouth turn up, and he looks down at her, tugging on the end of her braid before further relaxing against her.

august sixth

They’re sitting in the break room sharing a leftover breakfast bar when he brings it up.

“Hey, I can’t make movie night on Friday.”

Her face falls just the tiniest bit.

“Oh?” she asks, her mouth still full of granola. He smiles.

“Yeah. Abby is…Abby is actually letting the kids stay over at my apartment on Friday night.”

He can’t help the wide smile that appears on his face, and neither can Mel help the one on hers, apparently.

“Oh my God, Frank!” she exclaims, scooting her chair over so she can throw an arm around her shoulder. “That’s amazing!”

“Yeah,” he says, squeezing her to him for a moment before she pulls away. “I mean, the situation isn’t the most ideal. I don’t have a spare room, so I was just going to have them sleep in my bed with me, but Tanner got the idea to bring his sleeping bag somehow, so we’re all going to sleep in the living room together. They’re even making me pitch a tent.”

“That’s genuinely adorable.”

“It is, kind of, isn’t it?”

She nods forcefully, and he can’t help but reach over and grab her hand.

“Anyways. Do you want to get dinner somewhere tonight instead?”

“Oh,” she says, frowning. “I don’t have Becca tonight. She’s staying over with a friend at the center.”

He pauses, his brow furrowing for a moment.

“I know,” he assures her. “You told me that on Sunday.”

Now she looks at him like she’s confused. And it hits him, all at once. He wonders at how he never realized it before.

They’ve never hung out together outside of work without Becca.

His heart drops a little bit. She couldn’t think that he only wants to see her when her sister is around, could she? Not even a week ago, he’d told her that she was his best friend, the most important part of his days.

Judging by the utterly confounded look on her face, he guesses she could.

“Mel,” he says slowly, almost incredulously. “Sweetheart.”

“What?”

“You know I like hanging out with you, too, right? Not just you and Becca?”

She blushes.

 “Theoretically, I guess? I mean, we’ve never done anything just…us.”

“Yeah,” he tells her. “I honestly can’t believe that. I mean, Becca is great – I love Becca, obviously. But you’re the main draw. It’s important to me that you know that.”

She smiles softly, moving her thumb across the back of his hand that’s holding hers.

“I think I knew that, yeah,” she murmurs. “And yes, I would love to get dinner somewhere tonight.”

“Good,” he says, letting out a breath. “Just let me know what place. Or we can get takeout and go back to your place. Whatever you want.”

Her eyes light up at his statement.

“What?” he asks.

“I have an idea,” she says excitedly, almost bouncing in her seat suddenly. “I’ll text you in a little bit.”

He smirks.

“Or you could just, y’know, tell me. We’re in the same place.”

“No,” she tells him. “I need to text it to you. Or maybe email. Do I even have your email?”

“Uh. If you type in my name on Outlook, my work email should pop up.”

“Oh, right!” she says, eating one more piece of the granola bar but leaving the last bite for him, like she always does. “Okay, we should get back out there.”

She hops up from her seat, almost bounces out of the break room. He just smiles after her, wondering what the fuck she was going to email him. He couldn’t wait.

“Hey, asshole,” someone says, snapping their fingers in front of his face.

He blinks, looks up.

“Hello, Trinity,” he greets her.

“Why do you look like you just won a million bucks? Or just saw flock of ducklings, or the birth of your third child, or something?”

He blushes, looks over at Whitaker standing next to her, staring at him strangely.

“Oh, nothing,” he says, with a casual wave of his hand.

“Does it have anything to do that we saw Mel walking from this direction like a ray of fucking sunshine?”

He blushes harder, he’s sure, but he rolls his eyes to try to distract from it, popping the last piece of breakfast bar in his mouth before grabbing the wrapper and standing up.

“Mel is always a ray of fucking sunshine,” he says fondly, tossing the wrapper in the trash.

Before Trinity can say anything else, he slips out of the break room.

*            *            *

His phone dings twenty minutes later.

Mel

Check your email, please :)

He glances around the ER, sees Mel sitting at central on one of the computers. He smirks and quickly waves over Dr. Al-Hashimi to approve the medication he’s prescribing to his patient. She’s checking over his notes, but he keeps glancing at Mel. She catches his eye, smiles widely.

He shouldn’t, but he asks Dr. Al-Hashimi if she could finish up the case. He can’t get the meds the patient needs himself anyways. He’s an extra piece in the puzzle that doesn’t need to be here right now.

“I’m, uh, really behind on charting,” he tells her, which isn’t necessarily a lie. He’s always a little behind on charting. He scratches the back of his neck.

“I suppose so,” she says, and he thanks her quickly before heading out towards central.

He chooses the seat behind Mel, not wanting to be too obvious. He sees her grin is still on her face as he passes. He logs into the computer, pulls up Outlook. He has about 100 emails in his inbox – he always forgets to clean it out – but the one on top is from Mel, and he clicks to open it.

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Ideas (Just Us)

Please see the attached spreadsheet. It’s colored-coded and tabbed. Let me know if you have any questions :)

She sent him a fucking spreadsheet. He looks at the title.

Mel King’s To-Do List

God, she might be his favorite person ever.

He opens the document, scrolls through each tab, full of movies Mel wants to watch, food she wants to try, places she wants to visit, hobbies she wants to take up. Experiences she wants to have.

His heart swells. He wants to study this, print out a copy and highlight and annotate and take notes just like he used to do with his med school textbooks. He wants to memorize it.

But first, he looks at the key (she made a fucking key) to figure out her color-coding system, even though it’s pretty straightforward – green are easy tasks, yellow are mildly difficult tasks, and red are hard tasks. She’s added another tab with purple cells which she’s titled Short Notice Tasks. He clicks on that one, reads through the list like it’s his favorite book.

“I didn’t know you enjoyed charting so much, Dr. Langdon.”

His eyes dart up from the computer. He finds Dr. Al-Hashimi standing in front of the desk, peering at him curiously. Shit, he must be smiling like a fucking idiot. Behind him, he swears he hears Mel giggle.

“Oh, I, uh,” he stammers, trying to find an excuse but failing miserably. His brain is still full of Mel King’s To-Do List. “I didn’t have as much to do as I thought, I guess.”

“Can I see what you did?” she asks.

Shit. He closes out of the spreadsheet and logs out of the computer quickly.

“I actually just logged out. Sorry. But it should all be saved in the system.”

Her eyes narrow just slightly. He’s pushing his luck, he knows, so he stands and stretches before looking at the patient status board. He squints, sees projectile vomiting in North 4. He thinks about making a joke about The Exorcist, but knows Mel wouldn’t get it, and he doesn’t really care about making anyone other than her laugh anymore.

So he simply says, “I’ve got North 4,” and then turns to leave, before Dr. Al-Hashimi can question him further.

But he can’t help whispering to Mel as he passes her. A Mel who is, sure enough, trying to hold back her laughter.

“You’re trouble today.”

She shrugs, not even looking up at him as he walks by. Once he’s around the corner, where he can’t be seen by his attending, he pulls out his phone.

you pick the movie, i pick dinner?

He sees her start to type before he can ever think about putting his phone away.

Okay. I pick Titanic.

ok. i pick sushi.

do you work tomorrow? is becca going to be home?

No, day off! And she’s going to be at the center until usual pick-up time.

He smiles.

He has an idea, too.

*            *            *

She gapes at him when he shows up to her apartment with several grocery bags in tow.

“I thought you were just getting the sushi!” she says, as she steps aside so he can walk in.

He places his bags down on her kitchen counter.

“I got the sushi, don’t worry,” he assures her, motioning to the two bags in his left hand. “I just picked up some extra things too.”

“That’s a lot of sushi. We’re never going to be able to eat all of that.”

“I know. I got a bunch of different types so you can really decide what you like.”

She hums, and then comes to stand next to him, close enough that their sides are brushing. She tries to peek into the other bags.

“Okay,” she says. “What else did you get?”

He pulls out a quart of pistachio gelato.

“Oh my god, this was on the list!” she exclaims.

He smiles.

“That’s kind of the point, sweetheart. And,” he pauses, hesitates before emptying the other bags. “Look, this next thing, it was on your list, but we totally don’t have to do this if you feel uncomfortable or just don’t feel like tonight.”

“O…kay?”

He sighs, running his hand through his hair, suddenly nervous.

“Look, I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea or – “

“Just open the bags already, Frank.”

So, he does. He pulls out maraschino cherries, cherry grenadine, and a bottle of vodka. He doesn’t say anything at first, waiting for her to respond, but after a minute he starts babbling nervously.

“Like I said, I didn’t – “

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Frank?” she asks quietly. He can hear the smile in her voice, though, and he relaxes.

“Jesus, Mel. Don’t say it like that.”

“What?!” she protests. “You are, though.”

“It was on your list!” he defends. “And I thought since, you know, you don’t work tomorrow and Becca isn’t coming home until the evening…”

“…That it would get a good night to get sloshed.”

“Sloshed?” he asks, trying but failing to hide his amusement. “What, did you just get transported here from the 1950s?”

She laughs, easing herself further into his side.

“Okay. What are you making me to drink?”

“Well,” he begins, “your list said you wanted something, and I quote, ‘easy to drink. Fruity, maybe?’”

“Wow, you really paid attention,” she says, sounding impressed.

“Mel, that’s my new reading material before bed,” he tells her, and she giggles again. The sound warms him from head to toe. “Anyways, I saw that you always have those Shirley Temple 7-Ups in your fridge. Becca never drinks them, so they must be yours. So, Dirty Shirleys it is. I figured we could use some of Becca’s Sprites.”

She doesn’t say anything. He scrambles.

“But like I said, if you don’t want to, that’s totally fine. Or, if you’d rather have something else, I think there might be a liquor store – “

“No, Frank. This is perfect. Really.”

“Yeah?” he asks, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and rubbing his hand down her arm gently.

“Yes, it is. It’s perfect. You have to promise me one thing, though.”

“Anything.”

The gravity of that word hits him as soon as it leaves his mouth. Because it’s true. Standing her next to Mel – her glasses pushed up her nose, her hair in soft waves from being in a braid all day, wearing leggings and an oversized Michigan sweatshirt – in this moment, he would do absolutely anything for her.

She comes to stand in front of him, sticks out her right hand.

“Frank Langdon, you have to promise not to take advantage of me.”

She’s smiling, her eyes shining with the dim light coming from a lamp in the living room. She’s joking, of course.

But something catches in his throat, makes his mouth go dry. He reaches out and takes her hand.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good,” she says, and they shake hands. “Okay, Langdon. Get me drunk!”

“Christ, sweetheart,” he says, coughing slightly as he enters the kitchen further, trying to clear his head. He pulls out a glass from the cupboard. “You’ve got to stop saying it like that.”

*            *            *

She ends up crying by the end of the movie. Which should’ve been predictable, maybe. She’s a very sensitive person. Between that and the alcohol, she’s pretty weepy. He’s currently holding her on the couch as her tears soak through his shirt.

“No one told me this movie was so sad! They were supposed to be together forever.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he says gently, rubbing his hand in circles on her back. “Don’t worry. It’s just a movie.”

“There was room for him on that door.”

“Sometime soon, when you’re not sloshed,” he says, smirking when her hand comes up to swat at his shoulder, “I will explain to you the specifics of the buoyancy of the wood used on the Titanic. But you just cry it out now, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, sniffling and curling even closer to him.

He smooths her hair, and then brings his cheek down to rest on the top of her head, closing his eyes.

He thinks this might be the reason why they’ve never been truly alone together. That maybe part of him was avoiding it.

Because now, her feet in his lap, her head on his chest, his arms cradling her – he realizes this is exactly what he wants the rest of his life to look like. Just like this.

Maybe a part of him knew that the two of them together would be perfect.

He holds her tighter, trying to pretend his whole life isn’t changing in front of him. Trying to pretend he isn’t desperately in love with her.

It’s useless.

“You know, you kind of look like Leonardo DiCaprio in that movie.”

He snorts.

“I think you’re drunker than I thought.”

“Not all the way,” she insists, lifting her head up to look at him.

He stares down at her. Her glasses are wet and steamy, her hair is a mess, she vaguely smells like a bar. He’s never seen anything more beautiful.

She continues on, oblivious to the absolute meltdown he’s having inside.

“I think it’s just the hair. He had those few pieces that were always falling into his eyes, just like you do.”

He quirks his head at her, and she reaches up and brushes his hair from his forehead, as if trying to prove a point. She smiles softly, her hand lingering along his hairline.

“See? I told you.”

He can only nod, any words he was going to say dying in his throat when he sees the way she’s staring at him, the corner of her lips turned up, fondness and peace and something he thinks might be love in her wide, brown eyes.

“He doesn’t have your chin, though.”

He manages a laugh at that.

“My chin?” he asks wryly.

“Yeah,” she says, frowning and bringing her hand down and resting her thumb in the dip below his mouth. “Your chin dimple.”

“Lucky him.”

He frown deepens, her eyebrows pulling together.

“What are you talking about? I love your chin. Your whole face is my favorite.”

He’s suddenly very glad that the lights are dim and she’s tipsy, so that she won’t see the blush spread over his cheeks. He wonders if she can feel it, though. The way his skin is heating up under her touch.

She smiles, her hand starting to drop from his jaw, but he grabs it, intertwines their fingers. He can’t help himself. He gazes down at her, his stomach flipping.

He wants to kiss her. He’s never wanted to kiss someone more than he wants to kiss Melissa King in this moment.

But he went ahead and got her drunk. So he resists, instead leaning down and pressing his lips to her forehead. When he pulls back, her eyes are closed, and there’s a frown on her face.

“You missed,” she mumbles.

He lets out a shaky exhale. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest.

“Well, you’re drunk. And I promised not to take advantage of you, King.”

She humphs, but doesn’t press anything further. Instead, she yawns, turns into him.

“Hey, Frank.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I think I want to go to sleep now.”

“Okay,” he says, smiling down at her. “Do you need help getting to your room?”

She nods, and then sits up, stretching her arms out over her head. Her sweatshirt rides up, and he can see a sliver of her delicate skin above the hem of her leggings.

“Take me to bed, Frank.”

He nearly falls off of the couch.

“Mel.”

“I know, I know. I’ve got to stop saying things like that.”

“Yeah, you do,” he murmurs, standing up on shaky legs and holding a hand out for her.

She plops down on the mattress as soon they enter her bedroom, laying back and stretching again. He stays by the door, feeling like he’s entered some sacred place. It’s almost overwhelming.

“Can you help me take my leggings off?”

He’s going to have a stroke. He clears his throat.

“Uh, no, Mel,” he admits, finally reaching his limit for tonight. “No, I can’t do that.”

She frowns.

“Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

Before she can, though, he walks over her, kneels down in front of where she sits on the bed and takes both of her hands in his.

“You’re not very drunk,” he begins. “But I’m still going to get you a glass of water to keep by your bed. Take some ibuprofen in the morning if you have a headache. And please make sure you eat something.”

She nods, and then he stands up and walks out of the room. He picks up their empty sushi containers and turns off the TV, puts their half-melted quart of gelato in the freezer, and washes out her glass. He’s hoping she’ll have enough time to change before he goes back in there if he cleans up a little. Finally, he rinses out her water bottle from work and fills it with fresh ice and water from her Brita pitcher.

When he reenters her room, she’s curled up on her side under her comforter, her eyes closed. He approaches, and sees her breathing is already starting to even out, and he places her water bottle on her nightstand gently, before crouching down in front her.

He just watches her for a moment, an automatic smile playing on his lips.

“Goodnight, Mel,” he whispers, and then, because he can’t help himself, he presses another kiss to her forehead.

“You missed again,” she mumbles, and he can’t help but laugh, even if it comes out half-strangled.

“Soon, baby,” he tells her. “Soon. I promise.”

august seventh

“You’re awfully chipper this morning,” Dana tells him as he looks up at the patient status board.

“What do you mean?” he asks, but he can’t help the smile that starts to curl up the corners of his mouth.

“Well, first of all, you can’t stop grinning like you just won the Powerball or something,” she begins. “You practically came hopping in here this morning. And you’re not even pissy that Dr. Al decided to put you on chairs today.”

He shrugs.

“Just woke up on the right side of the bed, I guess.”

“Well, stop it,” she instructs him. “You’re freaking me out a little bit, kid.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says, laughing lightly.

“Yeah, you do that.”

He looks down from the status board to see Dana glancing down at a clipboard. He should walk away, go on with his day, lay low.

But he’s bursting at the seams. He feels like he might keel over if he doesn’t say something to someone soon.

“Hey, Dana?”

She looks up at him from over her reading glasses.

“What, Langdon? I’ve got stuff to do. So do you.”

He glances around, makes sure there isn’t anyone standing too close to them (namely Princess, Perlah and Trinity, but anyone really), and then steps closer to her.

“Did you ever have, like, this normal moment? But then, all of sudden, everything slows down and everything is different and you realize that this – that moment – is everything you want the rest of your life to be?”

Dana just stares at him. He starts to blush.

“Shit, that was probably really fucking confusing. Sorry, forget I said anything.”

He starts to walk away, shaking his head, when Dana calls his name.

“Hey, Langdon.”

When he turns around, she smiles at him softly.

“I know what you mean. Never put it quite like that, but I know what you mean.”

He blushes again, looks down, rubs the back of his neck.

“I’m happy for you, kid,” she tells him. “You deserve to be happy. You’ve certainly put the work in for it.”

He looks at Dana sheepishly, but can’t help the smile that breaks out over his face.

“Thanks, Dana,” he says.

He looks around for Donnie, finally ready to start a long day in triage, when he hears Dana’s voice one more time.

“And tell Dr. King that we miss her today, will you?”

He stops in his tracks. Again, he looks around for Princess and Perlah and Trinity, but they are nowhere to be found.

“I will, Dana,” he says, grinning as he thinks of Mel, her wavy hair and pale skin and hands fisted in his shirt. “I’ll tell her.”

august ninth

He’s kind of having a shit day.

Which pisses him off, because he has his kids today. And the last thing he wants is to have a bad day in front of his kids.

It’s just…Abby won’t get off his back.

It all started yesterday, when she dropped off the kids. She insisted on staying for dinner. And dessert. And then she insisted that she help pitch the tent in his living room, which…it was nice of her to try, he guesses, but Abby has just never been good at those kinds of things. So the whole process took about thirty minutes longer than it should have. By the time they got it up, the kids were cranky and bored.

And then, when Abby finally did leave, Millie burst into tears, and wouldn’t stop crying for her mother for like, an hour. Which, he gets – the kid is three, and the only other place she’s ever slept is at her grandparents’ when Abby was in the next room.

But it still made him feel like shit, though. Like he wasn’t enough for his daughter. And then, Tanner got so supremely annoyed at the whole situation that he decided he wasn’t going to even sleep in the tent. He just walked off to Frank’s room and slept in his bed, which left him and Millie alone. Which was fine, actually – he finally got Millie to calm down, and she let him read her two books before they fell asleep. But he still missed Tanner. And then, when he got up the next morning, his back was absolutely killing him. Which he almost expected – he’d spent the entire night on the floor, after all – but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

He tried to convince the kids to stay in today, to watch a movie, but he had promised them the park, and they didn’t back down. So he loaded them in the car, drove them across town to Schenley Park. And he started to feel a little better – the kids babbled adorably the whole way there, and traffic was light for a Saturday in the summer.

But when they got to the top of Flagstaff Hill, there was Abby, waiting for them.

“Mommy!” Millie said immediately, hoping out of her umbrella stroller and running over to her mother.

Abby crouched down to catch her, and peppered kisses all over her face. Then, she gathered Tanner into her arms too.

“I missed you guys so much,” she said. “Did you miss me?”

“Lots and lots and lots and lots,” Millie told her, and Tanner nodded his head in agreement.

“How was your camping trip? Did you miss me?”

“Daddy let me read two stories before bed,” Millie announced proudly.

“Oh my, that’s so fun! What about you, Tan?”

“It was good,” his son answered, definitely more subdued than his sister. “Daddy’s house is small, though. And his bed isn’t very comfy.”

He frowned, again feeling like utter shit. Abby looked at their son curiously.

“Didn’t you sleep in your sleeping bag?”

“No,” Tanner said matter-of-factly. “Millie was crying too much, so I slept in Daddy’s room.”

“Oh.”

By this time, Millie was wiggling out of her mother’s arms.

“Can we go roll down the hill now?” she asked impatiently.

“Sure, baby.”

And with that, Tanner and Millie were off.

Leaving him alone with Abby. Which…fine. They’re co-parents. They have to get along. He doesn’t want to be that pair of parents who hate each other. For their kids’ sake.

He just wishes she would have told him she was coming. She had let him think he was getting this time to himself – which was a big deal to him. It was a step that meant people were finally starting to trust him again. That maybe she wouldn’t go for full custody once they finally got the divorce stuff together.

Now, it just seemed like she was spying on him. And he hated it.

So, yeah. He’s having kind of a shit day.

They’re silent as Abby helps him spread a blanket on the ground under the shade of a tree. He folds up Millie’s stroller, and then opens the lawn chair he lugged along, because there was no way his back was going to make it sitting on that blanket after last night.

They sit for a few moments, watching the kids roll down the hill, get up, run back up the hill, and roll down again over and over again.

He pulls out his phone eventually, checking his texts. There are none, of course.

On top of all of this, he’s barely heard from Mel the past few days. Obviously she had been off on Thursday, but on Friday Becca had a stomach bug and couldn’t go to the center, so Mel had to call off work.

They’d been texting, of course – no, she didn’t really have a headache when she woke up on Thursday, yes, she remembered to eat. Yes, picking up Becca from the center went fine. No, she wasn’t mad that he wasn’t going to be there for movie night. And then, sorry, Becca is sick and I’m not going to come into work today. Yes, everything is mostly fine. No, she doesn’t need him to come over and drop off anything. Have a good time with Tanner and Millie. Don’t worry about her and Becca.

Not only did he miss her – he wasn’t used to not seeing her for consecutive days anymore, not really – but he was nervous as fuck after Wednesday night. He didn’t even know how much she remembered. He hoped most of it, if not all of it; she really wasn’t that drunk.

Did she remember how she curled up in his arms, how they almost kissed twice? Did she realize that his entire perspective on life had shifted that night?

(And there was this really shitty, really cruel part of him that kept saying that she was probably avoiding him. That she did remember everything and probably regretted what had happened or was embarrassed or having second thoughts. She probably realized what a fuck-up you are, you fucking idiot. Why would someone like Mel want someone like you?)

“How long do you think they can keep doing this and not get tired?” Abby asks, glancing at the phone in his hand when she turns to look at him.

Great, now she’s fucking judging him. And he doesn’t mean to snap at her, not really.

“Abby, if you still don’t want me to be around out kids alone because of the drugs, can you just fucking say that next time? Instead of just showing up places unannounced?”

She gapes at him.

“I understand if you still don’t trust me,” he tells her. “I get that – I’ve been owning that shit, and I hope you can see that. But just…tell me instead of trying to spy on me. Jesus.”

“Frank,” she says, more gently than he expected she would. “I didn’t come here today to spy on you.”

“Then what are you doing here?” he asks, running a hand through his hair.

She turns back to the kids for a moment, exhales slowly, and then turns on the blanket, so she’s facing him.

“Fine,” she says. “I kind of wanted to work up to this, but I guess we can talk about it now.”

Holy shit, he thinks, his stomach dropping. Is she really going to serve him in the middle of Schenley Park? In front of the kids? He feels nauseous.

“Frank, I – “

“Frank!”

He looks to his right, from the direction that his name was called.

And there is Becca King, running up to him and waving wildly. Mel is a few steps behind her.

His face lights up.

“Becs!” he says happily, standing up quickly, ignoring the slight twist of pain in his back. “What are you doing here? I thought you were sick.”

“Mel says it was just a stomach bug. Do you know what that is?”

He laughs lightly.

“Yeah, Becca, I do.”

Mel has finally caught up to her sister. She’s wearing jean cutoff shorts and a plain white tank top, her normal Hoka tennis shoes on her feet. She has her hair in two braids today instead of one, and her transitions lenses are slightly dark from the bright overhead sun. She’s wearing an old, beat-up Pirates cap.

Oh. Oh, shit. That’s his hat. He prays to every god imaginable that Abby won’t notice.

Mel smiles up at him, and he momentarily forgets the churning in his gut. He grins back, pulls her into a quick, soft hug that he tries to make as casual as possible.

“Hi, Mel,” he says softly.

“Hi, Frank.”

“Becca’s okay?”

“Oh yeah,” she assures him, waving her hand as if she’s brushing his concern off. “It was just one of those 24-hour things. We even got waffles this morning.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling. “Yeah, it is.”

She seems a little off, though. She’s shuffling back and forth on her feet, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

And he knows it’s because of fucking Abby. Who just pointedly cleared her throat.

Fuck.

“Are you going to introduce me to your friends, Frank?”

He turns back towards his wife, who’s looking at him with a deceivingly calm expression, the sweetest smile on her face.

He knows that face well. That’s her As soon as I get thirty seconds alone with you, Langdon, I’m gonna rip your fucking head off look.

Fuck.

“Of course,” he says, trying to sound as casual and breezy as humanly possible. “Mel, this is Abby, my – well, you know Abby. Abby, this is Mel. We work together.”

Abby sticks her right hand out, and he can see it takes everything inside of Mel to reach out and shake it. He feels awful for her, wants to reach out and squeeze her shoulder more than anything.

But he resists, and Abby lets her hand go after a moment.

“So, are you a nurse or something?”

His jaw clenches. He’s suddenly reminded why sometimes, he actually hates Abby.

“Oh, uh, no,” Mel says. “I’m also a resident in the ER. I’m an R3, so a year behind Frank.”

Abby nods, and then turns towards Becca. Mel immediately tenses. So does he. He swears if Abby says something mean about Becca, he’ll have to cause a scene.

Before Abby can say anything, though, Mel speaks up.

“Oh, Abby, this is my sister, Becca. We’re twins, actually. Becca, this is Abby. Franks’s w – wife.”

Becca looks utterly confused.

“Frank has a wife?”

Mel blushes. He blushes. Abby looks like she’s going to kill someone with her eyes. Or maybe she brought a knife with her.

“Yeah!” Mel says, a little too enthusiastically. “Yep! Remember, I told you about his family.”

“You told me about Tanner and Millie. You didn’t say he had a wife.”

Now, Becca was looking at him like she might kill him. He snaps his hair tie on his wrist, hoping it will wake him up from whatever nightmare he was experiencing.

“Tanner and Millie are here, I think!” Mel says, looking back at him, her eyes begging for help.

He steps up behind Mel, trying to smile at Becca.

“Yeah, Becs,” he says. “I’m sure they’d love to meet you.”

As if on cue, his kids come running up to them. Thank God.

“Daddy, who are they?” Tanner asks bluntly, as Millie peeks out from behind Abby’s legs at the new faces.

“Buddy, this is Mel and Becca. Mel is my friend from work, and Becca is her sister.”

Tanner looks at them curiously, but after a moment, he waves.

“Hi, Mel. Hi, Becca.”

“Hi, Tanner! It’s so nice to meet you. Your dad has told me so much about you. You too, Millie!” she says, and it breaks his heart, because she means it. Even in the middle of this fucking disaster, she’s delighted to meet his kids.

He could almost cry, but that would only make the situation twenty times worse. He takes a deep breath.

“Tanner, Millie,” Abby says suddenly, that sickly pleasant smile still on her face. “Why don’t you go show Mel and Becca how good you guys can roll down the hill?”

“Okay!” Tanner agrees immediately, already running off.

Millie is more hesitant, of course. But Mel, bless her big, beautiful heart, crouches down to get on Millie’s level, and smiles.

“Millie,” she says, her tone light and playful, “I have some juice boxes in my backpack. If you come play with me and Becca and Tanner, I’ll let you pick one out.”

Mel glances up at him.

“As long as that’s okay with you, of course.”

He nods, smiling down at his daughter.

“That’s a pretty good offer, Millie.”

“We typically don’t like to bribe our children,” Abby cuts in.

Mel’s face falls immediately, like she just saw a ghost. He glares at Abby.

“It’s fine, Mel,” he assures her. “Millie, go get your juice box and roll down the hill.”

By some miracle, Millie agrees to his fucking weird instruction, and she creeps out from behind Abby. Mel stands, and then motions for Becca to follow her.

“Come on, Becca. We can have juice boxes, too.”

Becca hesitates, but after a moment, she follows her sister, still glaring at Frank as she passes. When Millie turns, she almost slips, but Mel reaches out just in time, grabbing his daughter’s hand.

“Oops, be careful!” Mel says.

Millie looks up at her cautiously, but doesn’t drop Mel’s hand. The two of them walk over closer to the edge of the hill, closer to Tanner, and when Mel sits down and opens her backpack, Millie crawls into her lap, to try and get a sneak peek at the juice boxes. Faintly, he hears Mel laugh.

His heart melts. He feels like crying again. Tears actually well up in his eyes.

And then, Abby steps in front of him.

“Sit. Down,” she instructs through gritted teeth.

He nods, and sinks down into his lawn chair once again. Abby stays standing, though, leaning back against the tree they’re under.

He waits for her to speak, but she doesn’t. He almost feels like calling her bluff, like just sitting there and not talking himself until the kids finally tire themselves out and it’s time to go.

But he can’t help it. The silence, the glare he can feel boring into the back of his skull from Abby, is suffocating him.

“Just say it,” he huffs out, crossing his arms in front of him. “Whatever you’re going to say, just fucking say it.”

“You are unbelievable,” she spits. “Absolutely fucking unbelievable.”

She walks around to stand in front of him.

“I cannot even begin to believe that you had the fucking balls to sit her and accuse me of spying on you, of not trusting you, of showing up unannounced, when you went ahead and invited your fucking girlfriend – who I didn’t even know about, by the way! – to a playdate with our kids.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he says, “and I didn’t know she was going to be here. She didn’t know I was going to be here. Do you actually think we planned this? Jesus Christ, Abby. Even I’m not that dumb.”

“Oh, so your girlfriend – “

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“What the fuck ever, Frank. Your girlfriend, coworker, whatever the fuck she is – she just happened to show up to exact same park as you, on the exact same day and the exact same time?”

“Yes,” he answers, lamely and a little bitterly. “That’s what happened. You’re absolutely right, Abby. Good job putting that together.”

“Fuck off, Frank,” she says, plopping herself down on the blanket, facing away from him. “I’m so fucking mad at you.”

He doesn’t say anything. He can tell from where he’s sitting that Abby is glaring at the back of Mel’s head. He watches Mel shift uncomfortably, like she can feel it on her. He hates it. He wants to go sit behind her, to shield her, to tell Abby to stop fucking looking at her.

But he doesn’t, not wanting to make even more of a mess. Instead, he sits in his chair, arms still crossed in front of him, and lets Abby stew.

*            *            *

“I don’t know why you didn’t just tell me you had a girlfriend.”

When Abby speaks, forty-five minutes later, she’s much calmer than he expected her to be. Still, it takes him a minute to rip his eyes from Mel. She’s still facing away from him, her legs crossed in front of her. Millie never ended up leaving her lap, and now Tanner is sitting next to Becca. He can hear the four of them talking, the kids chattering excitedly back and forth. He can’t make out what their saying, but every once in a while, he hears Mel laugh.

He could watch the four of them forever, he thinks.

But Abby is here. And he doesn’t hate her – he swears he doesn’t. He used to love her a whole fucking lot, in fact. And now that he’s calmed down a bit, he almost feels as awful for her as he does for Mel.

This is not the way he wanted this to go down. He’s imagined Mel meeting his kids so often, almost every day, recently. He’s even pictured her meeting Abby at times.

He never expected it to happen like this.

“I keep telling you, Abs. She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Abs?” she questions wryly, turning around on the blanket again so she can face him. “You haven’t called me that in awhile.”

When he looks down, she looks so sad, and his heart breaks a little. He shrugs, and then sighs.

“Why did you come today, Abby? You said it wasn’t to spy on me. Then why are you here?”

She hesitates, looks down, twiddles her thumbs. He hears Mel laugh again.

“I…you seem like you’ve been doing really well, lately. You were right – going back to work was good for you.”

He shrugs again. He doesn’t say that it’s not work that’s making him feel better. That it’s Mel.

“You know how you throw off so much heat when you sleep?”

His brow furrows in confusion. Yes, he remembers. It was one of the things she always used to ride him about in the end – how fucking hot he made her in bed overnight.

She continues when he doesn’t say anything.

“Well, I was laying in bed the other night, and I was so, so cold. And I kept remembering the first few times we slept together, when we would lay in bed together and I would press my feet against your calf and you would yelp because they were like ice blocks.”

“Why are you telling me this, Abby?” he mumbles, dread gathering in the pit of his stomach.

“Because I missed you, in that moment,” she admits. “And then I started to think about all the other things I missed about you, like when you would open the pickle jar for me because I could never get the lid off and your shampoo and how excited Tanner would get whenever you came home with a pretzel rod from the jar on Dana’s desk.”

She sighs heavily.

“I miss being a family with you, Frank. I miss you. That’s what I was trying to tell you, before we got…interrupted.”

This can’t be happening to him. This can’t be fucking happening to him, not after Wednesday. Not when he just realized – or just allowed himself to admit – that he was head over heels in love with Mel. Not when he was so close to kissing her.

“I want you to move back in, I think. I want to try again.”

And he’s going to be sick. He literally almost dry heaves.

“Do you…is that something you’d want, too?” she asks him nervously.

He stares at Mel.

If Abby had asked him that two months ago, he probably would have cried in relief. He probably would have thrown his arms around her waist and, Yes, Abby, of course, yes, yes, yes.

But now, he just can’t stop staring at Mel. She picks a dandelion out of the grass, hands it to Millie, who squeals in delight and wraps her arms around Mel’s neck.

“Judging by your silence,” Abby says after a moment, and she sounds so defeated, “I guess the answer is no.”

“It’s complicated, Abby.”

He moves his gaze to her, finally, and she has her face in her hands.

“I can’t believe it. I’m too fucking late. You have a fucking girlfriend.”

And when she looks up at him, her eyes are wet.

“Abby, don’t cry,” he begs. “Please don’t fucking cry. She’s not my girlfriend, so stop crying. You’re going to freak the kids out.”

“I know,” she says, pressing the palms of her hands against her eyes, like she’s trying to shove the tears back in. “God, I know.”

When she looks at him again, her eyes are less red.

“If she isn’t your girlfriend, who is she?”

And how is he supposed to answer that? She’s his favorite coworker. She’s the one he goes to when he’s sad or scared or in a shitty mood. She’s the best part of his day. She’s the other half to his whole.

She’s everything.

But he can’t say that. He hasn’t even told Mel that.

So instead, he settles on, “She’s my best friend.”

Abby hums, but before she can say anything else, Mel, Becca, Tanner and Millie are all getting up and walking over to them. Millie still won’t let go of Mel’s hand, even as she bounds up to her mother.

“Hi, Mommy,” she says excitedly. “Mellie is my new friend.”

“Mellie?” Abby questions softly.

“Yeah! Millie and Mellie.”

He can tell it takes a ton of effort, but Abby smiles. He has to give her credit.

“That’s great, Mil.”

Millie finally lets go of Mel’s hand and throws her arms around Abby’s legs. She looks up him.

“Can Mellie and Becca come to the park again so soon?”

He smiles down at her, swallows the lump in his throat.

“We’ll see,” he answers quietly, then quickly changes the subject. “Did you guys finally get tired of rolling down the hill?”

“Yeah,” Tanner says. “And I’m hungry, even though Becca let me have her grapes.”

He hazards a glance at Becca. She’s still glaring at him, but he doesn’t blame her. She has every right to be fucking mad at him.

Still, he smiles at her gratefully.

“Thanks, Becs. That was really nice of you.”

“I did it for Mel,” she says simply.

He laughs lightly, looking down at his feet and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I know you did,” he assures her. “That’s why you’re the best sister ever.”

“I’m the best sister ever,” Millie protests, frowning up at him. “You told me.”

“You both are,” he tells her. “You both are the best sisters ever.”

Millie stares at him for a moment, but then her face relaxes as she accepts his statement.

“Becca and I should really be going,” Mel says then, and when he brings his eyes back to her, she’s shifting on her feet again, her hands by her neck. “We were on our way to Phipps when Becca saw you.”

She’s still so uncomfortable, probably overstimulated. He wants to hold her again, to tell her that everything is going to be okay, to tell her he loves her more than life itself.

But he just nods at her, trying to smile. Judging by the sympathetic look that appears on her face, he doesn’t quite get there.

“I’ll…see you Monday, Frank?” she asks cautiously.

He nods. He can feel Abby’s eyes on the both of them.

“Good,” Mel murmurs. “Good. See you Monday. Come on, Becca.”

“Bye, Mellie and Becca!” Millie shouts as they start to walk away, and Tanner echoes her.

Mel and Becca wave enthusiastically at the kids, and then they’re on their way. Mel glances back and catches his gaze only once.

For some reason, he feels like he’s letting his whole life walk away from him, without one bit of protest. It feels wrong.

“Can we go to lunch now, Daddy?” Tanner says, pulling on the leg of his shorts.

He looks down at his son, makes himself grin.

“Yeah, guys. Let’s go.”

And when he looks back up, Mel and Becca have disappeared over the hill.

*            *            *

When he texts her that night, after Abby has taken Tanner and Millie home (but not without staring at him with an expectant and hopeful look in her eye), and asks if he can come over, he almost expects her to tell him no.

But she says yes, even if it’s with no exclamation point or smiley face. He should’ve known she would never just ice him out like that, cut him out of her life without saying goodbye.

When he gets to her place, it’s already dark, and she’s sitting out on the front steps, illuminated by the streetlight. He is immediately struck by his memory from a month ago, as she saw him out after boba night. How that was the first time he realized how beautiful she was.

She’s just as beautiful now, he thinks as he approaches, even though her arms are crossed over her knees and there’s a frown on her face. He sits down on the step below her. He wants to lean against her legs, but before he can, she scoots a little further away from him, like she can read his mind. Hell, she probably can at this point.

“Becca says you can’t come in the house anymore,” she says, explaining their location.

He laughs lightly.

“Yeah. With the way she was looking at me this afternoon, I could’ve guessed that. I deserve it.”

She doesn’t say anything; she’s waiting for him to speak, to tell her what he has to tell her. So he just says it. He doesn’t know what else to do.

“Abby wants me to move back in. She says she misses me.”

Even though she guesses she suspected that, he doesn’t miss the way she flinches, with her whole body. He hates it. He hates it, hates himself for making her feel this way, and a part of him suddenly wishes she had never met him. Or that he’d never come back to the Pitt. That he’d swallowed too many pills at once like he thought about doing a few times in rehab and left her alone to live her life in peace.

“That’s…good, I guess,” she says flatly. “Yeah, that’s good.”

He laughs once, humorlessly. They sit in silence for a few minutes more.

“I love you, Mel,” he tells her, because he needs her to know, even if he never gets to tell her again. “I’m in love with you. Do you know that?”

He turns towards her now. She shrugs, and he can see the tears in her eyes, shining in the yellow lamplight.

“I’m going to love you for the rest of my life,” he says earnestly. “Even if…”

He trails off, because he can’t bring himself to say it out loud. To say, even if we can’t be together. Even if I spend the rest of my days married to Abby.

“Tell me to leave her,” he tells her suddenly, and his voice is desperate, on the verge of begging. “Tell me to leave her, to not go back. I won’t. Baby, I promise I won’t.”

But because Mel is a better person than he could ever dream of being – because Mel is Mel – she shakes her head.

“I can’t tell you to do that,” she says, her voice only a little wobbly. “I can’t, Frank. Don’t ask me to again.”

And he knows that, he does. But he had to ask.

“How did this happen, Mel? How the fuck did this happen?” he asks, looking up at the sky, rubbing a hand over his face.

He hears her let out a shaky breath that lets him know she’s finally crying.

“I guess…I guess it just was never supposed to be.”

august twenty-sixth

He just finished working a trauma with Samira when it finally happens.

“I’m going to ask you a question,” Samira tells him, as they clean up the room a bit. “But you can’t get mad at me. You’re going to want to, but you can’t.”

His stomach churns.

“Just ask me,” he says, as he tosses his gloves in the hazardous waste bin.

“Okay. But again, I’m saving you from like, Trinity asking.”

“Samira,” he huffs.

“Fine. Did…did you and Mel break up?”

He laughs once, bitterly.

“She was never my girlfriend, Samira.”

“Did you get into a fight, then?”

“Why are you asking?”

He’s not stupid. He knows why she’s asking. But he wants to hear it from someone else, for some odd reason. Maybe it’s because he wants to torture himself further. He doesn’t fucking know.

“Um,” she begins. “Well, you used to be attached at the hip – so much so that some people had a betting pool going about how and when we were going to find out that you two were, y’know, together – and now…”

She trails off. He feels like his heart might drop out of his chest.

“Now what?” he asks, trying not to spit the question at her, but failing.

“Now, you refuse to work cases together except when absolutely necessary, you avoid each other like one of you has an infectious disease. You have been in a bad mood for almost a month, which honestly, I could write off. But Mel has also just been lost these past few weeks, and every time she looks at you, it’s like she’s about to burst into tears.”

He closes his eyes, a wave of self-loathing coming over him. He thinks that might be the worst part of this whole thing, even worse than not being able to be together. He hurt her, badly. And he’s still fucking hurting her, and he can’t do anything about it.

“Abby and I got back together,” he says, staring down at the floor.

Samira only hums, and then rocks back on her heels, just a bit.

“Dr. Al-Hashimi told me you’re thinking of transferring to Presby to finish residency.”

“Do we really have to talk about this now, Mohan?” he asks finally, trying to get out of this conversation by any way possible. He’s reached his limit of discussing this. “We’re going to need this room probably any second.”

“Okay,” she relents immediately, holding her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I was just…”

“I know,” he tells her. “You were just wondering.”

“And saving you from Trinity.”

He almost smiles at that.

“Yeah. And saving me from Trinity.”

He walks out of the room after that, and immediately catches sight of Mel from across the department. Sometimes, he can’t help it. He’s so still used to being attuned to her every whim. His body, his brain, his heart, still haven’t caught up. He thinks they maybe never will.

He sits down at central to chart, and takes a second to check his email. He’s gotten better at cleaning out his inbox, but there’s one email that he still refuses to delete. He stares at it now, for a long moment.

Ideas (Just Us)

Before he can stop himself, he clicks on the subject line, opens the attachment. Maybe just because he hates himself so fucking much, he scrolls through her spreadsheet, clicking on each tab. He wonders how many of these she’s been able to cross off in the past eighteen days, and realizes he’ll never, ever know.

Still, he scrolls. He gets to the hard tasks tabs, and his heart stops when he reads the last item on the list. He somehow doesn’t remember seeing it before. Or maybe he had, and he’d just blocked it out of his memory in an act of self-preservation.

But he reads it now, highlighted in a deep red, like it’s screaming at him, angry.

Fall in love.

He closes the document quickly, logs off and barely resists the urge to throw the monitor across the room.

Yeah, he’s definitely transferring to Presby.

*            *            *

Abby finally makes her move. She’s been trying to for a week and a half, he thinks, but he’s so far been avoiding it successfully. But he’s so tired from work today, that his brain is halfway off when she does, and he can’t escape.

They’re sitting on the couch after putting the kids to bed, watching reruns of The Office. Abby had wanted to put on Friends at first, but he refused, saying that Chandler annoyed him too much. She frowned, said she hadn’t remembered that about him.

That’s because it was a lie. Instead, he has very distinct memories of Mel’s adorable squeal every time Chick and Duck came onscreen. She’d never quite gotten the humor on The Office, though.

They’re halfway through their second episode when Abby puts down her glass of wine and crawls into his lap. She brings her hands to his face, lifts his head so he’s looking into his eyes, and kisses him.

He tries to be present, even kisses her back a little bit. It’s stiff and a little awkward, but he swears he’s actually trying. She slips her tongue into his mouth, and he tries not to let on that he’s starting to feel sick.

It’s not until she starts grinding down on his dick that she realized something’s up. He’s not hard at all.

“What’s wrong, baby?” she asks, nervously. She leans in, starts to suck on a spot just below the corner of his jaw in a way that used to drive him crazy.

Now, it just makes him sad.

“Abby,” he says, about fifteen seconds in. “Abby, I’m really tired.”

She freezes, pulls away from him. Her eyes are glassy when their gazes meet. God, he’s such a piece of shit.

“Oh,” she says, looking down, the hand wrapped around the back of his neck absently playing with the ends of his hair. “Do you want me to just, suck you off, or something?”

He swallows back bile.

“Maybe tomorrow,” he says, trying to smile, but he’s sure it comes out more like a grimace.

She nods reluctantly, and glances around the room.

“You want to just go to bed, then?”

“Sure,” he says, and then they both get up, Abby pausing to deposit her half-empty glass of wine in the sink before starting up the stairs.

He follows her, but all he can think about is how Mel would’ve never let that glass sit in the sink all night like that, that she would’ve emptied it and scrubbed it clean before even considering going to bed. It’s not even a criticism of Abby – he doesn’t fucking care if she leaves a dirty dish in the sink.

It’s just…different. All he can see these days are the differences.

When they crawl into bed, he turns onto his side, away from Abby, like he usually does. He closes his eyes, trying to will himself to go to sleep. After a minute, Abby’s arm snakes around his waist.

“You hate being the big spoon,” he mutters absently.

She hums, but keeps her arm there. He manages to relax slightly, and is just about to close his eyes again when Abby speaks.

“You still love her, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he answers. He doesn’t even hesitate. There’s no point – Abby knows, he knows, hell, everyone at the Pitt fucking knows.

He hears Abby inhale shakily. The warm breath of her exhale fans across his back.

“Are you ever going to stop loving her?” she asks.

He thinks about that question, almost decides to lie. But he had to be honest, right? That’s what their new marriage counselor keeps telling him at least.

He has to be honest, so he manages to murmur, “No. No, probably not.”

She nods, her forehead resting against his skin.

“The kids keep asking why you’re so sad all the time. You were a fucking mess before rehab, but you were never sad. They’re not used to it.”

“I’m fucking trying, Abs,” he says, trying to defend himself on instinct. “I told you I’m going to transfer to Presby.”

She doesn’t answer him. He thinks she’s fallen asleep, so he closes his eyes, fighting the urge to remove her arm from around him.

“Go home, Frank,” she whispers.

His eyes shoot open.

“Are you kicking me out again?” he asks, almost amused.

“No,” she says calmly. “I’m just telling you to go home.”

He blinks. He can’t comprehend what’s going on. Not really.

“The lease on my apartment lapsed last week, Abby.”

“You and I both know that’s not what I mean, Frank.”

He turns in her arms, staring at her, seeing the resignation on her face.

But there’s something else there now, too, he finds.

Acceptance.

“I’m sorry, Abby,” he breathes, tears welling in his eyes as he pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I really am sorry.”

She nods.

“I know you are.”

august twenty-seventh (1:12 AM)

He’s knocking on her door not even a half hour later. He feels bad – he shouldn’t be disturbing her this late. If Becca is home, she will surely kill him when she sees his face.

But he’s always been selfish. He got better after rehab, but he’s never going to be able to kick it entirely.

He thinks about texting her, but he doesn’t know if she has his number blocked now. He wouldn’t blame her if she did.

So he knocks again, waits, presses his ear against her front door to see if he can hear anything inside. He doesn’t.

One more time, he tells himself. One more time, and then he’ll go sleep in his car for the night. He raises his fist, is about to pound, when the door flies open, and he falls into her.

“Frank?” she asks incredulously, her voice muffled into the fabric of his hoodie.

He steps back immediately, hold her shoulders briefly to make sure she’s steady, and then drops his hands. He needs to give her space, he reminds himself. That’s the most they’ve touched in eighteen days.

(He notices, deep down, that she still doesn’t flinch.)

She looks at him, squints up at him with bleary eyes, her glasses falling down her nose and her hair pulled back into a low ponytail that’s loose from sleep. She’s wearing pajama pants with cats on them and the same Michigan sweatshirt she had on the last day he remotely felt like his life was going to turn out okay.

He has the urge to burst into tears at the sight of her, but he bites the inside of his cheek instead.

“What are you doing here?”

“I, uh,” he starts, suddenly very embarrassed, scratching the back of neck. “I was wondering if I could talk to you.”

She peers at him, pushes her glasses up her nose.

“It’s one o’clock in the morning,” she tells him.

“Yeah, it is.”

“We’re both working day shift tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

He shuffles on his feet. He’s nervous as shit, and feels like a fucking idiot. He should’ve waited until after their shift tomorrow. Or maybe until her next day off. Fuck, he should’ve checked the schedule.

“Frank,” she says.

“I just really need to talk to you,” he tells her lamely.

She stares at him strangely, and for a second, he panics, even though he knew this was a possibility. That she would hate him now. That she would want nothing to do with him, even without Abby. That she wouldn’t want him back in the least. Fuck, it’s most likely a probability, not just a possibility.

Still, he has to try. He has to know for sure.

And after a moment, she steps aside so he can enter the apartment.

“Thank you,” he whispers, looking around the place, trying to see if anything has changed as he toes off his shoes. He doesn’t think anything has.

“Is Becca here?” he asks.

Mel almost laughs.

“No,” she tells him. “If she were, you’d still be on the porch.”

He tries to bite back his smile.

“Fair enough. I’m glad she’s still keeping me on my toes.”

She looks him over, the gears turning in her brain. He knows she’s trying to figure out if this is a good idea, inviting him in here, agreeing to talk to him. If she should still kick him out.

But then she turns, and starts to walk towards the couch. He follows her. They sit on opposite ends. Mel brings her knees up to her chest, grabs a throw pillow and cradles it in her arms.

And she waits for him to speak. It takes him a minute, and when he does say something, his words come out wobbly.

“Abby and I are done,” he tells her. “For good this time.”

He glances at her from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge her reaction. As far as he can tell, she doesn’t have one, which is probably a bad sign for him.

“When did you decide this?”

“Tonight,” he says, and her head snaps up at that. “I left the house about thirty-five minutes ago.”

“Did you fight? Did she kick you out?”

“No,” he tells her, laughing slightly. “It was all pretty uneventful, honestly. She just told me to go home.”

Mel freezes at that, buries her head in the throw pillow.

“Then why are you here?”

“Mel, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

He waits for her to look up, sees there are tears in her eyes when she does. His fingers itch to touch her, to comfort her. It takes everything he is to hold back.

“She told you to go home,” she says.

“I know she did.”

“Why did you come here, then?”

“You know why I came here, Mel.”

She closes her eyes, a tear falling from behind her eyelid. She buries her head back in the pillow.

“You can sleep on the couch, if you want. I forgot that your lease was up.”

“Thank you,” he tells her, knowing she’s willfully missing his point. “That’s a really nice offer, and I might just take you up on that. But can I talk to you first?”

“Why?”

“Because I need to be honest with you.”

She pauses, sniffles.

“Like, brutally honest?”

And he can’t help it. He smiles, remembering their conversation in her kitchen nearly a month ago.

“Yes. Brutally honest,” he tells her. “Can you look at me while I do?”

She breathes in deeply four times, but then nods against the pillow before raising her head.

He ignores her tears for the moment. If he wants to get through this in a semi-coherent way, he needs to ignore the tears.

“First of all,” he begins. “I want to say I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry, Mel. I’ll never be able to tell you how sorry I am. For everything. For the park, for how everything went down, for not…for not handling everything better, and then just disappearing after I moved back in. That was so shitty of me. I promised myself – I promised you – that after that first shift, after Pittfest, I would never leave you again, especially without saying goodbye. And I broke that promise. I’m so sorry, Mel.”

She opens her mouth, but he holds up his hand.

“Just let me get through this, please,” he begs. “If I don’t, I don’t know if I’ll ever have the balls to say it again.”

She licks her lips, nods.

“I shouldn’t have gone back to Abby,” he continues. “I thought I had to try, for my kids. For Tanner and Millie. Maybe I did have to, I don’t know. But I shouldn’t have gone back to her, especially when I was so sure of what I wanted. I know that now.”

“Did you kiss her?” she asks quietly.

He flinches.

“Sometimes,” he admits.

“Did you sleep with her?”

“No. Not once.”

She pauses, brings her thumb up to mouth so she can bite at her nail.

“Do you love her?” she asks, her voice small and quiet.

“Mel,” he says, but she doesn’t take her focus off her finger. “Mel, please look at me.”

Finally, her eyes drift up.

“I don’t love Abby,” he tells her earnestly. “I haven’t loved Abby for a long time, and I didn’t even think of falling back in love with Abby once these past few weeks. Because you can’t love two people at once. Not like that, at least.”

“Who else do you love?” she says, so cautiously. Her eyes dart from his again, and he reaches forward and takes her hand – he can’t help himself. It’s shaking, but she doesn’t pull away, and he cradles her palm between both of his.

“I love you, Mel.”

Admitting it is as easy as breathing. Maybe it’s because he’s said it before. Or maybe it’s just because it’s always been meant to be this way. Maybe he was born loving her.

“I love you so much, Mel,” he tell her again. “So fucking much. I’m in love with you. Sometimes when I look at you, it feels like I can’t breathe because I love you so much.”

“Joke?”

His brow furrows.

“No, Mel. That’s not a joke.”

“Oh. It just…that doesn’t sound very fun. Or healthy.”

He laughs. He can’t help himself. She’s so fucking adorable.

“Sweetheart, I’d never breathe again if that meant I got to love you for the rest of my life. When I told you that on the porch that night, I wasn’t lying to you. I wasn’t just saying it to say it. I meant it. I still mean it. And I…”

He trails off, running his free hand through his hair and letting out a deep, shaky breath. She interlaces their fingers, and when he glances up at her, her expression is soft. Fond.

His heart skips a beat.

“I want to be with you,” he tells her. “And I know that’s not fair for me to ask. I know I hurt you and let you down. If you want to punch me after I say this, that’s totally fine. If you kick me out and want nothing to do with me, I’d totally understand. I’ll still transfer to Presby, if that’s what you want me to do.”

Her eyes widen.

“You’re transferring to Presby?”

“Not anymore,” he assures her. “Well, I mean, maybe not. It depends on you, really.”

She squeezes his fingers.

“I don’t want you to transfer to Presby. I really don’t.”

She takes another deep breath, opens her mouth to say something, but again, he stops her.

“Not yet, Mel. Just let me finish, and then I promise, you can say whatever you want. I’ll never talk again.

“I want to be with you, Mel, more than I’ve ever wanted anything else in my life. But, again, that’s not fair to you. I’m not fucking good enough for you. Even before all this, I wasn’t fucking good enough for you. You deserve better than some disgraced, divorced junkie doctor who still thinks about using all the time and who fucked up the most important thing in the history of his life because he didn’t have the balls to admit what he really wanted. I’m such a fuck-up, Mel, and you deserve so much better than me.”

She looks like she wants to protest again, but he cuts her off.

“But,” he says gently. “But, I’m a selfish son of a bitch. I always have been. And I swear, Mel – I promise – if you let me have you, I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you. I’ll love you every single day for the rest of forever.”

He stops, takes a deep breath.

And she doesn’t say anything. He feels antsy all of a sudden, and he almost gets up off the couch and starts to pace.

Finally, she asks, “Are you done now?”

“Uh, yeah,” he tells her, ready to start rambling.

He really doesn’t know what he’s going to do if she doesn’t want him. Even though he wouldn’t blame her at all, he really doesn’t know what he’s going to fucking do.

“I mean, I know my word is kind of worth shit right now, and like I said, I don’t – “

“I though you said you were done.”

He hazards a glance at her. The smallest smile is playing on her lips.

“I am,” he tells her. “I’m done.”

“Good,” she breathes.

And then, before he can think – before he can even blink – she’s crawling into his lap and kissing him.

He kisses her back automatically, immediately, without even needing to think about it. It’s like he was born to kiss her. Like every atom in his body had been preparing him for this moment his entire life. And when she deepens the kiss, sinks her tongue into his mouth, sighs, he knows that this is it.

This is the start of the rest of his life.

Their clothes fall away quickly after that. They waste no time – they’ll have plenty of time for slow later, they both know. He doesn’t even remember how they make it to her bedroom, but suddenly she’s there on the mattress, bare, chest heaving, skin flushed pink.

She’s so beautiful. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“You’re perfect, baby,” he tells her as he kneels down on the floor in front of her, slotting himself between her thighs. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

He goes to bend to her, but she stops him with a hand in his hair. He looks up carefully.

“You don’t have to do that,” she tells him. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“Mel,” he tells her, laughing lightly. “I’ve had dreams play out exactly like this.”

But he restrains himself, checks in with her.

“Has anyone ever done this for you before?”

“Once,” she tells him. “It was…fine. I didn’t come or anything.”

His jaw clenches, irrationally angry at whoever that jackass was.

“I can remedy that now,” he says, trying not to smirk. “If you want me to.”

She stares at him, strokes her fingers through his hair, and then nods.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes.

And then, he’s running his tongue through her folds, and she gasps, her fingers tightening in his hair. He moans, both from the taste of her and the pull on his scalp.

“Frank,” she breathes.

“God, baby,” he says, pulling back for a moment just to look at her before going back in. “You’re so fucking wet.”

It doesn’t take long, which is probably good for him, because he realizes if he keeps doing this too long he would come without her even touching him. He sucks on her clit, dips his tongue inside her, and then she moans deeply, and then she’s clenching, spasming around his tongue. It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him.

He gives her a moment to come down, licking at her leisurely, when he hears her voice.

“Get up here.”

He smiles, runs his tongue over her one more time.

“Frank, get up here.”

He obliges, crawls over her while she scoots up the bed. Suddenly, she has tunnel vision, and can’t take her eyes off his cock. He twitches as she reaches down to touch him, run her fingers along him with the lightest touch.

“Fuck,” he breathes, dropping his head into the crook of her shoulder.

He lets her just touch him for awhile, his hands roving her body, his tongue licking patterns on her neck. Finally, he can’t take it anymore. He gently moves her hand away, kisses up her jaw and captures her lips, passing the taste of her back and forth between them.

He finally pulls back, so he can look into her eyes as he enters her. He wants to close them at several points, overwhelmed by how hot and wet and tight and perfect she feels, but he resists. When he’s fully in, she closes her eyes, and only then does he look away, glancing down at where they’re joined, swearing under his breath.

“Frank,” she murmurs, grabbing his face and bringing it back to her own.

He presses his forehead to hers, giving her time, relishing the feel of her, under and around and all over him.

“Move,” she says, after a few minutes.

“You sure?” he asks, and she laughs.

“I’m not going to break, Frank. Move.”

He smiles.

“God, I love you, King.”

And he moves, starting to thrust within her, slowly at first, her hips moving to match the rhythm he sets. He speeds up quickly, because he can’t help himself, because everything feels so good and so perfect and so right. He slips his hand down between them, rubbing fast circles over her clit, because he knows he’s not going to last long. She lets out the most beautiful, high-pitched, breathy moan he’s ever heard.

“Does that feel good, baby?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me how it feels, Mel.”

She breathes in through her nose, exhales slowly.

“Baby,” he beckons.

“It feels…so good, Frank. You feel so good.”

He surges forward, captures her lips again.

“Come for me, baby,” he breathes against her. “Show me how pretty you are when you come.”

She falls apart at his words, and the feeling of her around him draws out a long, broken moan from his mouth. His hips stutter, and he thrusts hard once, twice, before spilling himself inside her.

He doesn’t realize that he’s crying until she uses one hand to start wiping at his cheeks, while the fingertips of her other draw invisible patterns across the skin of his back.

“Jesus,” he groans, and she laughs. “I’m so sorry. I’ve definitely never cried after sex before.”

“Taking a page out of my book,” she teases, and when he lifts his head, he sees the tears in her eyes. He takes off her foggy glasses and sets them on her nightstand. He bends down, kisses every inch of her face.

“I just…I love you so much, Mel. So, so, so fucking much.”

“I love you, too, Frank,” she says gently, and his head snaps up. “I’m in love with you, too. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

He laughs – he can’t help it. He’s so fucking happy. He joins him a moment later, and they laugh until they can’t breathe any more, until more tears gather in the corners of their eyes.

He slips out of her after awhile, and lets her get up to get a warm, damp towel, cleaning between her legs and then helping him do the same. She picks up his hoodie off of the floor, puts it on and then crawls under the covers. He slips his arm around her waist, pulls her against his chest. Her hands come up, her fingers beginning to card through his chest hair.

“Sleep?” she murmurs, after a few minutes.

A part of him doesn’t want to. A part of him is irrationally afraid that if her opens his eyes, he’ll wake up back in Abby’s bed, all of this the most perfect dream. She seems to sense this, and she leans up, trails her nose along his, keeps their faces pressed together.

“I’m right here,” she tells him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” he whispers.

“Promise.”

He kisses her, soft and slow.

“Okay,” he says against her lips. “Sleep.”

She’s about to turn and turn the lamp on her nightstand off, when he grabs her wrist. She looks at him, her eyes questioning.

“I just realized,” he starts. God, this is going to sound fucking cheesy, but he has to say it anyway. He has to tell her. “I realized that the best thing to ever happen to me and the worst thing to ever happen to me happened on the same day.”

She hums, waits for him to continue.

“I mean, the worst was, obviously, everyone finding out about the raging drug problem.”

She tuts, frowns.

“Stop it, Frank.”

He makes a mental note to stop making so many self-deprecating jokes about his addiction. She doesn’t like those.

“What was the best, then?”

She’s looking up at him from under her eyelashes. He can see that she knows what he’s going to say. He says it anyway. He kisses her, breathes it into her skin.

“I met you.”

october thirty-first

He was not excited about returning to work on Halloween. Halloween, while probably not the busiest day of the year, was definitely the fucking weirdest. He’s sure they’ll have at least one patient tonight dressed like a weird clown. He hates clowns.

So, yeah, he’s not fucking excited.

Especially since Frank Langdon has tried to corner him four fucking times already.

It still hurt to look at the kid sometimes. Mainly because of the guilt on his part – that he didn’t see it, didn’t do anything to prevent it, didn’t help him. But he’d never tell Langdon that. At least, not yet.

They had one meaningful conversation before he left on sabbatical, sure. But one conversation will not heal the rift between them completely. He’s afraid nothing may ever do that.

He feels bad for avoiding him, kind of. He read Dr. Al-Hashimi’s notes from his time away – by all accounts, aside from a few weeks in the middle of August when he for some reason thought about transferring to Presby, Frank has been fucking thriving, getting his ER feet back under him in nearly record time. He credits that to two people, mainly – Samira and Mel. He always knew those two were going to be in Langdon’s corner: Samira, because they operated like brother and sister, had started at the same time and worked well together, a careful balance of teasing and respect existing between the two.

Mel – well, Mel was a different story. She had followed Langdon around like a duckling that had just imprinted since her first shift. She had done remarkably well while he was gone. There were just a few days of sadness after Frank didn’t return after Pittfest, but she adjusted quickly after that. As soon as he came back, though, even though he was just observe them for a day, she was back to following him like a lost puppy.

According to Dr. Al-Hashimi’s notes, it had only gotten worse in his absence. Apparently, the two were attached at the hip more than ever before. It wasn’t a bad thing, per se – they were great together. But they really needed to get better at teaming up with other people.

He’ll probably have to have a conversation with Langdon about it. Which he was not looking forward to. Again, the two of them already had a precarious relationship. This was sure to make it worse.

He can only sidestep Frank for two more hours before he just says fuck it, and tells Langdon to follow him into the break room. He sits down at one of the tables, but Langdon stays standing, his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels.

He eyes Frank warily. This is reminding him of something – something awful. But he pushes the thought aside, decides to give him a chance to speak.

“How was your trip?” he asks quietly, a polite smile on his face. Langdon was never that good at small talk.

“It was fine, Frank,” he tells him. “But I suspect that’s not what you want to talk to me about, and since it’s already starting to get busy, I suggest we get on with this conversation.”

Langdon nods, glancing down towards the floor and then looking at him with wide, nervous eyes.

Please don’t let this be another drug problem, he asks a God he isn’t even sure he believes in anymore.

“Have you gotten a chance to look at my HR file since you got back?”

Fuck.

“No,” he says, his tone tense, words clipped. “No, Langdon, I have not.”

This can’t be fucking happening.

“Did Dr. Al-Hashimi say anything to you about anything?”

“Nope,” he says.

And the kid has the gall to actually fucking smile at him.

“Oh, good,” he says. “Good. I asked her not to. I wanted to be able to tell you myself.”

Langdon’s face falls when he notices he notices how strained his expression is. Then, his eyes pop open.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Robby. It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it, Frank?”

“Um.”

“Frank.”

“Mel – Dr. King – and I are together,” he blurts out quickly.

He stops, blinks at Langdon.

“Yes, you and Dr. King are often together. I know that. Was there some accusation of favoritism?”

Langdon’s brow furrows.

“Oh, uh, no. At least, I don’t think so. If there was, I’ve never heard anything about it.”

Robby is confused now. Langdon and Mel work closely together, sure. He is going to have a talk with them about that, but if there were no accusations of favoritism, it shouldn’t be that big of an issue.

Unless.

Oh, shit.

It dawns on him as soon as Frank opens his mouth again.

“No, Robby. Mel and I, we’re like – together together. Like, romantically.”

Robby just stares at him, dazed.

“Yeah, we’ve been together for a little over two months now? Since August 27th.”

“What about,” he stammers, trying to gather his thoughts. “What happened to Abby?”

Frank blushes.

“Oh, we’re divorced now. We’re still trying to work out a few custody things, but the marriage is over.”

He’s genuinely surprised. Shocked, even. He thought he knew the Pitt and its people well, that he could see anything coming.

But he did not anticipate this.

“So, is there anything you need from us right now? I don’t think there should be.”

“I, uh,” he says, taking a deep breath to compose himself. “I assume the completed Consensual Relationship forms are in both of your HR files?”

“Yep,” he says, popping his lips. “Yeah, they’re definitely in there.”

Robby just stares at him.

“Okay,” Langdon says. “I’ll see you out there, then. Good talk, Robby.”

He hurries out of the break room. When Robby finally emerges about ten minutes later, he approaches central, still shaking his head.

Dana looks at him from over her glasses.

“What’s wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“Um,” he says, blinking hard once to try to clear his head once and for all. “Langdon just talked to me.”

Dana smiles fondly.

“Aw, he tell you about him and Mel?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“And judging by your expression, you’re very surprised.”

“And you weren’t?!” he asks, trying to keep his voice down.

“Nah, not really,” she says. “All it took was one look at the two of them to see they adored each other. You missed out on the betting pool, though. I think Abbot might have won, actually.”

“There was a betting pool,” he says, eyebrows raised, shaking his head again. “There was a fucking betting pool. How in the world did I not clock this, Dana?”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. You only saw ‘em together for two shifts.”

“When did the betting pool start?”

“Officially?” Princess chimes in, coming to stand next to Dana. “The third week of July. But Perlah and I figured out that something was going to happen by shift three.”

“Holy shit,” mumbles. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Now, be nice to them about it,” Dana cautions. “They’re good for each other. Sweet together. Right, Princess?”

“A little sickly sweet sometimes.”

“Ah, leave ‘em alone,” Dana says, smiling at something over his shoulder. “They’re young and in love. Let them have some fun.”

He follows Dana’s gaze to the two of them – Frank and Mel – huddled over a computer. It’s looks like Mel is charting, and it looks like Frank is just bothering her. But then she smiles at something he says, her eyes going wide, and she swats him on the shoulder. Frank stares at her like she hung the moon – like he loves her – and presses a quick kiss to her temple.

Robby sighs, runs a hand over his face, but he admits that he can’t stop a small smile from taking over his lips.

 Frank Langdon and Mel King. How did he miss that?