Archive of Our Own

Leather and Lace

Frank Langdon knew he had been a bad husband. 

Selfish, inattentive, distracted, exhausted. 

Exhausting. 

In couples counseling, the few weeks they’d done it, those descriptions rolled off Abby's tongue without vitriol. Just fact, no bite behind them. The sky is blue. Water is wet. Frank is trying, but it's not enough. I want a divorce. 

He remembered staring at his hands and nodding, because denying the truth would be pathetic. So would crying. And the tightness in his throat and the pressure behind his eyes had told him that, if he said anything, his voice would crack and he’d find himself crying on that therapist’s terribly stiff couch.

It was embarrassingly silly that he felt that way again now. Totally unreasonable, given it was the first day of a vacation with his wonderful, beautiful girlfriend, who made him feel like he could be a good man.

But frustration and self-doubt were prickling at Frank's skin, and if one more thing delayed his turning of the key in the ignition, he might start sobbing.

He breathed in through his nose, slow. Then out through his mouth.

“Mel?”

“Mhmm?” she responded, half-listening, staring at her phone. She was refreshing her text thread with Becca, once, twice, a third time, chewing on her bottom lip. 

Mel's last outgoing text, saying We're heading out! Love you! Have fun on your trip! had gone unread for 26 minutes. 

They sat in the parking lot of their apartment complex, Frank's Subaru loaded with suitcases, two-person board games and Mel's favorite snacks, which he had picked up before she woke up this morning. He'd also dropped Daisy off with Whitaker and Santos, with a plea that they not overfeed his dog this time. The wonder twins feigned ignorance at that and launched into babytalking Daisy and offering her treats before closing the door in Frank's face.

Mel had been fully packed when Frank got back home, which was a good sign. He'd spent the better part of last night worrying she might wake up with a list of excuses to cancel the trip. So Frank threw everything in the car before she could think of even one. They had been on track to leave at 8 a.m., right on schedule.

He'd hoped his early-morning errands would remove any roadblocks between them and the open road. They'd gotten into the car and buckled up. He'd been nearly there, reaching to turn the keys, when Mel asked him to wait until she heard back from Becca. Just in case.

So they were waiting. 

Mel's M&Ms, Bugles, and ube-flavored boba sat ignored in the center console.

The ice in her drink was melting. Frank had finished his ages ago, just a green tea without the gummy things, and he was debating peeling off the thin plastic lid so he could chew on the ice.

Mel seemed excited about the trip when they put in for the time off over three months ago. A day’s drive to a little cottage on the Virginia coast. A relaxing long weekend with beaches, museums, and historical sites. Free from responsibilities beyond avoiding the automated work texts begging them to pick up a shift. 

But it was a big step. Their first multi-day trip as a couple, no kids or goldendoodle in tow. And, more significantly, the furthest Mel would be from Becca since college. Since Mel had gotten the call from three states away about their mom taking a sudden turn for the worst overnight. When she was told that any flight home would already be too late.

Frank knew all this. It's why he was waiting and not complaining out loud. And why he was hating himself for being annoyed.

He picked up Mel's drink and took a sip. Then he stuck his tongue out, “Eugh. Tastes like purple.”

Mel's gaze flicked up to him, face brightening in amusement before snatching it out of his hand and taking a long drink, several tapioca balls shooting up the straw. The morning light made her eyes look golden, and her pupils flared in pleasure as she savored it. Frank's face heated.

“Thanks for getting this for me,” she said, chewing on the boba and looking back to her phone. It was going to be warm today, so she'd worn one of her outfits that reminded Frank of Laura Dern in Jurassic Park. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she had a habit of tucking it behind both ears. Some strands were slipping loose as she hunched forward and willed her phone to chime.

Frank grinned like a lovestruck teenager. He reached out and tucked the stray strands back, letting his fingers trail down the length of her hair. Then he clawed the lid off his own drink and tipped some ice into his mouth.

Why had he ever been in a bad mood?

“Do you want to call her?” Frank asked, crunching on the ice, knowing he wasn't doing Becca any favors with the suggestion.

“I don't want to be overbearing,” Mel replied, a word Becca had thrown in her face over two years ago during a fight over moving into Adam’s apartment at the assisted living facility. ‘Overbearing’ remained a thorn in Mel’s side.

And today, Becca was set to leave for a camping trip with Adam's family. That trip had been planned – much to Frank's misery – to coincide with Mel and Frank's coastal road trip. Becca, Adam, and his family would be heading about an hour west to a lake in Ohio.

Adam's mom probably thought she was being nice when she told Frank the plan a few weeks ago. Balancing the scales. When one King sister got a road trip with her boyfriend, so did the other. But it was just another instance where Mel was cornered into worry. Her attention would be divided, stretched even further by the distance between herself and Becca. And then Mel felt guilty, selfish, and silly for getting upset about it. 

Frank had grown familiar with the pattern over the years as Becca gained independence and Mel's lifetime of caregiving made her agonize over every inch of freedom her sister gained. It made him ache to reach back through time and tend to Mel's wounds before they turned into scars. 

Frank had broken the news about Becca's camping trip the same day he found out. But he'd waited until they were cleaning up after a relaxing night of takeout and Mel's pick of another re-watch of the second Bridgerton season. He’d hoped waiting for the right moment would soften the blow. 

Mel frowned when he told her, then nodded and went straight to bed. Frank steeled himself while finishing with the dishes, and showered while trying to think of what he could say to make it better.

But when he climbed into bed, pulled Mel close, and felt her body wrack with sobs before he heard them, he was rendered speechless. All he could do was hold her and murmur empty comforting clichés. Long after she'd cried herself to sleep, he stared at the shape of the dresser in the darkness, feeling her heartbeat under his palms, mind on the little box tucked away in the sock drawer.

He had felt stuck, because asking Adam's mom to call the trip off would make things worse. Then Mel would be taking something from Becca. Stuck, because he didn't want Mel to be in pain, especially because of something he did, and now a trip that was supposed to be nice was turning into a disaster.

Stuck, because he'd already gotten an engagement ring for the trip. Tanner had joined him for his appointment with the jeweler, an older woman who found and refurbished antique pieces out of her home workshop. Frank described what he was looking for: something unique but not gaudy, and nothing too chunky so it could fit under Mel’s gloves if she wanted. The jeweler laid out several options, but none of them felt right.

Tanner, never one to sit still, wandered to the woman’s worktable and started sifting through a box of unfinished rings. Before Frank could tell him to stop touching things, Tanner was already coming back to him, a ring in his hand and a smile on his face. It wasn’t cleaned yet, and would need the setting tamped down, but it would be perfect. Lovely floral engravings around the band and the diamond cut in a flat, oval shape and framed like a portrait. It looked like Mel.

Tanner was so excited about being the one to find it that Frank knew his son couldn’t keep the secret long. If Frank didn’t propose on the trip, Tanner would end up spilling the beans.

Not that the proposal would be a total surprise. Frank and Mel had talked about marriage  — they were both all-in. Whenever Frank broached the subject, Mel lit up in a way that made him want to run to the nearest courthouse and sign the papers.

But Mel deserved a real proposal, and a real engagement. They loved each other and were in no rush. He naively thought that a vacation would be a nice time to start the next chapter of their lives. There was a gazebo on the beach nearby with a pretty view of sunsets, if he could trust the photos on Google Maps.

But, as their vacation creeped closer and Frank found himself trying to outmaneuver every anxiety pitfall his girlfriend would face over a 5-day trip; Frank realized that adding a marriage proposal to the itinerary might be a bad move.

And, as he’d felt Mel’s breathing even out into sleep, he was struck by the thought of another, absurd, possibility.

The King sisters loved each other. But, by God, they were competitive. And Mel's engagement could very well trigger Mel's worst nightmare: a wedding between Becca and Adam. Which Mel would inevitably take on much of the logistics for, meaning she would have to plan her own worst nightmare.

Frank thought Adam was a sweet guy. He was fun to talk to, and had a steady way of balancing out Becca's catty impulses that Mel would not admit even existed. Those two were good together. But Mel, having been kept out of the loop for the first six months of their relationship, would never like the guy. Five years later, she'd only recently stopped rolling her eyes when his name came up.

Frank's girl was stubborn.

So Frank couldn't hide his grimace, and couldn't help the way his heart squeezed fondly, when he saw Mel dial Becca from the passenger seat.

Cautiously, Frank started the car, turned off his stereo which had immediately started blasting his carefully curated road trip playlist, and began easing out of the parking spot. Mel glanced at him accusingly but didn't interject. Frank exhaled, grateful to finally get going.

Mel suddenly sat up straight, inhaling sharply.

“Adam? Why are you answering Becca's phone? Is she okay?”

Concern punched Frank in the chest. He pulled over, having only made it roughly 10 feet from the parking spot.

“What do you mean she's swimming in the lake? I thought you guys weren't leaving until noon,” Mel said, voice tight. “You left early. How early? … Yesterday?!” 

At that, Frank gently brought his hand to Mel's thigh. That was shitty of Becca, especially when Mel had texted her last night offering to bring over some camping gear, since Becca had asked about an extra sleeping bag a few days ago. She’d neglected packing her own suitcase to pull additional supplies together, too. To which Becca said she'd think about it, even though she must have already been at the campsite, toasting marshmallows.

Mel didn't look at Frank, but she gripped his forearm with her unoccupied hand, spinning the beads of his recovery bracelet with her thumb.

Frank couldn’t make out what Adam was saying on the other line. 

But Mel sighed, and her grip on Frank's arm loosened slightly.

“No, she didn't tell me… No, I'm not mad. Just, tell her I said hi… Okay. Yeah. Yep. Bye.” She lowered her phone and turned to stare out the window, frowning.

Frank laced their fingers together and squeezed. Mel leaned forward with a groan, pressing her forehead to their joined hands and closing her eyes. 

She then let go, sitting up straight and adjusting her glasses.

“Let's go. Hopefully we can still beat the traffic,” she said, voice thick. Frank stared at the side of her face for a few breaths, waiting for her to say more.

When she didn't, he turned the stereo back on, keeping the car idling and skipping through the playlist until the song felt right for the moment. He did that until Mel, who was used to this from him, made a noise that meant “Go back!” 

Frank went back, smiling. He'd been hoping to save this song for a prettier part of the drive. 

As “Leather and Lace” floated through the speakers, they finally, finally hit the road.

Crash into Me

Pittsburgh’s city streets turned into suburbs, followed by flat highways lined with scraggly trees. And Mel, as she tended to do when she was anxious, became Frank's personal cross-genre podcast.

Her conspiracy that Abbot and Samira had been secretly dating for years. Privateers’ role in the Revolutionary War. The 2004 Dave Matthews Band Chicago tour bus incident.

Even though Frank loved it, especially the nerdy history stories she’d researched just for him, he could feel the undercurrent of avoidance beneath her rambling. She was talking about everything but the one thing she actually wanted to talk about.

So, before she could get into the next topic, he interjected with a familiar prompt.

“Okay. Becca is camping. What's going through your mind?”

Mel's mouth opened, then closed. Even with his eyes on the road, Frank could picture the face she was making. Brows furrowed, eyes flicking up, back to him, then a scrunch of her nose, puffing up her cheeks as she breathed out slow.

“Drowning. Copperhead snakes. Lightning. Bears. Coyotes. Moose,” she said, voice pitching up with each danger she could think of.

“Okay, now you're just naming random animals,” Frank said. “You forgot The Woodbooger.”

“That's a cryptid,” Mel huffed.

“What else?” Frank pressed on.

“Becca doesn't even like camping. We never went camping as kids, because she hated sleeping somewhere unfamiliar,” Mel said, wringing her hands.

“But you wanted to go camping?” Frank gathered.

“So much,” Mel sighed. 

“Even with the moose on the loose?” Frank deadpanned, biting down a smile.

Mel snorted, then reached for his hand. He gave it easily, keeping the other on the steering wheel.

“Let's go camping this summer. The kids would love it,” Frank said, glancing over at Mel.

“That would be nice,” she responded, flatly, still lost in thought.

“Would you want Becca to come, too?” He avoided mentioning Adam, even though the two were a package deal at this point.

“She hates camping,” Mel clipped.

“Maybe this weekend will change her mind? She's come around on some things. Remember when you thought she'd never eat eggs?”

Frank looked over to see Mel staring at her lock screen, a candid of himself and Becca between periods at a Penguins' game, leaning over Becca's phone and engrossed in a strategy discussion. Mel didn't like hockey as much as them, but said she was happy to bring her two favorite Penguins fans together. 

Mel let go of his hand to reach for the Bugles. “I doubt it.”

Frank thought that, since Adam was there, Becca would probably decide, starting this weekend, that she loved camping. But there was no use arguing about hypotheticals that would only hurt Mel's pride.

He was trying to think of what to say next when “Crash into Me” by the Dave Matthews Band came over the car speakers, making them both snort. Mel must have added it to the queue.

“800 pounds of human waste,” Frank groaned. “I can't believe I never heard about that. You've ruined this song for me.”

“We've seen worse,” Mel said.

A work memory sprung to Frank's mind, and by the way she snorted, he guessed Mel was remembering the same one. The worst of the worst. And they were only bystanders.

“Poor Whitaker,” Frank laughed. 

“He got a few days off, at least,” Mel said, all too seriously, leaning forward to turn up the music. “I was almost jealous of him.”

Only the truly desperate would take that kind of trade-off. Frank thought Mel's burnout had gotten better this past year. Worry flared in his stomach.

“Well, we're on vacation now. And it only cost us some setbacks with Daisy's diet.”

Mel groaned. “Why do we let those two dog-sit?”

It was a rhetorical question. They had chosen Whitaker and Santos using an Excel spreadsheet with a points system based on responses to questions posed, casually, by Mel over a period of several months. Mel thought it was the most objective way to pick a dog-sitter, and Frank enjoyed trying and failing to make sense of her calculations. The two roommates edged out Samira thanks to Whitaker’s childhood with dogs, and Santos’ dermatology rotation.

Mel did not enjoy Frank's joke about whether she also used a spreadsheet to pick her boyfriend. It had insulted both her spreadsheet system and himself, and Mel could stand neither offense. She had pouted, he had groveled, and one thing led to another… 

Frank cleared his throat, blushing at the memory. 

He looked to Mel, and a wave of greediness came over him. She looked dreamy through the lenses of his sunglasses, all sepia tones, impossibly softer. Her posture was relaxed for the first time all morning. She hummed along to the falsetto part of “Crash into Me,” looking out at the trees and farms racing by.

His focus on the road was waning, less than halfway into the drive. They'd have to stop at the next gas station for caffeine, and also so Mel could take over the wheel before his back started protesting.

Frank glanced at the map. They had time for one more episode of the Mel podcast before the next town.

“Alright,” he said, turning the music back down. “I subscribe to your theory about Mohan and Abbot. What do we think about Joy and Emma? Did you notice–”

“That they're carpooling? Yes, oh my God,” Mel slapped his upper arm a few times, then opened her notes app.

Wichita Lineman

Frank was staring hard at the shelf of Red Bulls, debating if having one meant he was vacationing wrong. Those elixirs should be reserved for night shifts and doubles, not three more hours relaxing in the passenger seat on a sunny afternoon.

But he got up early this morning. He earned it. His gaze zeroed in on the ‘organic’ Red Bulls, fully stocked because they probably tasted bad. What an oxymoron. But also, maybe a loophole. He slid open the fridge door and reached for one.

Before he could pick it up, a sweet voice called from several aisles away.

“Frank. Dr. Langdon. Francis Langdon. Put down the Red Bull and come look,” Mel called, barely-contained laughter making her voice dance.

He grabbed a Mountain Dew – sue him – and spun on his heel to find her. He rounded the corner of the aisle and she looked up at him, and their eyes met, and… man. He was so in love with her. It knocked the breath out of him.

A lifetime of good things souring meant that a central theme of Frank’s therapy and recovery was learning how to find the silver linings when everything felt dull, cruel, and pointless.

He never had to look hard when it came to Mel. She shined, always.

Mel beamed at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling. Then she clapped once, spreading her arms wide to gesture at an unassuming rack of graphic T-shirts.

“These are so great. Come look! I'm going to get one for Becca.”

Frank stepped up behind her and lowered his chin to her shoulder, holding the Mountain Dew behind his back. He surveyed the options as she flipped through them, metal hangers scraping against the rack.

The shirts featured nonsensical phrases printed on a variety of colors. And, inexplicably, they each had the logo of the gas station they were at, which wasn't a chain. “My other car is a boat,” “Cat lady? More like THAT lady,” “God loves weirdos.”

From over her shoulder, Frank kissed Mel on the cheek, then again, and then once more, before straightening up. “I want one, too. And I want to match with you. I'm going to go hit the head, you good to check out?” 

She nodded, grabbing for his soda, her attention focused on the shirts. 

 By the time Frank finished in the bathroom, Mel was paying at the till. 

She turned to him with a smile and his heart did a goofy little tap-dance.

“Frank! His granddaughter makes these shirts! And the money goes to her college fund!” she said, nodding to the cashier, an older man whose blushing face starkly contrasted his white baseball cap. Mel didn't know the effect she had on people, how her attention felt just like sunshine.

Frank smiled at the man. “That's awesome. I'll wear mine proudly. Whatever it is,” he said, craning to see what Mel picked out, but she had already stashed them in the bag. It was certainly going to be an at-home shirt only, or something to put under his scrubs. 

She was still grinning when they settled back into the car.

“Okay,” she said, biting her thumb nail but practically vibrating with excitement. “These are so bad, and we're never wearing them in public. Or telling anyone about them. But I saw them and thought about how sweet it would be if, like, we were old together and wearing them? But we're not old yet, so they're just cringy.”

Being old together. Frank giggled in a way he only did around Mel and reached for the bag in her lap.

He unfolded the first shirt, black with white text, and a loud laugh burst out of him. 

IF LOST, RETURN TO WIFE

and the second shirt:

I AM WIFE

“Grammatically incoherent. I love it,” Frank said, focusing on not reacting to the way Mel and the word ‘wife,’ together, made him want to run inside and write a check for the granddaughter’s entire tuition. “Which shirt is mine?”

“They're both mediums, so we can wear either,” Mel said.

“You know medium T-shirts can be tight on me,” Frank huffed. “I feel objectified.”

“Mhmm. Arms,” Mel nodded, reaching out to squeeze his bicep before snatching the shirts back and tossing them into the backseat. “I got Becca the cat lady one.”

“Good choice,” Frank said, reclining the passenger seat and pulling his sunglasses back on. The lack of a Red Bull in his system plus the warmth of the car was making his eyelids feel heavy.

Mel smiled softly, searching his face before leaning over to kiss him. Frank melted further into his seat.

“You should sleep,” Mel said, brushing his hair off his forehead before swiping her thumb softly across his cheek. “You had an early morning.”

“No way. I’m not missing a second of this trip,” Frank yawned.

But, the winding roads were gentle and Glen Campbell’s voice brought him back to sun-drenched afternoons on his grandma's porch swing.

Frank was out within minutes.

Bodyguard

He awoke to Mel shrieking and a seatbelt biting into his shoulder. Despite the pain in his back from slamming to a halt, he instantly threw his arm across Mel, trying to protect her body from whatever impact was coming.

But none came. He blinked the rest of his sleep away, pulse pounding in his ears. There was only an open, straight stretch road ahead of them, trees on either side and no cars in sight.

Mel’s knuckles were white against the steering wheel, her breaths rapid and even.

“Honey? What happened? Are you okay?” Frank asked as he started checking her for injuries. His hands skated from her head, to her neck, to her chest and then palpated her stomach. She was okay. Unhurt. Then she was pushing his hand off her, overwhelmed by his doting. Langdon leaned forward to press his knuckles into his lower back and knead out some of his own pain. He tried and failed to catch Mel's gaze as he did it.

“I'm okay. But… I think I killed it,” she whispered, staring straight ahead. “Oh, jeez.” Then she checked her mirrors and threw the car in reverse, pulling over to the side of the road.

Her backing up revealed it. A bloodied squirrel, flat on its back, legs stiff in the air and tail cartoonishly crooked. Frank was both relieved and heartbroken. 

Then its leg twitched, and Mel choked out a sob. She parked and unbuckled, but Frank reached out a hand to stop her.

“Okay just– I got you. Stay here, okay?” 

She nodded rapidly, eyes still fixed on the squirrel.

He raced to open the trunk and grab his first-aid kit, which was more stocked than the average dad's. It was shaped more like a toolbox, with three tiers of folding shelves and supplies to handle everything from bug bites to battlefield amputations. So far, it had only been useful for scraped knees at Penny’s peewee basketball games. Not for Penny, but for the kids she pushed over. 

Langdon wasn't really sure what he planned to do to help the creature. He wasn't a vet. But organs were organs, right?

He ran back around to the front of the car, glancing at Mel who was still in the driver's seat.

“Hey buddy,” he said to the squirrel. He laid the first-aid kit on the ground, wrenching the top open and snapping on a blue pair of nitrile gloves.

But then he saw the blood coming out of the squirrel's mouth and brain matter leaking from its ears. It wasn't looking at him, its beady eyes vacant as it huffed and puffed. 

Frank kept eye contact with Mel through the windshield as he stood, crossing his arms. He shook his head, chest tight and bracing for another impact.

Mel slowly opened the driver's side door to approach the scene, eyes locked on the squirrel. Her face flickered between a wince and a frown. She stood next to Frank, folding her hands in front of herself and wringing them.

He considered the options. None were pretty. He could find something heavy or sharp and end it quickly, or they could wait. It wouldn't be long now.

So, he was surprised when Mel reached for the first-aid kit, pulling on a pair of gloves herself. She had to know there wasn't anything left to do.

But then she reached out two fingers and began to stroke its fur, and her face settled into a mask of calm he’d seen a thousand times at work. Acceptance. Determination.

“We sang to Biscuit, when we had to put her down,” Mel said. Mel's childhood dog, which died of cancer the same week her mom was diagnosed with it. An awful thing Mel had told Frank between bites of takeout early in their relationship, like she thought he'd laugh at the irony. “I don't know, but I think it helped.”

Frank squatted next to her, dismissing the pain in his back. He stripped off his gloves, which suddenly felt too sticky. He wanted to say something about rabies, and suggest they take a few steps back. The squirrel's hearing had probably gone at this point, anyway, so singing wouldn't do much.

But Mel was looking to him with her big brown eyes, expectant.

So he cleared his throat. “You got your ball, you got your chain–”

Mel shook her head emphatically. “Frank, I just hit him with a car. “Crash into Me?” That's mean.”

“Fucking hell. Um…” he buried his face in his hands, trying to think of another song. He could only think about Mel, and how a few hours ago, she was singing along to that song looking pretty in the passenger seat. And how when he saw her like that, he had hoped this trip would go smoothly. Hoped he was a good boyfriend for dragging her along. That he could be a husband worthy of her.

Frank strained his ears to try to catch what was still playing over the idling car's speakers.

Oh, man. It was one of Mel's favorites by Beyoncé. And now it would be forever associated with this dying squirrel. But now, they were the only lyrics he could think of.

“Honey, honey, I could be your bodyguard… oh honey, honey, I could be your Kevlar,” Frank began, shakily. He waited for Mel to stop him again.

But she was nodding and a soft smile crept onto her face. She reached out to the creature and continued to stroke its fur with the back of her gloved hand.

Frank, unsure what lyrics came next, switched to humming and put an arm around Mel's waist. She leaned into his shoulder, taking over the words for him.

Despite seeing death almost every day, Frank rarely had to sit still as it approached. At work, there was always something to do, things to try, compressions to continue even after the patient was gone. 

And that meant that Frank had never cried while it happened. Not that he could remember, at least. Usually the tears came later. Maybe in the bathroom right afterward, or on the drive home, or in therapy, or when he was at the grocery store feeling limes and zoned out long enough for a memory to strike.

But as Mel sang “Turn around and John Wayne that ass” to imminent roadkill – her voice cracking – Frank felt a tear escape and stream down his cheek. 

The absurdity of the situation hit him all at once, as did a wave of gratitude that the sweetest person in the world had picked him, for some reason. He couldn't help but laugh.

Thank God, blurry out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mel crack a smile, too.

“Shhh,” she said, elbowing him, laughing weakly.

And then finally, with a death rattle and a sigh, the squirrel was gone from this mortal coil.

“Rest in peace, little guy,” Frank muttered.

Mel exhaled, then nodded and looked toward the woods. She scooped its body up and Frank watched, still crouching, as she carried it over a culvert and to the nearest tree.

There was no way he could propose to her on this trip. This would forever be the trip where they killed an innocent squirrel.

Mel laid the squirrel down on its side, then stripped off her gloves and headed back to Frank. She offered him a hand and helped haul him up.

“You okay?” he asked.

Mel's nose scrunched and she looked up to the sky, then at him. “Are you okay?”

Their faces crumpled at the same time. Mel fell into his chest, and they fit together easily, his chin resting on her head.

“I'm so sorry Mel,” he said, voice thick. “This trip was supposed to be a break from the hard stuff.”

He was crying, lamely, and a little too hard. Feeling like a fuck up. The vacation was his idea, he picked the route through the woods because he thought it would be nicer than the highway, and then he couldn't stand to drive the whole way, and now Mel's day was ruined. This weekend was ruined. And this was the only vacation she’d get for a while, so her energy at work for the next six months was ruined, too. 

But Mel didn't need to know all that inner turmoil, and the squirrel was a good cover. He tried to even his voice out and spin it into a joke.

“And now we've killed a squirrel,” he whined.

“I killed it. You were asleep,” she corrected, sounding genuinely confused. “And the vacation hasn't started yet.”

“You were driving my car. We're accomplices,” he said, kissing her on the top of her head.

“Stop trying to take on my guilt,” she said, leaning back in his arms and bringing a hand to cup his face. Her eyes, brimming with tears, were clear and assessing. She had a way of sniffing out his self-loathing and smothering it with unwavering affection. “Stop it. I killed him. In cold blood. Not you.”

Maybe she was right. But his heart ached for her. Mel didn't even kill the spiders she found in their home, opting to catch and release them after looking up the species on Wikipedia and trying to figure out what brought them there in the first place.

“You were driving the speed limit?” Frank asked, knowing the answer. Mel always drove five under. He wouldn't have asked if there was another possibility.

Mel nodded, sniffing.

“And you had your eyes on the road? No distracted driving?” Again, knowing the answer.

“He just jumped out. I stopped as fast as I could,” she said.

“I blame the squirrel, then. He had it coming,” he said. “Plus, what a way to go, right? Serenaded by a beautiful woman? On a lovely spring day?”

Mel's mouth quirked up. “You sang, too.”

Then she swallowed hard, looking down at the spot of blood where the squirrel had been.

“I've never killed anything,” she whispered. “I wish I could undo it.”

“I know,” Frank said. “Me too.”

Holding Mel, he stared at the tree where she laid the squirrel to rest, letting the tears dry on his face a little longer. There were fluffy bits of pollen floating around, set aglow by the sun. An earthy smell on the breeze that reminded him of childhood summers tromping through the woods. It really was a beautiful stretch of road. Calm. They would have just flown by it. 

It was strange, appreciating the stillness somewhere they never should have stopped.

Frank offered to drive the rest of the way, figuring that Mel's shock outweighed his back pain. She accepted without protest, which meant he'd read things right.

They climbed back into the car, and Frank grabbed his phone as Mel meticulously adjusted the passenger seat. Then she looked up at him with a startled laugh.

“Are you taking a picture of me? Here?”

Frank nodded, capturing her amusement.

“Something to remember Squeaker's final resting place by. And to document your first murder,” he grinned. He figured out long ago how to strike the right balance of teasing and support to get Mel out of her head, though he recalibrated daily.

Mel blushed, rolling her eyes. But she smiled for the photo, even pointing to the tree she left the squirrel at.

“You're lucky I love you,” she said.

“Yes ma'am, I am” he replied, starting the car.

They were quiet after that, and Frank knew she needed it quieter. He turned the music down and handed Mel his sunglasses. They’d realized a few hours in that she left her prescription pair at home in her rush to pack. She swapped her glasses for the shades and he saw her tension ease, some.

Trees blurred together and Frank softly sang along to the music, which Mel never seemed to mind, even when she shut down like this. She probably knew that if he couldn’t talk and couldn’t sing, he’d get so bored driving that he’d become a safety hazard.

The trees were thinning, their coastal destination inching closer, when Mel's phone buzzed. She picked it up and made a confused noise, scrambling to put her regular glasses back on.

“What? Is the FBI after you already?”

“No. Adam's mom just texted me a photo. Becca went fishing,” Mel said. “And she caught something. They're asking if we want to join them for dinner on Sunday to eat it.”

“Nice,” Frank said, but he didn’t miss Mel's tone. “What's going through your mind?”

Mel exhaled with a groan.

“Becca hates fishing. She used to, at least. She didn't like hurting their mouths with the hooks. I didn't either. I still don't,” Mel said.

Frank thought back to early mornings as a kid, fishing on the creek with his dad. Bleary-eyed, cold, and on a mission to prove himself useful. Ignoring the way his stomach would flip when the thin skin of their mouths tore on the hooks. He’d actually mentioned that to Robby, the first time he had to stitch up a patient’s cheek. Robby had chuckled. 

“I hate fishing, too,” Frank realized as he said it. “My dad used to make me use the bat on them, sometimes, after he reeled them in. Told me to be a man about it. I actually… huh. I haven’t thought about that in a while.”

Mel made a pained noise, and reached up to rest a hand at the nape of his neck. He kept his eyes on the road but leaned into her touch, pushing the bad memory back underwater.

“I'm going to thank her, but say we won't be back in time for dinner on Sunday,” Mel said.

The plan was to get back home by Sunday afternoon. Frank swallowed hard, feeling cared for. 

“Hey, maybe we can pick up dinner for ourselves on the way back. Your squirrel might still be good. We could throw it on the grill.”

Mel sighed. Frank recalibrated.

Come Away With Me

Finally, much later than Frank had hoped, they arrived at the vacation home. It only took two extra hours with traffic, and one squirrel sacrifice which he knew still weighed on Mel.

The vacation home was a small shed-turned-cottage about a 20 minute walk from the beach. Despite the distance from the water, a red and white lifebuoy hung on the door like a wreath. 

Frank knew from the photos it would be charming inside, and there was even a small kitchen. After the day Mel had, he was considering running to the grocery store after they unpacked instead of going out as planned. That would mean they could go to bed early, then hit up a historical site first thing in the morning.

That sounded nice. Mel liked seafood, maybe a local place had some fresh cod. He could pop it in the oven and whip up a lemon risotto, easy-peasy. Frank felt his shoulders relax. He hadn’t realized how much tension he'd been holding onto. 

He reached for the keys, about to turn the car off, when the next song on the playlist began, a Norah Jones one that always gave his brain a deep tissue massage.

Mel made a noise, which he knew meant “Wait.”

Frank turned the engine off, but kept the stereo and the AC on. He looked to Mel, who was staring hard at the front door of the cottage.

“I'm not ready for this trip to start yet,” Mel said, quietly.

Frank's heart dropped like a stone.

“Do you want to go home?” he said, knowing it came out strained. He'd turn around right now and drive all night if she said the word. God, he hadn’t even thought to offer her a staycation instead of all this. Maybe that's what she had needed the whole time.

A single, surprised laugh came out of her. Then she turned to him, looking him dead in the eyes before inhaling quickly and then looking to the roof of the car.

“No. I haven’t been to the beach in… years. We are going to look at old cannons tomorrow, and I can’t wait. I just need a second. I want to…” she looked back to him, tears brimming behind her lashes and Frank reached out to lace their fingers together. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it, searching her eyes for an indication of what was racing through her mind.

Mel laughed again, face flushing, then she looked away.

“It's you. It’s you doing things like that,” she said. “I just can't let this trip officially start without saying that I'm sorry. About today.”

It was Frank's turn to laugh.

“What?”

Mel flushed. She withdrew her hand and turned to start collecting various bits of trash from their snacks and stuffing them into her empty chip bag.

“You're so… it's hard to look at you for too long sometimes. The way you look, and the way you look at me, like I'm… It's like I get system overload,” Mel said. 

Frank's mouth was open, trying to process what she’d said. Mel stopped moving around, took a deep breath, then faced him again.

“You're just so good to me. And I question why–” she made a frustrated noise. “Especially today when I've been so difficult. I wanted this trip to be good for you. You need a break so badly. And I just–I love you so much, Frank. And I worry that I don't show it, or because of who I am, that I don't… allow you to relax.”

Years ago, the first time Mel ever told Frank she loved him, it had been easy and absent-minded. She’d been rushing out of the break room after getting called to jump in on a trauma. It was early enough in their relationship that she'd stopped dead in her tracks, mortified, after it slipped out.

It was so early they hadn't even told anyone they had gone from friends to dating, yet. She'd stared for a brief second, eyes wide, before running away. He sat at the break room table, stunned and clutching his water bottle to his chest like a scared kid with a teddy bear, before leaping up to follow her. 

By the time he caught up, she was already leading the others through stabilizing a man with a hole in his chest. Frank could tell with a glance that he’d live, that he’d been brought in quickly enough.

“Yes, Dr. Langdon?” she'd said, working swiftly and appearing cool as a cucumber to anyone who wasn't attuned to every Melissa King voice inflection. She hadn't spared him a glance when he came in.

“Nothing, keep up the good work,” he'd grinned. Then, from over his shoulder just before pushing the glass door back open, “I love you, too.”

Walking away with a bounce in his step, Frank heard Princess whistle, and Donnie laughed and said something about winning a bet. Mel directed everyone to focus on the patient, clearly through a smile.

Mel wasn't looking away from him now. 

She was examining every inch of his face, a small anxious crease between her brows. Frank felt stripped raw, and knew exactly what she meant by system overload. Even though she'd just said something important, for a few beats, his brain could only think about brown eyes and freckles, and about how beautiful she was. How lucky he was.

But in his case, he could never look away. He tended to just keep staring, transfixed.

“Jesus, Mel. It's so easy to love you. It's the easiest thing in my life.”

Within a breath, he was kissing her. Chasing her warmth and the scrape of her teeth, all shook up with awe and heartache. Smiling when she responded with a sigh, and a fist curled into the collar of his shirt.

It was a wonder that someone like Mel, who deserved the world, could ever feel undeserving. That two such people found each other and could spend a full day equally worried they were being too much and too little. 

They were fools, in love. Fools who were about to relax hard as fuck on this vacation. They'd earned it.

At Last

“Please clap,” Frank said, stowing his phone in the car's side-door with a toothy grin.

Mel narrowed her eyes at him, pausing with her hand on the keys in the ignition. Their bags were packed, the cottage cleaned and the key stowed in its proper place. They were ready to head back to Pittsburgh.

“Yes?” she asked.

“I just got Shen to pick up my shift tomorrow. The whole thing. And Abbot picked up yours. So we'll have a full day at home. To do whatever,” Frank said, waggling his eyebrows.

Mel bit down a smile. Then her brows furrowed. “What did you tell them?”

Frank shrugged. “I just asked nicely. Said we would be too jetlagged. Road-lagged? Tired.”

Not true. He felt so well-rested, as if he’d slept for years. Also he’d totally told the other attendings everything, because he knew the most hopeless romantics in the ER couldn't turn him down that way.

“Frank. Your parents don't even know. And I still need to tell Becca,” Mel said, reading him like a book. “She's going to be so mad she wasn't there.”

“But you're not mad? That it was just us?” Frank said, a pang of worry hitting him. 

Even though it had all been Mel's idea.

They'd seen the historic chapel on the shore during a walk, its white panels looking a cool blue in the morning light. Mel had put her hands on her hips, assessing, then asked Frank if he'd brought the ring she'd already spotted in their sock drawer weeks ago. 

It was just them, rows of empty wooden pews made from reclaimed ship panels, an elderly organ player, and the officiant. 

The officiant had raised an eyebrow at their choice of attire. Two graphic T-shirts with a gas station logo on them.

The organ player had played a snippet of “At Last” when they kissed at the altar. Frank had added it to the playlist six or so times for the drive back home.

“It was perfect,” Mel said, holding his gaze. Eyes shining. Then she blushed and looked away, turning the keys.

“Mel, I'm your husband,” Frank said, his new favorite sentence. “Don't tell me you're still shy. What was it that you said, the first day of the trip? I'm so hot that you can't look at me because it burns your eyes?”

“No, I said you talk so much I can't hear myself think,” Mel grumbled, the corner of her mouth quirking up.

“You love it,” Frank said, reaching over the console to tap her nose.

“Yeah,” Mel sighed, putting the car into drive. “I really do.”