PRAGMATIC!READER x FRANK LANGDON
cw: insanely horrible medical inaccuracies (if you’re in the medical field run before i throw apples at you), making out, misunderstood enemies to frenemies (?), blood mentioned, r*bby mentioned, no beta— we die like r*bby should, dr. collins and kiara resurrected because i can
frank hated you, well he didn’t exactly hate hate you. he hated you in the way performative people pretended to hate roses because everyone loved them, he ached to feel that kind of admiration again, to get attention one could only get from being good at their job as well as seemingly having their shit together. well, between his wife leaving him and taking the kids and him only just getting out of rehab, it was safe to say, frank langdon did not have his shit together.
the hardest withdrawal for him was the praise and he didn’t even choose for that to happen, no one told him it was going to happen but he felt the shift— he wasn’t stupid.
he felt it when he clocked in for the first time; after robby had taken the metaphorical gold star pinned to his scrubs and ground it up into powder in his beefy fist. he felt it when dana couldn’t hide the concern in her warm blue eyes when she let out a “hey, sweetheart,” and it hurt him more because he could feel worry in her tone in the pores of his skin pressing up behind his eyes. it filled his nose and his mouth so that when he fixed his lips to speak, all that she received was a tight lipped grimace and a nod. when princess and perlah smiled at him then their faces contort into deep frowns as quick, burning chunks of tagalog escape from their lips. when heather glanced at him like she was examining him from the inside out and santos brazenly eyed him with a startlingly equal dilute of disdain and concern.
he didn’t, however, feel it with you and that stirred an odd, irritated feeling in the pit of his stomach. he’d grown used to the coddling and the fussing, he revelled in the stares and the murmurs behind his back and the ‘are-you-okay’s and the ‘how’s-life-treating-you’s because he had to get his attention-fix from somewhere. it wasn’t fucking benzos. it’s not like you could steal it from a patient and stow it away for later, you couldn’t buy the shit in a plastic baggy from shifty guys in filthy alleyways; he’d take whatever he could.
he knew it was messed up, hell, he felt the shame every time he was assigned an easy case because robby couldn’t bring himself to truly trust him again even if it was unsaid. the shame followed him around all the like an emaciated stray dog except this dog had him on a leash.
“are you just gonna sit on your ass all day, then?” you asked in the break room glancing at langdon who was deep in whatever reverie he’d gotten himself into and sitting idly on the shiny black plastic of a chair in the corner of the room as you slammed your fist atop the coffee maker willing it to work, you knew there was no point in taking the faulty thing up with gloria, she couldn’t even make extra room for patients upstairs let alone alakazam a functioning nespresso machine out of her ass.
“excuse me?” he asked, switching on the self deprecating, kicked puppy routine you saw him turn on for your colleagues, it made you feel sick.
“if so, you’ll need a more comfortable chair.” you snorted as the coffee machine spurted sporadically into your paper cup, you exhaled in relief; good, proof of life.
he chuckled dryly, revealing a version of himself you had never seen before, with sharper edges and attentive eyes. “just like you to itch with fury when you see someone relaxing. bad case, i take it?” he asked with just enough faux sympathy that you almost missed it.
“not too bad,” you started, treacly sweet “how have yours been? i heard scraped knees and bronchitis are extremely complex matters for someone of your calibre,” you regretted it the minute it escaped your mouth, you did have a bad case— a bad shift actually —robby was being an ass and everyone was overwhelmed, you knew you needed the release but that was unfair.
frank stood up in his full flickering glory pushing past you to leave and bumped shoulders with you in a way that made scalding hot coffee splash out it’s brown ribbed cup and dribble down down your fingers but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
there really was no time to think in a hospital. like new york, the pitt never slept and it’s lights never went out. except, the pitt’s lights were blinding and depressingly cool toned.
you were in conversation with dana at the hub to pass time, the typical ‘my-job-is-slowly-killing-me-but-i-will-tell-you-about-my-two-cats-instead’ small talk that escapes your mind the minute you turn away when a kind looking, older gentleman was being rushed in on a stretcher, an angry, swelling beetroot coloured bruise adorning the dappled, papery skin on the right side of his neck. you rushed over to where they were and hastily asked the EMTs for details.
“oscar cranston, 63 year old male.” started one.
“sustained traumatic anterior neck injury after he slipped in the bathroom and struck his neck on the counter.” finished the other grimly.
you leaned over oscar with as gently as you could to see what exactly was going on with his neck, trying not to let that jittery, sped up feeling you always had when seeing a patient control you.
“hello, mr. cranston,” you greeted him warmly, trying to maintain a calm environment. “you’ve taken quite a fall haven’t you?”
“please, young lady, call me ozzie, all my friends do.” he croaked, hoarsely still smiling despite everything.
“okay, ozzie,”— you grinned despite yourself —“let’s get you to trauma one shall we?” you said whilst walking briskly over to trauma room one passing dana by the hub.
“you need any help sweetheart?” she asked in her familiar, maternal tone.
“ozzie here looks like he might need an NPL,” you huffed. “so maybe send over dr. mohan, please?”
“she’s real busy right now, got a delicate family case and she’s trying to check with kiara to see if they qualify for medicaid. you know samira, our very own martyr, i can send over langdon though?”
you fought the expression of protest that was about to grace your face and instead nodded grimly.
“go easy on him, hun, he’s been spoon-fed shitty cases all shift,” she raised her eyebrows at you as if she could read your thoughts, a trait of hers that terrified you at times.
“‘kay,” you huffed an stalked back to the trauma room where oscar was waiting for you.
“atta girl!” dana called out.
you took a deep breath and patted the side of your thigh to ground yourself, the last thing you wanted was to lose focus ergo losing control, and pushed the door open.
you walked past where he was laying to check his vitals which were seemingly fine, you knew how quickly the body could just flip a switch.
“here’s the thing, ozzie, in a couple seconds, i hope,”— you glanced at the watch clipped to breast pocket of your scrubs —“one of my colleagues will come in to assist me in an NPL, which is an invasive procedure where i’ll be inserting a small, flexible scope into your nose to see what exactly is going on in your throat. that okay?” you asked gently.
“well, it doesn’t sound too exhilarating but as long as i’ll be up and running soon, eh?” he rasped cheerily.
you smiled, this was the second time he’d made your day a little brighter. “that’s the spirit oz,”
frank sauntered in without urgency, that’s something, you noticed, he still couldn’t shake: the arrogance of assuming he’d save the day and having everyone fall to his feet, no matter how much he’d changed, old habits die hard.
“langdon!” you greeted him with faux enthusiasm. “you’ve arrived seven minutes after dana sent you to me,” you stepped closer, looking up at him contentiously.
unwilling to back down from confrontation, he stepped forward too. you hated how the scent of his cologne was filling your senses and you hated how you didn’t really hate it at all.
“god, who are you, the time police?”
you laughed despite the situation. “that wasn’t the dig you thought it was,” you stepped back biting the inside of your cheek and turned to the patient laying behind you and not so inconspicuously watching the tension build between you two.
“apologies, mr. cranston, not all of us know the importance of time around here,”
“yeah and not all of us walk around with a calendar marked with every event for the next decade up our asses,” frank muttered under his breath.
you pretended not to hear, there’s no way you’d let him of all people would get a rise out of you.
“no, please!” oscar exclaimed jovially, “my jenny used to watch drama shows like this all the time, i have no excuse to tune in now she’s gone.” he finished a little sadly.
you paused exhaling deeply, you felt like a total asshole now and judging by langdon’s face he did too. “we’re sorry to hear that, mr. cranston, it must be awful losing a— wife?” you asked cautiously.
“oh, yes, jenny was my wife.”— he sat up and fumbled for a well-kept, deep brown leather wallet in his pocket, opening the flap to show you an aged black and white picture of a beautiful young woman with a sharp face and shoulder length (what you assumed to be) brown, downy hair. —“you remind me of her a lot, actually, personality wise. keeping your guy in his place, you’re a looker too!” he laughed, the wrinkles on his face shifting to reveal decades of smiles.
you ducked your head at a loss for words. how beautiful was it, to be compared to someone by the person that loved them the most. langdon’s eyebrows shot up but his eyes shon as if this was the most entertaining thing to happen to him all day, which, considering how life had been since he was back, it probably was.
you cleared your throat, “we’d better get started, before robby comes in and calls us every known species of snail in the book.” you rolled your eyes. “we’re gonna start on that NPL now, you might feel a little discomfort but it’s necessary for us to see what exactly happened.”
frank wheeled out the tools to oscar’s bedside and snapped on his gloves.
“alright, oz, can you sit straight up for me?” you said whilst mirroring frank’s previous actions and putting on your own gloves.
“before i do that,” he started suddenly. “i won’t die will i? my granddaughter, lydia, would be pretty annoyed with me. i’m still teaching her how to play piano when she visits, you see,” he said matter-of-factly as if death was a minor inconvenience shared exclusively between grandfathers and their mildly irritable granddaughters.
you held back a laugh and glanced up at langdon, who shook the tresses of his unfairly glossy, boyband-esque hair falling across his forehead out of his face to smile wryly at you.
“no mr. cranston,” he started “you’re not going to die, you see her?”— he nodded towards you —“she’s a better doctor than me, less attitude anyways,” he shrugged sheepishly as if he hadn’t meant to say that much.
you felt a burning heat fill your pores and prickle your face as you tried (and failed) to ignore the rollercoaster ride your heart had hopped on against your will.
you watched as langdon grabbed a bottle of gel based topical decongestant and squeezed it onto his index and middle finger rubbing the two together with his thumb and exhaled a long breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“alright, mr. cranston, i’ve applied this gel to your nose to numb your nasal passage so it won’t hurt too much when she puts the scope up there. okay? i’m gonna talk you through everything that i’m doing— no need to worry.”
in that moment you wished he had said your name instead— wait what?
frank looked glanced over at you quickly, raising a brow quizzically.
“are you just gonna stand there all day, then?” he asked mockingly. god, you just wanted to smash his smug face against something, preferably your own. you frowned at your own thoughts, what was wrong with you?
you sprung back into action, how unlike you to be wasting time thinking such stupid thoughts.
“right sorry,” you cleared your throat as if that would somehow clear your mind too.
“alright, oscar, my colleague here has already lubricated this scope for me and i’m just gonna slide it in. sorry if it hurts it won’t take too long, i swear,” you murmured, then pursed your lips in focus.
the room was eerily quiet and you could feel langdon’s eyes burning holes into your back. every so often you glanced up at the screen that was mirroring everything the scope monitored. you went through the standard procedure, asking the patient to take a deep breath in, say something and swallow.
after what felt like an eternity (looking down at your watch it was only three minutes and forty nine seconds) you drew the scope out of his nose and placed it down gently on the silver tray next to you.
you turned to langdon for a second opinion, “conclusion?” you pressed.
“clearly, a right-sided hematoma,” he began.
“and major swelling in the airway, i don’t even know how he’s managing to talk.” you finished his sentence, gnawing at the corner of your bottom lip anxiously.
“he’ll definitely need to stay over for monitoring and he’ll need some strong medication to reduce the swelling and ease the pain,” he stated as if it was second nature.
“benzos?” you suggested then your eyes widened. holy shit. “sorry,” you said automatically and somehow you regretted that more.
frank’s eyes looked glazed over but not in a drug induced way; rather like he was remembering something far away. something that never concerned you or anyone for that matter, a silent battle between him and who he could be. “no need.” he responded jerkily.
a microscopic part of you pitied him; he could’ve been so great, someone’s attending or mentor, have the big name he always wanted, the one he needed. you shook the feeling away, trying to ignore the itching sensation of uncomfortableness under your skin.
you turned to oscar, bless him, he had the patience of a saint. maybe piano lessons with mildly irritable granddaughters by retirement home bay windows was a good character builder.
“sorry for yet another delay, mr. cranston, i promise i’m usually more time conscious,” you smiled sappily. “i recommend you benzodiazepines, for the swelling in your throat and as for everything else you’ll have to stay a couple days in the hospital for monitoring,” you concluded.
you walked out after exchanging goodbyes with your patient and walked out briskly, on to the next.
frank stepped out of the room feeling like he’d been holding his breath for too long. he felt like someone was pumping his head full of helium and if he thought one more thing he might just float away.
whilst running a hand through his hair, he tried to do one of those breathing exercises mel taught him. the fading necklace tanner gave him rolling up and down his wrist.
this couldn’t be happening. not now, he didn’t need that right now.
he tried to think of something to distract him as he bounded down the halls, lingering body spray, saccharine smiles and snappy remarks about keeping time—what? he really must be losing his shit now. honestly, he doesn’t even talk to you like that, doesn’t even like you like that. you’re so rude to him, anyways, it’s not like he’s into it…
he pauses in front of the storeroom, not one of his best moments but he needs to breath, preferably where no prying eyes lurk.
it’s dark in there and he still feels like someone’s watching him, this time he knows he’s not just in his head.
“oof— shit, sorry, wait who is this?” you apologise earnestly from in front of him. but softer around the edges none of the bite you reserve for him, no, this was your colleague voice, your hospitality voice.
he says your name dryly as if there were a million places he’d rather be— and there were but not for the reasons you’d think.
“someone’s excited to see me,”
he could practically hear your eyes roll and he doesn’t exactly mind it. he kind of likes the short leash you have him on, not that he’d ever say it out loud.
a short silence ensues, one that speaks more than a conversation ever could.
“what’s your deal?” he asks plainly, unguarded, he trusts you and he doesn’t know what to do with that.
“with this crappy hospital or the world because i have a long winded answer for both actually,” you answered dryly.
“you know what i fucking mean,” he snapped.
he could practically hear the way your eyebrows shoot up, he could hear the cogs turning in your head; you weighing out your choices: ‘cuss him out or be honest?’
“i just think you’re just an attention whore and you’re afraid to admit it,” you shot out. you stepped forward bravely, barely leaving any room between you two in the already cramped room.
he laughed softly to put up an uncaring front and silently thanked every deity he knew that you couldn’t see his reddening face.
“oh yeah?” he asked mockingly, stepping forward to match you. you were practically breathing in the same air, he could smell the mist of your perfume and the spearmint gum you chewed on the way here.
you paused, he waited. too far?
“y-yeah!” you responded, a little weaker than your previous jibe. you were flustered and he could tell, cute.
you scoffed, you knew you were caught. “oh, fuck you langdon“
he exhaled sharply, indignation filling the air.
“well, i could say the same to yo—“
you crashed your lips against his suddenly. a noise of confusion caught in frank’s throat but he quickly leaned into it, his large hands wandering the expanse of your upper body.
it wasn’t a pretty kiss— not at all —rather a sloppy, nose bumping, teeth clashing, tongue fighting kiss. it was the kind of kiss that parents turn off tvs for, a kiss that led to sacrilegious things: one frank certainly didn’t expect from you but he didn’t object at all.
he bit your lip in the process and pulled away at the gritty iron taste of blood, “shit, i’m sorry— you okay? are you hurt?” he scrambled for words disconcertedly, the taste of your lipgloss was making him delirious.
“shut the fuck up.” you sighed exasperatedly as if he were inconveniencing you to even think of pulling away.
he was itching to throw out a snarky response. but when your hand moves up, up, up, and curls tightly into his hair, he presses right back up against you. a low, guttural noise of pleasure escaping his throat.
his hand cupped your breast under your shirt, and he nearly wept right there. what kind of fucking spell did you have on him? you kissed him until he couldn’t tell where your mouth ended and his began and he would’ve gladly stayed in the confines of the storeroom if it meant he’d be doing whatever the hell this was.
a loud, grating trill burst out from your pocket causing you two to jump apart. you fumbled for the source of the noise and found your pager, you held the screen up to the sliver of light emitted from the crack of the door and read it feverishly.
“sorry, langdon, they need me in trauma two,” you offered indifferently.
“fuck, can’t you just wait a couple more minu—“
“no.” you said firmly as if that was that.
frank scoffed in disbelief. “you’re so…”
“look, you’ll tell me exactly what you think of me later, i’m losing time here.”
and without a second look back you strode out, leaving a cloud of your perfume in frank’s wake.
a/n: my goofy ass should never write again is what i’ve concluded from this because i couldn’t stop giggling at myself, definitely a more ‘for myself’ piece of writing but if you enjoyed this i’m glad to contribute to your disorder ALSO couldn’t stop thinking abt this tweet while writing the last half can you tell?
© 2025 BEAU-BAMBI - do not copy, translate, repost any of my work or feed it into ai.
