pairing: jack abbot x fem!attending!reader (no use of y/n!)
summary: two months into your mandated veteran ptsd support group, your leader, curtis, abruptly passes away, leaving behind a note with very specific orders. one of those orders? for his old vet friend jack abbot to take over the group in the interim. lucky for you, another one of those orders is for jack to keep a close eye on you. even luckier, jack just so happens to be one of your fellow attendings at your new job.
word count & rating: 9.3k, R
chapter warnings: lots and lots of swearing, mentions of death and a brief mention of suicide, typical pitt blood, guts, and gore, probably conflict of interest with how the reader and abbot's lives coinside but its fine, discussions of grief and illusions/minor flashbacks to traumatizing events involving death and blood, likely inaccurate medical talk (i am a woman with google, reddit, and a dream), reader is a little mean but we love complicated characters, banter, lots of angst, slight fluff. also sooooo not beta read but shut up about it
author's note: well, it's here. the long awaited follow up to flight risk. very similar vibes going on here when it comes to in-depth character studies and angst, but it's still going to be fun and cute and hot. WARNING: this fic will deal a lot with death, grief, and the work that's involved with overcoming it. if that's not something you're in the headspace for, totally get it. if you're ready for the ride, i'm so happy you're here to enjoy it. love you all tons! -mags
There is something so overwhelmingly exhausting about pretending to be interested in other people's issues.
It's a bitchy thing to say, and dear God, you know that, but at the end of the day, youâve found that the only thing that's more exhausting than pretending to be interested in other people's issues is pretending to believe that youâre a good person. Because after years of that bullshit and after years of realizing the only person you were fooling was yourself, you figured that you should start embracing it.Â
The world didn't always look like this. It wasn't always so gray and jaded and miserable-looking. You werenât always that way, either. You used to be a good person, or something like one, at least. You used to care. Caring and listening to peopleâs issues, in all ways, shapes, and forms, has been your career for years upon years. It was easier to do so before everything. You think about before a lot.
It feels like a distant memory, something in the realm of a dream. Itâs strange to think that there once was a before to begin with. It feels strange to know that you used to be a different person and that you were once more than the shit you carry around with you. It's even weirder to think that you, at one point in time, didn't have that baggage. You didn't even know it was coming. There's a piece of you that wishes you had some way to know before it all happened, simply just to appreciate life without it. There's another piece of you that knows that all of those experiences would have been tainted, though. Especially if you knew youâd end up here one day.
Here is a VA in the middle of Pittsburgh, where youâre listening to some guy named Paul talk about how much he misses the feeling of having a gun in his hand. You wish you were interested. You really do. But youâve been stuck in your head for the last fifteen minutes, thinking about your own week and your own issues as people vent about theirs. It's probably not what your therapist envisioned for you when she ordered you to attend these 'Veteran PTSD Group Meetings' once a week, but hey, youâre here. Youâre not skipping them like you used to. That's enough, right?
The meeting's small-- ten people, max-- made up of mostly men who all look to be as in their heads as you are (you feel a little guilty, but that does make you feel a bit better. Youâre not the only asshole here). The guy who's leading is new, replacing your mentor, Curtis, who used to lead these meetings. Youâve got nothing against him; he mostly knows what he's doing and is a bit rougher around the edges than Curtis was, but you donât mind.Â
Curtis was moonier than this guy. He liked words like validate and phrases like weâre all on our own journeys. His vernacular had originally made you roll your eyes, but eventually, it was something youâd grown to appreciate. It was difficult to be soft without being irritating in a place like this.
This guy didnât have much of that. Heâd repeated the phrase I hear you, man approximately seven times since this had begun, and seemed to prefer to have a conversation with each person rather than counsel them.Â
He introduces himself as Jack Abbot. He tells your group he was a Vet and that heâs now a doctor. Apparently, he's been in the area for a while and happened to meet Curtis at a Vet bar a couple of years ago through a mutual friend. Theyâd been friends. Great friends, even.
He tells you he was actually one of the last people to see Curtis before he passed.Â
Your heart lurches as he drops that fact. While youâd only known Curtis for a few months, this guy had known him for years. You couldnât imagine what he was feeling.
Two weeks ago, Curtis had been found in his bathroom, unconscious with a bottle of pills beside him. But he wasnât unconscious.Â
His cause of death had been presented to you more kindly than that. Something about losing his battle, something about mental health demons. You were well aware of the tragic irony of your PTSD support leader losing to the things he was trying to help you fight. Youâd also seen it happen one too many times, especially with veterans his age. The VA stops checking in, the government stops giving a fuck about you. Thereâs very little support for the ones who make it out.
Jack lets you know that, as a final favor to his friend, he agreed to take over the Group in the interim. Just until they find another, preferably more qualified person to take over. He makes a joke about paying him back for something or another, because he needed to add yet another thing to his plate.Â
Out of everything he says in the first couple of minutes, the real thing that sticks with you is that he didnât introduce himself as Doctor Jack Abbot like so many in your profession do.Â
At least heâs not pretentious, you think.
But, then again, you could have guessed that by the⊠well, everything about him.
Despite this, admittedly, you havenât been the most welcoming to Jack. It's nothing personal, and it doesn't mean that you don't like him (something that youâre pretty sure he knows), but you can't seem to talk to him the way you talk to Curtis. You miss his stupid, sweet, moony ass.
While youâd had a meeting last week to unpack everyoneâs feelings about the tragedy, youâd stayed completely silent. It wasnât uncommon for you not to participate, but it was common for people to at least hear your voice. But you couldnât even try to speak up. Youâd just sat there and cried. Youâre not like that. You havenât been in months.
Youâre not Paul, who seems to love to talk about his problems. Youâre not Katie, the sweet woman four seats away from you, who brings homemade cookies to every meeting, who has no issue speaking her mind. And sheâs able to be articulate about it. Asshole.
When it comes to these meetings, you prefer to speak when spoken to. Youâd answer Curtisâs questions in a short, hopefully succinct way that wonât draw that much attention to yourself. Youâd talk to him privately if you truly needed some sort of guidance. That was fine with him, and that was fine with you.
What's not fine with you, however, is the fact that you can feel Jackâs eyes shifting to you every ten seconds. You refuse to look away from the slightly dirty tile floor because you know that as soon as you do, he's going to ask you something.Â
Paul's wrapping up his rant. Jackâs telling him that he appreciates his sharing. You want to fucking leave as soon as there's a brief silence because just as you thoughtâ
âYou,â Jackâs voice is like an alarm going off after only an hour of sleep. "The one whoâs trying her hardest not to look at me right now.â
Fuck. You feel like youâre back in school, being called on by the teacher in class when you donât know the answer. Slowly, you meet his gaze, trying your best to act like you donât know that heâs talking about you.
A wry sort of smile tugs at his lips as you lock eyes. âYeah, you. I see you.â
You could keel over and die. Itâd certainly be a faster way to see Curtis again. When itâs clear that youâre not going to respond to him, that smile of his grows ever so slightly. "You feel like sharing today?" he asks.
You shift uncomfortably. "Not really."
"Alright," he says. Itâs not sarcastic or clipped like youâd thought his response to that would be. Thereâs a brief pause before he asks, âWould you at least be open to introducing yourself to me?â
Your lips part, not expecting that. You figure that you should have. Heâd asked about everyoneâs backgrounds before talking to them, or had woven those types of questions into the conversation. If you were giving him nothing, heâd at least try for this. It makes you scowl.
You tell him your name. You say that you moved to Pittsburgh just about five weeks ago. You let him know you were a military doctor. Navy. Discharged recently as a Captain. You donât miss the intrigue in his eyes when he leans back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.Â
âNavy, huh?â he asks. His voice is lilted with humor as he points at himself. âArmy. I was a field medic.âÂ
You all but groan. âIâm being counseled by a grunt?â
âEasy with the names,â he chuckles. âLast thing you want is me calling you a Squid for these next few weeks. Because I will.â
Fine. Maybe heâs kind of fun. âSo, you were a field medic. You said youâre a doctor now, right?â
âYeah,â he replies. âDidnât become one of those until much later on. Youâre a few steps ahead of me, Captain.â
You feel the corners of your mouth lift ever so slightly. âI would have done it your way,â you reply. âLess required time.â
âYeah, but Iâll bet you had a hell of a lot less debt,â he replies.
You make a face as if to say, fair enough.
This new rapport has him comfortable enough to ask, âWhat were you discharged for?â
The question has you feeling as though youâve been dunked in an ice bath. Curtis knew the answer to that coming in. You never had to talk in-depth about it in front of the group. They knew you were here for similar reasons to them-- PTSD from combat, poor mental health help from the VA, and therapist-required attendance. Youâd covered what you were comfortable with ad nauseam.Â
But talking about⊠all of that? Those were conversations for you and your therapist only.Â
Jack clocks the look on your face immediately and knows heâs made a misstep.Â
You swallow, shifting in your chair uncomfortably. You shift your gaze for half a second. âNext question, please.â
Jack doesnât say anything for a while. He just nods, staring at you as if heâs trying to figure you out. Thereâs a piece of you that knows what heâs doingâ heâs assessing a patient. Youâve done it millions of times yourself. However, thereâs something about being on the receiving end of it that makes your skin crawl.
The intensity of his stare makes you feel like he can see right through you. Itâs like he already knows. Itâs as if he can see inside your head and has been sitting in there the entire time, simply observing. Heâs got one eyebrow raised, eyes slightly narrowed, accusatory without the aggressive nature of an accusation. Hint of a smile on his face. You can't help but look away again.
You wish Curtis were here. If he were asking questions like that, maybe youâd be more inclined to answer. He'd... Well, would have understood. He always understood.
"How about..." Jack begins, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees, clasping his hands together. "...you just tell me what you're thinking about right now?"
You nearly laugh out loud. "Not sure that's gonna be what you want to hear."
He shrugs. "I don't care. Let me have it."
Your lips part at his response. Youâre not sure if you should. Youâre not sure if you want to. You donât know why he's so intent on getting you to speak today, but here he is. You glance around the room at the other members of the group, who now have all decided to pay attention. Your lips twist into a scowl.
It's clear Jackâs not going to give up. You huff. He brought this one on himself.
"I'm thinking aboutâ" You cut yourself off, clearing your throat. It echoes throughout the room. "I'm thinking about how much I miss Curtis."
You catch Paul snickering to himself out of the corner of your eye. However, youâre not expecting Jack to laugh.Â
"Ouch.â He doesn't look at you any less kindly. Youâre not sure how to react to that. "What's got you thinking about that?"
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do."
Yes, you do, and you hate that he can tell. The silence in the room makes your ears ring. You can't take your eyes off the chip in the tile you found. You wish you were anywhere but here or anyone but yourself. If someone else were in your position, maybe theyâd know what to say to get Jack off your back right now.
Youâre getting fed up with everything already (yourself, him, the situation, your life, fucking everything) and you can feel that ever-present aggravation begin to bubble up in your stomach. You remember your brief stint in anger-management training and take a deep breath, shutting your eyes as you inhale. Youâve got something to say when you exhale and your eyes open.
âIâve justâŠâ You meet Jackâs eyes for a brief second before you focus on the floor again. âIâve had a really bad week. It isnât just the stuff with Curtis, either. Thereâs a ton of transition happening for me right now. I donât⊠do well with change, and this week, Iâve got a lot changing for me. So, Curtis being gone on top of all of that?â A sigh escapes your body as the words do. âItâs hard. Talking like this to someone I donât know is hard. Especially this week.â Jackâs smiling when you look at him again. âI donât mean to be rude or closed off, or whatever.â
That smile remains on his face, and when itâs clear that youâre done, he shrugs. âDonât worry about it, kid,â he tells you. âI get it. Iâm bad with change, too.âÂ
Itâs a casual dismissal. Itâs way more understanding than you had expected. Curtis would have made you stick with that feeling. Expand upon it. Explain to him why you were so uncomfortable with change. He wouldnât have gotten into the transition of it all, but he would have been⊠Curtis about it. You suppose that if Jack were sticking around, you really should stop comparing the two of them. Itâs easier said than done.
Before you can react to that in any way, he continues. âCan I ask you one more thing? Then you can tell me to fuck off?â
Your brows raise, too taken aback by him to do anything but agree. âUh, yeah. Sure.â
His head tilts ever so slightly. âWhat kind of change is happening this week?â
That you can talk about. That youâre actually excited for.Â
âNew job,â you reply. âStarts Monday.â
Jackâs eyes narrow for a split second before he leans back in his chair once more. âMonday?â he repeats. âClinic? Hospital? VA? Private?â
âHospital. I work better in a high-stress environment. Used to it.â
Thereâs a small smile on his lips, as if he knows the answer to the next question heâs about to ask you. âWhat department, Doc?â
The look on his face has you hesitating. âED.â
Youâre not expecting that small smile of his to get wider. There are no teeth shown, but the shift is noticeable. You canât help but shake the feeling that he knows something that you donât.
âExciting,â he finally says. Then, he nods at you. âWell, Iâm sure youâll have a fun first day.â
Within a split second, heâs moving on to Katie, four seats away from you, asking her about the tin of cookies in her lap.Â
She tells him theyâre oatmeal chocolate chip, and Jack lets her know that those are his favorite.
He doesnât ask you another question all night.
Jackâs cryptic responses make sense within the first three minutes of your first day on the job.
Youâd walked into Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital fifteen minutes before your 7 AM start time, always preferring to be early, especially on the first day. Not only had you wanted to make a good impression, but years of military training had made you way more regimented than you ever thought youâd be. Five minutes early meant that you were five minutes late. You preferred never to get into that threshold.Â
Throughout your extensive interview process with the hospital and its other attending doctors, youâd spoken with Doctor Michael Robinivitch the most. Heâd been warm and cordial each time youâd talked, addressing each of your questions and concerns with an easy, casual professionalism that had instantly made you feel more welcome.Â
He, of course, had his own questions and concerns for youâ people with your background didnât typically leave the Medical Corps to join EDs, especially in Pittsburgh. Even more, people with your personal reasons for leaving certainly didnât bounce back as quickly as you had. You were sure your responses werenât as easy and casual as his had been, but it seemed that they were received well enough.Â
However, none of those right answers meant that you were competent at your job. Today, you had to show exactly what it was you could do. You werenât worried about that. Proving yourself was something you could do. You were never shy about your skillset. You hadnât been top of your class for nothing.Â
But, as much as you didnât want to admit it, now that you were here, you were a bit nervous about stepping back into this type of environment. While yes, you did work better in high-stress places and knew you could handle the different ailments and traumas that would be thrown at you, you hadnât been in a place like this in⊠well, since everything.
Doctor Robinivitch (Robby, heâd told you to call him, youâd have to remember that) had voiced his apprehension about that exact thing. Heâd told you that while he wasnât worried about how youâd perform, he wanted to make sure that you were ready for all of it. You had assured him you would be. Youâd understood why heâd be concerned about it, but you wouldnât be applying for these positions unless you were sure you were ready to return. Not only would it not be fair to your patients, but it wouldn't be fair to the team. You werenât reckless enough to risk putting anyone in that position.
Heâd liked that way of thinking enough to let you know you were hired the next day.Â
There was no time for nerves. There couldnât be. You knew how this worked. The second you met Robby, the residents, and the nurses, theyâd be throwing you face-first into the deep end. You couldnât afford to wear a life jacket. You were ready for this. You had to be.
What you were not ready for, however, was to see your substitute PTSD Group leader chatting with one of the nurses as he entered something into a computer the second you walked into the ED.
Your shoes squeaked against the tile floor as you froze in place. The sound was loud enough to carry over the typical noise of the floor, and your stomach dropped the second Jackâs eyes shifted to meet yours.Â
He couldnât help but chuckle at the perplexed, mildly outraged look you wore.
Had he known? He had to have known, right? He had to have known that a new attending was starting this week, one that had come straight from the Navy, one that had the same background youâd briefly told him about. Thatâs what all of those questions were about. Thatâs why he was being so weird toward the end of your conversation.
The mild outrage on your face grows ever so slightly as he lifts a hand to wave at you. Jack canât help the way his lips quirk up.
With a heavy sigh, you trudge your way over to the Nurses Station, clutching the strap of your bag. The blonde nurse heâs talking to turns her head to follow his gaze, peering over her glasses to get a better look at whateverâs caught his attention.
âCap,â he greets you as you approach. âHappy first day.â
You scowl at him. âYou could have told me what hospital you worked at.â
âYou didnât tell me where you were starting,â he replies, which, you suppose, is fair.
But still, you argue, âYouâd pieced it together, though. Clearly. You could have said something.â
Jack shrugs. âWhereâs the fun in that?â
You scoff. âThis has to be some sort of conflict of interest.â
He hums something non-committal with a small smile and goes back to whatever he was logging into the computer. You send one last look at the top of his head before turning to the nurse beside him. Her eyes have been darting back and forth between you two, watching the exchange with mild intrigue. Her eyes meet yours as you introduce yourself to her, holding out your hand. âIâm the new Attending.â
âDana,â she replies, meeting your hand with hers. âCharge Nurse.â She shoots Jack a suspicious sort of look. âI take it you two know each other?â
Jack doesnât take his eyes off the screen, but the humor in his voice grows. âCapâs a military friend of mine.â
Itâs a simple and wildly vague answer that only makes Danaâs suspicion grow. Thereâs a piece of you thatâs thankful that he didnât mention the Group meetings. The other wishes heâd at least tried to come up with a story.
Still, you nod at Dana with a sigh. âYeah. We go way back.â It comes out way more sarcastic than youâd intended, and as the words land, you send her a small smile. âItâs very nice to meet you, though.â
âNice to meet you too,â she replies, and itâs clear that she doesnât believe a word of your story. âRobby will be in in a few. Iâll let you two catch up.â
She raises her brows at Jack before she leaves, silently letting him know that she will be harassing him with questions about this later.Â
The second sheâs gone, the smile falls from your face, and you scowl at him when he finally looks at you once more. âI told you that I got a job ED at a hospital in the area, and you didnât think to mentionââ
âThere are four in the area you could have been starting at,â he says breezily, straightening up from his hunched-over position.Â
âIâd argue that you, of all people, would have been told that a new Naval Doc was starting here as an attendingââ
âWell, you know what they say about assumingââ
âAre you gonna be this annoying for the entire shift?â you ask.
Jack snorts. âIâm nights. You only gotta worry about me for the next ten minutes.â
You canât tell if the feeling that floods your body is relief or nerves. Despite how frustrating it was that he hadnât told you that youâd be working at the same hospital, you couldnât lie and say that your first-day jitters hadnât been eased the second you saw him. Perhaps it was just that youâd seen a familiar face in a sea of strangers.Â
âOh,â you say, and by the way his eyes narrow ever so slightly, you know heâs trying to figure out your tone as well. âWell, I guess that makes sense.â
Those eyes narrow further. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âExactly what I said.â You shrug. âIt makes sense for you. You have a very night-shift vibe to you.â
âI donât know how to take that.â
âTake it however you want.âÂ
His lips quirk upward. âAnd if I were to say the same about you?â
âYou wouldnât be wrong,â you reply. âUsed to be a night owl myself. Switched over a couple of months before I was discharged.â
âWhich one do you like more?â
You glance around the floor and the chaos of the current shift change. âAsk me in a few weeks.â
Jack laughs again, but you notice that his eyes have shifted to look over your shoulder. The second he nods, you turn, straightening up as soon as you realize that Robbyâs behind you.Â
He holds his hand out to shake yours with a small smile. âMorning, Doc. Happy first day.â
You hope he doesnât notice how clammy your palm is. âThanks. Excited to get started.â
His gaze flashes to Jack. âWhatever miserable monologue heâs given you so far, ignore it.â
Jack has the audacity to look mildly offended. âIâve been nothing but positive.â
âAnd Iâve got no problem ignoring him,â you say to Robby, whose brows rocket up at your rather blunt response.
Luckily, Jackâs got you covered. âSheâs an old military friend,â he says with a soft smile. âSheâs been ignoring me since we met.â
You can see the relief wash over Robbyâs expression. âWell, I guess weâve got something in common,â he tells you. âWeâre starting Rounds in five.â
âHeard,â you reply with a single nod, smiling politely as he makes his way over to one of the computers on the opposite side of the nurseâs station. That smile drops as you glance back at Jack. The humor in his expression only grows. âYouâre still not off the hook.â
âAnd itâs eating me up,â he quips back, voice almost sounding bored. You watch as he closes the window on his computer screen and grabs his belongings next to him. A small smile twists his lips. âHave a good first day, Cap. Canât wait to hear all about it in Group on Wednesday.â
âCute of you to assume that Iâm coming back,â you reply. âIâm gonna write a strongly worded email to the VA to let them know their substitute group leader is an untrustworthy, deceitful liar.â
He snorts in response and shakes his head. You could reach across the counter and sock him. âSure,â he huffs. âYou show me their response on Wednesday, okay?â
He holds your gaze for another infuriating moment before chuckling to himself once more. Your eyes donât leave him as he walks in the direction of the lockers.
Thereâs steam coming out of your ears by the time Rounds starts.Â
Two days later, your next mandated Group meeting goes about the same as your first.
Jack continues to âhear you, man,â Paul talks some more about his love for guns, and you speak just as infrequently as you did before. The only notable difference is that Katie doesnât make cookies, and frankly, it does bum you out a little. Those were always good.
Jack seems to feel the same, given the over-dramatic sigh that escapes him at the news. âOh, I was really looking forward to those,â he tells her. âIâve got a shift after this. I was gonna ask if I could take the leftovers to work.â
Heâs got Katie giggling softly to herself, promising sheâll make some next week, and sheâll even bring extras for him to take to the hospital.Â
When the meeting wraps up, you find yourself by the dinky little snack table Jack had been setting up when you had walked in. Thereâs a variety of grocery store brand items scattered across the top, ranging from packs of assorted nuts to granola bars and fruit snacks.
Youâre slipping three packs of fruit snacks into your jacket pocket when you hear a voice behind you. âI saw that.â
A scowl immediately takes over your lips as you drop the snacks in your pocket, turning to see Jack leaning against the table with a small smirk on his lips.Â
âTheyâre the best thing on here,â you mutter. You wave a hand over the table. âIf this is gonna be the norm for the next couple of weeks, Iâm gonna stock up on the good stuff.â
He glances at your hand. âThese arenât good options?â
âTheyâre fine,â you say with a shrug. âCurtis usually brought ones that are better.â
Thereâs no venom in his voice when he replies, âCurtis seems to have done a lot of things better than I do.â
Itâs an observation presented with a smile. Heâs testing the waters with you. You hadnât spoken much during the meeting; your mouth used to sport a perpetual frown rather than talk with him. However, his words almost make you feel bad. Itâs then that you finally realize that heâs grieving his friend, too. Probably more so than you are. Those thoughts have your shoulders dropping, and you stare at him with the slightest bit of sympathy.
That look in your eyes has apparently made him bold enough to say, âGlad to see you made it today. Have a change of heart about attendance?â
Any sympathy instantaneously is replaced by annoyance. âEvidently.â
He doesnât buy your one-word response for a second. âWhatâd that VA email say?âÂ
Your VA had said exactly what youâd expected them to. To be fair, you hadnât emailed to complain about Jack or your conflict of interest. It was more of a question about the necessity of your attendance, especially now that the group leader youâd been promised was no longer there.
(It was the best reason youâd had to get out of this shit in months. Youâd take what you could get.)
Their response was straight to the point. We are saddened to hear about the loss of Mr. Williams. He and his loved ones are in our thoughts and prayers. However, you have been medically mandated to complete your assigned intensive therapy and are required to attend a support group weekly. If you feel that the interim leader is insufficient for your needs, you are welcome to find groups in the area elsewhere.
Assholes. You knew they were right. You knew this plan was what was best for you. But it didnât make them any less of assholes for not bending to your whim.
âWords like medically-mandated were used,â you finally respond. Jack seems tickled by this. âI was told that if I felt you were insufficient, I could find other groups in the area.â
âInsufficient?â He has the gall to act offended. âWell, if youâre here, I'll take it that Iâm not too bad.â
âOr the closest group to me was in Brackenridge, and the idea of driving on 28 in any capacity was more painful than seeing you.â You shrug. âIâll let you believe what you want.â
Youâre surprised when Jack laughs out loud at your words, a full grin tugging at his lips. However, youâre more surprised when you realize that thereâs a bit of pride bubbling up inside of you.Â
No. What the hell? Donât be happy that you made him laugh, idiot. Youâre still mad at him.
âFuck, youâre mean,â he says, but thereâs no malice in his words, and that pride inside of you grows. You have to bite back a smile, but you think he sees the beginnings of it. Youâre so disgusted by the feeling that it makes you want to take a cold shower. âRemind me to never actually get on your bad side.â
Instead of dwelling on all of that for too long, you change the subject after a moment of quiet passes between you. âYouâre working after this?â
Jack takes the branch in stride and nods. âHeatherâs covering for me until eight,â he says. âIâve got about fifteen minutes before I need to head out, or sheâll take my other leg. Youâll be in tomorrow, right?â
âYeah. Tomorrow, Friday, and Sunday,â you respond. âWorking Princess hours on Tuesday and then Iâm off until Friday.â
He hums. âGetting the weekend shifts, huh?â
âIâm the new kid. It makes sense.â You shrug. âNot like Iâve got much to do on the weekends anyway.â
His lips purse for a split second, as if he wants to ask about your last comment. Instead, he chooses to ask, âHowâd your first two days go?â
Surprisingly well, is what your honest answer was. You had no idea what to expect from your first two shifts, but you certainly hadnât expected to perform as well as you had. To be fair, youâd been mostly shadowing Robby, but even still, it was a relief not only to have gotten your first days over with, but to have done well.
The ED environment was exactly what you needed and had been missing. It was fast-paced, a little stressful, and entirely rewarding. Even better, the team youâd been placed with was great, too. Everyone was competent, fun to work with, and good at what they did. You didnât always agree with Robbyâs unorthodox approaches to certain procedures, but he consistently made the right calls. His residents and students seemed to follow suit.
âGood,â is what you finally land on. The word is spoken through a sigh. âReally good, actually.â
âYeah?â Jack hums. âRobby said the same thing. Heâs pretty impressed with you so far.â
Your brows raise. âSeriously?â
He nods. âHard praise to get, Cap. You must have done something right.â
You canât help the way that your lips curve. âIt felt nice to be back to work.â
âIâm sure,â he says. âYouâve been away for a long time, right?âÂ
He sees you freeze at the question. âYeah,â you say, curt.
âJust about a year, right?â You look almost shellshocked, too uncomfortable to put the pieces together as to why he might know that. To get that expression off your face, Jack tries hand at a joke once more. âRelax. Robby told me. He didnât tell me why.â
It takes everything in you not to snap at him. Everything about his demeanor says that heâs telling the truth, but it still rubs you the wrong way. Heâs trying, you tell yourself. Heâs doing his job. If Robby hadnât told him that bit of information, Curtis probably would have. He can't help the fact that you never want to talk about the reasons youâve been away.
A long, tough second passes before you manage to get out, âYeah. Itâs been a year.âÂ
Itâs clunky and clipped and it nearly makes you breathless. Jack knows thatâs the best heâs gonna get from you tonight. Thereâs a beat of silence, and he lets his words hang there, giving you room to add or expand upon them. You donât. It doesnât surprise him in the slightest.
Youâre thankful when he doesnât press any further. âWell, Iâm glad you were here tonight.â He nods at the snack table. âIf you come back next week, Iâll have a better showing.â
He offers a small, parting smile and makes his way to the now-empty circle of chairs to start folding them up. When he turns around to look at you a moment later, heâs even less surprised to find that youâre gone.
Youâre not expecting to have to talk to Jack until your next meeting, and youâre fully content with that idea. Youâre no stranger to politely (or not politely) ignoring your coworkers, especially those on a shift change. Unfortunately, youâre not exactly that fortunate.
Your Sunday shift ends up being the busiest one youâve had since you began at PTMC. Robby lets you and Heather know mid-shift that heâs called in reinforcements, and you donât have to ask who itâs going to be. You already know in your gut that itâs him.
When he clocks in, itâs chaos. He can hear machines squealing and doctors calling for help as they wheel a patient toward Trauma Two. He watches you blow past him to follow the bed. He sees the back of your head as you glove up, pointing and directing the residents around you with a certain type of command that he hasnât seen from an Attending in years.Â
Jack doesnât take his eyes off of you when he asks Dana, âWhatâs going on in there?â
The concern in her voice sounds off all kinds of alarm bells for Jack. âNot sure. Thatâs the Aortitis patient that came in this morning.â
Jackâs moving toward the room before he knows it.Â
You, on the other hand, are still trying to figure out what happened. You and Langdon had responded to the cry for help at the same time, only to find Whitaker, Mel, and a med student with the patient, panic written across all of their faces, and itâs for good reason.Â
The patient had come in with an aortic infection-- something rare and something you knew your students and residents would have likely never seen before. You know you should have been keeping more of an eye on them with this type of thing. But, he had seemed okay. It didnât appear serious enough to operate on, and heâd been responding well to the medication. There was nothing about him that could have made you anticipate this.
Heâs unconscious, unresponsive, and on the verge of coding. You frantically search through your mental rolodex, attempting to understand how something like this could have happened so quickly.
âWhat happened?â you ask. Itâs more of a demand than a question.
Whitaker doesnât look away from the patient as he responds, âI don't know! He was complaining about the bed being uncomfortable, so Rhodes and Iââ The poor med student raises her hand to identify herself. ââhelped lift him to see if the sheets had bunched or something. The second we did it, he started screaming in pain and then passed out.â
Langdon looks at you with wide eyes. âShit. The aorta probably ruptured when they moved him.â
Youâre on the same page before he even says it. âGet Garcia down here now,â you order Langdon, who grabs the phone in an instant. You point at Whitaker. âAnd get Robby. I need an adult to help me unfuck this, right now.â
For once, youâre revealed to hear Jackâs voice behind you. âYouâve got the next best thing, Cap.â Heâs already putting on gloves. âI heard whatâs going on. We need to cut into him now.â
âCut intoâ?â Itâs the right call, but something like this needs to be done by a specialist. âWe need a surgeonââ
âHeâs gonna internally bleed out before Garcia gets here.â
âAnd heâs going to bleed out on the fucking table if we cut into him withoutââ Jackâs taking over before you can say anything else. A horrified gasp leaves your lips, and Jack takes a scalpel and makes an incision. âWhat the fuck, Abbot?â
Every machine the patient is hooked up to starts going crazy the second Jack cuts into him. There is blood everywhere. There is so much of it, and itâs coming out of him so fast. It spills all over the table and onto the floor, and for a split second, youâre rooted to the spot.Â
The amount of blood, itâs⊠Youâve seen blood the past week, but you havenât seen that much since⊠The location, too. Itâs⊠Itâs the same fucking spot.Â
Luckily for you, your fellow attending is quick on his feet. He either doesnât notice or ignores the way to lock up and springs into action. As quickly as the fear hits you, itâs gone, and youâre suddenly back in the room. If you could slap yourself awake without making a scene, you would. But instead of that, you resort to channeling a similar, sharp feeling that youâre very familiar with.Â
Rage. Your visionâs now clouded by it. However, despite this, you can still see the work in front of you and the people who are relying on you.Â
Awaken, donât interfere, you tell yourself, as you have so many times before.
While it feels like minutes, only about a second has passed. You then see what Jackâs doing and pick up on the plan quickly.Â
You start shouting orders at Mel, Langdon, and Rhoades, the med student. They comply immediately, and before Abbot can even ask for your assistance, youâre holding out a clamp.
His mouth opens to call for it, and you swear a hint of a smile curls at his lips when he sees it in your hand. âThank you, Cap,â he says.Â
Youâre too concerned with the life-or-death situation in front of you to ream him out.
He takes the clamp in stride, and you work in tandem to attempt to save this guyâs life. Mel returns to the table with a vac to suck up the blood. Langdonâs moving in across from you, following your lead with an efficiency that should be surprising, but youâve seen what that kid can do.Â
Youâve seen what all of these people around you can do. Sure, itâs not your naval crew, and itâs certainly not your sick bay thatâs staffed with the countryâs best and brightest, but you were pleased to find that itâs pretty damn close. Youâre fortunate to have found this place.Â
Garciaâs in the room within the next thirty seconds. The patient is coding, and frankly, you wouldnât be surprised if he died on the table. A ruptured aorta had a ninety percent mortality rate, and the chances of this guy being in that other ten percent were slim. But youâd still try.
âDid you fucking cut into him without me here?â Garcia barks out, jumping into action as soon as she enters.Â
You surprise yourself when you say, âNot my call, but Abbot was right. The aorta ruptured, patient was FUBAR. We needed to at least attempt to clamp it.âÂ
Jack whistles. âHavenât heard someone use FUBAR in years. Love it.â
âFuck off. We are not friends right now,â you bite back. âYouâre so fucking lucky that his tissue wasnât too friable for that shit.â
âTook the words right out of my mouth,â Garcia says, moving in next to you. You step back to let her in. âWe finally have someone at your rank to tell you off, Abbot. Maybe youâll listen.â
âWishful thinking,â he replies.
Itâs then that your patient flatlines. You swear out loud, directing compressions from Mel. Your next order is for a CPB. Itâs automatic. Despite the fact that your stomach is in your chest and your heartâs now in your ass, you move with efficiency, doing everything you can to save this sinking ship.
Thereâs no more joking. The only communication is people saying the things they're doing and things that others should be doing. The chances of your patient falling into that ten percent are looking even worse. But itâs not impossible.
Within three minutes, you get his heartbeat back. While itâs a relief, thatâs only half the battle. You still need to get him to stop bleeding.Â
But thatâs no longer your job. The rest of Garciaâs team rushes in, finally making their appearance after hearing the call. They step in to perform what is now basically open-heart surgery, and you can only offer your best wishes.Â
Itâs only when you feel someone bat at your shoulder that youâre taken out of autopilot. You start at the feeling and find that youâve walked away from the table and are now standing in the corner of the room. Abbotâs next to you, taking off his gloves and gown that are covered in blood. Youâre covered in blood. You knew you would be, but didnât think itâd be this much.Â
The memories youâd pushed away minutes ago suddenly come flooding back to you. You blink them away, but itâs harder this time around.Â
No, you scold yourself. You still have five hours left in your shift. This canât happen now. Save it for your miserable, dark, and empty apartment, where you have all the time in the world to relive the worst moment of your life.
âCap?â he asks, and itâs the first word that isnât an order that you fully process. You look at him, still slightly dazed. âYou alright?â
When you can see his face clearly, that rage returns. It bubbles something awful in your chest, and it takes everything in you not to do something drastic.
âThat wasâŠâ You manage to get out. Heâs not sure if he should be taken back more by the genuine anger in your voice or the tears that are pricking in your eyes. â...so fucking reckless.â
âThatââ He cautiously points at the table, ââwas us giving that guy his best chance of making it out of here alive. You said it yourself. It was the right call.â
âBut to do it like thatâ That abruptlyâ?â You shake your head. âThere was no way you could have knownââ
âI did know. Iâve done that before. Iâve seen it end with less of a chance than he has now,â he says. You swallow the lump in your throat. âIf the tissue was friable, nothing else would have worked. That was the only thing we could have done. And lookââ He points at his heart monitor. ââhe seems to be doing alright so far.â
You know heâs right. You do. He has yet to be wrong about⊠well, fucking anything. But your brainâs too jumbled. You canât look at him right now. Youâre blinded by past and present visions of blood spilling over a table, and you being too frozen to do anything.
You take a step back from him, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. âJustâŠâ A shuddering breath escapes you, and your words come out through a ragged sigh. âStay out of my way for the rest of the shift. I need⊠I need a second.â
Jack watches you swing the door of Trauma Two open, and you take off across the ED floor.
You tell Dana you need five minutes, not waiting to hear her reply before walking into the bathroom and locking yourself into the first stall.
Three minutes is all you need to collect yourself and push everything down. You spend the next two fixing yourself in the mirror.
The next, youâre back on the floor. You go into the break room to grab one of your energy drinks from the fridge, letting the cool air hit your face.
You crack it open, take a sip, and youâre taking on another case thirty seconds after that.
Youâre almost home free. Almost.Â
Five grueling hours later, you escape from PTMC with half your sanity intact. Normally, youâd call that a win, especially after the day you had.
But before you can call it a win, before you can escape your place of work and return to your apartment, you feel someone fall into step with you.
âFuck,â you curse, abruptly stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. You glare at Jack, clenching the strap of your go-bag tighter. âWhat the hell is wrong with you? Youâre like a⊠a rash. I canât get rid of you. You keep coming back.â
He blinks at you. âA rash?â
You all but grit your teeth. âIâm tired. Iâd be meaner if I could think straight.â
âNo, no,â he says. âI think itâs a decent metaphor.â
Because you canât help yourself, âItâs a simile.â
âNaval Doc and an English major. You must have blown your fleet away.â
Youâve had enough. âDid you stop me just to piss me off again? Because itâs working.â
Jack gives you a look, and thereâs enough kindness in it that it makes you feel bad. Damn it, heâs good at doing that, isnât he?Â
âDidnât stop you toâ Iâm not trying to piss you off.â He sighs softly. âThatâs not at all what Iâve been trying to do.â
âThen what are you trying to do?â
âIâm trying toââ He cuts himself off, wiping a hand down his face. Thereâs a brief moment of silence before he says, âI donât know. I donât know what the fuck Iâm doing. And thatâs the problem.âÂ
Thatâs not at all the answer youâd been expecting. It catches you completely off guard, and you find yourself just staring at him, that pity youâd been feeling earlier now becoming more tangible.Â
Before you can ask or say anything, he drops his hand and looks at you. âIâm not good at this. I know that. Iââ
âGood at what?â you question.
âThis⊠support thing. Iâm trying to follow Curtisâs lead. He left this list about the group, and there were notes that said to keep an eye on you, andââ
Your lips part in what you think is half shock and half distress. âHe what?â
âHe was worried about what youâd do without him. If youâd shut down or stop coming or whatever. And I owe him⊠I donât know how many favors. Iâm just trying to be half the guy he was.â Jack doesnât love the way youâre looking at him, but heâs pleased to find that youâre less angry than before. âIâm trying my best to follow those orders he left, yâknow? But I⊠I feel like I keep fucking up with you, kid. I always make some sort of misstep that gets you pissed at me.â
He wasnât wrong, per se. There had been⊠many missteps made on his part. But youâre honest with yourself to know that you hadnât been the most graceful with all of this either. You werenât exactly the easiest person to talk to. Or get through to. Or to get along with.Â
You feel bad enough to throw him a bone. Crossing your arms over your chest, you mutter, âItâs not all your fault.â Jackâs eyes shoot up to meet yours in surprise. âI get pissed at a lot of people. Too easily, sometimes. Thatâs on me.â
He was also right about another thing. He wasnât great at this support thing. But there was one thing that he and Curtis sharedâ they both fucking tried. They were consistent, and they showed up for you. They were trying. One was much more successful than the other, but still. Maybe Jack was owed the benefit of the doubt.
You both had set some pretty high expectations for who you thought this âLeader Jackâ would be, ones that would probably never be achieved. You begrudgingly tell him as such.
âI told you Iâm not great with change. But Iâm also notâŠâ It takes everything in you to get the words out. â...being fair to you. But youâre not being fair to me.â
Jack tilts his head. âHowâs that?â
âIâm treating you like youâre Curtis. Because thatâs what Iâm expecting you to be. Not an interim leader, but an understudy.â You sigh. Itâs long and heavy and resigned. âIâm expecting you to know the lines and the directions and to act like Curtis. Thatâs not fair.â
Your arms unfold and fall from their position on your chest. âBut I think youâre also trying to be his understudy. But youâre not,â you say. âAnd thatâs not fair either.â
Jack takes a beat to sit with this. For the first time since youâve met him, you see him really think. Heâs always so fast. Lightning-fast decisions, quick responses. Itâs one of the things youâve actually grown to appreciate about him.
But right now, his entire thought process is broadcast before you. You can see everything written across his face as he ponders the situation, truly taking your words into consideration.Â
âOkay,â he finally says. He nods as if to confirm it again. âYouâre right.â
Once again, because you canât help yourself, you say, âI know.â
A smile twists his lips. âSo, where do we go from here?â
Now, itâs your turn to think. It takes way less time.Â
âYou be yourself. You lead me or support me or whatever the fuck,â you tell him. âAnd Iâll try to be⊠as open as I was with Curtis.â
He chuckles. âFrom what Iâve heard, thatâs not exactly a high bar.â
âOf course that traitor would tell you that,â you grumble, and you scowl as Jack laughs again. âWell, then maybe, youâll be better than him at something.â
The humor in Jackâs smile turns into something more sincere. âIâm sure as hell gonna try.â
Youâre struck by the sentiment. Heâs throwing all sorts of curveballs at you tonight, and you donât know how to handle them.Â
âItâll be fun to watch you do so,â is what you finally land on. Itâs your turn to surprise him, now. You offer a small, tight-lipped smile that nearly makes him stumble back. âIâll see you at Group on Wednesday.â
You keep his gaze for a bit longer, then nod at him as you part. Itâs an acknowledgement and a promise.Â
Itâs enough for Jack to call out to you and ask, âWhat are you doing tonight?â
If this were a cartoon, your feet would come to a squealing halt at how hard you stop in your tracks. Bewildered, you turn around to see if heâs being serious with whatever proposition heâs about to present to you.
âW-What?â you stammer, partially because you donât believe that heâs doing this.
âThereâs a decent bar down the street.â It takes physical effort for your jaw not to drop. âI know the bartender pretty well.â
You hold your hands out like that will stop the whiplash youâre feeling. âYouâre asking me to get drinks with you? Right now?â
âDo you not drink?â he asks, suddenly more concerned. âCurtis didnât mention anything aboutââ
âNo, Iâ I drink,â you say. âIâm just trying to figure out what the fuck youâre doing.â
That smile of his reappears. âIâm trying to get you talk to me,â he says, as if the answerâs simple. âBut Iâm doing it my way. Not Curtisâs.â
âBy⊠getting me drunk?â you question slowly.
Jack laughs, and once again, you can feel it warm you from the inside out. Gross. Stop. Youâre still trying to figure out if you actually like him as a person.
âBy making it casual,â he corrects. âWeâve only ever talked in high-stress environments for you. Work. Group.â His explanation eases your worries ever so slightly, but he still reads the hesitation on your face. âPlus, Iâd love to buy you a drink to make up for whatever the fuck I did wrong with the aortisis patient. Maybe youâll even tell me about it.â
When you scowl yet again at him, he relaxes. Thereâs just a bit of humor in your eyes to go along with it. What makes him feel better is when he realizes that youâre actually considering his offer.
At your silence, he puts his hands up in defense, knowing he should offer you a way out just in case. âIf you donât want to, you donât gotta. I was just putting it out there.âÂ
The breakthrough heâs been trying for for the last two and a half weeks finally happens as you knock your head back and slump your shoulders in resignation.
âFine. Sure,â you say, picking your go-bag up from the sidewalk. âOne drink sounds fine. I could use one after today anyway.âÂ
Jack almost jumps for joy right then and there. Heâs not sure if he believes in any type of God, but he certainly believes that Curtis is in some sort of better place and can hear him. Heâs got no doubt that he made that happen.
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oooooooh what a perfect way for me to announce that iâll be posting the first part of my new jack abbot mini series that iâve been working on in my months absence
PART ONE OF FAIR WINDS, MY JACK ABBOT SERIES WILL BE POSTED TONIGHT HOPE YOU ENJOOOOOOOY
in the meeeeantime if any of yâall are langdon hive, please feel free to read my fic flight risk itâs long but itâs fun i promise
pairing: frank langdon x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)
summary: eight months after langdon leaves, you run into him by chance, and honestly, he looks like he needs a friend. and with your new, upcoming role at the pitt, you need all of your residents on your side. while you didn't expect taking him under your wing to be easy, you definitely didn't expect to become his friend. and you certainly didn't expect... whatever comes after that.
word count & rating: 30k, M (18+! minors get out or i will verbally beat ur ass)
warnings: still slow-burning, eventual SMUT, you know i love a little porn with plot, protected p in v, oral (f receiving), hints of a handjob, lot of kissing, tons of dirty talk (langdon cannot shut up to save his life), the rivals become friends and then lovers, major sexual tension and slightly awkward flirting, afab!reader, dana stays (!), frank gets divorced (!), mentions of addiction and sobriety, lots of swearing, banter, angst, descriptions of a previous, inappropriate but consensual workplace relationship, brief mentions of another tough, previous relationship the reader had, patient gets into a minor altercation with the reader, likely inaccurate medical talk (i am a woman with google, reddit, and a dream), not beta read please do not roast me for typos i missed
author's note: well, this is part two. for those of you who missed the previous note, this was all supposed to be one fic but it's a 44k word fic and tumblr apparently has a 1,000 paragraph limit (who knew). this was the only logical way for my brain to break this one up, sorry for the weird difference in word count. if anyone wants to read it all in one part, you can find that on my ao3 linked above! hope you enjoy, i love ya all tons! -mags
MARCH 23RD, 2026. (4:30 PM)
You donât see Frank Langdon for a long while after that. Itâs like he was an illusionâ something out of a nightmare that had come to life. He was back in your life for a year and then gone in an instant. The whiplash hurts just a little bit.
Despite his absence, the ED returns to normal for the most part. The new residents and med students find their place, each day a bit easier compared to their first. You find yourself drawn to each of them in a specific way, much like your friends and fellow older residents.
Whitaker becomes your shadow. He grows more confident under your supervision, often turning to you for advice when he feels he needs it. He gets closer with Robby, and you watch as your attending takes him more under his wing each day. Robby tells you that heâs glad the kid picked right when it came to looking for a mentor in his senior residents. You have to pretend that doesnât make you want to hug him in the middle of the ED.
Santos slowly but surely turns into one of your favorite people to work with. Itâs something you should have expected, but after that first day, you didnât know what to do with her. She comes to work the next day with her head a bit tighter on her shoulders, showing you a level of respect that had been missing hours before.Â
(She tells you months later, when sheâs more comfortable with you, that she also had no idea what to do with you after you gently told her off. She was used to being embarrassed in front of everyone when she made an error. You hadnât done that. She knew she had to get on your good side after that.)
You find yourself calling for her to tag along for more complicated procedures, giving her a bit more leeway than you give the others to do more high-risk things. You know exactly why you do it, and so does Collins. For the sake of your sanity, she doesnât bring him upâ she just gives you a look each time you play favorites.
Javadi stays below your radar for the most part. She continues to stick with McKay when she returns, but she warms to you when she finds out about Langdonâs nickname and why the rest of the doctors call you Risky. Sheâs competent when sheâs not second-guessing herself and continues to surprise you when she pulls solutions for cases seemingly out of nowhere. Youâre constantly telling her to speak up more.
Mel is a bit of a different story. Sheâs incredible at what she does. Sheâs a second-year resident and doesnât require as much of your coaching or supervision. But, even though she doesnât need it, you canât help but keep an eye on her. It almost feels like an obligation.
In doing so, you grow to love that girl. Sheâs compassionate, sheâs sweet, and she leaves a piece of her heart in each case she takes on. When she tells you sheâs trying to get better at compartmentalizing things, you have to refrain from scolding her. Sheâs a breath of fresh air, and youâre excited to work with her each time youâre paired together.
Things are the same, but they feel completely different. His absence is felt. Itâs something you have to keep reminding yourself of. You had always wanted to get rid of him, but now that he had left? You canât believe you ever wanted him gone.Â
However, in due time, you get used to it. You stop looking for him when things go to shit, you stop expecting to argue when you clock in, you stop it all. And itâs fine. Itâs just fine.
Other things take precedence. Work overtakes your life. You date around a little. You continue to apply for fellowships. You get rejected from a lot of them despite how great they tell you your application is. A lot of them donât like the fact that you transferred. It doesnât matter how glowing your letter of recommendation from Robby is.Â
Youâre good at what you do. You know that you are. These programs are telling you so. But some of them want more from you. Those that you favored certainly seem to. You ignore the anxiety that floods your body when Robby recommends that you reach out to Klein to see if heâd write you another letter.
It has you reconsidering your career path. It was something that had always been super cut and dry in your mind. Medical school, residency, fellowship, attending. That was the path, particularly for someone as research-intensive as you were. But maybe it didnât have to be.
Itâs something you think about constantly as you continue to hear back from the programs youâve applied for. Itâs something youâre thinking about as you run your errands on your day off.Â
Itâs something youâre thinking about as you see Langdon for the first time in almost eight months.Â
You run into him at the grocery store, of all places. And itâs about as awkward as you expect.Â
Heâs over by the produce, inspecting each apple he picks up with the same level of intensity he used to operate with. Youâre in your own little world, headphones on and plugged into an episode of a podcast that had just been released that day. As sad as it was to say, these errands, these places you went to, and the little shops you looked around at were your time. It was your space outside of work to block out everything else and to only focus on what you needed. And you didnât like that time being interrupted or that facade being broken.
Especially not by Langdon of all people.
You're not expecting to see him here, and youâre certainly not expecting to see him as you look up from your handwritten list to reach for a carton of berries that are diagonal from him. When you lock eyes, you feel your stomach drop and then immediately come back up your throat. You swallow what youâre feeling back down, but remain frozen in place.Â
Why was he here? Youâd never seen him here before. You assumed he was still in the city, but you didnât know he lived in your neighborhood? Or did he not? Was this just a trip over to your neck of the woods for fun? OrâŠ
Your racing mind does nothing to ease your stomach. After your last conversation with him, you donât know where you stand. After everything that happened over the course of his last shift, youâd be surprised if he even remembered it. The only thing that gives you any sort of comfort is the look on his face and the shade of ghostly white heâd turned the second heâd seen you. At least you were on the same page.
âHi,â you say, voice curt and slightly panicked.
His comes out the same. âHey.â
As you completely freak out and you flash your eyes from him to the bag of fruit in his hands, the only thing you can think to say is, âThatâs a fuck ton of apples.â
Itâs not what heâs expecting in the slightest, and he quite literally has to blink at you to make sure he heard you right. âUh⊠Oh. Yeah,â he stammers, looking down at the bag. He seems to find his way as he says, âIâm, uh⊠hoping if I eat one a day, youâll stay the hell away from me.â
Itâs your turn to blink at him. That comment snaps you back to reality, and the scowl youâre more used to wearing around him finds a home on your lips. âIâm assuming itâll have the same effect if I start chucking them at you, too.â
The corner of his mouth twitches. âOnly one way to find out.â
The tension between you doesnât completely dissipate, but it becomes easier to work with. However, you still donât know what to say or how to go about talking to him. So, you sigh and decide to go with, âWhat are you doing here?â
He lifts the basket in his hand. âI needed food?â
âNo, I mean, you donât live around here,â you say with an eye roll. âWhy are you here?â
Langdon presses his lips together and looks away from you, as if heâs figuring out exactly what to say. The action has you narrowing your eyes. âThereâs some cookies Tanner likes that they only sell here,â he seems to decide on. The basket lifts again. âTrying to get dad points.â
âWell, the kidâs got good taste,â you say, nodding in approval as you eye the cookies.
You want to ask more. You know thereâs more to whateverâs behind his hesitant expression. You want to ask how heâs doing, whatâs going on in his life, and why heâs actually at this grocery store.Â
But you can tell he doesnât want to talk about it. At least not here. Perhaps not with you. Heâs stiff, uncertain, awkwardâ youâve never seen him awkward. Youâve also never seen him outside of a work environment. Youâve been out with coworkers and your cohort back in school or and have hung out in the park after a shift, but that was always with your colleagues. Never outside of that and never on your own.
You donât know what to say. Itâs hard to know whatâs off-limits or what heâd actually want to talk to you about.
So, you say, âWell, itâs good to see you,â you try. âYou look good. Or, uh, better.â
His brows pull together for a second, then he nods. âThanks. Itâs, uhââ Itâs like he doesnât know how to talk to you like this. Heâs shifty, bouncing back and forth on his heels, as if heâll bolt at any minute. âItâs good to see you, too.â
You donât know why you do it. Maybe itâs because you feel bad for him, maybe itâs because you donât know what to say. Maybe itâs because you know that if you were in his position, youâd want someone to do it to you.Â
Whatever it is, you find yourself grabbing the small notebook you had written your grocery list in and flipping to a blank page. You can feel his eyes on you as you quickly write something, rip the piece out of the book, and then fold it up. Your hand almost skims the berries below as you hold the paper out to him. âTake this.â
The confusion on his face only grows. âWhat is that?â
You push it at him. âItâs my number,â you say. âYou donât have it. And itâs clear you donât want to talk to me in a grocery store, if at all, which I get.â You shrug. âBut if you ever want to talk to someone about, I donât know⊠work, life, anything. Text me.â
Heâs looking at you like youâre handing him a bomb thatâs about to go off. âI have someâ I have people to talk to.â
âIâm sure you do,â you tell him. âAnd you donât have to talk to me. But if you need to⊠talk to someone with better bedside manner than you, who, I donât know? Already knows all the worst parts of you? Iâm here.â
Langdon stares at the piece of paper, then at you, then back down at the paper. Heâs frozen, and the moment that passes between you feels like a month. Just when your arm begins to get tired from being outstretched, he takes the paper from you.Â
He nods after he does so, slipping it into his pocket. âUh. T-Thanks,â he stammers. âI⊠I appreciate that.â
Youâre not going to get any better than that. Not right now. So, you nod back at him and grab a container of berries in front of you to put into your cart. âTake care of yourself,â you tell him, then glance down at his basket. âAnd good luck with the cookies.â
Youâre gone before he can say thank you, too taken aback by your conversation to verbalize anything coherent. One short interaction with you and he feels like a tornado just ran through the grocery store, and heâs the only one left standing.
He feels the corner of the piece of paper sticking into his leg slightly, and the weight of your words weighing him down.
Heâd never get you. But he was no longer resigned to that idea.
APRIL 2ND, 2026. (2:00 PM)
You meet him for coffee on one of your days off.
He texts you approximately three days after your encounter, apologizing for any awkwardness and letting you know that it was, in fact, good to see you, even if he didnât act like it. He takes you up on your offer, letting you know his schedule so you can work it around your own.Â
Youâre not sure what to expect when you walk into the shop. You donât know what heâs going to be like, what heâs going to want to talk about-- what he wants this to be. Does he just want to make amends? Does he want to talk about his rehabilitation journey? Does he want to hear about work? All of the above?
You know youâre overthinking it, but you canât not. Youâre getting coffee with Langdon. You didnât do things outside of work. You never saw him out of scrubs unless the team was going out. It was just a bit odd, and you couldnât pretend that it wasnât.
Itâs something he addresses the moment you sit down with him. Heâs arrived before you, having grabbed a table in the corner that has two mugs on it. Your brows shoot up in surprise as you realize heâs remembered your coffee order, and you exchange niceties as you sit down.Â
After a beat of awkward silence, he sighs. âThis is fucking weird, isnât it?â
You shrug and bite back a smile. âOnly as weird as we make it.â
He shoots you a look, one you havenât seen in a while. It almost makes you nostalgic. âSo, how do we make it not weird?â
âWell, typically, conversations start with questions,â you say slowly, and you find that heâs already rolling his eyes. âThese can be anything from âhow are youâ to âwhatâs new?ââ
He shuts his eyes, though you donât miss the humor in them when they open. âHow are you?â he asks. âWhatâs new?â
âIâm good,â you reply, and itâs honest. Because you are good. Youâre much better than you were the night you left him on the curb. âEverythingâs pretty much the same. My residency finishes up in a couple of months, so⊠Iâm just prepping for Boards and then for the transition.â You feel a bit bad talking about the residency he should be finishing up with you, so you quickly move on. âHow are you?â
He reaches for his mug, a sigh heaving from his chest as if he were dreading the question. âOh, you know. Recovery is great. Iâm loving every second of it.â His voice drips with sarcasm, and his shoulders sag at the look you give him. After a moment, he quietly says, âIâll be nine months sober tomorrow.â
Something akin to pride warms your chest. âThatâs huge, Langdon,â you say earnestly, and when he tries to shrug it off, you shake your head. âNo, Iâm serious. Thatâs a big fucking deal. You should be proud of yourself. I mean that.â
He doesnât say anything to that. You donât expect him to. Instead, he decides to ask about something that you hope had escaped his notice. âYou said youâre prepping for the transition?â
You glance at him, sighing as you reach for your mug. You know the exact reaction youâre going to get when you say, âIâm attending starting in July. Me and Collins. Boards willing.â
Taking a long sip of your coffee, you canât help but note that he got your order exactly right. Asshole. Because now, you canât complain as he starts to laugh. âNo fucking way.â
âIâm in charge of you next year,â you mutter. âSo, Iâd choose my next words very wisely.â
âIâm notââ He shakes his head. âIâm not laughing at you. I just canât believe it. You were so set on the fellowship. You were making me feel bad about not being prepared for it.â
You sink back into your chair. âMy applications came off a little⊠unfocused? That was the word that was used, I think.â His brow furrows. Heâd never call anything you did unfocused. You continue, âIâve found that Iâm really good at a lot of things. I just donât know what Iâm best at. Iâm going to do my fellowship when Iâve figured that out. Whenever that is.â
Youâre expecting him to make fun of you. To laugh again or do whatever it is that he does to get on your nerves. But he doesnât. All he says is, âI donât think thatâs a bad choice.â
The look on your face is weary when you ask, âNo?â
He shakes his head, grabbing a sugar packet from the container on your table. âNot at all. Itâs mature. Donât do something or settle because itâs what you think youâre supposed to do.â
Itâs a strangely sage piece of advice from someone you rarely get it from. Itâs also something you think you desperately needed to hear, but youâd never tell him that.
With a small smile, you nod at him in thanks. âHowâs Abby? The kids? Did you get âdad pointsâ or whatever for the cookies?â
The grimace that pulls at his lips morphs his whole face, and suddenly, you feel like youâve made a major misstep. Itâs another question he was dreading. âAbby and I⊠uhââ He fiddles with the sugar packet in his hands. âWeâre⊠separated. In the process of filing for divorce.â
Well, now you feel like the asshole. âOh, fuck, man,â you say, another heavy sigh leaving your lips. âIâm sorry.â
Langdon shrugs, and itâs a pathetic attempt to act like he doesnât care. You donât call him out on it. He rips the packet and dumps the contents into his coffee. âIt was a long time coming.â
Quiet settles between you, and for a moment, you donât know how to respond to that. Then, like a reflex, you say, âWas it because of theââ
âIt wasnât because of the fucking dog.â Itâs as if he anticipated it, and thereâs a piece of you that hates that he can predict you so well. The other piece of you is pressing your lips together to refrain from laughing as he shakes his head in annoyance.
But then, he does something heâs never done before. He looks at youâ at your face, at the smile youâre poorly concealing, and the glint in your eye that he always noticed but had never admired. And then, he starts to laugh.
Itâs not loud or boisterous. Itâs a soft chuckle, one that lasts as he continues to shake his head and grins softly as he hears you do it too.Â
âYou can tell me I was right, itâs okay.â Your voice is lilting, and the humor written into your expression makes him shake his head. âThereâs a first time for everything. Iâm not stoked that itâs over a dog, but Iâll take what I can get.â
A long and heavy sigh leaves him, and he wipes a hand down his face. âYeah,â he replies. âYou were right. Heâs cute as hell, but it... it was a bad idea. The kids love him, though.â
âIâm sure they do,â you say, then nod at him. âShe made you keep the dog, right?â
âOh, yeah,â he says. âThat thingâs mine. She passed him off to me right when I got out of rehab.â
You snort. âGood for her. And what a sobriety present.â
âYouâre telling me.â He makes a face. âIt could be worse, though. Gives me something to focus on other than how fucked up my lifeâs become.â
Your lips purse, and you push them to the side. âDonât do that.â
âWhat?â he asks. âIt has. And Iâm not saying that to get you to pity me. It fell apart, and itâs my fault.â
âMaybe,â you say lightly. âBut you donât have to torture yourself over it. Thatâs not going to help anyone involved.â Langdon sends you a half-hearted glare, and you throw your hands up. âIâm serious. You make it everyoneâs problem when youâre miserable. Youâre fixing yourself. Be kinder to yourself about it.â
He takes another long sip of his coffee. Then, after a minute, he says, âThanks.â Itâs the best youâre going to get from him. Youâre just happy heâs finally, actually acknowledging your attempts at encouragement. âHowâs The Pitt?â
His attempt to shift the conversation is not subtle, but you go along with it. âItâs less chaotic than when you left it,â you say. âThe newbies are pretty much acclimated now. Everyone else is doing well. We miss you.â
His expression is skeptical when he asks, âYou miss me?â
âSome days,â you admit with a shrug. His brows rise higher. âItâs boring having no one to argue with. I like Collins and Mohan too much to yell at them.â
A small smile graces his features. âWell, if it makes you feel any better,â he begins, âI miss it too. Arguing and all.â
It does, in fact, make you feel better. But still, you say, âYou canât fight with me next session, though. I own your ass.â
âOh, no,â he sighs. âDonât tell me youâre gonna go full-metal despot. I canât handle that.â
âOnly for you. Half-metal despot for everyone else.â You shrug. That glint in your eye has returned. âIâm gonna be your nightmare.â
He sighs ruefully into his mug. âLike you werenât already.â
âIâll be nice,â you assure him, resolving the act. âBut, yeah. You have to at least pretend like you respect me.â
âIâve always respected you,â he states, and the immediate honesty in his voice catches you by surprise. âThat was never the issue. The issue is that youâre a pain in the ass.â
You hold your fingers up like a phone despite the feeling thatâs twisting your stomach. âHey, Kettle? Iâve got pot on the line telling you to go fuck yourself.â
Thereâs humor in his expression as he shakes his head. âIâll keep everyone in line.â
âBe nice about it,â you warn. âI donât want any of the newbies shitting their pants because you start bullying them in July.â
âI would never,â he scoffs.
âSantos would say differently,â you chide.
He rolls his eyes, shifting uncomfortably. âShe was different.â
âShe is,â you say. âSheâs also different than you left her. Sheâs probably my favorite resident to work with.â
âYouâre kidding.â
âIâm not. Sheâs good, Langdon.â He shakes his head. âIf you get over yourself, you might realize it, too.â
He has nothing to say to that. For a minute, you think youâve made him mad. But then, you realize heâs thinking.Â
Heâs not looking at you when he asks, âCan I ask you something?â
âShoot,â you say.
âWhy are you being so nice to me?â He motioned between the two of you. âYou donât need to be doing any of this. I donât deserve it. But you are.â
His question stumps you, because honestly? You donât quite understand it yourself. Given your past, you should be leaving him to rot. You should make his life a living hell the second he returns to the ED. He doesnât deserve the kindness youâre extending to him.
But you still do it. There might be some part of you that pities him. Maybe itâs because itâs not all his fault. Perhaps, itâs the fact that it hasnât all been bad.Â
But you think itâs more of the fact that, regardless of your best efforts to get rid of him, you know Langdon. You spent four years of med school with him and have a year of working together under your belt. You know him.
And despite the nickname heâd given you, you donât give up on people you know. Especially when you know they might just need you.
âI donât⊠really know why either,â you tell him, and your blunt words have him huffing a laugh. âBut I think⊠I think itâs going to be hard for you to come back to work after everything. Even if youâre doing everything right. And I think Iâd want someone in my corner if I were in your spot.â
Langdon stares at you in disbelief. âIâmâŠâ He blows a breath through closed lips, leaning back in his chair. âI donât fucking understand you.â
You shrug. âJoin the club.â
âNo. I mean it. I donât get you,â he says. âYou realize that I donât know if I could do the same for you, right? I donât know if I would be able to be this⊠nice.â
You eye him. âYouâve never been able to. That was kind of our whole thing.â Heâs still looking at you like that. The sigh you release is laborious, and it almost hurts going out. âNot everythingâs a contest, Langdon. We donât always have to compete. There are no winners or losers anymore. We work together now. Weâre in the same boat, and that boat doesnât move unless every single personâs rowing. Stronger in numbers and all that.â You grab your mug, coffee almost lukewarm now. âWhether you want to admit it or not, youâre going to need someone to be nice to you in order for the boat to keep going. If I have to be that person, so be it.â
He scoffs. âI donât need to be coddled.â
âNo, but youâre going to need support,â you respond. âAnd we both know that Iâm a little more forgiving than Robby is.â
That shuts him up almost immediately. He knows youâre right. More than right, actually. Heâs barely spoken to him since July. Langdonâs antsy to get back to the floor, but dear God, he does not want to face Robby.Â
Not after everything he owes him.
He watches you take a long sip of your coffeeâ the way you gently put it back down onto the table and shift the handle to face yourself. Then, he watches the way you meet his gaze, staring at him as if youâd just said the simplest thing in the world.Â
Of course, you were going to help him. Of course, you were going to be nice to him. Why wouldnât you be? Why wouldnât you help him? Simple questions like that had simple answers to you.
He gives it another second before he looks away. âThank you,â he says quietly, and he hopes he sounds as genuinely grateful as he feels. âReally.â
âDonât worry about it,â you say. âI got into this field to help people. Itâs kinda what Iâm good at.â
Langdon chuckles. âI still donât get you, though.â
âWell, you can figure me out better when you get back.â You point at him. âBut not too well. I donât want you telling the other residents what my weaknesses are. I canât take all of you at once if you revolt.â
âThe other attendings would help out,â he offers.
âYeah, but the only ones that Iâm confident can fight are Abbot and Ellis. They wonât be there to help.â
âRobby can throw a punch.â
âSure, but would he?â you argue. âBefore he could, heâd get called to like, do a Craniectomy with his eyes closed and tell me Iâm on my own.â
As he laughs, you launch into another hypothetical, hands waving enthusiastically as you explain yourself, you find yourself falling into an easy sort of conversation with him. He keeps up with you as usual, but his typically sharp words are replaced with something a bit more loose. Kinder, even. Itâs a change that you donât immediately notice, but when you do, you canât help but feel a little strange.
Whatâs even stranger, you realize, is that to anyone else in the shop, you two might look like you were actually friends.Â
It doesnât unsettle you as much as you thought it would.
JULY 4TH, 2026. (6:45 AM)
You keep in contact for the next couple of months.
It starts out slowâ a text here and there, mostly questions about work, asking when you two were free to meet for coffee next, and talking about how things are going for each of you. A video that youâd like the other would like thrown into the mix. Itâs not a lot, but itâs consistent. You know his Type-A brain could use some consistency.
As the two of you got more comfortable with each other, it became even more consistent. Youâll text him a photo of a gnarly or crazy injury in the middle of a shift (a month an a half ago, an eighteen year old girl came in with a pencil through her cheek after the kid she was tutoring threw a tantrum, and a photo went to both the ED group chat and Langdon), heâll send a picture back of his dog in the park.Â
It becomes almost like an instinct. Anytime something out of the ordinary goes down, you feel like you have to update him. Your text chain from last Monday looked something like this:
7:34: code security just called on a twenty-five year old guy who escaped his bed and just tried to stab mckay with his rugrats pocket knife. starting the day off strong!
ahmad should have let her handle it. iâd put my money on mckay any day.
10:12: first foreign body of the day. want to guess what it is and where?
whoâs the patient?
fifty-seven year old guy
give me kitchen utensil up the ass for $400, alex
ooooh half credit. shaving cream bottle up the ass
holy fuck. how does that even fit up there?Â
he saying he fell on it?
you know it
okay my turn
15:17: just picked tanner up from day camp. inside day because of the rain-- he told me one of the kids got one of those counting bears stuck up their nose. he might be on his way to you
javadiâs on triage today, will tell her to look out for it
didnât even know those things still existed
this camp is old school. only tech allowed is movies
no cocomelon?
i told you iâm not raising an ipad baby, risky.
16:56: anti-vax couple is currently trying to convince mel that their zinc supplements and prayers are enough to protect their high-risk kid that has chicken pox
tell mel she has MY prayers.
sheâs handling them well
one of these days sheâs going to snap and iâm gonna parade her around like rocky
iâll play the theme music
also are we still on for coffee on thursday?
obviously. itâs your turn to buy
You continue to get coffee with him every couple of weeks. At first, you tell yourself, itâs just to keep him in that aforementioned routine. But, each time you meet up, it becomes that much easier to talk to him, and you can no longer pretend like you donât enjoy his company.Â
You learn more about himâ about who he really is. Itâs more than just his base level likes and dislikes that youâve picked up on: you learn about where heâs from, his family, and how he grew up. What he likes to do on his days off, how heâs started coaching his Tannerâs U-6 soccer team in his free time. You learn that heâs just a bit too into it, something you make evident by the subtle side-eye you give him when he mentions how theyâre not getting a play he wrote up for them.
You also learn just how nervous he is to return to work. Heâs slightly more withdrawn in the week leading up to it, and despite how much you reassure him that things will be fine, he doesnât seem to listen to you.Â
(Things change, but they donât. Youâll take what you can get.)
Last night, before you fell asleep, youâd made sure to send him a text, figuring that heâd be on his phone. You knew there was no way heâd be sleeping tonight.
before you come in tomorrow, i just want to tell youÂ
i tried to tell robby that the fact that your first shift back is a fucking full moon fourth of july shift is cruel and unusual
but despite our circumstances i am 100% sure that youâre going to kill it
You watch as the three little dots at the bottom of the screen appear and then disappear. You can picture him typing at his phone and deleting every self-deprecating thing heâs thinking, knowing youâre not going to respond well to it. But, in a surprise turn of events, he chooses to be honest with you.
thanks. iâm freaking the fuck out.
take a breath. youâre going to be fine
easier said than done
iâve got your back, dude. we all do
please try to sleep a little
i canât have you being both anxious and exhausted tomorrow i can only deal with one of those things
It took a minute for him to respond, but when he did, it was a short, heard. thank you.
That took you to today, in the PTMC parking lot, where you stood outside of Langdonâs car, waiting for him to notice you.Â
Heâd been switching between listening to something and hyping himself up, unaware of anything around him. Thereâs something inherently sweet about it, and you almost donât want to ruin it for him.
But you two need to be clocked in within the next fifteen minutes, and you donât trust him not to throw his car in reverse and drive away.
So, you beat on the passenger side window.
You think his entire soul leaves his body. He practically jumps out of his seat, hands flying up like heâs reaching for something above. You have to press your lips together to hold in your laughter as he glares at you, rolling his window down.
âWhat the fuck is wrong with you?â he asks, still trying to catch his breath.
âGood morning to you, too,â you say. You lean your elbows on the ledge of the now-open window. âHappy comeback season.â
He huffs, looking away from you. âCouldnât you see I was like, in the middle of something here?â
You nod in understanding. âIn the middle of deciding whether or not you should go in, right?â When he scowls at you, you canât help but smile. âCan I come in?â
Langdon stares at you for a second before muttering to himself and slapping the unlock button on the driverâs side. Youâre greeted by the AC thatâs blasting in his car and slump into the seat. âYou scared the shit out of me.â
âWell, at least youâre awake,â you reply. âThe five Red Bulls youâre gonna shotgun today will only carry you so far.â
âYeah, but I could have gone without the jumpscare. Way too early for that shit,â he says.
You shrug the comment off, glancing around. âI donât think Iâve ever been in your car before.â
âAnd after that, you wonât ever be invited back.â
You send him a look. âGood morning, Langdon,â you repeat, and your tone has him shutting his eyes and turning away from you. âHow are we doing this morning?â
He doesnât say anything for a long while, and for a moment, you think heâs giving you the cold shoulder. But then he mutters, âI canât go in there.â
âSure you can,â you say.Â
âNo,â he whispers. âI canât.â
âCompletely disregarding the fact that the future of your career relies on you walking through those doors in thirteen minutes,â you start, catching him rolling his eyes out of the corner of yours, âyouâre on the schedule and donât have coverage. People are going to be more mad at you if you leave than if you go in.â
You didnât think that your attempt at a joke was going to help in any way, but somehow, it has him seriously considering your point. He pinches the bridge of his nose, leaning his elbow on his doorâs armrest. âWhat if itâs awful?â he asks.
You donât recognize the person beside you. Youâve never seen him like this. This nervous, this scared. He was always the pinnacle of confidence, for better or for worse. He was self-assured, cocky, and completely in control of himself.
This wasnât that guy. And it freaked you out enough to decide that you werenât going to stand for it.
âOkay,â you begin, turning your body in the seat to face him, âas you so eloquently and gently said to me when I was freaking out this time last year, âget your fucking head on straight. You are not Flight Risk-ing it right now.ââ
A surprised laugh escapes him as he rubs a hand down his face. âWeâre going there?â
âOh, yeah. Been waiting to use your horrendous bedside manner on you for a year. Itâs time.â You point at him. âWe need you in there, and we need you to be on it because no one can do what you do.â You take a moment, and in that moment, he meets your gaze. Involuntarily, you find that you voice gets softer as you say, âI fucking need you, so get the fuck out of your head and letâs go.â
Langdon just stares at you in that way that he does. Heâs always staring at you like heâs trying to figure you out. Itâs as if youâre some impossible equation to some cosmic disturbance. Like everything in his life makes some sort of sense but you.
He could say something sentimental, tell you how he really feels about all of this, and let you know exactly what everything youâve done for him leading up to this point means to him. He really thinks about it.
But, instead, he chooses the comfortable route and says, âIâm surprised you remembered all of that.â
You scoff. âHow could I not? It was the first time Iâve ever been yelled out of a panic attack. Only you could do that.â You mumble that last part, but he still hears it, evident by his soft chuckle. You lean your shoulder into the backrest, lips curling upward. âYou with me?â
When he sighs, he practically inhales all of the air in the car. But still, âYeah. Iâm with you.â
âGood,â you say. You grab your go-bag at your feet and go to open the door. âBreathe. I told you. Iâve got your back.â
Before you can make your exit, Langdon grabs your wrist. The action has you staring at him in surprise. âI know I keep saying it,â he begins, âbut⊠thank you. Youâreâ youâve been⊠just--â He slows himself down, and when heâs collected himself, he squeezes your wrist. âThank you.â
Youâre still caught off-guard by the fact that heâs willingly touching you, but find yourself nodding at him with a small smile that you hope is encouraging. âIâll see you in there,â you tell him.
He follows you inside five minutes later, anxious, antsy, and unsure. But when he catches your eye and you give him that same smile, some of the⊠everything heâs feeling evaporates.
Itâs a small thing that feels like a victory in his book. Maybe everything will be fine.
JULY 4TH, 2026. (11:34 PM)
i canât move, he texts you that night, when youâre finally tucked in bed, eyes barely staying open. that was so brutal. it might rival the pittfest shift.
iâm still recovering from getting shoulder tackled by that lady in the sexy uncle sam costume, you respond. she should play for the fucking steelers when she gets released from jail.
they could use her. her form was incredible
perlah already has the security cam footage of that btw
i know. she sent it to the group chat already (remind me to add you back to that)
iâm glad my bruised ribs could spark joy
You watch through partially closed eyes as those three dots appear and disappear.Â
we should go to game this year, he finally says. theyâre so bad that it could be fun
pitt outing to the steelers? iâm in
get abbot on a blackstone STAT
Thereâs another pause in your conversation. Then, it might be hard to get all of our schedules to align.
Itâs then that it clicks for you.Â
frank langdonÂ
are you asking me to hang out outside of work
you say that like we donât do it already
thatâs just coffee. youâre asking me to like HANG OUT and DO SHIT with you
shut up
ooooooo you want to be my friend so bad
i never thought weâd get here
iâm going to bed
You snicker to yourself, fingers flying across your screen as you type out, letâs do an october game or something. get the PTO in early.
A minute passes before your phone vibrates again. iâll start looking at tickets tomorrow.
Youâre about to turn your phone over and go to bed for the night when it buzzes again. i couldnât have done today without you.
you could have, you respond. but iâm glad i was there. hell day and all.
me too.
 iâll see you tomorrow for day two.
SEPTEMBER 24TH, 2026. (5:00 PM)
The change in your relationship doesnât go unnoticed.
The second Langdon returned to work, each person on the floor had clocked that something was different between you two. You still argued. You still made fun of each other on an hourly basis, and you still occasionally disagreed about the right way to approach a case. But there was something less malicious about it now.
Youâd insult him, but it was accompanied by a soft nudge on the arm. Heâd snipe back at you, only to smile to himself when you walked off. More often than not, youâd walk in for a shift with him or head out together. He knew exactly how you liked your coffee and would make it when he had a free moment, handing it off to you while you were moving from case to case.Â
You werenât just working together anymore. You werenât amicable for the sake of the smooth operation of the ED. You were friendly. It looked like you actually liked each other.
Three weeks in, Princess tells the nurses that she saw the two of you actually laughing together in the break room. Something about med school cadaver labs and peanut M&Ms. It doesnât make any sense to her, but then again, none of this does.
Itâs a straight-up Twilight Zone episode for everyone who isnât you and Langdon. You two donât really question the change. Itâs just something that happened.
After that text on the Fourth, you start hanging out outside of work.
While a lot of your days off donât always align and your personal life schedules arenât always in sync, you find yourself with him on the days that do. Itâs never anything overly exciting: you tend to run errands together, youâve gotten lunch-- youâve even gone to his apartment once.
Itâs nice. Itâs easy. Itâs⊠what having a friend should be like.Â
But then, he shows up with a pizza on one of those rare days you both have off.Â
It starts with a short, What are you doing tonight? text. Itâs not uncommon for him to check in now, especially when he knows youâre off work. Even more so when heâs also off. But heâs never texted out of the blue to ask about your plans for the day.
You reply with a simple, nothing. why? All you get is an ominous :) in response.
About an hour later, thereâs a sharp, three-beat knock at your door. You shoot up from your couch in confusion, whipping your head in the direction of the sound. Was heâ? No. No way. He didnât know where you lived. Or did he? Had you told him?
You pause the episode of the reality show youâre catching up on and make your way to the door, shaking your head in disbelief. When you look out your peephole, you see him rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, holding a thin box in his hands. Oh, my God. He was here. And he brought a fucking pizza.
After you get over your brief moment of shock, you reach down to open the door. Langdonâs eyes immediately meet yours, and a smile grows on his lips as he sees what youâre wearing. âCute shorts.â
âShut up,â you mutter, fighting the urge to pull your oversized sweatshirt down further to hide your PJ shorts that are accented with little stethoscopes. âItâs my Bravo rot day. I wasnât expecting company.â
His grin gets wider. âI like to surprise you.â
You hum a noise that sounds something like agreement. âGuess those apples arenât working, huh?â you say, leaning up against your doorframe.
âWell, I got a pizza,â he replies, lifting the box up and shaking it lightly. âHow do you like them apples?â
You stare at him blankly, allowing the absolute bomb of a joke he just threw out there to stew in its awfulness for a moment. Langdonâs smile falters, and he shifts awkwardly. âGood Will Hunting?â he says, as if he has to explain the reference for it to land.
âI know what itâs from,â you state. âI just canât slam the door in your face because Iâm frozen by the shock of how bad that was.â
âOh, câmon, that wasââ
âNope. I lied, itâs not shock. Itâs rigor mortis. You literally killed me and now Iââ
âJust take the pizza and shut the fuck up,â he mutters, shoving it out in front of him.Â
Reflexively, you hold up your hands to accept it and laugh to yourself. You step back and hold the door open to let him into your apartment, and the sigh of relief that leaves his lips is audible. âHow the hell did you get my address?â you ask.
âThe Pitt directory is incredibly detailed.â He hangs his coat up amongst the many you keep on hooks in your tiny entryway. âMy God, you have a lot of jackets.â
âThey each have their own purpose,â you reply automatically. Danaâs constant ribbing about you showing up in a new one each shift has trained you to do so. âMy home address is in the public directory?â
He at least has the decency to look just a bit sheepish when he turns around. âNot the public one.âÂ
A scandalized gasp escapes you as you put two and two together. âFucking Lisa.â
âI told her I had to drop something off at yours,â he reasons with a shrug, then motions to the pizza. âI wasnât lying.â
âAnd that traitor was just willing to give out my home address to you of all people? What, is she gonna leak my social next?â
Langdon chuckles softly, shaking his head. That familiar smirk pulls at the corners of his lips. âShe told me sheâd only do it for me. I told you sheâs got a thing for me.â
âThat thing is aiding and abetting,â you mutter, and you bite back a smile as he snickers again.Â
That smile stays hidden as you turn to take the pizza to your kitchen island and set it down. Langdonâs already opening it the second you turn away to grab some napkins. He clocks the look on your face as you stare at him and the slice thatâs already in his hands.Â
Your lips start to curl in disgust when he says, âOh, relax. I only got olives on my side. Your shitâs on the other.â He rolls your eyes and takes a bite as your scowl turns into something more satisfied. âFreak.â
âYouâre the freak,â you mutter. You open one of the cabinets next to your stove to grab two plates. âUse a plate, you heathen. Letâs have a society, alright?â
âIâm not taking etiquette lessons from a girl Iâve seen do multiple body shots at Luckyâs,â he says, mouth full. You scrunch up the napkins in your hand into a ball the second you hear âbody shotsâ and chuck it at his head. He catches it effortlessly. âIâm just saying.â
You pull a piece of pizza from your designated side. âThat was med school. Iâve basically aged twenty years since then. Iâm much more mature now.â
âRight. You only do one now instead of multiple.â
You nod. âExactly. And then Iâm in bed, hungover for twenty-four hours the next day.â
Langdon laughs, then that laugh turns into a sigh. âWe used to be out until three in the morning and then wake up at seven for class. What happened to us?â
âWeâre old, is what happened.â You take a bite of your slice. âSpeaking of old, where are your kids today?â
He rolls his eyes at your comment, but answers despite it. âTheyâre with Abby visiting her parents. Iâve got them for the three days I have off next week, but itâll mostly be me and Sadie. Tanner has school.â
âAnd the dog?â you ask.
âAt my apartment. I took him to the park this afternoon, and he knocked out the second we got back. Woke up to eat, then fell right back asleep.â
âItâs genuinely insane to see how domestic youâve become.â The sweet tone of your voice has him scowling at you. âIâm serious. Also, feel free to bring him next time we hang out.â
Despite the casual way he nods and despite the fact that you guys hanging out has now become commonplace, he has to pretend that your use of the words ânext timeâ doesnât excite him a little. âThanks. Tanner says I should start bringing him to work.â
You make a sarcastic sound of agreement. âWeâve had rats in the ED. Why not dogs?â
âExactly,â he says. âMaybe Iâll file with HR for a therapy animal.â
âI still canât believe Lisa gave you my address,â you mutter. âThat has to be like, three different types of illegal.â
âOh, câmon. I knew the neighborhood you live in. She was just helping.â
âYeah, but what if you were like a total fucking weirdo?â Before he can say anything, you continue, âI mean, more than you already are? What if you were stalking me? I know sheâs in love with you, but man, youâve been in HR for forty years. Do your job.â
âSheâs been trying to set me up with her daughter since she heard about the divorce,â he tells you. At your confused look, he explains, âLisa. Sheâs got a twenty-something-year-old daughter who just left her husband. Thinks weâd be good together.â
Your brows raise. âAnd youâre not jumping at the chance to do that?â
âUh, no.â He shakes his head. âI donât do set-ups. Or blind dates.â
âYou make it really easy to forget youâre so conceited sometimes,â you mutter, dodging an olive that he throws your way. Your mouth drops at the sound of it plopping onto your rug. âPick that up now. If you ruin my runner with your gross fucking olives, Iâm gonna get Robby to switch you to nights and Iâm telling Ellis to bully the shit out of you.â
He rolls his eyes but does as heâs told, shaking his head. âItâs not about looks,â he tells you as he walks over toward you and crouches down. âI just⊠I donât like being surprised. I like to know what Iâm getting myself into.â
You eye him carefully as he rounds your island to get to your trash can. âOkay? Then join an app?â
Langdon looks physically repulsed by the idea. âBecause no one ever lies on the internet.â
âJesus, man. I donât know, then you can wander around a farmerâs market with your dog and Tanner and Sadie looking lost.â
He eyes you for a moment, then pretends to consider it. âThat might not be a bad idea. Iâve never thought about pimping out my kids to pick up women.â
The sarcasm in his tone isnât missed, and you throw your hands up. âFine. I tried. You can die a miserable old man. Youâre already halfway there anyway.â
âI just donât know if Iâm ready yet,â he admits through a chuckle. He reaches at his plate to grab his half-eaten slice of pizza and takes a bite. With his mouth full, he says, âGetting back out there with someone is justâŠâ He grimaces, swallowing. âThat sounds fucking awful.â
âWhy?â you ask. âI think it sounds kind of exciting. Itâs good to meet new people.â
âI donât want to meet new people,â Langdon tells you. The way it comes out makes it sound almost like he wasnât even thinking about the words before he said them. You notice the way his eyes flick to yours for a moment and then immediately flick away. Your heart stutters, and you canât even explain why. âI mean, Iââ His cheeks tint the slightest shade of pink, and you pretend you donât see it. He forks a hand through his hair. âThe idea of getting to know someone like⊠that again is just soâŠâ
You know what heâs trying to say. You also know what heâs not saying, too.Â
You understand him so well, yet you donât at all. He was so puzzling. Heâs someone who always came off to you as relatively straightforward. He was self-assured; cocky, even. He was someone whoâd been told one too many times that he was good at what he did, maybe even that he was better than everyone around him, so heâd started to believe it. Maybe a little too much.
He gave his time to those he thought were worth it. He was confident, and he knew who he was. He didnât care if he was an asshole or who hurt along the way. It didnât matter what anyone thought about him as long as he knew that he was in the right.Â
But as you watch Langdonâ watch him be shy and unsure and uncomfortable in front of you, you realize that you barely knew who he was outside of your career. Sure, you knew loads about him. You knew about his personal life and his likes and interests. But you didnât know him. Youâd never talked with him like this or had him admitting things like this.Â
You wanted to hate the fact that it totally endeared him to you. But, for some reason, it didnât.Â
That would never stop being weird.
âI get it,â you say. âI didnât want to meet anyone after I called off my engagement with Jamie. I shut myself off to everyone for like, a year.â
âI remember,â he mutters. âWatching Donovan try to hit on you every other week during labs was painful.â
âOh, God. That was painful for me, too.â The smirk that slides onto your face is both sarcastic and involuntary. âI saw on LinkedIn that he just started a neurosurgery fellowship. Maybe I should have given him a chance.â
Langdon rolls his eyes. âThe world does not need two Doctor Donovans.â
You canât help but snort. Thereâs a beat of silence before you admit, âYou know I didnât get into another real, serious relationship until about three months into my residency in Boston?â
His brows rocket to his hairline. âSeriously?â
âYeah,â you say. âNobody really⊠piqued my interest until then.â
âThatâs almost impressive.â
You shrug him off. âIâm exceptionally picky.â
He makes a noise of agreement. âSo, who was he?â
âHuh?â you ask, fully hearing him but not at all expecting that question.
âWho was the guy that finally âpiqued your interest?ââ he clarifies.
Heâs not expecting the silence heâs met with. You stare down at your plate, biting the inside of your cheek, and Langdon knows heâs asked the wrong question.Â
âHeâŠâ You swallow and tear a piece from the crust thatâs left on your plate. âHeâs irrelevant,â is what you finally decide on.Â
You say it because he is. Truthfully, up until this conversation, you hadnât thought of him in weeks. You know it doesnât seem like it, and it definitely doesnât seem like youâre anywhere close to being over it, but you are.Â
It doesnât mean it isnât still hard to talk about.Â
Langdon stares at you. âIs he?â
You meet his gaze with a heavy sigh that takes a lot out of you. âNo. Heâs not,â you admit. You keep your voice light. âBut every day, he becomes more irrelevant. And every day, I come to some new realization about him and know that what happened was for the better. And thatâs all I can ask for.â
Thankfully, Langdon doesnât have any more questions for you regarding that. Relief washes over you as you realize heâs moving on, but you know heâs not going to forget it. Unfortunately, itâs not like him to forget things.
âNew topic,â he says quickly, like heâs trying to get your mind off of whatever youâre thinking about as soon as possible. âBecause I need to know. Does that work?â You lift your brows, cueing him to continue. âThat stuff you were talking about. That⊠farmerâs market, kids stuff. Does that actually work?â
A small smile tugs at your lips, and you shrug once more. âDude, women eat that shit up. At least, yâknow. Some of us.â
âSeriously?â he asks.
âOh, yeah,â you say. âA hot dad asking if weâd recommend the blackberries or the raspberries more?â You shake your head with a faux longing expression. âHook, line, and sinker.â
The smirk that suddenly glides over Langdonâs lips is something lethal, and it makes your stomach flip. He leans up against the counter. âA hot dad?â
Your eyes roll so hard you think theyâll fall out of your head. âCircumstantially and hypothetically.â
âOf course,â he says, nodding as if he understands. But that look stays on his face. âBut Iâm curious. Would that be something⊠that would work on you?â At the surprise that morphs your expression, he shrugs. âHypothetically.â
You look at him with suspicion. âI donât know?â
âYou donât know?â he parrots. Itâs clear he doesnât believe you. âYou just posed a very specific hypothetical, and you donât know?â
âOh, my God, okay. Hypothetically, you loser,â you repeat, hoping everything youâre about to say sounds casual and not as weird as youâre suddenly feeling. âThe independent variable would have to be⊠I donât know? My type? Looks like he actually cares about the kids heâs pimping out?â
âThe independent variable being the guy,â he clarifies.Â
âYes, Doctor Langdon. Very astute,â you say. âValidating your âMost Likely to Succeedâ award status with each day you live and breathe.âÂ
He leans over your counter, placing his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. His brows furrow in mild interest. âAnd what exactly is your type?â
You feel heat rise to your cheeks almost instantly. Never, in a million years, did you think youâd be standing in your apartment with Frank Langdon, chatting about your type over a pizza he bought for you. âWhen did we start talking about me?â you ask. âThis was supposed to be about you and how youâre too afraid to go on a date.â
âAnd now itâs about both of us,â he shoots back. âBecause you talk a big game for someone who isnât dating either.â
âI am,â you say, and the admission obviously catches him by surprise. You almost feel bad about the way his face drops.Â
Langdon blinks at you. âSeriously?â
âIs it that hard to believe?â you ask with a teasing smile.
âNo,â he says, the word rushing out of his mouth. âNo. You know that youâreâ Youâreâ yâknow. Itâs not hard to believe. I justâŠâ He trails off again, but continues to look at you in surprise. âSeriously?â
âIâm serious,â you chuckle, because itâs all you can do. âI mean, itâs not serious, but yeah. Weâve been on like, two dates, and Iâve been texting him a little. I met him online. Heâs cute, heâs nice, and he works in Financeââ The face he makes at that has you scowling. âWhat?â
âNothing. I just didnât think you were the Finance-Bro type.â Before you take offense or respond to that, he asks, âSo, itâs going well? You like him?â
âItâs going fine,â you say. âHeâs nice. Fun to talk to. He thinks that me being a doctor is âsuper dope,â which is, yâknow, an upgrade from the last guy I dated.â
âBut you donât like him,â Langdon presses.
You make a frustrated sound. âI donât know yet!â you say, exhausted by this sudden interrogation. âIsnât that the whole point of dating? To figure out if you actually like them?â
âI typically decide if Iâm interested in someone before I start dating them, but thatâs just meââ
âWell, Iâm not you,â you say, while your voice is soft, thereâs an edge in it that tells him itâs final. âAnd I actually like to get to know people. I like to take my time when it comes to this shit, alright?â
âTo feel things out?â
His words catch you by surprise, and youâre sure it shows on your face. âYeah.â
Langdon nods after a moment. âI guess weâll agree to disagree.â
You snort. âNothing we arenât used to.â
He huffs a soft laugh and takes another bite of his slice. Youâve disagreed plenty of times before. More than you probably should have (sometimes the two of you just liked to argue for the sake of it, but that wasnât a crime). But this one lands differently. Something feels off. Thereâs this unusual, unfamiliar tension that you canât shake but want nothing more than to get rid of. You can tell he feels the same.
âWhen are you seeing him again?â he asks, his previous line of questioning back on course.
You refrain from rolling your eyes. âNext Saturday, when Iâm off. Weâre getting brunch.â
âOh, man,â he chuckles. âHe likes you.â
âWhat?â you whine. âWeâre getting brunch. Weâre not ring shopping.â
âNo guy is going to brunch with someone heâs casual about. Drinks are casual. Maybe even dinner. You get brunch with someone you like.â
âOr,â you say, shifting uncomfortably, âyou get brunch because youâre dating a doctor and her schedule is horrendous.â Langdon simply shakes his head with a chuckle. âYou told me you havenât been on a date in years. How would you even know that?â
âBecause I do,â he states, and it is exactly thatâ a statement.
(What he wants to say is that the reason he knows is because he canât imagine anyone not liking you, but with your history, he also knows it may come off as a little hypocritical or unreliable. So, he bites his tongue and keeps it short instead.)
âWell, if you know this so well,â you say, âmaybe you should start finding girls you want to take to brunch.â
The sound that comes out of him is something between a sigh and a groan. âI told you, Iâm notââ
âI meant when youâre ready,â you cut him off, putting your hands up in surrender. âI donât think itâd be a bad idea for you to get back out there.â
Itâs then that he looks at you. Like, really looks at you, with that intensity you know so well. âYou think so?â
âI mean, why not?â you ask. âYouâve been officially divorced for like, three months, right? Separated for longer? Youâve had your mourning period. And youâd be a hot commodity. Itâs okay to have some fun if you want it.â
Nothing. He says nothing to that. He just continues to stare at you. And then, when you think you canât take it anymore, he turns away. âYeah,â he says. âMaybe.â
The awkward turn this conversation had taken was something that you werenât anticipating. Why was he so weird about this? If he didnât want to date, that was fine. This was you attempting to offer him some encouragement. You couldnât care less if he started seeing people. That was up to him. You were just trying to be a good friend.
Because thatâs what you two were, right? You were friends now, or whatever your version of that was. You talked like friends, acted like them, and now you were hanging out outside of work. That was the definition of friends.
You swallow the bite of pizza youâve been chewing and, because you canât think of anything else to say to break this sudden tension, you glance at your paused TV and ask, âWant to watch some girls fight about some really awful men?â
Langdon looks up from his plate, hesitancy written across his face. âIâm really not into that stuff.â
Youâre barely listening to him as you move to the sofa to grab the remote. âThatâs what they all say.â
SEPTEMBER 26TH, 2026. (9:45 PM)
âSo,â he says, pointing at the women who are currently on-screen, âjust to clarify. She was her friend. And she slept with her boyfriend of nine years.â
âCorrect,â you reply.
âAnd she and the boyfriend lied about it for seven months because they thought they werenât going to get caught?â He glances over at you, and you nod in confirmation. âAnd theyâre still lying about it, despite the fact that they have cameras on them at all times?â
You motion to the boyfriend whoâs now talking. âLook at him. Look at that stupid fucking outfit and his god-awful moustache. Do you think heâs capable of understanding long-term consequences?â
Langdon laughs. âThatâs actually kind of insane,â he says. âAre these shows always like this?â
âWhen theyâre good, yeah. I love drama that doesnât involve me. Sue me.â
âWell, I would have joined the cohort Bachelor night if Iâd known they were like this.â He says it as if heâs joking, but you know thereâs a part of him that means it.
You snort. âWell, you were always slow to learn what was right.â Before he can refute that, you point at him. âAlso, I wouldnât have let you join. That was for the girls. It was my safe space away from your bullshit.â
âInclusivity means nothing to you,â he scoffs, chuckling as you reach over to kick his arm with your foot. He nods up toward the TV. âAnd okay, the two of them were married?â
âYeah. But they were never, like⊠on the same page about shit,â you say. âIt almost seemed like they werenât sure about getting married when they did it. It was kind of weird.â
A huff of a laugh escapes his lips. âItâs like that sometimes. Happens more than youâd think.â
âDoes it?â you ask. When you donât get an answer, you shrug. âI donât know. Maybe Iâm dramatic or overly romantic, but I just canât imagine agreeing to marry someone I wasnât sure I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.â
You see him nod slowly out of the corner of your eye. After a beat, he responds, âI did.â
That has you looking at him. âWhat?â
He tries to play it off, similar to how he acted when he was talking about his separation. He doesnât fake the whole casual thing very well. âAbby and I⊠we were in a rough spot before she got pregnant. Neither of us did anything or whatever. But we were growing apart. I think we started to realize that while we loved each other, maybe we werenât completely⊠compatible.â He meets your confused stare thatâs burning a hole in the side of his face. âShe wanted kids and wanted to get married earlier than I was ready for. I wanted that later, when I was deeper into the whole residency thing. I didnât know if I could be a doctor, a husband, and a father, at that age, at the same time.âÂ
You do know. You might know it a little too well.
âThatâs a normal thing to want,â you tell him instead. âOn both of your ends.â
âI know,â he says. âThen, right before we graduated from med school, she told me she was pregnant. And while it didnât⊠yâknow, go with my plan, I was still excited about it. We both were.â He sighs, wiping a hand down his face. The action makes you wonder how many people heâs actually talked to about this. âSo, we got engaged, we moved in together, just the two of us, and it was great for a while. I had come to terms with the fact that I was going to be that doctor-husband-father trifecta. But then, we started fighting again. And I started thinking about the future, and I had this moment where it was like, âthe only thing the two of us have in common is this kid. And if thatâs all we have, thatâs not what I want.ââ
You werenât expecting this level of vulnerability from him. Despite his obvious discomfort, itâs clear heâs wanted to get this off his chest. Itâs nice that he trusts you enough with it.Â
But still, you canât believe some of the stuff heâs saying. âThere obviously had to be some love still there,â you reply, hoping to make him feel at least a little better. âYou still married her. You stayed with her.â
âWe got married because it felt like the right thing to do.â He says it like itâs a fact. âWe stayed together and had another kid because it felt like the right thing to do. And, yeah, I loved her, and I donât regret it at all, because we raised two incredible fucking kids. We did that together. But I also think⊠I think she deserves better than the person she got. Who I was during our marriage, I mean.â You watch as his face morphs into something like shame. âShe deserved better than to be married to an addict.â
You feel your chest tighten slightly. âLangdonâŠâ
âI mean that,â he says, looking you directly in the eye. You can tell he does. âAnd, yeah, I love her. I still do. And I like to think that Iâve changed. That Iâm better, and Iâm still trying to do right by her. But IâŠâ He sighs, and it almost sounds like itâs being forced out of his chest. âI love her as if sheâs family. Because she is. I love her because sheâs my childrenâs mother. I donât think I⊠I donât love her the way IâŠâ
â...The way you should love your wife?â you finish, because he doesnât seem to have the words to.Â
Langdon throws his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. âGod, Iâm such an asshole.â His voice comes out muffled against his hands as he says, âIâve never said any of that out loud. I must sound fucking awful.â
He doesnât sound great, you agree, but he sounds honest. He sounds fair. HeâŠÂ
âYou sound like a guy whoâs divorcing his wife,â you state, unsure of what reaction thatâs going to elicit. He just looks at you between his fingers. âYou sound like a guy in a relationship where nobody⊠fucked up beyond repair, or whatever, but you just grew apart. Iâm sure you both could point fingers, her more than youââ You shrug when he shoots you a look. ââbut growing apart from someone doesnât make either of you an asshole. You both were trying to do your best and do what you thought was best for your kids.â
He takes a moment to sit with this. You can see him absorb it. Then, âAnd you sound like youâre speaking from experience.â
A long, heavy sigh escapes your lips. Reflexively, you find yourself glancing down at your left ring finger, and you bring your knees to your chest as you think on this.Â
âMaybe a little,â you say after a beat. âJamie and I were not⊠compatible, as you said.â You shrug, tension growing in your shoulders. âI didnât realize it until, like, months after I left him, but yeah. Looking back now, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I know we wouldnât have made it. Even ifââ You stop yourself, throat clenching and catching your words. âEven if certain things had been different.â
He wants to ask. You can tell that he does. You pray that he doesnât. You donât think youâll ever be ready to talk about that.
Luckily, Langdon seems to get the hint. But not enough of a hint to refrain from saying, âIf it makes you feel any better, I knew you two werenât going to last.â
A surprised laugh erupts from your mouth. âHow the hell is that supposed to make me feel better?â
âBecause he was a dick,â he replies, a small smile pulling at his lips as he watches you.Â
âYou met him twice,â you argue, eyes narrowing. âWe ended things four months into my first year of school.â
âYeah, and both times I met him, he was a dick.â The insistence in his voice makes you laugh again. âIâm serious. Even back then, I knew you deserved better than that. He was miserable. It didnât even seem like he liked you.â
Your smile dips at that, and while you hope he doesnât notice, you know he does. âIâm not sure he did at that point,â you admit, then shake your head. âIt doesnât matter. Thatâs all in the past. What Iâm trying to say is, there were reasons that we grew apart. We both played a part in it. And most of the time, thatâs what causes people to end things. I donât want to say itâs normal, but itâs⊠in that instance, it is. Normal. People outgrow each other.â
He casts his eyes up at the ceiling with a heavy breath. âI guess they do.â
Itâs quiet then. The sound of your favorite reality show characters arguing fills the now-empty space, and for whatever reason, it all compels you to say, âFor what itâs worth?â He turns his head to look at you. âI like to think that youâve changed, too.â
You watch his face as your words hit himâ how it changes into something foreign. Something unreadable. Itâs as if heâs trying to figure you out, but thereâs something more behind it. You want to tell him to join the club.Â
As you try to decipher it, he swallows, never breaking eye contact. âYeah?â he asks. âYou mean that?â
âI do,â you say. âAnd I think itâs all for the better.â
Once again, all you can hear is the sound of the girls on TV fighting about whoâs in the wrong. However, this time around, thereâs a new tension in the air. Itâs something unspoken, but itâs something tangible. You wonder if he can feel it too.
As he continues to look at you like that, you think he might just be able to. It makes you chuckle uneasily and scrunch your brow. âWhat?â
Langdon shakes his head. âNothing,â he says.
You kick him with your foot again. âThat lookâs not nothing. What?â
He presses his lips together, hesitating just a moment longer than he probably should. âIâm just⊠really glad you came back into my life,â he tells you. Your stomach flips, not expecting anything like that to come out of his mouth. But heâs not done. âI canât believe I wasted so much time not knowing you like this.â
The words hit you like a freight train. They almost have you immobilized. Because you canât think of anything else to say, you manage to say, âOnly took you eight years to realize it.â
He turns back to face the TV, pieces of his hair falling into his eyes. âWell, you said it yourself,â he says quietly. âIâm slow to learn whatâs right.â
And, regretfully, as your cheeks blaze and your chest starts to tighten in that way thatâs become so common around him, you come to an absolutely horrid realization.Â
You can no longer pretend that you donât know what this tension between you two is.
You know exactly what it is.Â
And fuck, it is awful.Â
OCTOBER 3RD, 2026. (2:08 PM)
You get a call from Dana halfway through your date, and itâs unbelievably well-timed. So well-timed, in fact, that your Finance Bro date is convinced that itâs a staged excuse to leave.
No matter how many times you try to look apologetic while youâre on the phone or how many times you explain to him that sometimes, on extremely busy days at the hospital, this happens, he genuinely doesnât believe you. You take that to mean that heâs on the same page as you about how well this dateâs going.
It wasnât that it was bad. It really wasnât. That spark had just⊠died out. Whatever bit of interest that you had in him had faded the more that he only spoke to you about⊠well, anything. About his job that you didnât care about. About his ever-important life and his family that summered in The Hamptons. About his interests, what he was reading, the golf he played, and the places heâd traveled. Or, maybe it was how he notably neglected to ask questions about you and yours.Â
The mask had been ripped off, and the shiny newness of it all had dimmed. Youâre not completely sure how or why it happened so quickly. You suppose that sometimes it just happened that way.
You arrive at PTMC with the go-bag you keep in your car on your shoulder, filled with a pair of backup scrubs and other miscellaneous items. Youâre still in the clothes youâd worn on the date. It wasnât anything fancy or out of your wheelhouse, but the eyebrows you raise give you pause. The majority of these people had only seen you in scrubs or sweats with zero to no makeup on. The rare occasions that youâd go out together were the only exception. The first time youâd forced Mohan to go out for drinks with you, youâd told her that seeing her out of them was like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs. Maybe this was the same.
Dana lets out a low whistle. âLook at you, all dressed up with nowhere to go,â she says. Thereâs an air of approval in her voice. âWhere are you coming from?â
You heave a heavy sigh as you plop your bag on the counter. âA date,â you reply shortly, and you feel Collinsâ gaze immediately on you. You point at the two of them as both of their eyes light up. âDonât get excited. He sucks.â
âThey all do,â Collins says, your fellow attending now looking slightly apologetic. âIâm ready to give up.â
You pump a fist at her. âRight on.â
Dana deflates in front of you. âIâll pretend like that doesnât completely bum me out. But, I guess it was good timing. I was feeling bad that Iâd called you.â
âNo, Iâm glad you did. He thought you were bailing me out, actually. Didnât stop bitching about it until I paid for brunch.â Collins blinks at you in surprise, and Danaâs jaw drops. You sigh once more. âYeah. So donât feel bad.â
With the shake of her head, she says, âWhere the hell are you finding these guys?â
âHell,â you say. âHinge. Pittsburgh. Itâs all the same thing.â
âShit-talking the city is never a good way to start a shift,â you hear a voice say as they approach to hand a chart to Dana. By the time you look at him, Langdonâs already given you a once-over, but something in his expression falters as he meets your eyes.
Danaâs already scolding him before he can say anything. âRisky Business over here was on a date, idiot. I wouldnât have called her in if Iâd known that,â she tells him, motioning to you. âYou told me sheâd be free tonight.â
You glance away from him to look at Dana in confusion. âWhat?â you ask, then motion to the doctor beside you. âHe told you I was free?â
Langdon goes rigid. âOh, fuck,â he mutters. âThat was today?â
Itâs said in such a way that you almost believe that he forgot. That it was so incredibly busy that it had completely slipped his mind, and heâd thrown out your name when it was decided that reinforcements should be called in.Â
But thereâs something in your gut that tells you that thatâs not quite the case.
You see Dana and Collins exchange a knowing sort of glance before looking back at Langdon. They seem to be riding the same wave as you.Â
Instead of saying anything to him, Dana huffs a soft, disbelieving laugh and then turns to you. âIâd scrub up. We need you out here.â
âHeard,â you say slowly. A strange mixture of annoyance and confusion graces your expression, and you shoot a look at Langdon before walking away.
Had he purposely sabotaged your date? Sure, it had been going poorly, but there was no way he could have known that. Even if it had been the perfect third date, he knew you well enough to know that there was no way you wouldnât come in if asked. He knew. He fucking knew exactly where youâd be andâ
God, this was so like him. Here you were, thinking there was some sort of blossoming friendship between you. You were even foolish enough to think that there was a moment (more than one fucking moment, actually!) between you two back at your apartment. That he might actually like you, not just respect you.
But no. There would never be. Even after everything youâd been through over these last couple of monthsâ even after everything youâd done for him. Because at his core, he was an asshole, and thatâs what assholes did. He was still trying to ruin every potentially good thing in your life just to play some little mind game for his own entertainment and benefit.
You hear his footsteps trying to catch up with you as you make your way to the on-call rooms. âHey, hey, slow down,â he says, falling into step with you. âIâm sorry, okay? I didnât remember that that was today.â
âYeah, you did,â you snap. âBecause the last time I checked, you donât forget things. So donât pull that shit.â
His head rolls in aggravation, but you canât tell if itâs because he feels caught or if itâs because he feels bad. âI forgot this time. Weâre slammed here, and you were on my mind andââ
âI was on your mind?â you repeat in disbelief, go-bag slamming against your side as you whip around to look at him. âWhat the fuck does that mean? What, were you thinking about me on this date that you and I both know I was on, and you thought, âhmm. What perfect timing. Letâs ruin this thing like Iâve ruined everything else in her life.ââ
He has the audacity to shake his head. âYou know, you missed your calling as a drama major,â he scoffs. âYouâd be killing it in a local production of Waiting For Godot.â
Your hands clench into fists at your sides. Your voice is laced with a quiet sort of fury, making sure not to attract any attention as you say, âFirst of all, there are no women in Waiting For Godot, so thatâs another shitty reference, you fucking idiot. My God, man, crack a book every once in a while.â At that, he smiles in disbelief, like he canât believe thatâs what you chose to focus on. âSecond of all, Iâm not being dramatic. This is what you do! This is what youâve always done. You see me want something, and then all of a sudden, you decide that I canât have it.â
âDid you even want this?â he asks. The volume of his voice and rage in it now match yours. âYou just told Dana how awful it was. I got you out of there.â
You feel like pulling your hair out. âThatâs not the pointââ
âThen what is? I donât get why this is such a big deal.â
âAnd I donât get why you care so much about the fact that Iâm dating!â Your voice goes up a level, and you shut your eyes to calm yourself down. When you reopen them, Langdon is staring at you intently. âWhat is it? Why do you care?â
His arms immediately cross over his chest. âI donât.â
âClearly,â you begin, motioning a hand in his direction, âyou do. I just want to know why.â
âI donât care if youâre dating,â he barks. The frustration in his voice is palpable. âWhy would I? Why would I concern myself with that aspect of your life?â
âI donât know, Langdon. Why would you?â You know youâre going back and forth in a continuous, torturous cycle, but youâre too upset and angry to care. âAre you pissed off that youâre scared to date and Iâm not? What, because weâre suddenly friends, you think you should get to vet everyone before I get with them?â
âVet everyoneâ what the hell are you talking about?â He throws a hand in your direction. âDo you actually think Iâd want a say in that?â
âYou wanted one tonight,â you say with a shrug. âAnd you got it. It worked. Congratulations. Iâm here and not with the guy who wanted to take me home.â
Langdon tilts his head in a way that makes it look like heâs going to grimace, but finds the willpower to refrain from doing so. âAnd Iâm sure that youâre missing that discussion about how Atomic Habits changed him as a person after the most boring three minutes of your life.â
âOh, my God.â Your eyes narrow, and a small, disbelieving laugh bubbles in your stomach. âYouâre actually mad about this. This is crazy. What is your deal?â
âIâm notââ He puts his face in his hands as if heâll be able to disappear from this conversation if he canât see you. âI donât have a deal. Iâm not madââ
âOh, you are. Youâre so fucking pissed right now,â you laugh, crossing your arms over your chest. âI havenât seen you this pissed since I diagnosed Doctor Clarkeâs impossible patient before you.â Your smile only gets wider as he shifts. âDance, monkey, dance. Letâs see how far we can go.â
He rolls his eyes, turning on his heel to leave the room. âYouâre fucking ridiculous. Iâm not doing this with you right now. Iâm gonna go do our job, okay? Go save someââ
âIs it because he was hot? Is that what made you mad?â Youâve taken on a rather patronizing tone that you know is a little much, but you donât care enough to stop. âBecause he had money? Because he comes from a nice family? Because you donât think I deserve that?â
Thatâs what gets him to stop in his tracks and abandon his exit strategy. His brow furrows deeply, and he looks at you in disbelief. âWhat?â
His reaction has you shrugging again, though you pull your arms closer to your chest. âItâs just like med school. You donât think I deserve it. You never thought I worked hard enough, so you made sure I never got the things I wanted. You went out of your way to work harder to make that happen andââÂ
âIs that what you think this is?â he asks incredulously. Langdonâs looking at you like he just made some sort of game-changing discovery. âIs that seriously what youâve thought since school?â
With a soft scoff, you reply, âYou never gave me a reason to think otherwise.â
The intensity of his gaze continues to strike you. Youâre not sure how much longer you can take it. But he wonât look away. Not until he shakes his head with a tired, soft chuckle and says, âOh, Flight Risk. Youâve got it all wrong.â
Your lips part in confusion. What does he mean? You had it all wrong? Youâd despised each other for years. Competed for years. Were youâ how could you have been wrong? This had been a requited hatred, something that you assumed would stretch generations. Centuries. An old, deep-seated grudge would be seeded and solidified between your family and the Langdons. Thatâs how it was supposed to be. He wasnât supposed to throw this curveball.
What was he saying? And more importantly, how long had you apparently been wrong?Â
You uneasily resign yourself from the argument, eyes on him cautiously. âWhat does that mean?â
Langdon pinches his nose, throwing a hand up in exasperation. âWhat do you think it means? Youâre the smartest person I know. Figure it out.â
You donât believe him. Thereâs no way you could be wrong. He constantly ruined things for you. Nothing was ever easy with him. Heâd made sure of that, thanks to his constant, exhausting competitive nature and his unwavering will to make you work harder than ever before. There was no other way to interpret that.Â
But he was saying there was. That youâd read it wrong. How could you haveâŠ?
Had he had different intentions? Had he thought that it was different between you? No. You may have been friends now, but back then, he hated you as much as you hated him. He wouldnât have done half the shit he did to you if he didnât. Half the shit you did to him had to have made him hate you.
Right?
That rivalry between you two was not one-sided. But maybe it was for different reasons.
Everything between you was a competition, one that made both of you want to beat the other. To think smarter, to work harder-- to be better. And it worked. Perhaps the lengths youâd gone to werenât necessary, but at the end of the day, it had made you better doctors.Â
Better.
Was that what it was?
âYouâre not mad because you think I donât deserve him,â you say slowly, like youâre still piecing this together. âYouâre mad because you want me to do better.â
A noise that sounds a bit like a laugh escapes him. âYes. Very astute. Validating that Academic Achievement award each day,â he mutters, repeating the jab youâd sent his way last weekend.
You want to unpack more of his previous statement. But thereâs more to this. Something other than your Med School relationship. Itâs more pressing than any of that, and it continues to linger in your mind.
Disregarding his joke completely, you say, âBut you were mad because I was on a date.â Youâre not sure what waters youâre testing here, but theyâre uncharted. âWerenât you?â
You see him swallow. But he says nothing. Itâs all you need.
âYou told Dana to call me in because you were pissed knowing that I was out with someone,â you continue. Itâs like itâs all coming out at once. All of these realizations are coming to fruition, and you physically canât help yourself from verbalizing them. âWhat was it? Was it just the thought of me and him thatâs got you like this? Was it because you were thinking about what we were doing? If I was having fun with him?â
Your voice is smooth. Lethal. Somehow soft. Langdon squirms before you, rolling his eyes in an attempt to look unaffected and annoyed. The power of it almost satisfies you. âI canât believe weâre having this conversation right now, Iââ
âOr,â you say, eyes narrowing as you read his body language and piece everything together. A small, disbelieving smirk tugs at your lips. âWas it because you were thinking about me getting all dressed up for someone who isnât you, and you couldnât fucking stand it?â
Langdonâs entire state of being changes right before your eyes. In fact, the temperature in the room shifts the second those words leave your lips. His mouth snaps shut, his brows draw back, and he takes a full step away from you. But his eyes give him away. They always do.
Theyâre calculating, if not slightly panicked, like heâd just been found out and was looking for an escape route. But there was none. Not when you were looking at him like that, with that stupid fucking smirk on your face that slowly disappeared as you realized he had no retort to that comment.Â
Did heâ? Was heâ? Were youâ? Had you been right?
Heâd told you himself that you were good at noticing things. It was a requirement of your chosen career. You figured that what you said probably had some sort of truth to it, but you werenât expecting this type of reaction. You werenât expecting him to completely shut down in front of you, floundering for words that couldnât seem to reach him.Â
Fuck. You were right, werenât you? He was jealous. He didnât sabotage your date because of your stupid fucking grudge. He was jealous.
Youâre not sure which one is worse.
You blink at him, your voice smaller now. âLangdon?â
Itâs then that heâs saved by the bellâ literally. By some cosmic fucking timing, heâs paged by Mel, whoâs asking him to come to Trauma Two for a heart attack, and seconds later you get a call from Dana whoâs sending you to North Seven for a broken fibula. You both glance at your phones to hang up, then back up at each other, looking more freaked out than either of you has ever seen each other.
You point at the door without looking away from him. âYou shouldââÂ
âYeah,â he agrees, way too quickly to be normal. He breaks his gaze to motion at your go-bag on the cot. âYou shouldââ
âYeah,â you repeat. âIâll, uhââ Unsure what to do with your hands, you turn to dig through your bag for your scrubs. âWeâll⊠uh, talk about this⊠later.â
Langdonâs already out the door when you hear him say, âHopefully not.â
âOkay,â you say curtly. âIâm good with that, too.â
The door slams and you have to take a seat on the cot to collect yourself.
Thereâs barely any time for you to change and scrub your makeup off your face before Danaâs paging you again.Â
You fly out of the on-call room, mind elsewhere.
OCTOBER 3RD, 2026. (6:58 PM)
You donât see him again until the end of your shift, and it's not your finest hour.
On your last case of the day, youâd been tasked with casting a simple broken bone-- something that Robby had offered to you as a relaxed, parting gift and a thank you for coming in. It was a drunk, nineteen-year-old boy whoâd been day drinking at his frat and had made the brilliant decision to jump off a deck and onto a folding table in the hopes of breaking it cleanly. Heâd succeeded in breaking both the table and his wrist.
You should have seen it coming. He wasnât all there. Not totally in control of his reflexes, unsure of what exactly was going on. The team had been working on getting his blood alcohol levels down, but there was still something off.Â
In the middle of your typical conversation, talking points, and assessment questions, youâd tweaked his arm the wrong way when trying to get it into a sling. It had been an accident. But itâd hurt him.Â
And the pain had surprised him so much that heâd pushed you off of him with his free hand, sending you flying back into the monitor so hard that it knocked the wind out of you and sliced your forehead open.
Whitaker, whoâd been accompanying you, immediately sprang into action, holding back the boy as he started yelling profanities at you. It had gotten so loud that itâd attracted the attention of the entire ED, specifically Robby and Donnie, who just so happened to be walking by.Â
The situation had been diffused with ease and grace (as was par for the course with Robby), and by the time heâd turned to you to make sure that you were okay, Langdon was already in the room.
âYou alright?â Robby asks after Whitaker had given him a recap of what had happened.
âYeah,â you say, removing your fingers from your head. The blood that had dripped down them was sticky and wet, and you grimaced at the look of it. âIâm fine.â
âNo, youâre not,â Langdon says, as if itâs a fact. âYou need stitches.â
You glare at him, looking at Robby to see if he concurs. He takes a step forward and examines your head with a squint. âI donât know if itâs a stitches-level cut, but you know what we say here.â
When he removes his hand from your face, you sigh. âWe donât fuck with head shit.â
Robbyâs eyes crinkle as his lips stretch into a soft smile. âNot exactly. But youâve got the spirit,â he says. He turns to Langdon. âEvaluate her and then start an incident report. And then you,â he says, whipping back to point at you, âare going to clock out and take tomorrow off. You sit on your ass and do nothing all day. You hear me?â
Your frown deepens, and your stomach sinks at the idea of Langdon now being responsible for patching you up. But you push all of that down and nod. âI hear you.â
The monotone, desolate sound of your voice makes Robby chuckle. âAlright. Good work today, kid. Be careful with that arm next time.â
Itâs when Robby starts to talk to the frat boy that you look over at Langdon. His eyes flash with a slight panic before he takes a breath and nods at you, motioning for you to follow him. You look at Whitaker and Donnie, who have successfully subdued the kid, then shut your eyes. Reluctantly, you do as youâre told.
As Langdon searches for an empty room, you canât help but mutter, âIâm fine. Robby said I donât need stitches.â
âAnd he told me to evaluate you,â he shoots right back, opening the curtain for you for room eight when he realizes itâs free. âI donât deviate from orders.â
That gets an actual, true laugh from you. The motion of it pulls at the cut, and you wince. âThat might be the funniest thing youâve ever said.â
He pulls the curtain shut as you sit down on the bed, shifting uncomfortably. The tension in the room is thick. Itâs palpable and genuinely painful, and you purposely avoid his gaze each time he makes a move.Â
You donât know what to say to do. How were you supposed to pick up from where you left off? How could you? There was no casual way to talk about it, and judging by the way you could feel his eyes on you every time you so much as flinched, you figured he was on the verge of bolting too. Some pair you two were.
With gloves now on his hands, Langdon turns to you to examine the cut. You pretend you donât notice the way he hesitates before he goes to grab your face, his touch just a bit too gentle to be professional. You can feel the warmth of his fingers through the gloves as they cup your chin. You cast your eyes to the ceiling as he tilts your head.
âYou alright?â he asks quietly, finally breaking the silence. It almost startles you. You look at him for the first time since entering the room, only to find that heâs staring at your cut.Â
âYeah,â you rasp, clearing your throat soon after. âIâm fine. I should have been expecting it.â
Frowning, he asks, âExpecting him to deck you?â
Your scowl matches his now. âHe was still drunk. Erratic. Heâs a nineteen-year-old frat boy at Pitt. I should have expected the way he was going to react to pain.ââ
âThatâs not on you,â he mutters, moving to grab an antiseptic wipe.Â
You sigh, trying your best at a shrug. âIt doesnât matter if it is or isnât. It happened. We signed up for this shit. Gotta take it in stride and be better next time.â
Langdon looks like he has about a million things to say to that when he turns to face you, but he presses his lips together like that will keep them in. Instead, after a moment, when heâs carefully wiping the cut, he asks, âDo you want me to beat him up?â
A surprised laugh escapes you, and the second your body moves, the antiseptic hits you the wrong way and starts to burn. Your smile stays on your face despite the way you wince. âIâm not allowing you to lose your medical license over Chad from Sig Chi.â
Finally, Langdonâs lips twitch upward. âWhy not? Iâd win. Break his other arm. Teach him not to touch my attending.â
Something stirs in your chest at that, but you push it deep down in the hopes of forgetting about it. âI think Whitakerâs got that covered,â you say with a chuckle. âHe basically jumped on the guy after he did it. Started yelling at him and everything. I didnât think the sweet boy had it in him.â
âWell,â he says, reaching for the flashlight he kept in his pocket. You squint at the light as he flashes it at you, lifting one of your eyes to make sure everythingâs in check. âRemind me to thank him for that.â
When the light turns off, you blink rapidly, attempting to readjust to look at him. This time, itâs harder to push that feeling down. Still, you manage to do so. âI already told him Iâd buy him a drink the next time we go out.â
You hadnât, but youâd meant to. Youâre not sure why youâd said that, other than the fact that it was something to say. To put some distance between you two. He wasnât responsible for thanking him; you were.Â
God, you hated this. This feeling of not knowing where you two stood. You liked to know every angle of every situation and problem before you made a move. Itâs the first thing that Klein had noted about you. Heâd said that it was what made you good at your job. You were thoughtful and calculated, but never too in your head to make a decision. You were three steps ahead.
Youâd blushed like a fucking schoolgirl and told him that you were just quick on your feet.Â
But now, here you were, drowning with cement blocks on those feet. You werenât good at this. The medical world you knew. You could pull off miracles simply by accessing that little Rolodex in your mind, pulling out the right card to make the right move. But this? There were no notes. You werenât told how to act, how exactly to be good at it. Nothing about this was natural.
And then there was the fear. Out there, you werenât scared of anything. Sure, you were careful and you were worried, and sometimes the worst of those worries came true. But you were rarely afraid. You couldnât afford to be.Â
You couldnât afford to be now, either. You couldnât make the wrong move. And in all honesty, you werenât sure what the right move was. Not afterâŠ
âWell, Robby was right. You donât need stitches,â Langdon suddenly says, snapping you out of your spiral. âAnd youâre not concussed, which is good. Weâre gonna give it a little glue and bandage it up, and youâre gonna have a nasty bruise for a little, but youâll be fine.â
You had figured all of this (you didnât think the cut was deep enough for stitches, and you hadnât felt the slightest bit dizzy), but a wave of relief washes over you anyway. âGood,â you say, moving to stand up. âI can patch myself up from here. Thanks forââ
âSit down, Hawkeye,â he mutters, putting his hand on your shoulder to gently push you back down. âIâll do it.â
You let out a sharp sigh. âLangdon, seriously, Iâmââ
âSit down,â he repeats. His voice has turned firm, and you know thereâs no use arguing. When you look up at him in surprise, his eyes soften. âJust⊠please. Let me do this for you.â
You hold his gaze for a moment longer than you probably should. Then, you nod.Â
He nods back, and he gets to it.
He works in silence, wordlessly gathering all the things he needs to fix you up. Itâs a quick process, one that takes under five minutes and one that you absolutely could have done yourself, but you donât say anything more about it. You just rotate from staring at the ceiling, then at the side of his face, and then to the floor.Â
A minute in, you ask, âIs this your way of apologizing for sabotaging my date?â
Youâre at the point of your rotation where youâre looking at him, and you see his eyes close momentarily. Youâre expecting a deflection, a rebuttal, some other contrarian point. But instead he says, âYeah. Something like that.â
He meets your eyes, reveling in the surprise in them for a moment, before returning his focus to your forehead. You press your lips together. âOkay,â you say lightly. Then, like youâre speaking to a skittish animal, you ask, âAre we gonna talk about that?â
Langdonâs fingers falter as he finishes gluing. He goes quiet on you. You donât think youâre going to get an answer until, âDepends on where your headâs at.â
You canât help the grin that spreads across your mouth. âMy headâs currently in your handsââ
âYou know what I mean,â he chuckles. Your chest warms as you see the subtle shade of pink his cheeks have tinged. âWhat do youâ If that all wereââ He clears his throat, like that will make the words come out easier. âHow does⊠that make you feel?â
âWhat?â you ask. âThe fact that you absolutely have a thing for me and your eyes completely glazed over in a jealous rage and youââ
âIâm trying to have a serious conversation with you,â he all but whines. When you give him a look, he relents. âBut⊠yeah. That.â
You take a moment to collect your thoughts. You want to say the right thing. You donât want to scare him off. But you also want to figure out how it actually makes you feel.
However, before you can do that, you need clarity on something. âYou said I had⊠whatever I thought about med school was all wrong. What does that mean?â
His throat bobs, and it takes a minute for him to swallow the visible lump. Truthfully, he never thought heâd ever be having this conversation with you. He wants toâ needs to phrase it the right way. Especially now.
âI⊠Back then,â he begins, unwrapping a Steri-Strip. âI never hated you.â
You stare at him. âYou sure had some way of showing that.â
âI didnât like you,â he says, watching as you purse your lips at the correction. âBut I didnât ever hate you.â
âOf course,â you agree, sarcasm laced within your words. âBecause thereâs a huge difference between those.â
âThere is,â he says. âI was justâ Listen.â He releases a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. âEveryone else in our class was good. They were competent. But I remember looking around during a lab and just knowing that I was better than anyone else there.â
Though it is, unfortunately, the truth, your lips part, trying to figure out where heâs going with this. âAnd so much more humble, too.â
He ignores you. âAnd I liked that. That was fine with me because I wanted to be the best. Then, you walked in, and you had this look on your face like you had something to prove. But right after, you sat down next to someone and immediately started talking to them. And I didnât get that. I wasnât raised like that. I didnât understand how you could want to prove something but also want to make friends with the first person you met. There was something about you that told me I should be keeping an eye on you.â The feeling of his fingers on your forehead suddenly starts to feel a little too warm. âSo, when you ran out of the room on the first day, I thought I was safe. But then, in the next class, the professor asked this question that nobody knew the answer to. And I remember everyone just staring at her in silence until your hand went up. And you just rattled off this insanely detailed answer that sounded like you were teaching the class instead of her.â
You remember this all too well, too. Heat rises to your face as you think of how insufferable you must have seemed. âWell, you said it yourself. I had something to prove.â
âThatâs when I knew I had to worry about you,â he says. âAnd that, I donât know. It made me excited. I donât know if thatâs selfish, but it was the first time I felt like I had competition. I wanted to see what you were trying to prove and how good you really were. I wanted to keep that going. So, I just started⊠intentionally trying to push you. I started calling you Flight Risk to piss you offââ
âOh, I rememberââ
ââand competing with you because I wanted to see what you could do. I know I could have probably been nicer about it, but like I said, Iâm not good at that. I wasnâtâ Iâm not⊠friendly like you.â He smooths a strip down, and his touch is gentler than before. âBut you were good. You were really fucking good and you started scoring higher than I did. On everything. And that snapped me into gear because it made me want to be better. But it seemed like the better I got, the better you wanted to be. And then⊠it just became fun,â he says, grinning, looking just a bit nostalgic. âDonât get me wrong, it was hell. I hated that I had done it to myself some days. But it made me better than I thought I could be. And seeing what you could do? I knew you hadnât had any type of competition before. And after a while, I started to want you to be better, too, because I knew you could be.â
Itâs just about what you assumed when he told you that you had everything wrong. In your head, knowing him, it was the only thing that could have made sense. But the whole admission still catches you by surprise.Â
There was something about being seen by someone. About someone intrinsically knowing things about you that no one else had caught on to as quickly. Because he wasnât wrong. You had walked into that class with something to prove. It was one of the best Med programs in the country, and you wanted everyone to know that you belonged there. You hadnât had competition in a while and had gotten bored with it all. Youâd never had someone rival you in that way before.
Heâd used the word exciting, and in a strange, treacherous way, it had been. It was exciting for you to have someone not just at your level, but someone who forced you to perform to an even higher standard. There was something about someone who demanded that you be better.
While you didnât agree with all of his tactics, and yes, he probably could have been nicer about it, it felt good to officially know that he had always seen you not just as a threat, but as an academic equal.Â
âSo, yeah. You had it wrong,â he continues, nearly finished working. âI never hated you. I hated that you gave me a run for my money, but never you.â With a deep breath, he then mutters, âAnd now, Iâm admitting that I like you and you still havenât said anything about how you feel about it, which is awesome.â
You have clarity with him for once. For better or for worse.Â
You like Langdon, too. Itâs something youâve known for a while but have tried desperately to ignore. After everything youâve been through, as your relationship has completely flipped on itselfâ itâs an idea that youâve resigned to. Itâs something thatâs been brewing for a long time, and now, itâs finally broken to the surface. It still makes you a bit uneasy, nervous even, but itâs also⊠exciting. For lack of a better word.
Itâs been a desperate search to try to identify the thing youâve been feeling since you first got coffee with him. Why your heart keeps stuttering when you look at him, why youâre excited to see him day after day, why you look forward to bantering with him, and why it never gets old.Â
You like him. You do.
Itâs a strange feelingâ something you havenât felt since you left Boston. And while that scares you, something about this one tells you that you donât have to be. No more running. No more fear.
No more Flight Risks.
âIâm okay with that,â you finally say. He stops what heâs doing the second the words leave your lips. âI mean, I donât agree at all with what you did and think it was shitty of you toââ
âYeah, I know, Iâm an asshole. Weâve known this for years.â He doesnât seem too focused on the second part of your statement, more occupied with the first. He crouches down to meet you at eye level. âBut⊠that first part. You mean that?â
You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling too hard. âWeirdly enough, I do.â As if that wonât get your point across, you meet his equally excited gaze. âI like you, you asshole. About as much as you like me.â
You get one of those smiles in returnâ the one that completely transforms and lights up his face. âAbout as much?â he mutters, returning to finish bandaging you up.
âYeah,â you say. Youâre grinning just as stupidly as he is. âYouâre obviously way more into me than Iâm into you. Iâm not at the level where Iâd sabotage a date you went onââ
âMy God, Iâm never gonna hear the end of this, am I?â he groans. He smoothes the last strip down, fingers lingering for a moment longer than they should. Itâs a simple thing that makes your heart stutter. âAlright. Youâre all set.â
âThank you, Doctor Langdon. Incredible job.â You stand from the bench, and instinctively, you reach up to feel his handiwork. âSo, what now?â
He turns to you, taking his gloves off. âNow, you go home and do exactly what Robby told you to do. Nothing.â
The teasing note in his voice has you glaring at him. âYou know what I mean.â
âOh, you mean for you and me?â he asks, chuckling as your look sharpens. âNow you wait for that glue to dry, and we turn that Steelers game in two weeks into a date.â
Youâre marginally surprised by how fast he came up with that, and you find yourself narrowing your eyes. âWas that your plan all along?â
He shrugs, suddenly just a bit shy. âIt might have crossed my mind.â
âI was wondering why you hadnât let me pay you back yet,â you grumble.
âIâll take a page out of Finance-Broâs playbook and let you pay for brunch before the game.â
With a scandalized gasp and the beginnings of a protest on your tongue, you shove past him to leave the room, but find thatâs grabbed you before you can make your exit. Your heart races at the feeling of his hand on your hip and the way he grips you to turn you to face him. He nearly forgets what heâs going to say when you look up at him.Â
âIâm serious, though,â he gets out after a second. âI⊠I do, yâknow. I really like you. I want to do this right.â
His sincerity makes your heart swell. You put your hand over his and remove it from your side, choosing instead to interlock your fingers. He glances down at your hands, then back at you. âWe will.â Squeezing his hand, you say, âThanks for patching me up.â
He squeezes your hand in return, and God, he looks fucking giddy about it. âThanks for giving me a chance.â
You return to the floor moments later, Langdon following close behind, both of you desperately trying to keep the dopey-looking smiles off your faces. Youâre not sure if anyone notices, but thankfully, no one says anything.
They seem to be too focused on the injury youâve acquired.
The shifts are in the process of transitioning, and you lock eyes with Ellis the second you walk up to the nursesâ station. âWhat the hell happened to you?â
Santosâs head pops out of the hoodie sheâs putting on as she realizes youâre back. She whistles when she sees the bandage on your head. âNice battle scar, Jasper.â
Sighing, you take off your badge and place it on the counter. You wave Dana off as she moves to get a look at you. âIâm fine. Got too close to the frat boy in South Three.â
âLittle shit swung at her,â Dana mutters.
âHe hit you?â Ellis asks, incredulous.Â
You hold up a hand. âPushed me,â you correct. âDonât worry. Langdon already threatened to beat up the nineteen-year-old, guys. Heâs got it covered. Chivalry isnât dead.â
You hear him scoff, but the warmth in his voice doesnât miss you when he says, âYou're unbelievable.â
âBut Whitaker did jump him for me, so weâre all good,â you say, nodding at him as he approaches the station with his go-bag. He flushes when he realizes what youâre talking about. âHeld him down and everything. That was impressive, kid.â
He shakes his head with a small smile. âIt was nothing.â
âNot nothing. You saved me from the wrath of a boy whoâs listened to âNo Handsâ one too many times,â you say. Then, you address the room. âIâm fine. Thank you all for the concern.â You point at everyone in warning. âNobody actually beat up the frat boy, please. Iâm gonna go sleep this off. Iâll see you all later.â
You head off to your locker with a wave, exhaustion hitting you the second you realize youâre off the clock. You feel Langdonâs eyes on you as you walk away, but donât turn around. Thereâs no need for any of your coworkers to suspect that anythingâs changed between you two. Not yet.
(Theyâre well past suspicion. Theyâve noticed the change in your relationship since Langdon returned. Thereâs a secret pool going about when and how somethingâs going to happen. But itâs cute to see you two try.)
When youâre out of sight, he takes his stethoscope off his neck, wanting nothing more than to follow you out. Itâs then that he notices the way that Danaâs looking at him. âWhat?â
She glances down at the counter, then back up at him. âShe left her badge,â she says. âDo you want to run out and give it to her, or do you want me to hold on to it until Monday?â
Langdon reaches for it so fast that Dana thinks he might hurt himself. Still, heâs casual when he says, âI got it.â
Heâs already chasing you down when he hears Ellis mutter, âIâm sure you do.â
As the team laughs quietly, he doesnât turn around and tell the team to âfuck offâ like he wants to. Right now, heâs only got one thing on his mind, and itâs something he should have done months ago.
Youâre no longer at your locker by the time he gets there. He doesnât find you until youâre already at your car, just about to get inside.
He calls your nameâ your real one. Not your last name or your god-awful nickname. The sound of it makes you turn around in confusion.
It happens so quickly that you almost donât process it. One second, heâs jogging over toward you, the next, heâs in front of you, hands cupping your cheeks and head dipping down to press his lips to yours.
You freeze as you realize whatâs happening. Heâs kissing you. Frank Langdon is kissing you.
Itâs sweet. Chaste, even. His touch is feather-light yet strong, holding tight but allowing you to pull away if this isnât what you want. Thereâs no force to it, but still, you find your knees buckling, and you have to hold onto his arms to keep yourself upright.
Itâs short. Heâs completely stolen your breath from your lungs in mere seconds, and before you can even attempt to respond or deepen it in any way, heâs pulling away. You grip his arms tighter as you meet his gaze, your eyes wide and pupils completely blown out.
The smile that spreads across his lips warms you from the inside out. âYou forgot your badge,â he says softly. âAnd I think I forgot to do that.â
You let go of one of his arms to grab his shirt and pull him down toward you. âShut up,â you murmur, the words barely making it out before his lips are on yours once more.
You can feel his smile stretch as you take the lead. His hands return to your cheeks, tighter now that he knows youâre on the same page.Â
This oneâs more intense. Itâs much less sweet and way more intentional, and you allow your go-bag to fall from your shoulder to hit the ground. He crowds you, pushing you up against the door of your car. When your back hits it, you gasp, which allows him to slip his tongue in your mouth.
Youâre sure you two look ridiculous, like youâre two teenagers who are trying to get their last makeout in before curfew, but you donât care. You donât know if it took him actually kissing you to actually process and solidify your feelings for him, but Christ, something clicks.Â
Youâre not just interested in pursuing Langdon (Frankâ if youâre going to kiss him like this regularly, you should really start calling him Frank). Itâs not some sort of schoolgirl crush that youâre testing out by agreeing to go on a couple of dates with him. You like him. Like really, fucking like him.
His hands find their way under your shirt, skimming gently along your back in a way that makes you shiver. Heâs so close to you that you practically grind against him, and he rips himself away from you like he canât take it anymore. But he doesnât move, forehead still brushing yours.
You stare at him, chest heaving up and down, and lips slightly swollen. âYou should have led with that,â you say breathlessly, smiling as he chuckles to himself.
His hands are still on your hips, and his thumbs draw circles into them as he turns back to you with a smirk. âYeah?â he asks. âMy little confession back there didnât do it for you?â
âI loved hearing it,â you reply, tightening your grip on his shirt. âBut that got your point across better.â
Frank shakes his head with a smile, and heâs leaning in to kiss you again. This time, heâs all in.
Youâre back up against the door, both of you allowing the other to explore anywhere theyâd like. Normally, youâd have a little shame or a little decorum, but the craziness of this situation seems to hit you both at the same time. After years of knowing, hating, competing, working, helping, and then finally liking each other, you might have some lost time to make up for.Â
You know that someone could walk out and see you. Youâd be teased about it to the ends of the earth. But none of that matters.
This matters. He matters.
The second he groans into your mouth, you pull away to start kissing down his jaw. He has to physically stabilize himself by putting his arm on the roof of your car above your head. The other grips your hip harder.
âDonât start something you canât finish,â he says lowly, and you feel your stomach flutter.
âWho says I canât finish it?â you ask.
Youâre playing with fire and you know it. He grips your face and moves you to look directly into your eyes. âYou want toâ?â
âYeah,â you breathe, nodding into his hand. âDo you?â
He looks insulted that you even have to ask. âOf course I do,â he says. âBut, I-I had this plan. I wanted to like, impress you andââ
âYou impress me every day.â You say it like itâs a fact and he damn near melts into your arms. âAnd we can still do that if thatâs what you want.â You smooth out the wrinkles youâve put into his shirt. âBut, if you want to meet me at my apartment and start that plan tomorrow, Iâm also open to that.â
You raise to press a quick, reassuring peck to his lips, but Frank has other ideas. He makes a helpless sound, and he full-on kisses you. The second he feels you smiling into it, he starts making his way down your neck. âYou make meâ I canâtââÂ
Once again, it feels like he has to physically remove himself from you. He steps away, leaving you standing there, pupils blown out, lips swollen, and cheeks blazing. Then, he points at you. âYour apartment,â he manages. âIâll meet you there.â
For good measure, he catches your hand as he drops his, squeezing it once before pressing his lips to the back of it. Your heart swells.
âDrive safe,â you rasp, voice breaking on the last word as you watch him walk away.
You blink, taking a moment to gather yourself. Youâre barely processing it as you grab your go back, fighting the smile thatâs threatening to break out on your face.Â
No fucking way that just happened. No way.
OCTOBER 3RD, 2026. (8:23 PM)
Somehow, he manages to beat you back to your apartment.
Youâre surprised to find Langdon waiting for you, sitting on a bench outside your building. Heâs looking around, knee bouncing up and down in what you hope is anticipation and not anxiety or regret.Â
Itâs not until he locks eyes with you that you start feeling nervous yourself. But itâs a good kind of nervous, something akin to excitement. Itâs jittery, even. Like youâve consumed too much caffeine on an empty stomach.
(Adrenaline rush is the word youâre looking for, but youâre too in your head to realize it until later.)
He stands when he sees you, wiping his hands on his pants, then immediately stuffing them into his pockets. Instinct takes over as things start to go more real, and you say, âWhat, did you go ninety trying to get here?â
He throws his hands up. âIâve lived here longer than you. I know how to get around.â
âMmhmm,â you hum, passing him to unlock your buildingâs front door. âI hope you abided by all street signs.â
âOnly the important ones,â he says, catching the door as you open it, allowing you to enter.Â
You snort at that, launching into some sort of mindless small talk to get your mind off the fact that both of you know whatâs about to happen. Itâs something about work, about the frat boy who knocked you over, and about a function thatâs happening later on this month. But your mindâs on other things.
Jesus, you feel like youâre in high school. You shouldnât be this anxious. You canât remember the last time someone made you act this wayâ this distracted and antsy. Sure, youâd been excited about⊠others when youâd first started seeing them, but it was nothing like this. At least, you couldnât remember it being like this.
You know what you want to do. Youâre pretty sure heâs on the same page. But still, that anxious anticipation claws at the back of your mind.
When you make it to your door, youâre talking about something that occurred the last time you had a function with the team. Something about karaoke and the song Dana had forced you to sing with her.Â
By the time youâve unlocked it, itâs practically irrelevant. You reach in and turn the lights on before you enter.
âBy the way, do you want anything to drink?â you ask, pulling your keys out of the lock. âWater? I might have seltzer in the fridge? Iâd offer food, but I havenât been grocery shopping in like, two weeks andââ
When you turn around to look at him, youâre cut off by him bringing his lips to yours. The second the door closes, heâs cupping the space between your cheek and your neck and moving you gently against the wallâ though he kisses you with the same fervor as he had previously.
Or we could do this, you think. This works too.
Itâs somehow gentle but intense. His lips are soft, but his hands are rough. Sturdy. While heâs gripping your head, heâs careful not to touch the cut by your hairline. Heâs both holding back and refusing to give up. Itâs like he has something to prove to you, but youâre not entirely sure what. Itâs a jumbled-up mess of contradictions that leaves you confused, but honestly, itâs exactly what youâd expect from him.
His other hand runs up your arm, immediately sending goosebumps up your body. âIn case that prick didnât tell you,â he murmurs against you, âyou looked fucking gorgeous when you walked in today.â
Langdon kisses you once more despite the fact that youâre laughing. Your cheeks burn when you pull away from him, resting your forehead against his. âI donât remember if he did,â you admit. âWouldnât have mattered either way.â
You canât help but mirror the grin that takes over his face. âNo?â
âNo,â you repeat. You pull back, brushing some of the hair away from his eyes, before your hand falls to his jaw. âI knew he wasnât going to stick.â Before he can lean in to kiss you again, you put your other hand on his chest to stop him. âStill fucked up of you to sabotage my date, though.â
He rolls his eyes. âIâll find a way to make it up to you,â he mutters, dipping down once more to shut you up.
Your lips meet again, and this time, you know exactly what heâs trying to prove. Itâs all about keeping that promise. Itâs about proving to you that you made the right choiceâ youâre here with him instead of out with the other guy, and itâs for a perfectly good reason.
It was so like him to compete for something heâd already won.
A nip at your bottom lip has a soft gasp escaping the back of your throat, and you swear his grip tightens on you at the single noise. Heâs tense. You donât know if itâs because heâs unsure or if heâs holding back, but both give you pause. His hands drift lower, fingers running along the hem of your shirt. They skim your stomach, and it has you securing your hold on his neck.
âWe donât have to do this,â you say breathlessly, biting the inside of your cheek as he starts to make his way from your neck. âItâs fast. W-We just-- If this isnât something youâre ready for, Iââ
âNo,â he murmurs. âNo, I want this. Iâ Fuckââ The feeling of your hand running against the backside of his head distracts him and he tries to regain focus. âIâm good.â
While he seems certain, you still ask, âAre you sure?â
His response is to simply rise from your neck to your lips, kissing you with enough force that gives you all the confirmation you need. Your back hits the wall, harder this time, and he slips his tongue back inside your mouth. One of his hands travels to the spot where his lips were previously, the other working to take off the jacket youâre wearing. The grip on your neck is grounding, and you help him get rid of your jacket before forking a hand through his hair.
Frankâs nearly heaving when he breaks away, fingers moving to grab your chin. âIâve wanted this for months,â he states. The hand at your back snags the waistband of your pants, pulling you against him and positioning you so that one of his legs is slotted between yours. He kisses you on the jaw, pulling you forward so that youâre practically grinding onto his leg. âI want you.â Your eyes flutter as he returns to your neck. âI mean it. Never been more sure of anything in my life.â
Your body feels like itâs on fire. Adrenaline has flooded your bloodstream, and youâre hyper-aware of everything. Every sound heâs making, every gasp or whine youâve released. The feeling of his hands against your skin thatâs riddled with goosebumps. The taste of his lips. The wear and tear of the twelve-hour shift he just worked (and the one you joined in the middle of) doesnât show at all. Youâve never felt more energized, and youâve never seen him this alive.
You want to tell him that you want him, too. Youâre feeling everything you presume that heâs feelingâ excited, nervous, the feeling of being this⊠into someone. It still blows your mind that you can and you do feel this way about him. Itâs even crazier that he feels the same.
But you canât verbalize any of that. Not when the air has been sucked from your lungs and not as you practically dry hump his leg in the middle of your hallway. So, instead, you shift to brush your thigh against the length of him, savoring the way he shivers.Â
âWell, then, fucking do something about it,â you say, just a bit too mean and a bit too impatient.Â
He makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a snarl against your neck, and the heat of his breath has a chill running down your spine. âAlways with the fucking attitude,â he grits.
You fist his shirt so hard you think you might rip it. âYouâre the one saying you want me,â you mutter. âYou have me. We both know youâre not a gentleman.â You grind against him once more. âSo do something.â
Itâs like a switch flips. As if heâs been in the shadows waiting, and those were his trigger words. Frank shakes his head in that way he does when he canât believe you. You grin against his lips when he kisses you again, and even that seems to be too much for him right now. Thereâs a strange feeling of relief that washes over you when you realize heâs just as overcome by you as you are by him.
âTake off your clothes,â he says, inhaling sharply as he pulls away from you. Heâs already dropping his sweatshirt on the floor. âIâm not fucking kidding. Take them off right now.â
Despite the fact that heâd given the order, heâs the one pulling off your shirt. He stretches the collar when it passes your head, making sure not to brush your cut, and discards it on the floor. You help him out of his, already walking backwards toward your bedroom as he attaches himself to you again.
Heâs more exploratory now, hands everywhere he was hesitant to search before. It sets you completely alight, breath hitching the second he starts pulling at the waistband of your pants. Youâre standing at the foot of your bed before you do it, legs hitting your mattress. You grab his shoulders to stabilize yourself.
When he realizes where you are, he puts an arm around your back, slowly reclining you back to lay you down. Itâs a soft landing. He hovers over you with one leg still stationed between yours. He breaks from the kiss, and his mouth trails down your chest, dipping to the fabric of your bra. You arch into him when he presses a searing kiss just above your breasts.
Going further down your stomach, he speaks against your skin when he says, âYou drive me fucking crazy.âÂ
You perch one of your legs up, thigh brushing his side. His fingers toy with the top of your pants, and you shift into him. âWhat else is new?â
Frank glances up at you, meeting your gaze. Itâs a silent question thatâs asking for your permission. You nod at him immediately, heart whirling as a small smile tugs at his lips. âNo,â he says, latching his fingers around your waistband. He pulls the tie, letting the strings fall. âYou donât get it. I canâtââ He cuts himself off, shaking his head. He begins to bring your pants down your legs, sucking in a breath when he looks back up at you. You hear your pants hit the floor. âItâs so⊠easy with you. I donât have to think when Iâm with you, yâknow?â You tilt your head at him, unsure of where heâs going with this. âBut then, itâs likeâ you look at me like that and I canât think straight. I used to hate you for it.â He wets his lips, staring at you like he canât process the fact that heâs standing here. He bends down, leaning forward to be at your eye level. âI never know what to do with it. Itâs fucking debilitating.â
You suddenly feel completely exposed, and it has nothing to do with the fact that youâre nearly bare. Itâs as if he can see right through you. You shift further up onto your elbows, brushing your hand against the one he has on your hip. âThen donât think,â you tell him softly. âItâs just me.â
He stares at you for a moment longer, then shakes his head. âJust you. Right,â he says, almost to himself. When your brow creases, the corner of his lips twitch up. âYou really have no idea what you do to me, do you?â
He doesnât give you a chance to respond. Before you can even fathom a way to reply to that, heâs moving, crouching down at the foot of your bed to hook his fingers around the sides of your panties and slide them down. âJust you,â he repeats, almost scoffing. âLike I havenât thought about this every fucking night since I came back to work.â
You gasp, both at the admission and the sight of him on his knees in front of you. âYou have?â
âDonât act surprised.â Frank rises slightly to kiss the inside of your thigh. âI know youâve thought about it too.â
You huff despite the way your heart beats out of your chest and ignore his comment. âSo, I was right when I said that youâre way more into me than Iâm into you,â you tease.
With a disbelieving scoff, he looks up at you. âHard to believe that when youâre as wet as you are right now,â he mutters. He runs his fingers over your cunt, reveling in the airy sound that escapes your lips. âJesus. Would have gone down on you the second we walked in if Iâd known you were like this.â
The filthy words take you completely by surprise and have your nails digging into your sheets. You donât have a witty response for that one, especially not as he slips a finger inside of you. âS-shit.â
He works it slowly, testing. Seeing what you like and what youâll take. He thumbs lightly at your clit, gaze locked on you to see how you fare. You moan at the touch, but immediately want more than the slower pace heâs giving you. As if he can read your mind, he adds a second finger.
You curse, hips bucking into his hand. âYeah?â he asks. âThat what you want?â
âI wantââ Your own ragged sounding gasp interrupts your words as he curls his fingers. âFuck. F-FrankâŠâ
His eyes snap to yours. The sound of his first name falling from your lips has him gripping your hip harder, pinning you down onto the bed as he continues to work. âYou keep saying that, and Iâll give you anything you ask for.â Encouraged, he starts to move faster, grinning as you grip his bicep. âTell me, baby. Câmon. What do you want?â
Youâre finding it hard to speak. Your headâs spinning, your throatâs gone dry, and your chest feels heavier each time he pumps his fingers into you. Somehow, you manage, âYour mouth.â You squeeze him tighter. âFrank, p-please.â
His mouth is on you before you can even say the word please. You slap a hand over your mouth to contain the sound of surprise that erupts from you. He zeroes in on your clit, alternating between licking and sucking in a way that has you immediately grinding into his face. Your back arches as his fingers pick back up, and the moan you release comes out muffled against your hand.Â
Frank registers it after a beat. âNo,â he says, and the feeling of his breath on your cunt makes you squirm. âGet your fucking hand off your mouth. I want to hear you. Dear God, let me hear you.â
Youâre not thinking clearly enough to do anything other than what youâre told. Your eyes roll back into your head as his lips return to your clit, and you can feel yourself tightening around his fingers. You donât know how you're close already, but you are.
You feel him chuckle against you, and the vibration of it has you forking a hand through his hair. âSo fucking agreeable like this, huh?â he chides. âNot gonna be a pain in my ass if it means Iâll get you off.â He removes his fingers for a moment to slide his tongue deeper down. âWould have done this earlier if Iâd known this was all it took.â
You knew heâd be mouthy. The whole bickering and bantering shtick was kind of your thing. You didnât think that would change if you two ever got to this level. But this⊠was something else. It was a whole other side of him that youâd never thought youâd see.Â
Itâs exactly what you need from him, and it brings you ever closer to the edge.
When he slides his fingers back in, he adds a third. You let out a desperate noise, head lolling into your mattress. He operates like he does in the ED. Heâs calculated. Intense. Precise. Just a bit reckless, throwing a curveball here or there. But he also knows what heâs doing. Heâs confident about it, but is still willing to learn exactly what you like to adapt and get the job done.Â
One of those curveballs comes flying in as he pulls his mouth from your clit, lips wet and glistening against the low, soft light of your room. âFuck, Iâve wanted this for months,â he repeats his sentiment from earlier, shaking his head. His eyes are blown out. He looks crazed. Starved, even. âBeen waiting for you.â
He watches your face scrunch in pleasure as he curls his fingers, the hand on his bicep surging to his opposite wrist. âShit,â you whisper. âIâmâ Iâm close.â
âYeah, I know you are. I know youâre right there. Iâve got you.â But heâs not done. âBut, just so you know. I donât ever want you to give me the âitâs just meâ bullshit again,â he mutters, picking up the pace of how heâs pumping into you. He slides his hand from your hip to rub at your clit. âItâs you. Thatâs the fucking point. And I canât believe I actually have you.âÂ
You feel that tension in your stomach get even tighter, and the sounds that are coming out of you are downright pathetic. âFrank, IâO-Oh, myââ
âSo, youâre gonna come for me,â he begins, slightly out of breath. âAnd then Iâm going to keep trying to convince you that Iâm the type of guy who deserves you.â
Youâve just barely processed his words when his mouth returns to your cunt and he continues his work. You try to keep yourself steady for him, but fuck, you canât help it. You thrash around, bucking your hips into him as if youâre chasing your release.
âFuck,â you curse, and if he continues doing exactly what heâs doing, you know youâre done for. âIâm gonnaââ
âThatâs it, câmon,â he says against you. He knows. He can feel just how tight you are, and he sees the way your jaw drops open. âCome for me.â Your eyes screw shut. âFucking do it. Give it to me.â
The second he finishes speaking, youâre gone. You do as youâre told and you come.
He had described his feelings for you as debilitating. Youâre not sure you understood what he meant until now. Youâd described pain as debilitating before. Sadness, too. It always had some sort of negative connotation.Â
But this? This was all the right kinds of it.
You thrash around on the bed, crying out as it overtakes you. Frank holds you in place, chasing you down as you ride it out. It blazes through you like fire, and you can feel it spread all throughout you. Itâs something all-consuming and overwhelming, and it has you saying his name like a prayer. He groans into your core, and you swear you might come again.
But, before you can, Frank pulls away, gently laying you back down onto the bed. Heâs careful now, every movement contrasting the things he was doing or saying not even a second ago. His gaze locks on you, your eyes still shut, and your chest heaving. He canât help the feeling of satisfaction that races through him.
When you open your eyes and see the look on his face, you donât even think about your next move. You grab him by the neck and guide his lips to yours, kissing him with the same fervor that he gave to you. You can taste yourself on him, and something about it sends a chill down your spine. When he hums into your mouth, you can feel him smiling.
âIâll take it I did well?â he asks, because of course he does. The question comes out mumbled as he nips at your lip.Â
âDonât start acting humble now,â you mutter, finding yourself smiling as he chuckles softly. That chuckle morphs into a groan as you palm him through his pants, and he stops kissing you to hang his head in the space just above your shoulder. âThis okay?â you ask gently, watching the way he grits his teeth.
âYeah,â he grunts. âI justâ fuckââ Your fingers travel below his waistband, just barely brushing his cock. For a moment, you think heâs going to latch his teeth onto your collarbone, but he holds himself back. âItâs just b-been a while since Iâveââ
âBeen a while for me too,â you assure him, voice lower than a whisper. You can feel how hard he is against your hand, and all you want to do is help him out. âIâll go slow.â
He lets out an airy laugh, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. âThatâs the problem.â You stop your movements, looking at him in concern. âIf you do what I think you want to do, thisâll be over before we really start it.âÂ
Your brows shoot up, any hesitation in your expression vanishing as it gets replaced by a small smirk. âReally?â you tease. You run your thumb along the head of his cock and he hisses into your neck.
âDonât,â Frank warns. âI-Iâm serious. Iâm not gonna last.â
You nod, removing your hand from him and running it up his abdomen to grab his waistband. âOkay,â you say. âSo, what do you want?â
He shakes his head, still a bit dazed. âWhat?â
âYou asked me what I wanted. Itâs your turn to tell me what you want.â
His response is almost instant. âInside,â he says, like heâd been thinking about the answer before youâd even asked the question. His cheeks flare red, but he stands strong. âI want to be inside of you.â
The thought of it has your heart racing, and youâre sure that he can hear it. You nod at him, and the second he has permission, heâs moving to take his pants off. As he does so, you remove your bra, having completely forgotten that you had it on. It gets thrown to the floor with the rest of your clothes, and you move back on the mattress, giving him the space he needs to join you.
He acts fast, so fast that you barely get a chance to look at him before heâs kissing you again, pushing you into the pillows that sit on your bed. The feeling of his hand cupping your breast has you grinding against him. A low noise rumbles in his throat, and he uses his other hand to pin you to the bed.Â
âD-Do youââ he stammers as you move your lips down his neck. âDo you haveââ
âNightstand drawer,â you say, knowing exactly where his mind is.Â
He uses one hand to lift himself off of you and reaches into the drawer with the other. When he grabs the condom, he rips it open with his teeth, straddling himself over you as he takes it out. âAlways so fucking prepared,â he mutters. âAlways one step ahead of me.â
You laugh, not even thinking before you say, âWell, I had very different plans when I left the apartment this morning.â
Frankâs eyes snap up to meet yours, and you immediately know youâve made a mistake. You canât help the nervous sort of excitement that stirs in your stomach. âWith who? That guy?â
Your mouth parts, and you blink at him, desperately trying to come up with something to say. âIââ You shake your head. âI didnât know how it was going to go.â
He nods slowly, condom now on. When he leans over you, you can feel how hard he is against your stomach. You inhale sharply. âYou were going to sleep with him tonight?â
âI meanââ He tilts his head, and everything about it reads as a warning. You cut yourself off as his eyes narrow slightly. âI⊠I donât know. If it had gone well. Maybe.â
âMaybe,â he repeats. The glint in his eyes is dangerous, and you grip his wrist thatâs sitting beside you. âMaybe.â
Oops. You might be in trouble. Because you feel like playing with fire, you raise a brow. âWhat if I had?â you ask. âHow would that make you feel?â
He scoffs, and before you register what heâs doing, you feel him drag the head of his cock around the opening of your cunt. He leans forward, stabilizing himself on one arm thatâs placed next to your head. The contact and the heat of him make you inhale raggedly. Suddenly, his other hand is skimming your forehead.
âThe secondâ and I mean the second this thing is healed,â he begins, running his fingers just below the area of your cut, âIâm going to bend you over the fucking table and show you exactly how that makes me feel.â
You donât have time for a rebuttal. No time to tell him off, to tease him about being jealous, or even to laugh. Because suddenly, heâs moving that hand down to guide himself into you.Â
You both gasp, and you fork your fingers through his hair as he bottoms out practically the moment heâs in. He takes it slowâ painstakingly so. Thereâs a bit of a stretch, one that gets more comfortable as you adjust to the length of him. His head falls to your chest, groaning against your skin.Â
âBut for now,â he says shakily, trailing up your body with hot, open-mouthed kisses, âIâm gonna show you the reason youâre here with me and not with him.â
Your grip on his hair tightens the second he starts to move, and he grunts into the side of your neck. You curse, lips brushing his ear, the feeling of⊠everything sending you into a spiral. How his hips snap into yours. The way he cups a hand around your breast, testing each movement he makes to see exactly how you like to be touched. How he murmurs your name as if itâs something sacred.Â
You might just understand what he means about not being able to think straight when heâs around you. Because right now, you canât think about anything other than him.
He whispers an unintelligible word, then groans. âFuck. You feel incredible,â he says. âKnew you would. Never disappointed by you. Fucking ever.â
âShit,â you rasp. âI needâ ngh.â An involuntary moan breaks through to interrupt your barely audible words. âM-Move faster.â
Youâre surprised when he laughs. The sound is rough and breathy and almost cruel. He shakes his head as he continues his pace. âAfter you say shit like that? Y-You try to bait me and make me jealous, and you think you make the rules?â he asks. His fingers fall from your chest to trace down your side. âThatâs not how this works. Youâll take what I give you.â
Your back arches off the mattress, and you find yourself grinding against him to get some sort of new, harder friction. It catches him slightly off guard, and he grabs your hip to stabilize both himself and you. âFrank, p-please,â you damn near whimper. His eyes screw shut and his jaw clenches. âI-I need you. Please. Donâtâ shit. Donât be mean.â
With a deep and guttural groan, he starts to move faster. With the look on his face, youâre not sure if it was a voluntary choice or not, but regardless, he gives you what he wants.Â
Itâs a struggle to keep the self-satisfied smirk off your face, and when Frank opens his eyes to look at you, itâs the first thing he sees. He tells himself heâd stop just to spite you, but he knows he wouldnât. Couldnât. You feel too fucking good.
So, instead, he just mutters, âStop that.â
Your smile grows, and you bite your bottom lip in the hopes of keeping it from forming. âKnew youâd fold.â
âHard not to when youâre begging like that,â he says, moving to rest his forehead on yours. âNot happening again.â
(You both know itâs a lie the second he says it. But itâs fun to pretend.)
Youâre grinning unabashedly when you cup his cheek and lean up to kiss him. This one is messier. Itâs just as passionate, if not more, but itâs sloppy, harder to keep up with each other as he continues to pound into you. Itâs a steady, quick, gratifying pace, one that already has tension pulling inside your stomach.Â
âFuck,â you moan into the kiss, breaking away as he hits just the right spot. It has you heaving in a breath, and that intensity you know so well washes over his expression. âYouâ Iââ
âOh, shit,â he grins. âThat's it, isn't it?â
You nod vigorously, clawing at his shoulder as you fight to ground yourself. âD-Donât stop,â you plead. âThatâ Youâ You feel so good. Please.â
Something about that seems to send Frank over the edge. He hears you loud and clear. Gripping your hips tighter, your head knocks back into your pillow as he seems to move even faster. You wrap your legs around his waist to bring him in closer, and he makes a noise that comes from somewhere low in his throat.
âIâve got you,â he says. His voice is absolutely wrecked, and you feel yourself clench around him harder. It has him gasping out, âFuckâ Iâll g-get you there, baby. Donât worry.â
Youâre already pretty close to being there, but you need a bit more. Luckily, once again, heâs on the same page as you. He spits on his fingers and reaches down to rub at your clit. The sight alone has you whimpering. âH-holy shit. Frank, Iâmâ ngh. Iâm fucking c-close again.â
âI know,â he grits. âAnd itâs the hottest f-fucking thing. â
Each movement of his is deliberate. He knows exactly how to act, how to operate, and what will work best. He has the right patterns and tricks, and knows just the right thing to say to make your head spin. Youâd teased him relentlessly about his bedside manner, but this? This didnât apply. Whatsoever.
He told you heâd get you there, and that wasnât just a promise. It was a fact.
You can tell heâs getting closer to the edge as his face contorts and his words start to get less coherent. âSo fucking beautiful,â he tells you, and God, does he mean it. âYouâre fucking unreal. I-I canât believe I get to have you like this.â
Itâs the way he speaks that gets you. Heâs desperate, that smart mouth of his now slurring out words with his eyes half-lidded. He straight-up grimaces as you get tighter, and you know that itâs going to be the thing that breaks you.Â
âIâm gonna come,â you manage to get out. Itâs not a warning. âIâm gonnaâ Frank, Iââ
âDo it,â he says. âIâm r-right behind you. F-fucking come for me again.â
You come within seconds. If you thought the last one was debilitating, this one completely wrecks you. Your orgasm tears through your body, and itâs something white-hot and blinding. You swear you see stars, especially as Frank continues to fuck you through it. Heâs whispering things in your ear that you canât processâ things that youâre not even sure heâs processing. Because as you come to, you realize heâs just as gone as you are.
He didnât lie. He wasnât far behind you. He follows suit within seconds, finishing with a groan that racks his entire body. His chest is heaving as he hovers up above you, eyes closed and blissed out. He collapses into you, burying his face into the crook of your neck.
Youâre both breathing heavily and sweating, and your room is finally quiet. You donât know if you can move. All you have in you right now is to lift your hand and run your fingers through his hair.Â
He hums at the feeling, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to your pulse. He sits there for a moment longer, enjoying the feeling of your nails against his head. He allows himself to get his bearings before rolling off of you, making sure to be gentle as he slips out.
Frank all but collapses into the pillow beside you, staring up at the ceiling before turning his head in your direction. You meet his gaze when you feel it on you.
It takes all but three seconds for the two of you to start laughing.
You hide your face with your hands, giggling (giggling! The bastard has you fucking giggling) into them like youâd heard the worldâs funniest joke. The sound comes out muffled, but it mixes well with his own.Â
Grinning, Frank perches himself on his elbow, reaching over to remove your hands from your face. You look at him in that way he was talking aboutâ the one where he canât think straight. He shakes his head as if itâll clear it. âDonât get shy on me now.â
âIâm not shy,â you insist, though the warmth in your cheeks would say otherwise. âI justâ I canât believe we did that.â
He narrows his eyes, asking a question he already knows the answer to: âIn a good way or a bad way.â
You take your hands from him to gently whack him on the arm. âYou know itâs in a good way,â you mutter.Â
âI know,â he replies. He focuses on your fingers as you intertwine them, knowing your silence a bit too well. âWhat are you thinking about?â
You glance up at him, pressing your lips together. âThe honest or the cute answer?â
Humor graces his features at your response, but he says, âHonest. Always. I hate cute.â
Rolling your eyes, you laugh, because despite what just occurred, heâs still him. âIâm thinking about how badly I want to shower right now.â
A surprised laugh leaves him. âSeriously?â he asks, faux outrage laced within his voice. âI was that bad that you need to shower?â
You giggle again (goddamn it), turning onto your side. âNo, Iâm justââ You motion down at yourself. âThe half a shift I worked is still on me. And now Iâm sweaty. I feel gross.â
âYou look pretty good to me,â he says, and when you roll your eyes again, he chuckles, rolling himself over to stand up. âIâll get it going for you.â
You nearly reach over and kiss him then and there, but refrain from doing so. You fear you might start things up again. âThank you,â you say. âIâll meet you in there.â
He turns around before he gets up, excitement flickering in his eyes. âYou want me to join?â
âYou just told me you were going to bend me over the table the second my head heals,â you tell him blankly, biting back a smile as you watch his face go red. âI think weâre well past being shy about showering.â
âYouâre fucking unreal,â he repeats, and the fondness in his voice doesnât go missed. Something pulls at your stomach as you realize heâd said those words heâd said just minutes ago. You watch him walk into your bathroom, but before you can rally yourself to get up, he leans his head out to look at you. âWhat was the cute answer?â
Sighing, you smile softly as you look up at the ceiling. âYou said last week that you were really glad I came back into your life,â you say. You turn your head to meet his gaze. âI was just going to tell you that I agree.â
His mouth parts, and he stares at youâ but this time, thereâs no confusing this look. You know exactly what heâs thinking, and while you might not have the right words to express it, itâs reciprocated tenfold.Â
It takes a moment for Frank to speak, but when he does, he says, âGet in that shower the second itâs warm.â He points at you before turning around to turn your shower on. âI mean it.â
The stupid, giddy grin that spreads across your face is bright and bold. Your hands return to cover your face, and you giggle once more.Â
(This time, you donât mind it as much.)
OCTOBER 3RD, 2026. (10:30 PM)
You make it back into your bed after about an hour in the shower together. Youâve never been more grateful that your landlord pays your water bill.
What had started as something incredibly sweet and just a bit domestic, with Frank attempting to wash your hair for you, had somehow ended with him to splitting you open and taking you apart with his fingers, and heâd finally let you repay the favor by taking him in your mouth when you got back into bed.
(âIâm not letting you fucking waterboard yourself just to blow me,â heâd hissed, rolling his eyes as you frowned at him. âRight, Iâm the bad guy.â)
Youâd gotten into your favorite bulky sweatshirt and thrown him one of your many oversized shirts and a pair of sweatpants from your closet, ignoring his complaints about how they looked like floods on him. The last couple of minutes had been spent watching an episode of the reality TV show youâd shown him that he swore he didnât like, talking intermittently and kissing during the commercials.Â
It was something you were still wrapping your mind around doing with him, but it was getting easier to believe with each passing hour.
But as you continued to think about itâ about the brevity of the situation and what this meant or could mean for you and him, something nagged at you in the back of your mind. It reared itâs ugly head every time you looked at Frank and wouldnât fucking leave you alone.
You had to get it off your chest. He had to know.
As one of the commercial breaks begins and you feel him turn to you, you put a hand on his shoulder.
âI need to be honest with you about something.â You blurt it out so fast that it almost scares him. âAnd you canât tell anyone, but you⊠need to know this before⊠whatever this is continues.â
He blinks at you. âWell, I owe you one for not reporting me to the Board, so if you killed someone, Iâve got you.â
You laugh despite your sudden nerves, flipping onto your back to stare up at the ceiling. âI didnât, but itâs good to know I can get to lie on the stand if something happens,â you say, picking at a loose string on your sheets.
He nudges you to get you to look at him, and briefly, you do. âWhatâs up?â he asks gently.
With a deep breath, you glance back up at the ceiling and say, âI mentioned last week that I didnât get into a real relationship until I moved to Boston. And I didnât sayâ I wasnât super open to talking about it.â You see him nod from your peripheral, waiting for you to continue. âIâm going to tell you who it was, but you canât judge me.â
âThe fact that you think Iâd judge you after everything you know about me is mildly insulting,â he says.
You look over at him. âIt was Klein. My attending.â
His brows shoot up to his hairline. âOh. Shit.â
âYeah. Shit,â you mutter. You take a deep breath. âWe started seeing each other three months into my intern year, and I was just⊠obsessed with him. Which is so fucking embarassing looking back, but⊠I was.â You fumble with your fingers that are resting on your stomach. âI was just so starstruck by him. He was so good and he was so accomplished and so⊠nice to me. He told me so many times that he was drawn to me because of the things I could do, and I couldnât believe that heâd⊠picked me? And after Jamie, I wanted to feel like someoneâs choice.â
Frank reaches over to cover your hand with his, intertwining his fingers with yours. Itâs a small, quiet comfort, and thereâs a piece of you that appreciates that he doesnât attempt to console you. He just lets you continue.
âThings happened really fast between us. Like, way too fast. It was a secret, of course. Nobody knew. Nobody ever knew about the shit he did. I mean, I was practically living in his apartment by the end of my first year, and nobody suspected a thing. He had me considering whether it was worth it to renew my lease. And itâs one of those things that, looking back on it, I should have seen what was happening,â you say. âBut he had this hold on me. And even if I had wanted to, it wasnât like I could escape him. He was my attending. We worked together. He was supposed to be my mentor, you know?â You swallow harshly. âBut it never felt wrong. Ever. Not until things started falling apart.â
Frank squeezes your hand. âYou donât have toââ
âNo. I want you to know this. And thereâs a point to this, I promise,â you assure him. He nods into his pillow, eyes never straying from your face. âOut of nowhere, a year in, he just decided he was done with me. He told me that something had happened where he reconnected with his ex-girlfriend or something, and theyâd decided they were going to try things out again. And before I knew it, he was throwing transfer applications at me and connecting me with Robby and telling me I had to get out of Boston.â You shut your eyes, steadying yourself. âHe told me I was too much of a âtemptation.â We couldnât be in the same hospital because he was afraid of what Iâd âmake him doâ at his big age of forty-five.â
âWhat a fucking asshole,â Frank scoffs. âJesus. I had no idea.â
âI didnât tell anyoneâ havenât told anyone. I didnât want you guys to think I was able to transfer because I was fucking my attending,â you chuckle humorlessly. âBut it happened. I fell for his whole⊠thing. I was way too old and way too smart to fall for it, but I did. And I left because he told me to, and I went to the place he told me to go. I didnât know it would end up being one of the best things to happen to me, and I hate that I owe him for it, but yeah... Itâs something I did that I have to live with.â
âYou donât owe him for anything.â
âI know. I know I could have transferred anywhere I wanted to without him. But, stillâŠâ you trail off. You shake your head as if itâll clear the thoughts that are in it. âIâm telling you all of this because I donât want⊠this to turn into that. I donât want you to feel like you canât escape me. If things go wrong, I donât want it to affect either of our careers like it did mine. Especially with all the eyes that are already on you.â He goes to interrupt you, but you turn to him and continue. âI donât want to be Klein. Despite the fact that we should be at the same rank, weâre not. Iâm an attending. Youâre a resident. If people find out about us, I donât want it to reflect poorly on you. I know itâs not the sameââ
Youâre not expecting him to laugh, but he does. He wipes a hand down his face. âItâs not even close to the same thing.â
âWhy are you laughing? This is serious, Frank. This isââ
âAre you going to treat me differently at work?â he asks you. âPlay favorites? Lay one on me in the middle of an intubation?â
Your expression goes blank. âNo.â
âAre you going to make me fill out a transfer application if you get pissed at me?â
âNo,â you sigh, knowing exactly what heâs getting at.
âAre you or have you ever been unprofessional in your life?â When you go to object, he cuts you off. âWith anyone but me?â
Scowling, you answer, âNo.â
âThen itâs not the same. Because youâre not Klein,â he tells you, looking you directly in the eye so itâll get through. âYouâre not a reckless, manipulative douche who doesnât care about the careers and futures of the people around them. He was twenty years older than you and took advantage of your talent and your kindness.â He shakes his head. âI canât imagine you doing anything like that. Not just to me. To anyone.â
Thereâs a part of you that knows that. All of it. Frank was rightâ you werenât reckless or manipulative. Youâre not Klein. Youâd never want to be, and youâd never allow yourself to be. But even after everything, he still lingers in the back of your mind.Â
You hate him for it. You hate him for a lot. But you hate him the most for that.
âI know,â you say again. âI just⊠I think we should take things slow. Make sure weâre not being reckless. I donât want to rush into anything.â
His eyes havenât left you since he finished speaking. Something flickers in his expression before he lifts up his arm. âCâmere.â
The action makes your throat immediately tighten, and you sigh before obliging. You nuzzle yourself into his side, cheek against his chest, as his arm drops to wrap around you. His fingers trace mindless patterns on your side, and suddenly, the overwhelming urge to cry overtakes you. You canât explain it, and you donât do it, but the tears pricking in your eyes have you biting the inside of your cheek.
He speaks against your hair. âYou care too much for your own good, you know that?â
You huff. âItâs one of those weaknesses the newbies canât know about.â
âNo,â he says. âNot a weakness. Never a weakness.â He presses his lips to the top of your head. âItâs who you are. Itâs my favorite thing about you.â
You shut your eyes at the words, and Frank feels your hand grip the shirt you gave him. Somehow, it endears you to him even more. Ignoring the burn in your throat, you grumble, âThere are so many better things about me.â
His chest rises as he chuckles. He seems to disregard your comment as he asks, âI gotta say,â he begins, âyou know that this isnât taking things slow, right?â
Your cheeks burn, and you smack his stomach lightly. âNo fucking shit,â you mutter as he continues to laugh. âI meant⊠more along the lines of how things progress after this. I want us both to be comfortable with it. I donât wantâŠâ
â...You donât want to be considering breaking your lease in a few months,â he finishes, and yeahâ heâs taken the words right out of your mouth.
You sigh against him. âYeah.â
Heâs quiet for a moment. You know his pauses well enough at this point to know that heâs thinking. He moves his free hand to cover yours again. âListen. I meant what I said before. About wanting to do things right,â he tells you. He plays with your fingers, and the simple action has your heart beating just a bit faster. âI know that thisâŠwas a little out of order, but from here on out, I mean that.â
You shift onto your stomach and place your chin on his chest to look at him. âAre you saying you donât want to have sex with me anymore?â
âAbsolutely fucking not,â he says immediately, a smile pulling at his lips as he feels you chuckle against him. âIf I ever say that, take me out back and put me down like Old Yeller.âÂ
âHeard.â
âWhat I am saying is thatâŠâ He trails off, searching for the right phrasing. He finds a moment later. âThereâs a rule in recovery,â he begins slowly, âthat youâre not supposed to make any big life decisions until youâre a year clean. I did that time and then some. Four more months of it. And even in those four months, so much has changed for me.â He meets your gaze. âBut how Iâve felt about you hasnât. Thatâs one of the only things thatâs stayed consistent for me since we first got coffee.â
You feel your throat tighten. âFrankââ
âI did the time. I did the waiting. I waited to see if there was some sort of clarity I was missing,â he continues. âBut I came up empty. Everything about you was clear.âÂ
You donât know what to say. Luckily, he has the words.
âWeâll take it slow. Iâve waited this long for you and I donât want to fuck it up. Not this.â He sounds so sure. Insistent. Sincere. Those tears from earlier return, and this time, you donât try to hide them. âSo, yeah. Weâre gonna go to that game. Iâm gonna open the door for you and Iâm going to pay for brunch even though you make way more money than I do, because fuck that guy.â You let out a watery laugh, and the sound of it makes him grin. âWeâre gonna do this right, damn it. And if Iâm lucky, youâll kiss me at the end of the night, and you might like me half as much as I like you.â
His fingers readjust their grip on yours, and you squeeze them. âI donât think youâll have to worry about that,â you say, pressing your lips to his shoulder. âAnd I think youâll get more than a kiss.â
Frankâs free hand raises in a fist, and he pumps it in the air. âShe likes me! She really, really likes me!â
You groan, rolling your eyes as you go to remove yourself from him. âOh, God. Not anymore. Ew.â
He grabs you before you can get too far, flipping you onto your back to hover over you. A yelp escapes you, and you try your hardest to keep the smile off your face. âCâmon,â he chides. âYou were just talking about how bad you wanted to kiss me.â
âThat was before you hit me with another bad reference,â you say. âItâs actually impressive how consistently shitty they are. Youâre lucky youâre a good doctor because pop culture is so not your thing.â
Itâs clear heâs not listening very intently, as he leans down and presses a searing kiss to your collarbone, making his way up. Against your neck, he murmurs, âI guess youâll have to keep me around long enough to teach me whatâs right.â
A breathless laugh leaves your lips. âT-Thatâs going to take a while.â
âThatâs kind of the idea,â he says.
He pulls away from you, and you find yourself staring up at him. âYeah?â
Frank pushes his lips together and stares at you, clearly unsure of his next words. âLast week,â he begins slowly, âyou said that itâs normal for people to outgrow each other. That it happens.âÂ
You nod, unsure of where heâs going with this. âYeah. And I stand by it.â
He looks at you for a moment longer, then returns your nod. âWell, I donâtâŠâ He bites the inside of his cheek, like heâs trying to figure out if he should say whatâs on his mind. âNo matter how this plays out, I⊠I donât want to outgrow you. I donât see myself doing that.â
A shaky breath leaves your lips, and yeah, those tears are definitely coming back. Heâs always talking about how he canât believe you, how he doesnât get you, how unreal you areâ you wonder if heâs ever stopped to consider that you feel the same way about him.
You cannot believe him. You canât believe the things heâs done and can do, the way heâs bettered himself, and who heâs become to you. You canât believe that this man, whose picture you once threw darts at as a joke at a bar in med school, is now admitting things to you like this and is making you feel this way.Â
You canât believe that the person you had once wished nothing but the worst for was now one of the most important people in your life, and youâd do anything to help him feel that way. And you canât believe that now, you know heâd do the same.
With a sniffle, you allow him to brush away a tear that falls, his hand lingering on your face to caress your cheek. âThen weâll grow together,â you whisper, shrugging. âYou canât outgrow someone whoâs growing with you.â
You see a lump form in his throat. You donât realize heâs tearing up too until he lets out a watery laugh and asks, âSimple as that?â
âNo,â you say, laughing along with him. âDefinitely not simple. But I know you. And you know me.â You grin when you ask, âAnd when the hell have either of us given up on things just because theyâre hard?â
There is no power above that could stop Frank from kissing you after that.
this (and part 1) is one of the best fanfics i have ever read. itâs one of those fics that made me stop and go what do you mean that i got to read all 44k (!!!!!) words of that for FREE???
holy shit. i stayed up wayyyy too late reading this last night. my eyes were burning and my body and brain were both yelling at me to sleep but i couldnât stop reading this. then i finished and stayed up for another solid hour just thinking about it.
the progression of their workplaces rivalries dynamic to kind of friends to best friends to lovers was executed to perfection. it was so believable and realistic. i absolutely loved how you wrote this reader and you nailed frank as well.
and the payoff?? holy shit. donât even get me started on the payoff. the kisses alone were 10/10 chefâs kiss but the SMUT??? some of the best smut i have ever read. omg. frankâs dirty talk. hours later and i am still thinking about specific lines of dialogue.
i have no doubt that this is a fic i will come back to again and again thank you so much for writing and sharing this work of ART
i donât have the words to explain what a reblog like this means to me!!!!!!!! this is one of the the kindest things iâve ever read, thank you so much!!
so glad you enjoyed iâm gonna go cry over this love ya
i just want to say that your writing is so amazing. you have such a talent to write good dialogue that is so immersive that i can read your work over and over again (and rarely do that even with books)
And i know im just anon on the internet but i wish you come back to writing someday because when i read a fanfiction, like about langdon, i can't stop thinking that i wish it was something written by you. You just get it. You get the characters, you can make them feel normal
wish yu the best
me when i start crying on the bus back from work
THIS IS SO KIND THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! so glad you enjoyed it!
iâve been away for so long but HOOOOOLY FUCK OVER 2,000 COLLECTIVE NOTES ON FLIGHT RISK WHAT A THING TO COME BACK TO THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE!! I HAVE READ ALL OF YOUR COMMENTS AND DMS AND ANONS AND AM TRYING MY BEST TO GET BACK TO ALL OF YOU BUT PLEASE KNOW I APPRECIATE IT MORE THAN YOU KNOW
as of right now, i have no plans for a flight risk continuation, but i dooooo have something iâm gonna be dropping tonight in honor of a certain character returning to the pitt (hello jack abbot mini series)
iâm so happy youâre enjoyed flight risk, and to any new readers, i hope you continue to enjoy it as you read. again, thank you so much for all of your kind words and iâll see you all tonight! love u tooooons
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so frank and risky are finally together but she canât go back to work the next day because of robbyâs orders. whatâs work like for frank? does he find the betting board?
shut uuuup this is my first ever ask like this i am so excited bc ooooo this is how that morning after/langdon's shift goes in my head thank u for this
pairing: frank langdon x reader (no use of y/n, nickname use)
content/warnings: continuation of my flight risk fic, implied sexual content and innuendos, swearing, batner, the pitt staff have a gambling problem and bet on langdon/reader, fluffy ass fic
word count/rating: 3k, pg-13
read flight risk here!
Frankâs alarm is an unwelcome sound at the ungodly hour of five-thirty in the morning.
You wake to it at the same time as he does. While youâd fallen asleep in his arms, youâd separated throughout the night, you on your side and he on his stomach. Though, his arm remained draped over your waist, as if he hadnât wanted to be too far away from you.
Despite the way this makes your chest warm, it doesnât make you any happier to be up at this hour.
The last couple of years of consistent morning shifts had your internal clock set to be alert and ready by seven, but still, this is pushing it. Your apartmentâs relatively close to the hospital, and youâve perfected your morning routine in such a way that it allows you to get out of bed by six at the earliest.Â
Youâre about to complain about the alarm, but the second he realizes that youâre awake, he groans into the pillow heâs claimed as his. He reaches over to your bedside table, turning the alarm off with a huff. His arm curls beneath your side when he returns, pulling you into him so that your back is against his chest.
âYou set your alarm for five-thirty, you psycho?â you mutter through the dark. âWhat is wrong with you?â
Frankâs forehead knocks against your shoulder. âIâm bad at getting up.â His voice comes out in a low rasp. âEspecially when Iâm kept up past my bedtime.â
His arm tightens around you as you tiredly chuckle. âThat was not my fault,â you say. âYou started it. Both times.â
âWhatever,â he mutters, too tired to come up with a better response. He goes quiet, and for a moment, you think heâs fallen back to sleep. But then, he asks, âYou think itâd be a bad look if I called out?â
âIncredibly bad,â is your immediate reply, and you hear him groan again. The sound vibrates against your neck, and it sends a shiver down your spine. âItâd be suspicious, too. Calling out at five-thirty on my day off? We might as well walk in together with this giant hickey on my neck.â You feel him smile against your shoulder at that, and you elbow him in the gut. âThanks for that, by the way.â
âIâm sorry,â he says, though he doesnât sound very sorry at all.Â
If your eyes were open, you would have rolled them. âWhatever,â you repeat. âThereâs a Red Bull in the fridge if you want it.â
You feel him inhale sharply, then squeeze you a little tighter. âThat might be the hottest thing youâve ever said to me.â
Laughing into your pillow, you say, âGet up and do whatever it is you need to do to justify waking up at five-thirty.â
He presses his lips to the place where your neck and shoulder intersect. âI just need to shower,â he says, leadingly. âGot some time to do some other things.â
âNice try,â you say. You have to slap his hand away as it creeps down the curve of your hip. âYou woke me up early on my day off. Suffer the consequences.â
Heâs quiet for a moment, and while you canât see his face, you can picture him pouting. Then, âI wonât make you do any of the work,â he tries.
âLangdon, get out of my bed and go do your job.â
He grins at the laughter thatâs accenting your voice. âOh, man. Not the last name. You are serious.â You feel his chest rise and fall in a dramatic sigh before he gets up. âFine. Iâll go shower. Alone.â
âHave fun,â you say through a yawn, unbothered as you pull your comforter closer to you.
Within the minutes of him showering, youâve fallen back to sleep, and while thereâs a piece of Frank that wants to wake you up to say goodbye, he decides against it. You needed to rest up. Instead, he got himself dressed in the clothes youâd lent him, pulling the sweatpants down so they looked less like floods on him. He snags the zip-up sweatshirt heâd discarded on the floor the night before, zipping it up as he walked to your kitchen to grab the Red Bull youâd promised him.
In lieu of waking you up again, he simply presses a soft kiss to your forehead, smiling to himself as the corner of your lips twitched up in your sleep. That might have been better than a goodbye.
He gets to the ED on the earlier side, a slight skip in his step despite the bags under his eyes. Collins is already in, chatting quietly with Ellis, who already looks ready to clock out. They both eye him suspiciously as he walks in, taken aback when he sends a smile toward them as he greets them. He barely greeted people in the mornings, let alone smiled at them.
When Langdonâs gone, walking in the direction of the lockers, the two attendings exchange a glance. Collins bites back a smile, nodding at her friend. âGive me a minute. Iâll report back.â
âYou better,â Ellis says, staring off in Langdonâs direction in awe. âBecause no fucking way.â
Collins finds him taking off his sweatshirt at his locker, unassuming of the shitstorm thatâs about to be unleashed on him. Before he can grab the spare pair of scrubs he keeps in his bag, heâs being taken by the arm and pulled into the (thankfully) empty on-call room beside them.Â
When Langdon gets his bearings, he finds himself staring at Collins and realizes that sheâs the one whoâs kidnapped him. He rips his arm from her grip. âWhat the hell?â
Collinsâs eyes are accusatory and excited. âYou slept with Risky.â
Frank blinks at her in surprise, mouth opening and shutting like a fish. âWhaâ? What are you talking about, Iâ?â Heâs convincing nobody with the way heâs stammering, but he genuinely has no idea what to say. He wasnât expecting to be caught and interrogated so immediatelyâ if at all. âW-What the hell makes you think that?â
âYou mean besides the fact that youâre walking around this place like a guy who just got laid?â Frankâs expression shifts from surprised to unimpressed within a nanosecond. Collins glances at the shirt heâs wearingâ your shirt. âUnless youâve recently transferred and became âMass Genâs Number One Resident,â Iâdââ
He nearly rips the shirt heâs wearing off to look at it. Lo and behold, without realizing it, last night youâd thrown him the oversized shirt that your best friend throughout your Mass Gen residency had made for you for your birthday during your intern year. Heâs already drafting the text heâs about to send you in his head.
ââSay you were wearing her shirt,â Collins continues, biting back a smile at how red his face has gotten. âWhich, you know, I have to commend you guys for how progressive that is. Youâre wearing her clothes, I meanââ
âWe donât believe in gender norms,â Frank all but snaps, and finally, Collins starts to grin at him.Â
âWe?â she asks with a raised brow.
Hiding his face in his hands, he sighs something long and heavy. Wearily, he asks, âWould you believe me if I said we were just hanging out and I wanted to get out of my scrubs?â
âAfter the way you practically skipped out of here last night to give her her badge?â Collins shakes her head. âNot a chance.â
He has to refrain from groaning. âHeather, câmon. Itâs so early, I canâtââ
âIâm not asking for details. Because trust meââ She shivers, making an audibly disgusted sound. âI donât want them. I just need to know how close I was for the pool. Iâve got a reputation to maintain and if I lose, Iââ
Langdon interrupts her by sticking out his hand. âHold on,â he says in disbelief. âYouâve all been betting on us?â
Collins gives him a look. âYouâve been here for four years. You know how this place works. Of course, weâve been betting on it.â
He stares at her in shock. They had been fucking betting on you two? For how long? And how long had they seen something that you two hadnât?
He really should have anticipated it. Everything at this godforsaken hospital turned into a bet. Every single thing. Whether it was how many times Gloria would come to badger Robby per week or the good ole foreign body parlay, nothing was off the table. They had a secret, under the table bet about when Collins and Robby were going to get together, for fuckâs sake.
He didnât think you two were as obvious as they were, but⊠yeah. Maybe he should have expected this.
While everyone kept things respectful, every single staff member found a way to get in on these. Each one of his coworkers had a gambling problem.Â
And Iâm the fucking addict, Langdon thinks.
He isnât even able to get his question out when he asks, âHow long have you beenâ?â
âSince you got back and started acting all weird and smiley around her,â she answers. âRisky might have been blind to it, but shit, you were so obvious.â
âObvious?â he grunts. âI was not obvious, Iââ
âIâve been working with you for years, Langdon. And sheâs one of my best friends. I know you both.â She shrugs. âIt was obvious to me. Everyone else, too, but mostly me.â
He runs a hand down his face, eyes shutting in exasperation. âWhatâs the parlay?â
âMonth, week, who made the first move, and location of that first move,â she says. At the look he gives her, Collins shrugs. âDonât act like you wouldnât be all over this if you werenât involved.â
Sheâs got him there. But still, he mutters, âYou guys have no fucking sense of boundaries.â
âNope,â she says. âNone. Now spill.â
He stares at her for a moment, knowing heâs been fully, one-hundred-percent caught. There was no hiding from it. The evidence was right in front of her, and he wasnât exactly the best liar. The only more compromising position he could have been caught in is if sheâd found you two hooking up in the on-call room.Â
Fuck. You were going to kill him.
Langdon sighs, taking all of the air in the room with him. He canât look Collins in the eye.Â
âOctober, yesterday, parking lotââ He shifts uncomfortably. ââI made the first move.â
Collinsâs eyes widen. âYesterdayâ?â she nearly shouts. âYou mean this literally happenedââ
âCould you please be louder?â Langdon hisses, eyes flashing to the door. Collins puts a hand over her mouth, hiding the wide grin on her face. âI donât think the triage patients heard you.â
âLast night?â she whispers excitedly. âIt happened last night?â
He goes through the five stages of grief right before her eyes. âYeah,â he mutters. âYes. It happened last night.â
Collins raises her hands in victory, quietly celebrating as Langdon stares at her, unimpressed. âI knew it,â she cheers. âI was dead-on. You two are so predictable, my God.â
Langdon gapes at her. âYou got the whole parlay?â
âI just made it,â she replies. âI said it would happen this week. If you two had waited one more day, Mel would have won.â
âMel? Sheâ?â He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest like a child. âThat traitor.â
The smile hasnât left Collinsâs face. She grabs hold of his shoulders and shakes him around. âThank you,â she says. âThank you for finally doing something about your crush on her, and thank you for doing it yesterday.â
âYouâre buying me and Risky lunch with your winnings,â he mutters. âRidiculous people.â
She waves him off before she grows just a tad more serious. âWhile Iâm happy that you stopped being a coward and made a moveââ She ignores Langdonâs glare. ââI donât know what your intentions are, butââ
His expression softens. âMy intentions?â
Collins raises one hand back to his shoulder and squeezes it lightly. âI donât know how serious you are or what you two are planning on doing with all of this,â she rephrases, âbut please⊠be careful with this. Donât hurt her. Sheâs had some tough luck with her relationships and IâŠâ She shakes her head. âIf sheâs finally open to someone again, I donât want her to get burned again.â
Langdon nods, absorbing her words. âYou talking about what Klein did?â
âUh, yeah.â She seems marginally surprised that he knows. âDid sheâ?â
âShe told me last night,â he sighs. âWhat a fucking asshole.â
Collins nods slowly. âSo, then you know.â
âI know,â he confirms. âAnd not that itâs any of this teamâs businessââ He sends another glare Collinsâs way and she rolls her eyes. ââIâm⊠really trying to make this work. This isnât some sort of one-off thing. Sheâs beenâŠâ He trails off, trying to come up with the right words. When he finds them, theyâre not as poised or eloquent as he wanted them to be, but they get his point across. âIâm not going to fuck this up.â
It seems to satisfy Collins enough. She sends a soft smile his way. âGood.â
Before the conversation can close, Langdon is speaking up once more. âCan youââ His voice comes out weaker than he wanted, but he canât help but feel a little shy about all of this. âPlease donât tell anyone about this. You live knowing that you won and were right, but weâre trying to keep things⊠slow. We donât want the whole team freaking out about it. So, just⊠keep this between us. Please?â
Collins stares at him for a minute before whistling lowly. âTwo pleases from you within twenty seconds,â she muses, reveling in the way he shifts uncomfortably. âThatâs a record for you, Langdon. You must be serious.â
She doesnât know if sheâs ever heard him sound more sure when he says, âYes. Iâm very serious.â He lets out a deep breath. âAbout all of it.â
The earnestness in his voice catches her off guard. But it also makes her believe him.Â
For once, Collins figures she can let him off easy.
âFine,â she says, smiling softly at him. The sigh of relief he releases is something that can actually be heard from triage. âItâs between us.â
âThank you,â he replies.
âBut Iâm not buying you lunch,â she continues, pointing at him. She starts to walk toward the door to exit. âAll that money is mine.â
Langdon rolls his eyes. âFine. Whatever. Just donât say anything.â
Before Collins leaves, she turns to face him. âIâm happy for you two,â she says, and she really does mean it. He glances up to meet her gaze. âYou both deserve a win. Iâm glad you woke up and realized it before it was too late.â He wants to thank her again, but Collins is eyeing him in a way he doesnât love. âShe yelled at you for ruining her date, right?â
âOh, yeah,â he huffs. âTore me a fucking new one.â
âGood.â She shakes her head at him, muttering to herself as she walks out. âAsking me if he was obvious and how I knew he liked her after that shit yesterday, are you kiddingââ
The door shuts before he can hear the rest of it, leaving him alone in the on-call room, in your shirt, heart racing a million miles an hour.Â
By the time heâs got his bearings and is freshly dressed in his spare scrubs, heâs texting you, fingers flying at an alarming speed.
6:54: collins already found us out. there was a pool going for when weâd get together. she won.
Heâs surprised when a minute later, his phone vibrates in his pocket and your name appears on his screen, but he figures that internal clock youâre always going on about had woken you up.
WHAT????? HOW
and of course. those assholes WOULD
but HOW DOES SHE KNOWÂ
He shakes his head, typing his response as he walks into the ED.Â
my shirt let her know i was mass genâs #1 resident
Your response is immediate, and your texts arrive in an urgent succession.
FUCK OFFÂ
NO
I GAVE YOU THAT ONE????? I DIDNâT EVEN REALIZE
I AM SO SORRY OH MY GOD
but also⊠wearing my shirt to work? what are we doing langdon where is the logic
most likely to succeed my ass
Langdon audibly scoffs, the small smile on his face growing as he writes back, and youâre the one who gave it to me. that academic achievement award is screaming from the back of your closet
IT WAS DARK YOU DICKHEAD
I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT I WAS GIVING YOU
collins isnât going to tell anyone, right?
i swore her to secrecy. weâre good
oh thank god
thatâs so embarrassing iâm so sorry
itâs okay. youâll make it up to me
oh? will i??
He doesnât notice Dana approaching him as he hovers near the nurses' station, and the sound of her dropping a chart beside him makes him jump out of his skin.Â
âWhoâs got you smiling like that this early?â she asks, eyeing the phone he almost dropped.Â
He stares at her, at your text on his screen, and then back at her. He simply shrugs. âJust a friend of mine.â
Dana hums, and itâs clear she doesnât believe a word that came out of his mouth. âRight,â she replies. âThereâs a laceration in South Four that needs to be tended to. You can start there instead of texting like my sixteen-year-old.â
He gives her a look, but still does as heâs told. âOn it,â he says, turning in the direction of South Four.
She chuckles as she watches Langdon leave, smirking as he sends his last text and slips his phone into his pocket.Â
âTell Risky I say hi,â she says to herself, shaking her head fondly. "You smitten little bastard."
i am so sorry to bombard your inbox like this but i literally have never read a better frank fic than yours. it literally changed the trajectory of my life and i will never be the same. holy shit you are SOOOO talented and the dynamic between risky and frank was just chefs kiss đ„č welcome to the frank langdon brain rotted group !!
what the fuck??? iâm literally going to start crying holy shit???? thank you???? omg??
this is so so sweet, thank you so much! im so glad u enjoyed and iâm so happy to be a part of the group letâs start recruiting because i need more fics
I finished flight risk and I will read anything you ever put out. When you a said you were writing a frank Langdon fic I literally went and binged The Pitt so I could read it. You are amazing and I love all of your storiess sooooo much! Please donât ever stop writing
oh my GOD??? this is genuinely one of the nicest things iâve ever read???? thank you so much for this???
im legit about to cry im so happy you enjoyed and im so happy you watched the show omg i love u thank you for this!!!
hi i literally just finished reading flight risk and i immediately had to come send fan mail because first of all holy shit i genuinely couldnât stop reading it i just powered through the whole thing in one sitting like i was possessed!! and secondly WOW iâm blown away by the dynamic you created itâs so riveting and i think it really captures his personality. i love langdonâs character so much and i think heâs so intriguing so this word count and your vision for him is a gift
this is so nice thank you so much OOOOOHHH MY GOD ur so sweet
iâm so glad u enjoyed this one took a year off my life thank you so much for reading <3
pairing: frank langdon x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)
summary: frank langdonâs been your sworn rival since med school. heâs a mean, arrogant prick who, for some reason, made it his lifelong mission to beat you at every single thing you did. but, when youâre forced to transfer out of your residency in boston, youâre placed at the pitt with the one person you swore youâd never share a floor with again. and, as you two are forced to work together, you both realize there might be a little more to each other than meets the eye.
word count & rating: 14.1k, R (lots of swearing, M-rated stuff coming next chapter)
warnings: slow-burn, rivals to friends to lovers trope in full force, they're 'enemies' who have a wild amount of respect for each other, afab!reader, reader enters the pitt as an R3, lots of swearing, banter, slight angst, mentions of child death (case gone wrong) mentions of a previous, inappropriate but consensual workplace relationship, reader was engaged in med school, likely inaccurate medical talk (i am a woman with google, reddit, and a dream), not beta read please do not roast me for typos i missed
authorâs note: the pitt has grabbed the attention of my hyperfixation-rotted brain in such a severe way that it made me write something for the first time in months. i know some of yâall donât like langdon but you donât get him like i do. i can sniff out an asshole with a redemption arc from a mile away. i stand by my canceled wife. also: need that. i blacked out while writing this, so i canât be held accountable for anything in it.
also, this was supposed to be one long 44k fic but tumblr has a paragraph limit now and wouldn't let me post it as one. if you want to read it as one whole fic instead of in two parts, you can access it on ao3! see you on the other side, love ya tons -mags
JULY 1ST, 2024. (7:00 AM)
When it came down to thinking about the worst-case scenario, you always tried to be an optimist.Â
It was a hard thing to do, particularly in your line of work, but youâd always enjoyed a challenge. And in an industry full of pessimists, you figured there should be at least one person whose brain didnât immediately jump to the most awful thing in the book.
But this? This situation you were in? This was, without a doubt, the worst possible case scenario.
You hadnât expected your transfer to be simple. Transferring in any shape or form was rarely ever easy, even for the best of doctors. But you were especially bad with change. You didnât like new places, new people, or feeling like you were out of the loop in any sort of way. And unfortunately for you, thatâs exactly what transferring residencies entailed.
Fuck, you hadnât even wanted to leave. You liked Mass Gen. Loved it, actually. Youâd loved the people, youâd loved the city, and youâd loved the majority of the patients youâd treated. Sure, you were looking back on it with some major rose-colored glasses now, but still⊠you missed it already.
You missed him already.
You hated yourself for it, but it was the truth. Despite how awful of a person he was, how unfair he was to you, how heâd practically forced you to uproot your life, you couldnât stop thinking about him. You werenât going to see him when you clocked into work anymore. He wasnât going to be on your shift, nudging your shoulder discreetly when you did something well, or brushing his fingers against yours when he passed you by. You werenât going to spend all of your days off at his apartment in the city or sleep in his bed that smelled a little too much like him.
Everything was different now. Now, everything was terrible.
And it was only going to get worse.
As an already accomplished doctor in your third year of your residency, your transfer to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital hadnât exactly been your choice. It wasnât that it was a bad hospital (though the reviews and patient satisfaction scores would speak differently)â you knew that there were incredibly competent, wonderful people who worked there and performed miracles every day. But, when this transfer had been presented to you, it was for one reason and one reason alone: Doctor Michael Robinivinch.
He told you that heâd been friends with the hospitalâs Attending Doctor Robinivich for years. That thereâd be an opening for an R3 this coming July, and youâd be an absolute shoo-in for his program. Not just because of your research or your performance or even because of the things you could do on the floor, but because he could put in a good word.
You could have transferred anywhere. You could have stayed in Boston to spite him. You had connections at Brigham and Womenâs and at Beth Israel. You could have moved to New York and worked at Presbyterian or moved to Baltimore and worked at Hopkins. You were good enough to have gotten into to any goddamn program with an opening that you wanted, but, like a kicked fucking dog, you listened to him. Took what he gave you. Kept coming back. And you agreed to give it a shot.Â
Why did you? Who had you become? What had happened to you?
But none of that mattered. Not anymore. What mattered was that you were here in Pittsburgh and he was there in Boston, and there was nothing you could do about it. The only thing you could do was suck it up, live with the consequences, and do your job.
Taking a deep breath, you walk through the doors and are greeted with a scene thatâs a little calmer than you were expecting. The floor was still alive, doctors and nurses moving from room to room, but comparatively, itâs light work. Thereâs something that tells you itâll pick up within minutes.
From behind the desk in the center of the room, a blonde woman immediately clocks your confusion. âYou the new resident?â she asks, squinting at you from above her glasses to get a better look at you.Â
You offer a polite smile and wave, taking another breath to calm yourself before you start walking over. âThatâs me,â you say, giving her your name and holding out your hand.Â
âDana,â she replies. âCharge Nurse. Doctor Robby will be in shortly. Heâs excited for you to get started.â
Your brows raise. âIs he?â
âOh, yeah,â she chuckles, shaking her head. âNo one gets a letter of recommendation from Doctor Klein. Ever. Especially for a transfer, and especially not one that was as glowing as his was.â
Itâs a struggle not to grimace at the sound of his name. Of course. Of course he couldnât have been fucking normal about it. You hadnât read the letter before youâd submitted your application. You knew it would hurt too much. But you could imagine exactly what heâd written. Praise for his prodigy. His ever-important stamp of approval and promise that you were something special. He had to talk about you in a way that raised a few brows. He couldnât let you be normal, could you? He had to be attached to your success somehow.
âOh, God,â you mutter, forcing the smile to stay on your face. âLetâs hope I live up to it.â
âIâm sure you will.â She nods at you reassuringly, then turns to start pointing out important people and places on the floor. âSo, weâre in the process of switching over fromââ
âNo way,â a voice says from across the desk.Â
Itâs one that rings a bit too familiar. Your stomach starts to churn as, uncharacteristically, the worst-case scenario starts to play out in your head. No. There was absolutely no way. It couldnât be. He wouldnât be here. Why would he beâŠ
That voice interrupts your thoughts before youâre done spiralling. âNo fucking way,â it repeats, now accented by a disbelieving laugh. âFlight Risk?â
Hearing the god-awful, horrible nickname that plagued you all throughout med school sends a genuine chill down your spine. Slowly, you turn your head, praying that itâs not who you think it is.
But your prayers go unanswered, and the worst-case scenario is now playing out in front of you.Â
Frank Langdon stands opposite you, a shit-eating grin stretched across his lips.Â
Not him. Anyone but him.
âOh, youâve got to be kidding me,â you say, unable to move in your state of shock.Â
You feel like shaking Danaâs hand and wishing her a good day, and walking out of the doors you just entered through, never to be seen again. It would go against everything that was in your application, everything that told programs that you were competent, professional, and reliable, but right now, you didnât care. This wasnât happening. It couldnât happen. You couldnât work with him again.
Not again.
Frank Langdon had made your life an unadulterated living hell for the entirety of medical school. You associated him with a whole other lifetime of yoursâ one that felt far away and slightly hazy. One where you were younger, less world-weary, less weathered. You were engaged, you had a dog, you had, what you assumed at the time, was your forever life. It had been perfect. Everything back then was more manageable. Everything but Langdon.
(That, of course, wasnât the truth. Youâd figure that out within the first six months of medical school. Youâd end your first year single, without a ring, without your dog, and on antidepressants. But, yeah. Langdon didnât help.)
He had been hostile, ultra-competitive, and, for lack of a better word, an absolute fucking asshole for all four of the years youâd spent with him. Calling him your rival sounded rudimentary, but frankly, thatâs what the two of you were. Rivals.
Any exams you took? He was actively comparing your scores and letting you know how you could have done better. Research papers? Any topic you showed relative interest in, heâd be there, ready to claim it. Labs? He was over your shoulder, watching each thing you did with a hawk-like intensity that never failed to get on your nerves. You run into him when studying in the library? Heâd stay just as long as you did, if not longer, simply to prove a point.
Youâd tried to ignore him, but he had made it so hard to do so. As someone who was also ultra-competitive, every little thing he did motivated you to beat him. Every comment, every time he scored higher than you, performed better than you had, anything. It had all messed with your head and made you focus on one thing and one thing aloneâ being better. Better than him. Better than everyone.
And you were. Of course, he was great too. You hated him with a vitriolic passion, but you knew just how good he was at what he did. It wouldnât have been fun or fulfilling to beat him if he werenât.
(Fun was a stretch. It was actually agonizing to compete with him. But it made you feel good every time you won.)
This rivalry only ended when you were matched to your residency programs. All of your friends and fellow students shot for the moon. Your school regularly produced some of the best talent the medical world had seen, who were often placed into the best hospitals in the country. You were no exception.
Massachusetts General Hospital was your top choice. You werenât unique in that aspect. But you were the only one to get placed there in your class.
Match Day had been a whirlwind of emotions, and after finding out where youâd been assigned, you basically blacked out the rest of the day. You didnât remember a whole lot from those next couple of hours. All of your hard work had paid off, and in your professional opinion, your brain had shut down from exhaustion.Â
The only thing you remember from that day was the conversation you had with Langdon outside of one of the bars your cohort frequented. The celebration was in full swing, complete with your classmates and loved ones drinking and dancing to the songs of whoever had taken over the TouchTunes. You only remembered talking to him because it was one of the only civil conversations the two of you had ever had. In your drunken stupors, youâd compared placements, bragged about each of your respective programs, and ended onâŠÂ
Well, it was a note you couldnât define then. Youâre not sure if you could define it now.
While you remembered having that conversation, youâd forgotten after all this time that this was where heâd been placed. You hadnât seen him in almost three years. Youâd barely thought about him, least of all where he was. After those four years, there was nothing you wanted less than to dwell on your time with him. You werenât checking in on him on social media, couldnât have been bothered to ask your friends who still spoke to himâ nothing.Â
Perhaps that was your own fault.
You could delay your residency a year, couldnât you? You could take a year off, travel the world, add on to your student loans, and then apply to some other program where he wasnât. Yeah. That seemed like a better alternative.
As you continue to stare at each other, Dana glances between the two of you in confusion. âI take it you two know each other?â
Langdonâs eyes never leave yours, but his smile grows. âFlight Risk and I went to med school together.â
There was that stupid fucking nickname again. You thought youâd been freed from it when youâd gone to Mass Gen. Youâd hoped that it was some teasing name that had stuck for everyone after heâd said it, but would be gone when you graduated. You never, ever considered that it would come back to haunt you in a professional setting. Especially not from him.
Danaâs brow quirks. âFlight Risk?â
You sigh, long and heavy. âItâs not important.â
âNot important?â Langdon asks, like heâs offended. He rounds the desk to stand beside you and look at Dana. âItâs very important. Itâs who she is.â
You suppress the urge to choke him out with the stethoscope around his neck. âItâs not who I amââ
âFirst day of class,â he interrupts you, âwe were watching this video that covered an abscess drainingââ
âAbscess drainage on the first day of class?â Dana asks, making a face.
âDonât ask. The professor was a freak,â you say. You return to glaring at Langdon immediately after. âAnd this is so irrelevant, can we pleaseââ
âThe video freaked her out so bad that she ended up running out of the classroom to throw up,â he finishes. You shut your eyes in annoyance. âBut she got right back in there and got her shit together, didnât you, slugger?â
âI did,â you say, forcing a faux smile to match his condescending tone. âSame way you got back on the horse after sawing our cadaverâs spine in half during our first lab, right, champ?âÂ
His grin falters. âThat saw was faulty.â
âSo was my stomach that morning,â you reply. Your voice is syrupy sweet. âI didnât get everyone to start calling you Leatherface.â
Danaâs eyes bounce between you two like sheâs watching tennis. Thereâs the beginnings of a smirk on her lips as she asks, âIs this gonna be a problem? You two working together?â
âNo,â you say quickly, abandoning and resigning from your pissing contest with Langdon immediately. You see him glance at you in surprise out of the corner of your eye. âIt wonât. Weâ Iâm totally professional. Just wasnât expecting this.â Trying your best at a real smile this time around, you nod at your new charge nurse. âNo issues. And if it ever becomes one, please let us know.â
Your incredibly cordial and smooth response has Langdon dipping his head in laughter, and the second you notice it, you whack him hard on the arm. It seems to be enough to kick him into gear. âYeah, Dana,â he chuckles. âWeâll be good. I swear.â
Itâs clear that she one-hundred-percent does not believe you. Still, she says, âGood. This place doesnât work unless weâre all on the same page.âÂ
âIâm liking it here already,â you say, earning a slightly more genuine smile from her.Â
âRobby will be in for rounds in a minute,â she tells you. âHang tight until then. And you,â she says, now looking at Langdon. âDonât be an asshole, okay?â
He has the audacity to act offended. âI would never.â
With a roll of her eyes, Dana turns back around to take care of some other task that needs her attention, and she leaves you with Langdon standing at your side. Youâre expecting him to leave, to go cherry-pick a case (he seemed like the type), or go chat with one of the other residents who were clocking in. But he doesnât.
He just lingers. Itâs as if heâs excited by this. Excited by you.
It instantly makes you anxious in a way that you havenât felt since school.
âAnd if it ever becomes one, please let us know,â he parrots, changing octaves to imitate you. Fucking child. âI havenât heard that voice since rotations.â
âOh, will you just shut the fuck up already?â you hiss. Any sense of professionalism or niceties had been completely thrown out the window now that you were alone. Thereâs a piece of you that hates how heâs been able to get under your skin so quickly, but the other part is so angry and frustrated with him that you canât seem to care. âIâm trying to make a good impression on my first day, and youâre opening with the Flight Risk bullshit less than five minutes in?â
Langdon clenches a fist in victory. âThere she is,â he all but cheers, though heâs kind enough to keep his voice down. âMan, I thought Mass Gen had made you boring and polite. But itâs great to know youâre still in there.â
âSame to you,â you mutter. âItâs reassuring to know that three years in the ED gave you absolutely zero growth.â
âI have to know what youâre going here,â he says, bulldozing your last comment. âGoing from where you were to The Pitt of all places? Thatâsââ
âThatâs what you guys call this place?â you question, glancing around the room.Â
âYouâll catch on.â He turns to you with his arms crossed over his chest. âSo, what happened? What did you do? Did you kill someone?â
âNot yet,â you reply with a glare. âDay just started, though.â
âYeah, Klein wouldnât have written you a letter if you had,â he reasons to himself, like youâre not even there. âHow did you pull that off, by the way?â
Youâre exhausted by him already, and your frustration seeps into your voice. âIâm really fucking good at what I do,â you say.Â
âNo, thatâs not it.â He shakes his head, and you restrain yourself from reaching over and hitting him again. âYouâre good, sure. But plenty of his people are good.â
âYou are such a jackass,â you scoff.Â
Heâs already moving on to the next thing. âNo, but seriously. What happened? Did you flunk out? Did they dismiss you? Or did it get to be a little too much and you couldnât handle it?â
You wish you knew your way around this place so you didnât have to stand here and take this. âI donât have to disclose that to you.â
âThatâs exactly what it was, wasnât it? You ran out and bailed.â He grins to himself. âOh, Flight Risk. That is so like you.â
Clenching your jaw, you steel your expression so as to not give anything away. No, you want to tell him. Thatâs not what happened. Thatâs not even close to what happened. You didnât want to leave. You didnât want to run. Not this time.
But you did. You had.
So, you donât correct him. Youâre open to letting him think whatever it is he believes, so heâll ask fewer questions. The last thing you want to do is talk about it. Not with him. At all.
Lucky for you, youâre saved by the bell. A taller, older guy in a zip-up sweatshirt walks over to the two of you, and while thereâs a small smile on his face, thereâs a hint of hesitancy in his expression as he watches you and Langdon interact.
You recognize Doctor Robinovitch immediately, having met him a handful of times (mostly over video chat and once in person) before you were accepted into the program. Despite that, you still find yourself straightening up and plastering a smile on your face.
âHow we doing over here?â he asks, holding his hand out to shake yours.
Meeting his hand, you practically step in front of Langdon to cut him out of the conversation. âGreat. Itâs so good to see you again. Iâm excited to get started.â
âIâm excited for you to get started,â he says. âKlein called me last night to sing your praises again and remind me to be nice to you. He says youâre special.âÂ
You hope the rage that brews in your stomach doesnât show on your face. âDid he? That was kind of him.â
âYeah, well. When he likes someone, he likes them, yâknow?â Right. Robby points between you and Langdon. âDana told me you two went to school together?â
âWe did,â you say, hoping to control the situation before Langdon can butt in.
He decides to be the exact dickhead you know him to be. âAnd she sure is special.â
Robbyâs eyes narrow slightly at his response, but thankfully, he decides to ignore Langdonâs tone. âTwo endorsements from people who donât give âem out,â he says to you, nodding over at Langdon. âNot too bad, Doc. Letâs see what youâve got.â
And as you set off on your first case at The Pitt, and as Langdon grins at you in that sardonic way that always seems to get under your skin, you wonder just how long youâll actually make it around here.
JULY 1ST, 2025. (7:00 AM)
One year later, youâre still here.
Itâs an absolute whirlwind of a year, and it goes by faster than you could have imagined. The day youâd joined had ended up being one of the craziest days you had ever worked, and between that, the fact that you were still reeling from leaving Boston, and working with Langdon for the first time in years? You didnât know if this place was for you.
But you were never one to give up on things easily.
And every day since, youâve been thankful you didnât. Youâd found friends in the majority of your coworkers, a sense of belonging in a city you didnât know, and youâd learned more from Robby in three months than youâd ever learned from⊠him.
While Pittsburgh wasnât your favorite city on earth, youâd grown to love it in its own way. You loved your little neighborhood. You loved your apartment and the coffee shop youâd found down the street that made an insane flat white. You actually liked the work you were doing. Â
You hadnât felt like that in months.
You had made friends with some of your neighbors over the course of the year, and each time you talked about a bad day at work with them, one of them would ask what made you go back every shift. Each time, your answer was the same.
You loved the work and you loved the people. Rekindling that was like magic.
Of course, not everything was perfect. The floor was unforgiving. There was always something new every dayâ and some things you werenât prepared for. You lost patients. You lost children. You had days when all you wanted to do was hide in the break room and cry.Â
But, as Robby would remind you whenever he saw that look on your face, you saved more than you lost. You wonât forget the ones youâve lost, but you can try to be better the next time around. And thatâs all you could do.
You supposed that was true enough.Â
The only outlier of the great Pitt equation, however, was Langdon.
You knew he would be the second you joined the team. He had been a constant pain in your ass for the entirety of med school, and now that you were back in each otherâs lives, he saw no reason for that to change. He was just as competitive, just as snarky, and just as much of an asshole as he used to be.
But, thankfully, he was professional about it. That was the only thing that had changed between you. Now that you two were legit, full-fledged Doctors, title and all, he wasnât as overt about his disdain for you. Heâd heeded your warning from your first day and had actually listened to you.
You refused to commend him for doing the bare minimum, but it was nice to know he wasnât an idiot.Â
While he may not have been an idiot, what he was was a fucking nuisance. Any case you wanted to take on? He was already running to the room. Any time there was an opportunity to show you up or call you out for something wrong? He took it. Any chance he had to trick you into taking a case he knew youâd hate? There he was, ready with some sort of story.Â
(âDoc, Robby wants you in South Five,â he had told you about a month in. He motioned you over, watching as your ears literally perked up. You were on your feet following him in seconds. âMajor foot trauma with mycetoma, itâs not looking good.â
It took every bone in your body not to bolt out of the room when you saw the patientâs foot was infested with maggots, something heâd clearly, purposely left out. Heâd whipped around to type something into the computer in an attempt to hide his laughter the second youâd turned to glare at him.Â
Youâd whacked him upside the head with your chart after youâd successfully cleared the guy.
âI told you it didnât look good!â he shouted after you as you practically ran to the bathroom to re-wash your hands.)
Or, there was the rare occasion where heâd come to you with his tail between his legs, actually asking for your help. It didnât happen often, certainly not in your first couple of months, but when it did and heâd slump down beside you with that look in his eye, youâd take it on hesitantly.Â
And somehow, it always kicked you in the ass later on.
(Langdon had taken on a case with a younger, tween girl who refused to talk to him. Getting people to open up wasnât exactly something he was proficient in. There were others in the ED who were good at the social aspect of this job, and most of the time, he was fine with being better at the action side.
But not right now. And unfortunately for him, you were one of those people who were good at getting through. And, even more unfortunately for him, you were the only person who was currently available.
When he came to ask for help, you almost laughed in his face. But this time around, he seemed resigned. Slightly resentful and begrudingly flustered. It was real.
So, with a sigh, you followed him to the room.Â
Within five minutes, you had the girl talking with you. You remember the look on Langdonâs face as she did. The way his head dipped in a quiet laugh, graced with disbelief and the slightest bit of annoyance. It felt like a win.
She keeps her eye on Langdon, who observes you two from the corner, cheeks going red each time she meets his eyes. As you check her vitals, she grabs your arm, weakly bringing you down to her eye level. She motions for you to come closer, then cups her hand to her mouth to whisper in your ear.
âHeâs really cute,â she says, middle-school embarrassment clear as day in her voice. For her sake, you refrain from rolling your eyes and rattling off every single awful quality about him and why she should actually hate him. âI was so nervous to talk to him.â
You give her a small smile, shaking your head. âWell, if youâre more comfortable chatting with me, Iâm happy to stay and hang out for a little. But youâre in good hands with Doctor Langdon,â you respond, the volume of your voice matching hers. Glancing over your shoulder, you find that heâs still watching you, his expression having morphed into something more gentle. Heâs been trying to get this girl to open up for an hour, and here you are whispering with her five minutes in.Â
Heâd never get you. Heâd resigned himself to that idea.
But that look of his was wiped off his face the second you turn back to the girl, who immediately starts coughing up blood onto your face and scrubs. There was no time to laugh or be grossed out as the two of you immediately jumped into action, truly working together for the first time since you began to figure out what was going on.
After you had stabilized the girl, you demanded his card for ScrubEx credits, but returned to the floor with a pout, wearing new scrubs that were two sizes too big for you. The snickering from him, Dana, and Princess at the nurse's station makes you hang your head.Â
âThis is the only size it had,â you grumbled, working to roll up the waistband of your pants.
âOh, bless your heart,â Dana said. âYou look adorable, kiddo.â
âAdorable and very professional,â Langdon agreed. âI need that sad Charlie Brown music to start playing every time you walk.â
You scowled at him. âThis is your fault.â
McKay chose this time to check in and began laughing as soon as she saw you in your oversized set. âWhat, is it bring your kid to work day? I should have brought Harrison in.â)
However, as time went on, you learned how to work with him. You still did not get along in any way, shape, or form, but every so often, when you two worked on the same case, youâd be able to put aside whatever difference you two had and work like real, true colleagues.Â
The arguing was still there. My god, was it still there. But, when it came down to it and you two got serious, there was always some sort of energy between you. You were always working in tandem. Always on the same page.Â
Mohan had once told you that it was like a dance. That it was hard to look away from. Frankly, you didnât know what that meant and were a little afraid to ask.
(Six months in, the EMTs bring in a guy in his mid-fifties whoâs been slipping in and out of consciousness since they got him. As you run over to the gurney, they tell you he fell down the stairs, and one of his kids had found him and called it in. Langdonâs on your heels, rounding the gurney, assessing the scene immediately.
âGuyâs name is Anthony,â one of the EMTs says. âHeâs got a major concussion, a couple of broken bones, and is bleeding rapidly from the back of his head.â
âHe shouldnât be bleeding this fast,â Langdon mutters. âIs he on thinners?â
âAnthony? Are you with us?â you ask, rubbing his chest in the hopes of drawing his attention back to you. His eyes open slowly, and he looks up, dazed. âYouâre in the hospital, Anthony. You fell down the stairs, and youâre bleeding pretty bad. Do you take any medication? Any blood thinners?â
Anthony takes a moment to think, eyes casting to the ceiling. âYeah,â he slurs. âI donât⊠know what itâs called. My wife deals with my pills. Itâs like⊠Wa⊠War-friend?â
Your eyes snap to Langdonâs, who rolls his and suddenly grabs the gurney a bit tighter. âWarfarin?â you ask lightly, and the second it leaves your lips, everyone around the bed picks up the pace a little.
âYeah,â Anthony says again. âThatâs⊠it.â
âOkay, Anthony,â you reply, directing everyone into Trauma Two. âYouâre about to make a lot of friends really quickly.â
Langon moves by you to put on a gown, then passes you your own. âItâs always fucking Warfarin.â
âWar-Enemy,â you correct, shaking your head. âThat shit is not my friend.â
You hear him chuckle softly, and you pass him a pair of goggles over your shoulder. As he grabs them from you, he says, âIâm calling the FDA to get them to change the name.â)
But, sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, youâd get along.
Typically, it happened under more tragic circumstances than youâd hope for. When something went wrong on the floor. When you had lost someone. When youâd tried everything you could on a case and nothing worked. It was only then that the two of you would be anything more than civil.Â
It didnât always feel as strange as you thought it would.Â
(You lose a five-year-old girl eight months in.
Itâs a peanut allergy. She eats a cookie at a neighborhood party that the parents were unaware had peanuts in it. Sheâs rushed in by said parents, who can barely speak because of how torn up they are. Her EpiPen isnât working.Â
Sheâs in full anaphylaxis by the time you get her on the table, and sheâs barely breathing. Your head snaps to the door as Langdon runs into the trauma room, and youâre throwing a pair of goggles at him before he can even ask what youâve got. You slip into that dance you do a bit too easily, and it instills enough confidence in you that you think youâll actually be able to save her.
Thereâs a moment where you think that sheâll be okay. Every person in this room has done enough procedures like this before. This should be easy.Â
But itâs not. Sheâs too far gone. She dies four minutes in. You couldnât save her. She is five years old. And you couldnât save her.
And it hits you hard.
Seeing the look in your eye, Robby sends you into the break room, letting you know that heâll handle the parents. You nod at him in thanks, not having the words to say it.
You find yourself sitting against the wall, headphones plugged into your ears and legs tucked to your chest. Itâs a pathetic, desperate search for comfort. You shut your eyes in the hopes of pulling yourself together.
You donât notice Langdon coming into the room. Youâre so in your head and the musicâs just a bit too loud that you donât register his presence until he takes a seat next to you. Thatâs when you feel him. And you donât even have to open your eyes to know itâs him.
When you finally do, you donât say anything. You just look at him. His legs are splayed out on the floor, head inclined back against the wall.Â
As if he feels your gaze, he turns his head to meet it. For a moment, you just stare at each other. Then, wordlessly, you reach up and pull an earbud from your ear and offer it to him.
He huffs a humorless laugh through his nose, shaking his head. But he accepts it.
You donât talk. Not a word. You just sit there together, trying to recoup, listening to a playlist youâd made when youâd first started your residency. If the circumstances were different, it might just be nice.
Two songs later, you two leave the break room. You never speak about it again.)
You werenât friends. You barely tolerated each other. But on the rare occasion that the two of you were put on the same case, you did work together. Pretty well, at that.
The fact that youâd been at The Pitt for a year now was something that was still mind-blogging to you. While you were only slightly miserable for the first couple of months, once youâd gotten your bearings, time had flown by. Change was never kind to you. It wasnât something you sought out. But looking back, this was probably one of the best things you could have done for yourself.Â
Itâs something you think about as you clock in for your shift and see the new recruits surrounding the nurse's station. You donât envy them. Being the new kid as an R3 was hard enough-- you couldnât imagine the anxiety the med students and interns were feeling. Especially with the stuff you saw here on a daily basis.Â
You take an earbud out of your ear as you approach the station, Danaâs eyes lighting up when she sees you. âHappy one year, Doc,â she calls to you. âI feel like we should throw a party.â
âWe can start popping champagne when we clock out,â you reply, leaning on the counter. âSomething tells me weâre gonna need it anyway.â
âThe Oracle of Pittsburgh has spoken,â Dana tells Collins, whoâs just walked in behind you. âBad day today.â
âI hate when you do that,â she all but whines. âAt least let me start my day before you curse it.â
You shrug. âIâm not responsible for my predictions. Iâm just burdened with knowledge.âÂ
âWell, close that third eye or whatever,â Collins mutters. âI need a good day for once, Risky.â
âCompromise,â you pose, pointing at the two of them. âThe second you guys stop calling me that, Iâll foresee a good day.â
(Yeah, unfortunately, Langdonâs god-awful nickname had stuck. Itâd been amended slightly and changed it to be just a bit more palatable, but you still fucking hated it. Langdon couldnât have been more pleased that it had caught on.)
Dana and Collins exchange a glance, then look back at you. âI think weâll take our chances,â Dana says.
You scowl at them. âOne of these days, Iâm actually going to call HR on this entire floor. Name-calling is a serious offense. Iâll file with Lisa for bullying and harassment.âÂ
âIf my nameâs in that report, Lisa will throw it out,â says a voice from behind you. You hold back your sigh as Langdon appears at your side. âShe loves me.â
You look at him blankly for a moment, then turn to your friends. You motion to Langdon. âSee? I told you. Bad day.â
âIs that the official Oracle report?â he asks. His eyes find the new students and residents gathered together and he sucks his teeth. âGod help the newbies.â
Dana huffs a laugh. âYou can say that again.â Then, realizing the group before her, she pats the counter. âHappy fourth year, you three.â
She steps away from you then, moving to take care of some new problem that had come up. The sentiment is left with you, and a tiny bit of pride bubbles in your stomach. You knew you were going to make it to your final residency year. Since youâd graduated, there had only been one instance that youâd ever questioned your career path. Since that moment, you hadnât had a second thought.
But still. You had done it. It wasnât a linear path, but youâd done it. You allowed yourself to be proud of that.
You glance over at Collins, who seems to be on the same wave as you. You bump her shoulder with yours, and she grins at you, then walks over to her desk area to get set up for the day.Â
âDid you ever think that weâd end up finishing our residencies together?â Langdon asks you when you turn back to him.
You refrain from laughing in his face. âFuck, no. I was hoping to be as far away from you as possible. Still want to be.â
âAnd yet,â he says, âhere we are.â
A sickly sweet smile takes over your lips. âFellowships canât come soon enough.â
His eyes narrow. âDonât act like you wonât miss me.â
âTalk to me at the end of next year,â you mutter, taking a step back to follow Collins. âBut I donât foresee that happening.â
âIs that the official Oracle report?â he repeats.
âItâs the clearest thing Iâve seen all day,â you say from over your shoulder.
JULY 1ST, 2024. (11:00 AM)
As it turns out, the clearest thing youâll see all day was your first prediction. The day turns out to be more than bad. Itâs an apocalyptic, undeniable shitshow thatâs unlike anything youâve seen before.
It starts out slow. The new residents continue to work at their new positions and better understand the environment. The med students look at you with wide eyes as you correct them. They ask questions and get acclimated to the work. You find yourself getting paired with the med student Whitaker and the intern Santos the most-- two working experiences that couldnât be more different.
Whitaker is careful. Heâs warm. Heâs good with the patients. Heâs hesitant. Incredibly unlucky. Then again, you could have guessed those things about him the second you saw him.
(âI want that one,â you say to Collins at Rounds, nodding in his direction. âThe one that looks like a mouse who made a wish to become human for a day. I want him with me.â)
But he surprises you with how hard he tries. He cares. He plays most things by the book. You can tell exactly when heâs freaking out, despite the way he tries to hide it.Â
You see a sliver of your younger self in him, and perhaps, thatâs what endears you to the kid.
Santos, on the other hand, is on the farthest end of that spectrum. Sheâs a bit more abrasive. Cares a little less about bedside manner. She thinks sheâs leagues above the newbies, and honestly, she might just be. Sheâs incredibly competent and is already surprising you with what she knows.Â
Sheâs also rather confrontational. Just a bit reckless. She doesnât understand the well-established hierarchy, and while you donât think this is a fundamentally bad thing, itâs not ideal for a first year. You told her as such fifteen minutes ago.
(You observe her working to treat a man whoâs hooked up to a double lumen port and has been in the ED for a couple of hours. Thereâs a suspected port infection, and you ask exactly how you think this should be handled.
Sheâs correct when she tells you intermittent antibiotics. Sheâs correct when she suggests Vancomycin. Sheâs wrong when she orders half doses to be put into both sides of the double lumen.
Itâs a mistake you almost donât catch, but thankfully, you do. She tries to argue with you, saying that her math is right, it makes sense, and that heâll be getting the full dose. Sheâs wrong.
You glance at Donnie, order the correct rate, and then pull her outside.
âListen to me,â you tell her. Your voice is soft but assertive, and it makes her shut her mouth almost immediately. âIâm assuming you graduated top of your class, right? Or you were at least up there?â
She blinks at you, obviously not expecting you to pose whatever reprimand youâre about to lay on her like that. âUh, yeah. I did.â
âI know. I can tell. Youâre good.â You cross your arms over your chest. âYouâre a resident now, and thatâs a big deal. Youâve made it. But just because youâre good or that youâve made it, it doesnât mean that you get to make all the calls.â
She looks away from you. âIâm not making all the calls. Itâs the right doseââ
âTheoretically, yes. But in practice, itâs not,â you say slowly. âDouble lumens arenât super common, I know. And yeah, two half-doses make a full one. But when you push two halves, youâre pushing them at the same time. That means youâre doubling the rate of the Vancomycin.â You see the realization hit her the second the words leave your mouth. âThatâs when we get Direct Mast Cell Activation--â
âAnd I send that guy into Red Man,â she mutters, eyes shutting.
You nod with a soft sigh. âRight.âÂ
She shifts uncomfortably in front of you. âThat just slipped my mind. Iâm a little overwhelmed. I didnâtâ"
âNobody means to miss things, Santos. But we miss less when weâre not diving in head first without goggles on,â you say. âTake a second to breathe when youâre in there. Think about everything. Youâve proven that your first instinct is right most of the time, but just⊠consider all options.â Patting her on the arm, you nod at her. âAnd take the advice the older residents give you. Weâre not all incompetent idiots, alright?â)
Sheâs quick. Sheâs argumentative. Sheâs a nicknamer. She makes mostly effective, snap decisions that you couldnât imagine making as a first-year. Sheâ
Holy fuck, sheâs Langdon. Sheâs so Langdon that it actually makes your head spin. Perhaps, thatâs what makes you a bit uneasy about her.
(What you donât see, however, is what happens when you walk away from Santos. She sighs and runs a hand down her face, narrowly avoiding Langdon as he walks toward the scene he was quite obviously watching.Â
âDid Risky just yell at you?â he asks, staring as you walk away.
âKinda,â she huffs, frustrated and clearly not in the mood for whatever heâs got for her.
âWow,â he chuckles. âThe only person she yells at is me. You must have pissed her off.â Before Santos can respond and piss off another resident, he walks away saying, âWhatever she said, listen to her. Sheâs the smartest person on this floor.â)
You find him at the nurseâs station after you finish triage with a patient. He has his phone out, showing Dana a photo. Then, he mentions something that genuinely makes you laugh out loud.
âYou got Abby a dog?â you ask, fully intruding on the conversation. Langdon jumps as the med chart youâre holding clatters on the counter.
âJesus,â he mutters. âWe need to get you a bell or something.â
You completely ignore him and instead choose to rephrase your question. âYouâve been bitching about never being home for the last three months and you bought your wife and two children a dog?â
âItâs so like you to hate puppies,â he says. âI take it you have a problem with World Peace and babies, too?â
You catch Dana rolling her eyes out of the corner of yours, clearly fed up with the two of you already. âThe hell are you talking about? I love dogs. I used to co-parent one with my ex back in med school.â Langon looks at you in surprise, and you wave him off. âJamie got custody of the ring and the dog when I left him. But Iâm just saying. If you hate your wife, you should have just told her. You didnât need to give her an animal.â
He narrows his gaze at you, a sneer already curling at his lips. âThe fuckâ? I donât hateââ
âYouâre never home. Your wife works. You have two kids under fourââ
âTanner says heâs going to take care of it.â
âYeah, and when I was four, I told my parents the same exact thing when I wanted them to buy me a dog at the mall.â You nod in faux enthusiasm. âYou know what they did when I asked? They bought me a Tamagotchi instead.â Dana shakes her head, but you can see her holding back a smile. âI killed it two days later.â
âWell, thatâs because youâre you,â Langdon says. âAnd youâre the fucking Antichrist.â
âIâm just saying.â You shrug, moving over to look at the screen to see which patient to take next. âIf you wanted to drop two thousand dollars, you should have taken your wife to a spa and gotten Tanner a tablet with Roblox. Not a living creature that shits on the floor.â
He scoffs as he follows you. âAnd raise an iPad baby? Pass. I see too many of those here a day.â His arm brushes yours as he parks himself beside you and crosses his arms over his chest. You physically cannot help the way your lip curls up in disgust, and youâre not in control of your body when you step away. âDo you want the dislocated shoulder in South Seven or the kidney stones in North Three?â
âI donât cherry-pick,â you mutter, trying to sound as self-righteous as possible. You donât have to look at him to know that heâs rolling his eyes. âSkull fracture in Six needs to be tended to. Iâm going there.â
He frowns. âI wanted that one.â
Youâre already moving in the direction of South Seven. âGreat. Take it. I wanted the dislocated shoulder anyway,â you say.
Heâs protesting as you practically run away. âSo much for not cherry-picking!â
You throw up your hands in a shrug. âGive Mr. Skull Fracture a hug for me!â
JULY 1ST, 2025. (2:00 PM)
You crack into your second energy drink of the day, ignoring the look that Mohan gives you as you do so.Â
âUnless youâd like me to fall asleep with a scalpel in my hand, I donât want to hear it,â you tell her.Â
âIâm just saying,â she replies, âthere are better options. Iâve been really into--â
âIf you tell me that matcha is a good replacement for the two hundred milligrams of caffeine that I get from this chemical weapon, Iâm going to yell at you,â you warn, pointing a finger at her with the hand thatâs holding your can. âItâs like offering me coke and then giving me a salad.â
You hear McKay chuckle from behind you. âItâs a lost cause, Samira.â
âSheâs been trying for the last six months,â you say to her from over your shoulder. âI admire the tenacity.â You turn back to Mohan. âIâm forcing a vodka-Red Bull down your throat when we go for drinks next week, when I finally get you out of your cave of an apartment, you can finally experience the magic.â
âIâm just trying to help you,â Mohan grumbles, completely ignoring your last comment. âThereâs a lavender matcha that Iâve been getting at the coffee shop on my way here thatâs really good. Iâll bring you one tomorrow. Weâll start making the switch.â
âI love you. I do,â you tell her, voice gentle. âBut I also refuse to let you waste your money. You can send matcha powder to my grave when youâre old and out of debt after these things kill me.â
Mohan shakes her head. âItâs not as fun to say âI told you soâ when youâre dead, though.â
âTake what you can get,â says Langdon, interrupting the conversation in that way he loves to do. âIâm still riding the high from when I was able to say it back in 2019.â
You give him the fakest of fake smiles. âCrazy how you havenât been able to say it since.â
âItâll happen again one of these days,â he says. âI know it.â
âYeah, Iâm not seeing that,â you reply. âAnd Iâm the Oracle here.â
âThat you are,â he mutters, glancing at Mohan and McKay. He then nods at you, motioning for you to follow him. âCan I talk to you for a second?â
Confusion warps your face. âMe?â
âIâm looking directly at you,â Langdon says, like youâre the idiot.
âIâm sorry,â you mutter. With that confirmation, you do, in fact, round the nurse's station to let him lead you into the break room. You ask to his back, âBut when have you ever pulled me to chat? Typically, you go the public humiliation route.â
He doesnât say anything as you enter the room, but shuts the door the moment youâre inside. Itâs only then that you notice the look in his eye. Itâs slightly crazed and just a bit paranoid. What the hell?
âAre you good?â you ask hesitantly.
He nods again, but itâd be clear to anyone that heâs lying. âHave youâŠâ He shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. âHave you heard anything about me today? Anyone ask you anything about me? Say anything?â
Your perplexed expression only grows. âUh⊠no? Should I be? Hearing things, I mean? Did you do something?â
âWhy do you assume I did something?â he asks.
Youâre astounded by the nerve of him to be frustrated with you after he pulled you away from work to talk about petty shit like this. âBecause youâre kidnapping me and taking me into the break room to ask if the popular girls are gossiping about you.â
His nostrils flare. âIâm serious.â
âI am, too,â you say. âThis isnât high school, Langdon. Nobodyâs passing notes in the hall or starting rumors to get you kicked off the football team. I havenât heard anything.â
(This was a lie, of course. Word traveled fast in this hospital, and there wasnât a nurse on the payroll who didnât love a gossip session. But, no, you hadnât heard anything about him.)
The way he stares at you has you asking, âAre you okay? Whatâs got you so freaked out?â
âNothing,â Langdon answers, perhaps a bit too quickly. Your eyes narrow. âI mean it, itâs--â He pushes both hands outward, like heâs expelling some sort of negative energy. âItâs nothing you want to be a part of. I just wanted to ask.â
You purse your lips, questions on your tongue, but you know theyâre not worth asking. âO-kay,â you say instead, drawing the word out.
But heâs not done. Before you can make your exit from this delightfully awkward and strange conversation, he grabs your arm. You turn to him with wide eyes. âJustâ if Santos comes to talk to you⊠let me know, okay?â
Youâre three kinds of confused and are experiencing some major whiplash. You take his hand off of you, throwing it to the side. âWhaâ Santos? What the hell is sheââ You cut yourself off with another question. âAre you already fighting with the fucking intern?â
âNo,â he says defiantly. âIâm not. Jesus. Just, pleaseââ
âThen what is it? Did something happen?â
He shakes his head, blowing past you to get to the door. âItâs nothing. Donâtâ donât worry about it.â He meets your eyes briefly before turning back around. âForget I said anything.â
He knows you wonât. Forgetting wasnât something you did. He knows he just fucked himself over by simply bringing it up to you, but itâs too late to do anything about it now.
He walks out the door, his anxiety festering, and your suspicion rising.
JULY 1ST, 2025. (4:55 PM.)
Two hours left, you tell yourself. Two hours.
Despite the fact that there are only two hours left of your shift, youâve been trying to ignore a migraine for the last thirty minutes. Literally and physically.
It had developed when Dana got hit. You were coming out of Trauma Two with Whitaker when you saw her stumble in, immediately springing into action alongside Robby. It took a look from him and a hand on your shoulder from Dana to keep you from running out into the parking lot to go find the guy and do God-knows-what, so youâd settled for keeping her company when she went to get a CT.
The migraine surfaced when sheâd returned to the floor and had burned a hole in your head since then. Youâd glance at her, letting her know that you were going to go run and grab some ibuprofen from your bag in your locker and that youâd be back in a minute.Â
(âIâm getting you some too,â you say as you walk away.Â
âIâm fine!â she calls after you, ice pack over her eye.Â
âIâm still getting you some!â)
You hadnât meant to overhear it. You hadnât meant to be there.
You donât process it at first. You just hear what sounds like Robby and Langdon arguing. You hear the way Robbyâs voice waivers as he tells Langdon to go home. What? He was being sent home?
And then it all comes crashing down.
Langdonâs pleading. Heâs telling Robby itâs not what he thinks, that heâd hurt his back some time ago when moving. That heâs not an addict. An addict couldnât do what he does.
It takes you a moment to put it all together, the shock of it all clouding your brain and your judgment. An addict? Who wasâŠÂ
Had Langdon been using? Is that what he was so worried about in the break room? Was heâ Did heâ?
You stumble backward, hand tracing the wall as you try to balance yourself and escape the area. There was no way this was happening. No fucking way.Â
But then you hear Robby chuck Langdonâs things at him and suddenly⊠It's all real.Â
You donât want to be anywhere near this. This isnât your business. This is something thatâs between them-- something that Robby knows how to deal with. He always knows the right way to deal with everything. Thatâs kind of his thing.
You donât want Robby to know you know. You donât want Langdon to know you know.Â
So, you quietly walk back to the ED, migraine intensifying, and feeling more lightheaded than ever.Â
When you return to the floor empty-handed, Dana immediately notices. The sickly look on your face has her asking, âWhereâs that ibuprofen?â
You blink twice, staring at her as you try to find the words. âI, uhââ You clear your throat. âI think I ran out. I-Iâm gonna go see if I can find some.â
You take off before she can question anything else.
When Robby comes back and tells her that Langdon went home and he needs her to do a pharmacy audit, Dana puts two and two together.
(âIâm not gonna ask-- Iâm not,â she says, eyeing him carefully. âBut, just so youâre aware, Risky just came back from the lockers looking like she saw a ghost.â
Robby shuts his eyes, both hands rubbing against his neck to latch behind his head. âNothingâs ever fucking easy, is it?â)
The next time you see your attending, you share a look. Itâs a stone-faced plea on his end, an unspoken agreement on yours. He nods and then asks you to assist him in Trauma One.
Neither of you utter a word about it.
JULY 1ST, 2025. (6:55 PM)
You canât breathe.Â
Youâre caught in the height of the PittFest disaster, and there is just so much.Â
Thereâs been so much blood. So many people are hurt. So many people are dead. So much trying and not enough saving. Thereâs just so much⊠everything.Â
And youâre the only R4 left on the floor.Â
Collins left. You told her to. Robby told her to. After what she went through today, she should be gone. But LangdonâŠ
Langdonâs gone. Potentially for good. And itâs his own fucking fault.
Of course, you know itâs more complicated than that. But right now, you canât decipher up from down, let alone right from wrong.
The two people youâve learned to rely on most (for better or for worse) are gone, and youâre in way over your head. Youâre drowning, trying to stay above water. But as you continue to work, as you order your younger residents and med students around, knowing theyâre floundering just as much as you are, you canât help but freak out.
Youâre supposed to hold down the fort. Youâve got Abbot and Robby and Mohan, youâve got Walsh and Ellis and Shen, but you donât have your people.Â
You donât have Langdon.
He was so much better at situations like these than you were. He didnât get flustered, he didnât freeze up, he never had a problem with drowning. He was always cool and alert and ready for whatever was thrown at him.
And fuckâ as much as you hated to admit it, you got used to him having your back out here. You got used to him.
As someone who hated change, thatâs just about what tipped you over the edge.
You take what you think is a minute to yourself. You step back from the carnage in front of you to grab a new pair of gloves and take a second to breathe.
But you canât find your breath. And it takes more than a second to realize that.Â
You only come to when you hear an inaudible voice from beside you. It sounds like whoever is speaking to you is underwater, drowning with you.
They grab you by the shoulders and turn you. You blink, dazed as you see Langdonâs face. His confused expression drops as he sees the look on your face and the speed at which your chest is moving up and down.Â
âNope,â he says simply, shaking his head. âNone of that. Get your fucking head on straight.â
A wheeze escapes your chest. âWhat are youâ How are youââÂ
You canât even get the words out. Theyâre overtaken by the breath you canât catch. You try to contain it, not wanting to do this-- to be like this in front of him, but youâre too far gone. Too deep into it.
Langdonâs having none of it. âYouâre not Flight Risk-ing it right now. Not now.â He grips your shoulders tighter. âWe need you out there. We need you to be on it because no one out there can do what you do.â
âI canâtââ Your voice comes out unstable. âI just needâ I was outââ
âBreathe,â he tells you. âAre you listening to me? Breathe. We need you.â He looks directly into your eyes. âI need you, okay? I fucking need you, so get the fuck out of your head and letâs go.â
As if those were the magic words, your brain flips a switch. You slowly regain your footing, any anxiety now replaced with anger toward him. You have no idea if that was his intention, or if he truly meant that, but the second your breath becomes something resembling regular, you use both hands to push him off of you. His lips part in surprise.
What a fucking joke. He needed you? You needed him and it was his own fucking fault that he wasnât here.
âI was out there,â you barely manage to get out. You point toward the door with a shaking hand. âI was out there on my own. Without you. Youâre always here when things go to shit and you werenât fucking here, Frank.â
You watch as your words hit him. Theyâre said with such anger and resentment that he just barely registers that youâve called him by his first name. You barely realize it. Youâre not sure if youâve ever done that before. That same anger also makes him think that you might know more about his situation than he thought.
But thereâs no time to focus on that. No time to dwell on his feelings or yours. There are more important matters at hand.
âWell,â he says, throwing his hands up in a shrug. âIâm here now. And you can be pissed off at me out there. As long as youâre on the floor.â
You bite your tongue. There are so many things you want to say to that. So many. But heâs right. You need to get back out there. Your little panic attack can wait. You can bitch him out after you clock out; whenever this nightmare ends.
So, you resign and nod, finally breathing right. âFine.â
He nods, giving you a once-over. Youâre covered in blood. Itâs smeared on your cheek, caught in your hair, and all over your scrubs. Your eyes are still wide, blown-out like youâre shell-shocked. But, youâre still you.Â
He doesnât know what to do with the comfort that gives him.
He pushes all of that aside for now. âYou good?â he asks.
âYeah,â you breathe. âAs good as I can be. You?â
âIâm good.â You donât laugh in his face like you want to. âYou ready?â
âNo,â you answer honestly. âBut that doesnât matter, does it?â
You get a rare, genuine smile from him. Itâs small, but it changes the entire composition of his face. âThatâs the spirit.â
He waits for you to return to the floor before he follows. When the two of you take a moment to stop and observe the chaos before you rush right back into it, you exchange one last glance.
He nods at you, and then heâs off.Â
You break off in the opposite direction, refusing to focus on anything but the patients and doctors who need you.
(JULY 1ST, 2025. 7:25 PM.)
Langdonâs had his eye on you since he returned to the ED.
Youâve been on the opposite side of the action, helping Robby and other red-banded patients. Heâs worked with you once since he got back in, and while you seemed to be able to compartmentalize enough to collect yourself, heâs still worried about you.
He knows itâs rich coming from him, given everything thatâs currently going on, but still. Heâd never seen you like that, not even in med school when you were more neurotic than you were presently. He prays he wonât ever have to again.
But right now, heâs even more nervous about it because he canât find you. And he needs you.
He canât access a vein for the current patient heâs working on, and if he doesnât, heâs going to lose the guy. As he racks his brain for solutions, he freezes.Â
You. Shit, he needs you.
He knows, in theory, what to do. But you know exactly what to do and how to do it.
But again, he canât find you. Youâve disappeared from his line of sight, and it freaks him out more than it should. The guy heâs operating on just tried to pull a gun. He figured he had a right to be worried.
Fuck it. He didnât have time to look for you. Heâd do it himself. Heâd read about it a couple of years ago anyway.
Langdon runs back to the guy like a bat out of hell, with necessary supplies in hand. Mohanâs eyes go wide when she sees him. âWhat are you doing?â she asks.
âGiving this guy a chance,â he replies, getting his bearings. âHe needs a big central line for fast transfusion.â
Mohanâs brow furrows. âYou can't do an IJ without an ultrasound, especially on a guy this big.â
Mateo looks up at him, continuing his chest compressions. âYou'll kill him if you collapse a lung or hit the carotid.â
âIâm not doing an IJ,â Langdon says, glancing at Mohan. âUnhook that blood line. Bring it up here.â She does as sheâs told, watching intently as Langdon sets up everything he needs. âThis is a supraclavicular subclavian. If you have to go in blind, this is the only safe way to access a giant vein.â He goes to move Mateo out of the way. âAnd hold compressions.â
Readjusting himself, he continues, âA centimeter from the lateral head of the sternocleidomastoid, a centimeter off the clavicle, aiming at the contralateral nipple.â He successfully inserts the syringe heâs holding, and he begins to draw blood. âI'm in. Okay! Resume compressions.â As they do, and everything starts to work normally again, he feels the nerves wear off. âAnd squeeze blood!â
It works. Of course it fucking works. It takes everything in Langdonâs body to stop himself from laughing.
Mohan stares at him in awe. âWhereâd you learn that?â
Subconsciously, he finds himself scanning the room for you once more. Youâre back in the action as if you were never gone, drilling an IO for a patient and moving on to their injuries with the grace and ease that had become synonymous with your name.Â
His gaze dips as he takes off his gloves. He shrugs, glancing over at you briefly once more as you readjust your loupes to fix up the patientâs GSW. âSome research paper from 2021.âÂ
Mohan tracks the exact place his eyes went, a small, disbelieving grin growing on her lips as she puts the pieces together. âSeriously?â
âDonât tell her,â he mutters, passing her to move on to the next patient. âSheâll never let me live it down.â
JULY 1ST, 2024. (9:43 PM.)
Itâs the first thing Mohan tells you after you clock out.
After you grab your things from your locker, you run into her on your way outside. You almost donât realize that sheâs beside you, somehow too dissociated from the world and too focused on what youâve tasked yourself with to register anything.
You flinch when she starts speaking, her shoulder bumping into yours. âRandom question,â she says. The way she speaks tells you itâs not random at all. âDid you write a paper about performing a supraclavicular subclavian?â
You blink at her in surprise. Your brainâs completely fried, and youâre slow to process her words, but when you finally do, your brow furrows. âUh, yeah. Like, forever ago in school. How do youââ
âLangdon did one on one of the mass casualty patients today.â Thereâs a small smile on her face, as if she knows something you donât. âHe saved the manâs life. I didnât even know that was a thing. It was pretty cool.â
That first piece of information catches you more off guard than anything else that was thrown at you today. Youâre sure it shows on your face. He⊠what?Â
Youâre so, completely overwhelmed by everything that you donât hear the sound of the ER doors opening behind the two of you. Mohan glances past you, and luckily, she misses the dazed look on your face. She sends a small smile to Abbot and Robby, and sheâs already moving on before you even have a chance to answer her previous question. âCan you send that to me?â she asks. âOr any other research youâve done on weird, niche procedures? Iâd love to learn how to do it.â
âThatâs Riskyâs specialty,â Abbot chimes in from behind the two of you. The sound of his voice makes you jump out of your skin. âNever met a research freak like her.â
Ignoring the way that your mindâs spinning, you lean over and narrow your eyes at him, a small smile twisting your lips. âThe next time you want to see my case notes, Iâm burning them in front of you.â
âA fire hazard in a hospital should be good for everyone,â he replies.Â
You shrug. âAfter today, I think we can handle a little fire.â
Abbot huffs a laugh in agreement. âFair enough,â he says, then nods toward the park. âYou coming for a drink?â
âNot tonight,â you reply. âIâm here at seven tomorrow. Samiraâs got me trying to cut back on my Red Bull intake, so unfortunately, Iâve got to get at least six hours or Iâll lose it.â
Mohan scowls at you, but before she can say anything, Robby pats you on the shoulder, speaking up for the first time since he got out here. âGet some sleep. You did great today.â
Your smile grows, and you shake your head. âHeard. Thanks, Doc.â You glance back over at Mohan. âAnd Iâll send over what Iâve got,â you tell her, taking a step back to exit the conversation. âWe still on for drinks later this week?â
A hesitant look overtakes her expression. âI donât know, Iââ
âWhat did I say? Iâm getting you out of your cave.â You shoot her a look. âDonât make me threaten to withhold my research.â
Finally, you get a smile. âFine. Yes. Weâre still on.â
âGood,â you say, turning to walk away. From over your shoulder, you call, âGet some rest. All of you!â
âNot sure I know what that is,â Abbot responds.Â
You find yourself chuckling as you walk away. Itâs only then, when you hear the crinkling in your pocket, that your steps falter. Suddenly, you remember what you originally came out here to do. Who you came out to find.
And now, youâve got something else to talk to him about.Â
You find Langdon toward the back of the hospital. You knew heâd still be here. Of course, heâs still here.Â
Heâs sitting on the curb, head between his legs and in his hands. Your shoes scrape against the pavement, and the sound makes his head snap up. Thereâs a look of hope on his face-- hope that you, maybe, were someone else. Itâs evident by the way his expression disappears the second he meets your eyes. He sighs, and itâs something heavy and labored as his head drops back into his hands.Â
Neither of you says anything. He doesnât know why youâre here or what you want, but frankly, he couldnât give less of a shit. He was at the end of the worst day of his life. He might as well round it out with a conversation with you.
After a hesitant moment, you take a seat on the curb next to him. Thereâs just enough space between you two that itâs not overwhelming, but still mildly intimate. Itâs safe. You never thought youâd want to be this close to him, but after today? Anything goes.
As Langdonâs mind continues to spin, heâs pulled out of his misery by the sound of that same crinkling that stopped you in your tracks. Itâs obnoxious against the quiet of the night, but it confuses him more than anything. He lifts his head to look over at you, only to see a bag of Peanut M&Ms outstretched in your hand.
Itâs your version of a peace offering. He glances up at you, suspicion written across his face with the smallest glint of humor in his eyes. When he doesnât immediately take them, you push the bag out at him once more, as if the offerâs going to expire.
With another long, heavy sigh, he snatches it from you, and you have to pretend like that doesnât end a wave of relief through you. You fish through your sweatshirt pocket to find the bag of regular M&Ms you bought for yourself, tearing into them once theyâre in your hand.Â
For a long while, neither of you speak. Itâs an odd, stark contrast to what youâre used to with him. Thereâs no bickering, no expectation for a quick and witty rebuttal to shut him up. Itâs just you and him, sitting on a curb outside the hospital, coming down from an adrenaline high the likes of which youâve never felt. Youâre two people who went through something completely, out-of-this-world awful, eating M&Ms together with no words to exchange. Youâre still shaking.
(Langdon notices the way your fingers tremble as they reach into your bag, but he doesnât say anything about it. Perhaps thatâs his peace offering.)
Instead, he asks, âVending machine?â
He doesnât look over at you. Itâs a casual question, one asked as he chews, as if heâd asked for the weather or what the time was. But youâre open to it.Â
âYup,â you say shortly. âYou got the last bag.â
Langdon nods. âCool.â
âYup,â you repeat.
Another beat passes between you. Then, he asks, âHowâd you know?âÂ
You glance over as he lifts the bag up, then shrug. âIt was your study snack,â you reply. âOnly thing I ever saw you get from that loud-ass machine in the library.â
He nods again, but itâs slower this time. âYou were always good at that.â When he feels your eyes on the side of his face, he finally meets them. âNoticing things.â
âYeah,â you say with a shrug, because youâre not sure what else to say. âItâs kinda part of the job.â
You both turn away from each other again, the air between you two feeling just a bit tighter this time around. You canât hear anything but the sounds of the city and the hospital, and the crinkling of your candy bags.
Youâre the first to speak this time. âYou alright?â
It comes out more timid than you had wanted, but he doesnât seem to react to it. âYeah,â he replies. You know itâs a lie. âYou?â
A sigh creeps up on you. âYeah,â you repeat.Â
He knows itâs a lie. Thereâs a silent agreement between you that you wonât call each other out.Â
âI heard--â You clear your throat as your voice comes out a little too raspy for your liking. âI heard you did a supraclavicular subclavian?â
He stops mid-chew and shuts his eyes. âFucking Slo-Mo.â
His reaction has the beginnings of a smile tugging at your lips. If you needed any sort of confirmation that Mohan was telling the truth, he just gave it to you. âYou read my paper?â you ask.
Your voice is light and just a bit teasing, but thereâs a fondness in it that Langdonâs not sure heâs ever heard directed at him. Itâs enough to have him muttering, âI could have read or heard about that anywhere--â
âBut you didnât,â you say. âYou read my paper.â
Langdon nearly groans. âI told her not toââ
âYou read my paper,â you repeat again, grin growing larger. âAll that talk in med school about how you didnât trust my research andââ
âI always trusted your research,â he interjects, pointing at you. âYou were way too much of a meticulous, pedantic freak for any of that to be wrong. I didnât trust your indecisive, game-time, on-the-spot procedures.â When he sees you rolling your eyes, he suppresses his own smile. âBut a case study written by that meticulous freak about a new, risky procedure? Iâm reading that entire thing front to back.â
You hate the feeling that stirs in your chest. You hate the fact that his validation still gets that type of reaction from you. You donât need it. You knew that paper was good. You had the acclaim and accolades to prove it. But hearing it from him and knowing that he didnât just read it, but he fucking remembered it well enough to use it in an emergency situation?
Thatâll get you. Thatâll get you every time.Â
Fuck, you hate yourself for it.
Despite all of that, your smile stays on your face as you nod along. You lean in slightly when you ask, âItâs pretty cool, isnât it?â
âYeah, yeah,â he mutters, waving you off. The humor in his voice isnât missed. âItâs cool.â
You donât know why you do it. Maybe itâs your exhaustion. Maybe youâre still reeling from the day. Maybe itâs because you suddenly feel closer to him than youâve ever felt before. Maybe itâs because heâs being open and as nice as he can muster up right now.Â
Whatever it is, you pop an M&M in your mouth and say, âI read a couple of your papers, too.â
Now, itâs his turn to be surprised. You donât look at him, but you can see the smirk growing on his face out of the corner of your eye. âDid you?â
âOne or two of them,â you shrug. âHad to know what riveting content my mortal enemy was researching. Couldnât have him writing a better paper than me.â
âIâm sure thatâs what it was.â
âIt was,â you insist, though you know itâll fall on deaf ears. âIâm nothing if not competitive.â
Langdon huffs. âDonât I know it.â
âI wouldnât be talking,â you scoff. âIf Iâm competitive, youâre--â
âI know. Iâm bad too,â he says, chuckling softly. âWouldnât have been half as fun if we werenât.â
Your brow lifts in agreement. âRight on.â
You lean back, holding yourself upright with your arms behind you. The mulch on the ground sticks into your palms, but youâre too exhausted to care. With another long sigh, you stare up at the sky, the lights from the hospital and the city clouding your view of the stars. Youâre about to muse about how much you miss seeing them when he says, ââMortal enemy,â huh?â
âI donât have a ton of them.â You shrug. âYou didnât have a lot of competition.â
He hums. âGuess I should be lucky that Iâm number one.â
âEasiest thing youâve ever won,â you say, failing to bite back your grin.Â
âOnly thing I didnât have to compete with you for.â He shakes another M&M into his hand. âOf course it was easy.â
That grin of yours falters slightly. When you try to respond, you find that your words fail.
Luckily, he continues by asking, âSo, what did you think?â
âOf what?â you question.
âMy papers,â he says. âThe ones youâve read because you trust my work so much.â
That strange feeling stirs in your stomach again, but this time, itâs a little different. While itâs familiar, you canât define it. It causes enough discomfort in you that you feel yourself withdrawing from him. This is too comfortable. Too nice.Â
Thereâs a piece of you that needs things to return to normal. To get back on course. But that other piece of you, the one that harbors all of your anger toward him-- that one suddenly overtakes you. Itâs like you remembered what you really came out here for. It wasnât just to find him and eat candy with him. It wasnât to joke around like youâre old friends. Because youâre not.
You came out to make sure he was stable. Okay. And then, you came to yell at him.
You donât look at him when you say it. Your eyes return to the night sky, and you sigh. Itâs deep enough for Langdonâs expression to morph into something confused.Â
âIâll let you know when you get back,â you say, voice soft and sad.
He doesnât get it at first. That confusion he wears becomes more prominent, and his brows knit together. But then, you look at him. Youâre disappointed. Youâre angry. Youâre upset. Heâs seen all of that, but never all together. Never like this.
Then, it clicks.
The color drains from his face. âDid fucking Santos tell you? Because I swear to God, if sheââ
âDo not,â you begin, voice so lethal that it has him snapping his mouth shut, âblame Santos for this. She did exactly what she was supposed to do. Sheâs not the one using. Sheâs not the one who fucked up. That is on you.â
He scoffs, shaking his head. âJesus, did she tell everyone? I donât fucking need this from youââ
âShe didnât tell me,â you say. Your voice is firm, and he chances a look at you. âShe didnât need to. I heard you and Robby fighting.â Lighter, you add, âYou pulling me into the break room and talking about Santos didnât help your case either. I kind of put two and two together.â
He doesnât have anything to say to that. He just sits there, drained and miserable, unsure of where he stands with⊠anything. His eyes shut, and he turns away from you, jaw trembling.
When he finally speaks, his words are quiet. âIâm not an addict.â
âYou are,â you reply, and a small piece of your heart breaks as his shoulders slump, defeated. While you may not be his biggest fan, you donât like seeing him like this. Itâs so hard to hate him like this. âBut youâre going to fix that.â
A humorless, rough laugh escapes his lips. âBecause itâs that easy.â
âItâs not. And it wonât be,â you state, refusing to bite at his attempt at an argument. âItâs going to be hard every single day going forward. But youâre going to do it.â
Heâs quiet for a long while again. He obviously doesnât know what to do with you right now. Heâs not used to talking like this with you. Itâs just as uncomfortable for him as it is for you.
But then, âYou sound so sure.â
His sarcasm comes off half-hearted. Itâs like heâs trying to put up that ever-familiar wall between you two, but canât. Thereâs too much uncertainty in it. For the first time in years, you feel like heâs being one-hundred-percent vulnerable with you. You figure you owe him the same kindness.
âI am,â you tell him. Thereâs no room for arguing.Â
You watch him nod. âHow do you know?âÂ
A smile graces your lips. âBecause I know you,â you say. His heart pulls at how honest you sound. âAnd when the hell have either of us ever given up on something just because itâs hard?â
If he didnât know what to say to your previous comments, youâve left him dead in the water with this one. It feels like a good parting line, and you donât have much more to say.Â
So, you stand, brushing the dirt off your hands onto your scrub pants. Heâs still looking at you intently, like heâs trying to figure you out. He walked into work today with his relationship with you completely cut and dry. You didnât like each other. You didnât get along, and you had your history, but you worked well together. That was it.Â
But youâd lived through something traumatic together today. Not only that, but you knew why heâd be taking a leave of absence. Now, he felt exposed, as if you could read him better than anyone else. Maybe you could.Â
You hadnât weaponized it, though. Not that he thought you would. But still⊠You could have. You hadnât. There had to be something to that.
Before you can say your indefinite goodbyes or leave, he clears his throat. Gently, he says, âIâm sorry I wasnât there when you needed me today.â
With a small, sad smile, you readjust your bag on your shoulder. âJust be there for the team next year,â you tell him. âWeâll call it even.â
He doesnât know why youâre being so kind to him. He doesnât feel like he deserves it. Youâve never been like this with him before. Perhaps he didnât give you the opportunity to.
Before you leave, you nod at him. âGood luck, Langdon,â you say.
As you walk away, he canât help but feel like youâre taking something of his with you.
I'M SO SORRY I'M LATE TUMBLR APPARENTLY HAS A PARAGRAPH LIMIT AND I WAS 415 PARAGRAPHS OVER WHEN I TRIED TO POST THE 44K FIC IN ITS ENTIRETY SO I HAD TO MAKE IT INTO TWO PARTS AND I WAS LOST BUT SHE'S HERE NOW! EAT UP AND ENJOY! MAKE SURE YOU READ PART 2!
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pairing: frank langdon x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)
summary: eight months after langdon leaves, you run into him by chance, and honestly, he looks like he needs a friend. and with your new, upcoming role at the pitt, you need all of your residents on your side. while you didn't expect taking him under your wing to be easy, you definitely didn't expect to become his friend. and you certainly didn't expect... whatever comes after that.
word count & rating: 30k, M (18+! minors get out or i will verbally beat ur ass)
warnings: still slow-burning, eventual SMUT, you know i love a little porn with plot, protected p in v, oral (f receiving), hints of a handjob, lot of kissing, tons of dirty talk (langdon cannot shut up to save his life), the rivals become friends and then lovers, major sexual tension and slightly awkward flirting, afab!reader, dana stays (!), frank gets divorced (!), mentions of addiction and sobriety, lots of swearing, banter, angst, descriptions of a previous, inappropriate but consensual workplace relationship, brief mentions of another tough, previous relationship the reader had, patient gets into a minor altercation with the reader, likely inaccurate medical talk (i am a woman with google, reddit, and a dream), not beta read please do not roast me for typos i missed
author's note: well, this is part two. for those of you who missed the previous note, this was all supposed to be one fic but it's a 44k word fic and tumblr apparently has a 1,000 paragraph limit (who knew). this was the only logical way for my brain to break this one up, sorry for the weird difference in word count. if anyone wants to read it all in one part, you can find that on my ao3 linked above! hope you enjoy, i love ya all tons! -mags
MARCH 23RD, 2026. (4:30 PM)
You donât see Frank Langdon for a long while after that. Itâs like he was an illusionâ something out of a nightmare that had come to life. He was back in your life for a year and then gone in an instant. The whiplash hurts just a little bit.
Despite his absence, the ED returns to normal for the most part. The new residents and med students find their place, each day a bit easier compared to their first. You find yourself drawn to each of them in a specific way, much like your friends and fellow older residents.
Whitaker becomes your shadow. He grows more confident under your supervision, often turning to you for advice when he feels he needs it. He gets closer with Robby, and you watch as your attending takes him more under his wing each day. Robby tells you that heâs glad the kid picked right when it came to looking for a mentor in his senior residents. You have to pretend that doesnât make you want to hug him in the middle of the ED.
Santos slowly but surely turns into one of your favorite people to work with. Itâs something you should have expected, but after that first day, you didnât know what to do with her. She comes to work the next day with her head a bit tighter on her shoulders, showing you a level of respect that had been missing hours before.Â
(She tells you months later, when sheâs more comfortable with you, that she also had no idea what to do with you after you gently told her off. She was used to being embarrassed in front of everyone when she made an error. You hadnât done that. She knew she had to get on your good side after that.)
You find yourself calling for her to tag along for more complicated procedures, giving her a bit more leeway than you give the others to do more high-risk things. You know exactly why you do it, and so does Collins. For the sake of your sanity, she doesnât bring him upâ she just gives you a look each time you play favorites.
Javadi stays below your radar for the most part. She continues to stick with McKay when she returns, but she warms to you when she finds out about Langdonâs nickname and why the rest of the doctors call you Risky. Sheâs competent when sheâs not second-guessing herself and continues to surprise you when she pulls solutions for cases seemingly out of nowhere. Youâre constantly telling her to speak up more.
Mel is a bit of a different story. Sheâs incredible at what she does. Sheâs a second-year resident and doesnât require as much of your coaching or supervision. But, even though she doesnât need it, you canât help but keep an eye on her. It almost feels like an obligation.
In doing so, you grow to love that girl. Sheâs compassionate, sheâs sweet, and she leaves a piece of her heart in each case she takes on. When she tells you sheâs trying to get better at compartmentalizing things, you have to refrain from scolding her. Sheâs a breath of fresh air, and youâre excited to work with her each time youâre paired together.
Things are the same, but they feel completely different. His absence is felt. Itâs something you have to keep reminding yourself of. You had always wanted to get rid of him, but now that he had left? You canât believe you ever wanted him gone.Â
However, in due time, you get used to it. You stop looking for him when things go to shit, you stop expecting to argue when you clock in, you stop it all. And itâs fine. Itâs just fine.
Other things take precedence. Work overtakes your life. You date around a little. You continue to apply for fellowships. You get rejected from a lot of them despite how great they tell you your application is. A lot of them donât like the fact that you transferred. It doesnât matter how glowing your letter of recommendation from Robby is.Â
Youâre good at what you do. You know that you are. These programs are telling you so. But some of them want more from you. Those that you favored certainly seem to. You ignore the anxiety that floods your body when Robby recommends that you reach out to Klein to see if heâd write you another letter.
It has you reconsidering your career path. It was something that had always been super cut and dry in your mind. Medical school, residency, fellowship, attending. That was the path, particularly for someone as research-intensive as you were. But maybe it didnât have to be.
Itâs something you think about constantly as you continue to hear back from the programs youâve applied for. Itâs something youâre thinking about as you run your errands on your day off.Â
Itâs something youâre thinking about as you see Langdon for the first time in almost eight months.Â
You run into him at the grocery store, of all places. And itâs about as awkward as you expect.Â
Heâs over by the produce, inspecting each apple he picks up with the same level of intensity he used to operate with. Youâre in your own little world, headphones on and plugged into an episode of a podcast that had just been released that day. As sad as it was to say, these errands, these places you went to, and the little shops you looked around at were your time. It was your space outside of work to block out everything else and to only focus on what you needed. And you didnât like that time being interrupted or that facade being broken.
Especially not by Langdon of all people.
You're not expecting to see him here, and youâre certainly not expecting to see him as you look up from your handwritten list to reach for a carton of berries that are diagonal from him. When you lock eyes, you feel your stomach drop and then immediately come back up your throat. You swallow what youâre feeling back down, but remain frozen in place.Â
Why was he here? Youâd never seen him here before. You assumed he was still in the city, but you didnât know he lived in your neighborhood? Or did he not? Was this just a trip over to your neck of the woods for fun? OrâŠ
Your racing mind does nothing to ease your stomach. After your last conversation with him, you donât know where you stand. After everything that happened over the course of his last shift, youâd be surprised if he even remembered it. The only thing that gives you any sort of comfort is the look on his face and the shade of ghostly white heâd turned the second heâd seen you. At least you were on the same page.
âHi,â you say, voice curt and slightly panicked.
His comes out the same. âHey.â
As you completely freak out and you flash your eyes from him to the bag of fruit in his hands, the only thing you can think to say is, âThatâs a fuck ton of apples.â
Itâs not what heâs expecting in the slightest, and he quite literally has to blink at you to make sure he heard you right. âUh⊠Oh. Yeah,â he stammers, looking down at the bag. He seems to find his way as he says, âIâm, uh⊠hoping if I eat one a day, youâll stay the hell away from me.â
Itâs your turn to blink at him. That comment snaps you back to reality, and the scowl youâre more used to wearing around him finds a home on your lips. âIâm assuming itâll have the same effect if I start chucking them at you, too.â
The corner of his mouth twitches. âOnly one way to find out.â
The tension between you doesnât completely dissipate, but it becomes easier to work with. However, you still donât know what to say or how to go about talking to him. So, you sigh and decide to go with, âWhat are you doing here?â
He lifts the basket in his hand. âI needed food?â
âNo, I mean, you donât live around here,â you say with an eye roll. âWhy are you here?â
Langdon presses his lips together and looks away from you, as if heâs figuring out exactly what to say. The action has you narrowing your eyes. âThereâs some cookies Tanner likes that they only sell here,â he seems to decide on. The basket lifts again. âTrying to get dad points.â
âWell, the kidâs got good taste,â you say, nodding in approval as you eye the cookies.
You want to ask more. You know thereâs more to whateverâs behind his hesitant expression. You want to ask how heâs doing, whatâs going on in his life, and why heâs actually at this grocery store.Â
But you can tell he doesnât want to talk about it. At least not here. Perhaps not with you. Heâs stiff, uncertain, awkwardâ youâve never seen him awkward. Youâve also never seen him outside of a work environment. Youâve been out with coworkers and your cohort back in school or and have hung out in the park after a shift, but that was always with your colleagues. Never outside of that and never on your own.
You donât know what to say. Itâs hard to know whatâs off-limits or what heâd actually want to talk to you about.
So, you say, âWell, itâs good to see you,â you try. âYou look good. Or, uh, better.â
His brows pull together for a second, then he nods. âThanks. Itâs, uhââ Itâs like he doesnât know how to talk to you like this. Heâs shifty, bouncing back and forth on his heels, as if heâll bolt at any minute. âItâs good to see you, too.â
You donât know why you do it. Maybe itâs because you feel bad for him, maybe itâs because you donât know what to say. Maybe itâs because you know that if you were in his position, youâd want someone to do it to you.Â
Whatever it is, you find yourself grabbing the small notebook you had written your grocery list in and flipping to a blank page. You can feel his eyes on you as you quickly write something, rip the piece out of the book, and then fold it up. Your hand almost skims the berries below as you hold the paper out to him. âTake this.â
The confusion on his face only grows. âWhat is that?â
You push it at him. âItâs my number,â you say. âYou donât have it. And itâs clear you donât want to talk to me in a grocery store, if at all, which I get.â You shrug. âBut if you ever want to talk to someone about, I donât know⊠work, life, anything. Text me.â
Heâs looking at you like youâre handing him a bomb thatâs about to go off. âI have someâ I have people to talk to.â
âIâm sure you do,â you tell him. âAnd you donât have to talk to me. But if you need to⊠talk to someone with better bedside manner than you, who, I donât know? Already knows all the worst parts of you? Iâm here.â
Langdon stares at the piece of paper, then at you, then back down at the paper. Heâs frozen, and the moment that passes between you feels like a month. Just when your arm begins to get tired from being outstretched, he takes the paper from you.Â
He nods after he does so, slipping it into his pocket. âUh. T-Thanks,â he stammers. âI⊠I appreciate that.â
Youâre not going to get any better than that. Not right now. So, you nod back at him and grab a container of berries in front of you to put into your cart. âTake care of yourself,â you tell him, then glance down at his basket. âAnd good luck with the cookies.â
Youâre gone before he can say thank you, too taken aback by your conversation to verbalize anything coherent. One short interaction with you and he feels like a tornado just ran through the grocery store, and heâs the only one left standing.
He feels the corner of the piece of paper sticking into his leg slightly, and the weight of your words weighing him down.
Heâd never get you. But he was no longer resigned to that idea.
APRIL 2ND, 2026. (2:00 PM)
You meet him for coffee on one of your days off.
He texts you approximately three days after your encounter, apologizing for any awkwardness and letting you know that it was, in fact, good to see you, even if he didnât act like it. He takes you up on your offer, letting you know his schedule so you can work it around your own.Â
Youâre not sure what to expect when you walk into the shop. You donât know what heâs going to be like, what heâs going to want to talk about-- what he wants this to be. Does he just want to make amends? Does he want to talk about his rehabilitation journey? Does he want to hear about work? All of the above?
You know youâre overthinking it, but you canât not. Youâre getting coffee with Langdon. You didnât do things outside of work. You never saw him out of scrubs unless the team was going out. It was just a bit odd, and you couldnât pretend that it wasnât.
Itâs something he addresses the moment you sit down with him. Heâs arrived before you, having grabbed a table in the corner that has two mugs on it. Your brows shoot up in surprise as you realize heâs remembered your coffee order, and you exchange niceties as you sit down.Â
After a beat of awkward silence, he sighs. âThis is fucking weird, isnât it?â
You shrug and bite back a smile. âOnly as weird as we make it.â
He shoots you a look, one you havenât seen in a while. It almost makes you nostalgic. âSo, how do we make it not weird?â
âWell, typically, conversations start with questions,â you say slowly, and you find that heâs already rolling his eyes. âThese can be anything from âhow are youâ to âwhatâs new?ââ
He shuts his eyes, though you donât miss the humor in them when they open. âHow are you?â he asks. âWhatâs new?â
âIâm good,â you reply, and itâs honest. Because you are good. Youâre much better than you were the night you left him on the curb. âEverythingâs pretty much the same. My residency finishes up in a couple of months, so⊠Iâm just prepping for Boards and then for the transition.â You feel a bit bad talking about the residency he should be finishing up with you, so you quickly move on. âHow are you?â
He reaches for his mug, a sigh heaving from his chest as if he were dreading the question. âOh, you know. Recovery is great. Iâm loving every second of it.â His voice drips with sarcasm, and his shoulders sag at the look you give him. After a moment, he quietly says, âIâll be three and a half months sober tomorrow.â
Something akin to pride warms your chest. âThatâs huge, Langdon,â you say earnestly, and when he tries to shrug it off, you shake your head. âNo, Iâm serious. Thatâs a big fucking deal. You should be proud of yourself. I mean that.â
He doesnât say anything to that. You donât expect him to. Instead, he decides to ask about something that you hope had escaped his notice. âYou said youâre prepping for the transition?â
You glance at him, sighing as you reach for your mug. You know the exact reaction youâre going to get when you say, âIâm attending starting in July. Me and Collins. Boards willing.â
Taking a long sip of your coffee, you canât help but note that he got your order exactly right. Asshole. Because now, you canât complain as he starts to laugh. âNo fucking way.â
âIâm in charge of you next year,â you mutter. âSo, Iâd choose my next words very wisely.â
âIâm notââ He shakes his head. âIâm not laughing at you. I just canât believe it. You were so set on the fellowship. You were making me feel bad about not being prepared for it.â
You sink back into your chair. âMy applications came off a little⊠unfocused? That was the word that was used, I think.â His brow furrows. Heâd never call anything you did unfocused. You continue, âIâve found that Iâm really good at a lot of things. I just donât know what Iâm best at. Iâm going to do my fellowship when Iâve figured that out. Whenever that is.â
Youâre expecting him to make fun of you. To laugh again or do whatever it is that he does to get on your nerves. But he doesnât. All he says is, âI donât think thatâs a bad choice.â
The look on your face is weary when you ask, âNo?â
He shakes his head, grabbing a sugar packet from the container on your table. âNot at all. Itâs mature. Donât do something or settle because itâs what you think youâre supposed to do.â
Itâs a strangely sage piece of advice from someone you rarely get it from. Itâs also something you think you desperately needed to hear, but youâd never tell him that.
With a small smile, you nod at him in thanks. âHowâs Abby? The kids? Did you get âdad pointsâ or whatever for the cookies?â
The grimace that pulls at his lips morphs his whole face, and suddenly, you feel like youâve made a major misstep. Itâs another question he was dreading. âAbby and I⊠uhââ He fiddles with the sugar packet in his hands. âWeâre⊠separated. In the process of filing for divorce.â
Well, now you feel like the asshole. âOh, fuck, man,â you say, another heavy sigh leaving your lips. âIâm sorry.â
Langdon shrugs, and itâs a pathetic attempt to act like he doesnât care. You donât call him out on it. He rips the packet and dumps the contents into his coffee. âIt was a long time coming.â
Quiet settles between you, and for a moment, you donât know how to respond to that. Then, like a reflex, you say, âWas it because of theââ
âIt wasnât because of the fucking dog.â Itâs as if he anticipated it, and thereâs a piece of you that hates that he can predict you so well. The other piece of you is pressing your lips together to refrain from laughing as he shakes his head in annoyance.
But then, he does something heâs never done before. He looks at youâ at your face, at the smile youâre poorly concealing, and the glint in your eye that he always noticed but had never admired. And then, he starts to laugh.
Itâs not loud or boisterous. Itâs a soft chuckle, one that lasts as he continues to shake his head and grins softly as he hears you do it too.Â
âYou can tell me I was right, itâs okay.â Your voice is lilting, and the humor written into your expression makes him shake his head. âThereâs a first time for everything. Iâm not stoked that itâs over a dog, but Iâll take what I can get.â
A long and heavy sigh leaves him, and he wipes a hand down his face. âYeah,â he replies. âYou were right. Heâs cute as hell, but it... it was a bad idea. The kids love him, though.â
âIâm sure they do,â you say, then nod at him. âShe made you keep the dog, right?â
âOh, yeah,â he says. âThat thingâs mine. She passed him off to me right when I got out of rehab.â
You snort. âGood for her. And what a sobriety present.â
âYouâre telling me.â He makes a face. âIt could be worse, though. Gives me something to focus on other than how fucked up my lifeâs become.â
Your lips purse, and you push them to the side. âDonât do that.â
âWhat?â he asks. âIt has. And Iâm not saying that to get you to pity me. It fell apart, and itâs my fault.â
âMaybe,â you say lightly. âBut you donât have to torture yourself over it. Thatâs not going to help anyone involved.â Langdon sends you a half-hearted glare, and you throw your hands up. âIâm serious. You make it everyoneâs problem when youâre miserable. Youâre fixing yourself. Be kinder to yourself about it.â
He takes another long sip of his coffee. Then, after a minute, he says, âThanks.â Itâs the best youâre going to get from him. Youâre just happy heâs finally, actually acknowledging your attempts at encouragement. âHowâs The Pitt?â
His attempt to shift the conversation is not subtle, but you go along with it. âItâs less chaotic than when you left it,â you say. âThe newbies are pretty much acclimated now. Everyone else is doing well. We miss you.â
His expression is skeptical when he asks, âYou miss me?â
âSome days,â you admit with a shrug. His brows rise higher. âItâs boring having no one to argue with. I like Collins and Mohan too much to yell at them.â
A small smile graces his features. âWell, if it makes you feel any better,â he begins, âI miss it too. Arguing and all.â
It does, in fact, make you feel better. But still, you say, âYou canât fight with me next session, though. I own your ass.â
âOh, no,â he sighs. âDonât tell me youâre gonna go full-metal despot. I canât handle that.â
âOnly for you. Half-metal despot for everyone else.â You shrug. That glint in your eye has returned. âIâm gonna be your nightmare.â
He sighs ruefully into his mug. âLike you werenât already.â
âIâll be nice,â you assure him, resolving the act. âBut, yeah. You have to at least pretend like you respect me.â
âIâve always respected you,â he states, and the immediate honesty in his voice catches you by surprise. âThat was never the issue. The issue is that youâre a pain in the ass.â
You hold your fingers up like a phone despite the feeling thatâs twisting your stomach. âHey, Kettle? Iâve got pot on the line telling you to go fuck yourself.â
Thereâs humor in his expression as he shakes his head. âIâll keep everyone in line.â
âBe nice about it,â you warn. âI donât want any of the newbies shitting their pants because you start bullying them in July.â
âI would never,â he scoffs.
âSantos would say differently,â you chide.
He rolls his eyes, shifting uncomfortably. âShe was different.â
âShe is,â you say. âSheâs also different than you left her. Sheâs probably my favorite resident to work with.â
âYouâre kidding.â
âIâm not. Sheâs good, Langdon.â He shakes his head. âIf you get over yourself, you might realize it, too.â
He has nothing to say to that. For a minute, you think youâve made him mad. But then, you realize heâs thinking.Â
Heâs not looking at you when he asks, âCan I ask you something?â
âShoot,â you say.
âWhy are you being so nice to me?â He motioned between the two of you. âYou donât need to be doing any of this. I donât deserve it. But you are.â
His question stumps you, because honestly? You donât quite understand it yourself. Given your past, you should be leaving him to rot. You should make his life a living hell the second he returns to the ED. He doesnât deserve the kindness youâre extending to him.
But you still do it. There might be some part of you that pities him. Maybe itâs because itâs not all his fault. Perhaps, itâs the fact that it hasnât all been bad.Â
But you think itâs more of the fact that, regardless of your best efforts to get rid of him, you know Langdon. You spent four years of med school with him and have a year of working together under your belt. You know him.
And despite the nickname heâd given you, you donât give up on people you know. Especially when you know they might just need you.
âI donât⊠really know why either,â you tell him, and your blunt words have him huffing a laugh. âBut I think⊠I think itâs going to be hard for you to come back to work after everything. Even if youâre doing everything right. And I think Iâd want someone in my corner if I were in your spot.â
Langdon stares at you in disbelief. âIâmâŠâ He blows a breath through closed lips, leaning back in his chair. âI donât fucking understand you.â
You shrug. âJoin the club.â
âNo. I mean it. I donât get you,â he says. âYou realize that I donât know if I could do the same for you, right? I donât know if I would be able to be this⊠nice.â
You eye him. âYouâve never been able to. That was kind of our whole thing.â Heâs still looking at you like that. The sigh you release is laborious, and it almost hurts going out. âNot everythingâs a contest, Langdon. We donât always have to compete. There are no winners or losers anymore. We work together now. Weâre in the same boat, and that boat doesnât move unless every single personâs rowing. Stronger in numbers and all that.â You grab your mug, coffee almost lukewarm now. âWhether you want to admit it or not, youâre going to need someone to be nice to you in order for the boat to keep going. If I have to be that person, so be it.â
He scoffs. âI donât need to be coddled.â
âNo, but youâre going to need support,â you respond. âAnd we both know that Iâm a little more forgiving than Robby is.â
That shuts him up almost immediately. He knows youâre right. More than right, actually. Heâs barely spoken to him since July. Langdonâs antsy to get back to the floor, but dear God, he does not want to face Robby.Â
Not after everything he owes him.
He watches you take a long sip of your coffeeâ the way you gently put it back down onto the table and shift the handle to face yourself. Then, he watches the way you meet his gaze, staring at him as if youâd just said the simplest thing in the world.Â
Of course, you were going to help him. Of course, you were going to be nice to him. Why wouldnât you be? Why wouldnât you help him? Simple questions like that had simple answers to you.
He gives it another second before he looks away. âThank you,â he says quietly, and he hopes he sounds as genuinely grateful as he feels. âReally.â
âDonât worry about it,â you say. âI got into this field to help people. Itâs kinda what Iâm good at.â
Langdon chuckles. âI still donât get you, though.â
âWell, you can figure me out better when you get back.â You point at him. âBut not too well. I donât want you telling the other residents what my weaknesses are. I canât take all of you at once if you revolt.â
âThe other attendings would help out,â he offers.
âYeah, but the only ones that Iâm confident can fight are Abbot and Ellis. They wonât be there to help.â
âRobby can throw a punch.â
âSure, but would he?â you argue. âBefore he could, heâd get called to like, do a Craniectomy with his eyes closed and tell me Iâm on my own.â
As he laughs, you launch into another hypothetical, hands waving enthusiastically as you explain yourself, you find yourself falling into an easy sort of conversation with him. He keeps up with you as usual, but his typically sharp words are replaced with something a bit more loose. Kinder, even. Itâs a change that you donât immediately notice, but when you do, you canât help but feel a little strange.
Whatâs even stranger, you realize, is that to anyone else in the shop, you two might look like you were actually friends.Â
It doesnât unsettle you as much as you thought it would.
JULY 4TH, 2026. (6:45 AM)
You keep in contact for the next couple of months.
It starts out slowâ a text here and there, mostly questions about work, asking when you two were free to meet for coffee next, and talking about how things are going for each of you. A video that youâd like the other would like thrown into the mix. Itâs not a lot, but itâs consistent. You know his Type-A brain could use some consistency.
As the two of you got more comfortable with each other, it became even more consistent. Youâll text him a photo of a gnarly or crazy injury in the middle of a shift (a month an a half ago, an eighteen year old girl came in with a pencil through her cheek after the kid she was tutoring threw a tantrum, and a photo went to both the ED group chat and Langdon), heâll send a picture back of his dog in the park.Â
It becomes almost like an instinct. Anytime something out of the ordinary goes down, you feel like you have to update him. Your text chain from last Monday looked something like this:
7:34: code security just called on a twenty-five year old guy who escaped his bed and just tried to stab mckay with his rugrats pocket knife. starting the day off strong!
ahmad should have let her handle it. iâd put my money on mckay any day.
10:12: first foreign body of the day. want to guess what it is and where?
whoâs the patient?
fifty-seven year old guy
give me kitchen utensil up the ass for $400, alex
ooooh half credit. shaving cream bottle up the ass
holy fuck. how does that even fit up there?Â
he saying he fell on it?
you know it
okay my turn
15:17: just picked tanner up from day camp. inside day because of the rain-- he told me one of the kids got one of those counting bears stuck up their nose. he might be on his way to you
javadiâs on triage today, will tell her to look out for it
didnât even know those things still existed
this camp is old school. only tech allowed is movies
no cocomelon?
i told you iâm not raising an ipad baby, risky.
16:56: anti-vax couple is currently trying to convince mel that their zinc supplements and prayers are enough to protect their high-risk kid that has chicken pox
tell mel she has MY prayers.
sheâs handling them well
one of these days sheâs going to snap and iâm gonna parade her around like rocky
iâll play the theme music
also are we still on for coffee on thursday?
obviously. itâs your turn to buy
You continue to get coffee with him every couple of weeks. At first, you tell yourself, itâs just to keep him in that aforementioned routine. But, each time you meet up, it becomes that much easier to talk to him, and you can no longer pretend like you donât enjoy his company.Â
You learn more about himâ about who he really is. Itâs more than just his base level likes and dislikes that youâve picked up on: you learn about where heâs from, his family, and how he grew up. What he likes to do on his days off, how heâs started coaching his Tannerâs U-6 soccer team in his free time. You learn that heâs just a bit too into it, something you make evident by the subtle side-eye you give him when he mentions how theyâre not getting a play he wrote up for them.
You also learn just how nervous he is to return to work. Heâs slightly more withdrawn in the week leading up to it, and despite how much you reassure him that things will be fine, he doesnât seem to listen to you.Â
(Things change, but they donât. Youâll take what you can get.)
Last night, before you fell asleep, youâd made sure to send him a text, figuring that heâd be on his phone. You knew there was no way heâd be sleeping tonight.
before you come in tomorrow, i just want to tell youÂ
i tried to tell robby that the fact that your first shift back is a fucking full moon fourth of july shift is cruel and unusual
but despite our circumstances i am 100% sure that youâre going to kill it
You watch as the three little dots at the bottom of the screen appear and then disappear. You can picture him typing at his phone and deleting every self-deprecating thing heâs thinking, knowing youâre not going to respond well to it. But, in a surprise turn of events, he chooses to be honest with you.
thanks. iâm freaking the fuck out.
take a breath. youâre going to be fine
easier said than done
iâve got your back, dude. we all do
please try to sleep a little
i canât have you being both anxious and exhausted tomorrow i can only deal with one of those things
It took a minute for him to respond, but when he did, it was a short, heard. thank you.
That took you to today, in the PTMC parking lot, where you stood outside of Langdonâs car, waiting for him to notice you.Â
Heâd been switching between listening to something and hyping himself up, unaware of anything around him. Thereâs something inherently sweet about it, and you almost donât want to ruin it for him.
But you two need to be clocked in within the next fifteen minutes, and you donât trust him not to throw his car in reverse and drive away.
So, you beat on the passenger side window.
You think his entire soul leaves his body. He practically jumps out of his seat, hands flying up like heâs reaching for something above. You have to press your lips together to hold in your laughter as he glares at you, rolling his window down.
âWhat the fuck is wrong with you?â he asks, still trying to catch his breath.
âGood morning to you, too,â you say. You lean your elbows on the ledge of the now-open window. âHappy comeback season.â
He huffs, looking away from you. âCouldnât you see I was like, in the middle of something here?â
You nod in understanding. âIn the middle of deciding whether or not you should go in, right?â When he scowls at you, you canât help but smile. âCan I come in?â
Langdon stares at you for a second before muttering to himself and slapping the unlock button on the driverâs side. Youâre greeted by the AC thatâs blasting in his car and slump into the seat. âYou scared the shit out of me.â
âWell, at least youâre awake,â you reply. âThe five Red Bulls youâre gonna shotgun today will only carry you so far.â
âYeah, but I could have gone without the jumpscare. Way too early for that shit,â he says.
You shrug the comment off, glancing around. âI donât think Iâve ever been in your car before.â
âAnd after that, you wonât ever be invited back.â
You send him a look. âGood morning, Langdon,â you repeat, and your tone has him shutting his eyes and turning away from you. âHow are we doing this morning?â
He doesnât say anything for a long while, and for a moment, you think heâs giving you the cold shoulder. But then he mutters, âI canât go in there.â
âSure you can,â you say.Â
âNo,â he whispers. âI canât.â
âCompletely disregarding the fact that the future of your career relies on you walking through those doors in thirteen minutes,â you start, catching him rolling his eyes out of the corner of yours, âyouâre on the schedule and donât have coverage. People are going to be more mad at you if you leave than if you go in.â
You didnât think that your attempt at a joke was going to help in any way, but somehow, it has him seriously considering your point. He pinches the bridge of his nose, leaning his elbow on his doorâs armrest. âWhat if itâs awful?â he asks.
You donât recognize the person beside you. Youâve never seen him like this. This nervous, this scared. He was always the pinnacle of confidence, for better or for worse. He was self-assured, cocky, and completely in control of himself.
This wasnât that guy. And it freaked you out enough to decide that you werenât going to stand for it.
âOkay,â you begin, turning your body in the seat to face him, âas you so eloquently and gently said to me when I was freaking out this time last year, âget your fucking head on straight. You are not Flight Risk-ing it right now.ââ
A surprised laugh escapes him as he rubs a hand down his face. âWeâre going there?â
âOh, yeah. Been waiting to use your horrendous bedside manner on you for a year. Itâs time.â You point at him. âWe need you in there, and we need you to be on it because no one can do what you do.â You take a moment, and in that moment, he meets your gaze. Involuntarily, you find that you voice gets softer as you say, âI fucking need you, so get the fuck out of your head and letâs go.â
Langdon just stares at you in that way that he does. Heâs always staring at you like heâs trying to figure you out. Itâs as if youâre some impossible equation to some cosmic disturbance. Like everything in his life makes some sort of sense but you.
He could say something sentimental, tell you how he really feels about all of this, and let you know exactly what everything youâve done for him leading up to this point means to him. He really thinks about it.
But, instead, he chooses the comfortable route and says, âIâm surprised you remembered all of that.â
You scoff. âHow could I not? It was the first time Iâve ever been yelled out of a panic attack. Only you could do that.â You mumble that last part, but he still hears it, evident by his soft chuckle. You lean your shoulder into the backrest, lips curling upward. âYou with me?â
When he sighs, he practically inhales all of the air in the car. But still, âYeah. Iâm with you.â
âGood,â you say. You grab your go-bag at your feet and go to open the door. âBreathe. I told you. Iâve got your back.â
Before you can make your exit, Langdon grabs your wrist. The action has you staring at him in surprise. âI know I keep saying it,â he begins, âbut⊠thank you. Youâreâ youâve been⊠just--â He slows himself down, and when heâs collected himself, he squeezes your wrist. âThank you.â
Youâre still caught off-guard by the fact that heâs willingly touching you, but find yourself nodding at him with a small smile that you hope is encouraging. âIâll see you in there,â you tell him.
He follows you inside five minutes later, anxious, antsy, and unsure. But when he catches your eye and you give him that same smile, some of the⊠everything heâs feeling evaporates.
Itâs a small thing that feels like a victory in his book. Maybe everything will be fine.
JULY 4TH, 2026. (11:34 PM)
i canât move, he texts you that night, when youâre finally tucked in bed, eyes barely staying open. that was so brutal. it might rival the pittfest shift.
iâm still recovering from getting shoulder tackled by that lady in the sexy uncle sam costume, you respond. she should play for the fucking steelers when she gets released from jail.
they could use her. her form was incredible
perlah already has the security cam footage of that btw
i know. she sent it to the group chat already (remind me to add you back to that)
iâm glad my bruised ribs could spark joy
You watch through partially closed eyes as those three dots appear and disappear.Â
we should go to game this year, he finally says. theyâre so bad that it could be fun
pitt outing to the steelers? iâm in
get abbot on a blackstone STAT
Thereâs another pause in your conversation. Then, it might be hard to get all of our schedules to align.
Itâs then that it clicks for you.Â
frank langdonÂ
are you asking me to hang out outside of work
you say that like we donât do it already
thatâs just coffee. youâre asking me to like HANG OUT and DO SHIT with you
shut up
ooooooo you want to be my friend so bad
i never thought weâd get here
iâm going to bed
You snicker to yourself, fingers flying across your screen as you type out, letâs do an october game or something. get the PTO in early.
A minute passes before your phone vibrates again. iâll start looking at tickets tomorrow.
Youâre about to turn your phone over and go to bed for the night when it buzzes again. i couldnât have done today without you.
you could have, you respond. but iâm glad i was there. hell day and all.
me too.
 iâll see you tomorrow for day two.
SEPTEMBER 24TH, 2026. (5:00 PM)
The change in your relationship doesnât go unnoticed.
The second Langdon returned to work, each person on the floor had clocked that something was different between you two. You still argued. You still made fun of each other on an hourly basis, and you still occasionally disagreed about the right way to approach a case. But there was something less malicious about it now.
Youâd insult him, but it was accompanied by a soft nudge on the arm. Heâd snipe back at you, only to smile to himself when you walked off. More often than not, youâd walk in for a shift with him or head out together. He knew exactly how you liked your coffee and would make it when he had a free moment, handing it off to you while you were moving from case to case.Â
You werenât just working together anymore. You werenât amicable for the sake of the smooth operation of the ED. You were friendly. It looked like you actually liked each other.
Three weeks in, Princess tells the nurses that she saw the two of you actually laughing together in the break room. Something about med school cadaver labs and peanut M&Ms. It doesnât make any sense to her, but then again, none of this does.
Itâs a straight-up Twilight Zone episode for everyone who isnât you and Langdon. You two donât really question the change. Itâs just something that happened.
After that text on the Fourth, you start hanging out outside of work.
While a lot of your days off donât always align and your personal life schedules arenât always in sync, you find yourself with him on the days that do. Itâs never anything overly exciting: you tend to run errands together, youâve gotten lunch-- youâve even gone to his apartment once.
Itâs nice. Itâs easy. Itâs⊠what having a friend should be like.Â
But then, he shows up with a pizza on one of those rare days you both have off.Â
It starts with a short, What are you doing tonight? text. Itâs not uncommon for him to check in now, especially when he knows youâre off work. Even more so when heâs also off. But heâs never texted out of the blue to ask about your plans for the day.
You reply with a simple, nothing. why? All you get is an ominous :) in response.
About an hour later, thereâs a sharp, three-beat knock at your door. You shoot up from your couch in confusion, whipping your head in the direction of the sound. Was heâ? No. No way. He didnât know where you lived. Or did he? Had you told him?
You pause the episode of the reality show youâre catching up on and make your way to the door, shaking your head in disbelief. When you look out your peephole, you see him rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, holding a thin box in his hands. Oh, my God. He was here. And he brought a fucking pizza.
After you get over your brief moment of shock, you reach down to open the door. Langdonâs eyes immediately meet yours, and a smile grows on his lips as he sees what youâre wearing. âCute shorts.â
âShut up,â you mutter, fighting the urge to pull your oversized sweatshirt down further to hide your PJ shorts that are accented with little stethoscopes. âItâs my Bravo rot day. I wasnât expecting company.â
His grin gets wider. âI like to surprise you.â
You hum a noise that sounds something like agreement. âGuess those apples arenât working, huh?â you say, leaning up against your doorframe.
âWell, I got a pizza,â he replies, lifting the box up and shaking it lightly. âHow do you like them apples?â
You stare at him blankly, allowing the absolute bomb of a joke he just threw out there to stew in its awfulness for a moment. Langdonâs smile falters, and he shifts awkwardly. âGood Will Hunting?â he says, as if he has to explain the reference for it to land.
âI know what itâs from,â you state. âI just canât slam the door in your face because Iâm frozen by the shock of how bad that was.â
âOh, câmon, that wasââ
âNope. I lied, itâs not shock. Itâs rigor mortis. You literally killed me and now Iââ
âJust take the pizza and shut the fuck up,â he mutters, shoving it out in front of him.Â
Reflexively, you hold up your hands to accept it and laugh to yourself. You step back and hold the door open to let him into your apartment, and the sigh of relief that leaves his lips is audible. âHow the hell did you get my address?â you ask.
âThe Pitt directory is incredibly detailed.â He hangs his coat up amongst the many you keep on hooks in your tiny entryway. âMy God, you have a lot of jackets.â
âThey each have their own purpose,â you reply automatically. Danaâs constant ribbing about you showing up in a new one each shift has trained you to do so. âMy home address is in the public directory?â
He at least has the decency to look just a bit sheepish when he turns around. âNot the public one.âÂ
A scandalized gasp escapes you as you put two and two together. âFucking Lisa.â
âI told her I had to drop something off at yours,â he reasons with a shrug, then motions to the pizza. âI wasnât lying.â
âAnd that traitor was just willing to give out my home address to you of all people? What, is she gonna leak my social next?â
Langdon chuckles softly, shaking his head. That familiar smirk pulls at the corners of his lips. âShe told me sheâd only do it for me. I told you sheâs got a thing for me.â
âThat thing is aiding and abetting,â you mutter, and you bite back a smile as he snickers again.Â
That smile stays hidden as you turn to take the pizza to your kitchen island and set it down. Langdonâs already opening it the second you turn away to grab some napkins. He clocks the look on your face as you stare at him and the slice thatâs already in his hands.Â
Your lips start to curl in disgust when he says, âOh, relax. I only got olives on my side. Your shitâs on the other.â He rolls your eyes and takes a bite as your scowl turns into something more satisfied. âFreak.â
âYouâre the freak,â you mutter. You open one of the cabinets next to your stove to grab two plates. âUse a plate, you heathen. Letâs have a society, alright?â
âIâm not taking etiquette lessons from a girl Iâve seen do multiple body shots at Luckyâs,â he says, mouth full. You scrunch up the napkins in your hand into a ball the second you hear âbody shotsâ and chuck it at his head. He catches it effortlessly. âIâm just saying.â
You pull a piece of pizza from your designated side. âThat was med school. Iâve basically aged twenty years since then. Iâm much more mature now.â
âRight. You only do one now instead of multiple.â
You nod. âExactly. And then Iâm in bed, hungover for twenty-four hours the next day.â
Langdon laughs, then that laugh turns into a sigh. âWe used to be out until three in the morning and then wake up at seven for class. What happened to us?â
âWeâre old, is what happened.â You take a bite of your slice. âSpeaking of old, where are your kids today?â
He rolls his eyes at your comment, but answers despite it. âTheyâre with Abby visiting her parents. Iâve got them for the three days I have off next week, but itâll mostly be me and Penny. Tanner has school.â
âAnd the dog?â you ask.
âAt my apartment. I took him to the park this afternoon, and he knocked out the second we got back. Woke up to eat, then fell right back asleep.â
âItâs genuinely insane to see how domestic youâve become.â The sweet tone of your voice has him scowling at you. âIâm serious. Also, feel free to bring him next time we hang out.â
Despite the casual way he nods and despite the fact that you guys hanging out has now become commonplace, he has to pretend that your use of the words ânext timeâ doesnât excite him a little. âThanks. Tanner says I should start bringing him to work.â
You make a sarcastic sound of agreement. âWeâve had rats in the ED. Why not dogs?â
âExactly,â he says. âMaybe Iâll file with HR for a therapy animal.â
âI still canât believe Lisa gave you my address,â you mutter. âThat has to be like, three different types of illegal.â
âOh, câmon. I knew the neighborhood you live in. She was just helping.â
âYeah, but what if you were like a total fucking weirdo?â Before he can say anything, you continue, âI mean, more than you already are? What if you were stalking me? I know sheâs in love with you, but man, youâve been in HR for forty years. Do your job.â
âSheâs been trying to set me up with her daughter since she heard about the divorce,â he tells you. At your confused look, he explains, âLisa. Sheâs got a twenty-something-year-old daughter who just left her husband. Thinks weâd be good together.â
Your brows raise. âAnd youâre not jumping at the chance to do that?â
âUh, no.â He shakes his head. âI donât do set-ups. Or blind dates.â
âYou make it really easy to forget youâre so conceited sometimes,â you mutter, dodging an olive that he throws your way. Your mouth drops at the sound of it plopping onto your rug. âPick that up now. If you ruin my runner with your gross fucking olives, Iâm gonna get Robby to switch you to nights and Iâm telling Ellis to bully the shit out of you.â
He rolls his eyes but does as heâs told, shaking his head. âItâs not about looks,â he tells you as he walks over toward you and crouches down. âI just⊠I donât like being surprised. I like to know what Iâm getting myself into.â
You eye him carefully as he rounds your island to get to your trash can. âOkay? Then join an app?â
Langdon looks physically repulsed by the idea. âBecause no one ever lies on the internet.â
âJesus, man. I donât know, then you can wander around a farmerâs market with your dog and Tanner and Penny looking lost.â
He eyes you for a moment, then pretends to consider it. âThat might not be a bad idea. Iâve never thought about pimping out my kids to pick up women.â
The sarcasm in his tone isnât missed, and you throw your hands up. âFine. I tried. You can die a miserable old man. Youâre already halfway there anyway.â
âI just donât know if Iâm ready yet,â he admits through a chuckle. He reaches at his plate to grab his half-eaten slice of pizza and takes a bite. With his mouth full, he says, âGetting back out there with someone is justâŠâ He grimaces, swallowing. âThat sounds fucking awful.â
âWhy?â you ask. âI think it sounds kind of exciting. Itâs good to meet new people.â
âI donât want to meet new people,â Langdon tells you. The way it comes out makes it sound almost like he wasnât even thinking about the words before he said them. You notice the way his eyes flick to yours for a moment and then immediately flick away. Your heart stutters, and you canât even explain why. âI mean, Iââ His cheeks tint the slightest shade of pink, and you pretend you donât see it. He forks a hand through his hair. âThe idea of getting to know someone like⊠that again is just soâŠâ
You know what heâs trying to say. You also know what heâs not saying, too.Â
You understand him so well, yet you donât at all. He was so puzzling. Heâs someone who always came off to you as relatively straightforward. He was self-assured; cocky, even. He was someone whoâd been told one too many times that he was good at what he did, maybe even that he was better than everyone around him, so heâd started to believe it. Maybe a little too much.
He gave his time to those he thought were worth it. He was confident, and he knew who he was. He didnât care if he was an asshole or who hurt along the way. It didnât matter what anyone thought about him as long as he knew that he was in the right.Â
But as you watch Langdonâ watch him be shy and unsure and uncomfortable in front of you, you realize that you barely knew who he was outside of your career. Sure, you knew loads about him. You knew about his personal life and his likes and interests. But you didnât know him. Youâd never talked with him like this or had him admitting things like this.Â
You wanted to hate the fact that it totally endeared him to you. But, for some reason, it didnât.Â
That would never stop being weird.
âI get it,â you say. âI didnât want to meet anyone after I called off my engagement with Jamie. I shut myself off to everyone for like, a year.â
âI remember,â he mutters. âWatching Donovan try to hit on you every other week during labs was painful.â
âOh, God. That was painful for me, too.â The smirk that slides onto your face is both sarcastic and involuntary. âI saw on LinkedIn that he just started a neurosurgery fellowship. Maybe I should have given him a chance.â
Langdon rolls his eyes. âThe world does not need two Doctor Donovans.â
You canât help but snort. Thereâs a beat of silence before you admit, âYou know I didnât get into another real, serious relationship until about three months into my residency in Boston?â
His brows rocket to his hairline. âSeriously?â
âYeah,â you say. âNobody really⊠piqued my interest until then.â
âThatâs almost impressive.â
You shrug him off. âIâm exceptionally picky.â
He makes a noise of agreement. âSo, who was he?â
âHuh?â you ask, fully hearing him but not at all expecting that question.
âWho was the guy that finally âpiqued your interest?ââ he clarifies.
Heâs not expecting the silence heâs met with. You stare down at your plate, biting the inside of your cheek, and Langdon knows heâs asked the wrong question.Â
âHeâŠâ You swallow and tear a piece from the crust thatâs left on your plate. âHeâs irrelevant,â is what you finally decide on.Â
You say it because he is. Truthfully, up until this conversation, you hadnât thought of him in weeks. You know it doesnât seem like it, and it definitely doesnât seem like youâre anywhere close to being over it, but you are.Â
It doesnât mean it isnât still hard to talk about.Â
Langdon stares at you. âIs he?â
You meet his gaze with a heavy sigh that takes a lot out of you. âNo. Heâs not,â you admit. You keep your voice light. âBut every day, he becomes more irrelevant. And every day, I come to some new realization about him and know that what happened was for the better. And thatâs all I can ask for.â
Thankfully, Langdon doesnât have any more questions for you regarding that. Relief washes over you as you realize heâs moving on, but you know heâs not going to forget it. Unfortunately, itâs not like him to forget things.
âNew topic,â he says quickly, like heâs trying to get your mind off of whatever youâre thinking about as soon as possible. âBecause I need to know. Does that work?â You lift your brows, cueing him to continue. âThat stuff you were talking about. That⊠farmerâs market, kids stuff. Does that actually work?â
A small smile tugs at your lips, and you shrug once more. âDude, women eat that shit up. At least, yâknow. Some of us.â
âSeriously?â he asks.
âOh, yeah,â you say. âA hot dad asking if weâd recommend the blackberries or the raspberries more?â You shake your head with a faux longing expression. âHook, line, and sinker.â
The smirk that suddenly glides over Langdonâs lips is something lethal, and it makes your stomach flip. He leans up against the counter. âA hot dad?â
Your eyes roll so hard you think theyâll fall out of your head. âCircumstantially and hypothetically.â
âOf course,â he says, nodding as if he understands. But that look stays on his face. âBut Iâm curious. Would that be something⊠that would work on you?â At the surprise that morphs your expression, he shrugs. âHypothetically.â
You look at him with suspicion. âI donât know?â
âYou donât know?â he parrots. Itâs clear he doesnât believe you. âYou just posed a very specific hypothetical, and you donât know?â
âOh, my God, okay. Hypothetically, you loser,â you repeat, hoping everything youâre about to say sounds casual and not as weird as youâre suddenly feeling. âThe independent variable would have to be⊠I donât know? My type? Looks like he actually cares about the kids heâs pimping out?â
âThe independent variable being the guy,â he clarifies.Â
âYes, Doctor Langdon. Very astute,â you say. âValidating your âMost Likely to Succeedâ award status with each day you live and breathe.âÂ
He leans over your counter, placing his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. His brows furrow in mild interest. âAnd what exactly is your type?â
You feel heat rise to your cheeks almost instantly. Never, in a million years, did you think youâd be standing in your apartment with Frank Langdon, chatting about your type over a pizza he bought for you. âWhen did we start talking about me?â you ask. âThis was supposed to be about you and how youâre too afraid to go on a date.â
âAnd now itâs about both of us,â he shoots back. âBecause you talk a big game for someone who isnât dating either.â
âI am,â you say, and the admission obviously catches him by surprise. You almost feel bad about the way his face drops.Â
Langdon blinks at you. âSeriously?â
âIs it that hard to believe?â you ask with a teasing smile.
âNo,â he says, the word rushing out of his mouth. âNo. You know that youâreâ Youâreâ yâknow. Itâs not hard to believe. I justâŠâ He trails off again, but continues to look at you in surprise. âSeriously?â
âIâm serious,â you chuckle, because itâs all you can do. âI mean, itâs not serious, but yeah. Weâve been on like, two dates, and Iâve been texting him a little. I met him online. Heâs cute, heâs nice, and he works in Financeââ The face he makes at that has you scowling. âWhat?â
âNothing. I just didnât think you were the Finance-Bro type.â Before you take offense or respond to that, he asks, âSo, itâs going well? You like him?â
âItâs going fine,â you say. âHeâs nice. Fun to talk to. He thinks that me being a doctor is âsuper dope,â which is, yâknow, an upgrade from the last guy I dated.â
âBut you donât like him,â Langdon presses.
You make a frustrated sound. âI donât know yet!â you say, exhausted by this sudden interrogation. âIsnât that the whole point of dating? To figure out if you actually like them?â
âI typically decide if Iâm interested in someone before I start dating them, but thatâs just meââ
âWell, Iâm not you,â you say, while your voice is soft, thereâs an edge in it that tells him itâs final. âAnd I actually like to get to know people. I like to take my time when it comes to this shit, alright?â
âTo feel things out?â
His words catch you by surprise, and youâre sure it shows on your face. âYeah.â
Langdon nods after a moment. âI guess weâll agree to disagree.â
You snort. âNothing we arenât used to.â
He huffs a soft laugh and takes another bite of his slice. Youâve disagreed plenty of times before. More than you probably should have (sometimes the two of you just liked to argue for the sake of it, but that wasnât a crime). But this one lands differently. Something feels off. Thereâs this unusual, unfamiliar tension that you canât shake but want nothing more than to get rid of. You can tell he feels the same.
âWhen are you seeing him again?â he asks, his previous line of questioning back on course.
You refrain from rolling your eyes. âNext Saturday, when Iâm off. Weâre getting brunch.â
âOh, man,â he chuckles. âHe likes you.â
âWhat?â you whine. âWeâre getting brunch. Weâre not ring shopping.â
âNo guy is going to brunch with someone heâs casual about. Drinks are casual. Maybe even dinner. You get brunch with someone you like.â
âOr,â you say, shifting uncomfortably, âyou get brunch because youâre dating a doctor and her schedule is horrendous.â Langdon simply shakes his head with a chuckle. âYou told me you havenât been on a date in years. How would you even know that?â
âBecause I do,â he states, and it is exactly thatâ a statement.
(What he wants to say is that the reason he knows is because he canât imagine anyone not liking you, but with your history, he also knows it may come off as a little hypocritical or unreliable. So, he bites his tongue and keeps it short instead.)
âWell, if you know this so well,â you say, âmaybe you should start finding girls you want to take to brunch.â
The sound that comes out of him is something between a sigh and a groan. âI told you, Iâm notââ
âI meant when youâre ready,â you cut him off, putting your hands up in surrender. âI donât think itâd be a bad idea for you to get back out there.â
Itâs then that he looks at you. Like, really looks at you, with that intensity you know so well. âYou think so?â
âI mean, why not?â you ask. âYouâve been officially divorced for like, three months, right? Separated for longer? Youâve had your mourning period. And youâd be a hot commodity. Itâs okay to have some fun if you want it.â
Nothing. He says nothing to that. He just continues to stare at you. And then, when you think you canât take it anymore, he turns away. âYeah,â he says. âMaybe.â
The awkward turn this conversation had taken was something that you werenât anticipating. Why was he so weird about this? If he didnât want to date, that was fine. This was you attempting to offer him some encouragement. You couldnât care less if he started seeing people. That was up to him. You were just trying to be a good friend.
Because thatâs what you two were, right? You were friends now, or whatever your version of that was. You talked like friends, acted like them, and now you were hanging out outside of work. That was the definition of friends.
You swallow the bite of pizza youâve been chewing and, because you canât think of anything else to say to break this sudden tension, you glance at your paused TV and ask, âWant to watch some girls fight about some really awful men?â
Langdon looks up from his plate, hesitancy written across his face. âIâm really not into that stuff.â
Youâre barely listening to him as you move to the sofa to grab the remote. âThatâs what they all say.â
SEPTEMBER 26TH, 2026. (9:45 PM)
âSo,â he says, pointing at the women who are currently on-screen, âjust to clarify. She was her friend. And she slept with her boyfriend of nine years.â
âCorrect,â you reply.
âAnd she and the boyfriend lied about it for seven months because they thought they werenât going to get caught?â He glances over at you, and you nod in confirmation. âAnd theyâre still lying about it, despite the fact that they have cameras on them at all times?â
You motion to the boyfriend whoâs now talking. âLook at him. Look at that stupid fucking outfit and his god-awful moustache. Do you think heâs capable of understanding long-term consequences?â
Langdon laughs. âThatâs actually kind of insane,â he says. âAre these shows always like this?â
âWhen theyâre good, yeah. I love drama that doesnât involve me. Sue me.â
âWell, I would have joined the cohort Bachelor night if Iâd known they were like this.â He says it as if heâs joking, but you know thereâs a part of him that means it.
You snort. âWell, you were always slow to learn what was right.â Before he can refute that, you point at him. âAlso, I wouldnât have let you join. That was for the girls. It was my safe space away from your bullshit.â
âInclusivity means nothing to you,â he scoffs, chuckling as you reach over to kick his arm with your foot. He nods up toward the TV. âAnd okay, the two of them were married?â
âYeah. But they were never, like⊠on the same page about shit,â you say. âIt almost seemed like they werenât sure about getting married when they did it. It was kind of weird.â
A huff of a laugh escapes his lips. âItâs like that sometimes. Happens more than youâd think.â
âDoes it?â you ask. When you donât get an answer, you shrug. âI donât know. Maybe Iâm dramatic or overly romantic, but I just canât imagine agreeing to marry someone I wasnât sure I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.â
You see him nod slowly out of the corner of your eye. After a beat, he responds, âI did.â
That has you looking at him. âWhat?â
He tries to play it off, similar to how he acted when he was talking about his separation. He doesnât fake the whole casual thing very well. âAbby and I⊠we were in a rough spot before she got pregnant. Neither of us did anything or whatever. But we were growing apart. I think we started to realize that while we loved each other, maybe we werenât completely⊠compatible.â He meets your confused stare thatâs burning a hole in the side of his face. âShe wanted kids and wanted to get married earlier than I was ready for. I wanted that later, when I was deeper into the whole residency thing. I didnât know if I could be a doctor, a husband, and a father, at that age, at the same time.âÂ
You do know. You might know it a little too well.
âThatâs a normal thing to want,â you tell him instead. âOn both of your ends.â
âI know,â he says. âThen, right before we graduated from med school, she told me she was pregnant. And while it didnât⊠yâknow, go with my plan, I was still excited about it. We both were.â He sighs, wiping a hand down his face. The action makes you wonder how many people heâs actually talked to about this. âSo, we got engaged, we moved in together, just the two of us, and it was great for a while. I had come to terms with the fact that I was going to be that doctor-husband-father trifecta. But then, we started fighting again. And I started thinking about the future, and I had this moment where it was like, âthe only thing the two of us have in common is this kid. And if thatâs all we have, thatâs not what I want.ââ
You werenât expecting this level of vulnerability from him. Despite his obvious discomfort, itâs clear heâs wanted to get this off his chest. Itâs nice that he trusts you enough with it.Â
But still, you canât believe some of the stuff heâs saying. âThere obviously had to be some love still there,â you reply, hoping to make him feel at least a little better. âYou still married her. You stayed with her.â
âWe got married because it felt like the right thing to do.â He says it like itâs a fact. âWe stayed together and had another kid because it felt like the right thing to do. And, yeah, I loved her, and I donât regret it at all, because we raised two incredible fucking kids. We did that together. But I also think⊠I think she deserves better than the person she got. Who I was during our marriage, I mean.â You watch as his face morphs into something like shame. âShe deserved better than to be married to an addict.â
You feel your chest tighten slightly. âLangdonâŠâ
âI mean that,â he says, looking you directly in the eye. You can tell he does. âAnd, yeah, I love her. I still do. And I like to think that Iâve changed. That Iâm better, and Iâm still trying to do right by her. But IâŠâ He sighs, and it almost sounds like itâs being forced out of his chest. âI love her as if sheâs family. Because she is. I love her because sheâs my childrenâs mother. I donât think I⊠I donât love her the way IâŠâ
â...The way you should love your wife?â you finish, because he doesnât seem to have the words to.Â
Langdon throws his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. âGod, Iâm such an asshole.â His voice comes out muffled against his hands as he says, âIâve never said any of that out loud. I must sound fucking awful.â
He doesnât sound great, you agree, but he sounds honest. He sounds fair. HeâŠÂ
âYou sound like a guy whoâs divorcing his wife,â you state, unsure of what reaction thatâs going to elicit. He just looks at you between his fingers. âYou sound like a guy in a relationship where nobody⊠fucked up beyond repair, or whatever, but you just grew apart. Iâm sure you both could point fingers, her more than youââ You shrug when he shoots you a look. ââbut growing apart from someone doesnât make either of you an asshole. You both were trying to do your best and do what you thought was best for your kids.â
He takes a moment to sit with this. You can see him absorb it. Then, âAnd you sound like youâre speaking from experience.â
A long, heavy sigh escapes your lips. Reflexively, you find yourself glancing down at your left ring finger, and you bring your knees to your chest as you think on this.Â
âMaybe a little,â you say after a beat. âJamie and I were not⊠compatible, as you said.â You shrug, tension growing in your shoulders. âI didnât realize it until, like, months after I left him, but yeah. Looking back now, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I know we wouldnât have made it. Even ifââ You stop yourself, throat clenching and catching your words. âEven if certain things had been different.â
He wants to ask. You can tell that he does. You pray that he doesnât. You donât think youâll ever be ready to talk about that.
Luckily, Langdon seems to get the hint. But not enough of a hint to refrain from saying, âIf it makes you feel any better, I knew you two werenât going to last.â
A surprised laugh erupts from your mouth. âHow the hell is that supposed to make me feel better?â
âBecause he was a dick,â he replies, a small smile pulling at his lips as he watches you.Â
âYou met him twice,â you argue, eyes narrowing. âWe ended things four months into my first year of school.â
âYeah, and both times I met him, he was a dick.â The insistence in his voice makes you laugh again. âIâm serious. Even back then, I knew you deserved better than that. He was miserable. It didnât even seem like he liked you.â
Your smile dips at that, and while you hope he doesnât notice, you know he does. âIâm not sure he did at that point,â you admit, then shake your head. âIt doesnât matter. Thatâs all in the past. What Iâm trying to say is, there were reasons that we grew apart. We both played a part in it. And most of the time, thatâs what causes people to end things. I donât want to say itâs normal, but itâs⊠in that instance, it is. Normal. People outgrow each other.â
He casts his eyes up at the ceiling with a heavy breath. âI guess they do.â
Itâs quiet then. The sound of your favorite reality show characters arguing fills the now-empty space, and for whatever reason, it all compels you to say, âFor what itâs worth?â He turns his head to look at you. âI like to think that youâve changed, too.â
You watch his face as your words hit himâ how it changes into something foreign. Something unreadable. Itâs as if heâs trying to figure you out, but thereâs something more behind it. You want to tell him to join the club.Â
As you try to decipher it, he swallows, never breaking eye contact. âYeah?â he asks. âYou mean that?â
âI do,â you say. âAnd I think itâs all for the better.â
Once again, all you can hear is the sound of the girls on TV fighting about whoâs in the wrong. However, this time around, thereâs a new tension in the air. Itâs something unspoken, but itâs something tangible. You wonder if he can feel it too.
As he continues to look at you like that, you think he might just be able to. It makes you chuckle uneasily and scrunch your brow. âWhat?â
Langdon shakes his head. âNothing,â he says.
You kick him with your foot again. âThat lookâs not nothing. What?â
He presses his lips together, hesitating just a moment longer than he probably should. âIâm just⊠really glad you came back into my life,â he tells you. Your stomach flips, not expecting anything like that to come out of his mouth. But heâs not done. âI canât believe I wasted so much time not knowing you like this.â
The words hit you like a freight train. They almost have you immobilized. Because you canât think of anything else to say, you manage to say, âOnly took you eight years to realize it.â
He turns back to face the TV, pieces of his hair falling into his eyes. âWell, you said it yourself,â he says quietly. âIâm slow to learn whatâs right.â
And, regretfully, as your cheeks blaze and your chest starts to tighten in that way thatâs become so common around him, you come to an absolutely horrid realization.Â
You can no longer pretend that you donât know what this tension between you two is.
You know exactly what it is.Â
And fuck, it is awful.Â
OCTOBER 3RD, 2026. (2:08 PM)
You get a call from Dana halfway through your date, and itâs unbelievably well-timed. So well-timed, in fact, that your Finance Bro date is convinced that itâs a staged excuse to leave.
No matter how many times you try to look apologetic while youâre on the phone or how many times you explain to him that sometimes, on extremely busy days at the hospital, this happens, he genuinely doesnât believe you. You take that to mean that heâs on the same page as you about how well this dateâs going.
It wasnât that it was bad. It really wasnât. That spark had just⊠died out. Whatever bit of interest that you had in him had faded the more that he only spoke to you about⊠well, anything. About his job that you didnât care about. About his ever-important life and his family that summered in The Hamptons. About his interests, what he was reading, the golf he played, and the places heâd traveled. Or, maybe it was how he notably neglected to ask questions about you and yours.Â
The mask had been ripped off, and the shiny newness of it all had dimmed. Youâre not completely sure how or why it happened so quickly. You suppose that sometimes it just happened that way.
You arrive at PTMC with the go-bag you keep in your car on your shoulder, filled with a pair of backup scrubs and other miscellaneous items. Youâre still in the clothes youâd worn on the date. It wasnât anything fancy or out of your wheelhouse, but the eyebrows you raise give you pause. The majority of these people had only seen you in scrubs or sweats with zero to no makeup on. The rare occasions that youâd go out together were the only exception. The first time youâd forced Mohan to go out for drinks with you, youâd told her that seeing her out of them was like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs. Maybe this was the same.
Dana lets out a low whistle. âLook at you, all dressed up with nowhere to go,â she says. Thereâs an air of approval in her voice. âWhere are you coming from?â
You heave a heavy sigh as you plop your bag on the counter. âA date,â you reply shortly, and you feel Collinsâ gaze immediately on you. You point at the two of them as both of their eyes light up. âDonât get excited. He sucks.â
âThey all do,â Collins says, your fellow attending now looking slightly apologetic. âIâm ready to give up.â
You pump a fist at her. âRight on.â
Dana deflates in front of you. âIâll pretend like that doesnât completely bum me out. But, I guess it was good timing. I was feeling bad that Iâd called you.â
âNo, Iâm glad you did. He thought you were bailing me out, actually. Didnât stop bitching about it until I paid for brunch.â Collins blinks at you in surprise, and Danaâs jaw drops. You sigh once more. âYeah. So donât feel bad.â
With the shake of her head, she says, âWhere the hell are you finding these guys?â
âHell,â you say. âHinge. Pittsburgh. Itâs all the same thing.â
âShit-talking the city is never a good way to start a shift,â you hear a voice say as they approach to hand a chart to Dana. By the time you look at him, Langdonâs already given you a once-over, but something in his expression falters as he meets your eyes.
Danaâs already scolding him before he can say anything. âRisky Business over here was on a date, idiot. I wouldnât have called her in if Iâd known that,â she tells him, motioning to you. âYou told me sheâd be free tonight.â
You glance away from him to look at Dana in confusion. âWhat?â you ask, then motion to the doctor beside you. âHe told you I was free?â
Langdon goes rigid. âOh, fuck,â he mutters. âThat was today?â
Itâs said in such a way that you almost believe that he forgot. That it was so incredibly busy that it had completely slipped his mind, and heâd thrown out your name when it was decided that reinforcements should be called in.Â
But thereâs something in your gut that tells you that thatâs not quite the case.
You see Dana and Collins exchange a knowing sort of glance before looking back at Langdon. They seem to be riding the same wave as you.Â
Instead of saying anything to him, Dana huffs a soft, disbelieving laugh and then turns to you. âIâd scrub up. We need you out here.â
âHeard,â you say slowly. A strange mixture of annoyance and confusion graces your expression, and you shoot a look at Langdon before walking away.
Had he purposely sabotaged your date? Sure, it had been going poorly, but there was no way he could have known that. Even if it had been the perfect third date, he knew you well enough to know that there was no way you wouldnât come in if asked. He knew. He fucking knew exactly where youâd be andâ
God, this was so like him. Here you were, thinking there was some sort of blossoming friendship between you. You were even foolish enough to think that there was a moment (more than one fucking moment, actually!) between you two back at your apartment. That he might actually like you, not just respect you.
But no. There would never be. Even after everything youâd been through over these last couple of monthsâ even after everything youâd done for him. Because at his core, he was an asshole, and thatâs what assholes did. He was still trying to ruin every potentially good thing in your life just to play some little mind game for his own entertainment and benefit.
You hear his footsteps trying to catch up with you as you make your way to the on-call rooms. âHey, hey, slow down,â he says, falling into step with you. âIâm sorry, okay? I didnât remember that that was today.â
âYeah, you did,â you snap. âBecause the last time I checked, you donât forget things. So donât pull that shit.â
His head rolls in aggravation, but you canât tell if itâs because he feels caught or if itâs because he feels bad. âI forgot this time. Weâre slammed here, and you were on my mind andââ
âI was on your mind?â you repeat in disbelief, go-bag slamming against your side as you whip around to look at him. âWhat the fuck does that mean? What, were you thinking about me on this date that you and I both know I was on, and you thought, âhmm. What perfect timing. Letâs ruin this thing like Iâve ruined everything else in her life.ââ
He has the audacity to shake his head. âYou know, you missed your calling as a drama major,â he scoffs. âYouâd be killing it in a local production of Waiting For Godot.â
Your hands clench into fists at your sides. Your voice is laced with a quiet sort of fury, making sure not to attract any attention as you say, âFirst of all, there are no women in Waiting For Godot, so thatâs another shitty reference, you fucking idiot. My God, man, crack a book every once in a while.â At that, he smiles in disbelief, like he canât believe thatâs what you chose to focus on. âSecond of all, Iâm not being dramatic. This is what you do! This is what youâve always done. You see me want something, and then all of a sudden, you decide that I canât have it.â
âDid you even want this?â he asks. The volume of his voice and rage in it now match yours. âYou just told Dana how awful it was. I got you out of there.â
You feel like pulling your hair out. âThatâs not the pointââ
âThen what is? I donât get why this is such a big deal.â
âAnd I donât get why you care so much about the fact that Iâm dating!â Your voice goes up a level, and you shut your eyes to calm yourself down. When you reopen them, Langdon is staring at you intently. âWhat is it? Why do you care?â
His arms immediately cross over his chest. âI donât.â
âClearly,â you begin, motioning a hand in his direction, âyou do. I just want to know why.â
âI donât care if youâre dating,â he barks. The frustration in his voice is palpable. âWhy would I? Why would I concern myself with that aspect of your life?â
âI donât know, Langdon. Why would you?â You know youâre going back and forth in a continuous, torturous cycle, but youâre too upset and angry to care. âAre you pissed off that youâre scared to date and Iâm not? What, because weâre suddenly friends, you think you should get to vet everyone before I get with them?â
âVet everyoneâ what the hell are you talking about?â He throws a hand in your direction. âDo you actually think Iâd want a say in that?â
âYou wanted one tonight,â you say with a shrug. âAnd you got it. It worked. Congratulations. Iâm here and not with the guy who wanted to take me home.â
Langdon tilts his head in a way that makes it look like heâs going to grimace, but finds the willpower to refrain from doing so. âAnd Iâm sure that youâre missing that discussion about how Atomic Habits changed him as a person after the most boring three minutes of your life.â
âOh, my God.â Your eyes narrow, and a small, disbelieving laugh bubbles in your stomach. âYouâre actually mad about this. This is crazy. What is your deal?â
âIâm notââ He puts his face in his hands as if heâll be able to disappear from this conversation if he canât see you. âI donât have a deal. Iâm not madââ
âOh, you are. Youâre so fucking pissed right now,â you laugh, crossing your arms over your chest. âI havenât seen you this pissed since I diagnosed Doctor Clarkeâs impossible patient before you.â Your smile only gets wider as he shifts. âDance, monkey, dance. Letâs see how far we can go.â
He rolls his eyes, turning on his heel to leave the room. âYouâre fucking ridiculous. Iâm not doing this with you right now. Iâm gonna go do our job, okay? Go save someââ
âIs it because he was hot? Is that what made you mad?â Youâve taken on a rather patronizing tone that you know is a little much, but you donât care enough to stop. âBecause he had money? Because he comes from a nice family? Because you donât think I deserve that?â
Thatâs what gets him to stop in his tracks and abandon his exit strategy. His brow furrows deeply, and he looks at you in disbelief. âWhat?â
His reaction has you shrugging again, though you pull your arms closer to your chest. âItâs just like med school. You donât think I deserve it. You never thought I worked hard enough, so you made sure I never got the things I wanted. You went out of your way to work harder to make that happen andââÂ
âIs that what you think this is?â he asks incredulously. Langdonâs looking at you like he just made some sort of game-changing discovery. âIs that seriously what youâve thought since school?â
With a soft scoff, you reply, âYou never gave me a reason to think otherwise.â
The intensity of his gaze continues to strike you. Youâre not sure how much longer you can take it. But he wonât look away. Not until he shakes his head with a tired, soft chuckle and says, âOh, Flight Risk. Youâve got it all wrong.â
Your lips part in confusion. What does he mean? You had it all wrong? Youâd despised each other for years. Competed for years. Were youâ how could you have been wrong? This had been a requited hatred, something that you assumed would stretch generations. Centuries. An old, deep-seated grudge would be seeded and solidified between your family and the Langdons. Thatâs how it was supposed to be. He wasnât supposed to throw this curveball.
What was he saying? And more importantly, how long had you apparently been wrong?Â
You uneasily resign yourself from the argument, eyes on him cautiously. âWhat does that mean?â
Langdon pinches his nose, throwing a hand up in exasperation. âWhat do you think it means? Youâre the smartest person I know. Figure it out.â
You donât believe him. Thereâs no way you could be wrong. He constantly ruined things for you. Nothing was ever easy with him. Heâd made sure of that, thanks to his constant, exhausting competitive nature and his unwavering will to make you work harder than ever before. There was no other way to interpret that.Â
But he was saying there was. That youâd read it wrong. How could you haveâŠ?
Had he had different intentions? Had he thought that it was different between you? No. You may have been friends now, but back then, he hated you as much as you hated him. He wouldnât have done half the shit he did to you if he didnât. Half the shit you did to him had to have made him hate you.
Right?
That rivalry between you two was not one-sided. But maybe it was for different reasons.
Everything between you was a competition, one that made both of you want to beat the other. To think smarter, to work harder-- to be better. And it worked. Perhaps the lengths youâd gone to werenât necessary, but at the end of the day, it had made you better doctors.Â
Better.
Was that what it was?
âYouâre not mad because you think I donât deserve him,â you say slowly, like youâre still piecing this together. âYouâre mad because you want me to do better.â
A noise that sounds a bit like a laugh escapes him. âYes. Very astute. Validating that Academic Achievement award each day,â he mutters, repeating the jab youâd sent his way last weekend.
You want to unpack more of his previous statement. But thereâs more to this. Something other than your Med School relationship. Itâs more pressing than any of that, and it continues to linger in your mind.
Disregarding his joke completely, you say, âBut you were mad because I was on a date.â Youâre not sure what waters youâre testing here, but theyâre uncharted. âWerenât you?â
You see him swallow. But he says nothing. Itâs all you need.
âYou told Dana to call me in because you were pissed knowing that I was out with someone,â you continue. Itâs like itâs all coming out at once. All of these realizations are coming to fruition, and you physically canât help yourself from verbalizing them. âWhat was it? Was it just the thought of me and him thatâs got you like this? Was it because you were thinking about what we were doing? If I was having fun with him?â
Your voice is smooth. Lethal. Somehow soft. Langdon squirms before you, rolling his eyes in an attempt to look unaffected and annoyed. The power of it almost satisfies you. âI canât believe weâre having this conversation right now, Iââ
âOr,â you say, eyes narrowing as you read his body language and piece everything together. A small, disbelieving smirk tugs at your lips. âWas it because you were thinking about me getting all dressed up for someone who isnât you, and you couldnât fucking stand it?â
Langdonâs entire state of being changes right before your eyes. In fact, the temperature in the room shifts the second those words leave your lips. His mouth snaps shut, his brows draw back, and he takes a full step away from you. But his eyes give him away. They always do.
Theyâre calculating, if not slightly panicked, like heâd just been found out and was looking for an escape route. But there was none. Not when you were looking at him like that, with that stupid fucking smirk on your face that slowly disappeared as you realized he had no retort to that comment.Â
Did heâ? Was heâ? Were youâ? Had you been right?
Heâd told you himself that you were good at noticing things. It was a requirement of your chosen career. You figured that what you said probably had some sort of truth to it, but you werenât expecting this type of reaction. You werenât expecting him to completely shut down in front of you, floundering for words that couldnât seem to reach him.Â
Fuck. You were right, werenât you? He was jealous. He didnât sabotage your date because of your stupid fucking grudge. He was jealous.
Youâre not sure which one is worse.
You blink at him, your voice smaller now. âLangdon?â
Itâs then that heâs saved by the bellâ literally. By some cosmic fucking timing, heâs paged by Mel, whoâs asking him to come to Trauma Two for a heart attack, and seconds later you get a call from Dana whoâs sending you to North Seven for a broken fibula. You both glance at your phones to hang up, then back up at each other, looking more freaked out than either of you has ever seen each other.
You point at the door without looking away from him. âYou shouldââÂ
âYeah,â he agrees, way too quickly to be normal. He breaks his gaze to motion at your go-bag on the cot. âYou shouldââ
âYeah,â you repeat. âIâll, uhââ Unsure what to do with your hands, you turn to dig through your bag for your scrubs. âWeâll⊠uh, talk about this⊠later.â
Langdonâs already out the door when you hear him say, âHopefully not.â
âOkay,â you say curtly. âIâm good with that, too.â
The door slams and you have to take a seat on the cot to collect yourself.
Thereâs barely any time for you to change and scrub your makeup off your face before Danaâs paging you again.Â
You fly out of the on-call room, mind elsewhere.
OCTOBER 3RD, 2026. (6:58 PM)
You donât see him again until the end of your shift, and it's not your finest hour.
On your last case of the day, youâd been tasked with casting a simple broken bone-- something that Robby had offered to you as a relaxed, parting gift and a thank you for coming in. It was a drunk, nineteen-year-old boy whoâd been day drinking at his frat and had made the brilliant decision to jump off a deck and onto a folding table in the hopes of breaking it cleanly. Heâd succeeded in breaking both the table and his wrist.
You should have seen it coming. He wasnât all there. Not totally in control of his reflexes, unsure of what exactly was going on. The team had been working on getting his blood alcohol levels down, but there was still something off.Â
In the middle of your typical conversation, talking points, and assessment questions, youâd tweaked his arm the wrong way when trying to get it into a sling. It had been an accident. But itâd hurt him.Â
And the pain had surprised him so much that heâd pushed you off of him with his free hand, sending you flying back into the monitor so hard that it knocked the wind out of you and sliced your forehead open.
Whitaker, whoâd been accompanying you, immediately sprang into action, holding back the boy as he started yelling profanities at you. It had gotten so loud that itâd attracted the attention of the entire ED, specifically Robby and Donnie, who just so happened to be walking by.Â
The situation had been diffused with ease and grace (as was par for the course with Robby), and by the time heâd turned to you to make sure that you were okay, Langdon was already in the room.
âYou alright?â Robby asks after Whitaker had given him a recap of what had happened.
âYeah,â you say, removing your fingers from your head. The blood that had dripped down them was sticky and wet, and you grimaced at the look of it. âIâm fine.â
âNo, youâre not,â Langdon says, as if itâs a fact. âYou need stitches.â
You glare at him, looking at Robby to see if he concurs. He takes a step forward and examines your head with a squint. âI donât know if itâs a stitches-level cut, but you know what we say here.â
When he removes his hand from your face, you sigh. âWe donât fuck with head shit.â
Robbyâs eyes crinkle as his lips stretch into a soft smile. âNot exactly. But youâve got the spirit,â he says. He turns to Langdon. âEvaluate her and then start an incident report. And then you,â he says, whipping back to point at you, âare going to clock out and take tomorrow off. You sit on your ass and do nothing all day. You hear me?â
Your frown deepens, and your stomach sinks at the idea of Langdon now being responsible for patching you up. But you push all of that down and nod. âI hear you.â
The monotone, desolate sound of your voice makes Robby chuckle. âAlright. Good work today, kid. Be careful with that arm next time.â
Itâs when Robby starts to talk to the frat boy that you look over at Langdon. His eyes flash with a slight panic before he takes a breath and nods at you, motioning for you to follow him. You look at Whitaker and Donnie, who have successfully subdued the kid, then shut your eyes. Reluctantly, you do as youâre told.
As Langdon searches for an empty room, you canât help but mutter, âIâm fine. Robby said I donât need stitches.â
âAnd he told me to evaluate you,â he shoots right back, opening the curtain for you for room eight when he realizes itâs free. âI donât deviate from orders.â
That gets an actual, true laugh from you. The motion of it pulls at the cut, and you wince. âThat might be the funniest thing youâve ever said.â
He pulls the curtain shut as you sit down on the bed, shifting uncomfortably. The tension in the room is thick. Itâs palpable and genuinely painful, and you purposely avoid his gaze each time he makes a move.Â
You donât know what to say to do. How were you supposed to pick up from where you left off? How could you? There was no casual way to talk about it, and judging by the way you could feel his eyes on you every time you so much as flinched, you figured he was on the verge of bolting too. Some pair you two were.
With gloves now on his hands, Langdon turns to you to examine the cut. You pretend you donât notice the way he hesitates before he goes to grab your face, his touch just a bit too gentle to be professional. You can feel the warmth of his fingers through the gloves as they cup your chin. You cast your eyes to the ceiling as he tilts your head.
âYou alright?â he asks quietly, finally breaking the silence. It almost startles you. You look at him for the first time since entering the room, only to find that heâs staring at your cut.Â
âYeah,â you rasp, clearing your throat soon after. âIâm fine. I should have been expecting it.â
Frowning, he asks, âExpecting him to deck you?â
Your scowl matches his now. âHe was still drunk. Erratic. Heâs a nineteen-year-old frat boy at Pitt. I should have expected the way he was going to react to pain.ââ
âThatâs not on you,â he mutters, moving to grab an antiseptic wipe.Â
You sigh, trying your best at a shrug. âIt doesnât matter if it is or isnât. It happened. We signed up for this shit. Gotta take it in stride and be better next time.â
Langdon looks like he has about a million things to say to that when he turns to face you, but he presses his lips together like that will keep them in. Instead, after a moment, when heâs carefully wiping the cut, he asks, âDo you want me to beat him up?â
A surprised laugh escapes you, and the second your body moves, the antiseptic hits you the wrong way and starts to burn. Your smile stays on your face despite the way you wince. âIâm not allowing you to lose your medical license over Chad from Sig Chi.â
Finally, Langdonâs lips twitch upward. âWhy not? Iâd win. Break his other arm. Teach him not to touch my attending.â
Something stirs in your chest at that, but you push it deep down in the hopes of forgetting about it. âI think Whitakerâs got that covered,â you say with a chuckle. âHe basically jumped on the guy after he did it. Started yelling at him and everything. I didnât think the sweet boy had it in him.â
âWell,â he says, reaching for the flashlight he kept in his pocket. You squint at the light as he flashes it at you, lifting one of your eyes to make sure everythingâs in check. âRemind me to thank him for that.â
When the light turns off, you blink rapidly, attempting to readjust to look at him. This time, itâs harder to push that feeling down. Still, you manage to do so. âI already told him Iâd buy him a drink the next time we go out.â
You hadnât, but youâd meant to. Youâre not sure why youâd said that, other than the fact that it was something to say. To put some distance between you two. He wasnât responsible for thanking him; you were.Â
God, you hated this. This feeling of not knowing where you two stood. You liked to know every angle of every situation and problem before you made a move. Itâs the first thing that Klein had noted about you. Heâd said that it was what made you good at your job. You were thoughtful and calculated, but never too in your head to make a decision. You were three steps ahead.
Youâd blushed like a fucking schoolgirl and told him that you were just quick on your feet.Â
But now, here you were, drowning with cement blocks on those feet. You werenât good at this. The medical world you knew. You could pull off miracles simply by accessing that little Rolodex in your mind, pulling out the right card to make the right move. But this? There were no notes. You werenât told how to act, how exactly to be good at it. Nothing about this was natural.
And then there was the fear. Out there, you werenât scared of anything. Sure, you were careful and you were worried, and sometimes the worst of those worries came true. But you were rarely afraid. You couldnât afford to be.Â
You couldnât afford to be now, either. You couldnât make the wrong move. And in all honesty, you werenât sure what the right move was. Not afterâŠ
âWell, Robby was right. You donât need stitches,â Langdon suddenly says, snapping you out of your spiral. âAnd youâre not concussed, which is good. Weâre gonna give it a little glue and bandage it up, and youâre gonna have a nasty bruise for a little, but youâll be fine.â
You had figured all of this (you didnât think the cut was deep enough for stitches, and you hadnât felt the slightest bit dizzy), but a wave of relief washes over you anyway. âGood,â you say, moving to stand up. âI can patch myself up from here. Thanks forââ
âSit down, Hawkeye,â he mutters, putting his hand on your shoulder to gently push you back down. âIâll do it.â
You let out a sharp sigh. âLangdon, seriously, Iâmââ
âSit down,â he repeats. His voice has turned firm, and you know thereâs no use arguing. When you look up at him in surprise, his eyes soften. âJust⊠please. Let me do this for you.â
You hold his gaze for a moment longer than you probably should. Then, you nod.Â
He nods back, and he gets to it.
He works in silence, wordlessly gathering all the things he needs to fix you up. Itâs a quick process, one that takes under five minutes and one that you absolutely could have done yourself, but you donât say anything more about it. You just rotate from staring at the ceiling, then at the side of his face, and then to the floor.Â
A minute in, you ask, âIs this your way of apologizing for sabotaging my date?â
Youâre at the point of your rotation where youâre looking at him, and you see his eyes close momentarily. Youâre expecting a deflection, a rebuttal, some other contrarian point. But instead he says, âYeah. Something like that.â
He meets your eyes, reveling in the surprise in them for a moment, before returning his focus to your forehead. You press your lips together. âOkay,â you say lightly. Then, like youâre speaking to a skittish animal, you ask, âAre we gonna talk about that?â
Langdonâs fingers falter as he finishes gluing. He goes quiet on you. You donât think youâre going to get an answer until, âDepends on where your headâs at.â
You canât help the grin that spreads across your mouth. âMy headâs currently in your handsââ
âYou know what I mean,â he chuckles. Your chest warms as you see the subtle shade of pink his cheeks have tinged. âWhat do youâ If that all wereââ He clears his throat, like that will make the words come out easier. âHow does⊠that make you feel?â
âWhat?â you ask. âThe fact that you absolutely have a thing for me and your eyes completely glazed over in a jealous rage and youââ
âIâm trying to have a serious conversation with you,â he all but whines. When you give him a look, he relents. âBut⊠yeah. That.â
You take a moment to collect your thoughts. You want to say the right thing. You donât want to scare him off. But you also want to figure out how it actually makes you feel.
However, before you can do that, you need clarity on something. âYou said I had⊠whatever I thought about med school was all wrong. What does that mean?â
His throat bobs, and it takes a minute for him to swallow the visible lump. Truthfully, he never thought heâd ever be having this conversation with you. He wants toâ needs to phrase it the right way. Especially now.
âI⊠Back then,â he begins, unwrapping a Steri-Strip. âI never hated you.â
You stare at him. âYou sure had some way of showing that.â
âI didnât like you,â he says, watching as you purse your lips at the correction. âBut I didnât ever hate you.â
âOf course,â you agree, sarcasm laced within your words. âBecause thereâs a huge difference between those.â
âThere is,â he says. âI was justâ Listen.â He releases a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. âEveryone else in our class was good. They were competent. But I remember looking around during a lab and just knowing that I was better than anyone else there.â
Though it is, unfortunately, the truth, your lips part, trying to figure out where heâs going with this. âAnd so much more humble, too.â
He ignores you. âAnd I liked that. That was fine with me because I wanted to be the best. Then, you walked in, and you had this look on your face like you had something to prove. But right after, you sat down next to someone and immediately started talking to them. And I didnât get that. I wasnât raised like that. I didnât understand how you could want to prove something but also want to make friends with the first person you met. There was something about you that told me I should be keeping an eye on you.â The feeling of his fingers on your forehead suddenly starts to feel a little too warm. âSo, when you ran out of the room on the first day, I thought I was safe. But then, in the next class, the professor asked this question that nobody knew the answer to. And I remember everyone just staring at her in silence until your hand went up. And you just rattled off this insanely detailed answer that sounded like you were teaching the class instead of her.â
You remember this all too well, too. Heat rises to your face as you think of how insufferable you must have seemed. âWell, you said it yourself. I had something to prove.â
âThatâs when I knew I had to worry about you,â he says. âAnd that, I donât know. It made me excited. I donât know if thatâs selfish, but it was the first time I felt like I had competition. I wanted to see what you were trying to prove and how good you really were. I wanted to keep that going. So, I just started⊠intentionally trying to push you. I started calling you Flight Risk to piss you offââ
âOh, I rememberââ
ââand competing with you because I wanted to see what you could do. I know I could have probably been nicer about it, but like I said, Iâm not good at that. I wasnâtâ Iâm not⊠friendly like you.â He smooths a strip down, and his touch is gentler than before. âBut you were good. You were really fucking good and you started scoring higher than I did. On everything. And that snapped me into gear because it made me want to be better. But it seemed like the better I got, the better you wanted to be. And then⊠it just became fun,â he says, grinning, looking just a bit nostalgic. âDonât get me wrong, it was hell. I hated that I had done it to myself some days. But it made me better than I thought I could be. And seeing what you could do? I knew you hadnât had any type of competition before. And after a while, I started to want you to be better, too, because I knew you could be.â
Itâs just about what you assumed when he told you that you had everything wrong. In your head, knowing him, it was the only thing that could have made sense. But the whole admission still catches you by surprise.Â
There was something about being seen by someone. About someone intrinsically knowing things about you that no one else had caught on to as quickly. Because he wasnât wrong. You had walked into that class with something to prove. It was one of the best Med programs in the country, and you wanted everyone to know that you belonged there. You hadnât had competition in a while and had gotten bored with it all. Youâd never had someone rival you in that way before.
Heâd used the word exciting, and in a strange, treacherous way, it had been. It was exciting for you to have someone not just at your level, but someone who forced you to perform to an even higher standard. There was something about someone who demanded that you be better.
While you didnât agree with all of his tactics, and yes, he probably could have been nicer about it, it felt good to officially know that he had always seen you not just as a threat, but as an academic equal.Â
âSo, yeah. You had it wrong,â he continues, nearly finished working. âI never hated you. I hated that you gave me a run for my money, but never you.â With a deep breath, he then mutters, âAnd now, Iâm admitting that I like you and you still havenât said anything about how you feel about it, which is awesome.â
You have clarity with him for once. For better or for worse.Â
You like Langdon, too. Itâs something youâve known for a while but have tried desperately to ignore. After everything youâve been through, as your relationship has completely flipped on itselfâ itâs an idea that youâve resigned to. Itâs something thatâs been brewing for a long time, and now, itâs finally broken to the surface. It still makes you a bit uneasy, nervous even, but itâs also⊠exciting. For lack of a better word.
Itâs been a desperate search to try to identify the thing youâve been feeling since you first got coffee with him. Why your heart keeps stuttering when you look at him, why youâre excited to see him day after day, why you look forward to bantering with him, and why it never gets old.Â
You like him. You do.
Itâs a strange feelingâ something you havenât felt since you left Boston. And while that scares you, something about this one tells you that you donât have to be. No more running. No more fear.
No more Flight Risks.
âIâm okay with that,â you finally say. He stops what heâs doing the second the words leave your lips. âI mean, I donât agree at all with what you did and think it was shitty of you toââ
âYeah, I know, Iâm an asshole. Weâve known this for years.â He doesnât seem too focused on the second part of your statement, more occupied with the first. He crouches down to meet you at eye level. âBut⊠that first part. You mean that?â
You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling too hard. âWeirdly enough, I do.â As if that wonât get your point across, you meet his equally excited gaze. âI like you, you asshole. About as much as you like me.â
You get one of those smiles in returnâ the one that completely transforms and lights up his face. âAbout as much?â he mutters, returning to finish bandaging you up.
âYeah,â you say. Youâre grinning just as stupidly as he is. âYouâre obviously way more into me than Iâm into you. Iâm not at the level where Iâd sabotage a date you went onââ
âMy God, Iâm never gonna hear the end of this, am I?â he groans. He smoothes the last strip down, fingers lingering for a moment longer than they should. Itâs a simple thing that makes your heart stutter. âAlright. Youâre all set.â
âThank you, Doctor Langdon. Incredible job.â You stand from the bench, and instinctively, you reach up to feel his handiwork. âSo, what now?â
He turns to you, taking his gloves off. âNow, you go home and do exactly what Robby told you to do. Nothing.â
The teasing note in his voice has you glaring at him. âYou know what I mean.â
âOh, you mean for you and me?â he asks, chuckling as your look sharpens. âNow you wait for that glue to dry, and we turn that Steelers game in two weeks into a date.â
Youâre marginally surprised by how fast he came up with that, and you find yourself narrowing your eyes. âWas that your plan all along?â
He shrugs, suddenly just a bit shy. âIt might have crossed my mind.â
âI was wondering why you hadnât let me pay you back yet,â you grumble.
âIâll take a page out of Finance-Broâs playbook and let you pay for brunch before the game.â
With a scandalized gasp and the beginnings of a protest on your tongue, you shove past him to leave the room, but find thatâs grabbed you before you can make your exit. Your heart races at the feeling of his hand on your hip and the way he grips you to turn you to face him. He nearly forgets what heâs going to say when you look up at him.Â
âIâm serious, though,â he gets out after a second. âI⊠I do, yâknow. I really like you. I want to do this right.â
His sincerity makes your heart swell. You put your hand over his and remove it from your side, choosing instead to interlock your fingers. He glances down at your hands, then back at you. âWe will.â Squeezing his hand, you say, âThanks for patching me up.â
He squeezes your hand in return, and God, he looks fucking giddy about it. âThanks for giving me a chance.â
You return to the floor moments later, Langdon following close behind, both of you desperately trying to keep the dopey-looking smiles off your faces. Youâre not sure if anyone notices, but thankfully, no one says anything.
They seem to be too focused on the injury youâve acquired.
The shifts are in the process of transitioning, and you lock eyes with Ellis the second you walk up to the nursesâ station. âWhat the hell happened to you?â
Santosâs head pops out of the hoodie sheâs putting on as she realizes youâre back. She whistles when she sees the bandage on your head. âNice battle scar, Jasper.â
Sighing, you take off your badge and place it on the counter. You wave Dana off as she moves to get a look at you. âIâm fine. Got too close to the frat boy in South Three.â
âLittle shit swung at her,â Dana mutters.
âHe hit you?â Ellis asks, incredulous.Â
You hold up a hand. âPushed me,â you correct. âDonât worry. Langdon already threatened to beat up the nineteen-year-old, guys. Heâs got it covered. Chivalry isnât dead.â
You hear him scoff, but the warmth in his voice doesnât miss you when he says, âYou're unbelievable.â
âBut Whitaker did jump him for me, so weâre all good,â you say, nodding at him as he approaches the station with his go-bag. He flushes when he realizes what youâre talking about. âHeld him down and everything. That was impressive, kid.â
He shakes his head with a small smile. âIt was nothing.â
âNot nothing. You saved me from the wrath of a boy whoâs listened to âNo Handsâ one too many times,â you say. Then, you address the room. âIâm fine. Thank you all for the concern.â You point at everyone in warning. âNobody actually beat up the frat boy, please. Iâm gonna go sleep this off. Iâll see you all later.â
You head off to your locker with a wave, exhaustion hitting you the second you realize youâre off the clock. You feel Langdonâs eyes on you as you walk away, but donât turn around. Thereâs no need for any of your coworkers to suspect that anythingâs changed between you two. Not yet.
(Theyâre well past suspicion. Theyâve noticed the change in your relationship since Langdon returned. Thereâs a secret pool going about when and how somethingâs going to happen. But itâs cute to see you two try.)
When youâre out of sight, he takes his stethoscope off his neck, wanting nothing more than to follow you out. Itâs then that he notices the way that Danaâs looking at him. âWhat?â
She glances down at the counter, then back up at him. âShe left her badge,â she says. âDo you want to run out and give it to her, or do you want me to hold on to it until Monday?â
Langdon reaches for it so fast that Dana thinks he might hurt himself. Still, heâs casual when he says, âI got it.â
Heâs already chasing you down when he hears Ellis mutter, âIâm sure you do.â
As the team laughs quietly, he doesnât turn around and tell the team to âfuck offâ like he wants to. Right now, heâs only got one thing on his mind, and itâs something he should have done months ago.
Youâre no longer at your locker by the time he gets there. He doesnât find you until youâre already at your car, just about to get inside.
He calls your nameâ your real one. Not your last name or your god-awful nickname. The sound of it makes you turn around in confusion.
It happens so quickly that you almost donât process it. One second, heâs jogging over toward you, the next, heâs in front of you, hands cupping your cheeks and head dipping down to press his lips to yours.
You freeze as you realize whatâs happening. Heâs kissing you. Frank Langdon is kissing you.
Itâs sweet. Chaste, even. His touch is feather-light yet strong, holding tight but allowing you to pull away if this isnât what you want. Thereâs no force to it, but still, you find your knees buckling, and you have to hold onto his arms to keep yourself upright.
Itâs short. Heâs completely stolen your breath from your lungs in mere seconds, and before you can even attempt to respond or deepen it in any way, heâs pulling away. You grip his arms tighter as you meet his gaze, your eyes wide and pupils completely blown out.
The smile that spreads across his lips warms you from the inside out. âYou forgot your badge,â he says softly. âAnd I think I forgot to do that.â
You let go of one of his arms to grab his shirt and pull him down toward you. âShut up,â you murmur, the words barely making it out before his lips are on yours once more.
You can feel his smile stretch as you take the lead. His hands return to your cheeks, tighter now that he knows youâre on the same page.Â
This oneâs more intense. Itâs much less sweet and way more intentional, and you allow your go-bag to fall from your shoulder to hit the ground. He crowds you, pushing you up against the door of your car. When your back hits it, you gasp, which allows him to slip his tongue in your mouth.
Youâre sure you two look ridiculous, like youâre two teenagers who are trying to get their last makeout in before curfew, but you donât care. You donât know if it took him actually kissing you to actually process and solidify your feelings for him, but Christ, something clicks.Â
Youâre not just interested in pursuing Langdon (Frankâ if youâre going to kiss him like this regularly, you should really start calling him Frank). Itâs not some sort of schoolgirl crush that youâre testing out by agreeing to go on a couple of dates with him. You like him. Like really, fucking like him.
His hands find their way under your shirt, skimming gently along your back in a way that makes you shiver. Heâs so close to you that you practically grind against him, and he rips himself away from you like he canât take it anymore. But he doesnât move, forehead still brushing yours.
You stare at him, chest heaving up and down, and lips slightly swollen. âYou should have led with that,â you say breathlessly, smiling as he chuckles to himself.
His hands are still on your hips, and his thumbs draw circles into them as he turns back to you with a smirk. âYeah?â he asks. âMy little confession back there didnât do it for you?â
âI loved hearing it,â you reply, tightening your grip on his shirt. âBut that got your point across better.â
Frank shakes his head with a smile, and heâs leaning in to kiss you again. This time, heâs all in.
Youâre back up against the door, both of you allowing the other to explore anywhere theyâd like. Normally, youâd have a little shame or a little decorum, but the craziness of this situation seems to hit you both at the same time. After years of knowing, hating, competing, working, helping, and then finally liking each other, you might have some lost time to make up for.Â
You know that someone could walk out and see you. Youâd be teased about it to the ends of the earth. But none of that matters.
This matters. He matters.
The second he groans into your mouth, you pull away to start kissing down his jaw. He has to physically stabilize himself by putting his arm on the roof of your car above your head. The other grips your hip harder.
âDonât start something you canât finish,â he says lowly, and you feel your stomach flutter.
âWho says I canât finish it?â you ask.
Youâre playing with fire and you know it. He grips your face and moves you to look directly into your eyes. âYou want toâ?â
âYeah,â you breathe, nodding into his hand. âDo you?â
He looks insulted that you even have to ask. âOf course I do,â he says. âBut, I-I had this plan. I wanted to like, impress you andââ
âYou impress me every day.â You say it like itâs a fact and he damn near melts into your arms. âAnd we can still do that if thatâs what you want.â You smooth out the wrinkles youâve put into his shirt. âBut, if you want to meet me at my apartment and start that plan tomorrow, Iâm also open to that.â
You raise to press a quick, reassuring peck to his lips, but Frank has other ideas. He makes a helpless sound, and he full-on kisses you. The second he feels you smiling into it, he starts making his way down your neck. âYou make meâ I canâtââÂ
Once again, it feels like he has to physically remove himself from you. He steps away, leaving you standing there, pupils blown out, lips swollen, and cheeks blazing. Then, he points at you. âYour apartment,â he manages. âIâll meet you there.â
For good measure, he catches your hand as he drops his, squeezing it once before pressing his lips to the back of it. Your heart swells.
âDrive safe,â you rasp, voice breaking on the last word as you watch him walk away.
You blink, taking a moment to gather yourself. Youâre barely processing it as you grab your go back, fighting the smile thatâs threatening to break out on your face.Â
No fucking way that just happened. No way.
OCTOBER 3RD, 2026. (8:23 PM)
Somehow, he manages to beat you back to your apartment.
Youâre surprised to find Langdon waiting for you, sitting on a bench outside your building. Heâs looking around, knee bouncing up and down in what you hope is anticipation and not anxiety or regret.Â
Itâs not until he locks eyes with you that you start feeling nervous yourself. But itâs a good kind of nervous, something akin to excitement. Itâs jittery, even. Like youâve consumed too much caffeine on an empty stomach.
(Adrenaline rush is the word youâre looking for, but youâre too in your head to realize it until later.)
He stands when he sees you, wiping his hands on his pants, then immediately stuffing them into his pockets. Instinct takes over as things start to go more real, and you say, âWhat, did you go ninety trying to get here?â
He throws his hands up. âIâve lived here longer than you. I know how to get around.â
âMmhmm,â you hum, passing him to unlock your buildingâs front door. âI hope you abided by all street signs.â
âOnly the important ones,â he says, catching the door as you open it, allowing you to enter.Â
You snort at that, launching into some sort of mindless small talk to get your mind off the fact that both of you know whatâs about to happen. Itâs something about work, about the frat boy who knocked you over, and about a function thatâs happening later on this month. But your mindâs on other things.
Jesus, you feel like youâre in high school. You shouldnât be this anxious. You canât remember the last time someone made you act this wayâ this distracted and antsy. Sure, youâd been excited about⊠others when youâd first started seeing them, but it was nothing like this. At least, you couldnât remember it being like this.
You know what you want to do. Youâre pretty sure heâs on the same page. But still, that anxious anticipation claws at the back of your mind.
When you make it to your door, youâre talking about something that occurred the last time you had a function with the team. Something about karaoke and the song Dana had forced you to sing with her.Â
By the time youâve unlocked it, itâs practically irrelevant. You reach in and turn the lights on before you enter.
âBy the way, do you want anything to drink?â you ask, pulling your keys out of the lock. âWater? I might have seltzer in the fridge? Iâd offer food, but I havenât been grocery shopping in like, two weeks andââ
When you turn around to look at him, youâre cut off by him bringing his lips to yours. The second the door closes, heâs cupping the space between your cheek and your neck and moving you gently against the wallâ though he kisses you with the same fervor as he had previously.
Or we could do this, you think. This works too.
Itâs somehow gentle but intense. His lips are soft, but his hands are rough. Sturdy. While heâs gripping your head, heâs careful not to touch the cut by your hairline. Heâs both holding back and refusing to give up. Itâs like he has something to prove to you, but youâre not entirely sure what. Itâs a jumbled-up mess of contradictions that leaves you confused, but honestly, itâs exactly what youâd expect from him.
His other hand runs up your arm, immediately sending goosebumps up your body. âIn case that prick didnât tell you,â he murmurs against you, âyou looked fucking gorgeous when you walked in today.â
Langdon kisses you once more despite the fact that youâre laughing. Your cheeks burn when you pull away from him, resting your forehead against his. âI donât remember if he did,â you admit. âWouldnât have mattered either way.â
You canât help but mirror the grin that takes over his face. âNo?â
âNo,â you repeat. You pull back, brushing some of the hair away from his eyes, before your hand falls to his jaw. âI knew he wasnât going to stick.â Before he can lean in to kiss you again, you put your other hand on his chest to stop him. âStill fucked up of you to sabotage my date, though.â
He rolls his eyes. âIâll find a way to make it up to you,â he mutters, dipping down once more to shut you up.
Your lips meet again, and this time, you know exactly what heâs trying to prove. Itâs all about keeping that promise. Itâs about proving to you that you made the right choiceâ youâre here with him instead of out with the other guy, and itâs for a perfectly good reason.
It was so like him to compete for something heâd already won.
A nip at your bottom lip has a soft gasp escaping the back of your throat, and you swear his grip tightens on you at the single noise. Heâs tense. You donât know if itâs because heâs unsure or if heâs holding back, but both give you pause. His hands drift lower, fingers running along the hem of your shirt. They skim your stomach, and it has you securing your hold on his neck.
âWe donât have to do this,â you say breathlessly, biting the inside of your cheek as he starts to make his way from your neck. âItâs fast. W-We just-- If this isnât something youâre ready for, Iââ
âNo,â he murmurs. âNo, I want this. Iâ Fuckââ The feeling of your hand running against the backside of his head distracts him and he tries to regain focus. âIâm good.â
While he seems certain, you still ask, âAre you sure?â
His response is to simply rise from your neck to your lips, kissing you with enough force that gives you all the confirmation you need. Your back hits the wall, harder this time, and he slips his tongue back inside your mouth. One of his hands travels to the spot where his lips were previously, the other working to take off the jacket youâre wearing. The grip on your neck is grounding, and you help him get rid of your jacket before forking a hand through his hair.
Frankâs nearly heaving when he breaks away, fingers moving to grab your chin. âIâve wanted this for months,â he states. The hand at your back snags the waistband of your pants, pulling you against him and positioning you so that one of his legs is slotted between yours. He kisses you on the jaw, pulling you forward so that youâre practically grinding onto his leg. âI want you.â Your eyes flutter as he returns to your neck. âI mean it. Never been more sure of anything in my life.â
Your body feels like itâs on fire. Adrenaline has flooded your bloodstream, and youâre hyper-aware of everything. Every sound heâs making, every gasp or whine youâve released. The feeling of his hands against your skin thatâs riddled with goosebumps. The taste of his lips. The wear and tear of the twelve-hour shift he just worked (and the one you joined in the middle of) doesnât show at all. Youâve never felt more energized, and youâve never seen him this alive.
You want to tell him that you want him, too. Youâre feeling everything you presume that heâs feelingâ excited, nervous, the feeling of being this⊠into someone. It still blows your mind that you can and you do feel this way about him. Itâs even crazier that he feels the same.
But you canât verbalize any of that. Not when the air has been sucked from your lungs and not as you practically dry hump his leg in the middle of your hallway. So, instead, you shift to brush your thigh against the length of him, savoring the way he shivers.Â
âWell, then, fucking do something about it,â you say, just a bit too mean and a bit too impatient.Â
He makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a snarl against your neck, and the heat of his breath has a chill running down your spine. âAlways with the fucking attitude,â he grits.
You fist his shirt so hard you think you might rip it. âYouâre the one saying you want me,â you mutter. âYou have me. We both know youâre not a gentleman.â You grind against him once more. âSo do something.â
Itâs like a switch flips. As if heâs been in the shadows waiting, and those were his trigger words. Frank shakes his head in that way he does when he canât believe you. You grin against his lips when he kisses you again, and even that seems to be too much for him right now. Thereâs a strange feeling of relief that washes over you when you realize heâs just as overcome by you as you are by him.
âTake off your clothes,â he says, inhaling sharply as he pulls away from you. Heâs already dropping his sweatshirt on the floor. âIâm not fucking kidding. Take them off right now.â
Despite the fact that heâd given the order, heâs the one pulling off your shirt. He stretches the collar when it passes your head, making sure not to brush your cut, and discards it on the floor. You help him out of his, already walking backwards toward your bedroom as he attaches himself to you again.
Heâs more exploratory now, hands everywhere he was hesitant to search before. It sets you completely alight, breath hitching the second he starts pulling at the waistband of your pants. Youâre standing at the foot of your bed before you do it, legs hitting your mattress. You grab his shoulders to stabilize yourself.
When he realizes where you are, he puts an arm around your back, slowly reclining you back to lay you down. Itâs a soft landing. He hovers over you with one leg still stationed between yours. He breaks from the kiss, and his mouth trails down your chest, dipping to the fabric of your bra. You arch into him when he presses a searing kiss just above your breasts.
Going further down your stomach, he speaks against your skin when he says, âYou drive me fucking crazy.âÂ
You perch one of your legs up, thigh brushing his side. His fingers toy with the top of your pants, and you shift into him. âWhat else is new?â
Frank glances up at you, meeting your gaze. Itâs a silent question thatâs asking for your permission. You nod at him immediately, heart whirling as a small smile tugs at his lips. âNo,â he says, latching his fingers around your waistband. He pulls the tie, letting the strings fall. âYou donât get it. I canâtââ He cuts himself off, shaking his head. He begins to bring your pants down your legs, sucking in a breath when he looks back up at you. You hear your pants hit the floor. âItâs so⊠easy with you. I donât have to think when Iâm with you, yâknow?â You tilt your head at him, unsure of where heâs going with this. âBut then, itâs likeâ you look at me like that and I canât think straight. I used to hate you for it.â He wets his lips, staring at you like he canât process the fact that heâs standing here. He bends down, leaning forward to be at your eye level. âI never know what to do with it. Itâs fucking debilitating.â
You suddenly feel completely exposed, and it has nothing to do with the fact that youâre nearly bare. Itâs as if he can see right through you. You shift further up onto your elbows, brushing your hand against the one he has on your hip. âThen donât think,â you tell him softly. âItâs just me.â
He stares at you for a moment longer, then shakes his head. âJust you. Right,â he says, almost to himself. When your brow creases, the corner of his lips twitch up. âYou really have no idea what you do to me, do you?â
He doesnât give you a chance to respond. Before you can even fathom a way to reply to that, heâs moving, crouching down at the foot of your bed to hook his fingers around the sides of your panties and slide them down. âJust you,â he repeats, almost scoffing. âLike I havenât thought about this every fucking night since I came back to work.â
You gasp, both at the admission and the sight of him on his knees in front of you. âYou have?â
âDonât act surprised.â Frank rises slightly to kiss the inside of your thigh. âI know youâve thought about it too.â
You huff despite the way your heart beats out of your chest and ignore his comment. âSo, I was right when I said that youâre way more into me than Iâm into you,â you tease.
With a disbelieving scoff, he looks up at you. âHard to believe that when youâre as wet as you are right now,â he mutters. He runs his fingers over your cunt, reveling in the airy sound that escapes your lips. âJesus. Would have gone down on you the second we walked in if Iâd known you were like this.â
The filthy words take you completely by surprise and have your nails digging into your sheets. You donât have a witty response for that one, especially not as he slips a finger inside of you. âS-shit.â
He works it slowly, testing. Seeing what you like and what youâll take. He thumbs lightly at your clit, gaze locked on you to see how you fare. You moan at the touch, but immediately want more than the slower pace heâs giving you. As if he can read your mind, he adds a second finger.
You curse, hips bucking into his hand. âYeah?â he asks. âThat what you want?â
âI wantââ Your own ragged sounding gasp interrupts your words as he curls his fingers. âFuck. F-FrankâŠâ
His eyes snap to yours. The sound of his first name falling from your lips has him gripping your hip harder, pinning you down onto the bed as he continues to work. âYou keep saying that, and Iâll give you anything you ask for.â Encouraged, he starts to move faster, grinning as you grip his bicep. âTell me, baby. Câmon. What do you want?â
Youâre finding it hard to speak. Your headâs spinning, your throatâs gone dry, and your chest feels heavier each time he pumps his fingers into you. Somehow, you manage, âYour mouth.â You squeeze him tighter. âFrank, p-please.â
His mouth is on you before you can even say the word please. You slap a hand over your mouth to contain the sound of surprise that erupts from you. He zeroes in on your clit, alternating between licking and sucking in a way that has you immediately grinding into his face. Your back arches as his fingers pick back up, and the moan you release comes out muffled against your hand.Â
Frank registers it after a beat. âNo,â he says, and the feeling of his breath on your cunt makes you squirm. âGet your fucking hand off your mouth. I want to hear you. Dear God, let me hear you.â
Youâre not thinking clearly enough to do anything other than what youâre told. Your eyes roll back into your head as his lips return to your clit, and you can feel yourself tightening around his fingers. You donât know how you're close already, but you are.
You feel him chuckle against you, and the vibration of it has you forking a hand through his hair. âSo fucking agreeable like this, huh?â he chides. âNot gonna be a pain in my ass if it means Iâll get you off.â He removes his fingers for a moment to slide his tongue deeper down. âWould have done this earlier if Iâd known this was all it took.â
You knew heâd be mouthy. The whole bickering and bantering shtick was kind of your thing. You didnât think that would change if you two ever got to this level. But this⊠was something else. It was a whole other side of him that youâd never thought youâd see.Â
Itâs exactly what you need from him, and it brings you ever closer to the edge.
When he slides his fingers back in, he adds a third. You let out a desperate noise, head lolling into your mattress. He operates like he does in the ED. Heâs calculated. Intense. Precise. Just a bit reckless, throwing a curveball here or there. But he also knows what heâs doing. Heâs confident about it, but is still willing to learn exactly what you like to adapt and get the job done.Â
One of those curveballs comes flying in as he pulls his mouth from your clit, lips wet and glistening against the low, soft light of your room. âFuck, Iâve wanted this for months,â he repeats his sentiment from earlier, shaking his head. His eyes are blown out. He looks crazed. Starved, even. âBeen waiting for you.â
He watches your face scrunch in pleasure as he curls his fingers, the hand on his bicep surging to his opposite wrist. âShit,â you whisper. âIâmâ Iâm close.â
âYeah, I know you are. I know youâre right there. Iâve got you.â But heâs not done. âBut, just so you know. I donât ever want you to give me the âitâs just meâ bullshit again,â he mutters, picking up the pace of how heâs pumping into you. He slides his hand from your hip to rub at your clit. âItâs you. Thatâs the fucking point. And I canât believe I actually have you.âÂ
You feel that tension in your stomach get even tighter, and the sounds that are coming out of you are downright pathetic. âFrank, IâO-Oh, myââ
âSo, youâre gonna come for me,â he begins, slightly out of breath. âAnd then Iâm going to keep trying to convince you that Iâm the type of guy who deserves you.â
Youâve just barely processed his words when his mouth returns to your cunt and he continues his work. You try to keep yourself steady for him, but fuck, you canât help it. You thrash around, bucking your hips into him as if youâre chasing your release.
âFuck,â you curse, and if he continues doing exactly what heâs doing, you know youâre done for. âIâm gonnaââ
âThatâs it, câmon,â he says against you. He knows. He can feel just how tight you are, and he sees the way your jaw drops open. âCome for me.â Your eyes screw shut. âFucking do it. Give it to me.â
The second he finishes speaking, youâre gone. You do as youâre told and you come.
He had described his feelings for you as debilitating. Youâre not sure you understood what he meant until now. Youâd described pain as debilitating before. Sadness, too. It always had some sort of negative connotation.Â
But this? This was all the right kinds of it.
You thrash around on the bed, crying out as it overtakes you. Frank holds you in place, chasing you down as you ride it out. It blazes through you like fire, and you can feel it spread all throughout you. Itâs something all-consuming and overwhelming, and it has you saying his name like a prayer. He groans into your core, and you swear you might come again.
But, before you can, Frank pulls away, gently laying you back down onto the bed. Heâs careful now, every movement contrasting the things he was doing or saying not even a second ago. His gaze locks on you, your eyes still shut, and your chest heaving. He canât help the feeling of satisfaction that races through him.
When you open your eyes and see the look on his face, you donât even think about your next move. You grab him by the neck and guide his lips to yours, kissing him with the same fervor that he gave to you. You can taste yourself on him, and something about it sends a chill down your spine. When he hums into your mouth, you can feel him smiling.
âIâll take it I did well?â he asks, because of course he does. The question comes out mumbled as he nips at your lip.Â
âDonât start acting humble now,â you mutter, finding yourself smiling as he chuckles softly. That chuckle morphs into a groan as you palm him through his pants, and he stops kissing you to hang his head in the space just above your shoulder. âThis okay?â you ask gently, watching the way he grits his teeth.
âYeah,â he grunts. âI justâ fuckââ Your fingers travel below his waistband, just barely brushing his cock. For a moment, you think heâs going to latch his teeth onto your collarbone, but he holds himself back. âItâs just b-been a while since Iâveââ
âBeen a while for me too,â you assure him, voice lower than a whisper. You can feel how hard he is against your hand, and all you want to do is help him out. âIâll go slow.â
He lets out an airy laugh, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. âThatâs the problem.â You stop your movements, looking at him in concern. âIf you do what I think you want to do, thisâll be over before we really start it.âÂ
Your brows shoot up, any hesitation in your expression vanishing as it gets replaced by a small smirk. âReally?â you tease. You run your thumb along the head of his cock and he hisses into your neck.
âDonât,â Frank warns. âI-Iâm serious. Iâm not gonna last.â
You nod, removing your hand from him and running it up his abdomen to grab his waistband. âOkay,â you say. âSo, what do you want?â
He shakes his head, still a bit dazed. âWhat?â
âYou asked me what I wanted. Itâs your turn to tell me what you want.â
His response is almost instant. âInside,â he says, like heâd been thinking about the answer before youâd even asked the question. His cheeks flare red, but he stands strong. âI want to be inside of you.â
The thought of it has your heart racing, and youâre sure that he can hear it. You nod at him, and the second he has permission, heâs moving to take his pants off. As he does so, you remove your bra, having completely forgotten that you had it on. It gets thrown to the floor with the rest of your clothes, and you move back on the mattress, giving him the space he needs to join you.
He acts fast, so fast that you barely get a chance to look at him before heâs kissing you again, pushing you into the pillows that sit on your bed. The feeling of his hand cupping your breast has you grinding against him. A low noise rumbles in his throat, and he uses his other hand to pin you to the bed.Â
âD-Do youââ he stammers as you move your lips down his neck. âDo you haveââ
âNightstand drawer,â you say, knowing exactly where his mind is.Â
He uses one hand to lift himself off of you and reaches into the drawer with the other. When he grabs the condom, he rips it open with his teeth, straddling himself over you as he takes it out. âAlways so fucking prepared,â he mutters. âAlways one step ahead of me.â
You laugh, not even thinking before you say, âWell, I had very different plans when I left the apartment this morning.â
Frankâs eyes snap up to meet yours, and you immediately know youâve made a mistake. You canât help the nervous sort of excitement that stirs in your stomach. âWith who? That guy?â
Your mouth parts, and you blink at him, desperately trying to come up with something to say. âIââ You shake your head. âI didnât know how it was going to go.â
He nods slowly, condom now on. When he leans over you, you can feel how hard he is against your stomach. You inhale sharply. âYou were going to sleep with him tonight?â
âI meanââ He tilts his head, and everything about it reads as a warning. You cut yourself off as his eyes narrow slightly. âI⊠I donât know. If it had gone well. Maybe.â
âMaybe,â he repeats. The glint in his eyes is dangerous, and you grip his wrist thatâs sitting beside you. âMaybe.â
Oops. You might be in trouble. Because you feel like playing with fire, you raise a brow. âWhat if I had?â you ask. âHow would that make you feel?â
He scoffs, and before you register what heâs doing, you feel him drag the head of his cock around the opening of your cunt. He leans forward, stabilizing himself on one arm thatâs placed next to your head. The contact and the heat of him make you inhale raggedly. Suddenly, his other hand is skimming your forehead.
âThe secondâ and I mean the second this thing is healed,â he begins, running his fingers just below the area of your cut, âIâm going to bend you over the fucking table and show you exactly how that makes me feel.â
You donât have time for a rebuttal. No time to tell him off, to tease him about being jealous, or even to laugh. Because suddenly, heâs moving that hand down to guide himself into you.Â
You both gasp, and you fork your fingers through his hair as he bottoms out practically the moment heâs in. He takes it slowâ painstakingly so. Thereâs a bit of a stretch, one that gets more comfortable as you adjust to the length of him. His head falls to your chest, groaning against your skin.Â
âBut for now,â he says shakily, trailing up your body with hot, open-mouthed kisses, âIâm gonna show you the reason youâre here with me and not with him.â
Your grip on his hair tightens the second he starts to move, and he grunts into the side of your neck. You curse, lips brushing his ear, the feeling of⊠everything sending you into a spiral. How his hips snap into yours. The way he cups a hand around your breast, testing each movement he makes to see exactly how you like to be touched. How he murmurs your name as if itâs something sacred.Â
You might just understand what he means about not being able to think straight when heâs around you. Because right now, you canât think about anything other than him.
He whispers an unintelligible word, then groans. âFuck. You feel incredible,â he says. âKnew you would. Never disappointed by you. Fucking ever.â
âShit,â you rasp. âI needâ ngh.â An involuntary moan breaks through to interrupt your barely audible words. âM-Move faster.â
Youâre surprised when he laughs. The sound is rough and breathy and almost cruel. He shakes his head as he continues his pace. âAfter you say shit like that? Y-You try to bait me and make me jealous, and you think you make the rules?â he asks. His fingers fall from your chest to trace down your side. âThatâs not how this works. Youâll take what I give you.â
Your back arches off the mattress, and you find yourself grinding against him to get some sort of new, harder friction. It catches him slightly off guard, and he grabs your hip to stabilize both himself and you. âFrank, p-please,â you damn near whimper. His eyes screw shut and his jaw clenches. âI-I need you. Please. Donâtâ shit. Donât be mean.â
With a deep and guttural groan, he starts to move faster. With the look on his face, youâre not sure if it was a voluntary choice or not, but regardless, he gives you what he wants.Â
Itâs a struggle to keep the self-satisfied smirk off your face, and when Frank opens his eyes to look at you, itâs the first thing he sees. He tells himself heâd stop just to spite you, but he knows he wouldnât. Couldnât. You feel too fucking good.
So, instead, he just mutters, âStop that.â
Your smile grows, and you bite your bottom lip in the hopes of keeping it from forming. âKnew youâd fold.â
âHard not to when youâre begging like that,â he says, moving to rest his forehead on yours. âNot happening again.â
(You both know itâs a lie the second he says it. But itâs fun to pretend.)
Youâre grinning unabashedly when you cup his cheek and lean up to kiss him. This one is messier. Itâs just as passionate, if not more, but itâs sloppy, harder to keep up with each other as he continues to pound into you. Itâs a steady, quick, gratifying pace, one that already has tension pulling inside your stomach.Â
âFuck,â you moan into the kiss, breaking away as he hits just the right spot. It has you heaving in a breath, and that intensity you know so well washes over his expression. âYouâ Iââ
âOh, shit,â he grins. âThat's it, isn't it?â
You nod vigorously, clawing at his shoulder as you fight to ground yourself. âD-Donât stop,â you plead. âThatâ Youâ You feel so good. Please.â
Something about that seems to send Frank over the edge. He hears you loud and clear. Gripping your hips tighter, your head knocks back into your pillow as he seems to move even faster. You wrap your legs around his waist to bring him in closer, and he makes a noise that comes from somewhere low in his throat.
âIâve got you,â he says. His voice is absolutely wrecked, and you feel yourself clench around him harder. It has him gasping out, âFuckâ Iâll g-get you there, baby. Donât worry.â
Youâre already pretty close to being there, but you need a bit more. Luckily, once again, heâs on the same page as you. He spits on his fingers and reaches down to rub at your clit. The sight alone has you whimpering. âH-holy shit. Frank, Iâmâ ngh. Iâm fucking c-close again.â
âI know,â he grits. âAnd itâs the hottest f-fucking thing. â
Each movement of his is deliberate. He knows exactly how to act, how to operate, and what will work best. He has the right patterns and tricks, and knows just the right thing to say to make your head spin. Youâd teased him relentlessly about his bedside manner, but this? This didnât apply. Whatsoever.
He told you heâd get you there, and that wasnât just a promise. It was a fact.
You can tell heâs getting closer to the edge as his face contorts and his words start to get less coherent. âSo fucking beautiful,â he tells you, and God, does he mean it. âYouâre fucking unreal. I-I canât believe I get to have you like this.â
Itâs the way he speaks that gets you. Heâs desperate, that smart mouth of his now slurring out words with his eyes half-lidded. He straight-up grimaces as you get tighter, and you know that itâs going to be the thing that breaks you.Â
âIâm gonna come,â you manage to get out. Itâs not a warning. âIâm gonnaâ Frank, Iââ
âDo it,â he says. âIâm r-right behind you. F-fucking come for me again.â
You come within seconds. If you thought the last one was debilitating, this one completely wrecks you. Your orgasm tears through your body, and itâs something white-hot and blinding. You swear you see stars, especially as Frank continues to fuck you through it. Heâs whispering things in your ear that you canât processâ things that youâre not even sure heâs processing. Because as you come to, you realize heâs just as gone as you are.
He didnât lie. He wasnât far behind you. He follows suit within seconds, finishing with a groan that racks his entire body. His chest is heaving as he hovers up above you, eyes closed and blissed out. He collapses into you, burying his face into the crook of your neck.
Youâre both breathing heavily and sweating, and your room is finally quiet. You donât know if you can move. All you have in you right now is to lift your hand and run your fingers through his hair.Â
He hums at the feeling, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to your pulse. He sits there for a moment longer, enjoying the feeling of your nails against his head. He allows himself to get his bearings before rolling off of you, making sure to be gentle as he slips out.
Frank all but collapses into the pillow beside you, staring up at the ceiling before turning his head in your direction. You meet his gaze when you feel it on you.
It takes all but three seconds for the two of you to start laughing.
You hide your face with your hands, giggling (giggling! The bastard has you fucking giggling) into them like youâd heard the worldâs funniest joke. The sound comes out muffled, but it mixes well with his own.Â
Grinning, Frank perches himself on his elbow, reaching over to remove your hands from your face. You look at him in that way he was talking aboutâ the one where he canât think straight. He shakes his head as if itâll clear it. âDonât get shy on me now.â
âIâm not shy,â you insist, though the warmth in your cheeks would say otherwise. âI justâ I canât believe we did that.â
He narrows his eyes, asking a question he already knows the answer to: âIn a good way or a bad way.â
You take your hands from him to gently whack him on the arm. âYou know itâs in a good way,â you mutter.Â
âI know,â he replies. He focuses on your fingers as you intertwine them, knowing your silence a bit too well. âWhat are you thinking about?â
You glance up at him, pressing your lips together. âThe honest or the cute answer?â
Humor graces his features at your response, but he says, âHonest. Always. I hate cute.â
Rolling your eyes, you laugh, because despite what just occurred, heâs still him. âIâm thinking about how badly I want to shower right now.â
A surprised laugh leaves him. âSeriously?â he asks, faux outrage laced within his voice. âI was that bad that you need to shower?â
You giggle again (goddamn it), turning onto your side. âNo, Iâm justââ You motion down at yourself. âThe half a shift I worked is still on me. And now Iâm sweaty. I feel gross.â
âYou look pretty good to me,â he says, and when you roll your eyes again, he chuckles, rolling himself over to stand up. âIâll get it going for you.â
You nearly reach over and kiss him then and there, but refrain from doing so. You fear you might start things up again. âThank you,â you say. âIâll meet you in there.â
He turns around before he gets up, excitement flickering in his eyes. âYou want me to join?â
âYou just told me you were going to bend me over the table the second my head heals,â you tell him blankly, biting back a smile as you watch his face go red. âI think weâre well past being shy about showering.â
âYouâre fucking unreal,â he repeats, and the fondness in his voice doesnât go missed. Something pulls at your stomach as you realize heâd said those words heâd said just minutes ago. You watch him walk into your bathroom, but before you can rally yourself to get up, he leans his head out to look at you. âWhat was the cute answer?â
Sighing, you smile softly as you look up at the ceiling. âYou said last week that you were really glad I came back into your life,â you say. You turn your head to meet his gaze. âI was just going to tell you that I agree.â
His mouth parts, and he stares at youâ but this time, thereâs no confusing this look. You know exactly what heâs thinking, and while you might not have the right words to express it, itâs reciprocated tenfold.Â
It takes a moment for Frank to speak, but when he does, he says, âGet in that shower the second itâs warm.â He points at you before turning around to turn your shower on. âI mean it.â
The stupid, giddy grin that spreads across your face is bright and bold. Your hands return to cover your face, and you giggle once more.Â
(This time, you donât mind it as much.)
OCTOBER 3RD, 2026. (10:30 PM)
You make it back into your bed after about an hour in the shower together. Youâve never been more grateful that your landlord pays your water bill.
What had started as something incredibly sweet and just a bit domestic, with Frank attempting to wash your hair for you, had somehow ended with him to splitting you open and taking you apart with his fingers, and heâd finally let you repay the favor by taking him in your mouth when you got back into bed.
(âIâm not letting you fucking waterboard yourself just to blow me,â heâd hissed, rolling his eyes as you frowned at him. âRight, Iâm the bad guy.â)
Youâd gotten into your favorite bulky sweatshirt and thrown him one of your many oversized shirts and a pair of sweatpants from your closet, ignoring his complaints about how they looked like floods on him. The last couple of minutes had been spent watching an episode of the reality TV show youâd shown him that he swore he didnât like, talking intermittently and kissing during the commercials.Â
It was something you were still wrapping your mind around doing with him, but it was getting easier to believe with each passing hour.
But as you continued to think about itâ about the brevity of the situation and what this meant or could mean for you and him, something nagged at you in the back of your mind. It reared itâs ugly head every time you looked at Frank and wouldnât fucking leave you alone.
You had to get it off your chest. He had to know.
As one of the commercial breaks begins and you feel him turn to you, you put a hand on his shoulder.
âI need to be honest with you about something.â You blurt it out so fast that it almost scares him. âAnd you canât tell anyone, but you⊠need to know this before⊠whatever this is continues.â
He blinks at you. âWell, I owe you one for not reporting me to the Board, so if you killed someone, Iâve got you.â
You laugh despite your sudden nerves, flipping onto your back to stare up at the ceiling. âI didnât, but itâs good to know I can get to lie on the stand if something happens,â you say, picking at a loose string on your sheets.
He nudges you to get you to look at him, and briefly, you do. âWhatâs up?â he asks gently.
With a deep breath, you glance back up at the ceiling and say, âI mentioned last week that I didnât get into a real relationship until I moved to Boston. And I didnât sayâ I wasnât super open to talking about it.â You see him nod from your peripheral, waiting for you to continue. âIâm going to tell you who it was, but you canât judge me.â
âThe fact that you think Iâd judge you after everything you know about me is mildly insulting,â he says.
You look over at him. âIt was Klein. My attending.â
His brows shoot up to his hairline. âOh. Shit.â
âYeah. Shit,â you mutter. You take a deep breath. âWe started seeing each other three months into my intern year, and I was just⊠obsessed with him. Which is so fucking embarassing looking back, but⊠I was.â You fumble with your fingers that are resting on your stomach. âI was just so starstruck by him. He was so good and he was so accomplished and so⊠nice to me. He told me so many times that he was drawn to me because of the things I could do, and I couldnât believe that heâd⊠picked me? And after Jamie, I wanted to feel like someoneâs choice.â
Frank reaches over to cover your hand with his, intertwining his fingers with yours. Itâs a small, quiet comfort, and thereâs a piece of you that appreciates that he doesnât attempt to console you. He just lets you continue.
âThings happened really fast between us. Like, way too fast. It was a secret, of course. Nobody knew. Nobody ever knew about the shit he did. I mean, I was practically living in his apartment by the end of my first year, and nobody suspected a thing. He had me considering whether it was worth it to renew my lease. And itâs one of those things that, looking back on it, I should have seen what was happening,â you say. âBut he had this hold on me. And even if I had wanted to, it wasnât like I could escape him. He was my attending. We worked together. He was supposed to be my mentor, you know?â You swallow harshly. âBut it never felt wrong. Ever. Not until things started falling apart.â
Frank squeezes your hand. âYou donât have toââ
âNo. I want you to know this. And thereâs a point to this, I promise,â you assure him. He nods into his pillow, eyes never straying from your face. âOut of nowhere, a year in, he just decided he was done with me. He told me that something had happened where he reconnected with his ex-girlfriend or something, and theyâd decided they were going to try things out again. And before I knew it, he was throwing transfer applications at me and connecting me with Robby and telling me I had to get out of Boston.â You shut your eyes, steadying yourself. âHe told me I was too much of a âtemptation.â We couldnât be in the same hospital because he was afraid of what Iâd âmake him doâ at his big age of forty-five.â
âWhat a fucking asshole,â Frank scoffs. âJesus. I had no idea.â
âI didnât tell anyoneâ havenât told anyone except for Heather. I was having a mental breakdown over it about a year ago and sheâ" You shake your head, deciding the reasons aren't relevant.
You continue, "I didnât want you guys to think I was able to transfer because I was fucking my attending,â you chuckle humorlessly. âBut it happened. I fell for his whole⊠thing. I was way too old and way too smart to fall for it, but I did. And I left because he told me to, and I went to the place he told me to go. I didnât know it would end up being one of the best things to happen to me, and I hate that I owe him for it, but yeah... Itâs something I did that I have to live with.â
âYou donât owe him for anything.â
âI know. I know I could have transferred anywhere I wanted to without him. But, stillâŠâ you trail off. You shake your head as if itâll clear the thoughts that are in it. âIâm telling you all of this because I donât want⊠this to turn into that. I donât want you to feel like you canât escape me. If things go wrong, I donât want it to affect either of our careers like it did mine. Especially with all the eyes that are already on you.â He goes to interrupt you, but you turn to him and continue. âI donât want to be Klein. Despite the fact that we should be at the same rank, weâre not. Iâm an attending. Youâre a resident. If people find out about us, I donât want it to reflect poorly on you. I know itâs not the sameââ
Youâre not expecting him to laugh, but he does. He wipes a hand down his face. âItâs not even close to the same thing.â
âWhy are you laughing? This is serious, Frank. This isââ
âAre you going to treat me differently at work?â he asks you. âPlay favorites? Lay one on me in the middle of an intubation?â
Your expression goes blank. âNo.â
âAre you going to make me fill out a transfer application if you get pissed at me?â
âNo,â you sigh, knowing exactly what heâs getting at.
âAre you or have you ever been unprofessional in your life?â When you go to object, he cuts you off. âWith anyone but me?â
Scowling, you answer, âNo.â
âThen itâs not the same. Because youâre not Klein,â he tells you, looking you directly in the eye so itâll get through. âYouâre not a reckless, manipulative douche who doesnât care about the careers and futures of the people around them. He was twenty years older than you and took advantage of your talent and your kindness.â He shakes his head. âI canât imagine you doing anything like that. Not just to me. To anyone.â
Thereâs a part of you that knows that. All of it. Frank was rightâ you werenât reckless or manipulative. Youâre not Klein. Youâd never want to be, and youâd never allow yourself to be. But even after everything, he still lingers in the back of your mind.Â
You hate him for it. You hate him for a lot. But you hate him the most for that.
âI know,â you say again. âI just⊠I think we should take things slow. Make sure weâre not being reckless. I donât want to rush into anything.â
His eyes havenât left you since he finished speaking. Something flickers in his expression before he lifts up his arm. âCâmere.â
The action makes your throat immediately tighten, and you sigh before obliging. You nuzzle yourself into his side, cheek against his chest, as his arm drops to wrap around you. His fingers trace mindless patterns on your side, and suddenly, the overwhelming urge to cry overtakes you. You canât explain it, and you donât do it, but the tears pricking in your eyes have you biting the inside of your cheek.
He speaks against your hair. âYou care too much for your own good, you know that?â
You huff. âItâs one of those weaknesses the newbies canât know about.â
âNo,â he says. âNot a weakness. Never a weakness.â He presses his lips to the top of your head. âItâs who you are. Itâs my favorite thing about you.â
You shut your eyes at the words, and Frank feels your hand grip the shirt you gave him. Somehow, it endears you to him even more. Ignoring the burn in your throat, you grumble, âThere are so many better things about me.â
His chest rises as he chuckles. He seems to disregard your comment as he asks, âI gotta say,â he begins, âyou know that this isnât taking things slow, right?â
Your cheeks burn, and you smack his stomach lightly. âNo fucking shit,â you mutter as he continues to laugh. âI meant⊠more along the lines of how things progress after this. I want us both to be comfortable with it. I donât wantâŠâ
â...You donât want to be considering breaking your lease in a few months,â he finishes, and yeahâ heâs taken the words right out of your mouth.
You sigh against him. âYeah.â
Heâs quiet for a moment. You know his pauses well enough at this point to know that heâs thinking. He moves his free hand to cover yours again. âListen. I meant what I said before. About wanting to do things right,â he tells you. He plays with your fingers, and the simple action has your heart beating just a bit faster. âI know that thisâŠwas a little out of order, but from here on out, I mean that.â
You shift onto your stomach and place your chin on his chest to look at him. âAre you saying you donât want to have sex with me anymore?â
âAbsolutely fucking not,â he says immediately, a smile pulling at his lips as he feels you chuckle against him. âIf I ever say that, take me out back and put me down like Old Yeller.âÂ
âHeard.â
âWhat I am saying is thatâŠâ He trails off, searching for the right phrasing. He finds a moment later. âThereâs a rule in recovery,â he begins slowly, âthat youâre not supposed to make any big life decisions until youâre a year clean. I did that time and then some. Four more months of it. And even in those four months, so much has changed for me.â He meets your gaze. âBut how Iâve felt about you hasnât. Thatâs one of the only things thatâs stayed consistent for me since we first got coffee.â
You feel your throat tighten. âFrankââ
âI did the time. I did the waiting. I waited to see if there was some sort of clarity I was missing,â he continues. âBut I came up empty. Everything about you was clear.âÂ
You donât know what to say. Luckily, he has the words.
âWeâll take it slow. Iâve waited this long for you and I donât want to fuck it up. Not this.â He sounds so sure. Insistent. Sincere. Those tears from earlier return, and this time, you donât try to hide them. âSo, yeah. Weâre gonna go to that game. Iâm gonna open the door for you and Iâm going to pay for brunch even though you make way more money than I do, because fuck that guy.â You let out a watery laugh, and the sound of it makes him grin. âWeâre gonna do this right, damn it. And if Iâm lucky, youâll kiss me at the end of the night, and you might like me half as much as I like you.â
His fingers readjust their grip on yours, and you squeeze them. âI donât think youâll have to worry about that,â you say, pressing your lips to his shoulder. âAnd I think youâll get more than a kiss.â
Frankâs free hand raises in a fist, and he pumps it in the air. âShe likes me! She really, really likes me!â
You groan, rolling your eyes as you go to remove yourself from him. âOh, God. Not anymore. Ew.â
He grabs you before you can get too far, flipping you onto your back to hover over you. A yelp escapes you, and you try your hardest to keep the smile off your face. âCâmon,â he chides. âYou were just talking about how bad you wanted to kiss me.â
âThat was before you hit me with another bad reference,â you say. âItâs actually impressive how consistently shitty they are. Youâre lucky youâre a good doctor because pop culture is so not your thing.â
Itâs clear heâs not listening very intently, as he leans down and presses a searing kiss to your collarbone, making his way up. Against your neck, he murmurs, âI guess youâll have to keep me around long enough to teach me whatâs right.â
A breathless laugh leaves your lips. âT-Thatâs going to take a while.â
âThatâs kind of the idea,â he says.
He pulls away from you, and you find yourself staring up at him. âYeah?â
Frank pushes his lips together and stares at you, clearly unsure of his next words. âLast week,â he begins slowly, âyou said that itâs normal for people to outgrow each other. That it happens.âÂ
You nod, unsure of where heâs going with this. âYeah. And I stand by it.â
He looks at you for a moment longer, then returns your nod. âWell, I donâtâŠâ He bites the inside of his cheek, like heâs trying to figure out if he should say whatâs on his mind. âNo matter how this plays out, I⊠I donât want to outgrow you. I donât see myself doing that.â
A shaky breath leaves your lips, and yeah, those tears are definitely coming back. Heâs always talking about how he canât believe you, how he doesnât get you, how unreal you areâ you wonder if heâs ever stopped to consider that you feel the same way about him.
You cannot believe him. You canât believe the things heâs done and can do, the way heâs bettered himself, and who heâs become to you. You canât believe that this man, whose picture you once threw darts at as a joke at a bar in med school, is now admitting things to you like this and is making you feel this way.Â
You canât believe that the person you had once wished nothing but the worst for was now one of the most important people in your life, and youâd do anything to help him feel that way. And you canât believe that now, you know heâd do the same.
With a sniffle, you allow him to brush away a tear that falls, his hand lingering on your face to caress your cheek. âThen weâll grow together,â you whisper, shrugging. âYou canât outgrow someone whoâs growing with you.â
You see a lump form in his throat. You donât realize heâs tearing up too until he lets out a watery laugh and asks, âSimple as that?â
âNo,â you say, laughing along with him. âDefinitely not simple. But I know you. And you know me.â You grin when you ask, âAnd when the hell have either of us given up on things just because theyâre hard?â
There is no power above that could stop Frank from kissing you after that.
pairing: frank langdon x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)
summary: frank langdonâs been your sworn rival since med school. heâs a mean, arrogant prick who, for some reason, made it his lifelong mission to beat you at every single thing you did. but, when youâre forced to transfer out of your residency in boston, youâre placed at the pitt with the one person you swore youâd never share a floor with again. and, as you two are forced to work together, you both realize there might be a little more to each other than meets the eye.
word count & rating: 14.1k, R (lots of swearing, M-rated stuff coming next chapter)
warnings: slow-burn, rivals to friends to lovers trope in full force, they're 'enemies' who have a wild amount of respect for each other, afab!reader, reader enters the pitt as an R3, lots of swearing, banter, slight angst, mentions of child death (case gone wrong) mentions of addiction, mentions of a previous, inappropriate but consensual workplace relationship, reader was engaged in med school, likely inaccurate medical talk (i am a woman with google, reddit, and a dream), not beta read please do not roast me for typos i missed
authorâs note: the pitt has grabbed the attention of my hyperfixation-rotted brain in such a severe way that it made me write something for the first time in months. i know some of yâall donât like langdon but you donât get him like i do. i can sniff out an asshole with a redemption arc from a mile away. i stand by my canceled wife. also: need that. i blacked out while writing this, so i canât be held accountable for anything in it.
also, this was supposed to be one long 44k fic but tumblr has a paragraph limit now and wouldn't let me post it as one. if you want to read it as one whole fic instead of in two parts, you can access it on ao3! see you on the other side, love ya tons -mags
JULY 1ST, 2024. (7:00 AM)
When it came down to thinking about the worst-case scenario, you always tried to be an optimist.Â
It was a hard thing to do, particularly in your line of work, but youâd always enjoyed a challenge. And in an industry full of pessimists, you figured there should be at least one person whose brain didnât immediately jump to the most awful thing in the book.
But this? This situation you were in? This was, without a doubt, the worst possible case scenario.
You hadnât expected your transfer to be simple. Transferring in any shape or form was rarely ever easy, even for the best of doctors. But you were especially bad with change. You didnât like new places, new people, or feeling like you were out of the loop in any sort of way. And unfortunately for you, thatâs exactly what transferring residencies entailed.
Fuck, you hadnât even wanted to leave. You liked Mass Gen. Loved it, actually. Youâd loved the people, youâd loved the city, and youâd loved the majority of the patients youâd treated. Sure, you were looking back on it with some major rose-colored glasses now, but still⊠you missed it already.
You missed him already.
You hated yourself for it, but it was the truth. Despite how awful of a person he was, how unfair he was to you, how heâd practically forced you to uproot your life, you couldnât stop thinking about him. You werenât going to see him when you clocked into work anymore. He wasnât going to be on your shift, nudging your shoulder discreetly when you did something well, or brushing his fingers against yours when he passed you by. You werenât going to spend all of your days off at his apartment in the city or sleep in his bed that smelled a little too much like him.
Everything was different now. Now, everything was terrible.
And it was only going to get worse.
As an already accomplished doctor in your third year of your residency, your transfer to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital hadnât exactly been your choice. It wasnât that it was a bad hospital (though the reviews and patient satisfaction scores would speak differently)â you knew that there were incredibly competent, wonderful people who worked there and performed miracles every day. But, when this transfer had been presented to you, it was for one reason and one reason alone: Doctor Michael Robinivinch.
He told you that heâd been friends with the hospitalâs Attending Doctor Robinivich for years. That thereâd be an opening for an R3 this coming July, and youâd be an absolute shoo-in for his program. Not just because of your research or your performance or even because of the things you could do on the floor, but because he could put in a good word.
You could have transferred anywhere. You could have stayed in Boston to spite him. You had connections at Brigham and Womenâs and at Beth Israel. You could have moved to New York and worked at Presbyterian or moved to Baltimore and worked at Hopkins. You were good enough to have gotten into to any goddamn program with an opening that you wanted, but, like a kicked fucking dog, you listened to him. Took what he gave you. Kept coming back. And you agreed to give it a shot.Â
Why did you? Who had you become? What had happened to you?
But none of that mattered. Not anymore. What mattered was that you were here in Pittsburgh and he was there in Boston, and there was nothing you could do about it. The only thing you could do was suck it up, live with the consequences, and do your job.
Taking a deep breath, you walk through the doors and are greeted with a scene thatâs a little calmer than you were expecting. The floor was still alive, doctors and nurses moving from room to room, but comparatively, itâs light work. Thereâs something that tells you itâll pick up within minutes.
From behind the desk in the center of the room, a blonde woman immediately clocks your confusion. âYou the new resident?â she asks, squinting at you from above her glasses to get a better look at you.Â
You offer a polite smile and wave, taking another breath to calm yourself before you start walking over. âThatâs me,â you say, giving her your name and holding out your hand.Â
âDana,â she replies. âCharge Nurse. Doctor Robby will be in shortly. Heâs excited for you to get started.â
Your brows raise. âIs he?â
âOh, yeah,â she chuckles, shaking her head. âNo one gets a letter of recommendation from Doctor Klein. Ever. Especially for a transfer, and especially not one that was as glowing as his was.â
Itâs a struggle not to grimace at the sound of his name. Of course. Of course he couldnât have been fucking normal about it. You hadnât read the letter before youâd submitted your application. You knew it would hurt too much. But you could imagine exactly what heâd written. Praise for his prodigy. His ever-important stamp of approval and promise that you were something special. He had to talk about you in a way that raised a few brows. He couldnât let you be normal, could you? He had to be attached to your success somehow.
âOh, God,â you mutter, forcing the smile to stay on your face. âLetâs hope I live up to it.â
âIâm sure you will.â She nods at you reassuringly, then turns to start pointing out important people and places on the floor. âSo, weâre in the process of switching over fromââ
âNo way,â a voice says from across the desk.Â
Itâs one that rings a bit too familiar. Your stomach starts to churn as, uncharacteristically, the worst-case scenario starts to play out in your head. No. There was absolutely no way. It couldnât be. He wouldnât be here. Why would he beâŠ
That voice interrupts your thoughts before youâre done spiralling. âNo fucking way,â it repeats, now accented by a disbelieving laugh. âFlight Risk?â
Hearing the god-awful, horrible nickname that plagued you all throughout med school sends a genuine chill down your spine. Slowly, you turn your head, praying that itâs not who you think it is.
But your prayers go unanswered, and the worst-case scenario is now playing out in front of you.Â
Frank Langdon stands opposite you, a shit-eating grin stretched across his lips.Â
Not him. Anyone but him.
âOh, youâve got to be kidding me,â you say, unable to move in your state of shock.Â
You feel like shaking Danaâs hand and wishing her a good day, and walking out of the doors you just entered through, never to be seen again. It would go against everything that was in your application, everything that told programs that you were competent, professional, and reliable, but right now, you didnât care. This wasnât happening. It couldnât happen. You couldnât work with him again.
Not again.
Frank Langdon had made your life an unadulterated living hell for the entirety of medical school. You associated him with a whole other lifetime of yoursâ one that felt far away and slightly hazy. One where you were younger, less world-weary, less weathered. You were engaged, you had a dog, you had, what you assumed at the time, was your forever life. It had been perfect. Everything back then was more manageable. Everything but Langdon.
(That, of course, wasnât the truth. Youâd figure that out within the first six months of medical school. Youâd end your first year single, without a ring, without your dog, and on antidepressants. But, yeah. Langdon didnât help.)
He had been hostile, ultra-competitive, and, for lack of a better word, an absolute fucking asshole for all four of the years youâd spent with him. Calling him your rival sounded rudimentary, but frankly, thatâs what the two of you were. Rivals.
Any exams you took? He was actively comparing your scores and letting you know how you could have done better. Research papers? Any topic you showed relative interest in, heâd be there, ready to claim it. Labs? He was over your shoulder, watching each thing you did with a hawk-like intensity that never failed to get on your nerves. You run into him when studying in the library? Heâd stay just as long as you did, if not longer, simply to prove a point.
Youâd tried to ignore him, but he had made it so hard to do so. As someone who was also ultra-competitive, every little thing he did motivated you to beat him. Every comment, every time he scored higher than you, performed better than you had, anything. It had all messed with your head and made you focus on one thing and one thing aloneâ being better. Better than him. Better than everyone.
And you were. Of course, he was great too. You hated him with a vitriolic passion, but you knew just how good he was at what he did. It wouldnât have been fun or fulfilling to beat him if he werenât.
(Fun was a stretch. It was actually agonizing to compete with him. But it made you feel good every time you won.)
This rivalry only ended when you were matched to your residency programs. All of your friends and fellow students shot for the moon. Your school regularly produced some of the best talent the medical world had seen, who were often placed into the best hospitals in the country. You were no exception.
Massachusetts General Hospital was your top choice. You werenât unique in that aspect. But you were the only one to get placed there in your class.
Match Day had been a whirlwind of emotions, and after finding out where youâd been assigned, you basically blacked out the rest of the day. You didnât remember a whole lot from those next couple of hours. All of your hard work had paid off, and in your professional opinion, your brain had shut down from exhaustion.Â
The only thing you remember from that day was the conversation you had with Langdon outside of one of the bars your cohort frequented. The celebration was in full swing, complete with your classmates and loved ones drinking and dancing to the songs of whoever had taken over the TouchTunes. You only remembered talking to him because it was one of the only civil conversations the two of you had ever had. In your drunken stupors, youâd compared placements, bragged about each of your respective programs, and ended onâŠÂ
Well, it was a note you couldnât define then. Youâre not sure if you could define it now.
While you remembered having that conversation, youâd forgotten after all this time that this was where heâd been placed. You hadnât seen him in almost three years. Youâd barely thought about him, least of all where he was. After those four years, there was nothing you wanted less than to dwell on your time with him. You werenât checking in on him on social media, couldnât have been bothered to ask your friends who still spoke to himâ nothing.Â
Perhaps that was your own fault.
You could delay your residency a year, couldnât you? You could take a year off, travel the world, add on to your student loans, and then apply to some other program where he wasnât. Yeah. That seemed like a better alternative.
As you continue to stare at each other, Dana glances between the two of you in confusion. âI take it you two know each other?â
Langdonâs eyes never leave yours, but his smile grows. âFlight Risk and I went to med school together.â
There was that stupid fucking nickname again. You thought youâd been freed from it when youâd gone to Mass Gen. Youâd hoped that it was some teasing name that had stuck for everyone after heâd said it, but would be gone when you graduated. You never, ever considered that it would come back to haunt you in a professional setting. Especially not from him.
Danaâs brow quirks. âFlight Risk?â
You sigh, long and heavy. âItâs not important.â
âNot important?â Langdon asks, like heâs offended. He rounds the desk to stand beside you and look at Dana. âItâs very important. Itâs who she is.â
You suppress the urge to choke him out with the stethoscope around his neck. âItâs not who I amââ
âFirst day of class,â he interrupts you, âwe were watching this video that covered an abscess drainingââ
âAbscess drainage on the first day of class?â Dana asks, making a face.
âDonât ask. The professor was a freak,â you say. You return to glaring at Langdon immediately after. âAnd this is so irrelevant, can we pleaseââ
âThe video freaked her out so bad that she ended up running out of the classroom to throw up,â he finishes. You shut your eyes in annoyance. âBut she got right back in there and got her shit together, didnât you, slugger?â
âI did,â you say, forcing a faux smile to match his condescending tone. âSame way you got back on the horse after sawing our cadaverâs spine in half during our first lab, right, champ?âÂ
His grin falters. âThat saw was faulty.â
âSo was my stomach that morning,â you reply. Your voice is syrupy sweet. âI didnât get everyone to start calling you Leatherface.â
Danaâs eyes bounce between you two like sheâs watching tennis. Thereâs the beginnings of a smirk on her lips as she asks, âIs this gonna be a problem? You two working together?â
âNo,â you say quickly, abandoning and resigning from your pissing contest with Langdon immediately. You see him glance at you in surprise out of the corner of your eye. âIt wonât. Weâ Iâm totally professional. Just wasnât expecting this.â Trying your best at a real smile this time around, you nod at your new charge nurse. âNo issues. And if it ever becomes one, please let us know.â
Your incredibly cordial and smooth response has Langdon dipping his head in laughter, and the second you notice it, you whack him hard on the arm. It seems to be enough to kick him into gear. âYeah, Dana,â he chuckles. âWeâll be good. I swear.â
Itâs clear that she one-hundred-percent does not believe you. Still, she says, âGood. This place doesnât work unless weâre all on the same page.âÂ
âIâm liking it here already,â you say, earning a slightly more genuine smile from her.Â
âRobby will be in for rounds in a minute,â she tells you. âHang tight until then. And you,â she says, now looking at Langdon. âDonât be an asshole, okay?â
He has the audacity to act offended. âI would never.â
With a roll of her eyes, Dana turns back around to take care of some other task that needs her attention, and she leaves you with Langdon standing at your side. Youâre expecting him to leave, to go cherry-pick a case (he seemed like the type), or go chat with one of the other residents who were clocking in. But he doesnât.
He just lingers. Itâs as if heâs excited by this. Excited by you.
It instantly makes you anxious in a way that you havenât felt since school.
âAnd if it ever becomes one, please let us know,â he parrots, changing octaves to imitate you. Fucking child. âI havenât heard that voice since rotations.â
âOh, will you just shut the fuck up already?â you hiss. Any sense of professionalism or niceties had been completely thrown out the window now that you were alone. Thereâs a piece of you that hates how heâs been able to get under your skin so quickly, but the other part is so angry and frustrated with him that you canât seem to care. âIâm trying to make a good impression on my first day, and youâre opening with the Flight Risk bullshit less than five minutes in?â
Langdon clenches a fist in victory. âThere she is,â he all but cheers, though heâs kind enough to keep his voice down. âMan, I thought Mass Gen had made you boring and polite. But itâs great to know youâre still in there.â
âSame to you,â you mutter. âItâs reassuring to know that three years in the ED gave you absolutely zero growth.â
âI have to know what youâre going here,â he says, bulldozing your last comment. âGoing from where you were to The Pitt of all places? Thatâsââ
âThatâs what you guys call this place?â you question, glancing around the room.Â
âYouâll catch on.â He turns to you with his arms crossed over his chest. âSo, what happened? What did you do? Did you kill someone?â
âNot yet,â you reply with a glare. âDay just started, though.â
âYeah, Klein wouldnât have written you a letter if you had,â he reasons to himself, like youâre not even there. âHow did you pull that off, by the way?â
Youâre exhausted by him already, and your frustration seeps into your voice. âIâm really fucking good at what I do,â you say.Â
âNo, thatâs not it.â He shakes his head, and you restrain yourself from reaching over and hitting him again. âYouâre good, sure. But plenty of his people are good.â
âYou are such a jackass,â you scoff.Â
Heâs already moving on to the next thing. âNo, but seriously. What happened? Did you flunk out? Did they dismiss you? Or did it get to be a little too much and you couldnât handle it?â
You wish you knew your way around this place so you didnât have to stand here and take this. âI donât have to disclose that to you.â
âThatâs exactly what it was, wasnât it? You ran out and bailed.â He grins to himself. âOh, Flight Risk. That is so like you.â
Clenching your jaw, you steel your expression so as to not give anything away. No, you want to tell him. Thatâs not what happened. Thatâs not even close to what happened. You didnât want to leave. You didnât want to run. Not this time.
But you did. You had.
So, you donât correct him. Youâre open to letting him think whatever it is he believes, so heâll ask fewer questions. The last thing you want to do is talk about it. Not with him. At all.
Lucky for you, youâre saved by the bell. A taller, older guy in a zip-up sweatshirt walks over to the two of you, and while thereâs a small smile on his face, thereâs a hint of hesitancy in his expression as he watches you and Langdon interact.
You recognize Doctor Robinovitch immediately, having met him a handful of times (mostly over video chat and once in person) before you were accepted into the program. Despite that, you still find yourself straightening up and plastering a smile on your face.
âHow we doing over here?â he asks, holding his hand out to shake yours.
Meeting his hand, you practically step in front of Langdon to cut him out of the conversation. âGreat. Itâs so good to see you again. Iâm excited to get started.â
âIâm excited for you to get started,â he says. âKlein called me last night to sing your praises again and remind me to be nice to you. He says youâre special.âÂ
You hope the rage that brews in your stomach doesnât show on your face. âDid he? That was kind of him.â
âYeah, well. When he likes someone, he likes them, yâknow?â Right. Robby points between you and Langdon. âDana told me you two went to school together?â
âWe did,â you say, hoping to control the situation before Langdon can butt in.
He decides to be the exact dickhead you know him to be. âAnd she sure is special.â
Robbyâs eyes narrow slightly at his response, but thankfully, he decides to ignore Langdonâs tone. âTwo endorsements from people who donât give âem out,â he says to you, nodding over at Langdon. âNot too bad, Doc. Letâs see what youâve got.â
And as you set off on your first case at The Pitt, and as Langdon grins at you in that sardonic way that always seems to get under your skin, you wonder just how long youâll actually make it around here.
JULY 1ST, 2025. (7:00 AM)
One year later, youâre still here.
Itâs an absolute whirlwind of a year, and it goes by faster than you could have imagined. The day youâd joined had ended up being one of the craziest days you had ever worked, and between that, the fact that you were still reeling from leaving Boston, and working with Langdon for the first time in years? You didnât know if this place was for you.
But you were never one to give up on things easily.
And every day since, youâve been thankful you didnât. Youâd found friends in the majority of your coworkers, a sense of belonging in a city you didnât know, and youâd learned more from Robby in three months than youâd ever learned from⊠him.
While Pittsburgh wasnât your favorite city on earth, youâd grown to love it in its own way. You loved your little neighborhood. You loved your apartment and the coffee shop youâd found down the street that made an insane flat white. You actually liked the work you were doing. Â
You hadnât felt like that in months.
You had made friends with some of your neighbors over the course of the year, and each time you talked about a bad day at work with them, one of them would ask what made you go back every shift. Each time, your answer was the same.
You loved the work and you loved the people. Rekindling that was like magic.
Of course, not everything was perfect. The floor was unforgiving. There was always something new every dayâ and some things you werenât prepared for. You lost patients. You lost children. You had days when all you wanted to do was hide in the break room and cry.Â
But, as Robby would remind you whenever he saw that look on your face, you saved more than you lost. You wonât forget the ones youâve lost, but you can try to be better the next time around. And thatâs all you could do.
You supposed that was true enough.Â
The only outlier of the great Pitt equation, however, was Langdon.
You knew he would be the second you joined the team. He had been a constant pain in your ass for the entirety of med school, and now that you were back in each otherâs lives, he saw no reason for that to change. He was just as competitive, just as snarky, and just as much of an asshole as he used to be.
But, thankfully, he was professional about it. That was the only thing that had changed between you. Now that you two were legit, full-fledged Doctors, title and all, he wasnât as overt about his disdain for you. Heâd heeded your warning from your first day and had actually listened to you.
You refused to commend him for doing the bare minimum, but it was nice to know he wasnât an idiot.Â
While he may not have been an idiot, what he was was a fucking nuisance. Any case you wanted to take on? He was already running to the room. Any time there was an opportunity to show you up or call you out for something wrong? He took it. Any chance he had to trick you into taking a case he knew youâd hate? There he was, ready with some sort of story.Â
(âDoc, Robby wants you in South Five,â he had told you about a month in. He motioned you over, watching as your ears literally perked up. You were on your feet following him in seconds. âMajor foot trauma with mycetoma, itâs not looking good.â
It took every bone in your body not to bolt out of the room when you saw the patientâs foot was infested with maggots, something heâd clearly, purposely left out. Heâd whipped around to type something into the computer in an attempt to hide his laughter the second youâd turned to glare at him.Â
Youâd whacked him upside the head with your chart after youâd successfully cleared the guy.
âI told you it didnât look good!â he shouted after you as you practically ran to the bathroom to re-wash your hands.)
Or, there was the rare occasion where heâd come to you with his tail between his legs, actually asking for your help. It didnât happen often, certainly not in your first couple of months, but when it did and heâd slump down beside you with that look in his eye, youâd take it on hesitantly.Â
And somehow, it always kicked you in the ass later on.
(Langdon had taken on a case with a younger, tween girl who refused to talk to him. Getting people to open up wasnât exactly something he was proficient in. There were others in the ED who were good at the social aspect of this job, and most of the time, he was fine with being better at the action side.
But not right now. And unfortunately for him, you were one of those people who were good at getting through. And, even more unfortunately for him, you were the only person who was currently available.
When he came to ask for help, you almost laughed in his face. But this time around, he seemed resigned. Slightly resentful and begrudingly flustered. It was real.
So, with a sigh, you followed him to the room.Â
Within five minutes, you had the girl talking with you. You remember the look on Langdonâs face as she did. The way his head dipped in a quiet laugh, graced with disbelief and the slightest bit of annoyance. It felt like a win.
She keeps her eye on Langdon, who observes you two from the corner, cheeks going red each time she meets his eyes. As you check her vitals, she grabs your arm, weakly bringing you down to her eye level. She motions for you to come closer, then cups her hand to her mouth to whisper in your ear.
âHeâs really cute,â she says, middle-school embarrassment clear as day in her voice. For her sake, you refrain from rolling your eyes and rattling off every single awful quality about him and why she should actually hate him. âI was so nervous to talk to him.â
You give her a small smile, shaking your head. âWell, if youâre more comfortable chatting with me, Iâm happy to stay and hang out for a little. But youâre in good hands with Doctor Langdon,â you respond, the volume of your voice matching hers. Glancing over your shoulder, you find that heâs still watching you, his expression having morphed into something more gentle. Heâs been trying to get this girl to open up for an hour, and here you are whispering with her five minutes in.Â
Heâd never get you. Heâd resigned himself to that idea.
But that look of his was wiped off his face the second you turn back to the girl, who immediately starts coughing up blood onto your face and scrubs. There was no time to laugh or be grossed out as the two of you immediately jumped into action, truly working together for the first time since you began to figure out what was going on.
After you had stabilized the girl, you demanded his card for ScrubEx credits, but returned to the floor with a pout, wearing new scrubs that were two sizes too big for you. The snickering from him, Dana, and Princess at the nurse's station makes you hang your head.Â
âThis is the only size it had,â you grumbled, working to roll up the waistband of your pants.
âOh, bless your heart,â Dana said. âYou look adorable, kiddo.â
âAdorable and very professional,â Langdon agreed. âI need that sad Charlie Brown music to start playing every time you walk.â
You scowled at him. âThis is your fault.â
McKay chose this time to check in and began laughing as soon as she saw you in your oversized set. âWhat, is it bring your kid to work day? I should have brought Harrison in.â)
However, as time went on, you learned how to work with him. You still did not get along in any way, shape, or form, but every so often, when you two worked on the same case, youâd be able to put aside whatever difference you two had and work like real, true colleagues.Â
The arguing was still there. My god, was it still there. But, when it came down to it and you two got serious, there was always some sort of energy between you. You were always working in tandem. Always on the same page.Â
Mohan had once told you that it was like a dance. That it was hard to look away from. Frankly, you didnât know what that meant and were a little afraid to ask.
(Six months in, the EMTs bring in a guy in his mid-fifties whoâs been slipping in and out of consciousness since they got him. As you run over to the gurney, they tell you he fell down the stairs, and one of his kids had found him and called it in. Langdonâs on your heels, rounding the gurney, assessing the scene immediately.
âGuyâs name is Anthony,â one of the EMTs says. âHeâs got a major concussion, a couple of broken bones, and is bleeding rapidly from the back of his head.â
âHe shouldnât be bleeding this fast,â Langdon mutters. âIs he on thinners?â
âAnthony? Are you with us?â you ask, rubbing his chest in the hopes of drawing his attention back to you. His eyes open slowly, and he looks up, dazed. âYouâre in the hospital, Anthony. You fell down the stairs, and youâre bleeding pretty bad. Do you take any medication? Any blood thinners?â
Anthony takes a moment to think, eyes casting to the ceiling. âYeah,â he slurs. âI donât⊠know what itâs called. My wife deals with my pills. Itâs like⊠Wa⊠War-friend?â
Your eyes snap to Langdonâs, who rolls his and suddenly grabs the gurney a bit tighter. âWarfarin?â you ask lightly, and the second it leaves your lips, everyone around the bed picks up the pace a little.
âYeah,â Anthony says again. âThatâs⊠it.â
âOkay, Anthony,â you reply, directing everyone into Trauma Two. âYouâre about to make a lot of friends really quickly.â
Langon moves by you to put on a gown, then passes you your own. âItâs always fucking Warfarin.â
âWar-Enemy,â you correct, shaking your head. âThat shit is not my friend.â
You hear him chuckle softly, and you pass him a pair of goggles over your shoulder. As he grabs them from you, he says, âIâm calling the FDA to get them to change the name.â)
But, sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, youâd get along.
Typically, it happened under more tragic circumstances than youâd hope for. When something went wrong on the floor. When you had lost someone. When youâd tried everything you could on a case and nothing worked. It was only then that the two of you would be anything more than civil.Â
It didnât always feel as strange as you thought it would.Â
(You lose a five-year-old girl eight months in.
Itâs a peanut allergy. She eats a cookie at a neighborhood party that the parents were unaware had peanuts in it. Sheâs rushed in by said parents, who can barely speak because of how torn up they are. Her EpiPen isnât working.Â
Sheâs in full anaphylaxis by the time you get her on the table, and sheâs barely breathing. Your head snaps to the door as Langdon runs into the trauma room, and youâre throwing a pair of goggles at him before he can even ask what youâve got. You slip into that dance you do a bit too easily, and it instills enough confidence in you that you think youâll actually be able to save her.
Thereâs a moment where you think that sheâll be okay. Every person in this room has done enough procedures like this before. This should be easy.Â
But itâs not. Sheâs too far gone. She dies four minutes in. You couldnât save her. She is five years old. And you couldnât save her.
And it hits you hard.
Seeing the look in your eye, Robby sends you into the break room, letting you know that heâll handle the parents. You nod at him in thanks, not having the words to say it.
You find yourself sitting against the wall, headphones plugged into your ears and legs tucked to your chest. Itâs a pathetic, desperate search for comfort. You shut your eyes in the hopes of pulling yourself together.
You donât notice Langdon coming into the room. Youâre so in your head and the musicâs just a bit too loud that you donât register his presence until he takes a seat next to you. Thatâs when you feel him. And you donât even have to open your eyes to know itâs him.
When you finally do, you donât say anything. You just look at him. His legs are splayed out on the floor, head inclined back against the wall.Â
As if he feels your gaze, he turns his head to meet it. For a moment, you just stare at each other. Then, wordlessly, you reach up and pull an earbud from your ear and offer it to him.
He huffs a humorless laugh through his nose, shaking his head. But he accepts it.
You donât talk. Not a word. You just sit there together, trying to recoup, listening to a playlist youâd made when youâd first started your residency. If the circumstances were different, it might just be nice.
Two songs later, you two leave the break room. You never speak about it again.)
You werenât friends. You barely tolerated each other. But on the rare occasion that the two of you were put on the same case, you did work together. Pretty well, at that.
The fact that youâd been at The Pitt for a year now was something that was still mind-blogging to you. While you were only slightly miserable for the first couple of months, once youâd gotten your bearings, time had flown by. Change was never kind to you. It wasnât something you sought out. But looking back, this was probably one of the best things you could have done for yourself.Â
Itâs something you think about as you clock in for your shift and see the new recruits surrounding the nurse's station. You donât envy them. Being the new kid as an R3 was hard enough-- you couldnât imagine the anxiety the med students and interns were feeling. Especially with the stuff you saw here on a daily basis.Â
You take an earbud out of your ear as you approach the station, Danaâs eyes lighting up when she sees you. âHappy one year, Doc,â she calls to you. âI feel like we should throw a party.â
âWe can start popping champagne when we clock out,â you reply, leaning on the counter. âSomething tells me weâre gonna need it anyway.â
âThe Oracle of Pittsburgh has spoken,â Dana tells Collins, whoâs just walked in behind you. âBad day today.â
âI hate when you do that,â she all but whines. âAt least let me start my day before you curse it.â
You shrug. âIâm not responsible for my predictions. Iâm just burdened with knowledge.âÂ
âWell, close that third eye or whatever,â Collins mutters. âI need a good day for once, Risky.â
âCompromise,â you pose, pointing at the two of them. âThe second you guys stop calling me that, Iâll foresee a good day.â
(Yeah, unfortunately, Langdonâs god-awful nickname had stuck. Itâd been amended slightly and changed it to be just a bit more palatable, but you still fucking hated it. Langdon couldnât have been more pleased that it had caught on.)
Dana and Collins exchange a glance, then look back at you. âI think weâll take our chances,â Dana says.
You scowl at them. âOne of these days, Iâm actually going to call HR on this entire floor. Name-calling is a serious offense. Iâll file with Lisa for bullying and harassment.âÂ
âIf my nameâs in that report, Lisa will throw it out,â says a voice from behind you. You hold back your sigh as Langdon appears at your side. âShe loves me.â
You look at him blankly for a moment, then turn to your friends. You motion to Langdon. âSee? I told you. Bad day.â
âIs that the official Oracle report?â he asks. His eyes find the new students and residents gathered together and he sucks his teeth. âGod help the newbies.â
Dana huffs a laugh. âYou can say that again.â Then, realizing the group before her, she pats the counter. âHappy fourth year, you three.â
She steps away from you then, moving to take care of some new problem that had come up. The sentiment is left with you, and a tiny bit of pride bubbles in your stomach. You knew you were going to make it to your final residency year. Since youâd graduated, there had only been one instance that youâd ever questioned your career path. Since that moment, you hadnât had a second thought.
But still. You had done it. It wasnât a linear path, but youâd done it. You allowed yourself to be proud of that.
You glance over at Collins, who seems to be on the same wave as you. You bump her shoulder with yours, and she grins at you, then walks over to her desk area to get set up for the day.Â
âDid you ever think that weâd end up finishing our residencies together?â Langdon asks you when you turn back to him.
You refrain from laughing in his face. âFuck, no. I was hoping to be as far away from you as possible. Still want to be.â
âAnd yet,â he says, âhere we are.â
A sickly sweet smile takes over your lips. âFellowships canât come soon enough.â
His eyes narrow. âDonât act like you wonât miss me.â
âTalk to me at the end of next year,â you mutter, taking a step back to follow Collins. âBut I donât foresee that happening.â
âIs that the official Oracle report?â he repeats.
âItâs the clearest thing Iâve seen all day,â you say from over your shoulder.
JULY 1ST, 2025. (11:00 AM)
As it turns out, the clearest thing youâll see all day was your first prediction. The day turns out to be more than bad. Itâs an apocalyptic, undeniable shitshow thatâs unlike anything youâve seen before.
It starts out slow. The new residents continue to work at their new positions and better understand the environment. The med students look at you with wide eyes as you correct them. They ask questions and get acclimated to the work. You find yourself getting paired with the med student Whitaker and the intern Santos the most-- two working experiences that couldnât be more different.
Whitaker is careful. Heâs warm. Heâs good with the patients. Heâs hesitant. Incredibly unlucky. Then again, you could have guessed those things about him the second you saw him.
(âI want that one,â you say to Collins at Rounds, nodding in his direction. âThe one that looks like a mouse who made a wish to become human for a day. I want him with me.â)
But he surprises you with how hard he tries. He cares. He plays most things by the book. You can tell exactly when heâs freaking out, despite the way he tries to hide it.Â
You see a sliver of your younger self in him, and perhaps, thatâs what endears you to the kid.
Santos, on the other hand, is on the farthest end of that spectrum. Sheâs a bit more abrasive. Cares a little less about bedside manner. She thinks sheâs leagues above the newbies, and honestly, she might just be. Sheâs incredibly competent and is already surprising you with what she knows.Â
Sheâs also rather confrontational. Just a bit reckless. She doesnât understand the well-established hierarchy, and while you donât think this is a fundamentally bad thing, itâs not ideal for a first year. You told her as such fifteen minutes ago.
(You observe her working to treat a man whoâs hooked up to a double lumen port and has been in the ED for a couple of hours. Thereâs a suspected port infection, and you ask exactly how you think this should be handled.
Sheâs correct when she tells you intermittent antibiotics. Sheâs correct when she suggests Vancomycin. Sheâs wrong when she orders half doses to be put into both sides of the double lumen.
Itâs a mistake you almost donât catch, but thankfully, you do. She tries to argue with you, saying that her math is right, it makes sense, and that heâll be getting the full dose. Sheâs wrong.
You glance at Donnie, order the correct rate, and then pull her outside.
âListen to me,â you tell her. Your voice is soft but assertive, and it makes her shut her mouth almost immediately. âIâm assuming you graduated top of your class, right? Or you were at least up there?â
She blinks at you, obviously not expecting you to pose whatever reprimand youâre about to lay on her like that. âUh, yeah. I did.â
âI know. I can tell. Youâre good.â You cross your arms over your chest. âYouâre a resident now, and thatâs a big deal. Youâve made it. But just because youâre good or that youâve made it, it doesnât mean that you get to make all the calls.â
She looks away from you. âIâm not making all the calls. Itâs the right doseââ
âTheoretically, yes. But in practice, itâs not,â you say slowly. âDouble lumens arenât super common, I know. And yeah, two half-doses make a full one. But when you push two halves, youâre pushing them at the same time. That means youâre doubling the rate of the Vancomycin.â You see the realization hit her the second the words leave your mouth. âThatâs when we get Direct Mast Cell Activation--â
âAnd I send that guy into Red Man,â she mutters, eyes shutting.
You nod with a soft sigh. âRight.âÂ
She shifts uncomfortably in front of you. âThat just slipped my mind. Iâm a little overwhelmed. I didnâtâ"
âNobody means to miss things, Santos. But we miss less when weâre not diving in head first without goggles on,â you say. âTake a second to breathe when youâre in there. Think about everything. Youâve proven that your first instinct is right most of the time, but just⊠consider all options.â Patting her on the arm, you nod at her. âAnd take the advice the older residents give you. Weâre not all incompetent idiots, alright?â)
Sheâs quick. Sheâs argumentative. Sheâs a nicknamer. She makes mostly effective, snap decisions that you couldnât imagine making as a first-year. Sheâ
Holy fuck, sheâs Langdon. Sheâs so Langdon that it actually makes your head spin. Perhaps, thatâs what makes you a bit uneasy about her.
(What you donât see, however, is what happens when you walk away from Santos. She sighs and runs a hand down her face, narrowly avoiding Langdon as he walks toward the scene he was quite obviously watching.Â
âDid Risky just yell at you?â he asks, staring as you walk away.
âKinda,â she huffs, frustrated and clearly not in the mood for whatever heâs got for her.
âWow,â he chuckles. âThe only person she yells at is me. You must have pissed her off.â Before Santos can respond and piss off another resident, he walks away saying, âWhatever she said, listen to her. Sheâs the smartest person on this floor.â)
You find him at the nurseâs station after you finish triage with a patient. He has his phone out, showing Dana a photo. Then, he mentions something that genuinely makes you laugh out loud.
âYou got Abby a dog?â you ask, fully intruding on the conversation. Langdon jumps as the med chart youâre holding clatters on the counter.
âJesus,â he mutters. âWe need to get you a bell or something.â
You completely ignore him and instead choose to rephrase your question. âYouâve been bitching about never being home for the last three months and you bought your wife and two children a dog?â
âItâs so like you to hate puppies,â he says. âI take it you have a problem with World Peace and babies, too?â
You catch Dana rolling her eyes out of the corner of yours, clearly fed up with the two of you already. âThe hell are you talking about? I love dogs. I used to co-parent one with my ex back in med school.â Langon looks at you in surprise, and you wave him off. âJamie got custody of the ring and the dog when I left him. But Iâm just saying. If you hate your wife, you should have just told her. You didnât need to give her an animal.â
He narrows his gaze at you, a sneer already curling at his lips. âThe fuckâ? I donât hateââ
âYouâre never home. Your wife works. You have two kids under fourââ
âTanner says heâs going to take care of it.â
âYeah, and when I was four, I told my parents the same exact thing when I wanted them to buy me a dog at the mall.â You nod in faux enthusiasm. âYou know what they did when I asked? They bought me a Tamagotchi instead.â Dana shakes her head, but you can see her holding back a smile. âI killed it two days later.â
âWell, thatâs because youâre you,â Langdon says. âAnd youâre the fucking Antichrist.â
âIâm just saying.â You shrug, moving over to look at the screen to see which patient to take next. âIf you wanted to drop two thousand dollars, you should have taken your wife to a spa and gotten Tanner a tablet with Roblox. Not a living creature that shits on the floor.â
He scoffs as he follows you. âAnd raise an iPad baby? Pass. I see too many of those here a day.â His arm brushes yours as he parks himself beside you and crosses his arms over his chest. You physically cannot help the way your lip curls up in disgust, and youâre not in control of your body when you step away. âDo you want the dislocated shoulder in South Seven or the kidney stones in North Three?â
âI donât cherry-pick,â you mutter, trying to sound as self-righteous as possible. You donât have to look at him to know that heâs rolling his eyes. âSkull fracture in Six needs to be tended to. Iâm going there.â
He frowns. âI wanted that one.â
Youâre already moving in the direction of South Seven. âGreat. Take it. I wanted the dislocated shoulder anyway,â you say.
Heâs protesting as you practically run away. âSo much for not cherry-picking!â
You throw up your hands in a shrug. âGive Mr. Skull Fracture a hug for me!â
JULY 1ST, 2025. (2:00 PM)
You crack into your second energy drink of the day, ignoring the look that Mohan gives you as you do so.Â
âUnless youâd like me to fall asleep with a scalpel in my hand, I donât want to hear it,â you tell her.Â
âIâm just saying,â she replies, âthere are better options. Iâve been really into--â
âIf you tell me that matcha is a good replacement for the two hundred milligrams of caffeine that I get from this chemical weapon, Iâm going to yell at you,â you warn, pointing a finger at her with the hand thatâs holding your can. âItâs like offering me coke and then giving me a salad.â
You hear McKay chuckle from behind you. âItâs a lost cause, Samira.â
âSheâs been trying for the last six months,â you say to her from over your shoulder. âI admire the tenacity.â You turn back to Mohan. âIâm forcing a vodka-Red Bull down your throat when we go for drinks next week, when I finally get you out of your cave of an apartment, you can finally experience the magic.â
âIâm just trying to help you,â Mohan grumbles, completely ignoring your last comment. âThereâs a lavender matcha that Iâve been getting at the coffee shop on my way here thatâs really good. Iâll bring you one tomorrow. Weâll start making the switch.â
âI love you. I do,â you tell her, voice gentle. âBut I also refuse to let you waste your money. You can send matcha powder to my grave when youâre old and out of debt after these things kill me.â
Mohan shakes her head. âItâs not as fun to say âI told you soâ when youâre dead, though.â
âTake what you can get,â says Langdon, interrupting the conversation in that way he loves to do. âIâm still riding the high from when I was able to say it back in 2019.â
You give him the fakest of fake smiles. âCrazy how you havenât been able to say it since.â
âItâll happen again one of these days,â he says. âI know it.â
âYeah, Iâm not seeing that,â you reply. âAnd Iâm the Oracle here.â
âThat you are,â he mutters, glancing at Mohan and McKay. He then nods at you, motioning for you to follow him. âCan I talk to you for a second?â
Confusion warps your face. âMe?â
âIâm looking directly at you,â Langdon says, like youâre the idiot.
âIâm sorry,â you mutter. With that confirmation, you do, in fact, round the nurse's station to let him lead you into the break room. You ask to his back, âBut when have you ever pulled me to chat? Typically, you go the public humiliation route.â
He doesnât say anything as you enter the room, but shuts the door the moment youâre inside. Itâs only then that you notice the look in his eye. Itâs slightly crazed and just a bit paranoid. What the hell?
âAre you good?â you ask hesitantly.
He nods again, but itâd be clear to anyone that heâs lying. âHave youâŠâ He shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. âHave you heard anything about me today? Anyone ask you anything about me? Say anything?â
Your perplexed expression only grows. âUh⊠no? Should I be? Hearing things, I mean? Did you do something?â
âWhy do you assume I did something?â he asks.
Youâre astounded by the nerve of him to be frustrated with you after he pulled you away from work to talk about petty shit like this. âBecause youâre kidnapping me and taking me into the break room to ask if the popular girls are gossiping about you.â
His nostrils flare. âIâm serious.â
âI am, too,â you say. âThis isnât high school, Langdon. Nobodyâs passing notes in the hall or starting rumors to get you kicked off the football team. I havenât heard anything.â
(This was a lie, of course. Word traveled fast in this hospital, and there wasnât a nurse on the payroll who didnât love a gossip session. But, no, you hadnât heard anything about him.)
The way he stares at you has you asking, âAre you okay? Whatâs got you so freaked out?â
âNothing,â Langdon answers, perhaps a bit too quickly. Your eyes narrow. âI mean it, itâs--â He pushes both hands outward, like heâs expelling some sort of negative energy. âItâs nothing you want to be a part of. I just wanted to ask.â
You purse your lips, questions on your tongue, but you know theyâre not worth asking. âO-kay,â you say instead, drawing the word out.
But heâs not done. Before you can make your exit from this delightfully awkward and strange conversation, he grabs your arm. You turn to him with wide eyes. âJustâ if Santos comes to talk to you⊠let me know, okay?â
Youâre three kinds of confused and are experiencing some major whiplash. You take his hand off of you, throwing it to the side. âWhaâ Santos? What the hell is sheââ You cut yourself off with another question. âAre you already fighting with the fucking intern?â
âNo,â he says defiantly. âIâm not. Jesus. Just, pleaseââ
âThen what is it? Did something happen?â
He shakes his head, blowing past you to get to the door. âItâs nothing. Donâtâ donât worry about it.â He meets your eyes briefly before turning back around. âForget I said anything.â
He knows you wonât. Forgetting wasnât something you did. He knows he just fucked himself over by simply bringing it up to you, but itâs too late to do anything about it now.
He walks out the door, his anxiety festering, and your suspicion rising.
JULY 1ST, 2025. (4:55 PM.)
Two hours left, you tell yourself. Two hours.
Despite the fact that there are only two hours left of your shift, youâve been trying to ignore a migraine for the last thirty minutes. Literally and physically.
It had developed when Dana got hit. You were coming out of Trauma Two with Whitaker when you saw her stumble in, immediately springing into action alongside Robby. It took a look from him and a hand on your shoulder from Dana to keep you from running out into the parking lot to go find the guy and do God-knows-what, so youâd settled for keeping her company when she went to get a CT.
The migraine surfaced when sheâd returned to the floor and had burned a hole in your head since then. Youâd glance at her, letting her know that you were going to go run and grab some ibuprofen from your bag in your locker and that youâd be back in a minute.Â
(âIâm getting you some too,â you say as you walk away.Â
âIâm fine!â she calls after you, ice pack over her eye.Â
âIâm still getting you some!â)
You hadnât meant to overhear it. You hadnât meant to be there.
You donât process it at first. You just hear what sounds like Robby and Langdon arguing. You hear the way Robbyâs voice waivers as he tells Langdon to go home. What? He was being sent home?
And then it all comes crashing down.
Langdonâs pleading. Heâs telling Robby itâs not what he thinks, that heâd hurt his back some time ago when moving. That heâs not an addict. An addict couldnât do what he does.
It takes you a moment to put it all together, the shock of it all clouding your brain and your judgment. An addict? Who wasâŠÂ
Had Langdon been using? Is that what he was so worried about in the break room? Was heâ Did heâ?
You stumble backward, hand tracing the wall as you try to balance yourself and escape the area. There was no way this was happening. No fucking way.Â
But then you hear Robby chuck Langdonâs things at him and suddenly⊠It's all real.Â
You donât want to be anywhere near this. This isnât your business. This is something thatâs between them-- something that Robby knows how to deal with. He always knows the right way to deal with everything. Thatâs kind of his thing.
You donât want Robby to know you know. You donât want Langdon to know you know.Â
So, you quietly walk back to the ED, migraine intensifying, and feeling more lightheaded than ever.Â
When you return to the floor empty-handed, Dana immediately notices. The sickly look on your face has her asking, âWhereâs that ibuprofen?â
You blink twice, staring at her as you try to find the words. âI, uhââ You clear your throat. âI think I ran out. I-Iâm gonna go see if I can find some.â
You take off before she can question anything else.
When Robby comes back and tells her that Langdon went home and he needs her to do a pharmacy audit, Dana puts two and two together.
(âIâm not gonna ask-- Iâm not,â she says, eyeing him carefully. âBut, just so youâre aware, Risky just came back from the lockers looking like she saw a ghost.â
Robby shuts his eyes, both hands rubbing against his neck to latch behind his head. âNothingâs ever fucking easy, is it?â)
The next time you see your attending, you share a look. Itâs a stone-faced plea on his end, an unspoken agreement on yours. He nods and then asks you to assist him in Trauma One.
Neither of you utter a word about it.
JULY 1ST, 2025. (6:55 PM)
You canât breathe.Â
Youâre caught in the height of the PittFest disaster, and there is just so much.Â
Thereâs been so much blood. So many people are hurt. So many people are dead. So much trying and not enough saving. Thereâs just so much⊠everything.Â
And youâre the only R4 left on the floor.Â
Collins left. You told her to. Robby told her to. After what she went through today, she should be gone. But LangdonâŠ
Langdonâs gone. Potentially for good. And itâs his own fucking fault.
Of course, you know itâs more complicated than that. But right now, you canât decipher up from down, let alone right from wrong.
The two people youâve learned to rely on most (for better or for worse) are gone, and youâre in way over your head. Youâre drowning, trying to stay above water. But as you continue to work, as you order your younger residents and med students around, knowing theyâre floundering just as much as you are, you canât help but freak out.
Youâre supposed to hold down the fort. Youâve got Abbot and Robby and Mohan, youâve got Walsh and Ellis and Shen, but you donât have your people.Â
You donât have Langdon.
He was so much better at situations like these than you were. He didnât get flustered, he didnât freeze up, he never had a problem with drowning. He was always cool and alert and ready for whatever was thrown at him.
And fuckâ as much as you hated to admit it, you got used to him having your back out here. You got used to him.
As someone who hated change, thatâs just about what tipped you over the edge.
You take what you think is a minute to yourself. You step back from the carnage in front of you to grab a new pair of gloves and take a second to breathe.
But you canât find your breath. And it takes more than a second to realize that.Â
You only come to when you hear an inaudible voice from beside you. It sounds like whoever is speaking to you is underwater, drowning with you.
They grab you by the shoulders and turn you. You blink, dazed as you see Langdonâs face. His confused expression drops as he sees the look on your face and the speed at which your chest is moving up and down.Â
âNope,â he says simply, shaking his head. âNone of that. Get your fucking head on straight.â
A wheeze escapes your chest. âWhat are youâ How are youââÂ
You canât even get the words out. Theyâre overtaken by the breath you canât catch. You try to contain it, not wanting to do this-- to be like this in front of him, but youâre too far gone. Too deep into it.
Langdonâs having none of it. âYouâre not Flight Risk-ing it right now. Not now.â He grips your shoulders tighter. âWe need you out there. We need you to be on it because no one out there can do what you do.â
âI canâtââ Your voice comes out unstable. âI just needâ I was outââ
âBreathe,â he tells you. âAre you listening to me? Breathe. We need you.â He looks directly into your eyes. âI need you, okay? I fucking need you, so get the fuck out of your head and letâs go.â
As if those were the magic words, your brain flips a switch. You slowly regain your footing, any anxiety now replaced with anger toward him. You have no idea if that was his intention, or if he truly meant that, but the second your breath becomes something resembling regular, you use both hands to push him off of you. His lips part in surprise.
What a fucking joke. He needed you? You needed him and it was his own fucking fault that he wasnât here.
âI was out there,â you barely manage to get out. You point toward the door with a shaking hand. âI was out there on my own. Without you. Youâre always here when things go to shit and you werenât fucking here, Frank.â
You watch as your words hit him. Theyâre said with such anger and resentment that he just barely registers that youâve called him by his first name. You barely realize it. Youâre not sure if youâve ever done that before. That same anger also makes him think that you might know more about his situation than he thought.
But thereâs no time to focus on that. No time to dwell on his feelings or yours. There are more important matters at hand.
âWell,â he says, throwing his hands up in a shrug. âIâm here now. And you can be pissed off at me out there. As long as youâre on the floor.â
You bite your tongue. There are so many things you want to say to that. So many. But heâs right. You need to get back out there. Your little panic attack can wait. You can bitch him out after you clock out; whenever this nightmare ends.
So, you resign and nod, finally breathing right. âFine.â
He nods, giving you a once-over. Youâre covered in blood. Itâs smeared on your cheek, caught in your hair, and all over your scrubs. Your eyes are still wide, blown-out like youâre shell-shocked. But, youâre still you.Â
He doesnât know what to do with the comfort that gives him.
He pushes all of that aside for now. âYou good?â he asks.
âYeah,â you breathe. âAs good as I can be. You?â
âIâm good.â You donât laugh in his face like you want to. âYou ready?â
âNo,â you answer honestly. âBut that doesnât matter, does it?â
You get a rare, genuine smile from him. Itâs small, but it changes the entire composition of his face. âThatâs the spirit.â
He waits for you to return to the floor before he follows. When the two of you take a moment to stop and observe the chaos before you rush right back into it, you exchange one last glance.
He nods at you, and then heâs off.Â
You break off in the opposite direction, refusing to focus on anything but the patients and doctors who need you.
JULY 1ST, 2025. (7:25 PM.)
Langdonâs had his eye on you since he returned to the ED.
Youâve been on the opposite side of the action, helping Robby and other red-banded patients. Heâs worked with you once since he got back in, and while you seemed to be able to compartmentalize enough to collect yourself, heâs still worried about you.
He knows itâs rich coming from him, given everything thatâs currently going on, but still. Heâd never seen you like that, not even in med school when you were more neurotic than you were presently. He prays he wonât ever have to again.
But right now, heâs even more nervous about it because he canât find you. And he needs you.
He canât access a vein for the current patient heâs working on, and if he doesnât, heâs going to lose the guy. As he racks his brain for solutions, he freezes.Â
You. Shit, he needs you.
He knows, in theory, what to do. But you know exactly what to do and how to do it.
But again, he canât find you. Youâve disappeared from his line of sight, and it freaks him out more than it should. The guy heâs operating on just tried to pull a gun. He figured he had a right to be worried.
Fuck it. He didnât have time to look for you. Heâd do it himself. Heâd read about it a couple of years ago anyway.
Langdon runs back to the guy like a bat out of hell, with necessary supplies in hand. Mohanâs eyes go wide when she sees him. âWhat are you doing?â she asks.
âGiving this guy a chance,â he replies, getting his bearings. âHe needs a big central line for fast transfusion.â
Mohanâs brow furrows. âYou can't do an IJ without an ultrasound, especially on a guy this big.â
Mateo looks up at him, continuing his chest compressions. âYou'll kill him if you collapse a lung or hit the carotid.â
âIâm not doing an IJ,â Langdon says, glancing at Mohan. âUnhook that blood line. Bring it up here.â She does as sheâs told, watching intently as Langdon sets up everything he needs. âThis is a supraclavicular subclavian. If you have to go in blind, this is the only safe way to access a giant vein.â He goes to move Mateo out of the way. âAnd hold compressions.â
Readjusting himself, he continues, âA centimeter from the lateral head of the sternocleidomastoid, a centimeter off the clavicle, aiming at the contralateral nipple.â He successfully inserts the syringe heâs holding, and he begins to draw blood. âI'm in. Okay! Resume compressions.â As they do, and everything starts to work normally again, he feels the nerves wear off. âAnd squeeze blood!â
It works. Of course it fucking works. It takes everything in Langdonâs body to stop himself from laughing.
Mohan stares at him in awe. âWhereâd you learn that?â
Subconsciously, he finds himself scanning the room for you once more. Youâre back in the action as if you were never gone, drilling an IO for a patient and moving on to their injuries with the grace and ease that had become synonymous with your name.Â
His gaze dips as he takes off his gloves. He shrugs, glancing over at you briefly once more as you readjust your loupes to fix up the patientâs GSW. âSome research paper from 2021.âÂ
Mohan tracks the exact place his eyes went, a small, disbelieving grin growing on her lips as she puts the pieces together. âSeriously?â
âDonât tell her,â he mutters, passing her to move on to the next patient. âSheâll never let me live it down.â
JULY 1ST, 2025. (9:43 PM.)
Itâs the first thing Mohan tells you after you clock out.
After you grab your things from your locker, you run into her on your way outside. You almost donât realize that sheâs beside you, somehow too dissociated from the world and too focused on what youâve tasked yourself with to register anything.
You flinch when she starts speaking, her shoulder bumping into yours. âRandom question,â she says. The way she speaks tells you itâs not random at all. âDid you write a paper about performing a supraclavicular subclavian?â
You blink at her in surprise. Your brainâs completely fried, and youâre slow to process her words, but when you finally do, your brow furrows. âUh, yeah. Like, forever ago in school. How do youââ
âLangdon did one on one of the mass casualty patients today.â Thereâs a small smile on her face, as if she knows something you donât. âHe saved the manâs life. I didnât even know that was a thing. It was pretty cool.â
That first piece of information catches you more off guard than anything else that was thrown at you today. Youâre sure it shows on your face. He⊠what?Â
Youâre so, completely overwhelmed by everything that you donât hear the sound of the ER doors opening behind the two of you. Mohan glances past you, and luckily, she misses the dazed look on your face. She sends a small smile to Abbot and Robby, and sheâs already moving on before you even have a chance to answer her previous question. âCan you send that to me?â she asks. âOr any other research youâve done on weird, niche procedures? Iâd love to learn how to do it.â
âThatâs Riskyâs specialty,â Abbot chimes in from behind the two of you. The sound of his voice makes you jump out of your skin. âNever met a research freak like her.â
Ignoring the way that your mindâs spinning, you lean over and narrow your eyes at him, a small smile twisting your lips. âThe next time you want to see my case notes, Iâm burning them in front of you.â
âA fire hazard in a hospital should be good for everyone,â he replies.Â
You shrug. âAfter today, I think we can handle a little fire.â
Abbot huffs a laugh in agreement. âFair enough,â he says, then nods toward the park. âYou coming for a drink?â
âNot tonight,â you reply. âIâm here at seven tomorrow. Samiraâs got me trying to cut back on my Red Bull intake, so unfortunately, Iâve got to get at least six hours or Iâll lose it.â
Mohan scowls at you, but before she can say anything, Robby pats you on the shoulder, speaking up for the first time since he got out here. âGet some sleep. You did great today.â
Your smile grows, and you shake your head. âHeard. Thanks, Doc.â You glance back over at Mohan. âAnd Iâll send over what Iâve got,â you tell her, taking a step back to exit the conversation. âWe still on for drinks later this week?â
A hesitant look overtakes her expression. âI donât know, Iââ
âWhat did I say? Iâm getting you out of your cave.â You shoot her a look. âDonât make me threaten to withhold my research.â
Finally, you get a smile. âFine. Yes. Weâre still on.â
âGood,â you say, turning to walk away. From over your shoulder, you call, âGet some rest. All of you!â
âNot sure I know what that is,â Abbot responds.Â
You find yourself chuckling as you walk away. Itâs only then, when you hear the crinkling in your pocket, that your steps falter. Suddenly, you remember what you originally came out here to do. Who you came out to find.
And now, youâve got something else to talk to him about.Â
You find Langdon toward the back of the hospital. You knew heâd still be here. Of course, heâs still here.Â
Heâs sitting on the curb, head between his legs and in his hands. Your shoes scrape against the pavement, and the sound makes his head snap up. Thereâs a look of hope on his face-- hope that you, maybe, were someone else. Itâs evident by the way his expression disappears the second he meets your eyes. He sighs, and itâs something heavy and labored as his head drops back into his hands.Â
Neither of you says anything. He doesnât know why youâre here or what you want, but frankly, he couldnât give less of a shit. He was at the end of the worst day of his life. He might as well round it out with a conversation with you.
After a hesitant moment, you take a seat on the curb next to him. Thereâs just enough space between you two that itâs not overwhelming, but still mildly intimate. Itâs safe. You never thought youâd want to be this close to him, but after today? Anything goes.
As Langdonâs mind continues to spin, heâs pulled out of his misery by the sound of that same crinkling that stopped you in your tracks. Itâs obnoxious against the quiet of the night, but it confuses him more than anything. He lifts his head to look over at you, only to see a bag of Peanut M&Ms outstretched in your hand.
Itâs your version of a peace offering. He glances up at you, suspicion written across his face with the smallest glint of humor in his eyes. When he doesnât immediately take them, you push the bag out at him once more, as if the offerâs going to expire.
With another long, heavy sigh, he snatches it from you, and you have to pretend like that doesnât end a wave of relief through you. You fish through your sweatshirt pocket to find the bag of regular M&Ms you bought for yourself, tearing into them once theyâre in your hand.Â
For a long while, neither of you speak. Itâs an odd, stark contrast to what youâre used to with him. Thereâs no bickering, no expectation for a quick and witty rebuttal to shut him up. Itâs just you and him, sitting on a curb outside the hospital, coming down from an adrenaline high the likes of which youâve never felt. Youâre two people who went through something completely, out-of-this-world awful, eating M&Ms together with no words to exchange. Youâre still shaking.
(Langdon notices the way your fingers tremble as they reach into your bag, but he doesnât say anything about it. Perhaps thatâs his peace offering.)
Instead, he asks, âVending machine?â
He doesnât look over at you. Itâs a casual question, one asked as he chews, as if heâd asked for the weather or what the time was. But youâre open to it.Â
âYup,â you say shortly. âYou got the last bag.â
Langdon nods. âCool.â
âYup,â you repeat.
Another beat passes between you. Then, he asks, âHowâd you know?âÂ
You glance over as he lifts the bag up, then shrug. âIt was your study snack,â you reply. âOnly thing I ever saw you get from that loud-ass machine in the library.â
He nods again, but itâs slower this time. âYou were always good at that.â When he feels your eyes on the side of his face, he finally meets them. âNoticing things.â
âYeah,â you say with a shrug, because youâre not sure what else to say. âItâs kinda part of the job.â
You both turn away from each other again, the air between you two feeling just a bit tighter this time around. You canât hear anything but the sounds of the city and the hospital, and the crinkling of your candy bags.
Youâre the first to speak this time. âYou alright?â
It comes out more timid than you had wanted, but he doesnât seem to react to it. âYeah,â he replies. You know itâs a lie. âYou?â
A sigh creeps up on you. âYeah,â you repeat.Â
He knows itâs a lie. Thereâs a silent agreement between you that you wonât call each other out.Â
âI heard--â You clear your throat as your voice comes out a little too raspy for your liking. âI heard you did a supraclavicular subclavian?â
He stops mid-chew and shuts his eyes. âFucking Slo-Mo.â
His reaction has the beginnings of a smile tugging at your lips. If you needed any sort of confirmation that Mohan was telling the truth, he just gave it to you. âYou read my paper?â you ask.
Your voice is light and just a bit teasing, but thereâs a fondness in it that Langdonâs not sure heâs ever heard directed at him. Itâs enough to have him muttering, âI could have read or heard about that anywhere--â
âBut you didnât,â you say. âYou read my paper.â
Langdon nearly groans. âI told her not toââ
âYou read my paper,â you repeat again, grin growing larger. âAll that talk in med school about how you didnât trust my research andââ
âI always trusted your research,â he interjects, pointing at you. âYou were way too much of a meticulous, pedantic freak for any of that to be wrong. I didnât trust your indecisive, game-time, on-the-spot procedures.â When he sees you rolling your eyes, he suppresses his own smile. âBut a case study written by that meticulous freak about a new, risky procedure? Iâm reading that entire thing front to back.â
You hate the feeling that stirs in your chest. You hate the fact that his validation still gets that type of reaction from you. You donât need it. You knew that paper was good. You had the acclaim and accolades to prove it. But hearing it from him and knowing that he didnât just read it, but he fucking remembered it well enough to use it in an emergency situation?
Thatâll get you. Thatâll get you every time.Â
Fuck, you hate yourself for it.
Despite all of that, your smile stays on your face as you nod along. You lean in slightly when you ask, âItâs pretty cool, isnât it?â
âYeah, yeah,â he mutters, waving you off. The humor in his voice isnât missed. âItâs cool.â
You donât know why you do it. Maybe itâs your exhaustion. Maybe youâre still reeling from the day. Maybe itâs because you suddenly feel closer to him than youâve ever felt before. Maybe itâs because heâs being open and as nice as he can muster up right now.Â
Whatever it is, you pop an M&M in your mouth and say, âI read a couple of your papers, too.â
Now, itâs his turn to be surprised. You donât look at him, but you can see the smirk growing on his face out of the corner of your eye. âDid you?â
âOne or two of them,â you shrug. âHad to know what riveting content my mortal enemy was researching. Couldnât have him writing a better paper than me.â
âIâm sure thatâs what it was.â
âIt was,â you insist, though you know itâll fall on deaf ears. âIâm nothing if not competitive.â
Langdon huffs. âDonât I know it.â
âI wouldnât be talking,â you scoff. âIf Iâm competitive, youâre--â
âI know. Iâm bad too,â he says, chuckling softly. âWouldnât have been half as fun if we werenât.â
Your brow lifts in agreement. âRight on.â
You lean back, holding yourself upright with your arms behind you. The mulch on the ground sticks into your palms, but youâre too exhausted to care. With another long sigh, you stare up at the sky, the lights from the hospital and the city clouding your view of the stars. Youâre about to muse about how much you miss seeing them when he says, ââMortal enemy,â huh?â
âI donât have a ton of them.â You shrug. âYou didnât have a lot of competition.â
He hums. âGuess I should be lucky that Iâm number one.â
âEasiest thing youâve ever won,â you say, failing to bite back your grin.Â
âOnly thing I didnât have to compete with you for.â He shakes another M&M into his hand. âOf course it was easy.â
That grin of yours falters slightly. When you try to respond, you find that your words fail.
Luckily, he continues by asking, âSo, what did you think?â
âOf what?â you question.
âMy papers,â he says. âThe ones youâve read because you trust my work so much.â
That strange feeling stirs in your stomach again, but this time, itâs a little different. While itâs familiar, you canât define it. It causes enough discomfort in you that you feel yourself withdrawing from him. This is too comfortable. Too nice.Â
Thereâs a piece of you that needs things to return to normal. To get back on course. But that other piece of you, the one that harbors all of your anger toward him-- that one suddenly overtakes you. Itâs like you remembered what you really came out here for. It wasnât just to find him and eat candy with him. It wasnât to joke around like youâre old friends. Because youâre not.
You came out to make sure he was stable. Okay. And then, you came to yell at him.
You donât look at him when you say it. Your eyes return to the night sky, and you sigh. Itâs deep enough for Langdonâs expression to morph into something confused.Â
âIâll let you know when you get back,â you say, voice soft and sad.
He doesnât get it at first. That confusion he wears becomes more prominent, and his brows knit together. But then, you look at him. Youâre disappointed. Youâre angry. Youâre upset. Heâs seen all of that, but never all together. Never like this.
Then, it clicks.
The color drains from his face. âDid fucking Santos tell you? Because I swear to God, if sheââ
âDo not,â you begin, voice so lethal that it has him snapping his mouth shut, âblame Santos for this. She did exactly what she was supposed to do. Sheâs not the one using. Sheâs not the one who fucked up. That is on you.â
He scoffs, shaking his head. âJesus, did she tell everyone? I donât fucking need this from youââ
âShe didnât tell me,â you say. Your voice is firm, and he chances a look at you. âShe didnât need to. I heard you and Robby fighting.â Lighter, you add, âYou pulling me into the break room and talking about Santos didnât help your case either. I kind of put two and two together.â
He doesnât have anything to say to that. He just sits there, drained and miserable, unsure of where he stands with⊠anything. His eyes shut, and he turns away from you, jaw trembling.
When he finally speaks, his words are quiet. âIâm not an addict.â
âYou are,â you reply, and a small piece of your heart breaks as his shoulders slump, defeated. While you may not be his biggest fan, you donât like seeing him like this. Itâs so hard to hate him like this. âBut youâre going to fix that.â
A humorless, rough laugh escapes his lips. âBecause itâs that easy.â
âItâs not. And it wonât be,â you state, refusing to bite at his attempt at an argument. âItâs going to be hard every single day going forward. But youâre going to do it.â
Heâs quiet for a long while again. He obviously doesnât know what to do with you right now. Heâs not used to talking like this with you. Itâs just as uncomfortable for him as it is for you.
But then, âYou sound so sure.â
His sarcasm comes off half-hearted. Itâs like heâs trying to put up that ever-familiar wall between you two, but canât. Thereâs too much uncertainty in it. For the first time in years, you feel like heâs being one-hundred-percent vulnerable with you. You figure you owe him the same kindness.
âI am,â you tell him. Thereâs no room for arguing.Â
You watch him nod. âHow do you know?âÂ
A smile graces your lips. âBecause I know you,â you say. His heart pulls at how honest you sound. âAnd when the hell have you ever given up on something just because itâs hard?â
If he didnât know what to say to your previous comments, youâve left him dead in the water with this one. It feels like a good parting line, and you donât have much more to say.Â
So, you stand, brushing the dirt off your hands onto your scrub pants. Heâs still looking at you intently, like heâs trying to figure you out. He walked into work today with his relationship with you completely cut and dry. You didnât like each other. You didnât get along, and you had your history, but you worked well together. That was it.Â
But youâd lived through something traumatic together today. Not only that, but you knew why heâd be taking a leave of absence. Now, he felt exposed, as if you could read him better than anyone else. Maybe you could.Â
You hadnât weaponized it, though. Not that he thought you would. But still⊠You could have. You hadnât. There had to be something to that.
Before you can say your indefinite goodbyes or leave, he clears his throat. Gently, he says, âIâm sorry I wasnât there when you needed me today.â
With a small, sad smile, you readjust your bag on your shoulder. âJust be there for the team next year,â you tell him. âWeâll call it even.â
He doesnât know why youâre being so kind to him. He doesnât feel like he deserves it. Youâve never been like this with him before. Perhaps he didnât give you the opportunity to.
Before you leave, you nod at him. âGood luck, Langdon,â you say.
As you walk away, he canât help but feel like youâre taking something of his with you.
and if i said iâve been missing for so long because iâve been pitt-brained for the last two months and have been writing a 35k+ word rivals to friends to lovers frank langdon fic then what
PLEASEEEE tell me youâre releasing the frank fic soon oh my god iâm begging
hello hello itâll be some point later this week. will send a warning before i drop
i have two more parts of it to finish before i release it for yâall to chew up and itâs tragically gonna make that already insane word count rise even higher i apologize in advance i just have so much to say about THEM
and if i said iâve been missing for so long because iâve been pitt-brained for the last two months and have been writing a 35k+ word rivals to friends to lovers frank langdon fic then what
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so. whoâs gonna do it. whoâs gonna be the first to write the fic with bob and yelena crawling around in the vents and alexei eating pop tarts and walker and ava fighting about what theyâre watching for movie night
summary: well, you've been parent trapped. forced to talk about things you swore you'd never speak of again, you and roy sit down for a chat to appease your fellow coaching staff. meanwhile, in 2012, the english men's team have lost, and you and roy have a chat that leaves you on an... unforeseen note.
word count & rating: 10.2k, R (we're heating up but we ain't there yet)
chapter warnings: swearing, allusions to sa and harassment, some sexual innuedoes, majorly charged eye contact and tension-filled pauses (these fucks are damaged and yearning), WHOLE LOT of dialogue i apologize there's a lot to talk about
author's note: well hello. for those of you familiar with the show victorious, i've been affectionately calling this chapter the 'take a hint' chapter since i outlined this series. there's also a fuck ton of dialogue in this one and can read like a shitty script sometimes, so apologies on that front. sorry this one took a minute, got stuck with it then got busy. hope you enjoy, love you tons! -mags
PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.
There are approximately four straight minutes of uninterrupted silence between you and Roy before either of you say a word.
The first minute, you believe, is just the two of you actually processing that this is happening. Youâd heard the jokes about Richmond being a family, about work-life lines being crossed, about true professionalism being thrown out the window at the sake of having better, stronger connections with your team. However, you never imagined that something like this was on the horizon.
The next minute is spent unpacking the reality of it all. You were here with someone youâd previously sworn to never speak to again, expected to talk about something you swore youâd never speak about again. And it was to be done against your will, at a random pub in Richmond, with your two coaches watching you through binoculars through a window like it was a Three Stooges movie.
The next, you realize exactly what it is you two are expected to talk about. Your Stooge coaches want you to have the conversation-- the conversation you swore to yourself youâd never, ever have with Roy. They want you to just talk about it, like itâs simple. As if itâs some silly little dispute you had eight years ago, not one that could take days to fully get through (and frankly, should probably have some sort of third party involved. Youâre not suggesting a version of couples therapy but youâre not not suggesting it). Nothing about this is simple. Nothing about this can be solved in just one conversation. But, you figure, if Royâs suddenly game to start to get into it, you suppose you should be too.
That leads you to the final minute, which is spent attempting to find the right way to start this conversation, because, truly, how the fuck do you even start a conversation like this? While you and Roy were never inclined to beat around the bush, this is different. It's so, unbelievably different and you don't know how you're supposed to do this. Especially not now.
Throughout this time, youâve glanced over at Roy periodically, who you think may physically hurt himself with how hard heâs trying to avoid eye contact with you. Heâs focused on the TV at the bar broadcasting the highlights from the Richmond-Chelsea game. Heâs staring at the bar top. Heâs looking up at the ceiling. Anywhere but you and at anyone but you.
After those four minutes, you feel the tension in the air shift. It may just be your frustration at both him and this situation, it might be his own, but you suddenly canât take it anymore. And to your surprise (and Royâs, for that matter), you manage to get out the first word.Â
âSo,â you say lamely, trying your best not to cringe as it lands. âUhâŠâ
Roy glances over at you, expecting something else to follow. When nothing does, and he sees your mouth open and close, he huffs a laugh. âI bet youâre happy you signed with Richmond now, huh?â
You place your elbows on the bartop, face falling into your hands. âThis is actually insane,â you say, words muffled by your palms. âI hated West Ham, but at least Shelley wasnât Parent Trap-ing his assistant coaches.â You raise your head to look at Mae as she places two pints in front of you and Roy. âThank you.â
Mae nods at the both of you, eyes narrowing at Roy as she notices his silence. âThe offer for double the pay is still on the table,â he tells her.
âRichmond canât win this year if their coaching staff is fighting like cats and dogs,â Mae replies. âYour money is as useless as your arguing here.â
The bluntness of her statement has you chuckling despite yourself. As Mae walks away from a now scowling Roy, you take a sip of your drink. Then another. Then another.
When you feel Royâs gaze on you, you turn to look at him. âWhat? If weâre gonna talk about this, I canât be sober.â
âWeâre not talking about it,â is his immediate response, and he makes sure to keep his voice low, eyes shifting to where Mae is at the other end of the bar.Â
Relief rushes through you at the idea that he seems to be on the same avoidance wave. You want to have this conversation even less than he probably does. HoweverâŠ
âTheyâre watching us,â you say, throwing your thumb in the direction of the window. âIf weâre just sitting here in silence, theyâre never gonna let this go.â You glance over your shoulder at your fellow coaches watching you. âAnd something about Beard gives me the vibe that heâs like, really good at reading lips.â
A familiar growl of annoyance escapes him. âThen weâre going to keep our backs turned and pretend that weâre talking to get those fucking muppets off our backs and get on with our fucking lives.â
Your lips purse. "What are the odds I get you to chug this with me?â
Roy huffs into his glass. âAbout the same as the odds of it coming right back up because of my new fucking acid reflux.â
Your nose scrunches up in a weary sort of agreement. âUgh. Fair. Whereâd that shit come from anyway? It sucks.â
âWeâre fucking old, Fourteen,â he mutters. âThatâs where it came from. Weâre far from what we used to be.â
âYeah, but you were ancient when I met you,â you reply, earning a deep scowl in return. âI used to be so young and full of life.â
âIf by âfull of lifeâ you mean doing boat races in a shitty pub in London with a bunch of degenerate athletesââ
âOh, my God. Grandad. The kids got off your lawn in 2012, stop bitching,â you say as you bite back a laugh. When Roy rolls his eyes, you point at him. âAnd by the way, I vaguely remember you joining us in one of those boat races, so I donât want to hear it from you.â
Roy scoffs. âI did it to shut Rivera up,â he replies, shaking his head. âTerrible fucking influence.â
A fond smile grows on your lips at the mention of your friend, remembering the state sheâd been in that night. It was the night youâd won the Gold at the Olympics, and Mel had taken it upon herself to peer pressure your entire team not just to go out, but to start at a pub and start the celebration with that godforsaken game. To this day, youâre still not sure if she remembered leaving the pub.
âSheâs the worst,â you agree, though your tone says differently.
A beat passes between you, a question hanging in the air as if Royâs unsure if he should ask it. If heâs allowed or entitled to know the answer. He asks it anyway. âWhere did she end up?â
You answer after you swallow the sip of beer youâd taken. âShe and Paige are somewhere in Surrey. And Iâm still trying to figure out the geography of this place, but I know that itâs kind of close to here, which is nice. Theyâre supposed to come for our first home game with their son.â
âFucking crazy that theyâve got a kid,â Roy says. âI remember when she was making a fucking fool of herself in front of that girl.â
âYouâre telling me,â you grin. âLuckily it worked. It helped that Paige was in love with her the entire time.â
That comment is met with silence as Roy seems to only be able to offer a nod in response. The following quiet is less awkward, but everything still hangs in the air. It weighs down the space that stands between you two and makes your chest ache. You donât know how to continue. You donât know what to say.
You feared this exact situation with him. Just the two of you, sitting in a room with each other, running out of talking points. No team to comment on, no coaches to add input, nothing left to expand on. Only the memories of your past and a million unspoken paths to go downâ ones you had no interest in uncovering.
The TV in front of you transitions to Zavaâs press conference, and suddenly, thankfully, youâve got another thing to talk about. âYouâve never said your opinion on Zava.â
Royâs brow pinches. âWhatâs there to say? Heâs fucking good. Heâll help us be better. I didnât think heâd go for us but Iâm happy he did.â
âYeah, I figured that,â you say with the roll of your eyes. âIâm asking for your opinion. Not Coach Kentâs PR response.â
He takes a brief pause, then scowls and looks down at the bar top. âI think heâs a self-involved, strange little prick. I think the shit he does and wears fucking odd, and I think the hero-worship our teamâs got for him is going to be a problem.â Roy shrugs. âBut heâll help us win games.â
You find yourself nodding along. âDo you think we actually need him?â
Royâs gaze slides to yours in interest. âI take it you donât?â
A sigh escapes your lips as you turn your body slightly to face him. âI think heâll help us win,â you agree, putting your chin in your hand as you look up at Zava (whoâs holding a Richmond jersey with a smile) on TV. âBut Iâm afraid heâll mess up the team dynamic.â
âHow so?â he asks.
âWell, Iâm assuming all future plays are going to be made around him,â you say. âPass to Zava, get it to Zava, put Zava in a position to score. You guys have never done that before. Youâve never just focused on making everything work around one person.â
Royâs eyes narrow. âWeâve done it with Tartt.â
âYouâve made plays for Jamie. But youâve never relied on Jamie to be your focal point in every play of every game,â you explain. The intrigue on Royâs face is something you havenât seen in a minute. You continue, âJamieâs your best player. Every team needs to have their best player. But thatâs why, I think, Richmond works. Because youâre a team. Youâve got Sam, youâve got Isaac, youâve got Daniâ everyoneâs good at what they do and they know how to fill their role to work together.â You shrug and reach for your pint. âThatâs how youâve won in the past. I just think itâs dangerous to have the team play around someone else instead of playing as a team. I donât think itâs sustainable.â
These points of yours are met with a quiet that tells you heâs considering your words. Not so much evaluating as heâs just⊠taking them in. It feels good to be heard. Not to be dismissed or waved off, told that your input would be considered as it had been for the last three months.Â
Youâre not sure if Royâs going to respond to any of your points until he says, âStop saying âyou have.ââ
You blink at him, not expecting that at all. âWhat?â
âYou keep saying âyouâve.â âYou guys.â âYouâre.â Youâre distancing yourself from the team.â He shakes his head. âYouâre a part of this now too. Richmondâs yours as much as itâs mine.â
âOh,â you say. A strange mix of embarrassment and pride wash over you. âI didnât realize I was doing that.â
Roy sighs. âYou should have said something if thatâs how you felt.â
âAnd what? Ruin the fun of the Zava train? Potentially be the reason we donât pick up one of the best players in the league?â You scoff. âPass. I donât have the seniority to make a move like that.â
âYou still should have said something,â Roy presses. âTed would have listened. We would have listened.â Â
âIt doesnât matter. Itâs done now.â You wave him off, shrugging. âHeâs with us and Iâm sure heâs going to be great and help us win. Iâm just being weird about it.â Roy looks as though he has about a million things to say to that, but he chooses to bite his tongue instead. At his silence, you add, âBe nice to Jamie if he asks for extra training.â
The scoff that leaves his lips is loud. âIâm as nice to Tartt as he deserves.â
âIâm serious,â you say through a chuckle. âDonât shut him down if he asks. He needs someone in his corner.â
âAnd it canât be you?â he asks.
Itâs an innocent enough question, asked with a bit of levity and a teasing glance. But it makes your stomach churn. The memories of West Ham, the sessions you did, Tomâs new comments, everythingâ and it all hurts. Youâre not sure if itâll ever stop hurting.
Any trace of humor drained from your face and in an instant, Roy knows he said something wrong. Stupid, he thinks. Fucking stupid. Youâd gone quiet when he last asked you about this. He should have known better. Watched his words more carefully.
âNo,â you reply softly. You take a long sip. âIâd prefer that it wouldnât be me.â
Well, now Roy feels like an asshole. Once again, he wants to ask. He wants to understand exactly what happened, understand who or what has affected you like this. He has his assumptions (ones that go into dark places he never even wants to consider for youâ seriously, heâd fucking kill someone and wouldnât blink), but if you canât or wonât talk about it, heâs not entitled to know. Heâs not entitled to know anything. Your relationshipâs never worked like that, even when you were on good terms. There was no pressure, it all always seemed to come out when you were comfortable. It had never been like that before. Thatâs originally what drew him to you. Thatâs why he stuck around.
Roy knows if you do decide to talk about it, itâll be on your terms. And while he doesnât like it, he respects it. He respects you.
Itâs why he chooses to move on to some other topic instead of pressing you. âWhatever they say about your press conference,â he begins, shaking his head, âfucking ignore it.â
Itâs a clunky transition and it catches you slightly off-guard. The leap has you suspicious that Roy might know more than he lets on about your situation, but you donât dare say anything about it. âThey?â you ask.
âThe media,â he expands. âThe football fans. The pricks online. They.â He shakes his head again. âThey donât fucking matter. If they knew any better than you did, theyâd be where you are.â
Theyâre kind words filled with a rough reassurance that heâs mastered. To hopefully get rid of (or procrastinate) the heavy feeling in your chest, you wave him off. âIâm used to it,â you say. Roy frowns at you and you shrug, âI commentated a little bit for ESPN after I got hurt. I did one Menâs game and made a joke about how much you guys overreact when you get fouled to get a call. Twitter ate me alive. I still get threats about it.â
Roy inhales ruefully, humor written across his expression. âWhatâd you say?â
âNothing I havenât said to you a hundred times,â you reply casually, hearing him huff once more. âI think it was something about how you guys have to be getting paid extra by the Club if you promise to make a scene when youâre hit.â
âYou werenât far off," he chuckles.
âAnd I still stand by it,â you tell him, leaning in as his lips pull into a small grin. âThough Iâm not sure I should be talking to you about playing up a penalty.â
Royâs brows rocket up. âThe fuck is that supposed to mean?â
âIt means that iâm sitting next to the only person in AFC history to ever get two red cards in a game,â you reply, and the instantaneous scowl that forms on his face makes you chuckle. âI donât think thereâs been a question about if youâve ever actually hit someone.â
âThose calls were bullshit,â he mutters.
âRoy, you tackled Man Cityâs best midfielder and took out both of his legs. And then you kicked a different guy in the chest.â
âHe ran into my foot.â
âThere is literal video footage of you looking him in the eye and saying, âthat wasnât an accident, I kicked you in the fucking chest.ââ
He stares at you for a moment, then shrugs. âAt least I broke a record.âÂ
You nod at him. âAnd weâre all incredibly proud of you.â
That smile of his returns and you can tell he has to refrain from rolling his eyes. âYou werenât so fucking innocent out there either.â
A faux affronted sound leaves you. âI was an angel.â
âRight,â he draws out. âYou never got into it with anyone, Mean Fourteen.â
Your nose crinkles. âI liked it better when you hated that name as much as I did.â
âItâs grown on me. Mainly because itâs right.â When your frown gets deeper, he continues. âEven before the Cup at those Olympics. You were fucking tough out there. They could never get you to stay down.â
You rub your finger against the rim of your glass as you glance at the the highlights of the recent Arsenal game on screen. âDamn right. Got tackled into oblivion by Caroline Singer at the 2012 Semi-Finals. Launched me ten yards and dislocated my shoulder. Got up the second after and had my shoulder set in time for overtime.â
Roy chuckles lowly. âI remember that game. You hit a full fucking Locust in the air when she sent you flying,â he says. âYou deserved that one. You were a fucking menace to her all game.â
You gape at him. âI deserved that?â
âYou did. If Iâm Singer and Iâm being marked by someone like you during that game? Iâm breaking your fucking jaw.â
While you scowl at the idea that you âdeservedâ that, you find yourself having caught something much more interesting. âAlso, rewind. Full Locust?â you ask with a leading sort of intrigue. âLike⊠the yoga pose?â
Royâs hiding in his pint again, trying his best at indifference. âIs that what that is?â
But you know him better. A wide, disbelieving grin pulls at your lips. âRoy Kent, do you do yoga?â
âNo,â he immediately replies, but youâre already laughing.
âOh, my God. You so do yoga.â
The scowl on his face is deep. âFuck off,â he says. âWhat the fuck is wrong with yoga?â
âThereâs nothing wrong with it,â you respond, laughter dying down despite the smile that remains on your face. âI love yoga. I just never imagined youâd agree.â
âWell, I fucking do.â Thereâs a beat, and for a moment, you think heâs going to end it there. But then, âI do it once a week with some local mums in their sixties.â
Your mouth begins to part as you stare at him, grin widening. Your laughter starts back up in an instant. âThis is the best day of my life.â
(Roy canât exactly understand what compelled him to admit that, or why heâs indulging in this conversation with you, but thereâs a small, suppressed piece of his brain that knows he did it to hear you laugh some more.)
âI haveââ you pause to breathe. ââso many questions.â
Royâs hand shoots up as Mae passes by to ask for another round. âNo, you donât.â
âHow did this⊠come to be?â
Heâs scowling, but chooses to answer with, âI was newly retired and borderline suicidal. I found their flier and called Maureen instead of the hotline.â
Your elbowâs now perched on the bartop, chin resting in your hand to stare at him in awe. âIs this, like, at a gym? Is it at one of their houses?â You gasp. âDo you host yoga?â
Roy looks as though heâs regretted every decision thatâs led him to this moment. âWe alternate weekly,â he mutters.Â
âShut up. Tell me you guys hang out after. Like you grab drinks or do a book club or something.â
His hand goes up once more in Maeâs direction. âYeah, gonna make that two, Mae.â
You do the math in your head and gasp again. âDoes that mean you watched Jamieâs season?â
Royâs lips twitch upward. âYeah. Watched him be a proper fucking twat,â he says, then glances over at you in curiosity. âDidnât realize you got that over in the States.â
âJamieâs season was when it started getting popular there,â you reply with a shrug. âAll my friends were in love with him.â
Royâs brows shoot up. âNot you?â
A snort escapes you, and you shake your head. âUh, no. âThe islandâs top scorer, sexuallyâ wasnât exactly my speed.â Royâs smile grows at your poor impression of Jamie. âBut they were into it. They freaked out when they realized Iâd be working with him.â
âNot your speed,â Roy repeats, taking a long sip of his pint. His interest appears to be piqued. âAnd what speed is that?â
You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you try to play it off with a roll of your eyes. âYou know what my type is.â
That smile of his stretches into something more resemblant of a smirk. âItâs been eight fucking years,â he replies, feigning innocence. âTypes change.â
âI guess youâre right,â you say, fully ready to play along and be just as much of an annoying jerk as heâs being to you.âRight now, Iâm regressing to my French swimmer phase. Going pretty well, actually.â
âOh, is that right?â he asks.
âYeah,â you answer, biting back a grin. âActually been talking with Luca for the last couple of weeks. Itâs like we never left London.â
Itâs Royâs turn to roll his eyes, but itâs only half directed at you. âHe was a fucking prick,â he says.Â
âHe was not a prick,â you reply. âYou just didnât like him.â Your eyes narrow, turning to face him with that same sort of feigned innocence he had. âRemind me why you didnât like him again.â
âBecause he was a fucking prick,â he repeats. âFucking twat wouldnât even watch your games. Couldnât handle you winning something when he wasnât.â
The scoff that escapes you is loud. âI forgot about that,â you mutter. âHe was a prick, wasnât he?â
âFuck yeah, he was.â
You shake your head, raising your glass to take a small sip. âWhatever. Wasnât like I ended up spending much time with him anyway.â
Royâs lips quirk up into that same smirk, but thereâs more behind it. âNo, you didnât.â
Warmth rises to your cheeks at that, and you continue to hide in your glass. Asshole.
Luckily, Roy seems to have more to say on the topic of Luca. âHe was never your speed,â he tells you. Itâs a matter-of-fact musing. âHe wasnât in your fucking race.â
You spare a glance in his direction. âNo?â
âAbsolutely fucking not,â he says as if he canât believe you even had to ask. âYou were riding light years ahead of him. He couldnât keep up.â With a soft scoff, he adds, âNot many people can.â
That warm feeling returns and it spreads down your neck. You suddenly feel yourself getting shy. âMaybe I should slow down,â you attempt to joke.
Royâs shaking his head before you can even finish your sentence. âDonât you fucking dare.â
You donât mean to do it. Itâs completely unconscious, almost like an instinct. But you ignore the way that that makes your entire body go ablaze and look at him. You hold his gaze for a long while, longer than you have since you started at Richmond. And he stares right back at you.Â
Itâs hauntingly familiar and paradoxically comfortable. You donât know if he meant to say that or if it just slipped out in the moment, but thereâs something about the way heâs looking at you. Even if he didnât mean to let something like that out with that sort of sentiment, heâs owning it. It warms your heart and makes your stomach flip upside down.
Itâs so fucking confusing. But then again, this entire thing has been confusing. You had been sitting here for just about a half an hour, and half of those minutes were spent going back and forth in the way that you used to. You didnât think itâd be so easy to fall back into that with him. To talk to him like that again. To banter with him. Even to fucking laugh with him.
That realization makes you feel as though youâve been dunked in a pool of cold water and allows a weird, foreign feeling to settle in your chest. Youâre angry at yourself and at him for slipping back into it so effortlessly. You hate how easy it is and always has been with him. But you also miss it. Youâve missed this. You missed him.
Itâs an absolutely horrendous, life-altering realization and it slants your world sideways. You despise yourself for it. Itâs something you force deep down into yourself, hoping it dies a quick and painless death, but you know that it wonât be the case. Not if heâs still around. And not if you two continue like this.
Luckily, for both of you, the television at the pub chirps out a loud noise as a penalty is called for the game on-screen. You two snap out of it, promptly tuning in to distract yourselves from whatever the fuck that was. Old habits were easy to fall into. They were dangerous. You couldnât wait to pretend like that never happened.
However, something still lingers. Something sits upon your tongue as you watch the scene unfold on-screen, as the medical and physio team run out to help the injured Arsenal player whoâs clutching at his knee. You canât explain your motive and you donât completely understand why you feel the need to keep this conversation going, but you want to extend that same kindness to him, with something youâve been holding back for years. So you do.
âI almost called you,â you tell him. He glances over at you, brows raised in question. âThe game you got hurt. I was watching. And I sat on my couch for two hours trying to figure out if I should call you.â
Roy blinks, absorbing this, then turns away. He swallows thickly before bringing his glass to his lips. âGlad you didnât.â
It stings. Like, really stings. You nod, trying not to show just how much, but your voice still comes out dejected. âOh,â you say. âRight.â
Roy sighs at your tone. âNo, itââ He wipes a hand down his face and the pint in his other lands on the bartop with a thud. âIf youâd called that night, it just⊠It would have⊠complicated a lot of fucking things for me. And I might haveââ Thereâs a brief moment where he meets your gaze, but he quickly drops it. âI donât know what I would have done.â
âOh,â you repeat, but itâs quieter. Your focus is drawn to your glass. âRight.â
That dreaded silence returns and itâs unlike anything youâve experienced with him. What did he mean? What would he have done? What would you have complicated for him? The way he speaks gives you a pretty decent idea of how drastic his actions would have been, but you canât figure out what he means.Â
Would he have lashed out at you? Would he have wanted to see you? Would he have even picked up the phone if you had called? What did he mean?
You have millions of questions youâre too scared to ask, and you bite your tongue for fear of actually speaking them aloud. Roy doesnât seem to like this and really doesnât seem to like your answer, or lack there of (but truly, what exactly were you supposed to say to something like that?). Youâre not sure if he thinks he upset you or made you uncomfortable, but when he speaks again, heâs taken on a bit of a softer tone.
âJust so weâre clear,â he begins. âIâm⊠happy youâre here.â He says it slowly, as if heâs testing out each word. âIâm happy you joined Richmond despite⊠well, fucking everything.â
You swallow hard, awkwardly shrugging. âI didnât have a lot of other options.â
He gives you a look that tells you to stop being a smartass. You know it well.
âIâm happy youâre here,â he repeats, more sure this time. âIâm happy to see you again. But itâŠâ Roy trails off, eyes locked on the bar top. âItâs fucking⊠strange. Itâs strange to be here with you after I swore you off for the rest of my life.â
âYeah,â you agree. âIt is.â  Â
âAnd Iâ Iâm trying to be better at this,â he continues, still refusing to look at you. âTalk like this with someone. Be fucking open, or whatever. So, this is me being open.â
It takes him a minute to collect his thoughts, and you give it to him.Â
He scratches at the inside of his wrist. âAll of my past⊠relationships wereâŠâ He trails off like he canât find the right word.
âFleeting?â you try, earning a glare in response. âTransactional?â
That look in his eye doesnât falter. âIâm trying to be open here, for fuckâs sake,â he grits, though the slight whine in his voice makes you chuckle. However, before you can apologize, he sighs. âBut, for lack of a better fucking word, yeah. That. Nobody stuck around and there was no⊠love lost or-- fucking whatever. And if it did end poorly, I didnât have to worry about seeing them. I could ignore them or get a fucking drink thrown in my face and itâd be⊠done. Itâd be over.â Roy shakes his head and takes a long sip of his beer. âI didnât have to be around them, I didnât have to see them, and I certainly didnât have to fucking work with them.â
Thereâs a beat between you. Itâs brief, but it gives you time to absorb this, and for him to take a breath. He shuts his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again, heâs looking at you. Itâs a gaze thatâs warmer than before, but thereâs still that distress there. The confusion. Sadness.
He continues, âI really thought I was never going to see you again. And I had, I donât know, fucking resigned myself to that idea? Iâd come to terms with it. So, being here?â Thatâs when he decides to meet your eyes. âI donât know what the fuck to do. I donât know how to act around you. Not when Iâm still so⊠fucking angry with you. Not when youâre so angry with me. Iâve never done anything like thisââ He motions between you two. ââand I donât know how the fuck to do it.âÂ
Itâs a lot to take in, but you do so while nodding slowly. He doesnât know how to do this? He doesnât know how to act around you? This is confusing for him?Â
It wasnât a contest, but youâd argue that, given everything, you were in the worse position. You were joining his team, a team heâd clearly nested into and made a life for himself in. You had been forced to ignore everything heâd done to you for the sake of your career because you truly had nowhere else to go. How the hell did he think that you were or would be doing any better than he was? Did he really think you were dealing with this in a healthier, more stable way?
After youâve collected your thoughts, you ask, âYou think that this is easy for me? Iâm fucking drowning here, Roy.â Your voice is gentle, and almost immediately, you can see the tension in his body resolve into something more open. âI think weâre the first people ever on earth to be put in this fucked situation. Itâs like some sick psychology experiment.âÂ
âSad fucking excuses for lab rats we are,â he mutters. Thereâs a hint of a smile on his lips. âWhat does it say about us that we agreed to it?â
âIt says weâre masochists, Kent,â you say, and that smile grows as he shakes his head. You motion to the window where Beard and Ted still stand, taking turns with the binoculars every so often to check in on the two of you. âWho else would just go along with shit like this?â
Roy turns to the window. âFuck. I forgot they were out there,â he mutters in disbelief.
You salute to Beard and his binoculars and he pulls them down to nod at you in response. âWeâre sick, sick people whoâd rather be uncomfortable than give this sport up.â
Roy huffs a laugh. âCheers to that.âÂ
He tilts his pint to yours and it feels like a peace offering. Itâs like youâre finally on the same page about something for once. When you clink your glass against his and sip with him, it ratifies that agreement. You bite back a smile.
âBut thereâs some truth in that, I guess,â you continue. Royâs brow pinches. âI couldnât give this up. I would rather be uncomfortable with this than let go of this opportunity. Because, IâŠâ You take in a deep breath, scoffing softly as you release it. âI really thought I blew it. I thought my career was over after West Ham fired me. I didnât think anyone was going to want the girl who couldnât even last three months at an AFC club.â You can feel yourself getting choked up and you blink away the telltale burning in your eyes. âAnd then out of the blue, like a fucking miracle, Rebeccaâs at my door asking me to join Richmond. So⊠yeah, Roy. This is so fucking weird. And youâre right, Iâm still mad at you. I donât know if I can ever forgive you for what you did. And I donât expect you to ever forgive me.
âBut this⊠this job, West Ham⊠I couldnât allow my career to end like that,â you say, and your chest starts to tighten again. Fuck, was it always going to be this hard to talk about this? âYou were right when you told me I couldnât let them take what I love away from me.â Your voice is quieter when you say, âI canât allow someone to dictate my career for me. Not again.â
You see Royâs eyes close out of the corner of your own. His head bows ever so slightly and as he mutters, âYeah. That shouldnât happen again.â
Now you feel like the asshole. You know itâs deserved, but the somber, regretful note in his voice makes your perpetual guilt complex rear its head. Youâre getting emotional whiplash from the highs and lows of this conversation and you wonder how much time has really passed by. You canât tell if itâs been twenty minutes or an hour.Â
But, however long itâs been, you think itâs a miracle that youâve been able to get to this point with such little time.
âIâm notâŠâ The words get caught in your throat and then escape like a sigh. â...ready to talk about what happened yet. I donât know when Iâll be able to, but itâs certainly not now. I⊠Itâs too hard to, I donât know, look at you and talk about that.â You look wearily over in his direction. âAnd I donât thinkâ I canât be your friend,â you tell him softly, watching as he bows his head. âOr be whatever our coworkers want us to be. Iâm not⊠I donât think I can do that yet. And I think you feel the same.â
Thereâs a long, pregnant silence, one that drags out and makes everything between you two feel heightened. Then, Roy nods. âYeah,â he says. âNot yet.â
You figured as such. Itâs almost reassuring to know that youâre at the same point. However, after this conversation, after sitting here with him, forgetting about everything for just a moment to laugh and joke around with him for the first time in years, youâre comfortable enough to say your next words.
With a deep breath, you tell him, âBut, whatever comes before friends. Whatever that is, Iâm willing to give it a shot.â
Royâs eyes meet yours. He lets that statement sit with him, absorbing it, then stares at you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. Itâs as if he wasnât expecting you to say that and canât believe that you did.Â
Youâre not sure if itâs a good or a bad thing until he clears his throat and says, âYou are?â
Itâs something soft and sincere, asked with an uncharacteristic hesitance. âYes,â you say. âAre you?â
Youâre sure youâre imagining it, but you swore you could have seen the beginnings of a smile twisting at his lips. âYeah,â he replies. âIâd really fucking like that.â
Unconsciously, you feel yourself copying the smile youâre positive was an illusion. âGood,â you say gently, turning back to face the TV above the bar. âWould have been really awkward if youâd said no.â
Royâs laugh is one of surprise. âGod-fucking-forbid things were awkward between us.â
âIâm just saying,â you insist with a shrug. âI wouldnât have known what to say if youâd said no. Finish my beer in silence and just get up and go. Hand in my two weeks and head back to America.â
âLeaving two teams in under a month would have been a league record,â he notes, lips quirking as you narrow your eyes at him. âAnd donât act like you wouldnât have stayed just to spite me.â
âYouâre right,â you agree almost immediately. âIâm much more vindictive than that.â
Itâs then that Roy grins at you, and the look in his eye sends you right back to 2012. âDamn fucking right you are.â
You toe the line between hatred and acceptance as a familiar warmth spreads across your chest and makes a home there.
This, you know, will be impossible to shake.
LONDON OLYMPICS, EARLY AUGUST, 2012.
so sorry to see you boys lose, says the text you send to Roy after their penalty-kicks loss against South Korea. devastating way to go out. not sure if this is a bad time, but i do believe there was a standing deal that whoever lasted longer in the tournament got whatever they wanted from the other?
Itâs a rather brutal text, especially after a loss like that, but you donât care. He was so sure that your team was going to be knocked out before he was. It felt good to be better than him at something for once.
Youâre sitting in your Olympic dorm room, perfectly happy to be alone for the night. After your win against New Zealand last night, youâd spent the night celebrating (or what constituted for celebrating in the Village, which was just staying up with your girls and watching bad British made-for-TV movies) and had not had a minute to yourself since. You were unfortunately a person who needed their alone time and having a career as time-consuming as soccer made it virtually impossible to not have people around you at all times.
Mel was out for the night, having gone upstairs to find Paige (the UK womenâs team had lost in a gnarly game against Canada last night), taking advantage of the circumstances to âcomfortâ her. Or, whatever Mel constituted as comfort.
(âShe just so sad,â Mel had said, lacing up her shoes. âI told her Iâd come up and cheer her up.â
âAnd how exactly are you doing that?â you asked skeptically from your bed. âYou have horrendous bedside manner.â
âIâm going to figure out a way. I hate seeing her sad,â Mel said innocently. âDo you think restaurants deliver here? Maybe I can get her something to eat.â
You scoffed. âYeah, sheâs gonna be eating something, alrightââ
Youâre cut off by a memory foam slide slipper being chucked straight at your head.)
There was no way Paige didnât see through her or what she was doing. However, it helped that everyone could see that she was totally into Mel, and you were thankful that your best friendâs mega crush wasnât unrequited. Extremely thankful. Mel did not take rejection well.
Speaking of rejection, you think, as you feel your phone vibrate on your chest. The text from Roy stares at you from your phone screen and you can practically hear his words as you read them.
That was the deal if one of us won the tournament, he tells you. Youâve still got two games to go, Yank.
Itâs the type of response you expected, but youâre unsure of the validity of his claim. i recall that deal differently.
His reply is lightning quick. Of course, you do. Your memoryâs as shit as your jokes.
someoneâs sounding bitter, you answer. i can hear you pouting all the way from chelsea.Â
You donât get a response for a moment, and for a minute, thereâs a small part of you that thinks you actually may have pissed him off. Thereâs no way that heâd get upset about something like that, would he? You know how much he cares about football, but the Games are mostly just⊠fun. For the menâs side, at least. It means leagues more to the women.
However, before you can get too in your head about it, your phone starts ringing in your hand, Royâs name popping up on your screen. You press your lips together to keep yourself from smiling too hard.
âHello?â you say, the humor in your voice evident.
âI donât fucking pout,â is his greeting, which earns him a soft chuckle.
âThe fact that youâre calling me to whine isnât making for a compelling argument,â you reply.Â
âYou know,â he begins, and the sudden accusatory inflection in his voice has you pushing your lips together again, âyouâre being really fucking mean to someone whoâs got the power to run you until you pass out tomorrow.â
You roll your eyes. âOh, Iâm terrified. Tell me, are you going to be breathing down my neck now that youâve got nothing to do?â
âThin fucking ice, Fourteen,â he warns, but you swear you can hear his smile. âOne more fucking word and Iâll replay footwork day.â
That has your mouth shutting almost immediately. âOkay, now youâre actually scaring me.â
Itâs then that Roy laughs, and the sound sends a rush through you. Itâs such a rare occurrence that every time you hear it, it feels like an accomplishment.Â
âIâm sorry you lost,â you finally say. âThat was a tough game to watch.â
âTough fucking game to play,â he replies through a sigh. âWe shouldnât have let it get to that point.â
You tilt your head back against the pillows stacked up behind you, attempting to get comfortable on your horribly uncomfortable, tiny bed. âIf it makes you feel any better, I thought you played well.â
Thereâs an uneven beat of quiet and the line crackles. âYeah?â he asks. His voice is calmer and slightly warmer. Youâre not expecting it.Â
âYeah,â you say. âYou had a couple of good shifts in the second half. That last pass you sent up the field would have been an insane assist if Lowell didnât miss.â
You hear him sigh. âThat wasnât Lowellâs fault. That sweeper was a problem for all of us.â
âDidnât say it was his fault. We all miss,â you state. âIâm just saying if it had worked out. That would have been crazy.â
âIt would have been,â he finally agrees, which you know is the closest youâre going to get to him complimenting himself. âYou play Monday, right?â
âYup. Canada. Iâm supposed to be in charge of taking care of Caroline Singer which should be, yâknow, a joy.â
Roy snorts. âSheâll start swinging at you before the half.â
âThatâs the goal. Iâve been told to piss her off as much as I can.â Before he has the chance to make the layup joke youâve just handed him, you beat him to it. âWhich shouldnât be too hard.â
âIâve seen her play,â he says. âShe doesnât do well when sheâs flustered. Youâve got a talent for getting in peopleâs heads. We can work more on that tomorrow.â
You grin. âSo, no footwork?â
His voice is a low growl with a lilt of a chuckle. âDonât push it.â
Thereâs a moment that passes between you two where you know youâre both smiling, sitting on the phone in your respective make-shift Olympic homes (one, much nicer than the other, youâre sure), knowing that this conversation is probably over for the night, but finding that you donât want to hang up. Itâs an odd, giddy sort of feeling, one you havenât felt in years. You never expected to feel it again here, of all places, with fucking Roy Kent, of all people.
You donât know exactly what possesses you to ask, but the question floats out of your mouth before you can stop it. âAre you really going to stay in London to train me until weâre out of the tournament?â
It was something heâd implied during your practices and once joked about, but heâd said it enough to make you think he was serious. When youâd once questioned him about it, heâd said something along the lines of making sure he saw through his investment or wanted to see your deal through. Heâd called himself a man of his word, which you also had questioned, but again, it felt like he was incredibly serious about this.Â
His answer catches you off-guard, but you suppose you shouldnât have expected anything less.. âI thought you were winning the fucking thing.â
An abrupt laugh leaves your lips. âRoy.â
He sighs again and then replies with something more in-line with what heâd said previously. âI made a deal with you. Weâre seeing this fucking thing through.â Thereâs a noise on his line that sounds as though heâs shifting. âAnd besides, youâve got what? Two games left if you make it to the Gold round?â
âWhen we make it,â you correct.
Youâre nearly positive that he rolls his eyes. But, he says, âIâm sticking around.â
The sentiment of it all fills you with a warmth that travels down your body. Youâre still not sure what this is. Youâre not sure why heâs doing this. You donât completely understand why he seems to like you, why heâs sticking around to train you, or why he chose to train you in the first place. Everything about this is so out of left field and nothing about it makes sense. You couldnât have predicted this if youâd tried.
Thereâs nothing about this situation that you completely understand, but you know one thing: youâre starting to become grateful it did.
You donât question him. You donât ask the things that are swirling around in your head, and you donât verbalize anything youâve started to feel the last couple of days. Instead, you just say, âWell. I suppose if you insist.â
He makes a low sound, something that you may think is a laugh of disbelief. Heâs quiet for a second as if heâs going to say more, but he clears his throat instead. âIâll let you get to bed.â
Thereâs a brief moment where disappointment swells in your chest, but you quickly shake it off with a silent scolding. âYeah,â you agree. âProbably a good idea to be asleep when Mel gets back.â
âBack?â Roy questions. âWhereâs Rivera?â
âConsoling Paige,â you say, air quotes implied. Roy huffs. âSheâs consistent if nothing else.â
âSheâs fucking relentless is what she is. Iâve never seen someone pine so hard for someone who clearly fucking likes them.â
You shrug, but then realize he canât see that. âMelâs not the make-a-move type. Sheâs more of a let-me-stare-at-you-and-telepathically-tell-you-Iâm-in-love-with-you type. Which I get. But itâs still frustrating.â
Thereâs a beat between you, one that has you raising a brow. âYou're not the first-move type, huh?â
Blood rushes to your ears and it spreads down your neck. His tone is leading, and it sets off every siren in your brain. âNo,â you get out, and thankfully itâs more casual than you thought itâd be. âNever been my thing.â
âHuh,â Roy muses. âGood to know.â
Your stomach churns in anxious anticipation, once again not completely sure what he means by that. Youâve got an idea, but Jesus, he loves to be vague. You would have never pegged him to be coy.
Before you can respond, heâs speaking again, and you can hear the smile in his voice. âGoodnight, Fourteen. Iâll see you tomorrow.â
He then hangs up on you, leaving you stunned with your phone in your hand, mouth slightly ajar, and the best kind of nerves coursing through your body.Â
You canât help but laugh at it all.
PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)
You awake to your phone ringing on your bedside table next to you. Itâs a call thatâs earlier than your alarm, one that has you throwing your arm to the table, slapping your hand around blindly to find it.Â
Once itâs in your possession, you crack your eyes open to see Melâs name on the screen. Your interest is piqued enough to answer. âHello?â
Your greeting comes out as more of a groan, but you think Mel gets the message. Either that, or she doesnât care. Because she leads with, âYou want to tell me why Iâm getting Twitter updates about you and The Dark Lord hanging out at a bar like itâs 2012?â
You open your eyes, squinting at the sun thatâs peaking through your window. âRoy and I are relevant enough to be getting Twitter updates?â
âAfter that press conference you gave? Uh, yeah. Youâre a bit of a celebrity to the football side of Twitter,â Mel says, sounding only slightly incredulous that thatâs what you choose to respond with. âYouâre relevant enough to have people spamming this picture someone took of you two last night.â
You hum. âHow do I look?â
Mel scoffs. âYou look incredible. The Dark One looks scary.â
âScary how?â
âWell, heâs smiling for one, which is always a jumpscare,â she says. âAnd youâre smiling back at him which is even more horrifying. So, you know, just a scary photo all around.â
A huff of a laugh escapes you, and you put your arm over your eyes. âYou wouldnât believe why we were there if I told you.â
âIt better be some fucking Twilight Zone, cosmic occurrence, because thatâs the only explanation Iâll accept as to why youâre laughing with each other.â
âWill you take Coaches Ted Lasso and Beard Parent-Trapping and holding Roy and I hostage until we talked out our issues?â you offer.
Youâre met with approximately thirty seconds of silence before Mel responds. You can picture the perplexed look on her face as she asks, âDo they understand the depth of your issues? And that trapping you at a bar without a neutral third party and law enforcement present is an outlandish and potentially fatal situation?âÂ
âWe were actually very civil,â you reply casually. âFound out he does yoga now. Watches Love Conquers All.â
âHmm,â Mel hums. âDoes he do that before or after his day job of kicking puppies and burning down orphanages?â
The laugh that escapes you is involuntary. âMel,â you whine.
âIâm glad youâre laughing. Because Iâm certainly not,â she says, and the tone of her voice tells you youâre about to receive the scolding she clearly called to give you. âBecause it sounds like youâre back on the Kent Train and Iâm going to have to pick you up when he inevitably fucks you over again.â
âIâm not âback on the Kent Trainâ or whatever the hell you just said,â you mutter, turning to lay on your pillow. âYou knew that working at Richmond meant us working together. I knew that. Our coaching staff is insane, but they have a point. We canât work well together if weâre fighting and not getting along.â
Mel scoffs. âYou can work with people you donât like. Itâs called being professional. The only thing you have to be on the same page about is the team.â
âRichmond isnât like that,â you tell her. âItâs unlike anywhere Iâve ever played or worked. These people are a family. And not in like, a corporate âweâre a family hereâ way. They all really care about each other and spend Christmas together and do karaoke together. Itâs actually really sweet.â
âAnd what? Youâre scared theyâre not going to accept you if you donât join the cult and sing kumbaya?â
You shut your eyes in frustration at her words. âNo, Melanie,â you say, and the edge to your voice has her scoffing again. âItâs not about joining the cult. Itâs about the fact that I refuse to lose another job. Especially not this job. I canât imagine any other club being as warm and accommodating as theyâve been. And frankly, no other club wanted me after the shit show that was West Ham.â Melâs gone quiet and you exhale in resignation. âSo, yeah. If that means I have to be friendly with Roy and sing their song, then fucking⊠hand me the guitar, I guess.â
Once again, Melâs quiet. You think sheâs hung up on you until you remove your phone from your ear and see the call timeâs still running. It takes a moment, but she finally, finally releases a long and heavy sigh that lets you know sheâs back on your side. âI just donât want to see him hurt you again.â
âHe wonât,â you say without hesitation. âI wonât allow him to. Iâm neverâŠâ You shake your head. âIâm never going back to that. Weâre colleagues. Nothing more, nothing less.â
You can hear her shake her head against her phone. âI really wish I believed that.â
âI mean it,â you insist. âYou have full permission to kick my ass if anything else happens.â
Finally, you get something like a laugh from the other line. âGleefully holding you to that.â
âI know you are.â
âHavenât kicked your ass since 2015,â Mel says, sounding almost rueful. âI miss it. Youâve ignited a fire in me and itâs burning.â
âDoes Paige know about your thirst for violence?â you ask. âI canât imagine she wants Oliver exposed to that.â
Mel scoffs. âNot only does she know but he knows. I passed it on to the little fucker,â she mutters. You note the hint of pride in her voice. âSpeaking of Roy, Oliverâs finally old enough for the baby leagues and he pulled a very Kent versus Man City move in his first game. Scuffed up the poor kidâs leg and everything.â
You snicker and roll on your back, eyes cast up to the ceiling. âI cannot possibly imagine my sweet baby boy doing anything of the sort. It must have been someone else,â you tell her. Then, you chuckle again. âRoy and I actually just talked about that game. He still refuses to admit that he did anything wrong.â
âGlad to see nothingâs changed on that end.â
You suppress a smile, but your voice comes out as a warning. âMelâŠâ
âHey, you can be nice to him all you want,â she replies. âNever said anything about me having to.â
Fair enough. You know that this is the best your going to get from her, so you let it slide. âYouâre still coming to the game this week, right?â
âRecent events have given me second thoughtsââ Her response is cut short by your groaning, and you hear her sigh on the other end. âOf course, Iâll be there. Wouldnât miss your first home game for the world. Or any home game for that matter,â she says. âI do draw the line at away games, though. Donât love you enough to drive that much.â
âUnderstandable. And weâre still on for dinner after?â
âIf youâre paying. That AFC coaching salary better join us at the table.â
You roll your eyes. âGood to know where your priorities lie.â
âIâm joking,â she says, but the way that the volume of her voice increases tells you that sheâs not saying that for you, but for her wife, who must be in the room. When she speaks again, itâs much lower. âIâm not joking.â
âOh, I know,â you respond. âTell Paige I say hi.â
âIâll do it when itâs less suspicious.â
You grin, shaking your head. âIâll see you on Saturday, asshole.â
âSee you then,â she says. However, before you can hang up, you hear her voice calling your name once more. When you put your phone back up to your ear, she says, âPlease. Please be careful. I mean it.â
Her soft worry holds a certain weight that makes your eyes screw shut. âI will. I promise.â
âOkay,â Mel replies, a little more certain. âI love you, kid.â
âLove you too,â you say. âSee you Saturday.â
And with that, you hang up on your best friend, letting your phone fall onto your chest with a strikingly heavy thump, letting each and every one of her words sit with you as you pretend that the new pain in your chest doesnât exist.
The next morning, Ted Lasso gets to the Richmond Coaching Offices early.Â
Heâs even earlier than you, something of which has proven to be a difficult feat, as youâre typically stationed at your desk reviewing film before anyone else has even considered coffee or put on a shin guard.
But today, heâs done it. He has no idea when youâre going to be in, but to be on the safe side, he figures he should be quick. The wrapped book is carefully grasped in his hand, making sure not to fold or crease the bow he tied around it as he opens the door to your and Royâs office.
Itâs only when the book is placed on your desk that he realizes he forgot to write the message heâd planned on the outside of the wrapping paper. His face scrunches up as he scans your desk for a pen or some other writing utensil, but comes up empty.Â
He then turns to Royâs desk, hoping to find something there. Sliding over, he gives the tabletop a once over, frowning as he realizes Royâs got nothing too. Itâs then that Ted remembers something.
Roy kept pens and dry-erase markers in his top drawer. Ted only knows this because three days ago, he saw Roy pull one out to chuck at Jamie as he barged into your shared office unannounced. He figures he can let that one slide if Roy forgives him for going into his desk.
Ted pulls the drawer out to find Royâs neatly organized stash of utensils, grinning as he picks up a pen. However, before he can shut the drawer, something catches his eye.
Thereâs a frame shoved into the back, showcasing a photo Ted had seen from afar on Royâs desk a million times but had never looked at close up. Itâs of Roy, whoâs wearing the closest thing to a smile that Tedâs seen on him, his sister, and⊠you.
Youâre positioned in the middle, grinning from ear to ear with your arms tight around both Roy's and his sisterâs shoulders. Itâs an older picture, one taken at the high-top table of a bar. Both you and Roy are younger, and while Ted canât figure out the exact time period of which this was taken, something else catches his eye.
Itâs something small, probably something that would seem insignificant if he didnât know you two. Itâs your hands. While your arms are draped around Roy and his sister, his hand is covering yours.
Itâs something that could be considered friendly, but Ted gets the feeling itâs not. Itâs only then that Ted feels as though heâs looking at something he shouldnât and closes the drawer.
With the pen he was looking for in hand, he returns to the book heâs left for you and scribbles down the message he wanted.
Noâ I must keep my own style and go on in my own way. âJane Austen.
He only hopes Persuasion isnât too on the nose for your situation as he slips out your office door and into his own.
STOP THIS IS PURE ART THEY WAY YOUVE WROTE ABOUT HOW CONFLICTED THEY ARE AND HOW OVERWHELMED THEY ARE IS SO BEAUTIFUL OMGGGGG IM ACTUALLY CRYING THIS IS SO GOOD XXXX