la bella luna🌑

Pushing into the ED, you shoot a nod towards Abbot. He’s always been nice to you - patient without being passive, and informative without being condescending. He has this odd way of keeping you calm during traumas - even when he’s watching you cut a hole into someone’s throat, you don’t feel like he’s judging you, or doing anything out with your best interests.

You wish you could say the same for Robby.

It’s like he’s had it out for you since day one. From your very first shift, he’s seemed utterly convinced that you’re a bad fit for emergency medicine - better suited for something calmer, like psych.

Were it not for Frank, you’re pretty sure you’d have tried to get a permanent swap to nights - Abbot and Shen you could live with.

While you and Doctor Robinavitch don’t exactly see eye to eye most of the time, you’ll never be able to fault him for pairing you up with Frank on day one. You’d heard chatter from the nurses the morning you’d arrived about him - apparently, he’d dated one of the labour and delivery nurses, before ghosting her a month in. Your hopes were less than high when Robby had announced you’d be shadowing him.

Sure, Frank’s a little arrogant. But he’s also been nothing but kind to you. He walks you through procedures, voice low as he murmurs soft instructions. His proximity is more than distracting, but you’ve found it to be effective in the long run.

You want to do well. Want Frank to be proud of you. Maybe if you can make him like you, he won’t be as susceptible to Robby’s dislike. You know they must all talk about the residents. Discuss who they think will make the cut, versus those who'll crumble under the pressure.

So far, your charm offensive seems to be working. In just a few months, you’ve developed a rapport, to the point where Frank rarely works with any of the other junior residents. You've heard rumblings about favouritism from the nurses. It must be getting him into some kind of trouble.

You head for the lockers, and change out of your thermals and into your scrubs, before heading to Central for the morning brief. A few of the other doctors are milling about, and you watch Robby take Gloria across the room to talk away from you all.

He doesn’t look happy.

That doesn’t bode well for your shift today.

When Frank walks through the door, five minutes late as usual, his eyes find you immediately. He’s already in scrubs, flashing you a smile as he deposits his bag.

“Who pissed in his cornflakes?” He asks, slipping in behind you as he watches Robby’s scowl grow with every passing second he stands with Gloria.

“Pulse has a boyfriend,” A voice cuts in from over your shoulder. You turn, coming face to face with a girl, round about your age. “He came to pick her up after the night-shift, with a bouquet of roses. Robby’s been in a shitty mood since. I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet. Resident?”

“Uh, yeah,” You reply, and offer your name.

She tells you hers, ignoring the way Frank rolls his eyes. “Everyone calls me Skipper though. EMT. The Pitt’s finest.”

“No,” Frank corrects. “Abbot calls you Skip, and you’re so desperate to get into his pants that you adopted it-”

“Fuck off, Langdon-”

“Don’t you have a job to be doing?”

She sticks her tongue out, but begins to retreat anyway. “I just dropped Myrna off - told her you’d look after her today. And I’m only going so that I don’t have to deal with Robby. Hope you and your girlfriend have a fun shift!”

As soon as she’s gone, Frank is turning to speak directly into your ear. “Ignore her. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“I didn’t know Robby was into Pulse,” You comment, chancing a glance at your boss. His expression doesn’t look any happier.

Pulse is the Dana of the night shift. Quite where she got her nickname, you’re not sure, but she’s been good to you on the occasions your shifts have overlapped. On your first ever night-shift, she’d pressed a coffee into your hand right when you’d been about to crash.

You’ve felt a little indebted to her ever since.

“He’d never admit it, but I think he’s been into her for years. They were like that when I was a med student here.”

“Huh,” You murmur, falling silent as Robby finally makes his way over.

“Alright guys - busy day today,” He starts, clapping his hands together. “New Year’s is always rough for ERs - we can expect firework incidents, and more drunk and disorderly patients than we get at any point in the year. I want efficiency-”

A glance at Samira.

“-compassion-”

A glance at Trinity.

“-and assertiveness.”

His eyes land on you, and you fight the urge to shrink under his gaze. It’s no secret that you’re not Robby’s favourite resident. In fact, in a programme with thirteen residents at various levels, you’re not sure you even crack the top ten.

Frank’s definitely top three - potentially top one, now that Heather took an attending job in Philadelphia.

You can feel your cheeks starting to burn, embarrassment rising.

Everyone here knows you’re not cut out for emergency medicine. That you’re too weak for this specialty. Not a good enough advocate for your patients. You can almost hear his thought process.

Maybe family medicine is more your speed.

Then a hand claps down on your shoulder. You know before you even turn around that it’s Frank. “Don’t mind him,” He murmurs, as everyone disperses. Like clockwork, Frank falls into step beside you. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“He’s the Chief of Emergency Medicine,” You reply, unconvinced. “I think he knows his stuff.”

“Not in this case,” Frank insists. “This place needs empathy - which you have in spades. I bet if you asked every patient in here if they’d rather be treated by you or me, they’d choose you.”

“No they wouldn’t,” You roll your eyes.

“They would so. And who cares if you’re not assertive enough? You shouldn’t ever be alone in a scenario where that’s an issue. You know I’d coming running if you paged me, Page.” He finishes off with a grin, as you let out a sigh.

Page had been a recent development. After managing a whole shift without realising your pager was dead, and getting bawled out by Robby, Santos had taken to calling you the nickname. Unfortunately, it had spread like wildfire.

You wish Frank wouldn’t call you it. Wouldn’t see you like a failure.

Your brow furrows a little, and he frowns. “Hey, come on - I was just kidding. But the sentiment still stands. You call, I come. Okay? What are you on today?”

“Triage. You?”

“Unfortunately not. I’ve got Santos today.”

On a normal day, you’d defend Trinity. You do like her, even if she is the root of your nickname, and has moderately abrasive tendencies. But today has already gotten off to such a terrible start, that you can’t bring yourself to manage. “I should probably go, before Robby chews me out for being slow.”

7AM

“So,” You start, glancing nervously at Whitaker. “You ready to get started?”

Where you’d been hoping for some assurance from Dennis, you’re met with a stressed and nervous energy, maybe even worse than your own. “Uh, sure?”

“Great!” You force a smile, and lead him out to the waiting room. Almost immediately, you’re ambushed by a crowd. “Uh, Whitaker, could you take a Ms. Precious Abebe to room three? She just needs sutured - can I leave you to that?”

He nods, and stands at your back.

“I’ve been here for five hours-”

“There’s green stuff coming out of this wound-”

“I was told I’d be next, but someone else got to go-”

“Sorry,” You interject, trying to move past to the middle of the room. “We’ll be with you as soon as possible. We’re understaffed today, that’s why things are a little backed up.”

A lie. But people tend to be more understanding if they think that this is out of the norm. That the Pitt isn’t backed up twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

You check your iPad, glancing at the next name on the list. “Beth Garcia?”

A lady stands up across the room, away from the group that immediately approached you both. At first glance, there’s nothing obviously wrong. She’s maybe a little pale, but that’s about all you’d say. “Hi,” She smiles.

You introduce yourself and lead her to one of the consultation rooms, leaving Whitaker to grab Ms. Abebe. “What’s brought you in today?”

“I’ve had a really bad stomach-ache, for the past twelve-ish hours.”

You nod, sitting her up on the bed. “Do you mind if I have a feel?”

“Go ahead.”

You examine her abdomen, while asking some more questions.

Yes, it feels sharp and stabbing.

No, she hasn’t eaten anything.

There’s been some vomit, but no blood. No changes to stool or urine output.

Six out of ten pain.

“Alright, well, I’m going to take some bloods and do a quick ultrasound, just to rule out stones, okay? But then, until we get the results back, you’ll have to go back to the waiting room, I’m sorry. We don’t have the facilities for everyone to wait back here.”

Normally, this is where patients get mad, if they haven’t already. Nobody likes being seen, before being told you need to wait again. What they don’t seem to realise is that the people who get seen immediately are the ones you very much do not want to be.

But Beth just nods again, and gets to her feet. “No worries. I wrote the day off anyway.”

*****

“Jesus Christ, can you look a little happier to see me?” Santos rolls her eyes, snapping Frank out of his haze. “I know I’m not Page, but I’d still like to learn something today, if that’s alright with you.”

“You know, you could really learn a few things from her,” He replies, unimpressed at being caught staring. “Like basic human empathy, for starts.”

“I have empathy,” She retorts. “Just not for you, or the three tonnes of hair gel you use each day.”

Frank grabs an iPad, glancing at the board. “We’ll take chest pain in four.”

If Frank was cherry-picking for himself, or for you, Trinity would be the first to call it out. But today, it benefits her, so she keeps her mouth shut, and nods.

“Look at this ECG. Tell me what you see.”

Trinity frowns, glancing across the different leads. No obvious STEMI anywhere, or hyperkalaemia. No obvious heart block that she can see, though it’s hard to tell with P waves at the best of times. It’s not a very good tracing, but on the surface there’s nothing wrong. “Looks alright to me. Maybe a little tachycardic?”

“Look closer.”

Letting out a huff, she examines it again, before sighing. “I don’t see anything-”

“Great. Now your patient is dead. It’s bundle branch block. Left or right?”

“Bundle branch block doesn’t kill people, dumbass. Not like that.” With a guide, Santos refocuses on the ECG, frowning as she spots the telltale M shape on the V1 lead. “Right.”

“Good. And just because it won’t kill them particularly acutely, doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous. Especially if you look at this guy’s past medical. But I want you to do the history, and discharge unless there’s anything particularly worrying.”

With that, he’s gone.

Probably to try and find you. God, he’s such an annoyance.

So much for the chest pain being a good case.

8AM

When you were eleven, you were diagnosed with leukaemia for the first time. It had made for a brutal eighteen months, spent almost entirely in hospitals. You knew what the whisperings were. Neither the doctors, nor your parents, expected you to survive.

But somehow, things had started to look up, and you were in remission for your thirteenth birthday.

Everybody had told you how strong you were, how you could get through anything if you got through this. And for a while, you believed them. Believed that this was as bad as you were ever going to go through in your life.

Until your first year of undergrad when the fevers came back, the cancer following in its wake.

You’d been certain you weren’t going to survive that one.

Except, against every single odd, you pulled through, and are still here almost a decade later. Not without consequences, though. Each day brings a new fear of relapse, at the idea that you’ll never fully be out of the woods. Sure, AML is normally more common in children. But you’d been well out of the risk zone for relapse when you’d fallen ill again, so you figure the universe is just out to get you.

Where your college experience was supposed to be your first taste of freedom, of dating and living life, you’d ended up living in a house across town from campus, with your parents as your caregivers.

You love your mom and dad. You do. Truly.

Moving to Pittsburgh is the only time you’ve ever had in your life to try and discover who you are. It’s not working out too well so far, granted. But you need this, either way. Even if all the guys you’ve dated are complete douchebags, and you’re not entirely sure that orgasms exist.

Someone says your name, and you snap out of your funk. Turning, you almost collide with Robby, as he repeats it. “Got a teaching case. Come on.”

He doesn’t slow down, just angles toward the workroom where the rest of the team is gathered. It’s you, Mel and Javadi. All the younger residents and students, minus Whitaker on triage, and Trinity, who should be with Frank.

God, what you’d give to swap places with her right now.

“Patient in South Four needs an LP,” Robby says, glancing around the room. “Good teaching opportunity. I need a volunteer.”

You open your mouth.

Javadi’s voice cuts in first. “I’ll do it.”

She’s already standing, chair scraping loudly against the floor, hand halfway raised. Robby hesitates, just a beat too long, then nods.

“Alright,” He nods. “Let’s go.”

You shut your mouth again. Swallow whatever it was you were about to say. Fall into step as everyone starts moving, telling yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t need to be the one who always steps forward.

The room is small, crowded with bodies and equipment and the low, nervous energy that always comes with procedures. Robby does the talking to the patient, asking you and Mel a couple of questions, while Victoria gets ready.

You can tell she’s nervous, talking through each step like she’s reassuring herself as much as anyone else. Robby stands opposite her, arms folded, supervising. You take the spot no one else claims, leaning back against the counter, hands tucked into your pockets.

You watch.

You watch her feel down the spinous processes, hesitate, adjust. Watch the way her shoulders tense when the patient flinches, the way she bites her lip in concentration. Nothing goes disastrously wrong. Nothing goes perfectly, either. It takes longer than it should, even though that’s to be expected on your first try. She asks Robby questions she should already know the answers to. He answers them, clipped, professional, and detached.

Like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Maybe Frank’s right. This is potentially the worst mood you’ve ever seen from him. Even over Pittfest. Maybe he is actually in love with Pulse, and this boyfriend news has thrown him for a loop.

You think about what you’d feel if Frank announced tomorrow that he had a girlfriend.

Probably pretty shitty.

The thought sends a shiver through you. At the image of you, and a heartbroken Michael Robinavitch, drowning your sorrows at the local dive bar, as the two most pathetic people in the Pitt.

When it’s over, Javadi exhales, smiling, flushed with relief. She thanks the patient, starts talking about how cool it was, how she’s glad she got the chance, thanking Robby profusely.

He just nods, already peeling off his gloves. “Nice work,” He says, neutral enough to be meaningless.

You’re halfway out the door when you feel his hand brush your sleeve.

“Hey,” He mumbles, as Mel and Javadi push past. “Hang back a second.”

You stop in the hallway, the door swinging shut behind you. Robby rubs at the bridge of his nose, frustration finally breaking through.

“Javadi’s a fucking MS3,” He sighs. “She shouldn’t have been doing a lumbar puncture. It should’ve been you.”

“You asked for a volunteer!” You protest.

Robby’s expression tightens, whatever patience he’d been rationing finally running out.

“And you hesitated,” He says. Flat. “You always do lately.”

“That’s not fair,” you shoot back, heat rising fast. “So that was what… a test? You’re just trying to make me look bad now?”

He doesn’t soften. Doesn’t give you the out. “I watched you open your mouth and then stop. You let a medical student jump in front of you.”

“She volunteered,” You say. “Mel and I were both going to speak, but I don’t see you criticising her.”

“You should have fought for it,” he says, voice sharp now. “That’s the problem.”

You stare at him. “The LP went fine.”

“For her,” Robby says. “Because I was standing there ready to bail her out. Because the patient got lucky.” He exhales, irritated, and drops his voice. “You know better than that.”

Your jaw tightens. “So what do you want from me?”

“I want you to stop acting like you’re invisible,” He snaps. “You’re a resident. A good one. And you keep shrinking yourself like you don’t belong here.”

don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry

“Maybe I just don’t feel like fighting for every procedure,” You say quietly. “I thought fighting every step of the way to get here would be enough.”

“That’s not how this works,” Robby says. “You don’t get to coast because you’re tired. Everyone’s tired. You want to do well? Then step up. Because right now, you’re making my job harder.”

The words sting, and the tears threaten to prick at your periphery. You look away, down the hallway, anywhere but at him.

“I didn’t realize I was underperforming,” You grit out.

“If you were,” He replies, voice softening just slightly, “this conversation would be different.”

You get the sense that’s supposed to be some kind of praise. The smallest bone, thrown to make you feel a little better. Stop you from throwing yourself off the roof.

You nod once. Short. Controlled. “Got it.”

Robby watches you for a beat, like he’s deciding whether to say something else. Whatever he considers, he lets it go. “Just… be better about it,” he says. “I know you can be.”

You don’t trust your voice, so you don’t use it.

“I need to get back to triage,” You finally mumble, stepping away.

He doesn’t stop you.

You walk down the hall faster than necessary, pulling the list of your jobs from your pocket like it’s an excuse. Bloods to be drawn, X-rays to be checked, prescriptions to be written. Concrete things you can do right.

Patients don’t ask why you hesitate. They don’t care who speaks up first. They just want you to show up, do the work, move on.

That, at least, you can manage.

9AM

It takes half an hour for your path to cross with Frank’s again. As if sensing your discomfort at your current patient, a drunk man in his seventies, Frank starts to float across the Pitt.

Pretending he’s not paying the utmost attention to the way your back stiffens with each passing exchange.

“Need any help, Doctor?” He finally interjects, eyes darting between you both.

“We’re just fine, actually. She’s takin’ real good care of me,” The patient, Darren, grins, eyes darkening just a little at the intrusion.

You shoot Frank a look over his shoulder, one that you hope screams help me. Much to your immense relief, he catches on immediately.

Darren isn’t even sick. He’s in for some sutures after falling on his way home. Quite where he’s been all night to only be heading home at nine, you’re not sure, but you’re not in the mood to find out.

“Why don’t I get started on your left side? Get you out of here twice as fast.” Frank smiles down at him, but there’s a tick in his jaw that gives away his true feelings.

“No, it’s okay-”

“Don’t be silly!” Frank cuts Darren off, snapping the wristband of his gloves as he reaches for a suture kit.

A silence falls, tense and awkward as you both try and hurry through Darren’s stitches, doing your best to work quickly without compromising the quality of care too much. If he’s left with a little bit of a scar, you won’t be too worried.

“Any plans for after this?” Darren finally asks, eyes glued to yours, ignoring Frank’s presence entirely.

“Hm,” You murmur, pretending to give it serious thought. “Probably heading back out to triage to get the next patient in.”

“I meant after your shift,” He sighs, frustration seeping into his tone. “Like-”

“Page?” Frank interrupts. “You know, I’m sure I heard that Dana was looking for you.”

“Are you sure?” You arch an eyebrow, seeing right through his tactic.

“Positive,” Frank says easily, already stripping off his gloves. “Sounded urgent.”

Darren looks between the two of you, clearly clocking that something has shifted, then scoffs. “Guess I’ll see you around, Doc.” There’s an edge to it now, more wounded pride than anything.

“Take care,” You reply, already turning away. “Doctor Langdon is the best of the best.”

Fifteen minutes later, Frank appears again, right as you’re leaving an easy consultation. Sirens wail somewhere down the street. Hopefully nothing major. You’re not even four hours into your shift yet, and you’re already exhausted.

Frank leans against the railing, arms folded, looking almost… jealous? “Guy was… persistent,” he says at last, staring out across the Pitt instead of at you.

“That’s one word for it.” You glance sideways at him. “Thanks for stepping in.”

He shrugs. “Part of the job.”

Another pause. His foot taps against the ground, in a steady rhythm. “You get that a lot?”

You frown slightly. “Get what?”

He exhales through his nose, a quiet huff. “Creeps hitting on you.”

“Oh.” Understanding settles in. “Sometimes.”

Frank nods, like that confirms something he already suspected. “Didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“I had it handled,” you say gently.

“I know.” He finally looks at you then, expression unreadable. “I just-” He stops, shakes his head. “Never mind.”

You wait. He doesn’t continue.

Moment over.

After a beat, he straightens, clearing his throat. “Anyway. Dana probably does need you. Place is chaos.”

You smile faintly. “Thanks again, Frank.”

He gives you a crooked half-smile in return, slinging his stethoscope round his neck. “Anytime, Doctor.”

10AM

You hear the commotion before you see anything. On the way back from checking on Beth in the cafeteria, the noise from the waiting room bounces around the corridors, and you speed up your pace.

Inside, Whitaker is desperately trying to keep two men from attacking each other. Security is nowhere in sight. Neither is Dana.

Shit.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” You ask, voice raised considerably higher than your usual volume.

“This bastard keeps talking shit about my wife-”

“Your wife is an uneducated moron!” The other guy yells, and the two make to try and get at each other again.

“Whitaker, get Ahmad,” You urge, before putting a hand out to try and keep them apart.

“Don’t you dare touch me-”

The first man escalates to yelling, and you don’t have time to react to him cocking his arm.

It takes you a second to realise what’s happened. A sharp sting, the sound of skin-on-skin ricocheting across the waiting room, and suddenly your entire world is spinning. The impact is hard enough to send you stumbling as your head smacks into one of the pillars behind you.

You reach out for something, anything to keep you upright, but there’s nothing, and you land awkwardly on your arm on the waiting room floor.

A warmth floods your face - a mix of embarrassment and the blood trickling from split skin on your cheekbone. You sit up, while all the patients take a few steps back, clearing out in a two metre radius.

There’s a single moment of shocked silence, before a voice breaks out across the ER. Dana Evans, your lord and saviour.

“What the hell is going on out here?” Her hands land on your shoulders, firm and steady as she helps you to your feet. “You okay, kid?”

Arguments break out across the waiting room, while Ahmad appears in the doorway, Frank right behind him, eyes wide. He calls your name, and the tears that you’d been fighting so hard against suddenly prick at your periphery.

You don’t want him to see you like this. Weak-willed, and unable to break up a single fight.

Much to your dismay, Dana’s immediately passing you over to him, a small push in his direction while she continues to yell at the man.

“Are you alright?” Frank murmurs, eyes searching as he checks you over. When he checks your temple, there’s a little bit of blood at the crown. “Shit, sweetheart - you hit your head.”

“Yeah, no shit,” You manage, letting out a low groan as you scrunch your eyes shut. The fluorescent lights make you want to curl in a ball and try to pretend the last hour didn’t happen. Maybe you’ll get some trauma-induced amnesia and be able to forget the whole shift.

“Making jokes. That’s a good sign.” His arm is wrapped round your waist, and he ushers you towards one of the trauma rooms. Once inside, he shuts the door, and dims the lights. “What happened out there?”

The lowered intensity already makes you feel a little better. “Patient demanding to be seen straight away. Didn’t appreciate being told no.”

“You should’ve got me,” He replies, voice low as he inspects the cut, earning a hiss from you. “Sorry.”

“You can’t fight my battles, Frank.”

“Sure, but I could’ve fought that one.” He’s razor-focused, hands gentle. “Putting antiseptic on now, then I’ll cover it, okay?”

You nod, and steel yourself for the cool sting. “I’m sure that would go down well with Robby. Punching patients on my behalf.”

“I’d do it,” He insists.

“I don’t doubt that,” You mumble, offering a small smile. “Are you done yet?”

“I was going to send you for a CT-”

“Frank. I do not need a CT.”

“You hit your head!”

You scoff a little. “Barely!”

“It’s a CT or a full neuro exam. Take your pick.”

Rolling your eyes, you allow him to guide you backwards towards the pillows, until you’re horizontal. “Neuro exam, I suppose. I have too much work for a CT.”

“I’ll cover you-”

“Yeah, okay. And then Robby will hate me even more than he already does.”

Nonetheless, you comply, and allow him to flash a light into your eyes to check your pupillary responses, before checking every single reflex you have. It’s a more thorough exam than you were doing in med school. “Frank, come on. This is ridiculous,” You finally call, when he begins his series of special tests - saved only for the most serious of cases.

“Gotta cover all bases, sweetheart. Can’t have my best resident injured.”

“I am not your best resident,” You scoff, feeling heat rising to your cheeks.

He shoots you a look, before sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You are hands down my best resident, are you kidding?”

“There’s a difference between liking me as a person, and thinking I’m your best resident.”

“Okay, fine,” He concedes. “You’re my best resident, and my favourite person here. Happy?”

“Flirt,” You mumble, earning a deep laugh from the man beside you.

“Only for you, honey-” He’s cut off by his pager beeping, letting out a heavy sigh as he glances down. “Duty calls. Sit in here for fifteen, and only go back to work if you’re feeling a hundred percent. Anything less, and I want you to call me. Alright?”

You roll your eyes, but Frank’s expression is deadly serious. “I could still order a CT-”

“Fine, fine! I’ll call you if I feel the slightest bit dizzy.”

“Good girl.”

You have to pretend that his words don’t make you feel light-headed as he leaves the room. Frank is absolutely off-limits. He’s one of your superiors, and getting involved with him could fuck up your entire working experience.

He’s also been married before, and you can’t imagine him going for an inexperienced resident who’s spent a sizeable chunk of her life in hospital.

You’ll just have to get over this little crush.

11AM

You forget all about Beth until she’s wheeled into North Seven, looking considerably worse than the last time you saw her. Frowning, you’re immediately checking the labs. Bloods are normal, other than a mildly elevated white cell count, and there’s no fever. It’s odd. Normally people with kidney stones are doubled over in pain.

Aside from the newly developed vomiting, she still insists she’s fine.

Finally, you call Frank in. He’s the only one you feel alright with admitting uncertainty to.

You don’t realize how tense you are until he shows up and quietly leans against the counter beside you, glancing down at the charts in your hands. Beth lies in the bed looking smaller than before, curled slightly on her side. There’s an sick bowl near her hand now. She keeps apologizing for it. You keep insisting it’s the least gross thing you’ve seen all day.

You turn back to the computer, jaw tight.

“Ultrasound’s clean,” You say, more to yourself than to Frank. “No hydronephrosis. No obvious stones.”

Frank gives a small nod. “Okay. What are you thinking?”

“That should make me feel better,” You continue, scrolling. “But it doesn’t.”

You flip through the vitals again. Still afebrile. Heart rate a little fast, but nothing dramatic. Labs next, mostly reassuring, except for the white cell count.

You glance back at Beth. She’s not restless. Not writhing. Just pale and tired, and probably sick of this hospital.

“She’s vomiting,” You say slowly. “And she wasn’t yesterday.”

Frank shifts, but lets you keep going.

“And she looks worse. Not better.” You pull up the urinalysis again, your eyes slowing this time, forcing yourself not to skim.

Blood.

White cells.

Nitrites.

Your chest tightens.

“It’s not showing up,” you murmur. “Maybe the stone is tiny, but it’s infected. Which is why I didn’t see it on the ultrasound.”

Frank turns his head toward you.

“An obstructed infection isn’t always obvious,” You continue, the words coming faster now as the picture sharpens. “No obvious findings if the blockage’s intermittent or higher up. Ultrasound can miss it. We need to send her for a CT, and get urology down here now. I think she has pyelonephritis.”

Orders spill out of you. IV fluids. Broad-spectrum antibiotics. Urology, urgent. Frank follows them all diligently, a look that you can’t quite place in his eyes.

When you step into Beth’s room again, she looks at your face and immediately knows something has changed.

“Is something wrong?” she asks quietly.

“We think you might be sicker than you look,” You murmur, gentler than you feel. “There’s an infection in your kidney, and we need to take care of it properly. So we’re going to send you for a CT right away, and then get surgery down to have a chat, okay?”

She nods, trusting, even as they start preparing her for transfer. “Thank you.”

You offer her as warm a smile as you can muster. “Don’t mention it.”

As the bed is wheeled away, Frank remains beside you, gaze trained on your form.

“You figured it out,” He says.

You stare at the doorway long after it closes. “I almost let the ultrasound talk me out of it.”

“But you listened to her,” He replies. “And to yourself. That’s what a good emergency physician does.”

You exhale, slow and shaky, then straighten your shoulders, heat blossoming through your chest.

“Anyway, I should get back to Santos, before she complains to Robby and I get yelled at. Again.”

*****

You're standing at Central doing paperwork when a hand lands on your waist, steering you towards the front door.

"What are you doing?" You frown, glancing up at Langdon. "You're supposed to have Santos today."

"Santos can take it up with Robby if she's got a problem. We've got a trauma coming in, and I need my best resident."

It's a battle to pretend that his words don't make your heart soar. Sure, he's a little bit older, and he's one of your direct superiors, but a harmless daydream never hurt anyone.

The patient is wheeled in, and Frank talks you through a cricothyroidotomy - brushing off Garcia's sneering comments.

"The kid's got it. She'll be fine."

Hands trembling a little, you focus desperately on the task at hand. Thankfully, everything goes to plan, and soon the patient is stabilised, and ready to head for surgery.

Frank is right at your back, almost enveloping you. "Good girl," He murmurs, directly into your ear, and just low enough that no one else can hear. "You'll be doing these in your sleep soon."

"I doubt it," You snort. "I could only do it because you talked me through everything."

"Guess I'll just have to make sure I'm around for them all then. Professional expertise, and all that." Finally moving away, he shoots you a wink over his shoulder.

You’re desperately trying to force yourself to focus on the task at hand. Documenting the procedure, and the treatment plan for the nurses to follow. Suddenly, your phone dings, the distinct sound of your Outlook app, and you freeze.

It can’t be today.

You were told you wouldn’t hear back for at least two weeks, and you’d only interviewed on Monday.

Ever since tensions have risen with Robby, you’ve been considering your place in medicine. More specifically, your place in the Pitt. Whether you’re really cut out for this life. Doctor Abbot had advised you against it, told you that you should stay the year and make up your mind later, but you’d still found yourself applying for a couple of residencies.

Nothing crazy.

One in Boston. One in Wilmington. One in San Diego, in case you felt like the West Coast.

You’ve only interviewed for Boston so far. The others are in the New Year.

Hands trembling, you check your emails, to be met with a resounding yes.

We’d be delighted to offer you a position on our family medicine programme, starting on the first of February next calendar year…

You’re not filled with excitement. You’d rather not move city again - finding yourself starting over, when you’ve barely managed to scratch the surface of Pittsburgh. But there is a deep rooted relief, at the idea that someone wants you, and can see value in the way you practice medicine.

“What’s that?” From nowhere, Samira appears at your back, glancing over at your phone.

“Oh! Nothing,” You say, immediately scrambling to shove your phone back in your pockets. “Just a scam email.”

“Hm.” She sounds entirely unconvinced, but doesn’t comment further. “Well, Langdon wants you in South 12. As usual.”

Her eyes gleam a little with the last sentence.

“Shut up,” You grumble.

“What? I didn’t say anything!”

“You implied, and that’s enough.”

12PM

Santos storms up to Robby near the charting computers, face flushed and eyes bright with anger. “Is this a joke?” she snaps.

Robby looks up. “What’s going on?”

She doesn’t answer, instead opting to point. Down the hall, Frank is hovering by your side. Again. His hand is inches from your waist, grin crooked as he talks you through something on the board in front of you both.

“That,” Santos says. “That’s what’s going on.”

Robby watches it happen, his mouth flattening. “He left you?”

It’s a question, but really he already knows the answer. Ever since you started working here, Frank has been afflicted with a severe case of tunnel vision. He can hardly function while you’re around. It would be endearing, if this didn’t happen every year. He fixated on a girl for a while, and then broke her heart.

Granted, the heart’s are normally broken by now, but still.

Since his divorce, Frank hasn’t been so great at holding down relationships.

“Mid-presentation,” Trinity says sharply. “Again. I was talking. He didn’t even pretend to listen, just told me to follow my gut, and ditched me for her.”

Robby exhales. “How many times today?”

“Does it matter?” Santos fires back.

She folds her arms tight. “I know Page’s a second-year. I know she’s more experienced. But I’m his intern today. I keep getting stuck with all the shitty cases, because of him.”

Robby nods slowly. “Did you say something to him?”

“What, so I can look like a needy first-year?” Santos scoffs. “No. Langdon’s never listened to a single word I’ve said. He certainly won’t start today.”

“Go grab coffee or something,” Robby says gently. “I’ll deal with it.”

Santos hesitates, then nods, jaw clenched as she walks away.

Langdon comes back a minute later, flipping through labs, clearly in a hurry, until he nearly runs into Robby.

“Oh - hey,” Frank mumbles, obviously preoccupied. “If this is about the admit in Three-”

“It’s about Santos,” Robby cuts in.

Langdon stiffens. “What about her?”

“You keep leaving her,” Robby says flatly. “You’re the senior. She’s your intern. Yet every time Page needs something, you disappear.”

“That’s not fair,” Langdon says quickly. “Page’s cases are more complicated.”

“She’s a second-year,” Robby replies. “She should be able to wait. Or handle it herself. Your intern can’t. You need to be teaching. Not favouring.”

Langdon frowns. “I’m not favouring anyone.”

Robby raises an eyebrow. “Then why does Santos feel like she doesn’t exist?”

Frank opens his mouth, closes it. His eyes flick instinctively down the hall toward you, as you help an old lady into a wheelchair.

Robby catches it. “There. That. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I’m just trying to help Page,” Langdon insists. “She doesn’t always speak up. You’re hard on her.”

“And Santos does?” Robby shoots back. “She’s brand new, and impulsive. She needs structure, not abandonment. Someone to work on her communication skills with her.”

“I didn’t abandon her.”

“Call it whatever you want, but she calls it favouritism.”

He bristles, eyes narrowing. “That’s not what this is.”

“Intent doesn’t matter,” Robby says, already turning toward Central. “Impact does. And right now, your intern thinks you don’t give a damn.”

Frank follows, irritation simmering. “This is being blown way out of proportion.”

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you-” Robby starts, and Frank’s brow furrows.

“Who? Page?”

“-but you cannot ignore your teaching duties for your girlfriend.”

“She is not my-”

“Alright, not girlfriend. Friend with benefits, or whatever the kids call it these days. Hook-up, I don’t care-”

“Please don’t ever say the word hook-up again,” Frank groans.

“You’ve run enough staff members out of this hospital,” Robby warns, continuing the walk to Central to inspect the admissions list.

Frank follows, trying to fight the outrage building in his chest. “That is not true-”

“Cailey in neuro?”

“She got a fellowship at Hopkins!”

“Hm, yeah. Right after you dumped her for Madeline in geriatrics. Who you then dumped for Calista in admin. Who got shafted for Valerie in respiratory. All of whom, coincidentally, no longer work at this hospital anymore.”

“That’s not my fault!” Frank protests. “And besides, Page and I are not sleeping together.”

“It’s not not your fault. And even if you’re not fucking… it’s crystal clear you want to.”

“That’s beside the point,” He huffs, eyes darting around the Pitt to make sure you’re nowhere near. He’d rather die than let you overhear this conversation.

“Do not hurt her,” Robby says firmly, drawing Frank’s attention back to him. “She’s had a rough transition. Complicating things won’t help.”

“Yeah, no thanks to you! She thinks you hate her-”

“I don’t hate her. I just want her to do well. She has potential, but she-”

“-needs to be more assertive,” Frank parodies, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I know. She knows. It’s all you ever fucking say to her. She tried that today, and she got punched. So I’m not sure how good your advice is.”

1PM

The nurses think they’re subtle with the gossiping. They’re not, but by some miracle you don’t hear it. The comments passed between Perlah and Princess every time you and Frank interact. The knowing looks that Dana throws Robby on each staff night out, when Frank never fails to gravitate towards you as the night wears on.

They’re half-surprised that neither of you have found the betting board, shoved in one of the lounge cupboards.

Santos. $20. They’re already fucking, but it ends when he breaks her heart.

Samira. $10. They’ve been secretly dating since they met, and they’re screwing with us all.

Skipper. $30. Haven’t met Page, but she seems too good for him - they date for a while and then she leaves him for someone better looking and more successful :)

Abbot. $50. They get together before Robby gets another girlfriend

McKay. $15. He screws things up somehow

Pulse. $5. Leave them both alone!

Dana. $50. They’re pining for each other - will get together before this year is out.

*****

Your pager goes off. Paeds. Unresponsive.

You’re already moving by the time the words finish registering, feet carrying you through hallways you could navigate blind. Robby and Frank are there when you arrive, sleeves pushed up, expression solemn as Skipper reads off vitals.

They wheel her in fast, followed by an anxious father and a terrified father.

You wish you could bring them some comfort, but there’s nothing to be done. Not when their daughter’s life is on the line.

She’s small. Too small. Limbs thin to the point of fragility, chest barely moving. Someone says anorexia, says cardiac arrest, says ROSC, and your brain files it all away with brutal efficiency.

Your eyes catch on the teddy bear clutched in her hands.

As they move to transfer her, her fingers loosen. The bear slips free and hits the floor, landing on its side in the chaos. No one notices. No one can.

Something twists in your chest.

Not now.

You step in without being asked. Your voice stays even as you call out vitals, as you move where you’re needed, as your hands do exactly what they’ve been trained to do. Tubes, monitors, numbers that refuse to feel abstract when the patient looks like this. When she looks like a child who should be worrying about spelling tests, not dying.

Robby looks at you once, quick and sharp. “You with me?”

“Yes,” you say, and this time it’s true enough.

You don’t look at the bear again. You don’t think you can.

But despite everything - the compressions, the meds, the desperate coordination… she doesn’t make it.

The monitor flatlines.

Robby curses under his breath. The team goes still. An anguished cry escapes from her mother’s lips, while her father can do nothing but stare, eyes darting between the doctors, as if imploring them to do more.

There’s a sudden commotion. A bustle of people, as the parents rush out in a flurry of sobs, Robby and Kiara on their heels. Trying to find them a room for their grief, when it’s too much to be in the same room as their dead daughter.

When it’s over, when the room finally empties, when the chaos recedes, you bend and pick up the teddy bear from the floor. It’s lighter than it should be. That’s when your hands start to shake.

Just a little.

And then the tears come.

2PM

It’s like somebody’s crushing your chest, as you start to gasp for breath. The bear sits discarded in the corner, it’s eyes boring deep into your soul. You think you might die if Robby sees you like this. If anybody, other than Frank, sees it.

Short, sharp breaths aren’t enough to fill your lungs, and you can see Frank’s brow furrow as he crosses, the room. “Hey, you’re alright, I’ve got you.”

His voice is low, murmured just for you, and he pulls you in tightly. The embrace helps a little, but you can still feel tears start to trickle down your cheeks. A wave of shame washes over you.

This is what comes with the territory.

Death.

You don’t know what it is about this case that’s bothered you so much. It’s always hard… losing people, but the idea of continuing on with your shift right now makes you want to bawl.

Maybe it’s time you consider that offer from Mass General. If you switched now, you could be trained in family medicine before you hit thirty-five. A fresh start, away from a boss that hates you and a senior resident who you’re so painfully in love with that you can barely function.

Frank’s glancing outside, making sure the coast is clear, before he laces his fingers through yours, and pulls you out into the corridor, and into one of the supply closets. Face burning, you’re endlessly grateful nobody’s around to watch you fall apart like this.

“I-I-” You begin, but your voice cuts off in another sob.

“Sweetheart,” Frank mumbles, thumb catching your tears as he gives you a quick once-over. “Come on. Breathe with me. It’s okay.”

In vain, you try and follow his breathing patterns, but you’re still too worked up. “I don’t think I-I’m meant to be here,” You finally manage.

“What do you mean?”

“Here. The Pitt. Emergency medicine. I don’t know. All of the above. R-Robby was right, and I think maybe I need to think about Boston-”

“Woah,” Frank interjects. “What the hell does Boston have to do with any of this?”

Eventually, you pause, Frank’s hands settling on your forearms. His grip is tight, as if he’s scared you’re going to disappear from under him.

This had not been how you planned on breaking the news to him. Hell, you still aren’t even sure you’re going to take it. But it’s looking better and better as an option each day. “I applied for a family medicine residency at Massachusetts General - I got an offer through this morning.”

“Wha- but, why? I thought you liked the ER? Thought you were settling in?”

“Come on, Frankie. You know I’m not cut out for this-”

“Bullshit - is this about Robby this morning? Because he’s just in a shitty mood because of Pulse. Nothing else. He hasn’t been laid in a really long time, and-”

“It’s not Robby, it’s me - I mean, god, just today I’ve been hit, yelled at, and cried over a patient I’d known for fifteen minutes.”

“Yeah, and that empathy is why you’re a hell of a doctor,” Frank argues. “This ER needs you so badly, honey, and I’m so sorry you’ve been made to feel otherwise.”

When you don’t reply, he storms on.

“Don’t go to Boston. Stay here. Please.”

“I don’t know that there’s anything for me here,” You whisper, eyes shining as you meet his gaze.

“I’m here.” He’s never sounded so firm, lip between his teeth as he watches for any changes in your expression.

A silence falls between you both, chests still heaving, before he makes a sudden movement. When he kisses you, the air is sucked from your lungs for a very different reason. Hands fisting in Frank’s scrub top, it’s all you can do just to stay upright.

Initially slow, it doesn’t take long to build to tongue and teeth, your breaths coming in sharp gasps as he presses you against the counter.

“Frank,” You whimper, barely pausing as you melt into his touch. His knee slots between your thigh, anchoring you to him. His hands drop to your waist, pulling you to him as tightly as possible. He’s everywhere, and it’s somehow not enough.

It feels like a lifetime before he finally pulls back, breathing heavily as he rests his forehead against yours. “Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that for.”

“I’d actually really like to know how long you’ve wanted to do it for,” You mumble, letting out a laugh when he starts to pepper kisses across your face.

“Since about thirty minutes after you arrived on your first day.”

“Well, I think I’ve got you beat then, because I’ve wanted to do that since the second I met you.”

He kisses you once more, soft and slow as he moulds against you. “You’re incredible.”

“Shut up,” You scoff, but he’s immediately shaking his head.

“It’s true! I don’t lie.”

“You lie all the time. To Trinity, about not eating her bagel when you did, to Robby when you said you had plans and couldn’t cover, to Whitak-”

“Alright, alright, I lie a little. But not to you. Never to you.”

Someone walks past the closet, making you jump. Turns out, it’s very easy for the world to shrink down to just you and Frank. “We should uh… we should get back out there.”

“Yeah, of course,” He nods, finally taking a step back. “Should really get back to Santos.”

He makes a face, and you have to bite back a laugh. “She’s not that bad.”

“To you, maybe. She hates me.”

“And who’s fault is that?” You both make for Central, smiles dropping when you see everybody gathered around the phone.

Frank’s at your heel, a hand resting on your lower back. It appears that subtlety is not his strong suit. “What’s going on?”

Robby’s expression is grave. “A bomb just went off at the New Year’s celebration - we’re the closest, we’ll be getting most of the casualties.”

You think you might be sick.

3PM

You get fragments of details, ricocheting round the ER from various sources. At Pittsburgh’s biggest gathering for New Year’s, which usually lasts all day, there had been a bomb. Right in the middle of the city centre.

There’s no telling how many casualties you’ll have yet.

The police think it was a suicide bomber. Beyond that, there’s nothing.

Just confusion, where nobody knows exactly what’s going on.

The first wave hits like a wall.

Abbot, Shen and Ellis have all made their way in to help out. Robby’s taken triage, while Shen runs reds with you, Cassie and Samira, while Abbot floats. Frank’s on pinks with Whitaker, while the other residents spread out across the less severe cases.

You barely have time to breathe before a stretcher is pushed into your bay, Skipper’s partner rattling off details as you fall into step beside her. Early twenties. Found near the blast radius. Breathing fast, skin clammy, pupils blown wide with shock.

You take over automatically.

“Hi there,” you say, voice steady even as your heart hammers. “You’re at Pittsburgh General. I’m one of the doctors, and I need you to keep your eyes on me, okay? We’re going to treat you as best we can.”

Airway’s clear. Breathing shallow but present. Pulse fast, thready

You call for fluids. Oxygen. Get a pressure cuff on.

Eventually, she stabilises. It’s still not wonderful - she’s covered in burns that plastics are going to have a field day with, but you can send her to the surgeons to make that happen.

There’s no time to dwell on it.

The next patient is worse. Middle-aged, unresponsive, brought in with CPR already in progress. Skipper’s perched on top of his stretcher, working furiously. Jack is at her back, a hand hovering to keep her steady with each twist and turn of the gurney. Someone calls out the time down. Three minutes. Your heart constricts, but you’re already snapping gloves on, reaching for a defibrillator.

“Continue compressions,” You order, sharper than you mean to. “Let’s get pads on.”

Abbot takes over from Skipper, allowing her to get back out to the ambulance. You glance at him, in case he wants to take over, lead the case. All you get is a reassuring nod. “All yours, kid. I’m at your disposal.”

The room narrows to rhythm and timing. Pause for breaths, then compressions start again as you place each pad.

“Charging. Clear!”

You clear back, heart in your throat. The shock lands, the body jolting once before going still again.

For a split second, nothing happens.

Then… “Pulse.”

It’s faint, but it’s there.

The relief is dizzying, almost painful. You steady yourself against the bed as the room surges back into motion. Airway secured, lines placed, vitals shouted aloud. Jack claps you on the back, and you snap back to work.

This patient won’t need surgery, thankfully. Just a stay in critical care to check brain activity.

You catch Frank’s eye from across the bay; he gives you a sharp nod, pride flickering through the exhaustion while he works on an elderly man, missing a leg.

The third stretcher comes in a flurry of noise, as she crashes en route from the front door to Central.

CPR is started, with you on compressions this time.

But this feels different to the last. Something low in your gut tells you that this woman isn’t surviving.

You spend ten minutes on CPR. Longer than Robby would have liked, you’re aware. But he’s still outside directing patients, and you can’t quite bring yourself to stop.

Time of death is called, and the words sit heavy in the air. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay upright, to stay professional as the team disperses. There’s a name on the chart. Someone who came here to celebrate and didn’t get to leave.

Someone who doesn’t get to see the new year.

You step back, hands curling into fists at your sides.

Frank appears without a word. He doesn’t touch you, not here, but he doesn’t leave either. It’s fleeting. You both have endless patients to get to. But it’s grounding. “You okay?” He asks quietly.

You nod. Then shake your head. Then nod again. “There’s more coming,” You say, voice tight.

“I know,” he replies. “You’re doing great.”

You draw in a breath, square your shoulders, and turn back toward the noise.

Two saved. One lost.

4PM

The patient comes in already shouting.

Mid-thirties, male, reeking of alcohol and stinking of marijuana. He’s bleeding, a head wound and maybe a forearm, but it’s the way his eyes track the room that sets you on edge.

Fight-or-flight tipped violently toward fight.

Somehow he lands in your bay, Skipper throwing you a guilty look as she drops him off. "Sorry. I'd give him to Frank, but he's elbow deep in some guy's guts right now. Told him to get his ass over to you as soon as he was done though."

"Don't worry about it," You reply, smile tight, as you turn to the patient.

“Sir, I need you to stay on the stretcher,” You say, calm and even, hands raised just enough to be non-threatening. “We’re here to help you.”

“I don’t need help,” He snaps, trying to sit up. “I need you to get your hands off me.”

“I haven’t touched you,” You reply gently, already signaling for Ahmad with a glance. Except, the ER is so full of noise that nobody's paying any attention.

He doesn’t like that.

He swings his legs off the bed, movements sloppy but forceful.

Blood drips onto the floor, dark and slick under the harsh lights. The smell of iron hangs in the air, mixing with the weed. It's somehow worse than the burning flesh smell.

“Sir-” You start.

He shoves you.

It’s sudden enough that you don’t have time to brace. Your heel slides in the pool of blood, traction lost, and for a split second all you can see is the floor rushing up to meet you.

A hand clamps around your waist.

Strong. Steady.

Frank.

He yanks you back against him, arm locked tight around your middle as you regain your footing. Your back hits his chest, solid and real, and you gasp.

“That’s enough,” Frank says, voice low. “You do not touch her.” She is trying to help you."

Ahmad rushes in after that, hands on the patient as he makes another swing at you both. He keeps yelling, but he’s already being moved, already no longer your problem.

You'd put money on him being taken to Abbot.

There's nothing he likes more than taking down obnoxious men a few pegs.

Frank doesn’t let go right away.

“You okay?” He murmurs, pitched just for you, thumb flexing once at your side like he needs the reassurance that you’re still upright.

“Yeah,” You say, though your heart is racing hard enough to make your ears ring. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

He releases you reluctantly, eyes scanning you head to toe with barely restrained panic before he steps back. Re-thinking his movement, he presses a quick kiss to your temple before moving towards the hallway. "Can't have two concussions in one day, sweetheart. You'd think we abuse you."

“Langdon,” Robby’s voice cuts in. “You’re needed out front - take triage for a little bit.”

Frank hesitates, looking at you.

“I’m good,” You repeat, more firmly this time, offering as much of a smile as you're able.

He nods once and goes, jaw clenched tight.

You look down.

There’s blood on your shoe. Not yours.

There’s no time to spiral.

The next patient crashes minutes later. Hypotensive. Internal bleeding suspected. Everything moves fast. Walsh is at your side, as you try and figure out how to proceed.

“We’re losing her,” someone says.

"She needs a chest tube," You breathe, leaping into action before Walsh can talk you out of it.

*****

Robby finds you by the desk a few minutes later, when the lull finally begins. There are still patients being brought in regularly, but it's not as fraught anymore.

With most of the patients stabilised, everyone's allowing themselves to breathe a little easier.

“You did good today - handled the pressure well,” He says.

You glance up, surprised. “I just did what needed doing.”

He studies you for a moment, then sighs. “I was hard on you earlier. With the lumbar puncture. With… everything.” He rubs a hand over his face. “That was unfair.”

You don’t answer right away. You’re still coming down, still replaying everything in your head.

“You have real potential here. And it was just... so infuriating that you weren't making the most of that,” Robby continues. “You trusted your instincts today. That matters. And it shows that you're meant to be here.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

5PM

“Shit!” You curse, as the final patient of the night manages to spray blood directly across your face. Just your luck.

Frank’s at your side immediately, the way you can tell he’s been itching to be all night. With all the chaos of the last few hours, you’ve barely been able to keep track of each other. “You okay?”

“Bloody. But fine.”

Robby emerges from Central, eyes darting between you both. “I’ve got this one. Go get cleaned up. You both did good work today. Don’t want to keep you here any longer than necessary.

You flash Robby a grateful smile, hoping that this is the beginning of some kind of truce.

The exhaustion is beginning to seep into your bones, and you’re easily pliable under Frank’s arms as he guides you towards the staff lounge, currently deserted. He clicks the door shut behind you, and reaches up into the cupboards above the sink.

“Long day,” You sigh, resting against the counter, eyes fluttering closed. “And a shitty end to the New Year.”

“Saved a lot of people though,” Frank counters, positioning you so that he can clean you. His expression is focused, lip between his teeth as he dabs at your face with a cloth.

“Do I look like an extra from The Walking Dead?” You murmur, trying not to imagine how difficult it’s going to be to get the blood out of your hair. So much for a new start going into the new year.

“You’re too pretty to be on The Walking Dead,” He replies, and you roll your eyes.

“Liar.”

“It’s true!” He protests. “Close your eyes for a sec-” The cloth brushes across your eyelids, as Frank lets out a small hum. “There. That’s you.”

You offer him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.” His voice is quiet, almost contemplative, his hand still hovering near your cheek.

A sudden wave of self-consciousness rushes through you. You haven’t looked in a mirror since midday- god knows what you look like right now. “What?”

“Just thinking,” He shrugs, discarding the cloth before his other hand pushes a stray hair from your face.

“About…?” You trail off, arching an eyebrow.

“How I really don’t want you to go to Boston. How I think you’re perfect in Emergency Medicine. How much I’d like to kiss you again.”

A smile spreads across your face. It’s been the worst shift of your life, hands down, and yet you’re not sure you’ve ever been happier. “Are you just thinking about it or are you actually going to make a move?”

“Someone’s impatient,” Frank murmurs, before his hands drop to your waist and he pulls you in, kissing you deeply.

It’s softer than the first kiss - less desperate. Your hands fist his scrub top, and you sigh into his movements. There’s none of the usual early awkwardness - trying to work out the dynamic, the push and pull. It’s like you and Frank have been doing this for years.

Finally, he pulls back a little, resting his forehead against yours.

“Pity it’s not midnight,” You breathe, and he lets out a low laugh.

“We’ll just have to do it again, then.”

“Very smooth, Langdon.”

“And Boston?” There’s an air of nerves to his tone, like he’s not quite sure where he stands. Where you both stand. Together.

“You can decline the offer right now, if you want.”

The door to the office swings open, and you both leap apart as Dana sticks her head in. “Don’t mind me,” She starts. “Just need a pen.”

Once the door closes again, you worry that the moment is ruined. That today is just going to go down as an almost. Instead, Frank speaks. “Do you have plans tonight?”

You wish you could say you did. But in a new city, you haven’t quite managed the friends thing yet. Omaha to Pennsylvania is a long way, and your plans had involved a glass of wine, and a viewing of When Harry Met Sally. Lip between your teeth, you shake your head.

“Come out with me,” He urges.

“To do what?”

“Anything. I’ll pick you up at eight - we can go get drinks, catch a firework show, whatever you want.”

It’s the easiest decision of your life. “Okay, yeah,” You smile. “That sounds fun. I uh, I don’t have my car, though. Might take me a little bit to get home.”

His jaw drops a little. “You walked?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” You shrug.

“Okay, well. Change of plans. I’m going to drive you home, and then go get changed myself, and come back to pick you up.”

“You don’t have to do that,” You start, but Frank is immediately shaking his head.

“Don’t bother, sweetheart. Sweeping you off your feet does not involve a two mile walk home in the dark. I’m driving.”

6PM

Dana’s been aware of you both all day. Aside from being Charge Nurse, and her duty to keep track of the staff, she’s been paying extra special attention to you and Frank Langdon.

Even if she hadn’t walked in on you both about to jump each other, she would’ve noticed the shift. Normally after traumas, you’re withdrawn and quiet. A little aloof with everybody, even Frank.

Tonight, your demeanour is relaxed, and the smile hasn’t left your face as you follow Frank out of the hospital.

Frank isn’t much better. His body has been angled towards you, ever since you both emerged from the supply closet, and his fingers keep twitching, as if he’s suppressing the urge to reach out for you.

She has a feeling she might be collecting some money from Perlah tomorrow - the two of them have had an ongoing bet about whether Robby or Frank will get their act together first. Perlah had been firmly Team Robby, on the grounds that he’s been pining for the night-shift charge nurse for literal years, and surely he couldn’t drag this out much longer.

Dana, on the other hand, always knew that Frank had it in him.

He’s afforded the luxury of being mildly less fucked up than Robby, and he’s in very close proximity to you on almost every shift.

Knowing there’s some money coming her way from the betting pool helps too.

The eyes never lie, and the two of you have been gone for each other since day one.

She does see the irony in a very occasion for you both sprouting from a hellish shift, but she figures someone deserves to be happy tonight.

Dana’s gaze follows your figures out to Frank’s car, and she has to bite back a smile when he leans down to press a kiss to your cheek, before opening the door for you.

Maybe they’ll all get a Pitt wedding before long.

Then there was the rumour that you were married to one of the social workers. A tall, lean man who Princess and Perlah had seen getting a little too close one day while you discussed a peds case with him. His hand lingering on your shoulder half a second too long, the way his eyes traced your face and body and how he angled himself a little closer than professional boundaries usually allowed. What they didn’t see was the roll of your eyes, your shuffle backwards and the way you pushed his hand off your shoulder with a disgusted look. They also didn’t see the way your actual husband's hands clenched at his sides, the way his jaw ticked and how his eyes narrowed into a glare that was menacing.

As most rumours are, none of the ones you had heard had quite hit the mark yet and when you colleagues tried to pull more information out of you, you remind them you don’t like bringing your personal life into the hospital and need to separate your doctor persona and your wife persona when you enter the doors of the ED.  The only ones who knew were HR, Dana and Doctor Robinavitch and that was only so they could make sure your relationship never interfered with work, which it never did. 

But then a new rumour started, a small one that didn’t quite reach your ears. Spoken in hushed tones across the nurses station and in between patients, going quite when either you or your husband approached. Prying (but loving) eyes now watching every moment for an indication of truth. 

It started with Donnie and Mataeo. It’s an early spring morning, darkness just not seeping away as the sun starts to rise showering the city in the deep indigos and blues of pre-dawn. The air is chilly and crisp, the winter cold still lingering in the air around them. They’re tired, it’s early. Far too early to be a functional human being, especially with Donnie being up with his little one during the night, and while they’ve already consumed enough coffee to kill a small horse they’re brains are lagging just that little bit. 

Then they see you, bundled up in a hoodie that is far too big and definitely doesn’t belong to you, with two cups of coffee in your hands as you climb out of the passenger side of a car that also isn’t yours (they had been in your car before, having given them rides after long double or triple shifts where it unsafe for them to drive themselves). Then they see Frank Langdon, climbing out of the driver's side, a small smile on his face as he laughs at whatever story you were telling. 

They both clock it as strange immediately. The softness in both your postures. The way your fingers brush lightly against one another as you trade your bag for his coffee. How close your standing, voices whispering low and almost conspiratorily. How the ER Ken Doll and golden prodigy seemed sweet with you. They don’t put two and two together, not yet. 

Especially as you both see them and take a small step away from one another before joining them at the staff entrance of the parking garage. Frank gives a curt nod and a ‘morning’ before continuing into the hospital, whereas you greet them with kind smiles and questions about how they are, how Donnie’s little one is doing, insisting he show you photos as you dig through your bag and pull out a tin of cookies you had baked the night before for him to take home for his wife. 

Momentarily distracted by your kindness and charm they file what they saw away for a later time, instead continuing the conversation as they walk with you to the locker room. It’s later, during a small lull where they’ve gathered with Princess, Perlah and Jesse doing charts, that Mataeo catches sight of you and Frank again. You’re looking over the case board, shoulders pressed together despite the fact that there’s plenty of room around you, and he nudges Donnie quietly. 

Princess and Perlah notice the interaction and insist they tell them what they know, the guilty looks on their faces being enough for the two women to know they have a new piece of gossip to share. When Mataeo and Donnie share what they saw, Perlah brushes them off, hand waving in the air with a roll of her eyes almost disbelieving. She doesn’t believe it, neither does Princess as she comments on how you, the personification of sunshine, and Frank Langdon, arrogant and sometimes egotistical, would never work. Never mind as a married couple. So, for a moment they drop it. 

Then the rumour starts up again, this time amongst the doctors. It’s a quiet spring day, in the few weeks just before summer where the sun sits high in the sky and its golden light illuminates and warms the city. There’s new life in the air, trees returning to a vibrant green and flowers blooming throughout the city. Spring showers and afternoon thunderstorms bring in a crisp, cleanliness to space. A city now full of new beginnings and stories being written. 

You and Frank had taken the time on your shared day off to relax, explore, do some shopping and maybe get some new decor pieces to shift away from the winter cool of your apartment and brighten it up a little bit.  Your first stop of the day was a café, far enough away from the hospital that you were sure no one would see you together because honestly you didn’t want to try and explain a logical reason why the two of you were out together.

It was an adorable spot, with garlands and hanging baskets lining the veranda and cute striped beach umbrellas in the middle of circular tablets to protect from both the sun and the rain. There was even a flower wall as you walked in, currently it was decorated with pinks and reds and white perfect colours for the spring time bloom and laced with local wildflowers that smelled divine.  

You got some breakfast and coffee and just as you finished up your food, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom. Not even two minutes later, Garcia walks into the café and she immediately spots Frank sitting at a two person table, where there’s two empty plates and nearly done coffees. She eyes it suspiciously, eyes snagging on the jacket and purse hanging on the chair opposite him. 

She recognised them, having seen you wear both on a night out a few weeks prior. Then the sun catches Frank’s left hand, his golden wedding band glistening in the golden light. This causes Yolanda to raise her eyebrows just a tad, questions forming in her mind. Were you both having an affair? Just spending time together outside of work? 

She knew you were married but she didn’t know Frank was. She rarely saw the two interact at the hospital, and when she did you were usually bickering over a course of treatment. Your eyes rolling sarcastically as he spoke, his following you around the room after a small disagreement over patient care or the way he hogged all the high stakes cases. 

But the more she thought about it, the more she remembered the light playfulness in your eyes as you glared at him, how there was never any malice in your words. How his eyes weren’t stern or hard, but soft and observational. Like he was checking in instead of just watching to make sure you were doing something right. There was a ‘click’ in her mind, information slotting into place like a jigsaw puzzle where she was finally starting to understand the image. Then her name was called, she grabbed her coffee and walked out, already pulling her phone out to call Trinity. 

Yolanda wasn’t one for gossip, not really, but she sometimes liked to talk through her observations to try and get a full picture. Speaking the words helping her visualise, so she tells Trinity what she saw, how she was sure it was your jacket and purse. How you were either married to each other, or having an affair. And of course, Trinity had her on speaker so Dennis heard everything. Then word got to Cassie and Samira and Victoria and Mel (who refused to participate in idle gossip about her co-workers and friends), and finally to Robby who just let out a sigh and shut it down immediately. This was a work place, not a high-school cafeteria after all. But the rumour still lived on, in text threads and hushed conversations now between the doctors and nurses as Princess and Perlah caught wind of what Garcia saw. 

Never one to be swept up in drama and gossip, keeping to himself and filing information away for later but never spilling secrets that weren’t his, Jesse is the next one to join the fray of co-workers trying to figure out if you and Frank are together, or having an affair, or are just extremely close. 

It’s early in the morning, clock just ticking over 6:45 and you and Frank are in the locker room, currently you’re the only ones there. A quiet sanctuary where you’re undisturbed before the day begins. It’s clean, a floral fragrance flowing through the space from a diffuser one of the orderlies had placed claiming the staff needed something to break up the smell of antiseptic and blood and sickness that permeates the rest of the ED at all times. Something to remind you of softness and beauty in a world where you see unimaginable horrors and pain. 

You’re leaning against your locker, head tilted back as you take a few deep breaths. You had been up during the night multiple times to be sick, some unknown ailment keeping you awake and draining your energy. Frank had insisted you call in sick, say you have norovirus and can’t be with patients, but you insisted you were fine. Had spent time before you left the house checking your temperature and vitals and symptoms to make sure you weren’t contagious, and given that Frank wasn’t also sick, you determined it was okay to go into work. 

Frank stands in front of you, hand placed on your hip as he lazily rubs soft circles into your skin through your scrubs. His head is placed in the crook of your neck, where he places soft lazy kisses against your skin, a reassurance that he’s here and he’s got you. He pulls away for just a moment, to look you in the eyes. He looks stern, but it's full of comfort and concern.

“You let me know if you need to take a break today okay? Promise me if you start to feel sick again you’ll let Robby know and go home and rest.”

There’s a quiet, desperate plea in his voice, all he wants is for you to be okay but he isn’t going to force you to do something you don’t want to. He just hopes that you’ll listen to his concern. You nod gently, hand reaching out to cup his cheek and pull him in for a soft kiss.

“I promise.”

Your voice is soft, a whisper that’s barely heard over the creaking of hinges as the door opens. The two of you force yourself apart, Frank immediately turning to his own locker facing yours as you close your eyes and rest your head against the back of your locker again. It's a practised dance, both you feigning indifference towards one another in moments surrounded by co-workers. 

When you open your eyes again, you offer Jesse a soft smile as he looks at you with concern. You’re a little paler than usual and your eyes are red rimmed. He can’t tell if it's from crying, being sick, or a lack of sleep. But he still eyes Frank a little suspiciously, as if he had said something to upset you. He can feel a lingering tension in the air, like he walked in on something he shouldn’t have but as usual, he just files it away. 

He offers a kind smile as he approaches you, back of his hand pressing into your forehead to check your temperature and you swat his hand away playfully.

“You look like shit.”

You let out an incredulous laugh and roll your eyes as you push off your locker, “I’m fine, just didn’t sleep well.” 

Jesse nods, as if he almost believes you but takes a step back to go into his locker next to yours. While he puts his stuff away, he keeps an eye on you out of the corner of his eyes. Can see how Frank's fingers twitch almost imperceptively at his sides as he fiddles with his phone with the other. There’s nothing on the screen, the phone still locked, as if he’s paying attention to something or someone else instead and is using the phone as a way to make it look like he wasn’t. Another piece of information filed away in Jesse’s mind. 

He talks to you for a few minutes, filling out the time before any of you have to go onto the ED floor, eyes scanning and watching your reactions as Frank joins in with a few comments. How you’ve gravitated just a little closer to him almost imperceptively (a single step here, another there as you try and wake up a bit more and shake yourself out). Jesse is first to leave the locker room, and as he does he notices the way Frank's hand reaches out for yours and laces your fingers together for just half a second before he lets go and you both start heading towards the door. 

For the rest of shift, Jesse quietly observes the two of you. See’s how Frank hovers close by in between patients. How he hands you a fresh water bottle and protein bar without you even asking. How his eyes follow you around the room in between patients. His hand hovering over your back as he moves behind you. Small, in-between moments that are usually missed in the chaos of the ED and are missed by everyone else as they deal with patients and charts and upset family members. All of it filed away and when Princess notices him watching, she narrows his eyes and tries to get him to spill what he’s seen but he refuses. But that’s enough confirmation for her to know something was definitely going on. 

The final nail in the coffin for the rumours comes from Samira. She’s one of your closest friends at The Pitt and after dealing with a rough trauma together a few days before, you two had decided you needed a girls day out filled with manicures, pedicures, brunch and a trip to your favourite bar where there was going to be a drag performance later that night. 

It’s early summer, temperatures are still rising and the skies are practically cloudless. The steely grey of winter vanishes completely and reveals the lush colours of trees and flowers as everything has finally come to bloom. There’s a bustle in the city, roads and pavements clear enough for cyclists and runners to venture out safely. A constant pulse of activity thrumming through like a heart beat. 

It’s eleven am when she arrives at your place, you agreed to be designated driver for the day because you were still feeling a bit ill but you didn’t need alcohol to have fun, and as she approaches the door she freezes for just a second. There’s voices. Two to be exact, one she instantly recognises as yours despite being muffled from behind the door and another, deeper, male voice. Of course Samira knew you were married, though she had yet to meet your husband and when she had asked about him you just said you were keeping it private for now because you knew how gossipy the ED could get (the current speculation about you and Langdon only proving that point). 

The voice is familiar, the baritone one she recognises but she can’t quite place through the distortion of the door. There’s a moment of stillness, of silence as the voices fade behind the door and instead replaced with shuffling. Then Samira knocks and a few moments later you open the door wide with a friendly smile. 

Instinctively, Samira looks past you just a little bit but not enough to be obvious. Her mind desperate for some sort of confirmation about what she already knew was true. Her eyes catch a hoodie flung haphazardly over the sofa. It's a collegiate hoodie, the name branded onto the back and the emblem on the arm, but it’s not your alma mater. It’s Franks. 

Then there’s the two cups of coffee sitting on the coffee table, yours branded with lipgloss and another (still steaming and only half-drunk) is a gimmicky mug labelled ‘Dr. Ken’ that she remembers someone gifting to Frank on his birthday. The light catches on the coffee table, highlighting an old well-worn book, and there’s a glimmer of recognition as something Frank had spoken about being passed down to him by his father. 

Samira stills for a beat, heart hammering in her chest as everything slots into place. There’s no affair. There’s no sordid scandal or love story. But a quiet lived domesticity of a husband and wife, who loved in the quiet moments and didn’t let it impact their professional lives. It all made sense now. The secrecy. The way you kept your husband and home-life close to your chest. You couldn’t bring it into work with you, because that meant also bringing work home. You needed the distinct lines of doctor and husband and wife and human. 

So she doesn’t say anything, just smiles and asks if you’re ready to go. The next day at work, when Trinity corners her knowing she was at your place, she holds her hands up and washes her hands of the rumour, removing herself from this particular gossip mill, saying there’s nothing to tell. Of course, Trinity’s disappointed and rolls her eyes not believing it for a second. But she lets it go, assuming like any rumour does, it will die off or be proven true. 

It's two weeks later that it all comes to a head. The sun is just starting to set, vibrant purples and pinks and oranges filtering through the windows of your bedroom and decorating it in a beautiful kaleidoscope of colour. Frank is sitting in the bed, phone in his hand as he mindlessly scrolls through social media while waiting on you to finish in the bathroom. There’s a hum of music playing from your own phone, muted by the closed door but Frank can still hear your voice softly singing behind it and it brings a smile to his face. 

Then there’s a text on his screen, one from Mel, and he chuckles slightly as he reads it. 

“Hey honey?”

You open the door, leaning against the frame and folding your arms over your chest, something obviously being hidden under your elbow. “Yeah?”

Frank looks up to you and smiles brightly, eyes scanning your exposed thigh and how his t-shirt hangs loosely off one of your shoulders. You chuckle with a roll of your eyes and raise an eyebrow at him, motioning for him to continue.

“Mel just texted me. Apparently, we’re cheating on our spouses with one another.”

You let out an ironic laugh, tipping forward slightly and shaking your head at the absurdity. You had known for a while now there were rumours about you and Frank, had heard the quiet whispers and seen the conspiratorial looks people would give any time you interacted. You let them be, let it live and follow its course to death like other rumours, but you never imagined it would reach this point. 

You smile gently at Frank, eyebrows raised as you unfold your arms and hold up the positive pregnancy test you had been hiding, “Maybe it’s time we tell them the truth.”

There’s a beat of silence. Frank’s eyes moving to your hand and bulging so wide you’re surprised they don’t pop out. Then there’s a smile, a joyous laugh as he jumps out of the bed and rushes to you, easily lifting you into his arms and placing a kiss against your lips as you giggle at his reaction. He places you down again, hand drifting up under his your shirt where he rubs soft circles into the skin of your stomach. 

He places his forehead against your, eye lashes fluttering softly as he closes his eyes and just holds you for a bit. It’s almost reverent the way he touches you, like he can’t believe he has you in his life and he thanks all the gods that exist that he does. There’s a press of lips to your forehead, his chin settling on top of your head, another moment of shared joy and silence.

“We’ll get an appointment with an OB first, just to make sure everything's okay and then we’ll tell them.”

Frank's voice is soft, a whisper and a promise all at once and you can’t help but smile and nod as you wrap your arms around him. 

You get lucky with your OB, she’s an old friend from college who had helped tutor you during your undergrad while she completed med school and helped write your admission essay, and you’re able to get in the next day. Luckily, it was a day off for both you and Frank. She confirms, the baby is happy and healthy and based on your last period and size of the baby you’re around 10 weeks pregnant. 

You both get a copy of the ultrasound photos and the next day at work, you tape them to the inside of your lockers. Your rings are no longer hidden on a chain, but displayed proudly on your finger and Frank is the same. The gold band matching yours glinting in the early morning light as you walk into the ED hand in hand. There’s some looks, weary glances as some glares as people think you’re being brazen now parading your affair partner around the ED. But it’s quickly forgotten as you share your news with Dana and Robby, letting them know you’ve already sent an email to HR. Dana wraps you in a warm hug as Robby claps Frank on the back in congratulations. 

There’s no grand announcement. No shouting across the ED to confirm your relationship. Just a quiet acceptance, eyes now softening as they realise how far gone the rumour had gone and that you were not having an affair, but were each other's spouse. There’s smiles and hugs from Samira and Jesse, who had it all figured out, and shocked looks from Perlah and Princess as it finally registered in their brain that you and Frank are actually a couple. 

Of course, the car didn’t stop. You would consider the treatment you got a love tap. Sure, you landed flat on your back on the pavement, but no broken bones. You weren’t dead. You weren’t bleeding too badly. It took you all of five minutes to tell people that ‘yes, I’m fine’ and ‘I’m a doctor, I would know’ before they’d leave you alone. It took you another five minutes to (calmly) chastise the driver for their negligence.

You were late to work and unhappy about it.

A couple of minutes into your walk, the adrenaline wore off, and your leg started to hurt. Like, really badly. Your head kinda swam too, but you ignored that. The driver did hit your leg straight on, so you shouldn’t be surprised. But you really didn’t want to worry your colleagues.

Robby would make you go home; he was overprotective like that. Dana would follow you around like a mother hen. And Langdon would…be Langdon.

You never knew with Frank. He was one year ahead of you in his residency and usually full of snark and a boundless energy you couldn’t match. You thought he was cute the first day and hid that info by being as sarcastic as he was. Using humor to deflect your feelings was one of the best ways to avoid getting hurt. Especially when the inevitable would be nothing happening and him finding someone else.

(It would absolutely devastate you anyway.)

But the few times you got hurt to the point of it being a problem, there was a switch in Frank. He would become worse than Dana, but a whole lot more argumentative. Part of you liked to think he cared, the other part wondered if it was exasperation in his tone. 

(You would keep getting hurt if it meant you could feel his touch on you.)

You made it to the hospital by slowly limping as fast as you could. You entered the ER, slowed to a stroll to hide your leg, planning on waiting until you could corner Samira to help you out. She always was good with confidentiality. 

You were never that lucky. You took approximately ten steps, said hello to Robby, who was waiting at central, before getting called back by him. He had taken one look at you and known something was wrong.

“Morning, doc,” you saluted, hiking your bag up on your shoulder. He narrowed his eyes.

“What happened.”

It wasn’t a question the way he said it.

“Nothing happened.”

“Bullshit. What happened.”

Robby was like a bloodhound when someone he cared about was hurt. It was very annoying. Probably what made him a good doctor.

“Just had a run in, not a big deal,” you shrugged. He still didn’t believe you. Footsteps behind you made you inwardly curse.

“What’s up?” Frank asked, jogging up. He looked like he had his morning Red Bull and was raring to go.

“Dr. L/N was going to tell us how she got hurt this morning.” You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“What? You’re hurt?” Frank immediately stepped toward you, tone serious and brows furrowed. You glared at them both.

“No, I’m totally fine. See?” You twirled on your feet, clenching your teeth as your leg protested. Robby noticed.

“I want you to walk normally in a straight line,” Robby crossed his arms, looking you up and down. You blinked back at him. You walked slowly until Robby narrowed his eyes, and you were forced to pick up the pace. You felt tears prick your eyes. “I’ll ask you again. What. Happened.”

Robby had this tone he got with his residents, like they were unruly children lying about their report card, and you hated to hear it. It made you feel like you should be in time out.

You mumbled about the car.

“I’m sorry?” Robby leaned forward.

“I maybe accidentally, perhaps, been hit by a car,” you rushed out, taking a step back as if you could escape to the lockers. 

“What?!” Robby and Langdon both said at the same time. You flinched at the noise. 

“Room 2. Now,” Robby snapped, grabbing your arm and dragging you forward. You dug your heels in despite the pain and refused to budge. “Y/N.”

“I’m fine! I don’t need medical attention!” You seethed, trying to wrench out of his grip.

“Langdon. Grab her.”

Frank immediately stepped up behind you, blocking your escape. 

“Sorry, princess,” he shrugged, picking you up when you wouldn’t move. He ended up throwing you over his shoulder when you proved to be difficult. “Would you stop hitting me?!”

“Let me down or so help me God—“

“You’ll what? Limp toward me in fury?”

“Motherfu—“

Langdon plopped you on the patient bed in a huff. Robby closed the door, and you knew that you had lost this battle. No way getting past these two. 

“Why are you so stubborn?” Robby sighed.

“I don’t like bothering people,” you crossed your arms, leaning back on the pillows. Before he could examine you, one of the nurses knocked on the door, telling Robby they needed him. He looked between you and Langdon, running his hand over his head.

“Langdon, take care of her. I’ll be back,” Robby stated, nodding at you before leaving.

This was a nightmare.

“You don’t have to be doing this,” you murmured. Langdon checked your eyes and vitals, ignoring your statement.

“How did you even get hit by a car?” he asked, putting on his stethoscope. You tried to mellow your heart, but it was hard when he was close.

“I…was saving a dog.”

He looked at you in disbelief for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Only you,” he chuckled. “I’m going to order a CT, because I don’t trust that there isn’t something wrong with your head. Roll up the pants for me.”

You did as instructed. He touched along the calf, and you hissed. He pulled his hands away. 

“Any other injuries you’re refusing to show me?”

You stuck your tongue out at him but reluctantly offered up your palms, which were scraped from supporting your fall. He pulled up a chair and grabbed some first aid, sitting close to you as he grabbed your hands. His touch sent electricity down your spine, even as he cleaned the wounds with antiseptic spray. 

“You really don’t have to do this,” you whispered. He looked up at you, that one lock of hair falling into his eyes and driving you mad.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Pretend like I shouldn’t care,” he responded. He wrapped your palm in gauze, not letting the hand go, even when it was bandaged. He traced your fingers with his thumb, staring down at your hands. “I do care. Why is that weird?”

“Because you’re usually an ass.”

You watched him suppress a smile at that. He finally looked up at you, blue gaze steely. You felt like you fell into the deep end of the waters and couldn’t get back up. You wondered if you’d even want to.

“Y/N, do you want to go on a date with me?”

The question caught you off guard. So off guard, you actually just stared at him, blinking for several seconds. Then you remembered you had to answer.

“I, uh, yes, um…I do want to date. Go on a date with you,” you stammered. 

“Really?” He looked so hopeful that it made your heart hurt. 

“Really,” you smiled, honestly. And then your heart flipped as Frank kissed your palm, returning your hand to you. He was a tease, and both of you knew it. 

“Kisses make everything better, medical fact,” Frank smirked. 

“Are you kissing your patients? Because that seems like an HR case,” you jibed, your voice dying out as he kissed your other palm. He ignored your teasing.

“Any other injuries?” He inquired. You narrowed your eyes at him, thinking.

“I think I scraped my lip.”

“Did you now?”

“Yep, totally. Happened when I face planted the pavement.”

“I think I have something for that,” Frank smirked, before leaning in and kissing you. His hand cupped your cheek, so gentle and yet so firm in his affections, it made the butterflies in your stomach go on overdrive. He tasted like caffeine and spearmint, and you wondered if you could survive on him alone.

“Jesus fuck, I asked you to take care of her not hit on her,” Robby groaned, stepping inside the room. You both broke apart, you with heat rushing to your cheeks and mortification in your eyes. Frank, with a sort of smug satisfaction. Bastard.

“I was providing care.”

“Sure,” Robby rolled his eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Just need a head CT,” you coughed out. You still couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Then get on that,” Robby sighed. “Now, break it up, lovebirds. Langdon, I need you now.”

Lovebirds. That’s all you thought of as Frank left with a wink. 

The constant lingering edge that surrounded his work, his practice. Like everyone was waiting for him to snap. To fall back into a bad habit he'd vowed to give up forever.

Frank knew.

He knew the way Trinity ignored him like the plague, rolling her eyes at his mere presence. The way Dr. Al Hashimi watched him like he was some problem child, a bad apple waiting to fall back out of the tree. The way Parker and Mateo sometimes watched him during handoffs, curious.

Like they were all waiting for him to screw up. To make a mistake.

To relapse-

“Hi Dr. Langdon!”

Frank looks up, his face softening as he watches you pass by. You give him a pretty smile, accompanied by a small wave and your signature pink scrubs. A very welcome sight amidst the grey and gore of the ED.

“Hey,” he raises a hand in a gentle reply, his heart flipping in that strange, stuttering pattern it always adopted when you came down from the L and D ward to provide a consult. He smiles when you pause, redirecting your path towards the nurses station. Frank sits up straighter, ignoring the twinge in his back as you lean over the station’s counter, eyeing him.

Don't stare like an idiot. Don't stare like an idiot.

But Frank is sure he's got that stupid smile on his face. In fact, he knows he does because Dana passes by and gives him a look.

He knows he does because Princess and Perlah are suddenly both hovering together over a computer, definitely not looking over a patient's labs by the way their shoulders press together and their low whispers become less coherent.

Frank clears his throat, elbows leaning on the charting desk.

“What brings you down here?”

You smile at his question, long lashes blinking slowly.

“Oh the usual. Al Hashimi wants me to show a couple of the med students how to detect gestational age by feel and not the monitor.” Franks nods, like that wasn’t the least interesting reason you could be down here in the Pitt.

“What, her Ai can't just tell us?” You giggle, glancing back to make sure the attending wasn't around to listen.

“I think the last hospital blackout finally got through to her about our over reliance on technology.”

“So she's overcompensating and teaching medieval practices now?”

“It's not medieval, Langdon,” you laugh. “I’m pretty sure they still teach it in medical school.”

“I must have skipped that lesson then. Right along with bloodletting and mercury poisoning.”

You give him a look, the one you'd give a puppy when it's done something stupid- like gnaw on its tail or trip on its own paw. A look that said “that’s cute” as well as “poor guy.”

But it wasn't pitying. Never pitying. You didn't treat him like he was glass or an infection you didn't want to catch.

You never did.

In the six months he's been back, the six months of knowing you, you had never once brought it up. Never made a jab or given him a side eye. You had come down to the Pitt that first week he'd returned, passing him by as he'd finished his urine collection with one of the nurses.

He remembers that first smile you'd given him, tired after a long day, but still oh so bright. Frank thinks he fell a little in love with that smile. Not that he believed in love at first sight. But this was pretty close to it.

Frank just swallows thickly, trying not to stare up into your pretty face and think about how that shade of lipgloss glittered beneath the ED’s lights.

Unfortunately for him he wasn’t given the chance to.

“Hey,” Trinity’s voice carries casually, her eyes darting quickly between you and Frank as she walks up.

She wore the same calculating look she always wore around him, like she was just waiting for him to taint you somehow. To ruin your bubbly persona and bright smile. The caution and hurt drawn between furrowed brows and a thinly pressed smile that matched the guilt and apology written in his clenched fist and deep lined frown.

Not that you notice. Or at the very least, you pretended not to.

“Hi Trin,” you smile, turning as the glowering R2 takes you by the arm, already pulling you away from Frank.

“Al Hashimi sent me to get you. Says she doesn’t want to keep the mom here any longer than she has to.”

“Oh okay-”

Frank watches as you glance back at him, barely getting out a rushed goodbye and an apologetic look before Trinity was pushing you over to a triage room where Victoria, Joy and Ogilvie were already gathered and waiting.

Frank sighs, not quite ready to get back to his charting, his blue eyes still tracking your pink scrubs from across the ED, watching as you move about the room with a calm patience and grace.

Frank knew you knew about his past. Knew why he'd had to redo his senior year. You had to... being friends with Trinity. And the fact you'd seen him with the drug test that first day.

But you never said anything about it.

You treated him like you treated every doctor down in the Pitt. With a radiant smile and kind heart. And a bit of admiration because you'd once told him, "you ER cowboys never fail to impress me."

That had been after he'd helped you deliver a pair of breech twins. He'd left work grinning ear to ear that day.

It was that smile.

That darn smile.

The one Frank could see you giving Joy now as you helped guide her hands over the patient’s belly. He lived to see it now, a tiny prayer said before every shift that he’d get a case needing your input.

That at some point in the miserable spread of his twelve hour shift he’d get to see your pink scrubs and pretty smile. Get to hear your bright laugh- maybe he’d even get to make you laugh. Or help you with a laboring patient when you needed an extra pair of hands-

“You ask her out yet?”

Dana’s voice startles Frank. He jumps in the chair, turning around like a caught child as he tries to remember he wasn’t currently elbow deep in amniotic fluid and helping you deliver a baby.

“What?” He asks dumbly. Dana snorts, eyeing Frank over her clipboard.

"Barbie doll over there. You just gonna sit there and daydream about her or are you finally gonna ask her out?"

"I wasn't daydreaming about her."

"Oh sure," Dana gives him an incredulous look. "And I'm gonna quit smoking."

Frank shakes his head, waving Dana away. She laughs to herself, pulling out her clipboard.

"What? I'm just curious."

"Yeah, well, it's none of your business." Frank huffs, and turns back to his chart, staring at the computer that had gone back to the main desktop. He stared, not signing in yet, his eyes drifting back up to you.

"I'm just saying kid," Dana continues. "You've been pouting all day, down in the dumps. And then she comes along, gives you a smile and suddenly you're grinning to yourself while charting? Hell of a coincidence if you ask me."

Frank shrugs. "I don't know what you're talking about." He shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek. Dana raises a brow. Frank continues, "And even if I did, it's not like I can just ask her out. She's friends with the girl who made me public enemy number one. There's got to be some kind of girl code about saying yes to a guy like me."

"So you think she would say yes. Given the right circumstances." Frank flushes.

"Well... I mean, she seems to like me. Enough at least."

Dana shakes her head. "Oh you kids. You always make this stuff more complicated than it has to be."

"Well it's not that simple Dana-"

Frank is cut off as Dana turns around and calls out a name.

Your name.

He looks up with wide eyes as you slow your steps out of the patient room, pausing your conversation with Al Hashimi. Dana waves you over and you approach the nurses desk curiously, looking between the charge nurse and Frank who is quietly telling Dana to stop.

"Hi Dana." Dana gives you a kind smile.

"Hey yourself. I've got a question for you."

"Oh sure. Shoot."

"You doing anything Saturday?" You stuff your hands in your scrub pockets, rocking on the balls of your feet. Frank gives Dana a look, horrified and wondering what she was playing at.

"Um, not really. I've got to walk my dog and pick up a dress from the dry cleaners, but that's about it really."

"What do you think about joining Frank at the movies? He's got an extra ticket and needed someone to go with. Figured you'd be the perfect person."

"Oh," your eyes widen with surprise. Frank's do too because he's almost hundred percent positive he does not have movie tickets. "What movie?"

Frank swallows, realizing you were pointing to question to him.

"Uh-" He looks at Dana like a fish out of water, silently begging her to not leave him stranded.

"It's the one with the scientist. He goes to space and meets a little alien friend. He's blonde, good looking-"

"Oh! I know which one you're talking about. That new one everyone's been talking about, right?" You say the title. Frank gives Dana a look and she nods.

"Uh, yeah. That's the one." You smile and Frank's heart flutters.

"Sure. That sounds fun. I could use a fun outing. What time is the movie?"

"Um... I have to double check my tickets-"

"3:00," Dana interjects. "I think Frank can give you a ride too. Right Frank?"

"Yeah, uh, yes?" He says unsure. You giggle.

"That's alright Frank. I can meet you there. Oh, hey maybe we could get dinner or something after. Movie theater snacks are ridiculously expensive and I'm always famished after a movie."

"Yeah, that sounds great," Frank nods, brain half functioning because WAS THIS REALLY HAPPENING?

"Perfect," You smile. "I'm looking forward to it."

You look down as your pager beeps, Frank blinking at you as he was still trying to compute what just happened.

"Oh shoot, I have to go... but I'm totally down for Saturday. Do you have my number?"

"Number?" Frank asks dumbly.

"No probably not. Here," You say quickly, grabbing the pen Dana holds out to you.

You reach over the nurses station, grabbing Frank's hand. The ballpoint pentip digs into the back of his hand as you quickly scribble down your digits. Frank is almost sure his brain has been fried.

"There. Sorry, I've got to run. Got an active labor upstairs who needs me. I'll see you Saturday though! Bye Frank!"

Your words trail off as you begin running down the hall, pink scrubs disappearing around the corner. Frank blinks, his hand still raised, skin prickling from where you'd written on it.

Dana smirks, taking back her pen from where you'd dropped it and putting the cap back. "I'm sure you're wondering about the movie tickets."

Frank hums questioningly, still just staring at the space you'd been standing.

"My husband and I were supposed to go this weekend, but he got called out on a work trip and I'm gonna cover for Lena so she can go visit her niece. Figured I couldn't let them go to waste.

"Uh huh," Frank nods. "Did that really just happen?"

Dana laughs.

"Sure did kid. I told you it was simple." Frank chuckles. A quiet huff that quickly devolves into a belly shaking laugh.

"I can't believe it. She said yes."

"Think you'll be okay with Barbie gone back to the penthouse for the day?"

"She said yes Dana. You could stab me with a scalpel or shave my head and I'll still say this was the best day ever."

From across the nurses station, Perlah and Princess giggle with each other, slipping a twenty between their hands as they watch Frank smile starstruck.

Oh yeah. ER Ken was absolutely smitten.

Frank Langdon and Abby Woodsworth (who had never taken Frank’s name in the first place) had been divorced for three years. It was never a big deal. They had gotten married in the first place because Abby was pregnant and it seemed like the right thing to do. It wasn’t. It took all of one year for their marriage to fall apart. Frank is just glad Tanner hadn’t been old enough to remember any of it. To him, his parents had always been two separate entities. Always mom or dad. 

So, Frank didn’t make a big deal of the divorce. His second year as a resident, he stopped wearing his ring. No one mentioned it. Frank doesn’t really know if anyone noticed. 

But no one ever really questions it and you two are much too focused on keeping your own relationship quiet. It’s not against hospital regulations or anything. It’s just…Frank likes the idea of having you to himself. Of creating a relationship from scratch and building a strong foundation before announcing it to the world. Frank would never say Abby was a mistake. Tanner is his world, his everything. Without her, Frank wouldn’t be a father. But he does regret how the two of them went about it all. He wants to do better with you. Wants this to last. 

He thought it would all come crumbling down almost a year ago. Frank had been planning to ask if you would move in with him. You asked to use the bathroom. You found the plastic baggie of pills. Frank nearly broke that night. Neighbors banged on the apartment walls as you both argued. 

No, he’s not addicted. Frank is a doctor. He knows all the signs of addiction. He’s not—he’s just weaning himself off. It’s not an addiction. He can fucking stop. 

Frank half expected you to ignore him. Radio silence. Maybe just leave. You’d be right to. The two of you had only been together for a few months. You deserve better. But you stay the night. Frank finds out in the morning that you flushed all his pills while he slept. Hot panic had rushed through his veins and you held him tight.

I’m calling Robby. I’m telling him you need some time off. Please, Frank. Let me help you. And so he did. Frank let you sign him up for an outpatient rehab program. He let you drive him to NA meetings, let you make sure he made it to the right room. He let you talk Robby into an extended leave. Without pay, but Frank would still have a job when all this was over. He thinks that letting you help him was the best decision he’s ever made.

So, he’s maybe a little bit infatuated with you. Reasonably so, he always tells himself when that familiar icy grip crawls into his chest. He can’t rush this. Especially when you haven’t even met Tanner yet. Although Frank can’t think of a single reason why his son would dislike you, he knows that he could never leave Tanner behind. Even for you. So, he tries to rein himself in. He doesn’t look a little too long at ads for engagement rings (he searched them once). He doesn’t trip over his words when you so much as smile at him. He’s cool. He’s suave. He’s a mature adult. 

Exaggerated kissing noises sound in the parking garage as Frank presses a wet kiss to your cheek. You laugh, shoving him away. He just captures your lips instead, hands cradling your jaw like he knows exactly what you want. His tongue traces over your lips and he hums, pulling away without deepening it. You huff, glaring up at him. He just grins, licking his lips.

“Wild Berries?” Frank hums. You smack his arm with a laugh. The noise echoes off concrete walls as you pull your mostly-empty can from the side pouch of your bag. The pink can shines in the low light of the parking garage. Frank grins as he sees the flavor printed across the side.

“How do you do that?” You laugh, holding out the can. It’s a tradition. If he can guess the flavor, he gets a sip. He’s gotten much better at it since he imposed that rule himself. Not that you’ve ever tried to stop him. 

“What can I say? It’s a curated skill.” Frank grins as he hands the can back to you. He can hear some liquid still sloshing in the bottom of the can and Frank leans in before you can decide to finish it. Your lips are soft against his as he tastes you once more, lips ticking upward. “One I find myself wanting to practice all the time.”

“Dr. Langdon, are you aware you’re a flirt?” You push him away playfully, and he just grins. You love when he’s a flirt. So he presses kisses down your jaw and neck. Soft, quick. 

Frank wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you against his chest. You seem to fit perfectly against him and Frank has to remind himself to take a breath. He wants to do this right. He can’t rush this. He especially can’t rush you. So he pulls back, leaving one kiss on the tip of your nose before releasing you.

“Shall we go? Our shift starts in…” Langdon looks down at his wrist. The only thing there is the beaded bracelet Tanner made for him. Suddenly, your left wrist is pushed in front of him and he can read the time on your watch. “Six minutes.”

“If I’m late, I’m telling Robby you stole his mug last February.” You say, voice mockingly serious. Frank rolls his eyes and you step back. He does not like the grin on your face (actually, he likes it a little too much). “Race ya.” 

“Hey!” Frank calls as you rush off toward the ED. At least three doctors and four nurses tell you both to stop running in the hospital. Neither of you seem very apologetic. 

You’re covering a night shift and Frank hates to be rude, but you look terrible. He hasn’t seen you in almost fifty hours. So when he finally catches sight of you, scrubs wrinkled and eyes tired, he can’t help thinking you look divine. Yeah, he’s maybe a little bit in love, because that stain on your pant leg was not originally part of the scrubs. Frank isn’t sure if it’s a bodily fluid or something else, but he does know you need a break. 

“Hey, baby. You look like shit.” Frank keeps his voice soft as he leads you down a quiet hall. You glare up at him and he’s almost scared. It only makes him want to wrap his arms around you. He holds back, just barely. “Don’t worry, you’re still the prettiest girl ever.”

You roll your eyes but Frank can feel the flush on your cheeks as he traces his thumbs over your cheekbones. He doesn’t try to stop the way he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Frank moves his hands down to your shoulders as you practically melt into the kiss. Laughter rumbles low in his throat.

“Here, go to my place. Sleep. There’s leftovers in the fridge. Eat something.” Frank tugs his keys from the pocket of his scrubs and presses them into your hand. His car key. Apartment key. Hell, he’s got his safety deposit box key on there. And he’s just giving it to you. Frank tries not to overthink it. He can’t let you take the bus when he’s the one who dropped you off yesterday morning before your double. 

“Fine. I guess it's the doctor's orders.” You take the keys easily, leaning up to press your lips to his. Frank doesn’t waste a second swiping his tongue across your lips. He grimaces slightly at the taste. 

“Coffee? You hate coffee.” 

Frank doesn’t mind the taste, but he knows how much you dislike it. Bitter and too-hot. Worse when it’s cold. But you and Frank both agree energy drinks are more convenient. More fun, too. Frank hates the idea of a fruit flavored coffee. Some things just aren’t meant to be. 

“Long shift. Shifts, actually.” You grin and Frank almost doesn’t let you step away. But he does, hands feeling cold without you under them. You hold up his keys, shaking them so they jangle softly. “You sure you want me to drive your car?”

He can’t help laughing. Frank added you as an Authorized Driver on his insurance two months ago. You could wrap his car around a tree so long as you don’t hurt yourself in the process. Frank doesn’t say any of that. He just presses the keys into your palm and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. It’s too sweet for someone who is supposedly trying to take things slow. Frank doesn’t have a metric for this, though. Doesn’t know how much is too much after over a year together. Maybe that’s why he can’t stop the next words out of his mouth.

“Do you want to meet Tanner?” He studies your reaction because holy shit that was not how he was supposed to ask you that question. Frank can see the way your face twitches and how your grip tightens just slightly on his keys. He takes a breath, running nervous hand through his hair, and he remembers the taste of coffee on your lips. You hate coffee. “Think about it. Go home, eat, sleep. Then think about it.”

You don’t say anything about the way his voice shakes. Frank wants to hope you haven’t noticed, but he knows you. From just the twitch of your fingers as they reach for his arm. Fuck. He might have really fucked this up. 

“I’d like that.” You say softly. Frank can’t help the way his hands move to grab yours, squeezing gently. His face splits in a wide grin as he wraps his arms around your waist and actually spins you in the air. By the time your feet touch the ground again, the world is just slightly off kilter. You focus on Frank’s face and he finds the action unfairly adorable. “I mean, I’ll think it over. But I’d really like that.”

“You are the best.” Frank presses multiple kisses to your lips, most missing completely. You laugh, shoving at his face. He doesn’t move back at all. “Seriously, I—you’re amazing.”

Frank has said I love you before. He’s said it to you before. In bed together, in the mornings when you’re lucky enough to wake up side by side. But not like this. When talking about Tanner. That feels real. That feels like a commitment that Frank isn’t prepared to make yet. Not until you get the Tanner Stamp of Approval. He really fucking hopes Tanner likes you.

Afternoon light streams through the crack between Frank’s curtain. He panics for a single second, already imagining the texts from Robby and Dana because he’s late for a shift. Then you move against him in the bed and his heart rate slows back to normal. Well, that special normal that he hits when you are practically wrapped around him. Frank finally turns his head, reading the little red numbers on his alarm clock. He sighs, running his fingertips down your shoulder.

“Baby, we gotta get up. Tanner’s school lets out in a few hours.” His voice is soft as he whispers against your forehead. Frank presses a gentle kiss to the skin before pulling away and climbing out of the bed. You groan, but do the same.

It’s a slow version of your usual mornings. The sun shines the wrong way through the windows and Frank isn’t sure how he feels about that as an omen before meeting Tanner. He climbs in the shower and tries to forget about it. It doesn’t work. Tension slowly builds in his movements as seconds and minutes and hours pass by. Because this is real. You’re meeting Tanner, Frank’s son. An extension of him in the best way possible. And, shit, Frank’s hands are shaking. 

“Are you that worried that he won’t like me?” Your laughter is like water rushing past Frank’s ears. He turns to look at you in the passenger seat of his shitty civic. Everything seems a little blurry around the edges. He can see your brows knit together as you study his pale face. Frank lets out the tiniest breath as your hand grabs his, squeezing gently. “Hey, you okay? C’mon, you can tell me, baby.”

Your lips press against the back of his hand as you raise it up to your lips. He can’t help leaning in closer. The look in your eyes is so soft that Frank can barely remember to breathe. Not because he’s panicking (although, he still is a little bit). Because he wants to stop time and capture your gaze in a bottle. Liquid love. Instead, he leans toward you and kisses you so gently. Like you’ll break if he’s too fast. Almost instinctively, his tongue swipes across your lips. 

“Dragon Fruit?” He pulls back, exaggerated pout playing on his lips. “You know that’s my favorite. You didn’t even share.” 

Frank remembers watching you drop the can into his recycling before he could catch the color. He’d been too out of it, filled with coarse anxiety tearing through his veins, to ask for a taste. You just laugh, pulling back and unbuckling your seat belt before climbing out of the car. He follows, his own laughter sounding as he follows you toward the school. 

“You were showering?” You shrug, grinning like it's an actual excuse.

A few other parents mill around by the front doors of the school, chatting quietly with each other. Most of them, however, stay in their shiny minivans, idling in the circle drive. The two of you stand a bit apart from the group. Frank is popular among the moms. He knows he’s attractive. He knows Tanner loves him. He knows how feral and horny moms can be. He really doesn’t want them sinking their teeth into you like you’re fresh meat. 

“Dr. Langdon, how are you?” Vanessa, the mom of one of Tanner’s friends, steps away from the group to join the two of you. Frank likes little Johnny. He’s sweet and polite. Frank has no idea how he came from this woman. Bitchy as they get, head of the PTA, thinks she’s always right. Or maybe she just reminds Frank of how he used to be. Before you. Either way, he doesn’t like her. He especially doesn’t like the way her eyes glide over you. She doesn’t address you as she speaks. “And who is this?”

“I’m Frankie’s girlfriend.” You answer anyway, leaning close. You’re laying it on thick. Frank can tell and he doesn’t mind at all. He barely even hears you as you introduce yourself to Vanessa, hand out for her to shake. The woman looks almost panicked. Maybe she thought you would throw a fit. Maybe she thought you’d shy away. But you’re cordial. Even friendly. The end-of-day bell finally rings and Vanessa shirks away quickly. Frank smiles at the way she looks like she’s running away from you. He doesn’t have long to revel in it before forty pounds of toddler is slamming into his leg. 

“Daddy!” Tanner’s voice is high and absolutely dripping with adoration. Frank reaches down, ruffling his hair softly. It’s dark and straight, just like his. Frank doesn’t see the way you smile at the interaction. He just lifts Tanner in his arms as the boy animatedly explains his day. Tanner stops in the middle of his sentence, suddenly noting your presence has yet to leave. He glances at you before turning to Frank. “Daddy, who is that?”

Frank opens his mouth to respond but nothing comes out. How does he explain the current stage of your relationship to his son? Does Tanner even know what dating is? At what age does a child learn that kind of thing? Will he think Frank is trying to replace Abby in Tanner’s life? That familiar panic is returning. A growing, angry thing in Frank’s gut that makes him feel a little sick. 

Then you step closer, holding out your hand seriously. It’s a comical sight, watching as you shake Tanner’s tiny hand in your own. “I’m your dad’s girlfriend. That means I love him lots.” You keep your voice serious and Tanner giggles at your little act. Then, his eyes go wide and he reaches out to grip your sleeve with his small fingers. 

“Does that mean I have another mommy?”

Your cheeks go hot and Frank sputters, trying to come up with some kind of explanation that doesn’t involve him telling Tanner about his three-year plan with you. He hasn’t picked out a ring yet. It’s too soon for that. But he did take a peek at your Pinterest account last week. He can’t think of a single thing to say and you’re talking again. Frank realizes suddenly that he has been panicking through this entire interaction. 

“Not yet, kiddo. Maybe in a few years.” You say softly, letting Tanner play with the strings of your sweatshirt. The words make Frank want to melt into the sidewalk. You pretty much just agreed to marry him. Holy shit, you just agreed to marry him. It takes about two seconds for Frank to decide he needs to go ring shopping next time he has a day off. He barely even hears the way Tanner whines because Janie Wilkins has two moms, why can’t I?

Frank draws a mental check mark next to Tanner Stamp of Approval in his mind as he straps Tanner into his carseat.

It’s a quiet day in the ED. The wait time is barely two hours and there had only been one trauma through the ambulance doors. All in all, a pretty good day. Frank is glad for it. He loves Tanner with all his heart, but the kid is exhausting. He has no idea how you managed to keep up with him. Maybe it was the drink you had stolen from beneath his nose. Frank huffs as he remembers, playfully annoyed. 

He catches sight of you on the steps, sipping at a can that he can’t quite see as you type something on your phone. The moment you hear his footsteps, you slide the can behind your legs on the steps, grinning wide. Frank takes the challenge for what it is. He moves until he’s kneeling on the step below your feet and leans forward between your knees. 

“Who’re you texting?” He asks, letting his lips hover just inches away from where he knows you want them. He glances down at your screen, seeing Cassie across the top. He raises a brow. Frank didn’t know the two of you were close.

“Um, I was just asking McKay for birthday gift ideas.” You say softly, voice almost nervous and cheeks hot. It’s strange. Frank isn’t used to hearing you be timid in any way. Conflicting feelings of this is wrong and this is cute fight in his mind. He pushes them back and ignores the quandary for now as he waits for you to continue. “Tanner’s birthday is next week and he invited me to his party, but I have no clue what four-year-olds like. So I thought I’d ask her.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Frank doesn’t stop himself from leaning in. He doesn’t think he could if he wanted to. His lips meet yours, soft and sweet. More reassuring than anything else. “You are the most amazing girlfriend ever. Did you know that?”

“I try.” You chuckle. Your arms are slung over Frank’s shoulders, fingers playing with the short hair at his nape. He leans into the sensation, forehead pressing against yours. You laugh softly and continue the movement for another second before pulling back slightly. “What’s your guess?”

Frank’s head tilts. He’s heard you call him adorable because of the habit before. It’s never made him want to stop. “For the gift?” He asks slowly, confusion painting his face. You just shake your head and lick your lips and suddenly Frank remembers. He grins, leaning into your space. Your foreheads brush together and your chests touch with every inhale and his hips brush against your knees. “Hmm, I might need another taste.”

The kiss isn’t soft, but it’s not mean either. It’s the kind of kiss you give when you love someone and want to be a part of them. Frank nearly forgets why he kissed you in the first place, melting into you as you kiss him with equal fervor. It’s habit, really, that makes him swipe his tongue across your lips. It’s not enough (usually isn’t) and he presses deeper. 

You had confessed to Frank when the two of you first started dating that you didn’t care for tongue while kissing. That was fine with him. He could adapt. Except, the next time he kissed you, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. His tongue had touched you everywhere else. Just one time. He just needed one. Suffice to say, you didn’t quite mind his tongue in your mouth anymore. Frank studied you harder than he did any textbook, learned what you liked and what made you pull back. He chuckles as he pulls back, using his grip on the back of your neck to keep you from chasing his lips. 

“Sugar free?” Frank hums, licking his lips. He glances down at the can on the step, grinning when he sees the little blue banner across the top. His head tilts, not in the cute curious way, but the way it does when Frank is about to tease you.

“I grabbed the wrong one at the gas station this morning, okay?” You huff, shoving Frank in the chest. He grabs your hands, holding them against his scrubs. It only takes one of his hands to hold both of yours and Frank almost loses himself in the revelation before your voice pulls him out of it. “That thing was three bucks. I’m not wasting it.”

Frank grins, grabbing the can. You don’t move to stop him. He doesn’t think you will, it’s tradition, after all. He just watches in amusement over the thin can as he chugs the remaining half of the drink. Aluminum clacks softly against marble as Frank drops the can back onto the step. He laughs as you pull your hands from his gentle hold and swat at him.

“Hey! One sip. That was the deal, Frank!” Your cheeks are hot from the kiss and from pure annoyance. Frank can’t help grinning at the sight. He loves when your skin warms up, no matter how he causes it. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” Frank pushes past your flying hands to press a kiss against your forehead. He pulls back, leaving a sudden emptiness in the space he was occupying a half second ago. “You can have the rest of mine. Dana’s keeping an eye on it.”

You carefully eye Frank’s outstretched hand before sighing and grabbing it. God, your hands are so warm against his. Frank loves how warm you tend to run. Loves to press his perpetually cold hands against the softness of your waist, especially when it makes you laugh. He tugs you off the step.

“C’mon, baby. It’s Coconut Berry.”

Your face lights up and you immediately gather your things. You even lean up, pressing a kiss right on his lips. “I love you so much.”

“I know.” Frank tugs you toward the nurses’ station with a grin. 

You’re most likely fucked. Frank Langdon is much too easy to fall in love with. Even when he’s stubborn and impossible and oh so full of himself. Even when he’s not easy to love, you know it would be harder to leave him behind. He already had you snared in his crystalline eyes when you found the drugs. So you took a breath and put your foot down.

Me or the drugs, Frank. Let me help you.

You held Frank as he cried the next morning. It was so unfair. Unfair that Frank couldn’t heal himself. Couldn’t fix himself. Unfair that you fell in love with him even fucking deeper when you found out. 

(That was the first time you saw Frank cry.)

It’s not that you’re one of those people who thinks you can fix others. Frank didn’t need to be fixed. He needed to be helped. And maybe you have a terrible habit of helping people. Of seeing their best even when they’re at their worst. It sucks, to be honest. But your heart will shatter if you have to leave Frank to destroy himself. So when he took your hand, it struck like lightning to your core. Restarting your broken heart. Regular sinus rhythm. Actually, a bit irregular, but that had more to do with the way Frank was looking at you with his wide, wet eyes. So full of adoration and fear and trust. Like everything would be fine as long as you were there by his side. 

Today is his one year sober. There’s no big party, no celebration with all your shared friends. Just the two of you, leaving work way too late. You’ve got everything in the fridge for a homemade meal and a big bag of the epsom salts that Frank likes hidden in the closet. 

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Frank asks softly as you near his car in the lot. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head.

“How proud I am of you.” Your smile practically splits your face in half as you spin around in Frank’s arms. You hope the tremor in your voice is evidence enough, since you can’t seem to come up with words. Instead, you press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, barely pulling back. “I’m serious, Frank. You’re amazing.”

The corners of Frank’s lips soften as his grin turns into a smile. Something sweet and adoring and you wonder how anyone could not love this man. You’re done for. Surely.  “You, sweetheart, are my drug of choice.”

Ugh. You want to roll your eyes, but laughter bubbles up and you swat at his chest. Heat rises on your cheeks. “Frank!” Your attempt at chastisement doesn’t exactly work as you giggle. 

Frank seems to take that as an invitation, peppering kisses across your cheeks and nose. One on each forehead. One over each brow. A dusting over your forehead. Then, finally, your lips. It’s the same as always. Nothing extra, no sparks. Just warmth spreading through your veins and the familiar grounding feeling of cool hands on your warm cheeks. It’s like coming home after a double. You want to collapse into him. And then he pulls back.

“Original?” He hums, licking at his lips. You do roll your eyes this time, can’t help it. You push his chest, easily escaping his hold as you take a step backwards toward the car. Frank follows step for step.

“I finished that hours ago. You are such a freak!” You can’t help laughing. Frank laughs along with you, leaning in to press one more kiss against your lips. He steps back, moving toward the driver’s side door.

“I thought you said I was a flirt.”

“Can’t a man be both?” You raise a brow, spinning around toward the passenger’s side. The locks click as Frank turns his key in the handle. You tug your door open, pausing before you climb in. “But for some reason, I still love you.”

Frank stares at you for a moment, half bent to get into the car. You can see pink on his cheeks rising slowly. When it reaches his ears, you have to look away, hiding a chuckle. You’re not sure if Frank hears it or not. 

“Do you want to move in with me?” The words come out of nowhere. Much like when Frank asked if you wanted to meet Tanner. Tanner, who had been the sweetest boy ever. Tanner, who idolized his dad and was jealous of Janie Wilkins because she got two moms and he only had one. You had answered mostly on instinct back then and it hadn’t failed you yet.

two.

Frank Langdon was good.

Like, really good.

The kind of good that made senior attendings pause to watch him work. The kind that made nurses trust him instinctively during traumas. The kind that made you grit your teeth every time he pulled off something impressive with that smug look still plastered across his face.

Which only made his arrogance more unbearable.

Because the asshole actually had the skill to back it up.

"Did you hear about Langdon's intubation today?"

You barely glanced up from your chart as Samira fell into step beside you.

"No, but I'm sure he'll find a way to tell everyone himself before the end of the shift."

Samira ignored the jab entirely, completely unphased due to the volume of them she'd heard over the years.

"There was so much swelling you literally couldn't see anything."

You paused, your pen stilling against the chart. "So what, you're saying he did it blind?"

"Completely." Samira nodded. "Robby said he did it perfectly too."

A reluctant pulse of admiration twisted in your chest before you shoved it back down where it belonged with a small huff.

"Nice."

The word came out clipped.

You dropped the chart onto the counter and headed toward the break room before Samira could catch the grimace on your face.

Hour ten of your shift was always when the headaches started.

Like clockwork, tension coiled up the back of your neck and settled at the base of your skull. The fluorescent lighting suddenly became too bright. The overlapping conversations too loud.

You shut the break room door behind you with a quiet exhale and reached for the medicine cabinet.

The door opened again just as your fingers closed around the Advil.

"You hear about my intubation today Ace?"

You rolled your eyes automatically before even turning around as you shut the medicine cabinet.

“I did.”

You grabbed a mug from the cupboard, acutely aware of his gaze following you across the small room.

“Nice work.”

The words were stiff, rolled unnaturally off your tongue, said with an attempt at forced casualness which instead resembled something pained.

Frank blinked.

Then slowly, his mouth curved into a grin.

“Wow.”

You finally looked over at him at that.

He was leaning against the doorway with his arms folded across his chest, scrubs stretched tight over his forearms, a smirk present on his face.

“Was that a compliment I just heard? Are you feeling ok?”

This time you rolled your eyes openly as you threw the Advil down your throat.

“I’m mature enough to acknowledge when a peer does something impressive, Langdon.”

His brows lifted slightly. “A peer? Is that all I am to you after all these years?"

He placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Describing you as a peer is my way of being nice.”

You could see that a laugh was threatening to spill from his lips.

You turned toward the sink before your own expression betray you. You rinsed the mug beneath lukewarm water, missing the way his eyes tracked down your figure.

“Or maybe you just don’t want to admit that you’re jealous I practically performed a miracle.”

You let out a humourless laugh.

“Don’t worry, I perform miracles too.”

You set the mug down harder than necessary before glancing back at him.

“I just don't feel the need to announce it to anyone that will listen."

You saw his jaw tick slightly, indicating that you’d finally penetrated his thick ego shield.

“You’re a real ball of sunshine today Ace.”

You smiled sarcastically. “Only for you Langdon.”

three.

Frank Langdon loved to rest his arms on things.

Whether it was one arm leant lazily against the nursing station, both folded across his chest when he was thinking, or both braced on either side of your monitor as he loomed over you while you dictated.

His arms were always….there.

It was irritating and more importantly, it was distracting.

Like right now, as a team of you prepped a trauma patient for transport to the OR.

Frank stood on the other side of the gurney, his gloved hands curled around the metal rails as he leant forward. His forearms flexed as he adjusted his grip, the veins there straining, just visible in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

Your gaze lingered, traitorous and immediate, tracking the movement of his hands as he tightened his hold on the bed frame. Your eyes ghosted upwards at the shift of muscle beneath fabric, his biceps straining slightly with the motion.

A flurry of images hit you.

His arms around your waist.

His arms flexed as he held his weight above you, steady and controlled, while he-

“Think she’ll make it?”

His voice cut through your thoughts cleanly.

You blinked, snapping your head up too fast.

He was already looking at you, with that infuriating, calm focus fixed directly on your face like you were the only thing in the room that required dissecting.

His tongue brushed briefly over his lower lip. A habit you first observed in med school and had never successfully un-noticed since.

You despised how your body reacted to it.

You turned away too quickly, hiding your burning face under the guise of discarding your gloves into the bin.

“50/50.” You answered, praying your voice was even as you spoke.

You shook your head slightly as you tried to shake yourself out of whatever this was.

You could not find Frank Langdon attractive.

That was not an option. Not a consideration. Not a thing your brain was allowed to do.

You wanted to slap yourself.

“I’m thinking more 70/30.” You heard him remark.

And just like that, mercifully, the fantasy collapsed.

four.

Sometimes, it felt like Frank Langdon could read your mind.

“Incoming trauma, two minutes out.” Dana announced in the middle of the pitt, red phone pressed to her ear. “MVA involving a single car and a motorcycle. The rider’s in a bad way.”

“What’s free?” Robby asked.

“Trauma one.”

You glanced up at Robby as he called out your last name.

“-and Langdon, with me.”

Frank didn’t answer - he was already following you.

You were already scrubbing in as the ambulance bay doors burst open. The gurney rattled violently over the polished floors.

“What have we got?” Robby asked.

“Rider unhelmeted. Found unconscious on scene. Hypotensive en route, tachycardic. GCS eight.” The paramedic answered as they wheeled the patient into the bay.

The room shifted and swelled around you - fluorescent lights too bright, the hum of equipment, the controlled chaos snapping into place like muscle memory.

“C-spine?” Robby asked.

“Immobilised.”

The patient was a young man. Early twenties. Dirt and road rash smeared across his face and chest, chest rising unevenly beneath cut fabric and exposed skin.

“Alright, transfer in three, two-“

Everyone moved together, sliding the patient onto the bed in one practiced motion.

“Airway appears patent but compromised.”

You leaned forward, placing your stethoscope on his chest.

“Reduced breathing sounds on the left.”

Frank was already there on the opposite side, his hands steady as he moved his fingers across the rib cage.

“Subcutaneous emphysema.” He said. “Likely pneumothorax.”

“Pulse-ox is dropping.” Perlah announced. “Eighty-eight and falling.”

“Alright get ready to intubate.” Robby ordered.

“Wait.”

The word left your mouth before you could second-guess it.

Every head turned slightly.

You leaned closer, eyes moving over the monitor, then the uneven rise of his chest, the subtle shift in breathing effort.

“He’s compensating.” You said. “This isn’t primary airway failure yet. If we intubate now without addressing the thoracic injury he'll drop further.”

“Ace is right.” Langdon agreed. “We should do needle decompression first.”

“Left second intercostal space, midclavicular line.” You added. “If it’s tension physiology, that’s what’s driving the instability.”

Everyone turned to Robby, waiting for his call.

The smallest of nods, the slightest flicker of approval.

“You heard them.”

You moved instantly, prepping the site, antiseptic swab snapping across skin, fingers precise as you located the rib landmarks through trauma and swelling.

Frank held the patient steady as the needle went in.

The hiss came instantly.

The patient’s chest expanded easier this time.

“Stats stabilising.” Perlah confirmed.

“Better.” Frank observed.

You exhaled through your nose, already shifting focus. “We still need definitive imaging. He’s not out of the woods, we’re likely dealing with associated haemothorax or pulmonary contusion.”

“Agreed.”

Frank didn’t look at you when he said it.

But somehow, the two of you were entirely in sync anyway.

“Chest tube tray.” Robby ordered. “Let’s move.”

The rest of the procedure blurred into controlled motion - scalpel, incision, blunt dissection, the familiar gravity that settled over a trauma room when everyone locked into the same rhythm.

And through all of it, Frank moved instep with you.

When you moved, he made space like it was instinct. When you reached for instruments, they were already halfway to your hand. When you spoke, he didn’t interrupt - he simply factored your words into the next step.

It was infuriating how seamless it felt, dangerous how easy it was.

“Tube’s in.” Frank said finally.

“Bilateral breath sounds confirmed.” You spoke.

A beat.

Then Robby stepped back, stripping his gloves off.

“Good call both of you.”

You looked up as he pushed open the swinging doors.

“You aren’t staying?”

He gestured between you and Frank.

“I know when I’m not needed.”

Your eyes met Frank’s briefly.

A smile flickered between you before either of you could stop it.

-

The ambulance bay was quieter than the pitt, but not by much. The afternoon sun glared off the cracked bitumen, the distant echo of monitors still lingered in your ears like a phantom rhythm.

You rolled your shoulders back, trying to shake off the adrenaline that always persistently lingered after a trauma.

“Good work in there.”

You glanced out of the corner of your eye to see Robby.

“Thanks.”

Silence stretched between the two of you.

His gaze shifted between you and the doors leading back inside.

“You know.” He said slowly after a moment. “You and Langdon work well together.”

You scoffed lightly. “When we’re not at each others throats, you mean.”

Robby’s eyes twinkled with amusement, dipping his chin down to conceal it. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

You exhaled, leaning back against the brick wall.

“Yeah." You admitted. "We do.”

It came out quieter than you intended.

You knew immediately that Robby noticed.

“But if you ever tell him I said that, I’ll deny it completely.”

Robby’s mouth twitched.

“Noted.”

“And, I’ll tell everyone about the time I caught you nearly in tears over a cockroach in the break room.”

Robby turned to you. “It had wings.” He said flatly.

"You still screamed like a little girl.”

five.

Frank Langdon could be thoughtful, when he wanted to be.

It was never loud. Never performative. It didn’t announce itself the way everything else about him did. No smug commentary, no pointed remarks, no expectation of recognition.

It was quieter than that, easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention.

You saw it in fragments over time, tucked into the spaces between the chaos.

The way his voice would soften when he spoke to patients. Or the way he’d comfort them when he thought no one else was listening.

You’d seen him pay for taxi fares out of his own pocket. You’d seen him quietly remove hospital cafeteria food from a patient's tray and replace it with sandwiches from the deli over the road.

None of it fit easily with the version of Frank Langdon that lived in your head.

And that was the problem.

Because the longer you worked with him, the more difficult it became to keep those versions separate.

You were on hour nine of a shift.

School holidays had transformed the ER into something louder, hotter, more chaotic than usual. The kind of chaos that didn’t spike cleanly, but accumulated in layers until the entire department felt stretched too thin.

The air carried a constant noise of beeping monitors, overlapping voices, crying kids, the scrape of gurney wheels against linoleum.

Like usual, your shoulders had started to tighten without permission, creeping up to your ears no matter how many times you tried to square them.

A slow, familiar clamp at the base of your neck. The kind that crept upward until it turned into something debilitating behind your eyes.

You half-heartedly tried to do your physio exercises in the breakroom before eventually giving up and opening the fridge instead, reaching automatically in for the Red Bull you knew was stashed behind someone’s abandoned lunch bag.

You paused.

A ziplock bag sat neatly on top of your lunchbox.

A plain glazed donut stared back at you through the plastic, alongside two Advil.

You stared at it.

You’d heard that upstairs had sent their usual trolley of unethical donuts down earlier. You’d been drowning in back to back traumas, only resurfacing long after all of the plain glazed, your favourite, were gone.

Or so you'd thought.

You looked over your shoulder. Was this meant for you? Surely not. Someone must have just accidentally chucked it on top of your lunchbox.

Your stomach grumbled.

Although, it looked intentionally placed. Maybe you could eat it and if the owner came asking for it later you could just-

You turned slightly at the sound of your name to see Perlah standing in the doorway.

“Robby’s looking for you.”

You hesitated only briefly before placing the bag back into the fridge, all thoughts of the donut dissolving as you heard the trauma code ring out over the loud speaker.

An hour later, the headache had settled in fully.

You leaned against the desk, elbows planted either side of the computer as pain pulsed behind your eyes. The words on the screen blurred at the edges.

You blinked rapidly, rubbing at your temples as you tried to massage some of the thrumming away.

“You need to take your Advil earlier.”

The voice came from above you.

You looked up to see Langdon towering over you.

“What?”

He slid something towards you.

The donut and Advil now sat on a napkin, a cup of water beside it.

"Your shoulders always start tightening around hour nine." He said. "Which means the headache peaks around now because you never take the Advil early enough."

You stared at him for a moment, then your eyes flickered down to the napkin.

"What's the donut for?"

His mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly.

"Increased blood sugar helps stabilise headaches." He answered smoothly. "And you haven't eaten lunch today."

You surveyed the donut suspiciously.

“Jesus Christ I haven’t poisoned it.” He huffed as he nudged it closer to you.

“Eat.”

You hesitated for a moment.

"...Fine." You relented as you pulled it in front of your keyboard.

"...thank you."

His eyes lifted sharply at that.

"Don't thank me. This is entirely for my own benefit."

You frowned.

"When you've got a headache you're somehow even more annoying than usual."

Your eyes narrowed immediately.

"You're welcome."

He was already stepping away before you could respond.

You stared down at the donut for a second longer, your stomach tightening hopefully at the smell of sugar.

What you didn’t see was Frank lingering at the end of the corridor just long enough to make sure you actually took the Advil.

Just long enough to watch you finally take a bite, observing the small act of compliance like it mattered more than it should.

You didn’t know that he’d had to almost physically fight Donnie for the last plain glazed donut because he knew they were your favourite.

You didn't know that he'd been buying the double strength Advil and sneaking it into the medicine cabinet for the last six months because he'd noticed your headaches getting worse.

What you did know, was that it was irritating when he did shit like this without explanation.

Because it reminded you that there was more under all of the bolstering and ego. Something softer, something complex.

Something that made you want to peel him apart layer by layer just to understand what lived underneath.

Even when you absolutely shouldn’t.

six.

You couldn’t escape Frank Langdon’s eyes.

It wasn’t just that he looked at you often, it was the timing of it. You would glance up from a chart, be mid-sentence in a handover, reach for a new pair of gloves, and there he would be. Already looking. Already watching.

Those piercing blue irises never seemed to settle on you for long, but they always found you again. It was infuriatingly precise. Like some internal compass had been set to your presence without your permission.

“Are you going to knock off drinks tonight?”

The voice pulled you back into the present. You blinked, realising you’d been staring blankly at your tablet for long enough that the screen had dimmed.

Holland was leaning against the edge of your desk, casual in a way that was unique to interns, half confident, half desperate for approval.

“Oh uh, I don’t know. Maybe.” You said half heartedly.

“Oh c’mon doc, it’ll be fun.” Holland’s grin widened as he studied you, searching for a crack in your resistance. “Especially if you’re there.”

You huffed a small laugh.

“Nice try Holland, but this one here likes to be in bed by 9pm.” McKay smirked as she walked behind you.

Your brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with that?“

“Nothing, if you’re like 80.” Holland shot back, making you roll your eyes.

“I do go out.”

McKay let out a snort that was entirely unconvinced. “Sure you do.”

You straightened slightly, feigning offence. “I just like to keep my work and personal life seperate, so I can avoid doing things like oh I don't know..." You trailed off, pretending to ponder.

"Falling off a table in front of my coworkers in the middle of a drunken rendition of Mamma Mia?" You suggested, raising a brow pointedly at McKay.

McKay flipped you off cheerfully without even slowing down.

Holland, undeterred, was still hovering like a persistent shadow over your desk.

“So… is that a yes?”

“You interns are nothing if not persistent.” You grumbled.

“I prefer passionate.”

You studied him for a moment.

“If you leave me alone to let me finish my charting, I’ll consider it.”

“I’m taking that as a yes.” Holland grinned, tapping the table once triumphantly, like the matter was closed. “See you tonight doc.”

You exhaled through your nose in reluctant amusement as he finally backed away.

Only then did you look up properly.

And, like you always seemed to do, your eyes met Langdon's from across the room.

Something unreadable flickered across his face - too fast to catch, too controlled to decode. It vanished before you could even decide whether you had imagined it.

-

Later, you found yourself alone with him in the trauma bay.

You were halfway through de-scrubbing when his voice cut through the sterile hum.

“Didn’t realise you had a thing for interns.” Langdon remarked as he yanked off his gloves, the latex snapping softly against his wrist.

You glanced over at him as you united your gown.

“Huh?”

“Holland.” He clarified, like it should have been obvious.

You frowned. “What about him?”

“He was flirting with you.”

You scoffed immediately. “No he wasn’t.”

Langdon stopped mid-movement, staring at you like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“There’s no way you’re that oblivious.” He said flatly.

Your brow knitted. “I’m not oblivious.”

“You are if you don’t notice the way he looks at you.”

You tilted your head slightly. “How does he look at me?”

“Like-“ Langdon cut himself off. His jaw tightened once before he looked away.

“Never mind.” He muttered, scrunching his gloves into a ball and lobbing it into the trashcan with practiced aim.

“Well if he’s flirting with me, maybe I can wrangle a free drink out of him.” You said lightly.

Frank stilled. Not dramatically, but enough for you to notice the tension settling across his shoulders. The brief curl of his fingers before he forced them open again.

You weren’t sure what reaction you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the one you got.

When he looked back at you, his expression had hardened slightly around the edges.

“So you’re going tonight?”

You lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I might.”

He shook his head slightly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He pushed open the glass doors, holding it open for you to pass through first. “Just thought I’d be free of you in a few hours.”

Your eyes narrowed as you stepped past him.

“Don’t worry." You shot back, "I’ll make sure to sit at the opposite end of the table.”

-

The bar the pitt crew frequented was already too crowded for your liking by the time you arrived.

It was loud in a way that pressed against your skin. The kind of place where conversation blurred into overlapping noise and every surface felt slightly sticky.

You’d been nursing a wine for the better part of an hour, perched on the edge of the booth, perfectly content listening to everyone else talk.

"I'll be back." You murmured to Samira beside you, sliding your unfinished glass toward her.

"Don't get lost." She teased.

You threaded your way through the crowd toward the bathroom, shoulders brushing strangers, the air growing hotter the further you moved from your group.

“I can’t believe she’s here.”

“Who?”

You froze when you heard the sound of your last name.

It wasn’t spoken loudly, but it cut through the noise anyway.

“I know, Holland actually managed to convince her.”

You slowed instinctively.

A cluster of interns stood near the bar, half-leaning into each other, already loosened by alcohol and confidence. All oblivious to the fact you were only a few feet away.

“It wasn’t hard, just had to smile at her and call her doc.”

A few of them laughed.

“She definitely has cat lady energy."

"In all fairness." Someone else said. "She is hot. Just way too fucking uptight."

"Seriously." Another voice added. “You can tell she’s never relaxed a day in her life."

The laughter swelled again.

The words landed like barbs in your chest.

The air felt suddenly too thin, too sharp. Your fingers curled instinctively around nothing.

“Holland, honestly, do everyone a favour and take care of her tonight so maybe she chills the fuck out next shift-"

You turned before you could hear the rest, not sure if you'd be able to bear hearing more.

Heat burned behind your eyes as you pushed through the crowd, swallowing the emotion down so aggressively it turned sharp inside your chest. You rerouted, diverting your course to the bathroom back to your table.

There were plenty of other doctors at PTMC who had sacrificed their social lives for this job. Robby and Langdon were self professed life long bachelors because of their obsession with work. But the difference was, they were men.

By the time you reached the booth again, anger had replaced humiliation almost entirely.

As you approached your table, Samira glanced up at you.

"Hey, you ok?" She asked.

"Never better." You answered smoothly, sliding back into the booth as you let the anger spark into something different.

You gestured to the bar.

"Want to get wasted?"

-

What neither you or the interns had realised was that Frank had been standing further down the bar waiting to order. And he had heard every word.

"Hey."

The interns turned.

Frank stood there holding two untouched beers, expression unreadable.

“Maybe be careful of how you talk about your seniors.” Frank said, too calmly for it to be genuine.

Holland, who’d already had one too many, snorted.

“Come on man, you of all people know what she’s like.”

Frank’s jaw ticked.

“I know that she’s a brilliant doctor who deserves your respect."

"Respect?" Holland laughed. "We all see the way you talk to her." Holland continued, the alcohol flowing through his veins hindering his ability to realise that he was walking into a death trap.

Frank stepped forward just enough that the space between them shifted.

"Don't ever try and conflate your working relationship with what her and I have." He spoke evenly, his voice lowering just enough.

A hush descended over the interns.

"And from now on I suggest you watch your fucking mouth." He continued, his eyes moving from Holland to flit over the group. "Because if I hear any of you breath another bad word about her, I'll personally ensure that none of you make it through this internship."

No one dared to speak or move.

"Are we clear?”

Holland swallowed. “Crystal.”

-

You had never been one to hold your alcohol well, and tonight was no exception.

Three shots and four drinks in and your vision was blurring at the edges. You and Samira had managed to convince Dana and a few of the other nurses to join in, the group of you giggling and slurring like a bunch of underage teenagers.

And still, every so often, despite the bodies and the noise and the light, Frank's eyes would find yours.

You had no idea what time it was when you stumbled out of the bar.

The night air hit your face like relief and exhaustion all at once. You dropped onto a bench without fully deciding to, legs slightly unsteady, head tipping back toward the night sky. The music from the bar seeped out into the quiet street, carried by the faint breeze.

You could hear foot steps approaching.

You didn't need to look to know who it was.

"How's your night going?"

You blinked slowly up at him.

"Was going great until about two seconds ago."

Frank studied you carefully. "How much have you had to drink?"

"You tell me." You squinted.

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he sat beside you anyway, close enough that you could feel the warmth that radiated off his body.

"I'll answer for you." You continued, hiccupping as you folded your arms over your chest. "Not enough."

"You should have some water."

You let out a fake a gasp. "Is Frank Langdon worried about me?"

Despite himself, a small smile tugged at his mouth. "Worried about dealing with you hungover tomorrow? Definitely."

That pulled a laugh out of you. "Don't worry." You said as you leant back. "I've got the next two days off so you'll get a break from me."

He didn't answer you as you looked back up at the sky, your eyes settling on the full moon hanging above the two of you.

Instead, he watched you for a moment longer than necessary, like he was trying to place something unspoken.

"Do you think I'm uptight?" You blurted out.

Frank's brows jerked upward.

"Is that a trick question?"

The teasing disappeared immediately when he saw your expression shift.

"Maybe I should just go adopt some cats and embrace it." You mumbled, barely audible as you hugged your arms around yourself.

"Hey." He said, making you look up at him.

"So what if you're uptight?" Frank asked. "It means you care. Means you don't half-ass things."

A pause.

"Because uptight implies...I don't know.." You let out a small sigh as you glanced down at your hands. "That I'm boring or annoying, or both."

"You're definitely not boring." He said immediately.

"But yes." He added after a beat. "You are definitely annoying."

That loosened a real laugh from you this time.

Frank watched it happen carefully, something softer flickering across his face.

"But I like that about you." He added quietly, almost like he hadn't meant to say it out loud.

You shot him an incredulous look. "Sure you do."

"I do." He insisted.

"Uh huh." Your lips pursed in amusement. "Don't pretend like you wouldn't give me a personality transplant if you could."

"I wouldn't." This time he sounded firmer, too focused on proving you wrong to realise that he was giving away too much.

"I wouldn't change anything about you." He repeated, his eyes locking onto yours.

"I like you. Just as you are."

The words hung between you for a moment.

You stared at him as your body suddenly completely still.

And then the espresso martinis and tequila shots reminded you that they were still swirling around in your stomach, causing a wave of nausea to rip through you.

The colour drained from your face as the alcohol, the heat, the exhaustion - everything surged through you at once.

Frank noticed it instantly.

"Come on, let's get you home."

-

The walk up to your apartment was a blur of stairs, half-coherent instructions, and Frank’s hand steadying you at your elbow whenever you swayed too far.

By the time he guided you inside, you were well beyond the point of being able to remember anything.

Too drunk to notice the way Frank's eyes trained on the interior of your apartment, gaze lingering on family photos, books, decorations, anything that provided him a glimpse of who you were outside of work.

He got you into bed, moving around your space with a familiarity that made it feel like he'd been here a hundred times before.

You watched as he placed a glass of water and a packet of painkillers on your bedside table.

Then he paused.

Your pink bedspread was patterned with tiny cherries.

A smile tugged unexpectedly at his mouth.

"Try not to vomit all over your fancy bedspread." He remarked.

You looked up at him blearily.

There was something dangerously fond in his voice now.

You watched him hover for a moment, like he was trying to convince himself to leave.

"Thank you."

A smile, small and private, broke through.

"Don't mention it Ace."

He turned to leave when your hand caught his forearm lightly.

He stopped immediately.

"Hey." You whispered.

"What's wrong?" He asked, already shifting back toward you instinctively.

You studied him for a long moment, as if something about his face had changed shape in the quiet. Frank suddenly became aware that your hand was still on his arm.

"Your eyes have a little green in them."

Frank froze.

The words had been spoken so softly he almost thought he imagined them.

He swallowed, glancing down at the floor as he tried to reconcile the emotions flooding his nervous system, tried to formulate a response.

But when he looked at you again, you were already gone - head tilted slightly, lashes fluttered close, breath even, asleep mid-thought.

He stayed there for a moment longer than he should have.

Then he left quietly, closing the door behind him like he was afraid to disturb whatever had just changed between the two of you.

seven.

Frank Langdon could make you laugh like no one else could.

It wasn’t just the words he said. Like everything else, it was the timing of them.

The way he seemed to sense the exact moment your thoughts started tipping somewhere too heavy and quietly redirected them before you could sink too far into yourself, like he refused to let it stay there too long.

Ever since that night out at the bar, things had shifted between the two of you.

Not dramatically. Not in any way anyone else would have been able to point at and name.

But there had been a change in the space between interactions. Less friction. Less sharpness for the sake of it. The edges of your usual back-and-forth softened into something that almost resembled ease - like both of you had, without discussion, agreed to stop pressing on eachother’s bruises.

You couldn’t remember much from that night. Couldn't even remember how you'd gotten home. You only had fragments to analyse - warmth, noise, Frank’s voice close enough to feel like it belonged somewhere under your skin.

"I like you. Just as you are."

That part, unfortunately, you remembered perfectly.

The words had settled somewhere deep and stubborn inside you, resurfacing at the worst possible moments. Mid-shift. Mid-sentence. In the brief seconds before sleep when your brain stopped pretending it wasn’t still at work.

And now, weeks later, you were still carrying them around like something you hadn’t figured out how to put down.

The unspoken truce between you and Frank held anyway.

Sharper jabs were replaced with quieter ones, almost always softened with half-hearted eye rolls and almost-smiles neither of you acknowledged.

If anyone else noticed it, they didn't say it out loud, careful not to disrupt whatever delicate peace treaty had been formed.

You’d been having a good shift, until hour eleven.

Your patient, a young woman with a soft, girlish face that made her look even younger. She’d come in complaining of vague chest discomfort with a documented history of anxiety. No other significant past medical history. Stable vitals on arrival.

She'd been sweet, telling you all about how she had finally worked up the courage to book flights to Italy for the summer.

Then she crashed.

Chest compressions were already underway when you arrived, the rhythm of them loud and brutal in the confined space. Someone was bagging her. Someone else was calling out time intervals.

"Epi’s in." Jesse confirmed.

You were already moving, hands automatically checking rhythm on the monitor, eyes scanning for anything reversible.

Nothing.

Still PEA.

"Again." You said, voice steady in a way you didn’t feel as you swapped in for compressions.

The bedframe rattled faintly beneath the force of it.

Time stretched in that strange, distorted way it always did during arrest, both too fast and painfully slow at once.

You all paused again, stepping away to look at the monitor for another rhythm check.

"Call it."

Robby's voice cut through the room.

"We can still try-" You began.

"You've been going for twenty minutes." Robby voice stayed calm, firm. "Call it."

The room shifted like it always did when a resuscitation failed. That invisible collective acknowledgment that the line had been reached.

You reluctantly moved your hands away from the patients chest, your gaze lingering on her glassy eyes that would never blink again.

You felt your chest tighten.

You glanced down at your watch. "Time of death, 5:17pm."

Your voice remained clinical despite the way your throat had started closing around the words.

Silence settled over the room.

The monitors still beeped softly in the background, almost offensively alive compared to everything else.

"Does she have next of kin listed?"

Robby glanced down at your hands that had started to tremor slightly. Something soft flickered across his face.

"I'll do it."

You shook your head before he even finished the sentence.

"No." Your voice tightened slightly. "She was my patient. I can do it."

A pause.

Robby studied you for a second longer than necessary, then nodded once.

"Ok."

The room began to reset around you, people stepping back, lowering their voices, the clinical transition from emergency to aftermath already beginning.

But your hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

-

The wind up on the roof of PTMC was colder than expected. Sharp against your skin, grounding in a way that almost hurt.

You sat curled against the wall with your knees tucked to your chest, staring at your shaking hands.

“Heard you had a rough one.”

You turned your head.

Frank was standing a few steps away, hands tucked into his pockets.

“She was only 19.” You murmured, shaking your head. “I just had to tell her parents that their daughter isn’t coming home.”

You turned your head away as he sat down beside you, wiping at your face quickly before he could fully register it.

“I’m sorry.”

"I should have checked for a PE risk or a structural issue or-"

"She presented exactly like most young patients with anxiety do. None of us would have done anything differently." Frank interrupted gently.

You inhaled sharply. "But if I'd just-"

"Ace."

Your nickname, said like that, cut through the spiral before it could finish building.

You looked at him.

His gaze dropped briefly to your hands.

Then, slower, like he was deciding rather than acting, he reached forward and wrapped his hands around yours.

"This wasn't your fault."

The warmth of him grounded you instantly in a way that felt deeply unfair.

You swallowed hard and nodded once.

"I don't know how Robby and Dana are still here." You admitted quietly. "How they just keep... showing up."

Frank raised a brow. "Have you met them? They're both completely unhinged."

Despite yourself, a small sound escaped you - half laugh, half broken exhale.

"I didn't realise unhinged was an official medical diagnosis."

"It is according to me.” He nodded solemnly. “Right alongside basketcase and whacko."

That got another laugh out of you, sharper this time. More real.

He tilted his head slightly, watching you like he was checking whether it had actually worked.

You looked down then.

His hands were still around yours.

"I’m scared to know what you'd diagnose me with." You said after a moment, voice steadier now.

A corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

"You're your own medical condition entirely." He answered before pausing as he tried to think of the best way to describe it.

"Ace-itis."

That made you laugh again, properly this time, breath catching slightly at the end, the heaviness in your chest loosening just enough for you to breathe deeper.

Frank watched it happen like it mattered more than it should.

When the laughter faded, the silence between you felt strangely easy.

After a moment, he shifted slightly but didn’t let go of your hands.

“You want to go get a drink or something?”

The question was casual, but it didn't feel like it.

You blinked at him once, processing it slowly through the fog of adrenaline and exhaustion.

A joke rose automatically to your tongue, something defensive, something sharp, but you swallowed it as you studied him.

“Only if the first rounds on you.”

He smiled faintly.

“After the day you’ve had, I’ll even get the second.”

eight.

Frank Langdon could also make you cry in a way no one else could.

Because when he turned on you, it felt like being shut out of something you hadn’t realised you were standing inside of, something that you suddenly didn't want to leave.

It was the day of Pittfest.

It was also the day for new interns and residents, which meant a whole slate of fresh faces trying too hard while the rest of the ER oscillated between mentorship and survival mode.

The halls were louder than usual. Too many voices overlapping, too many unfamiliar footsteps echoing off the linoleum floors.

And through all of it, there was Frank.

You noticed it within the first hour.

Something was off.

He moved like his body was running half a step ahead of everything - conversations, people, decisions. His voice came too quickly, clipped at the edges. His attention snapped between patients and staff with an intensity that didn’t feel controlled so much as driven. Like his nervous system had been turned up too high and forgotten how to come back down.

His pupils were slightly too wide under the fluorescent light, sweat gathered faintly at the back of his neck despite the air conditioning.

And worst of all - his arrogance, usually carefully calibrated, was unfiltered.

Loud.

You caught yourself watching him repeatedly throughout the shift.

Each time, you told yourself you were imagining it.

Then another hour passed.

Then another.

Eventually, you found yourself avoiding him entirely, because something about the way he looked today made you think of a system running too hot right before it failed.

You just hoped that whatever was going on with him would settle and he wouldn’t sweep up too many people in his chaos.

That hope lasted until you heard raised voices coming from trauma two.

You were already moving before you consciously decided to.

Even from the doorway, you could tell the atmosphere was off. A room holding its breath in the wrong place.

Frank was at the centre of it.

One of the new interns, Trinity, stood across from him, her body rigid, eyes wide. You had a brief thought that she resembled a frightened lamb.

Frank’s voice cut through everything.

“-stupid or arrogant, you need to realise that you are a beginner.” His voice was loud and unforgiving.

“Which means your job is to shut up, listen, and learn, because so far today the only thing you have been successful at is proving repeatedly that you know nothing.”

Trinity’s eyes widened slightly when she spotted you over his shoulder. You couldn’t decide if it was a silent plea or a warning.

Frank turned slightly at that movement.

For one brief second, his expression faltered when he saw you, like seeing you had been pulled back into himself.

Then immediately it hardened again, too fast to hold onto.

You swallowed, attempting to regain your composure as you glanced between them.

“Santos.” Your voice was level as you tilted your head towards the exit. “Dr McKay needs help in Room 4.”

Relief crossed Trinity’s face so quickly it was almost painful.

She nodded once, eyes darting between the two of you before escaping the room like she’d been given permission to breathe again.

The moment she left, the air changed again.

You turned back to Frank slowly, taking a few steps toward him so you were fully enveloped by the room.

He was still standing there, hands half-curled at his sides, like he’d been interrupted mid-impact and didn’t know what to do with the energy still in him.

“What the fuck was that?”

His eyes snapped to yours.

“What the fuck was what?”

His tone made you bristle.

“Don’t do that.” You said sharply. “Don’t stand there pretending you don’t know what you just did was completely out of line.”

“Have you worked with her yet?” He shot back, words tumbling out too fast. “She’s arrogant and-and completely incapable of-“

“It doesn’t matter.” You interrupted. “That is not how we talk to rookies. Actually, it’s not how we talk to anyone.”

Frank scoffed, sharp and humourless.

“Didn’t realise you were the tone police.”

The agitation radiating off him made you instinctively want to step back.

Your gaze sharpened.

“What is going on with you today?” You demanded. “You’re all twitchy and acting completely fucking manic-“

You stopped when you caught it.

Because you saw it properly now you were up close. His pupils were too dilated, not situational, not lighting, not stress.

Something else.

Something your brain immediately started assembling pieces around before you could stop it.

Sweats at his hairline, restless movement in his jaw, the uneven pacing of his breath.

And then the memory surfaced - uninvited, unwelcome.

Back pain from when he’d helped his parents move. Been too cheap to hire movers, he’d joked.

A prescription.

You remembered him mentioning it offhand weeks ago - something about weaning off them, something about not needing them anymore.

The realization hit so hard it almost made you feel sick.

You went still.

Frank noticed immediately.

Something defensive shifted across his posture like he’d followed your thoughts to their conclusion before you even spoke.

“Frank.” You said slowly.

Your voice softened involuntarily. Careful in a way that didn’t match the argument anymore. Weeks of quiet moments and softened edges bleeding into the argument without permission.

“Are you having withdrawals?”

There was a beat of silence.

Something flickered across his face.

Not denial first, not anger.

Something closer to pain, mixed with a semblance of something like surprise, maybe at the sound of his first name leaving your lips, or being caught, you weren’t certain.

And then it vanished.

“What?” He said, voice sharp enough to cut, “are you seriously trying to ask me if I’m a drug addict?”

“No, I-“ You started immediately, stepping forward again.

But he was already unraveling faster than you could catch.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Bitterness curled through every word now. “Get your competition shipped off to rehab so you can be the only golden child of the ER.”

Your breath caught painfully.

“That’s not fair.”

"Isn't it?" He studied you for a moment, his eyes intense and unblinking. "This place isyour whole life, it makes sense that you'd be dying to have Robby's attention all to yourself."

The words, slung like arrows, found their mark with deadly accuracy. They penetrated your thick skin, embedding themselves somewhere deep behind your rib cage.

Not because they were true, but because they were thrown like they were, like they were designed to hurt you.

Your throat tightened.

“I don’t know what has gotten into you.” You said quietly, voice shaking now despite your efforts. “But I seriously suggest you stop talking before you say something you can’t take back.”

For a moment something in him wavered. A crack.

Like he could suddenly see you again instead of whatever he was fighting.

Your bottom lip was quivering now.

For a second, he looked horrified by it.

And then his expression closed again, like a door slamming shut.

“Don’t worry.” He said flatly, void of any emotion as he stalked past you. “I was just leaving.”

You stood there frozen for a few seconds before the tears finally came, sliding down your face in hot, fat tracks.

Anger crashed through you almost instantly afterward.

Not just at Frank, but at yourself.

Because you hadn’t cried when you heard interns say horrible things about you, hadn’t cried when you’d lost a patient. You’d been on the brink, but never quite fallen off the ledge.

But somehow, Frank Langdon was the one to push you off it.

And that terrified you more than anything.

Because it meant you’d let him get under your skin in a way that you never thought he would. And now, you didn’t know if you could ever scrub yourself clean of him.

nine.

Frank Langdon left without saying goodbye.

You stood in the descrubbing bay long after your gloves had been peeled off and discarded, staring at nothing in particular. The curtain that separated you from the trauma bay still fluttered slightly, like the room itself hadn’t settled yet.

You didn’t want to move. Didn't want to pull back the curtain and see the blood soaked floor beyond it.

Because if you did, it would become real in a different way. Not just something you survived, but something that stayed.

A dull headache pulsed steadily behind your eyes. Your shoulders ached with tension. Your body felt disconnected somehow, like part of you was still moving even though you’d stopped minutes ago.

Your mind was struggling to process what you'd just witnessed. How many people you saved. How many you didn't.

You swallowed hard against the tightness in your throat.

For one strange second, you genuinely thought you might pass out.

The curtain shifted. You flinched before you could stop yourself.

“Sorry.”

The voice was quiet and all too familiar.

Your stomach dropped before you even turned.

Blue eyes met yours.

Frank stood in the doorway, still in scrubs. Hair slightly dishevelled. Exhaustion carved into his face in ways that you were sure mirrored yours.

The mass casualty had left no room to think about him as anything other than another set of hands beside you. But now, standing here with him again, every emotion you’d shoved aside came flooding violently back.

“What do you want, Langdon?”

Your voice came out flatter than intended as you turned away again, like movement alone might protect you from whatever this conversation was about to become.

"I came to apologise... about earlier." He said quietly. "That was fucked up."

"Yeah. It was." You said.

A humourless breath escaped you.

"Although now it feels kind of trivial after-" You stopped yourself before your brain could drift back toward everything you’d all just witnessed.

You turned back properly then - freezing when you saw the raw emotion on his face.

"I'm really sorry."

This time, you weren’t entirely sure he was only talking about the argument anymore.

You took a step towards him.

"What happened Frank?" You asked quietly.

His jaw tightened.

For a moment, he didn’t answer.

"I fucked up Ace." He admitted, his voice cracking slightly, like it cost him something to say it out loud.

"Really badly."

Your expression softened before you could stop it, and that seemed to break something in him further.

"I think I need help." The confession came out barely above a whisper as tears pooled in the corner of his eyes.

You took a step toward him instinctively.

"Ok." You said immediately, nodding slowly. "Ok. We can get you help."

"Jesus-" He cut himself off, squeezing his eyes shut for a second like he was trying to physically reset himself. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you... like you pity me."

"Jesus Christ Langdon, I don't pity you I-" You stopped yourself, breath catching slightly as you realised what you were about to say.

"I care about you."

The honesty of it startled even you.

Frank went still.

"You do?" He asked.

There was no teasing in his voice now. No arrogance. Only something small and uncertain underneath it that made your chest ache unexpectedly.

"Yeah." You said, softer now. "Even though it pains me to admit it."

That got the smallest flicker of something, his eyes never leaving your face.

"Which is why we're going to figure this out." You continued, stepping closer again without thinking about it. "Whatever this is, we can sort it out, we can-"

You never got to finish your sentence.

Because Frank Langdon kissed you.

It was sudden - like something inside him had snapped beneath the weight of everything he’d been holding back.

You froze completely at first. Hands half-raised, breath caught, brain refusing to process the shift from conversation to collision.

Frank pulled back abruptly, eyes wide, mouth parted.

“I- oh my god." He breathed heavily. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I-”

You grabbed the front of his scrubs and pulled him back down before he could finish.

The second kiss wasn’t hesitant.

It was years of tension collapsing all at once into something sharp and immediate and impossible to take back.

Frank made a quiet sound against your mouth like he still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Like he couldn’t quite believe you were kissing him back.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled back. His breathing uneven, chest rising too fast.

"I'm sorry." He shook his head as he took a step away from you, like he needed the physical distance to stop himself. "I can't- I can't do this."

"Frank-"

But he was already gone.

You didn't see him again after that.

Not in passing, not in corridors, not in all the strange little spaces where the two of you had somehow built an entire relationship out of arguments and eye contact and timing.

You found out a week later from Dana that Frank had admitted himself into a treatment program that same night.

And then he disappeared from your life for ten months.

ten.

The thing you hated the most about Frank Langdon was that you didn't hate him.

Not even a little bit, not even at all.

You’d known it long before you admitted it to yourself. But that moment - that kiss- had made it undeniable in a way you couldn’t pretend to ignore anymore.

And that was the problem.

Because hatred would’ve been easier than this constant, aching awareness of him existing somewhere just beyond your reach.

Fourth of July shifts were universally hated at PTMC.

Too hot, too loud, too many fire-work related disasters waiting to happen.

You could already feel a faint film of sweat start to coat the back of your neck as you opened your locker that morning.

Footsteps approached behind you.

You peered around the locker door out of habit, ready to say good morning to whichever poor colleague was stuck with you on this shift.

Your brain short circuited.

Frank Langdon stood there.

Cap on. Backpack slung over one shoulder. Like he belonged somewhere casual, somewhere outside of this building entirely.

Like he hadn’t disappeared from your life for ten months without a word.

You stared at him for a moment.

Then he opened his mouth, your name formed silently on his lips.

You slammed your door shut with finality, then walked straight past him without saying a word.

Your pulse roared in your ears, your heart bashed against your ribcage.

You knew he’d be coming back, you knew you would have to see him again eventually - you just didn’t think it would be today.

You didn’t think it would hurt this much either.

-

The shift was unbearable in the quietest possible way.

Every time you turned a corner, you expected him to be there. Every time you reached for a chart, you expected his voice behind you.

Every time someone called your name, your body reacted before your brain caught up - a stupid, pathetic flicker of hope you immediately hated yourself for.

And then there were the moments he was there.

Hands steady, voice controlled, face carefully neutral in the way only Frank Langdon could manage when he was actively trying not to look at you.

Even then, you could feel his eyes on you wherever you moved.

It made your skin feel too tight.

By hour four, you had already done two traumas with him. Your body slipped back into your old rhythm together so naturally it made you feel sick.

By hour eight, your scrubs were starting to cling to you in a way that felt suffocating.

By hour ten, your tension headache had made itself home again.

By hour fourteen, you thought you might scream if you stayed in the same room as him any longer.

The stairwell was empty when you found it.

Quiet in the way hospital spaces rarely were - concrete walls absorbing sound instead of reflecting it. The air was cooler here, industrial and slightly damp, smelling faintly of disinfectant and metal.

You pressed your back against the wall and closed your eyes for half a second.

Just one breath.

Just one moment where you didn’t have to think about him.

Your eyes snapped open when you heard the door open.

Frank stood in front of you, his chest rose and fell slightly faster than usual, like he’d decided to follow you on impulse and was only now catching up with the consequences.

You straightened immediately.

"I just want to talk." He spoke, taking a step toward you slowly like you were a wild animal he didn't want to spook.

"There's nothing to talk about Langdon."

He paused. "You know that's not true Ace."

"Don't call me that."

Your voice came out sharper than you intended.

His expression flickered.

“Please Ace just-"

"I said stop." You cut him off again, stepping back slightly without meaning to. "You don’t get to call me that anymore. Not after-"

You stopped.

The words jammed in your throat.

Because saying it out loud meant making it real in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for.

His gaze didn’t move from yours.

"Not after what?" He asked quietly.

Something in your restraint finally cracked, frustration pouring out of you.

"I wrote to you in rehab." You said, voice tightening. "Even after everything, I wrote to you. And you didn't write back."

Pain flashed openly across Frank's face.

"I'm sorry."

You shook your head.

"You kissed me Langdon. And then you disappeared without a word and then you just - just appear without any warning, like nothing happened." Your voice grew louder as you spoke, trembling despite your best efforts.

"I didn't want you to get caught up in any of this."

"That wasn't your call to make." You snapped back. "I can make my own decisions."

"You don't think that I know that?" He answered, his own tone sharpening. "There's more to this then my addiction."

"I know."

Frank's eyes flared in surprise.

You exhaled shakily.

"Robby and Santos have been glaring at you all day. And I saw the way he looked at you last year before you left.” Your jaw clenched. “It doesn't take a genius to figure it out."

Frank watched you for a moment, his surprise morphing into one of disbelief.

"And you're saying what? You wouldn't have exiled me too?”

"No. I would have been there for you, if you'd given me the chance to."

His expression faltered as he shook his head slightly.

"What?" You challenged, taking a step towards him. "You don't believe me?"

"You hate me." He countered.

You stared at him, then let out a breath somewhere between exhaustion and disbelief.

"Jesus Langdon, I don't hate you.” You snapped. “And that's precisely the problem."

A pause.

He took a step closer.

"I didn't plan on kissing you like that."

You swallowed as you looked at him, all your frustration seeping out of you.

"Then why did you?" You murmured.

For a moment he didn't answer.

"Because I don't hate you either."

This time when he looked at you, there was something different. Like he wasn’t looking at you as competition, or a colleague, but something more exposed than either of you had ever allowed before.

"You're all I thought about in rehab."

Your heart stuttered violently.

Frank laughed softly under his breath, humourless.

"You're all I've thought about since med school, really."

"That can't be-"

"It is." He cut in gently. His eyes dropped briefly toward the floor.

“Ever since you sat across from me with your colour coded textbooks and looked at me like you wanted to kill me.” A small smile tugged briefly at his mouth.

Your breath caught.

“That's probably why I was always such a dick to you.” He glanced back up. “Because it was the only time you ever really looked at me."

The stairwell felt too small suddenly. Too warm, too honest, too vulnerable.

"It's always been you Ace.” His voice softened. “I just didn’t know what to do about it.”

You swallowed hard.

"You left." You said quietly.

"I know." He said immediately. No defence. No excuse. Just truth.

“I panicked. I wasn't thinking straight."

A beat.

"And I’ve regretted it every day since."

He took another step towards you.

"The kiss, or you leaving?” You whispered.

His eyes heals yours steadily.

"You know which one."

Now he was close enough that you had to tilt your head slightly to keep eye contact. Close enough that you could see the small flecks of green scattered through his eyes.

"I don't think I can keep pretending that I don't want you anymore." He admitted.

Silence hung between the two of you.

"Say something." He said quietly. "Please."

The space between you was nothing and everything at once.

"Frank.." You breathed out.

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to pretend anymore either."

Frank swallowed, his eyes flickering down to your mouth.

"I'd really like to kiss you again.”

Whatever restraint you still had left finally broke.

You fisted his scrubs in between your fingers, guiding him down to your mouth.

The kiss wasn’t careful this time.

It wasn’t confused.

It was real in a way that almost hurt.

Like years of wanting each other had finally run out of places to hide.

Frank’s hand came up immediately to cradle your jaw, anchoring you there like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

You pulled him closer against you, one hand threading through his hair. You felt your back hit the wall, a small breath escaping your mouth at the impact.

The stairwell door creaked somewhere nearby.

You both broke apart instantly.

You turned, but there was no one there.

Frank looked back at you, breathing unevenly now, a grin slowly pulling at his mouth.

"You know what I just realised?”

"Oh god.” Your fingers scraped lightly against the back of his neck. “What?”

“I never got to tell you I performed a closed cervical reduction like thirty minutes ago.”

Your eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"Completely." His smile grew as he ghosted his thumb over your jaw. "Guess that's two miracles I've performed today."

You snorted despite yourself. "That was terrible, even for you."

"I know." He smirked as he leant forward, his mouth hovering over yours. "You love it though Ace."

Your smile widened helplessly as you rolled your eyes.

"Just shut up and kiss me Langdon."

-

Robby glanced over his glasses to see Abbot making his way towards him, his face slack like he was trying to process something.

“Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?” Robby asked.

“Because I’m traumatised.”

“I think we all are.”

“No.” Abbot shook his head gravely. “Somehow this was worse than anything I’ve seen in here.”

Robby raised a brow as Abbot shuddered.

“I just caught your two protégées making out in the stairwell.”

“Huh.”

Robby glancing down casually at his watch.

“Well I'll give them credit."

Abbot's eyes narrowed. "For what?”

Robby shrugged as he turned back to his screen.

"They lasted longer than I thought they would.”

You sigh, plucking the cherry out of the liquor in your glass and pushing it into your mouth—a perfect distraction from the impending walk back to the apartment. 

The apartment.

Your apartment - question mark?

You've lived there for months, at this point.

But the lease wasn't under your name, which was normally something that would make you feel nervous—sleeping under a roof that doesn't legally belong to you.

But it is Frank's.

Frank, who you have known for as long as you've been a volunteer at Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center. Who, despite being observed as a cynical asshole among his peers, had always said good morning to you before he stepped around you.

Frank, who went away for a long time. Who came back. Who you found - stumbled across - one afternoon in a back hallway, clutching a styrofoam cup of hospital brand coffee.

You didn't ask for details. 

But you did sit, knees against your chest, just outside of his reach. You weren't shy about seeing people vulnerable - part of your job in patient advocacy - but you were aware of how rigid his body looked.

The conversation started simple—he made a self-deprecating joke. You told him that you were glad he was back, and meant it.

From there, you learned the bits and pieces of his story-to-date: rehab. Divorce. More rehab.

Messier than I meant it to be, he admits one day.

It takes a long time after that for Frank to open up about much more.

All the while, you continue to visit PTMC—once every two weeks. 

Eventually, Frank asks—a cup of coffee, in a place without fluorescent lighting. 

You agree.

It was a slower start than any other relationship you had—months until either one of you even used that word—but it was sweet. 

You could be patient. 

Because it was Frank. 

Who explained where he was, how he felt, even if the words were sometimes messy. Who continually proved that he thought about you throughout the day, who remembered how you took your coffee and which Thai restaurants you avoided and which day of the week you preferred.

When he asked, suggesting that you could start keeping more things at his place if you wanted to, you agreed. 

Because it was Frank, who felt more like security than anything you'd ever met.

The weight of an arm slings across your shoulders, interrupting your thoughts.

It only takes a second for recognition to break through your blurry thoughts. 

Frank. 

He’d sent you a text hours earlier, telling you how everyone had plans to meet up at the local dive bar after their shift - a rarity that they were all off at the same time - and asked if you wanted to meet there.

You’d almost said no, your heart partially set on a chill night in. But you did like the idea of a spontaneous night out. And you like Frank’s friends.

You like that he wanted to include you. 

“You’ve got that look on your face,” Frank says. You lean into him on instinct, his side warm and familiar to you. 

“What look?” you ask. 

“The one that says you’re ready to leave.” 

You laugh, soft and short, tilting your face up to see him. “I do not,” you retort. “I’m good. I can hang.” 

Frank squeezes your shoulder. “Let me take you home anyway?” 

A beat. “You’re not going to buy me dinner first, before asking?” 

Frank smiles. “Whatever you want.”

You feel your face warm at how easily he agrees. How can you argue with that? “Fine.” 

Clearly pleased with himself, he leans in, quick, placing a kiss to your temple. 

It distracts you enough that you don't notice as Frank plucks your barely-sipped drink from your hand, abandoning it on a nearby table. You watch as his eyes flick across the room before his gaze settles on Cassie. 

"Hey. We're headed out."

Cassie nods, then gestures a wave with the hand not holding a pool stick. "See ya later." Then she ducks her head, meeting your gaze. "It was good to see you tonight!"

You beamed in response, waving back. You like Cassie McKay. "Bye!"

Frank’s arm drifts from your shoulders, his hand settling at the small of your back. Not pushy, but present. Your feet don’t move and he raises an eyebrow. 

“My tab!” You exclaim. 

He lets out a breath of a laugh, his smile teasing a dimple. “Already taken care of.” 

You start to walk with him then, the sluggish effect of your drinks coupling with the late night. “I thought they kept your card? I haven't closed out yet.” 

“I have it.” Frank pats the front pocket of his shirt. “And before you ask—no, I didn’t sign for you. I used my card, like I asked you to do to begin with.” 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Frank pushes the bar door open. The cool night air feels welcoming against your skin. 

“But I want to,” he says after you both cross the threshold. “Think of it as my way of supporting Al’s without drinking.” 

You hum a quiet reply. “Thank you. Hold my hand?” 

“You’re welcome.” His hand trails across your back like he’s unwilling to break contact before his palm finds your already outstretched hand. “Yeah.” 

Frank’s fingers slot between yours, his grip keeping you close as you both make the walk from Al Place to Frank’s apartment. It was only a few blocks, but you still felt thankful that you had worn comfortable shoes. 

“Thanks for coming tonight,” Frank says, breaking the lull in conversation as you step over a rough patch of sidewalk. 

“Mmm? Oh.” You look up from your concentration on the ground. “I like your friends.” 

You catch something flickering across Frank’s face - and you’re unsure of whether it’s from amusement or something else. 

He doesn’t offer a comment. You try to not think too deeply about it, especially as the soft glow of his apartment building comes into view. 

Through the front door of the complex, then past the lobby—until you both stand in front of the elevator. A few floors later, and Frank’s unlocking his door with a soft jingling of keys. 

You both fall into the comfortable routine of coming home together after a night out. You slide your shoes off; Frank puts his backpack away. 

“Gonna be okay if I take a shower?” He asks. Even though he had changed out of his hospital scrubs after his shift, he often complained about still feeling dirty until he got home.

“Yeah. Go ahead.” 

You split ways with Frank—he goes to the bathroom, and you tip-toe into the bedroom with the kind of carefulness that only comes from being tipsy.

You plop on the bed as the sound of the shower starting drifts to the bedroom. You think there can't be any harm in laying down—just for a second.

One second turns into two, turns into the feeling of your body moving as the mattress dips in acknowledgement of the added weight of Frank Langdon.

His hand is on your shoulder, giving an experimental nudge. He calls your name. You grunt in acknowledgment. He repeats your name, then: "Come on, Sleepy Head. Let me see those eyes."

You crack your eyelids to see Frank in your space. He's all blue-eyes and wet hair and he smells like soap and feels warm.

"There she is," he hums, pleased, thumb rubbing over your collarbone. "Can you sit up for me?"

You shake your head no. 

"Too sleepy," you murmur.

He tuts - disapprovingly, you think - but he doesn't look any less fond. "What if I help you?"

You consider. Then, with a heavy sigh—”Okay.”

Frank helps you back into a sitting position. Your eyes fully open. The room is, unfortunately, spinning.

"Do you want to try a shower?" He asks. You shake your head. "I guess I should've taken you in with me," he teases.

You blink up at him, pouting.

He pokes your bottom lip. "None of that. Here—stay up right, and I'll get you a change of clothes, yeah?"

To your credit, you do as he asks, swaying only once before he returns to your side. 

He holds a shirt out for you to inspect. “This one okay?” 

“‘s a good one.” 

You pinch the fabric between your fingers. It’s a well-worn shirt, one of your favorites that you frequently borrow from Frank—large, with a faded band logo that you’ve never heard of. 

Without another word, you lift your arms upward. Frank chuckles. You’re glad he’s amused and not annoyed. He follows along, placing his shirt across your lap as he helps tug your current shirt over your head. 

His palms brush against your skin. Each touch is feather-light, just enough to complete the job of getting you dressed. 

It’s a restraint that is so contradictory—so Frank, and so un-Frank at the same time. 

Your arms go through the armholes. Your head pops through the collar. Frank kneels on the floor, palms resting against your thighs. 

He looks up at you, and your breath stutters. 

He’s so honest. So careful, when it comes to you. 

“Doing okay?” He asks. You can feel the heat of his palms through the material of your pants. 

“Fine,” you reply. 

Frank gives you a little, half-smile—crooked, devious, and charming, all at the same time. You can’t help but wonder if he can feel your thoughts swimming around; if he can pluck out which ones are because of him and which ones are because of tequila. 

“‘Kay.” He hooks his fingers into your waistband, tugging at the stretchy material. “Up, please.”

You lift your butt to let Frank pull your pants to your thighs. 

“Good. Thank you.” His voice is quiet, and he gives your hip a small tap tap as you lower back to the mattress. 

The pants go without much resistance, until they bunch at your ankles and Frank works your legs free.

He leans forward, dark strands of his freshly-washed hair falling in front of his brow. His nose brushes against your thigh, lingering until you are overly aware of the feeling of his breath puffing across your skin. 

Frank presses a kiss against the swell of your thigh. 

You think he might do more, can feel how hot your skin has grown—but no. 

He leans back on his heels, fingers still pressed against your hips, and stares. 

His hair has already started to curl against his forehead. Hues of pink have started to spread against his cheeks. 

“What?” You ask, before the silence makes you too uncomfortable.

“Nothing,” he replies. “Just admiring how pretty you are.” 

“You’re so—” Nice. Sweet. Full of it. You don’t get the words out before your body jolts as your mind remembers. “Shit!” 

Frank startles, clearly not expecting you to react with a jolt. “What? What’s wrong?” 

“My makeup,” you whine. “It’s still on.”

You watch Frank open his mouth, then close it, then watch as his brow dips in a furrow. 

“That’s what’s wrong?” 

“Yes. I’m cozy. But I’m gonna break out if I don’t take it off.” 

The muscles on Frank’s face twitch, like he’s trying to keep it together. You think he might laugh at you for worrying about something so trivial. 

He doesn’t. 

It does take him a second to get a straight face again. But when he does, he simply asks: “Do you want me to help?” 

Not a part of your plan.

“No, no, you don’t have to.” You’re quick to protest, almost squirming away from his hold. 

“I don’t mind.” 

“You already helped me into pajamas.” 

Frank tsks. You feel his grip loosen, adjusting softer. “That was nothing,” he says. And then, because he’s Frank, he asks again: “Can I help?” 

“I—” His thumbs move across your hipbones, back-and-forth, destroying any willpower you maintain. “Okay.” 

He gives you a soft squeeze, then stands. He walks towards the bathroom, and you hear the distant sound of items shuffling in the cabinets. 

Several minutes later, he returns with hands full. He steps forward until he’s close enough to drop the supplies to the bed. You glance over, noting the bottles and packs of cotton pads he chose. 

“You know how to use these?” You ask. 

“I think I’ll manage.” He sits next to you. The bed dips. Interested, you shift to face him. 

Frank grabs the bottle with a pink top - Micellar water - and opens it. Then he takes a cotton pad and saturates it. 

“Gonna hold your face now,” he murmurs. A thumb tucks under your chin, his fingers steadying you so that you don't feel wobbly anymore.

He swipes underneath your eye, gentle but with a purpose. You vaguely wonder if this is what it feels like to be patient underneath his care. 

The cotton pad glides across your face in smooth strokes. Then he sets it aside, and repeats the process with a new one. 

“Look up,” he requests. You do. “Close your eyes.” 

He meticulously rubs away the mascara on your eyelashes—firm, but not enough to hurt. “Feels okay?”

“Mhm.” You can’t imagine a way that he could touch you and it wouldn’t feel okay. 

“Tell me if it stings.” His voice is so low, you might miss it if you weren’t sitting so close to him. If your knees weren’t touching. If his attention wasn’t entirely on you.

“Okay.”

Eventually, he moves on to another part of your face. You open your eyes, watch as he concentrates. His touches eventually slow, and there's a small pile of cotton pads on the bed. 

“All done,” he announces. 

You wish that you could pause time; or rewind it; or do anything to hold the moment still in your hands. 

He stands, gathering the supplies again, and walks back to the bathroom. You can see just far enough to watch him return the bottles to the cabinet and dump the cotton pads into the trash.

When he comes back into the bedroom, you feel sleepier. Satisfied.

You lean forward when Frank stops in front of you. He brushes hair away from your forehead. 

“Feel better?” He asks.

“Mmm.”  

“Good.” He taps the tip of your nose, making you blink. “Let’s go to bed then, yeah?” 

“Yeah, Frankie.” 

A beat. You glance at Frank. 

You see someone who looks sated. Still hungry, though—like he wasn’t finished. 

The moment lasts for a second—then it’s gone, replaced by the sound of Frank clearing his throat.

He walks to his side of the bed, pulling back the covers, then sliding underneath. He pats the space next to him. “C’mon.” 

You crawl across the bed until Frank gathers you against his chest, beneath his chin. 

And you still remember how didn't feel like you were antagonists at all the day he left, when he gave you his most genuine smile through the frustration he felt as you kissed his cheek and told him to get better.

So it's safe to say you have no idea what you're going to say to him once you're confronted with it. Should you act like nothing happened? You don't want to come off as mean. But can you act like his best friend all of the sudden? That seems like a bit too much.

You think you have enough time to think about it until walk into the locker hallway and he's standing right there, letter in hand as he reads it carefully.

He looks good, is the first thing you can think about. Casual clothes look good on him, making you wish you had more opportunities to see that side of him. Hair covered by the sports cap, bomber blue jacket hugging his torso and jeans that fit him just right. The bag slung over his shoulder tells you he's in here for the same reason as you.

"Langdon." The name slips easily from your tongue. Not Doctor Langdon, not Frank — just Langdon and exactly like you'd call him before. "You're back." As if it's some kind of surprise.

Frank looks up, and you're surprised by the way his lips stretch into a wide smile. You're too used to the roll his eyes that's followed by a smirk, not a warm smile.

“Hey.” His voice is unusually gentle, and to add up to your shock he steps in for a hug. “It’s so nice seeing you.”

His hands find your upper back, head almost against yours. It takes you a moment too long to react, hands moving from their awkward place at your sides to rest on his waist rather uneasily.

"Am i the first to see you?" You ask once he pulls away, as casually as possible.

"Oh no, there was big 'welcome back' sign when i walked in." He jokes, though you catch an undertone to it.

You notice how subconscious he seems to suddenly be, like he feels that no one has paid any mind to his absence. Which is a lie, because you didn't realize how his antics with you were a big part of your day until he was gone. And you find yourself talking about him with Mel without even realizing.

So instead of feeling like rolling your eyes at his smug remark, all you want to do is be nice to him.

"It's good that you're back." You settle truthfully.

"Couldn't let you steal my thunder for too long." He playfully remarks, though it's obvious he doesn't mean it.

"Sure." You snort, having to busy yourself with opening your locker to hide how warm you feel.

Frank stands there for a second, still looking at you like he wants to say something but doesn't in the end. You pretend not to pay attention as the locker doesn't open when he clicks on the numbers, huffing in frustration once he looks over at the letter in his hands.

He kneels down to where is new locker now is, and you now feel bad for having a top shelf one as if you're superior to him.

Then you see it from the corner of your eyes, the way his face contorts with pain once he bends forward before quickly masking it away. It makes your stomach sink with realization, and you think about how he probably feels like it's mockery that suddenly his locker is at the bottom. A little reminder of the pain on his back that got him here.

The gears turn on your head as your next words come out impulsively, "Would you mind trading lockers with me?"

Langdon shoots you a confused look before you rush to explain.

"It's not that high up but i struggle to reach the back sometimes." You wave your hands towards your locker, hoping the excuse doesn't sound too made up.

Because if he were to inspect it, he'd realize it's a complete lie. Sure, you'd rather have a locker one row down but you can still reach just fine with little effort.

"Yeah, sure." He seems to take it, seemingly unaware of the true meaning behind.

His ears turn a little pink as he gets up, face slightly angled away and making you have to fight back a wince at the sight.

You pull the few things you keep in you locker out, transferring them into the new one as you trade codes.

"Sorry for the bother." You give him a small smile of appreciation, as if he's the one doing you a favour. You want him to think that, because the last thing you wish is for him to feel like you're pitying him.

"It was no bother." He murmurs as he pulls out some scrubs from his backpack before stuffing it inside the locker. His expression being free of pain brings relief to you.

A sense of protectiveness washes over you and you decide that if there's anything you can do to make this easier for him, you'll do it. Not because you think he needs coddling, but because that's a friend would do. At least that's what he seems to want to be.

You make way to the break room for your first coffee of the day, sipping on it a while later as Robby does a short debriefing before the shift starts. You watch as Frank's face falls at being told to take over triage, though you suppose it has some fairness to it — but you still throw him a sympathetic glance.

Your paths don’t cross much again until you’re midway through the morning, looking forward for a second coffee as you catch a small break.

And you’re surprised by his presence for the second time. Frank is sitting on one of the chairs of the break room, fingers playing with the bracelet in his wrist as he looks ahead.

“Oh, hey.” You greet, not wasting any time as you pull a cup and pour the brown liquid into it. “Want one?” You question politely once you realize he doesn’t have one.

His only answer is a nod, stance a little anxious. You don’t ask him about it, settling for making him the coffee the way you remember him liking before quietly placing it in front of him.

“Thanks.” His smile is tight.

You turn your back to leave, stopping on your tracks once he calls your name. “Do you have a second? Kinda wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Course.” You soften, pulling the chair beside him to sit. To be truthful, you’re not sure if you do have a minute but you’re praying no one interrupts it.

“I wanted to say that i’m sorry.” He starts, voice steady to make it clear he means it. “For a lot of things, really. Mostly for abandoning and disappointing you, none of it was your fault and i ended up just putting it out on you and making your time here a bit more miserable.”

Your heart tightens in your chest, and although you don’t agree with a lot of what he’s just said it’s still nice to know he’s acknowledging it. That he’s put thought into this and is trying to improve his communication.

“You didn’t abandon us. And you sure as hell didn’t disappoint me.” You retort with a reassuring look, even when you know he doesn’t believe it. “I was worried if anything.”

“I’m still sorry.” He clears his throat, sitting up straight in his seat. “I was addicted and made it everybody else’s problem. That’s not fair— even if our whole thing was being mean to each other.”

“You’re forgiven, then.” Your hands reaches to squeeze Frank’s, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“I kept like— meaning to text you.” The doctor cringes as the words come out, “Just didn’t know what to say. Felt weird.”

“It’s okay.” You chuckle.

But knowing that he had felt the same as you all these months brings relief to you.

“Missed you.” Frank breathes, vulnerable.

“Don’t go growing sweet on me, Langdon.” You huff, but the squeeze you give to his fingers tells him it’s okay.

You feel giddy once his cheeks turn slightly rosy at your words, a smile that shows teeth on his mouth. The roles would’ve been turned a few months ago, his flirty remarks thrown at you as you huffed in frustration when your skin grew as hot as a flame.

“You’re different.” You assert gazing at him.

“Good different?” He inquires softly, thumb tracing your knuckles timidly.

“Still under observation.” You shrug your shoulders, soft under the attention that he gives you.

You feel different around him now, more comfortable. Knowing him felt different before, all the ocasional intimate moments you shared with him didn’t come close to what this one feels like.

“So mean.” He gasps in false offense.

A laugh bubbles out of your throat, as gentle as you feel. You notice his eyes flicker to it but don’t think much of it.

The door opening has you pulling apart from his hand, as if being caught red handed. You’re not quite sure why you do it, because friends can hold hands.

Dana eyes you both with raised eyebrows before focusing on you without making any comment on it. “Mckay needs you on trauma 2.”

“Yeah, i’ll be right there.” You get up in a jump.

The nurse is out before you know it, already busing herself with something else.

The moment turns awkward and you avoid making it worse by heading towards the door with slight regret. Before your hand touches the handle, you turn back.

“You can still text me, you know? Just— about whatever if you need to.” Your suggestion is clear, hopeful look in your eyes.

“Yeah, i will.” He nods before picking up the coffee you made.

You leave the room feeling lighter, the weight on your shoulders finally off. Maybe it was meant to go this way. All you needed to start again was a little push.

The interaction has you feeling like a teenager, giddy and emotional. Your stomach tingling even more than used to when he’d brush his fingers against yours for more than needed.

Maybe different is good.

<𝟑 .ᐟ<𝟑 .ᐟ

The keyboard clicks under your fingers as you type fast, something you've gotten better at over the years of charting that piles up if you don't learn to be organized.

It's always a nice short moment to rest your legs before getting back to running back and forth, from patient to patient. So you've started looking at it as a relaxing period.

You roll your neck as it starts to feel a little stuck from being in the same position for long, tapping your finger victouriously against the table as you finish what feels like enough for now.

"Think fast." Langdon appears on your right, throwing you a packet that you manage to catch successfully.

It becomes familiar once you turn it, your favourite chocolate. And maybe it was a hunch because you don't remember ever mentioning it to him.

"Thank you." You shoot him a grateful look, it has been a few hours since you last ate. "I'll pay you back later."

"Don't worry about it." He brushes your idea off, standing in front of the big screen to take a look at the patient list. "Choose your next patient yet?"

"Nope." You manage through a mouthful.

"There's a guy who thinks he got bitten by an exotic spider, has it in a jar and everything." He brings up before suggesting, "That could be cool. You should check it out."

You find yourself unable to hold back the amused glance you throw him. "I might."

The doctor's answer is a hum, hands behind his head as he stretches. You pretend not to pay attention to the skin that peaks from under his scrubs shirt.

With a sigh, Langdon bends on one knee to tie the laces of his snickers that seem to be undone.

You're about to reach for an ipad when you hear him groan, caught midway through getting back up for a second. It's obvious that the sound comes out without his permission, teeth coming to bite on his lower lip.

"Fuck." He curses, hand pressing against his lower back and neck red from either embarrassment or pain.

You rush to get up from your chair, thorn between doctor and friend mode. "Langdon," Your call is careful as you approach him with worried eyes.

"M'fine." He mumbles, not looking you in the eye. An immediate lie that you can see is reflexive.

"I didn't even ask if you were." Your words are soft, somehow proving a point. You watch him exhale, eyes shutting for a second longer from what you think is probably his ache flaring.

"Just got up too fast, don't worry about it." He brushes it off, still his teeth are gritted.

You touch his arm with your hand, "Are you in pain? You can sit for a bit, i'll cover--"

"I don't need help." Frank interrupts sharply and fast, taking a step back so your hands falls.

You chuckle nervously, "I didn't say you do."

The tension builds in your chest as he starts to build a wall between the two of you, refusing to let you see any vulnerability that comes from prickling on his back. You try not to let it get to you, maybe he's not ready to acknowledge it yet and would react like this with anyone else.

But are you anyone?

"You insinuated it." He crosses his arms with a huff, blue eyes set on anything but you.

You fight back a scoff, about to say something when he steps in again.

"Look, just don't tell anyone about this." It's almost a beg, though the way he looks towards you makes you sure he's mad at you.

Now you just feel frustrated, because you don't think you've given him reason to think you go around telling things about him. Or that he can't trust you. The frown on your face probably tells him exactly how hurt you feel, because he steps away again before you get a chance to speak.

"Gotta go check on a patient." He shoves his hands in his pockets awkwardly before practically running from you.

You watch him walk away until he's out of your sight, aware of how stupid you look standing there like you were stood up on a date.

"Trouble in paradise?" Dana questions with a sly grin when you finally go back to your chair.

"Dunno how this ER is ever a paradise." You ignore what she's so obviously hinting at, doing your best to look like it's not affecting you.

"Is there something i should know about,?" She asks more seriously now, tucking her glasses on the collar of her scrubs.

"There's no something." You huff, unaware of the scrunch of your eyebrows.

"Right." She snorts sarcastically. "You seemed to be at his throat a few months ago. And now you're actually nice to him. So there is something, honey."

"I just know when to stop, he doesn't need that right now." You refer to the dynamic you had before. Though you can feel it building back up after the last interaction.

"He sure as hell still looks at you like the sun shines out your ass." The nurse's smile is teasing as she says, but her look tells you she's being honest.

"He doesn't" You wish he did. "Besides, he used to hate me too." You prompt.

"Cause it was the only way you'd pay him attention." She retorts with raised eyebrows before adding, "That boy is head over heels for you."

You remember how your first impression wasn't the best, the way he immediately eyes you up and down and acted confident, way too confident. As if you had no option but to already be charmed by him.

Yet you barely spared him a glance, even when he looked taken aback. And from then on the bickering started. You pretended to hate him, he did too. That was the easiest way through the path you didn't want to go into in the first place.

You catch yourself almost believing Dana's words, having to shake yourself out of it when you notice her knowing stare.

"I need to stop listening to you." You declare, getting up from your chair with the intention of distracting yourself with a patient.

"Kids these days." Is the last thing you hear her mumble.

<𝟑 .ᐟ<𝟑 .ᐟ

You make it your task to not be gloomy over one interaction for the rest of the day. Try to distract yourself with seeing as many patients you can, consequentely not having to see Frank again without having to look like you're avoiding him.

This not to mean that you're angry at him, you just have no idea how to act after that. Maybe tomorrow you can come back and pretend that it didn't happen, exactly like he wants.

So you get through your shift just as if it's just another one without him — like the many others in the past few months.

By the time it’s over you’re grouchy, bag thrown messily over your shoulder and earphones on as you make your way outside. The bus station is the last place you want to be right now and you feel like you might just take the long walk home.

The timing feels perfect, the 4th of july fireworks erupting through the sky when you’re making your way through the parking lot. It has you stopping for a moment, eyes looking up at the sparkling.

Hands stuffed on your jean’s pockets, you feel a little relieved at the fresh air hitting the back of your neck over the humid weather. A sigh leaves your nose, shoulders slumping as the tension of work leaves your body.

A hand touching your arm has you jumping, finding Langdon staring at you with an apologetic but tempting smile.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” He’s now beside you on the sidewalk, back on his casual clothes.

“It’s fine.” You shrug, turning your attention back to the fireworks.

The silence between you goes slightly unnoticed by them, but becomes evident once the noise starts dying down.

“Heard about your closed cervical reduction.” You prompt, chewing slightly on the inside of your cheek in a nervous antic.

“Yeah.” He perks up, excitement in his voice. “I think i’m still shaking.” His hand lifts in the air, you try not think too much about how attracted you are to it.

“That must have been pretty cool.” You reply, a little regretful of not having been there to witness.

“Didn’t know i still had it in me.” Frank admits, self doubt all over the frown on his eyebrows.

“Of course you do.” You retort immediately, like it’s obvious. Because it is.

His whole expression softens at your words, big blue eyes staring right into yours and you think of how much he looks like a kicked puppy right now. It makes you want to smile.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier.” His apology is genuine. And he looks regretful for having to do it for the second time today.

Your reflex is to want to say that ‘it’s fine’. But you don’t. Because it actually feels good to know that he is sorry. So you nod slowly, accepting but not leaving space for anything else.

“It’s still a little bit of a— sore subject? My back.” Langdon tries, grimacing at the way his words come out. “I’m working on it, i promise.”

You let your lips pull into a sympathetic smile, “I understand. Didn’t mean to make it seem like you’re weak or in need of help.”

“You didn’t.” He asserts with a shake of his head. “It was hurting. It hurts even more today because of how long i haven’t worked for.”

Your shoulders brush and you feel a shiver on your arms, even over how warm it feels. “Is there anything i can do to help?”

“Are you by any chance a good massager?” The doctor jokes with a teasing smile.

But you take it in consideration, fingers moving before you get to rethink your actions.

His eyes widen once he realizes what you’re doing. “I was just joking, you don’t—”

“I can do it.” You interrupt.

Your hand reaches for his lower back, moving closer as you press your fingers into the muscles there to try to bring some tension down. You use your thumb to make slow circles on the muscles on either side of his spine, pleased when he lets out a sigh.

“You forget i’m a pretty good doctor too.” You play, voice lower.

“You are.” He hums, a little distracted by the touch of your fingers even if over his shirt.

The realization of the intimate moments has your heart pounding against your ribcage, almost jumping out of your throat in the process. You’re glad he can’t feel how hot your skin right now.

“Does that help?”

“Yeah.” Frank breathes, air puffing out of his lips slowly — you can’t help but look at the way his throat looks good as it does, not even when he adverts his eyes back to yours.

You wish you had the courage to slip your fingers inside his shirt and feel his skin that radiates with warmth over the shirt.

With sudden embarrassment you pull away, breathing in a little too hard as you try to make yourself look composed. But the man next to you seems just as flustered, hand running through his hair like it became messy for no specific reason.

“Hey.” He calls after another moment. “Wanna go out for dinner?” It comes off casually, his lips pressed together in a line of an awkward smile.

You chuckle in surprise, “As celebration for your successful return?”

Something flickers in his eyes, “Sure.”

As much as you want to, it could get too late really quickly and you don’t have the will to walk all the way home late at night. “I’d love to, but i’ll have no way to get home after.”

“I can drop you off.” He says simply.

“Are you sure?” You ask with uncertainty, feeling a little like a bother.

The look Langdon throws you tells you he’s offended you’re even asking, eyebrows raised because the answer is obvious. “Never been more.”

“Okay.” Your words are sheepishly, “Thanks.”

“C’mon.” He motions with his head towards the street, arm reaching out for a moment like he’s going to wrap it around your shoulders before he drops it back on his side.

You end up getting take away, finding an empty bench on the park and making yourself as comfortable as possible with boxes scattered all around.

The hum that leaves your throat is honest as you have your first bite, stomach finally happy after not having a real meal for hours.

“I don’t know how you like those.” Frank grimaces as you stuff a french fry inside your mouth.

“They’re perfect.” You shrug with indifference, more interested in the food in front of you.

“They’re soggy.” He points with a bite of his own burger, sauce on the corner of his lips in an adorable way.

“More for me.” You retort happily.

Langdon can’t help but it set his eyes on you for longer than needed, taking in your tired expression and wrinkly clothes. Your untied shoes and the way you curl into yourself, eyelids closing and opening slowly. He could look at you like this forever, vulnerable and sweet.

“What?” You frown as you notice his staring, napkin coming up to your mouth in attempt to clean the reason of it.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head with a small smile. “‘S just weird. Us not arguing all the time.”

You cock your head to the side in confusion, “I guess.”

What you don’t know is that he’s scared you liked him better before. Because what you said about him being different is true and your words have stuck on his brain like a vine. He’s just hoping you mean it in a good way.

“Do you miss it?” The vulnerable question comes out before he gets to stop it, voice small.

“Miss what?” You ask after a sip of soda, still unaware of his distress.

“Our bickering.”

You pretend to think for a moment. “A little.” You answer teasingly, smirk on the corner of your lips.

Frank’s stomach drops just a little, “Wow. So rude.” He tries to joke back, but the way his chuckle comes out force has you looking at him.

“Frank.” You bump your shoulder with his as reassurance, “I like different.” I like this version of you. Although you don’t say it.

He takes it, relaxed at your words.

Conversation flows easily between you, and he feels like an absolute idiot for taking so long to finally get to know you and what you like. He’s wasted too much time. So he listens to you talking your mouth off about a movie you watched a week ago, paying attention like it’s the most important thing you’ve ever told him.

You talk about whatever comes to mind, work swirling into the conversation as you talk about your first day at work.

“I don’t even know why you hated me so much!” He quips in as you go on about how meeting everyone was.

“To be fair, you came off as quite cocky. Y’know, with your whole—” You gesture with your hands. “Perfect tidy hair and bluest eyes ever thing.”

Your defence has him grinning widely. "You think my hair is perfect?"

And the worse is that you truly do, eyes catching the strand that falls across his forehead in the most perfect pattern. You’d be stupid to say he’s not beautiful as hell. You’re sure a lot of girls think the same, it has brought a certain green eyed monster way too many times.

“Jerk.” You huff, not denying.

“I was trying to impress you, by the way.” He adds as if it’s an obvious thing.

“Right.” You snort in disbelief.

“What?” Langdon inquires, raised eyebrows. “You’re pretty.”

You’re hot at the compliment, food discarded as you clean your hands with a napkin just to have something to do other than looking embarrassed.

His fingers come to grab at yours, pulling your attention back to him and making it impossible to avoid his words. “Honest.” They squeeze your skin.

You can almost hear your heart as his eyes trace every inch of your face, stopping for an extra second once they land on your lips. The urge to lean in is stronger than you, only until you almost get to feel his breath against your skin.

Frank angles his body towards yours back, hand dropping from yours to rest on your knee. His thumb brushes over your jeans, tentatively eyeing you as to make sure you’re okay with whatever is happening. You don’t seem to hate it at all, your own eyes glued to his lips.

He clears his throat gently, “I want to do this right, i promise. I’m not screwing up this time. And i-“

“Frank.” You stop him.

“Yeah?” He’s almost waiting for your rejection.

“Shut up.” You mumble, holding back a smile at the way his eyes look a little glassier when he’s up close.

“Okay.” He nods vigorously, letting you take charge as you pull him into a kiss.

Fingers immediately reach into his hair, leaving it messy as you run them through it like you’ve always dreamed about doing. He hums at the gesture, free hand coming to rest against your ribs.

You’re sure he can probably feel your heart beating wildly against them, moving closer on the bench so his hand slips down to the slot of your waist more comfortably.

The soft squeeze he leaves there has you melting against him, fingers wondering down to his bicep and squeezing it in retribution. His muscles flex under your touch, pulling you flush against him with gentleness. His nose presses to yours with a sigh, intoxicating taste invading your mouth and having you never want to kiss anyone else again.

He’s the one to pull away after a few minutes, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek for good measure and keeping you close even without his mouth on yours.

“Everyone’s betting on this at work.” You sigh at his mouth against your jaw. “We should pretend to hate each other and make them all lose.”

“They’re all betting on us getting together?” He asks unfocused.

“Yeah.” Before adding with a tease, “Wonder where they got that idea from.”

He hums with a pinch on the softness by your hip, “Don’t think i’m gonna be able to pretend i don’t wanna kiss you all the time.”

You could be okay with that. You think as he pulls you into a warm hug, pressing one last long kiss to the top of your head.