mvltivspm

"Hi, how—" he started, voice careful.

You didn't let him finish. One finger came up, pointed directly at him.

"One word," you said, voice rough from exhaustion, "about the way I look, and you're sleeping on the couch, Frank."

He didn't even try to hide the grin this time. It spread across his face as he stepped closer. His hands found your jacket, working the zipper down.

"I didn't even say anything," he said, and his voice was so innocent that it circled right back around to teasing.

"You were about to."

Your bag hit the floor, but you didn't bend down to pick it up. Too tired to do so.

And God, you looked like hell.

You knew it. You'd caught your own reflection in the elevator doors on the way up and almost flinched. Hair fallen out of its ponytail. Dark circles under your eyes. Your scrubs were wrinkled beyond belief, and there was a small coffee stain on your sleeve that you couldn't even remember earning.

You looked awful.

But Frank didn't see it that way. You were beautiful to him. Even now. Especially now, maybe.

He watched you kick off your shoes. They landed somewhere near the door and then finally you were done.

Your arms wrapped around his waist, and you pressed your face into his chest. His arms came around you immediately, one hand splaying flat against your back, the other settling low on your waist. He pulled you in closer, and you let him. Frank pressed a kiss to the side of your head, lips lingering against your temple.

"Nightmare of a double shift, I'm telling you," you mumbled into his chest.

"At least you have the week off," he said gently.

You hummed against his chest. "Mhm. Finally."

You didn't let go. Frank didn't mind. He could have stood there all night, holding you in the middle of the entryway, the two of you blocking the hallway. He could have stayed like that until his arms ached and his back complained.

He felt you go slack after a while, barely even moving anymore. And then , five minutes later, maybe more, you felt him chuckle.

"You awake?" he murmured, lips brushing against your hair.

You groaned. "I wish I wasn't."

And that was the most honest thing you'd said all night. Because being awake meant being aware of how much everything hurt. Your feet, your back, your head. Being awake meant you hadn't earned the oblivion of sleep yet.

But you pulled back anyway.

Your hair was a disaster. The ponytail had been holding on by sheer stubbornness for the last three hours, and it showed. You reached up, fingers fumbling for the hairtie, and when you finally pulled it free, you let out a sound that was half relief and half pain.

Your hair tumbled down around your shoulders, and you actually felt your scalp start to breathe again. You ran your fingers through it, wincing at the tangles, but mostly just grateful to have the weight gone.

Frank stepped forward. His fingers found your hair and he started working through it gently, smoothing the strands down, helping your hair fall the way it was supposed to fall, untangling the knots you were too tired to deal with yourself.

"Let's get you to bed," he said quietly once he was done.

"No, not yet." You sighed as you walked past him into the bedroom, and Frank followed immediately like a puppy.

"I need to wash my hair," you mumbled, already tugging at the collar of your scrub top. "I can't go to sleep. It feels icky."

You'd explained this to Frank before. Multiple times, actually. Probably more times than any reasonable person needed to hear about someone else's hair preferences. But you'd been very clear about it. You absolutely could not stand the idea of waking up with greasy hair. It disturbed you on a level that was probably irrational but also completely non negotiable. It ruined your whole morning. It put you in a bad mood before you even had coffee.

And Frank liked his mornings with you. So he spoke.

"I'll wash it for you."

He said it like it was nothing. He was already turning, already heading toward the bathroom connected to your bedroom.

You blinked. "What—" You followed him, feet dragging slightly on the carpet, brain still trying to catch up.

"No, it's fine, really." A smile already tugging at your mouth despite yourself. Because he was already pulling things off the shelf.

"No excuses," Frank said, not even looking at you.

He turned around, crossed the small bathroom in two steps, and took your hand. His fingers laced with yours briefly before he pulled you gently through the doorway. Then he reached behind you and closed the door. Like you might try to escape if he didn't block the exit. (He knew you well enough to know that you would try)

"Frank, seriously." You looked up at him, and he was so close, and his blue eyes were so soft, and it was very hard to argue with him when he looked at you like that. "You've had a long day. It's fine. I can do it myself."

He wasn't listening. "I'm fine," he said, already steering you backward toward the bathtub, one hand on your hip. "I've only had a long day because I missed you."

You stopped arguing. He said it so casually like he hadn't just admitted that the whole day had felt long and empty and wrong simply because you weren't in it.

You were still reeling from that when he spoke again.

"Should I get you a chair?" He was already looking around the bathroom, already trying to make this as comfortable as possible for you.

"No, it's fine." Your voice came out small. You rose up on your toes, barely, because you were so tired you could barely balance and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You're sweet," you said, smiling against his cheek before you pulled back.

Frank turned his head, smiling at you. "Only to you," he said, and his voice dropped just slightly, as if this was a secret between the two of you. "So don't be spreading that around."

He leaned in before you could respond and stole a peck. His lips brushed yours just long enough to make you forget how tired you were.

He then pulled back, his hands finding the hem of your scrub top. "Up."

You lifted your arms, letting him peel the top off you. The fabric caught on your watch for a second, and then he dropped it on the floor. Laundry for later.

You were left in your long sleeves as you plopped down on the floor next to the tub. Your back hit the cool porcelain of the bathtub curve, and you let your head fall back against it.

"Oh, god. I can barely feel my feet," you mumbled, eyes already closing.

Frank grabbed a towel from the rack and folded it once until it was a soft rectangle. He knelt down beside you, and his hand found the back of your neck. Carefully he lifted your head just enough to slide the towel underneath, cushioning the curve of your neck against the edge of the tub. You let out a happy sigh immediately.

"There," he said quietly. "Better?"

"Much better."

Despite the fact that you could barely keep your eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time, you watched him. You just felt so warm. The kind of warm feeling that made your throat tighten and your heart go soft. The one that reminded you just how deeply you were loved.

He was being so sweet.

"Which one?" he asked, holding up two bottles of shampoo above your head.

"Uh, that one," you said, pointing a lazy finger toward the pink bottle.

Frank grinned. "That one's my favorite."

"I know," you smiled.

Frank was obsessed with you whenever you used that shampoo. You'd noticed it months ago. He'd bury his face in your hair when you were lying in bed. He'd nuzzle into the crook of your neck and mumble something incoherent and happy against your skin. He was helpless against the pink shampoo.

Frank finally turned on the shower head, testing the temperature with his wrist. You watched him through half closed eyes, already sinking back against the towel he'd placed under your neck.

The water hit your hair and you closed your eyes and let yourself drift. His fingers moved through your hair, ruffling it gently, making sure the water soaked through to the roots. It felt nice. So nice. You could feel yourself melting into the floor and into the warmth of his hands.

But Frank, sweet as he was, was also clumsy.

Before you could even process what was happening, the stream of water shifted.And then it shot directly into your face.

You sat up so fast you nearly hit your head on the faucet. Gasping and choking. Blinking wildly as water dripped down your cheeks, your nose, your chin. "Frank!" you yelled out, voice muffled by the water still running down your face. You swiped at your eyes with the back of your sleeve, finally clearing your vision enough to look up at him.

Frank was standing over you with his mouth hanging open. The shower head was still in his hand, pointed innocently at the bathtub now, but the damage was done. He looked like a deer caught in headlights or more accurately, like a man who had just accidentally waterboarded his exhausted girlfriend.

But then his expression shifted and he started laughing. You wanted to be mad at him but you couldn't not when his laugh was one of your favorite sounds in the world.

"I hate you," you mumbled, the ghost of a smile tugging at your own lips. You laid back down against the towel, shooting him a look that was supposed to be intimidating but probably just looked sleepy.

"I swear to God," you said, pointing a finger at him again, the same way you'd pointed at him in the doorway, "if you do that one more time, I'll hug you."

Frank glanced down at your drenched clothes. The long sleeves that were now soaked through and the water had dripped down your neck and onto your collar.

"Yeah, okay," he mumbled, and there was a flicker of genuine worry in his eyes now. He seemed actually concerned about the consequences of your sopping wet self wrapping around him.

He got down on his knees next to you not caring that the bathroom floor was cold. He poured the pink shampoo into his palm, rubbed his hands together, and then worked it through your hair.

Sometimes he'd pause and just look at you. You could feel his gaze even with your eyes closed. And Frank just kept looking at you, because you looked as pretty as ever.

And he got distracted.

The water stream crept upward, heading straight for your forehead. Your eyes snapped open. Frank startled so badly he nearly dropped the shower head.

“Careful,” you warned, meeting his eyes, a smile already forming on your lips, because you'd caught him staring. His ears were endearingly pink. He looked away sheepishly, clearing his throat, and focused very hard on the task at hand.

Once he was done, the room smelled like roses.

It clung to your hair. It clung to Frank's hands, which were pink from the shampoo and the warmth of the water. It even clung to the towel beneath your neck.

Frank hung up the shower head. He reached down and ruffled through your hair one last time, squeezing out the excess water with gentle fingers, making sure you wouldn't drip all over the bedroom floor.

You sat up slowly, muscles stiff and joints hurting but you pushed through.

He was still kneeling next to you on the bathroom floor. His knees must have been sore by now. His shirt had water stains on the chest and sleeves.

"Good?" he asked, watching as you brushed through your hair with your fingers.

"Perfect," you smiled.

You reached out and grabbed his face and pulled him toward you. His skin was warm under your palms and a little damp from the steam. Your lips pressed against his, and you felt him exhale through his nose, felt his shoulders relax under your hands.

When you pulled back, you were still holding his face. "Thank you," you said gently. "You're sweet."

Frank smiled and stood up then. Before you could protest, he reached down and lifted you with him. He quickly led you to the bathroom, realizing you looked like you were about to fall asleep standing up.

The bed was still unmade from this morning, blankets tangled and pillows squished. It looked cozy.

Frank walked to the dresser and pulled out one of his shirts. Then he found a pair of boxers and held them out to you.

You changed quickly. The wet long sleeves came off, replaced by the warmth of his shirt. It hung past your hips, soft against your skin, smelling like him. The boxers were loose and comfortable, and you sighed with relief as you pulled them on.

And then you were in bed.

The sheets were cool against your legs, but the blankets were warm, and the pillow cradled your head like it had been waiting for you all day. You let out a happy sigh.

Frank was quick to follow. The bed dipped under his weight, and then his arms were around you, pulling you into him. Your back pressed against his chest. His arm draped over your waist. His legs tangled with yours under the blankets. And then he buried his face in your hair.

"You smell so nice," he mumbled, voice muffled by the damp strands. His nose nudged against the back of your head, and you felt him inhale.

You giggled against him, already turning in his arms so you could press your face into the warmth of his collarbone.

"Mhm, I know," you teased. "My very nice boyfriend washed my hair for me." You could feel the way his mouth curved against the top of your head.

"Handsome too?" he asked.

You pressed a kiss right over his heart, before you answered.

"Very," you said.

Apparently you do today, because there's currently nothing else to do in the Pitt.

The instant that thought crosses your mind you scrunch your nose with a hiss. Great. Now you’ve jinxed yourself. 

Who even decided that anyways? There’s no reason that making a simple observation about the world around you should spell bad luck for the next hours to come. It's so stupid.

Stupid sayings. Stupid jinxes. Stupid assumptions. Stupidly slow Pitt.

There’s no real reason you’re in such a sour mood right now. Well, maybe there is—but you told yourself this morning you wouldn’t let it bother you anymore after Dana decided to point out the newly forming wrinkles on your forehead.

“The hells the matter with you kid? You’ve been walking around with a stick up your ass all week.”

Her unexpected intrusion into the break room made you jump, causing you to whack your head into the top shelf of the refrigerator while fishing for the Red Bull you’d shoved in it a few shifts ago. 

A loud curse flew from your mouth and you turned to glare at her, palm already lifting to nurse the forming bruise on your scalp. 

“Good morning to you too, Dana.” The fridge door shuts with a loud clank. 

“Nothing good about this morning, but I get the feeling you already know that. What's the matter?” Her gruff voice was accompanied by its usual lilt of sarcasm. She looked certainly worse than you, but that’s not something you’d ever point out. Her blonde hair was pulled back tight behind her head, a faint sheen of unwashed grease evident. The grey scrub top she wore held quiet wrinkles, likely from the previous day’s shift. 

“It’s nothing, I'm fine. Just tired,” you lied. She knew you were lying, but you hoped she wouldn’t press the matter any further. Not because anything serious had happened. Quite the opposite in fact. Your week had been ruined for the stupidest and most embarrassingly trivial reason ever. 

She found purchase at the sink next to you, cleaning out a coffee mug that would soon be her morning’s savior. An unconvinced hum escaped her throat.

The tab of your Red Bull pulled up with a hiss and pop. “I think Langdon’s going out with the new nurse.” 

Dana stared at you. 

“I’m not even gonna dignify that with a response,” she finally said, voice thick with exhaustion. 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as she walked out of the room, not forgetting to chastise you as the door shut behind her. 

That was three hours ago, and while you’d like to say you stuck to your word and forgot about the ordeal, there’s no point in lying to win a case against your own conscience. 

You hunch over the nurses’ station with an audible groan, wincing when your forehead bumps its cool surface. The knot on your head is just another gift from the universe to ruin your day, it seems. It's not like you have any real reason to be upset. As blurry as the lines of daily flirting and occasional shared drinks after shifts with your coworker are, getting jealous over Frank’s potential new girlfriend seems to be crossing them just a bit. 

Potential. 

The word echoes in your brain. 

Of course, you have no real proof. Just because she’s been on the majority of his cases as of late doesn’t mean that they’re fucking. It doesn’t even mean that they’re friends! At least, that's what Trinity had told you after you drunkenly pestered her for thirty minutes straight. Now she refuses to hear about Frank at all—not that she ever wanted to in the first place.

But still, the way he smiles and cracks jokes that were normally reserved for you every time she’s near makes your skin itch. And it’s obvious she’s into him with how much time she spends ogling him instead of doing her actual job—

If you weren’t directly in the center of the Pitt right now you might slap yourself. When did you get so antsy over Frank Langdon of all people? God, you sound like a pathetic teenage girl instead of the secure and competent senior resident that you actually are. 

The train of thought finally snaps you back to reality, and with a squeeze of your eyes you shove yourself back and out of the creaking swivel desk chair you’ve been sulking in the past few minutes. As you stand, you make a final promise to not let this bother you.

For real this time.

You almost made it another three hours without breaking that promise.

Almost.

It's just after lunch when your petty jealousy and baseless assumptions worm their way back into the forefront of your mind. You’re working on a protein bar you’d found hiding in your bag since who-knows-how-long, when a familiar voice drifts up behind you.

“Haven’t seen you all day. Don’t tell me you’re avoiding me or something.”

The chalky snack snags in your throat as you swallow. You glance at him briefly, swiping through the tablet in your hand with a little more fervor than necessary.

“No.”

Yes.

Frank’s eyes squint in that familiar way of his, and you hate how attractive you find it. He studies you for a moment, probably weighing whether or not to point out how weird you’re acting. 

“So I noticed we’re both off Thurs—”

“Welp, I've got a patient I need to check on. Or examine. Both. Crazy rash case.” 

His brows knit together watching you force your own foot into your mouth. Heat creeps up your neck, and instead you decide to shove down the last of your protein bar in one giant bite, nodding with an awkward smile and scurrying toward central six as fast as your sore feet can manage. 

You push through the glass door, brushing aside the curtain and forcing yourself to forget that absolute dumpster fire of a conversation that definitely just took a few years off your lifespan. 

The fifth patient you’d picked up within the hour presented with a mysterious onset rash. This was exactly the case you needed to pick you up in the afternoon—Something fun and challenging to distract yourself.

Except, standing in front of you is the poor new hire you’ve unjustly deemed an arch nemesis, patient chart in hand and smiling with her sickeningly sweet voice. 

“Oh, I was expecting Dr. Langdon.”

Today might be the day you lose your medical license. And catch your first ever felony. 

Clearing your throat does nothing to help the strain in your voice. “I’m the presenting physician. You should see that on the chart.”

Her smile grows even wider. “Oh, I know! I just caught him outside earlier and figured since he was nearby I'd get his attention first…”

She could tell you that the patient’s leg fell off and they were now in septic shock, and you’d still feel the urge to toss something at her head. 

You breathe, walking over to the portable computer in the corner of the room. “Did something happen?” 

Your ID badge slides across the computer’s scanner. The screen blinks to life instantly. 

Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center Patient Portal…  Log In Successful…

“Oh no, I just had a question about charting protocol.”

“I’m right here. Shoot.”

Your fingers dance across the keyboard instinctively, gaze flickering across the screen as she rambles about her struggles with the ‘unfamiliar system’. You beckon her behind you, tilting the screen her way. She watches in naive awe as you explain the inner workings of PTMC’s patient charting system with an amount of patience that is a genuine miracle. 

Your finger points to a highlighted box when she asks another question. The nurse—whose name you realize you still don’t know—thanks you sincerely, and you have to hold back another sigh as she dives into more rambling, hands twirling around her perfectly laid curls.

With that, you’re finally able to examine the patient—the job you would have liked to start five minutes ago—all the while nurse Bradshaw (you finally got a peek at her name badge) hovers like she’d like to take over your job. To your absolute disappointment, it takes about thirty seconds for you to diagnose the patient with an extreme case of hives. 

There goes your fun pick-me-up case.

You finish your examination with a sigh, typing a few final notes into the chart before excusing yourself. You make a mental note to yell at whoever is running triage for choosing to waste a bed on something that could’ve been taken care of with a strong antihistamine. 

As you’re debating whether or not to stoop low and cherry-pick your next case, a familiar voice coos beside you, along with something cold pressing against your neck that makes you yelp.

“Ow—”

You whip around instantly, only to be met once again with a perfect head of dark brown hair and intense blue eyes staring back at you. 

As well as… a can of Red Bull?

“Consider this a peace offering.” 

You stare up at Frank, hesitantly accepting the cold can offered to you. “Uh, thanks.”

You catch his confident facade deflate in real time, and Frank runs an uncertain hand through his hair. “Did I, uh, upset you?”

Sure, you figured he’d start asking questions sooner or later, but this was a lot sooner. Not to mention the fact that Frank Langdon pulls off the kicked-puppy look far too well for a physician in his thirties. It’s unfair, really.

You chew the inside of your mouth, suddenly finding the hallway floor, the nurses’ station, literally anything, half as interesting as his eyes. It’s not like you’d been planning to admit your jealousy directly to his face.

What was there to be jealous of, really?

Yes, you and Frank have a history of flirting during shifts. 

Yes, the two of you exchanged phone numbers and you text regularly. 

Yes, you go out to bars together after shifts and make plans every other weekend. 

But none of that actually means anything. Because you’ve been too terrified to ask that dreaded question. The risk of ruining the carefully crafted dance the two of you had perfected over the past months was far too great. You don’t need to look far to know that work relationships are more likely to sink than float when things get serious.

If the new girl caught his eye and he decided he was finally tired of you, then that was that. 

“I just didn’t know if I said or did anything lately.”

Your jaw tightens. You know better, you really do, but something snaps in you.

“Well,” you start, nail peeling the tab of the Red Bull with a quiet click, “You’ve just seemed so busy lately.”

Frank frowns. “Busy?”

You shrug, feeling oddly emboldened as the fizzy energy drink stings at the raw skin in your mouth. “You know, with Bradshaw.”

The confusion on his face makes your breath feel heavier.

“Bradshaw,” he repeats.

You shift slightly under his scrutinizing gaze, forcing yourself to not look away. “The new nurse,” you clarify.

Frank stares at you for a full three seconds, which is ample enough time for you to realize how absolutely stupid you sound right now. Then, he laughs. It's deep from his chest and he drags a hand down his face in disbelief. 

“Oh my god,” he mutters.

“What?” Your tone comes out slightly defensive, and you’re still trying to ignore the redness encroaching on your skin.

He looks back at you, a shit eating grin plastered on his face. “You think I'm seeing Bradshaw?”

“Well why else would you two be so close lately?”

You think he’s going to laugh in your face again, but his head turns, and he calls out across the floor to the woman in question. She walks over with a cheerful smile, greeting the two of you.

“Say, where’d you tell me your husband was going fishing?” Frank asks casually, his grin growing in absolute delight as the realization dawns on your face.

Husband?

You look at her hands, perfectly polished with a cherry red, and adorning her left ring finger a shiny diamond resting snugly in a golden band.

You think you could die at this moment. In fact, you’re praying for it. And Frank knows it all too well. Disappointingly, you don’t collapse from a heart attack or stroke, so instead you opt to stare very intently at the drink in your hand. 

The two chat for a second longer before she heads off, wishing you both a good day. Frank turns to you once more, taking a step closer as he leans against the counter. 

“I’m flattered you’re so concerned about my relationship status. Any particular reason why?”

You don’t respond, refusing to meet his gaze. The worst and best part about Frank Langdon is that he hardly takes anything seriously. He might not be offended by the ridiculous misunderstanding you created, but he’s definitely never letting you live this down.

And suddenly, that stupid saying from earlier comes creeping back into your mind. 

“I thought you were an ass,” you mutter to yourself.

Frank cocks his head, leaning in to hear you better.

“I’ve been an ass,” you say louder, pinching the bridge of your nose. Apologies have never really been your forte. “I’m sorry.”

He chuckles. His hand twitches against the counter like he wants to touch you. “I’ll forgive you on one condition.”

Your head snaps up. His intense blue gaze already betrays the mischief brewing in that pretty head of his.

“Let me take you to Le Mont Thursday night.”

You take a gamble on making just one more assumption. This new one being that Frank Langdon is asking you out on a date, and you’d be utterly stupid to say no. 

an: varuna try to actually write one of the millions of drabble ideas she has stored away challenge go! I actually wrote the bulk of this last night at 4 in the morning after getting the idea off here. I genuinely cannot find the fic I was inspired by, but if you have any clues feel free to tag them! I really wanna get back to writing more short fics for other characters. :P

Frank must have seen something in your face, because his own expression shifted almost immediately. The smile faded. "Hey. You okay?"

For one terrible moment, you couldn't speak. Couldn't do anything but stare at his face, at the genuine worry, and wonder how someone could look at you like that and then go on a date with someone else.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine. Sorry." You pulled away from his hands, ignoring the way your skin seemed to protest the loss of contact, and stepped around him. "Gotta check on a patient."

You didn't look back. If you looked back, you might see something in his eyes that would undo you completely, or worse, you might see nothing at all.

So you disappeared into the nearest patient room.

Behind you, Frank stood exactly where you'd left him. He stared after you, confusion etched into every line of his face, before his gaze slowly drifted to the nurses' station. Perlah and Princess suddenly found the computer screen fascinating. Neither would meet his eyes.

Busying yourself with patients barely helped. It did something, kept your hands moving, your mouth talking, your brain focused on vitals and medications and everything except the image of Frank Langdon on a date with someone who wasn't you. But the moment a room emptied, the moment you had two seconds to yourself, the thought came back.

Frank Langdon has a date.

You'd just finished discharging a teenager with a sprained ankle when you found yourself back at the central board, staring up at the rainbow of markers and patient names.

What patient should you take next? Didn't matter. Pick one. Anyone. Just keep moving.

"Hey."

The voice came from your left, close enough to make your heart seize. You didn't need to look to know who it belonged to. You'd know that voice anywhere.

You glanced up briefly. Just long enough to confirm it was him, standing there in his black scrubs, hair slightly disheveled, looking down at you with an expression you couldn't quite read.

Then your eyes were back on the board, fixed on a random patient name. "Hi," you managed, and even that single syllable came out too quiet, nothing like your usual voice.

Frank actually did a double take. He'd gotten used to your smile. The smile that would carry him through the next hour. But there was nothing now. Just a blank expression and eyes that refused to meet his.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure of himself. His hands itched to reach for you, but something in your posture made him hold back.

"Want to take the fever one together?" The question came out softer than he intended. Not his usual style at all.

You bit your lip, still not looking at him. "Uh, no sorry." You took a step back. "I have to—I have to check on Ogilvie and Joy. And their patient." You were stammering, you realized. Actually stammering. "Resident duties."

The last part came out with a small grimace, as if you'd just remembered that Frank was also a resident, as if you were reminding yourself that he existed in the same professional category as you, that there was nothing special about him, nothing that should make your chest ache this way.

You turned to leave without waiting for his response.

His hand caught your forearm before you could escape. "Hey." His grip was firm enough to stop you but not enough to hurt. "Did I do something?"

He turned you toward him slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, and when you didn't, he stepped closer. Your shoes nearly touched. You could smell him, that stupidly nice combination of hospital antiseptic and whatever soap he used, the one you'd noticed weeks ago and never mentioned because that would require admitting you paid attention.

"No!" The word came out too fast. You shook your head, and when you tried to gently shake off his grip, he let go immediately. "No, no, you haven't done anything. I promise."

For a horrible and awkward moment, you didn't know what to do with your hands. They hovered, before one of them landed on his chest. You patted him. Twice.

"I'm fine," you heard yourself say. "Just a rough day with patients."

You both stared at your hand on his chest. For one endless second, you felt the warmth of his body through the thin scrub top, the way his heart was racing. You dropped your hand like it had caught fire and then you were gone.

At some point, you lost track of time hours ago, you were called to assist. Car accident, multiple patients. Robby's voice called your name as you fell into place beside Frank. Side by side, like always.

You worked well together. You always had. Frank would reach for something and you'd already have it ready. You'd start a sentence and he'd finish it. It was the kind of relationship people spent years building.

But today, there were no lingering looks from you. No soft smiles when he did something right.

Robby called out a compliment when you got a difficult line on the first try, and you smiled at him, the way you used to smile at Frank. Frank tried to add his own praise, laying it on thick, hoping for even a crumb of that smile. Garcia, working beside you, rolled her eyes the moment he opened his mouth.

Frank ignored her completely, too focused on you. You gave him something that barely qualified as a smile. Then you turned back to the patient. Frank felt something crack in his chest.

It got worse.

When he handed you an instrument during the procedure, your fingers hesitated before taking it, careful to avoid touching his. When he reached for the ties on the back of your surgical gown, something he'd done a hundred times before, you nearly bolted away. Only the fact that he already had hold of the ties kept you there, frozen, while his fingers worked the knot with shaking hands.

What was happening? The question rattled around Frank's skull for the rest of the shift. He couldn't focus.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He got you coffee.

You were in the break room, hunched over a clipboard, when he found you. The coffee sat in his hand, made exactly the way you liked it.

"Hey."

You looked up. And then you just… stared at him, at the coffee, back at him. For too long. Long enough that Frank started to feel uncomfortable under the weight of it.

He held the cup out, waiting. His big blue eyes were wide and uncertain, searching your face for something, anything. Then he smiled at you. The smile that showed his dimples, the one that usually made you smile as well.

Your eyes dropped immediately. You took the coffee with careful fingers, making absolutely sure not to brush against his.

Frank felt like someone had poured ice water down his spine. He missed you. He missed your smile. He missed the way you'd throw flirty comments at him across the ER. He missed the way your eyes would light up when he walked into a room. He missed you. And you were right here, three feet away, and he'd never felt further from you in his life.

"Hope I added enough sugar." He tried for casual and failed. His voice came out almost pleading.

You took a sip and shook your head slowly. "It's perfect. Thank you." You set the coffee aside on the counter and picked up your clipboard again, flipping through papers you'd already read twice. A clear dismissal.

Frank wanted to grab you by the shoulders. He wanted to shake you until you talked to him, wanted to demand answers, explanations, anything that would make this stop hurting.

Instead, he tried one more time. "You sure you're okay, pretty?"

He'd called you that once, during your second month at The Pitt. You'd been exhausted, running on no sleep and bad coffee, and he'd brought you a sandwich from the cafeteria. Eat something, pretty. You're gonna fall over. You'd called him handsome right back. And somehow, it had stuck.

You flinched. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks, Frank." You gave him a weak smile and you didn't call him handsome. He nodded wordlessly and left. He didn't see the way you stared after him.

The end of shift crawled toward you like it knew they were both suffering and wanted to drag it out.

You felt Frank's eyes on you before you looked up. There was something about the weight of his gaze that you'd grown attuned to over the months like a warmth at the back of your neck. You'd always loved it before. You loved knowing he was looking, that you existed in his line of sight.

He was finishing up with his last patient, an elderly woman with a stomach ache who'd been admitted hours ago and was finally being moved upstairs. You watched him from the corner of your eye as you pretended to focus on your charting. Saw him glance your way, hold the look. Long enough that even from across the ER, you could see the confusion in his expression.

You dropped your eyes back to the computer screen.

You'd barely spoken all day. That was on you. You knew it was on you. Frank had approached at least ten times. Ten separate opportunities to just talk to him, to ask about the date, to clear this whole mess up. But you couldn't. Every time he got close, every time you heard his voice, your throat closed up and your eyes started burning and all you could think about was tomorrow.

Tomorrow, when you'd come back to work. Tomorrow, when you'd have to hear about his date. Tomorrow, when you'd have to pretend to be happy for him while some other woman's name sat on his lips and some other woman's smile lived in his memory.

Better to start the distance now. Better to build the wall brick by brick before tomorrow, when you'd really need it. Before you had to hear how fantastic she was, how beautiful, how funny, how everything you weren't.

Then Frank was suddenly behind you. He didn't do his usual thing, the thing where he'd lean against your desk and make stupid jokes until you gave in, the thing where he'd wait for you to finish so you could walk out together, the thing where he'd annoy you just enough to make you push your charting to tomorrow, letting him pull you out of your chair while you giggled and pretended to be mad, warm all over from the simple pleasure of his hand in yours.

He just stood next to your desk. "I'm going home." His voice was careful. "You need a ride?"

You looked up and God, his eyes. Those stupidly blue eyes that usually softened with warmth when they landed on you. Now they just looked desperate. His hands stayed at his sides. He was resisting the urge to touch you. You could tell. You'd grown to read his body language as well as you read your own.

You shook your head. "No, I'm fine. Thanks." The lie tasted bitter on your tongue. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

Frank hesitated. For one awful moment, you thought he might push. Then he nodded and he didn't even manage a smile this time. "Yeah. Fine."

You heard the hurt. Frank Langdon, who hid everything behind sarcasm and that infuriating confidence, was upset.

You don't know how long you sat there. But it was long enough for the night shift to start filtering in, for Dana to give you a concerned look from the nurses' station that you pretended not to see. You just kept charting.

By the time you finally finished, your eyes were red rimmed and hurting. You couldn't tell if it was from the sheer heartbreak or from staring at a computer screen for way too many hours. Probably both. Definitely both.

The locker room was quiet this late. Everyone else had gone home or moved to night shift, leaving you alone with your own miserable thoughts.

You pulled your jacket from its hook and draped it over your arm. Your fingers found your phone, and you stared at the screen without really seeing it.

What was Frank doing right now?

Was he home, getting dressed up? Changing out of his scrubs into something nice? A button down, maybe, the dark blue one that made his eyes look even prettier? Was he standing in front of a mirror, running his hands through his hair, checking his reflection before heading out?

Was he already at the restaurant? Was it even a restaurant, or something fancier?

Who was she? Did you know her? Was she a nurse from another floor, a doctor from a different department, someone completely outside the hospital? Was she pretty? Smart? Funny?

Was he going to kiss her tonight?

Would you have to hear about it tomorrow? Would he come in with that stupid smile, that glow of someone who'd had a good night, and would someone ask and would he tell them and would you have to hear it?

You grabbed your phone harder and pulled up the bus schedule. The next bus would be here in twelve minutes. You'd wait in the cold, go home, crawl into bed, and try not to think about where Frank was or who he was with or what he was doing.

Simple. Easy. Fine.

You walked out into the Pittsburgh night, and the cold hit you immediately. But you barely noticed it. Your eyes were on your phone, squinting at the bus times, trying to calculate how long you'd be standing here, while simultaneously trying not to think about how every passing minute was another minute Frank spent with someone who wasn't you.

Nine minutes until the bus. Nine minutes of him being on a date. Eight minutes. Eight minutes of him maybe holding her hand. Seven minutes. Seven minutes of him maybe leaning closer, maybe—

You walked directly into someone.

Your phone flew out of your hand, clattering to the pavement, and you stumbled backward with a yelp, only to look up and feel your entire world stop.

Frank, standing right outside the hospital entrance. Frank, who had left an hour ago. Frank, who should be on a date right now, not standing here in the cold.

"Frank?"

"Hi." You could see him physically stop himself from adding pretty, saw the way his mouth opened slightly, then closed, then opened again on just the simple greeting. Remembering your flinch this morning, trying not to hurt you again.

Your heart cracked a little more at that small act of restraint.

"What are you doing here?" You bent down to grab your phone, grateful for the excuse to look away from him for a second.

Frank was quiet for a moment. "Waiting for you." You blinked at him.He gestured past you, toward the bus stop where you'd been heading. "I knew you were lying."

Heat flooded your face immediately, guilt, embarrassment, the horrible feeling of being caught. You opened your mouth, closed it, opened it again. "Charting was going to take too long. I didn't want to bother you." You scuffed your shoe against the pavement, unable to meet his eyes. "You had… things. To do."

Things. Such a weak word for a date with another woman.

"Never bothered me before."

Your eyes finally met his. He was right. He'd never once acted like you were a bother. You thought about all those nights when he'd sit in the chair next to you while you finished charting, spinning back and forth, making stupid comments, poking at your arm until you swatted him away and told him to stop bothering you. He never listened. He just grinned that stupid grin and kept bothering you.

He never went home without you. Not once.

So why were you surprised to find him here now? Why had you ever thought he would?

"Did I do something?"

Your eyes shot up to meet his. The streetlight behind him cast his face in shadow, but you could still see the concern in his eyes.

"No, why?" The words came out too defensive, and you regretted them immediately. Regretted the 'why' most of all, because now you'd put yourself on the spot.

Frank tilted his head, studying you with those impossibly blue eyes. "You know why." You bit your lip and glanced away toward the bus station. "I'm serious." His voice dropped and he tilted his head again, trying to catch your eyes. "Did I upset you? Did I say something wrong?"

You shook your head quickly, too quickly, still staring at the bus station.

"I'd like to fix whatever I did."

The silence stretched. The bus sign clicked to four minutes.

"Frank, I'm fine." Your voice sounded strange to your own ears. "Just go, before you're late for your date, yeah?"

You finally met his eyes. God, his eyes. You'd never get over his eyes, so blue they almost didn't look real, so blue you'd spent months finding excuses to look at them, so blue you'd written terrible poetry in your head that you'd never admit to anyone.

But now those eyes just looked confused. "Date?"

"Yeah." Your voice cracked slightly. "Your date. Tonight."

Frank stared at you for a long moment. "I don't have a date," he repeated, and his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Who on earth said I had a date?"

Your brain, exhausted and overwhelmed at this point, could only manage one word. "Perlah."

Frank's eyebrows shot up. "Perlah?" He tilted his head, processing this information. "And where did she get it from?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask." You mumbled the words, suddenly feeling very foolish. Why hadn't you asked? Why had you just accepted it as fact? Normally you were smarter than this. Normally you didn't take gossip at face value.

But normally your heart wasn't on the line.

Frank glanced down at you. "Okay. Well, I don't have a date."

You raised your head, searching his face for any sign of deception. "Where'd the rumor come from, then?"

He shrugged. "I don't know," he mumbled.

You narrowed your eyes. You'd spent months watching Frank, watching him with patients, with colleagues, with attendings. You knew his tells. You knew when he was hiding something. "Yeah, you do."

Frank's jaw worked. You could practically see the gears turning in his head. Finally, he spoke. "Perlah just misunderstood my conversation with Donnie."

He was looking away now, studying the hospital entrance. The streetlight caught the slight flush creeping up his neck.

"What conversation with Donnie?" you prompted gently.

Frank's eyes flicked to yours, then away again. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you'd rarely seen from him. "Was talking about how I'd been planning on asking you out. On a date. And Donnie, being Donnie, probably said something loud enough for Perlah to hear and she… filled in the blanks wrong."

You stared at him. Your brain, which had been through absolute hell today, officially stopped working. "Huh?"

Frank grinned at that, even as a flush spread across his cheeks. He looked almost shy, which was so utterly ridiculous on a man like Frank that you couldn't quite process it.

"My turn to ask weird questions," he said, and his voice had gone softer now. "Why were you so upset with me? Are you sure I didn't say anything wrong?"

"Because—" You stopped. Your mind was still stuck on the words asking you out on a date,. "Because we've been flirting for months!" The words burst out of you, louder than you intended, more upset than you wanted to sound. "Flirting for months, Frank. And then I just—I find out you're going on a date with some other girl, and I'm just supposed to be fine? I'm supposed to just stand there and watch you smile at someone else and bring her coffee and wait for her after shifts?"

"You could have just asked me." His voice was impossibly fond. "You've been here long enough to know that listening to Perlah's gossip is never a good idea."

You crossed your arms, defensive now. "Don't act like you haven't believed half her gossip before."

Frank's grin widened. "That's different. Her gossip is usually right. But you should have learned by now that when it comes to me, you come straight to the source." He stepped closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. The silence stretched between you, both of you smiling at each other.

"So," you said slowly, "you were planning to ask me out?"

Frank's expression softened further and he nodded. "If you'll let me."

"Yeah." You felt the smile spread across your face. "Definitely."

"Good." Frank's own smile widened, those dimples making an appearance that made your heart stutter. "Let me drive you home first," he said softly, "and we can discuss the details there, yeah?"

You nodded, unable to stop smiling. But before you could take a step toward where his car was presumably parked, you rose up on your tiptoes and wrapped your arms around his neck.

You buried your face in the curve of his neck. You'd missed his touch so badly. And now that you could have it again, you couldn't get close enough.

Frank didn't hesitate for even a second. His arms came around you immediately. "Please don't ever do that again," he mumbled against your hair.

You giggled against his neck. "I'll try my best, handsome." You felt him relax as soon as he heard the word.

Finally, reluctantly, you pulled back. Frank's hands lingered on your waist, clearly unwilling to let go entirely, and you didn't blame him. You didn't want to let go either. But then he smiled and reached for your hand. His fingers intertwined with yours and he started walking toward his car, pulling you gently along with him.

"So," you said, swinging your joined hands slightly as you walked, "are you going to take me to a fancy restaurant?"

Frank glanced at you, one eyebrow raised, amusement flickering in his blue eyes. "That's your first question?"

"It's an important question. I need to know what I'm getting into."

He laughed. "Yeah. I'm taking you to a fancy restaurant."

"What time are you picking me up?"

"Whenever you want."

"Should I dress up?"

“Good,” you sighed immediately, already dropping down onto the bench beside him. “Maybe I can sleep for five minutes.”

You didn't even hesitate as your head tipped onto his shoulder. Frank let out another chuckle and shifted just enough to make you more comfortable. You made a small, half asleep sound as you nuzzled closer.

You knew you weren't actually going to fall asleep, so you just sat there, eyes unfocused, staring at the empty bench across from you. The park was quiet, so quiet like the trees standing were listening in. After a moment, you lifted your head and plopped your chin onto Frank’s shoulder instead.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. Even in the dark, his blue eyes seemed to glow with love at the sight of you.

“I barely saw you today,” he murmured.

You grinned immediately. “Is that your way of saying you missed me?”

Frank let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head just a little. “You know it is.”

You tilted your head, already knowing what’s coming, and he leaned in to kiss you. Your hand lifted on instinct, fingers resting along his jaw like they’ve done a thousand times before. Your thumb found its place at his chin dimple. Always there, always gentle. Frank had long since noticed the habit, learned it, accepted it and yet it still seemed to catch him off guard every single time. He pulled back just enough to breathe, your hand still cradling his face.

“Missed you too,” you sighed happily. You leaned in again, pressing two quick pecks, one to his lips and one directly to his chin dimple.

That does it. Frank laughed, louder this time, the sound echoing through the trees around you.

You know he was aware of how much you adore that little detail of his, how openly you dote on him without shame, but somehow, it still surprises him. Like he forgets how loved he is until you remind him.

You glanced up at him through your lashes. It was really dark, but not enough to miss the faint blush on his cheeks. That just makes you grin wider. Satisfied, you turned your head back and settled it against his shoulder again, while Frank exhaled a breath above you.

“I can’t believe that still makes you blush,” you murmured against his shoulder.

Frank let out a groan. “Oh, shut up,” he muttered, though you could hear a smile in his tone.

You giggled, the sound muffled against him, and it made him grin despite himself. “It’s really cute,” you whispered, lifting your head just slightly to look up at him. “How do you expect me not to touch it… or kiss it?”

He looked away, turning his gaze toward the dark forest surrounding the park. But luck, or misfortune, wasn’t on his side. The blush had crept down to his neck. He didn’t respond, but the way his jaw tensed made your smile grow wider.

You reached up and gently grabbed his jaw, turning his face toward yours. He sighed. “Please… stop.”

“Oh… okay. No kiss then,” you said, lifting your head off his shoulder and giving him a pout. The distant sounds of your coworkers approaching from the day shift reached your ears.

Frank clearly thinking you were going to tease him further for his blush ,turned his head to you, his eyes snapping to yours. “Hey, no. Give me the kiss,” he demanded, his voice cracking just slightly like a desperate teenager, which made you giggle against him.

You couldn’t help yourself. With a soft smile, you relented, letting your hand find his jaw once again, your thumb pressing gently into the dimple you adored so much. This time, he hummed in contentment, leaning into the touch, and kissed you back. The forest around you seemed to disappear in that moment.

That peace lasted until Robby’s loud voice rang out from somewhere nearby. “Break it up, lovebirds! We don’t wanna see that!”

“What?” Your disbelief was palpable as Jack broke the news to you. Hand offs had just finished and the day shift was starting to trickle out. 

“Yeah, sorry kid. Collins took a job back in Oregon and they’re down a senior resident. Gloria wants you back on days.” 

You really couldn’t believe it, you’d been ten months into the night shift and you felt like you had just started to hit your stride, you wanted more time.

But you knew it had been too good to be true. 

“And Robby knows about this?” Jack had just barely been able to hide the grimace on his face but you had caught it and scoffed a laugh. “Oh, great. So, what? You’re his little carrier pigeon? He really couldn’t tell me himself?” 

Jack gave you a look, a warning. “Come on, now. Would you really have taken it any better if he was the one that told you?”

You knew he was right. 

Had Robby been the one to tell you, you probably would’ve thrown a punch or something…well, maybe not but you definitely would’ve considered it. 

“Touché.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

Jack took this as his opportunity out of this conversation but as he walked away, your head snapped upward. “Wait! When do I start?”

“Next week!” He had stepped into one of the trauma rooms for a quick escape, greeting a patient, completely ignoring your call of indignation. 

“WHAT!?” 

“Wait? So you're gonna be back on days now?” Frank’s question makes you lean back into the plush couch of the rec room, a sigh leaving you as you sip your coffee. 

“Yeah, I’m back tomorrow.” Your thumb grazes the cardboard sleeve on your cup before you shrug. “Collins went back home, took a job there. I also heard from Princess that she’s adopting a kid.” 

“Huh…well, good for her.” He took a sip of his own coffee, thoughtfully before continuing. “I’m sure the others’ll be glad you’re back.” 

“Yeah…”

Through all the letters, phone calls, and visits, you had chosen very carefully what to share with Frank. Not necessarily to shield him from anything, he was making a lot of progress with therapy and he was more than okay to hear about the goings on of The Pitt but there were just things that you decided he’d be okay not knowing. 

Like your fallout with Robby. 

Knowing him, you knew he’d feel some kind of guilt that his addiction had also poisoned your life. That he’d been the reason for Robby singling you out but that wasn’t his burden to bear. It was Robby’s. 

For him, the reason you switched over to nights was a need for a change in scenery and that’s that.

“Especially Mel.” He added with a small smile. 

He’d asked about her a lot. Wanting to know how she’d been settling, if she was okay. 

“Yeah…I’m actually seeing her later today.” Frank watches as a small but fond smile tugs at your lips, a warm feeling spreading across his chest. “The King sisters and I will be grabbing some boba and going to the Color Me Mine by the facility.”

Frank sat up, a slight expression of disbelief flashing through his face. “You’ve met Becca?” 

“Mhmm, she likes me.” You hummed, almost smugly. “She wasn’t a huge fan of the boba idea but I know Mel loves it, so I suggested we go paint afterwards, then she was all for it.” 

“I hate to admit it, but I’m a little jealous.” The playful lilt in his voice makes your heart jump. 

“Aww, don’t worry. I’ll paint you a mug.” Your cheeks were warm as you looked away from his smile but you caught the way his face scrunched up, your gaze finding its way back to his. “What? You don’t want a mug?”

“You’re a talented Doctor but something tells me you have the artistic talent of a three year old.”

He watches as your jaw drops, eyes shining with mirth, a scoffed laugh leaving your parted lips. “Excuse you!” 

His shoulders begin to shake with hearty laughter, the best kind. A little breathless, full and unabashed, a little squeak here and there. As he fell into his little fit of laughter, even going as far as putting his paper coffee cup down on the coffee table, you took the opportunity to just…watch. Eyes hazy with something you were too scared to name. A warmth spreading throughout your body that made your fingertips feel fuzzy. 

You had deeply missed this.

Missed him. 

Making him laugh during grueling shifts and after a particularly tough case. 

It always made you feel delusional but you swore, up and down, that you were the only person to make him laugh like this. As he catches his breath, coming down from the mini dopamine rush, you look away, afraid of him seeing the look in your eyes and reading you like the pages of his favorite novel. 

As you take a sip of your drink, his smile lingers as he takes in the softness of your features. The way you somehow look more relaxed than he’s seen you in recent days, the way the sunlight filters in through the facility’s streaky windows and halos you in warm light. 

He finds himself glad that you weren’t looking at him. He’d bet that there was nothing but smitten affection clear as day on his features and he wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to name what that meant. 

After your visit with Frank and afternoon out with the King sisters, you find yourself a lot less high strung as you step into the PTMC Monday morning. 

As you adjust your stethoscope on the back of your neck, stepping out of the locker room, a familiar and dramatized gasp makes you pause, your shoes squeaking against tile as you stop walking and turn towards the noise. 

“Abbot told us but I just didn’t want to believe it, you traitor.” Shen spat in, what you hoped was, faux upset. 

You frowned in confusion, mouth open in slight disbelief as you looked around, eyes landing back on Shen and pointing at yourself in silent question.

“Yeah. You. What the hell? You’re gonna leave me here with Ellis?” 

“Excuse me? There better be another Ellis that I don’t know about.” The aforementioned Doctor crosses her arms, looking at Shen in pointed annoyance, not unlike a sibling glaring at their younger counterpart. “Cause I know for a fact that you’re not talking about me.” The ghost of a smile pulling at her lips made you relax, shoulders loosening as you sighed and continued to the Central Hub, both Shen and Ellis following. 

“I forgot you weren’t working last night and brought you a coffee. I had to give it to Ellis and she didn’t even drink all of it.” 

“John, for the hundredth time, I did drink it. Unlike you, I don’t spend three hours getting through a single cup of coffee.” He gave a scandalized scoff as both you and Ellis glanced at the cup in his hand, mostly just ice, probably his second of the shift.

“Look..” You sigh, rubbing at the bridge of your nose and getting their attention. “I don’t like this either. If it was up to me, I would’ve permanently switched over to nights but Collins left and as much as I want to strangle Robby, it wouldn’t be fair of me to leave the others hanging so…” You shrugged, “It is what it is.”

Ellis placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I know. We’ve got your back, you know that, right?” You glance at Shen who gives a small nod. “If you need anything, just holler.” 

They both watch as your gaze drops, staring down at your shoes to compose yourself before looking back up just as both Abbot and Robby walk up, the others not far behind. Ellis gives your shoulder one more squeeze and you resort to mouthing a simple, ‘Thank you,’ before Robby starts to speak. 

“Okay, before we start rounds…” His voice trails off as he finally meets your gaze and is met with the chilly sight of annoyance and something a little too akin to hatred. “I…want to welcome back our, now, Senior Resident. She was helping coverage with the night shift but with Collins gone, she has so graciously stepped back onto days.” Your gaze sharpens at the unnecessary inflection of his tone. “These are our two new student doctors, Ogilve and Kwon.” His eyes flitting over to the two briefly before turning back to you. “I trust you know the drill. Presenting, teaching…making sure all meds that are handed out are accounted for-” 

“O-kay! Why don’t we start rounds so that my shift can go home?” Jack clapped his hands, diverting all attention to himself, Shen, and Ellis. Your gaze attached to Robby’s, face screwed up. Had you been a dog, your mouth would’ve been curled up in a snarl, teeth bared, challenging Robby to say another word. “Shen-” 

The noise of the ED had been drowned out by the sound of rushing blood in your ears, your hand curling into fists by your thighs, chest heaving with shallow breaths as anger began to simmer in the pit of your stomach. 

This was a mistake. Why did Robby have to be such a fucking dick? He just had to go and say something about pills. Why couldn’t he get it through his thick skull? The issues he has with Frank has nothing to do with-

“Hey, you okay?” Her voice had broken through the voices in your head like a lighthouse through the miry fog.

“Huh?” You tore your eyes away from Robby and to familiar honeyed hazel eyes dripping in worry. Mel.

“Uhm I just wanted to see if you were okay, we’re moving.” She gestured to the group that had, in fact, started moving as Shen and Ellis present and get everyone up to speed on their patients of the night before. 

“Oh uhm yes. Yeah. I’m okay.” You sigh, knowing that she isn’t believing a single word coming from your lips. “Just a little tired from partying hard with the King sisters.” 

Your jest made her shoulders untense, a small appreciative smile on her lips as the both of you start to move, catching up to everyone else. “That was a lot of fun, wasn’t it?” She glances at you, “I know Becca had a lot of fun, she can’t wait to pick up her plate.” 

Surprisingly, your first shift has, so far, been pretty uneventful. 

Robby has been smart and stayed out of your way, only really stepping in with the student doctors when needed. 

McKay had the students and both Whitaker and Santos had their patients, so you took advantage of the momentary lull to catch up on your charts. 

Sat at one of the computers at the Central Hub, your lips move as you mouth whatever it is you’re charting, Robby watches as you type. This was the most at ease he’s seen you all day. 

He knew that he was the cause for that. 

During the time you’d been on nights, he really had noticed how much of a loss it was, losing both you and Langdon in one fell swoop. He and Collins had been run ragged with covering both their own patient load and yours and Langdon’s, so much so that when Collins had put in her resignation notice and Gloria had informed him you’d be switching back, he didn’t even argue. There was no pushback, just exhausted resignation. 

“Hon, your phone.” Hearing Dana speak up pulls Robby from his momentary spacing out. He glances over at the same time as you. It wasn’t vibrating, no ringtone, just your screen lit up with an incoming call. He knows he should look away, whoever is calling you is none of his business but as much as he talks big game about boundaries, he can’t help it as he subtly leans closer, eyes squinting and suddenly, he wishes he hadn’t.

The name lighting up your screen was ‘Frank Langdon…’ and just as clearly as he could see his name, he could also see the profile picture. Nothing compromising but it might as well have been something not safe for work. Frank dressed casually, latte in hand, sat at an outside patio table. Before Robby could even begin to try and figure out what that meant, what your real relationship with Frank was, you grab your phone and excuse yourself, answering as you log out, the tonal change of your voice clear, trailing behind you as you walk towards the sliding doors of the ambulance bay. “Hey…nice of you to call. What’s going on?” Soft and fond.

Robby keeps his eyes trained on the sliding doors, even if you’ve already disappeared outside, before he can think to stop himself, he asks Dana. “What do you know about her and Langdon?”

The question catches Dana completely off guard. She whips her glasses off and gives him a skeptical glare, he keeps his gaze steady as he looks away from the doors and down to the tablet in his hands, acting like he’d simply asked about the weather. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” He shrugs. “They’ve always been close. I just wonder if she waited until Abby was out of the picture.”

“You’re walking a very thin line, Robby.” She warns him, “He loved Abby and she isn’t as tactless as you seem to think she is.” 

Robby simply shrugs, he doesn’t think you’re tactless, quite the opposite actually but he makes no effort to correct Dana. 

Despite being at odds, he still cares for you. You’re one of his best residents and he wants nothing more than to see you thrive. He’s just worried that whatever it is you have going on with Frank might cause you more harm than good. That feeling amplifies when you come back in, your face looks like it’s confused on which expression to externalize. Disappointment, shock, or heartbreak. He sees the way all three seem to flash across your face before you school your expression. 

You return to where you’d been sitting right before the phone call, swiping your badge and continuing to chart. Your entire body was tense, your typing rigid and a little aggressive as your fingertips push into the keys a little harder than necessary. 

He knew he really has no business worrying about you, he had spent almost a year trying to get rid of you and push you away but Robby always feels this moral obligation to make sure that those under his care, either as a physician or boss, know that they have somebody in their corner. 

So, with a heavy sigh, he pushes off the counter and as subtly as he possibly can, he leans against the one closest to you, still looking at the charts in his hands.

Hearing him clear his throat softly makes you pause, your hands hover over the keyboard before you resume your typing. “You okay?” He keeps his voice low, measured. 

“What do you care?” You bite back with a scoff. 

Okay. He should’ve seen that one coming. “Look, I know we’re in the boat we’re in, no paddles, no way out but I-” He chooses his next words carefully. “Look, you are still my resident and if there’s something going on that could possibly affect your performance, I’d like to know about it.” 

“Robby, you don’t need to pretend like we’re friends, it’s fine. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.” Your words, dismissive and sharp, actually stung, deep in his chest. 

How did he let it get this far?

He decides to leave it at that.

At least, he should’ve because whatever it was, you could in fact, not handle it. 

It was affecting your work. 

You had been capable, as always, but you were a little too sharp. Not giving patients your usual caliber of bedside manner, you had snapped at Ogilvie a few times and as much as Robby hates to admit that it had been a valid reaction, that’s not the way the PTMC handles teaching. So as much as he wanted to clean his hands of whatever mess this was, he couldn’t. 

“You have a sec?” He pauses outside a patient room and realizes you’re ignoring him, continuing to supervise Ogilvie and Joy. 

“I’m busy.” 

His lips pull into a mirthless smile as he shakes his  head, disbelief clear on his face. He quickly glances around before he finds what he’s looking for. “Dr. Mohan!” He calls out, she turns on her heel and makes her way over, “Take over supervision of our students here, please. We need to have a little chat.” Her eyes dart between you and Robby, the tension extremely palpable and uncomfortable, so much so that she’s a little surprised that you aren’t squirming where you stand. 

“Uhm yeah, of course.” She reluctantly agrees, her hand held out to take the tablet from you. 

You made no effort to conceal your glare as you finally meet Robby’s gaze as he smiles almost cockily, “See, not busy.” 

You blindly hand the tablet to Samira before following Robby to the stairwell, the hectic cacophony of the ED fading completely as the door shuts, being replaced with sudden, empty silence. 

You defiantly meet his gaze as he looks you over like he’s looking for something, the silence stretching on as you refuse to speak first. 

Robby runs a hand down his weathered face, scratching at his beard before he crosses his arms. “You don’t want to tell me what your issue is? Fine. But while you’re in my emergency department, you are to leave all your personal crap at the door, like everyone else because now? Now it’s affecting the way you’re speaking to your patients and the way you’re treating out interns-” 

An incredulous laugh echoes through the stairwell, sudden and humorless, almost as if you hadn’t been expecting it to escape you. “Leave it at the door? That’s rich, coming from you.” Your posture mirrors his as you, too, cross your arms, hands gripping at your biceps. “Ever take your own advice, Doc? Or is this more of a, ‘do as I say, not as I do,’ kind of thing because I feel like you have absolutely no right to say that shit to me!” 

For once, he swallows his pride and takes a deep breath, attempting to carefully choose his next words. “One of the things I’ve always respected about you was how you could separate your outside life from whatever we deal with in here. You always had your priorities straight, but now? Now, I think you need to reevaluate because whatever it is, it’s got you completely rattled and yes. Yes, I fucked this up.” He gestures between the both of you, “But I wish you’d just talk to me. Because this isn’t you. At all.” Dread starts to pool in his stomach as he watches indignation flash across your entire body.

“Oh, please! You don’t know me, Dr. Robinovitch. If you did, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now!” You snap back, in complete awe that he had the nerve, the gall, to assume that he even knew a fraction of who you were. “I’ll do better at compartmentalizing, okay? Is that good enough for you?” 

He opens his mouth but isn’t given an opportunity to speak as you push past him. “Don’t answer that. I don’t care if it is or isn’t.”

You didn’t think you’d ever been as grateful, as you were now, to hear Shen and Ellis arguing. It was all in jest, of course, and that was why your muscles were beginning to untense. The familiarity like a salve to your soul. 

Your last nerve was hanging on by a thread as you got through hand offs, ignoring the pointed and concerned looks you were getting, not only from Shen and Ellis, but from Jack too. 

You thought you were home free. 

Managing to clock out and grab your belongings from your locker and sneak out through an emergency exit, your eyes trained on your car, you were so close, until someone calls out to you and any relief you were feeling starts to ebb away. 

You so wanted to be upset at the interruption but you couldn’t find it in you. 

“Hey, sorry, Jesse said he saw you heading out this way.” Mel’s smile was faint as she tried to catch your gaze. “I wanted to see if you were okay, with it being your first shift back and all…” 

Your eyes stay trained on your shoes as you roll a piece of gravel underneath the toe of your sole. “Thanks Mel, I appreciate that.” 

“So, are you?” The silence following her question is a little awkward as she clarifies, “Okay…I mean?” 

Sometimes you find it hard to believe that she actually cares about you. That she and Becca have become so intertwined in your life. That she cares enough to notice when you’re being a little strange. 

“I uhm, I’m not sure, Mel…” You sigh, still refusing to meet her gaze. “I got a call from Frank earlier.” 

“Dr. Langdon? How is he?” 

You nod vacantly, “He’s good but he uhm- he told me that Abby- do you know Abby?” She hummed in confirmation so you continue, “Well he said that she reached out to him…she wants to talk about reconciling.”

“Oh!” She sounds almost cheery at the notion, a side effect of her sunny disposition, no doubt. “Well…that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Her words unexpectedly hit you square in the chest, your guilt rearing its ugly head, tears stinging your eyes as you feel the phantom weight of his arms around you. The warmth of his hands when he’d hold you through the night, the gentle feeling of his fingers brushing against your cheek, the way his lips would brush against the sensitive skin of your neck as he’d whisper a sleepy, ‘Good morning.’ 

The thought of never experiencing that again, of losing him before you ever really had a chance, was making it hard to breathe. 

Mel’s face falling, expression softening when you finally meet her eyes, a steady stream of tears already dripping down your cheeks. “It should be…” 

She feels her own chest tighten as she sees you start to brack, one hand gripping your scrubs as if you were trying to claw your heart from your chest, the heel of your other palm digging into your eye, like you could bully your tears away.

As gently as possible, she takes your wrist in her hold and guides it away from your eye, not wanting you to hurt yourself but she winces anyway at seeing how bloodshot your eye has already become. Your breathing stutters as her hand slides down from your wrist to your hand, her thumb applying a gentle pressure to your palm. 

“I’m sorry.” 

That’s all she could think of to say, not knowing that it meant the world to you.