Stories and Stardust

It gets worse.

Tuesday night: Langdon is dawdling at Central Hub, half an hour into shift change. He’s finished with charting and hand-off, but he’s got nothing waiting for him at his empty apartment. Usually he can convince Mel to grab dinner with him at the diner across the street on nights like this, so he’s keeping one eye on Mel across the ED as she wraps up her charts in her fastidious, careful way. He’ll intercept her at the lockers once she finishes and hopefully sweet-talk her into milkshakes and fries at Rosie’s Diner.

“So…”

Langdon tears his eyes away from Mel’s back to see that Shen has posted up next to him, sipping his coffee from a bright orange straw. Shen points his chin in Mel’s direction. “Word is Dr. King is on the market.”

Langdon scoffs. He hasn’t gotten a chance to interrogate—no— ask Mel about her moment of psychosis in accepting Ahmed’s offer, but he’s positive she was simply surprised by the question. Sometimes Mel can be a little naive to people’s intentions. Mel might not even have realized it was a date. Langdon will explain it all to her tonight over dinner.

“A lot of high-achieving people are like this, you know,” Shen continues, accosting Langdon’s ears with bullshit. “They never date during school. Then, as training winds down, they turn their attention to the next thing: dating, marriage, kids. Go down the checklist. My mother would approve.”

Langdon think that’s kind of weird, but he’s not trying to malign Shen’s relationship with his mother on a Tuesday. He settles for a neutral: “I don’t think Mel’s trying to do that.”

“No, not on purpose. She’s doing it de novo, which is even better,” Shen muses, taking another big gulp of iced coffee. “I just didn’t know she swung that way. I didn’t know she swung at all, actually,” Shen says. “But now I know that she does: I’m gonna throw my hat in the ring.”

Langdon wants to throw up. No, he wants to punch Shen on the mouth. No, be normal, Langdon coaches himself. “You’re an attending,” he says in revulsion. Mel is Shen’s resident.

Shen shrugs good-naturedly. “Barely.”

Well, Langdon can’t argue with that.

“I wanted to have kids by thirty, you know,” Shen continues. “Now look at me: thirty-two and single. It’s hard to meet normal people when you’re on the night shift.” He thrusts his cup at Langdon. “Wish me luck.”

So Langdon watches as Shen swans over to Mel. He relishes the flinch in her shoulders as Shen sets one hand on the back of her chair and the other on the desk. When Mel turns her face away from the computer, Langdon can read the confused furrow of her brow at the intrusion into her personal space. Shen is such a hack.

But then Mel’s posture changes. Whatever Shen says to her has her softening her shoulders. A faint sunburn flush colors the curve of her cheek. Then she’s nodding, shyly at first, then with real enthusiasm. 

Shen’s words float across the ED and hit central hub. 

“It’s a date, then!”

Langdon tosses Shen’s coffee in the trash as he stalks out of the Pitt.

—

Mel is dodging him, Langdon surmises. She’s reluctant to talk with him about these dates she’s accepting, probably because she knows he disapproves. So he’s going to have to be a little more blunt. She can’t avoid him at work.

Langdon slides the toe of his shoe into the bottom of Mel’s rolly chair and reels himself into her. He makes sure that their thighs bump, then stay locked together. She doesn’t move away, he notices triumphantly. When she looks at him with curiosity, he points his chin over the central command, where Shen is currently regaling the nurses with his newest contraption from Dunkin Donuts: the Bucket, a 48oz serving of iced coffee 

“Can you really see that guy raising your children?” asks Frank. “Look at him, Mel— he’s a joke.”

“He’s funny,” Mel corrects. “He’d be great at staying up late with a baby, clearly.”

Frank groans. “And Ahmed’s even worse.”

Mel stills. “What’s wrong with Ahmed?” Her upper lip quivers in uncertainty—extremely cute—which Langdon privately thinks of as her bunny face. “You think… you think he wasn’t serious about asking me on a date?”

“No, Mel,” Frank says patiently. “I’m sure he was very serious. He’s just, I don’t know. He’s a security guard, you know?” 

Mel’s head cocks in confusion. “What’s wrong with security guards?”

Frank sighs. “I’m just saying. Not much financial stability to speak of. With a security guard, I mean.” Even as he says it, he surprises himself with the meanness in his tone. It’s an asshole thing to say, but she’s a female physician in the U.S. She needs to get used to the idea of partners hitching their wagon to hers on account of earning potential.

“Oh. Well, that doesn’t bother me. It’s honorable work, and he’s good at it.” Her tone is quiet but resolute, shutting him down.

Of course Mel wouldn’t care about the practical elements. It took Frank a divorce to learn that hard lesson. Frank decides to push from another flex point.

“Besides, you know his family is crazy. They’re huge. He’s one of six kids, and he has ten nieces and nephews.”

“I mean… that sounds amazing to me,” Mel admits.

Frank hangs his forehead on Mel’s shoulder in despair. Fuck. He should have known that the family thing, which Frank personally sees as a liability, would be like catnip to Mel.

  “I said yes to Shen’s offer. We’re going out on Sunday,” Mel said. “He’s going to teach me to play pickleball and then we’re going to brunch.”

Frank scoffs. Pickleball. Good lord. “So that means you’re going on a date on Saturday with Ahmed and Sunday with John.”

Mel shrugs. “And Friday with Mateo. He wants to take me dancing. I’m a little nervous about that one.”

Mateo? Mateo has entered the arena? The Mateo Diaz, RN, BSN, ladykiller? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Frank’s jaw drops as horror descends. No woman could say no to Mateo’s electric charm. Frank was pretty sure he would drop his (heterosexual) boxer briefs if Mateo took him out latin dancing. Mel had no chance.

Not to mention: “You already have plans Friday night,” Frank accuses. “Pizza Friday!"

“You and Becca rain check on me all the time,” Mel says with a shrug. “I figured it’s my turn. Have fun watching Elf.”

—

Mel is punishing him, Langdon decides. Abby used to do this shit to him all the time, so he’s familiar with the move. He hasn’t been paying enough attention to her. He’ll rectify that, with haste. 

Langdon will fix all of this.

—

“Dana, I need you to switch up the schedule this weekend,” whines Langdon. 

Dana already has her aviators on, tote bag hoisted on her shoulder, and she’s striding for the door. “I’m clocked out, buster.”

“Come on, this is really important.”

“Schedules are made one month in advance,” she articulates each word with precision.

“I’m getting sick!” he says, trailing after her. “I have a tickle in my throat. I’m not going to be able to work on Saturday and Sunday. Oh, and McKay has the same thing, so she can’t work that Friday swing shift. Mel is going to take them.” He winced, feeling the tiniest hint of remorse at signing Mel up for a surprise double from hell. “If, uh, if you give her time and a half.”

Dana swings around so suddenly that Langdon nearly runs into her. “Ya think I’m stupid? You think Mel’s stupid?”

Langdon bristles. “Mel’s not stupid.”

“Then stop with these dumbass plans. If you’re gonna do something, do something, Langdon.”

“What do you mean?”

“Woo the lady! Everyone else is putting their best foot forward. You're just stamping yours in a hissy fit. They’ve all been upfront about their intentions and planned nice dates for her. I haven’t seen any of that from you.”

“It’s not that easy,” Frank objects, miserable. Absurdly, a stone has formed in his throat like he could cry. “I’ve been getting my life back together. The divorce. My sobriety.”

Dana softens. “That’s a good excuse. But Dr. King is a real sweetheart. A catch. She wasn’t going to hide her light under a bushel for forever. Her life is moving on, with or without you.”

“But…” Langdon can barely speak past the rock in his throat. “But she’s…” 

Mine. 

I saw her first. 

I noticed her and appreciated her and valued her before anyone else in this hellhole. 

“If you think you deserve the girl, win her fair and square.”

“She’s not an object to be won,” Frank objected weakly. 

Dana’s eyes pierce Frank's soul. “This isn’t PE class, Langdon.” She taps a finger into his chest for emphasis. “This is war.”