mel-ancholia⋆.࿔

Frank watches you closely from the door frame of the PTMC break room. Being your husband for so long and knowing you for even longer, he knew all of your little tells by heart. Sure, you were pouring coffee into a thermos and seemingly present— but he knew your mind was elsewhere. He could see it in the mechanical way your arm moved, like you were on autopilot. Or the way your face lacked any expression or focus.

He steps closer to you, putting his hand on top of yours.

"Hey. You okay?"

He watches you stare at his hand for a second too long and he wonders if he should move it, though you never had a problem with it before. While you didn't like public displays of affection at work, you never objected when his fingers would find yours. Work was hard and grueling for the both of you and the little reminder that you were in it together always calmed you.

Or at least he thought it did.

"Yeah, just tired." You speak, gaze still not meeting his.

He raises a brow. Clearly not buying it. Anyone with common sense could tell you were lying and he knew you weren't stupid enough to truly believe he bought your lame excuse.

"We can talk later." You cut off his train of thought while smiling tightly and brushing past him. Frank stands alone in the break room, left behind with your coffee that you seemed to have forgotten.

"Okay then." He whispers, stealing your coffee for himself. Sooner or later he'd get to the bottom of whatever had you so freaked out. But for now, coffee.

· · ─ ·♡· ─ · ·

You're watching your patient lie on the table in front of you. You haven't said a word to him since entering his room, and you're not even entirely sure he can see you from his angle.

You've just finished breaking the news to his wife. You did everything you could to fix this mess, but laws were laws. His wife would be questioned by the police, charged with who knows what, while this man got to go home scot free. You didn't even want to think about what that meant for his daughter.

His hands on her. All in the name of "love" because she was his favorite. Daddy's good girl. No one will ever love her as much as he does. Isn't that right?

The lies you'd been told so many times ring in your ears.

You pick up the scalpel next to you, stepping closer to him. It's sterile metal surface rests heavy against your hot palm. Perhaps it should be calming, the temperature difference. But all you can think of is how sharp the tool is. How "special" of a relationship he thinks he has with her.

You watch him blink, still somehow unaware of your presence. You think how easy his life must be. How goddamn arrogant they all are. Blissfully unaware their actions have any consequence. You're beyond tempted to tell him otherwise. To show him.

Your hand tightens around the scalpel. An instrument meant to help people, now turned weapon. Isn't that ironic, you think to yourself.

How easy it would be, to put an end to this man's harm. To save his daughter. Your thoughts are however, quickly interrupted.

Dana steps into the room, "Hey kid. Robby needs you out here. Some idiot set himself on fire. Don't ask me."

Her interruption breaks whatever trance you found yourself in and you turn, hiding the scalpel in your sleeve. Forcing a smile you put actual effort into this time, you reassure her.

"I'll be there in a sec."

She looks between you and your patient but decides not to press, knowing when to let things go. She nods before turning around and leaving.

You let out a sigh of relief and quickly set down the scalpel. You force yourself not to look back at the man, who clearly knows you're there now. You walk out of the room, ready to busy yourself with anything else. As quickly as the interaction started, it's over.

· · ─ ·♡· ─ · ·

Frank looks up from charting, seeing you enter another trauma room. He can tell somethings off about you, but brushes it off. You said you'd talk to him later and he respected that. Still, something nags at him.

"Langdon." McKay rolls her chair over to his. "She's stressed because of her patient. I overheard her talking with Kiara." She whispers, as if reading his mind. Though he supposes he's not good at hiding his concern when it comes to you.

"The patients wifes been drugging his coffee with progesterone to try to protect their daughter because she thinks hes been molesting her. Apparently the girl won't talk though. They had to get the police involved and.. it's not looking good for the mom," McKay sighs, shaking her head.

"That's horrible," Frank says softly. He clicks his pen, thinking of you. As always.

The case would upset anyone, there's no doubt about it. But he knew it was more than that. He recalled the time you teared up on Father's Day upon seeing a dad and his young daughter walking together, hand in hand. When he asked why you were crying, you blamed it on your period and the fact it was just a sweet sight. He hadn't protested at the time because the last thing he wanted to do was get on your nerves.

Though now, he's wondering if he should've pressed more. He knew you didn't like to talk about your family, but he hated knowing you were carrying so many emotional burdens on your own. You were always there for him, throughout his recovery and rehab— he wanted to return the favor.

"Thanks for uh..telling me," Frank nods at McKay.

"Just make sure she's okay for me," She stands up, leaving to treat more patients.

He decides to do the same, hoping to get his mind off his worries until he gets the chance to properly talk to you.

· · ─ ·♡· ─ · ·

He clicks the car door open for you and you reach over and open his in turn. Silence settles between you both for a moment and you reach for his hand. He laces his fingers in between yours.

"We should quit and move to," he pauses, thinking, "Costa Rica. We can drink from coconuts all day and I'll find all the best seashells for milady." He grins.

"You'd miss this place."

"Maybe," he says, softening.

He looks over at you, head turned just slightly away from him.

You interrupt him before he can ask about your day.

"Let's get takeout today. I don't feel like cooking."

"That stuff'll kill you, you know?"

"It hasn't yet. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

"Right, because Kelly Clarkson lyrics definitely apply to McNuggets."

"Mhm." You mumble, seemingly not in the mood for what he thinks is his amazing humor.

He squeezes your hand, deciding to postpone his questions until later, when you're both home. You squeeze back, turning away once more.

· · ─ ·♡· ─ · ·

You drop a cold McNugget back into the box, disgusted. Why on earth you suggested even getting anything to eat when you should've figured your appetite would be ruined, you don't know. He watches you before clearing his throat.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Frank asks, trying to lightly approach the subject.

"About what?" You say bluntly, cosplaying clueless. You know damn well what he means.

"What happened with your patient."

"Not tonight." You push away the food from you and start to stand up from the counter you were both eating at.

He grabs your wrist and you tense up for a second. Upon your reaction, he quickly lets go and almost apologizes before he realizes he can't let this moment pass.

"You can't keep shutting me out like this. Talk to me. I know you're upset."

"I've had a long day, Frank."

"So tell me about it. For fuck's sake, can you please just let me be there for you? I'm so tired of watching you bottle everything up. It's…it's stupid." His voice rises and you know he means well, but your nervous system can't differentiate between the loving man before you and the one from your past. You feel tears start to form before you can calm down.

"I'm not having this conversation with you right now. You're not the only one that has to work long ass shifts, you know? I'm already exhausted, I don't need you yelling at me on top of everything." You pause.

"This conversation is over. I'm not doing this with you."

He narrows his eyes, "Doing what?? Talking like normal people?"

"I'm not doing this." You repeat, walking away from him. You slam the door to your shared bedroom behind you before he can catch up.

You sit on the cold hardwood floor, pulling your knees to your chest. You almost laugh at the situation. It mirrors all the ill fitting breakdown scenes you've watched on TV. Though the tears that run down your face are nothing like the ones actresses adorn in those silly films.

You know Frank means well. You know you should just talk to him. The fear that he'd start to see you differently was the only thing holding you back. You exhale and stand up.

Walking to the bathroom, you turn on the shower before stripping and stepping in. You turn the knob to the hottest setting as the metal dial creaks. Scrubbing your skin as hard as your cheap purple loofah allows, you sigh. You remembered a time when you thought everything would be simpler than this. That if you just focused on your job, on your amazing husband and his kids, that you'd be okay. If you centered your life around your future and the life you wanted to build, the past would have no choice but to stop dragging you down.

You admit now to yourself that trying to plan out your life like an over ambitious Pinterest board was stupid. You should've known you'd have to confront your trauma sooner or later. Plus, your husband was right. You couldn't shut him out forever.

Quickly, you change into a thick sweatshirt. One that you got from a tourist trap on your first vacation with Frank. You recall how all those years ago after you left the store, you spotted an old couple walking together.

You had turned to him, smiling, "You think that'll be us one day?"

"Mhm, for sure. We'll have matching dentures and everything," he slung an arm over your shoulder in a familiar gesture.

"Can't wait," You laughed together, drunk on the Florida sun.

The memory left an ache in your chest. Perhaps you'd spent so long carrying this all alone, you forgotten you didn't have to anymore.

· · ─ ·♡· ─ · ·

Frank stirs on the couch where he had fallen asleep, now awakened by your footsteps. He sits up and moves over, offering you a place to sit.

"You shouldn't be sleeping on the couch. Your backs gonna feel even worse," you sniff whilst resting your head on his shoulder.

"Mm. Did you get any sleep?"

"A little. I had a bad dream,"

He hesitates, unsure if he should ask.

"It was one about my dad. About what he did," you pause, "I…I almost hurt one of my patients today. He's been molesting his daughter."

"For a second, instead of his doctor, I was just someone that wanted him dead. I couldn't stop thinking about....his hands all over me," you stop. "still, I was being so selfish and...and rash."

"No…," he begins.

"I just…I wanted to save her. No one ever helped me. It took me the longest time to stand up for myself. For so long, I let him get away with what he did to me. I didn't want that to be the case for his daughter. She won't even talk..." you shudder.

"I know that doesn't make what I thought right."

Frank waits a moment.

"What matters is you didn't act on those thoughts. I'm sorry you had to go through that alone, no one deserves that. Especially not you," he rubs a hand up and down your arm.

"I'm sorry I didn't let you in. I think I was always scared that you'd see me differently. Not just with the patient, but everything. Whenever I had the guts to speak up, which was rarely ever, people started to treat me like I was some kind of fragile doll. I'm sorry I didn't trust you enough to believe you wouldn't do the same."

"and I'm sorry your shirt is soaked with my tears," you add, laughing between sobs.

He smiles gently.

"Hey, its okay. We're okay."

"I love you," you whisper.

"I love you." He kisses the top of your head.

You couldn't solve all your problems and you surely couldn't erase your past, no matter how much you wanted to. But with him there, you knew you wouldn't have to carry the burden of it all alone.

It is Frank Langdon's first week back in the ED. The first week back since the 10 months he spent in rehab, and his first week being forced to work in triage. He's worked hard to come back. Worked harder to try to make amends.

He can't help but glare at Robby's back for a second, thinking over the ordered exile. He considers going up to him again and begging him to reconsider before he decides to spare his last bit of dignity. While Frank doesn't particularly mind working with whatever peculiar case has landed someone in the hospital, he can't help but miss the emergency part of it all. Being constantly wired, he'd found after so many years in medical settings that saving lives was one of the few things that kept his hands steady.

Scrubbing hand sanitizer into his skin, he's careful so as not to break one of the many bracelets both Tanner and Penny made him. Ever since the divorce, he couldn't spare anything of the kids'. They were all he had other than his job, which let's face it, wasn't going too well at the moment.

One of the few things left that brought him happiness was his kids' presences, though he'd never admit how lonely he'd gotten.

It didn't help that the short weekends he got with them slipped through his fingers like sand. He could give Penny a million piggyback rides and Tanner thousands of legos only to find them stuck in his own feet— but all of it would never be enough. So he clung on to everything they made him. Whether it was the bracelets decorating his wrists or the drawings cluttering his fridge.

He steps into room 12, smiling at the middle aged man sitting on the bed in front of him.

"Hello I'm Doctor Langdon and I'll be treating you today. What brings you to the ER?"

The man introduces himself and shares the symptoms that landed him in the beautiful hell that was this ED. For Frank it tends to all blur together, but he nods his head and fills out a chart for blood work nonetheless.

You click the door to room 12 open and let it shut behind you. It's your sixth month on the job and since then you've practically lived in PTMC. Sure, being a nurse wasn't always easy, but you felt it paid off in some way or another. Like the cheap saying goes, you were making a difference.

"I can take the order."

You smile tightly at both of them and turn to Langdon, a face you fail to recognize. He moves his arm to greet you and his pen drops to the floor, the ballpoint clicking softly.

You kneel down to pick it up without much thought, your head coming up too quick and close to the table.

Before he can think otherwise, he puts his hand on the corner edge, protecting you from making contact.

Maybe its instinct from having 2 clumsy kids. Maybe its more than that. Though if someone had asked right now, he'd insist it was the former.

You can't help but let out a startled laugh, "Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem." He nods, handing you the lab order. You take it from his hands and click the door shut behind you, ending the awkward interaction.

He watches you leave, resisting the curious urge to follow.

· · ─ ·♡· ─ · ·

You step outside into the warm air, expecting some sort of relief only to be slightly suffocated by the July humidity. You sigh, leaning against the wall beside you. Despite the heat, even a moment of freedom from the ED was welcomed.

Frank turns, putting his phone away to get ready to step back inside. That is, until he notices you. He isn't quite sure of your name, nor anything else about you other than the fact you're a nurse.

"You're new here, right?" He asks, stepping closer to you.

"I've been here 6 months"

He nods before introducing himself. A quick expression of recognition passes on your face before you can suppress it and he pauses, trying to read what you're thinking.

You're not privy to rumors, and you certainly don't go searching for them. However, you'd be lying if you said you hadn't heard of him around the ED. Recovering drug addict, temperamental, Frank Langdon.

Trinity being one of your first friends, you'd heard of his incidents. But looking at the man before you, they seemed hard to believe.

Still, he can see hes been made by the look on your face.

"Also known as the junkie that was castaway at rehab all this time." He scoffs.

He's learned to tear himself down before anyone else can. Yet as he recalls how uncomfortable everyone gets when he mentions rehab, he wishes he kept his mouth shut.

Your gaze softens before you speak, "I'm really glad you got the help you needed."

You can tell he seems almost taken aback at your comment. He's not the only one that knows how to read people. You smile gently before leaving him alone with his thoughts once more. Only now his want to follow you is charged by more than curiosity.

· · ─ ·♡· ─ · ·

After meeting, it wasn't long till you'd spend more time at his, cooking each other different meals and talking over cheap wine.

In that time, you'd both grown closer. You had filled a space in his life he refused to believe was empty in the first place. But God, was he grateful.

So it's no surprise that his chest fills with worry as he watches you from the doorway of the break room, observing your slumped figure against the table. Hair covers your face, but he can tell you're barely keeping your eyes open.

"Hey, you alright?" He pulls out a chair beside you and puts his hand on your elbow. Looking up at him, he can tell your exhausted.

"I've been a little under the weather these past few days. I figured it'd blow over if I just got some sleep, but they're doing construction all around my place. I can't catch a break," You laugh dryly. 

He pauses.

"Shifts about to end in an hour, I'll meet you then. Take it easy for now."

You begin to protest before he shuts you up with a simple, "Doctors orders"

· · ─ ·♡· ─ · ·

You can't quite remember how you ended up at Frank's apartment. It was mostly empty other than the children's toys scattering the floor and the plain furniture. He guides you gently, letting you lean on him for support. He'd truly underestimated how tired and weak you were. He sets you down on his bed, insisting you rest despite your objections.

He leaves the room shortly to get you water and you finish taking off your shoes before you begin to feel uneasy. Stumbling into his bathroom, you force the toilet seat up and heave. Kneeling there, the cold diamond shaped tile digs into your skin and makes you shiver. What a pretty tile, you think.

Frank rushes back and sits with you, holding your hair while running his hand up and down your back.

"You're okay." He whispers over and over again till you've emptied your stomach.

You rest your head in the crook of his shoulder, and he pulls you closer. In that second, he swears his heartbeat syncs with yours, that if someone placed a stethoscope on both of your chests they'd match.

You lean into him, trying to calm down. Once you have, he leaves to get you a change of clothes, placing them on the counter before shutting the door to give you privacy.

After you change, you brush your teeth using the toothbrush he anointed you after your first of many nights at his apartment.

You hadn't planned on getting this close to him. It had just kinda worked out that way, the way good things do. To the world Frank was arrogant, but to you he was nothing but gentle. Always there for you, always patient.You remembered the first time you walked into the very apartment you stood in now. He cooked you just slightly burnt yet still delicious pasta and you joked with him, how the little gnocchi was an analogy to himself. Rough on the outside, but still so soft. You remembered clear as day when he laughed and shook his head at you, making fun of you for the corny metaphor.

Spitting into the sink and rinsing your mouth, you hear him lightly knock at the door.

You open it, and he smiles softly at you. In all of your sick glory, you still radiate beauty. Months ago, right when he met you, he was recovering from the lowest point in his life. There had been a time he went 10 months without a single text from anyone he thought was close to him. Now, he'd go barely 10 minutes without a text from you (outside of the ED, of course).

In some strange way, you had become one of the most important people in his life.

He takes your hand in his, grounding himself with your touch. He loosely intertwines your fingers.

"Let's get some rest, yeah?"

You nod and climb into your side of his bed while he does the same. Before long, you curl into him.

Tomorrow, he'd call you both off from work, taking the day to care for the stubborn cold you contracted.

But for now, he strokes your messy hair, one of the many things he knows calms you. He has the fleeting realization that if you'd ask him to, he'd continue till his hand went numb. Anything to soothe you. Maybe it was the doctor in him, determined to help anyone he could. Maybe it was more than that.

If someone had asked right now, he'd admit it was the latter.