not kelly clarkson

She mentions eventually her husband being a doctor as well, there’s something in her tone like she thought they would know that which is… odd? How would they?

Dr King has step kids. Which takes them by surprise. Her husband seems to be a dweeb, and he’s been married before? Huh.

Eventually they see her ring. It’s in a silver chain on her neck. It’s surprisingly pretty. It’s got a fairy like unique setting to it. “My husband got me some rubber ones to try when we first got engaged but I hated the feeling. This is just the best option for me.”

Well that’s sweet of him.

For all she talks about my husband made this last night and oh my husband read that and sorry I was just thinking about this joke my husband made comments, she actually seldom discusses the man in question.

Not beyond doctor, married before, tall.

She gives them little to work with.

So it’s quite the shock when one day Dr Langdon takes her hand after a trauma, and softly asks “Hey, you okay Melly?”, bending down to look in her eyes. And she shakes her head, he mutters that he knows, baby, and pulls her into a hug. He rocks her against his chest and mutters in her ear and kisses her head.

And it startles them, because obviously dr King and dr Langdon are friends but they’re both married it’s-

Oh.

@kingdonmicrofic dat 17: crowd. 488/317. cw: none. context: small kingdon anastasia au based on the musical. header credit: tuacahn center for the arts, "anastasia"

In that silence of the quiet Parisian hotel, a scream rang out. Frank rushed into Mel’s room as she cried out in her bed alone, eyes closed and terrified. Running up to her, he wakes her, seeing her eyes open full of tears as she’s stunned back into reality, grabbing into his arms and crying about the voices coming back, as he attempted to soothe her, pushing away the nightmare.

“Who do you think I am, Frank?” Mel asks him, all of a sudden, breaking away and pleading to him, hazel eyes with red at the rims.

“If I were the Dowager Empress, I’d want you to be—”

“Do you think I’m her?” Mel shuts him down.

“I want you to be.” He confesses. They’re in silence for a long moment before Franks allows himself to speak up. “When I was ten, the Romanov’s had a parade for the summer solstice. There was a crowd of thousands in the square that day, and everyone wanted to get a glimpse of the royal family. Even me.”

He remembers the heat of the sun on his face, with the shade provided by all the crowding adults around him. Kids on shoulders, or being held in their parents’ arms. He’d never had that kind of luck.

“And I was little and scrappy, I ran under legs and knees squeezing through every person in my way. I got so far that the parade was suddenly in front of me, and she was right there. An eight-year-old, sitting straight, as regal and poised as a queen.” He laughs and straightens his posture, only now realizing how much he was hunching over. “And I called out her name and I reached out to her and she smiled.”

Frank’s heart skips a beat as it had all those years ago, keeping a piece of that memory for himself, remembering how an instant later the princess was gone and they parade travelled on.

“You make me feel like I was there too.” Mel says, voice watery.

“Maybe you were. Use that.”

Nervously Mel makes the story her own. “There was a parade, passing through the middle of town. It was hot. Not a cloud in the sky. And as we were moving along, this little boy caught my eye. Thin, raggedy, dirty.” Mel teases, and he smiles back. “But he was so fast, dodging everyone. Commoners and guards alike. No one could catch him.”

The memory was a lot more lovely when Mel told it.

“I could hear him, calling out my name, when out of nowhere he was next to my carriage. I couldn’t help myself; I wasn’t supposed to but when our eyes met, I smiled.” Mel says brandishing that her own breathtaking grin, “And then, he bowed…” Her voice trails off, confused as his blood runs cold.

“I didn't tell you that.” He whispers.

me:

THE PITT | 2.15, “9:00 P.M.”

Bonus:

@thepittmonth: Week 3  patients, cases, and healthcare

Topics and Issues in American Healthcare

putting on, taking off

mel king x frank langdon | explicit | 8.2k words

Putting his hands on the tiny zipper, Frank slowly dragged it up, his eyes eating up the smooth expanse of Mel’s skin as it disappeared behind the green of her dress. It occurred to him that he was always putting more clothes on her. He wondered when he was going to get to take them off.

Becca sniffled in the bed across the room, breathing still uneven with upset, even in sleep. In her own bed, Mel snuggled into her mom’s side, blinking back tears that never seemed to fall with an audience. Her mother smoothed down her hair, tugging once on her earlobe, thumb firmly pressed against the gold studs that were still slightly tender from when she got them pierced five months ago. She winced, but didn’t whimper.

You’re always so quiet, her mother whispered. We never have to worry about you.

Her backpack straps dug into her shoulder, shifting uncomfortably in her BIO 313 professor’s office. The bags under her eyes keep growing these days, never enough time in the day for sleep on top of school and Becca and life. With the funeral, she had to miss a week of lectures, too physically exhausted to drive to campus from the apartment that still smelled of her mother’s perfume. It’s understandable why her performance on the midterm was underwhelming. All Dr. Stark had to offer was a bittersweet smile and a knowing look.

You’re a smart kid, he waved off. We never have to worry about you.

Six months into working in Pittsburgh, Mel felt like she was drowning. She worked and slept and worked and slept and nothing else. Every week, she and Becca watched Elf and every week, she’d listen intently to the social dynamics of Middle Hill, living vicariously through her sister’s complex web of friendships to fill the void that she didn’t know she had until a fateful September day. Sometimes, she’d slip up — miss a chart or forget to put in an order. Little things, to see if anyone would notice.

You’re one of our best, Dr. King, Robby assured her instead. We never have to worry about you.

“You really don’t have to do this for me, Frank,” Mel said, hugging her middle tight.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, but you really don’t have to worry about me.”

Frank frowned.