Distant Lover | pt. 1
Link to my ao3 and this fic
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: A multi-chapter fic, in which Frank Langdon accidentally murders a family member of his crush (langdon x femaleOc)
𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: grief, death, canon-typical mentions of gore and blood, medical inaccuracies, trauma, and an author who's first language isn't english
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 1: 6 𝐩𝐦
𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔
𝟑𝟏𝟖 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭
Zahra misses the moon and the stars. As she gazes at them, she misses them and the perspective she saw them through—eyes round and full of affection and understanding; the changing phases of the moon and the positions of the constellations, a recurring promise that every pain—no matter how unbearable—would one day fade away.
Yet, the only thing that faded away instead—
"John Doe, in his forties, found unconscious by pedestrians…"
—was the belief that she'd ever be surrounded by something other than pain and death.
Zahra's heart starts racing before she realizes she left her street clothes and headphones in the locker room and entered the buzzing rush of the Pitt already.
The sterile hallways smell of disinfectant, the body odor of some patients—and, admittedly, some doctors as well—and exude a certain chaos that most people avoid rather than plunge into. But to Zahra, it smells and feels like home.
"Jesus, can't you see that she's not on shift yet?", a familiar voice steps in, and chases the medics towards McKay in Trauma 2 instead.
"Sorry", Zahra mutters to them before turning to the personification of the Pitt herself. "Dana."
"Light of my life, soul of my overworked and underpaid body—come here", she insists, arms already wrapped around Zahra's body before she has time to process her words.
God, how she missed this wonderful masterpiece of a human.
"Definitely overworked", Zahra whispers in her ear, snuggling even closer to inhale the warm orange perfume that's unmistakably Dana's. "Some birdie told me that this is your eleventh shift in a row. Did Hashimi glue you to this hell?"
"'Could ask you the same question, darling", Dana laughs, breaking the hug to give Zahra the best motherly you’re-in-trouble-gaze she's able to manage after 11 hours of work. "Who volunteers for night shift after their vacation? And why are you an hour early? Don't kids your age have a life?"
Zahra shrugs her shoulders, stepping aside to make way for a patient with a mummified face.
"Blame my masochistic self", Zahra offers, and leans over the counter, eyes scanning the halls for noisy listeners. "And don't tell anyone, but I made you some spinach and feta borek."
Dana's eyes immediately dart from the tablet in her hands up to Zahra. "Usual place?"
"Neatly hidden behind Santos' Red Bull collection", she confirms.
"I love you, my—"
"There's a boxing ring forming in the waiting room!", Lupe yells from the reception.
Dana's eyes shut close, incomprehensible curses fleeing her mouth.
"Do you need some back-up?", Zahra offers. But what she actually wants to say is: Please let me come with you, so I'd never have to see you with a bloody nose again.
Doug Driscoll was—and will—not be the last patient to cross the physical barrier. Did Zahra have the muscles of a lanky teenage boy in middle school? Probably. Would she be able to fight back? No. But she would feel a trillion times better if Dana would not be the only one taking a punch.
She, on the other hand, pops her gum confidently—almost to the point of cockiness—and waves it off.
"Fuck no. You alright staying here alone for a second?"
Zahra slowly creeps up to where Trin is sleeping, head dropped on the keyboard, and places her hand on her shoulder. "I got my Trin to keep me some company until night shift arrives."
It takes a few seconds and gentle pressure on her shoulder until Santos wakes up, drool and hair sticking to her mouth. "What?"
Dana chuckles, blows a quick kiss towards their direction before rushing towards the waiting room.
And because the thought of what awaits her as soon as Dana returns is killing her, Zahra wraps her arms around Trin from behind, escaping into an embrace that Trin endures with a groan.
"I missed you terribly, Princess Aurora."
Zahra's cheek is so glued to Trin's, that she fears her small hoop is stabbing her if the same pressure weren't responding to hers from the other side.
"Leave the nicknames to me, okay?", Santos demands in visible irritation, yet her hand lingers on Zahra's, applying soft tension.
A sharp stone nestles in her stomach when Trinity turns on her chair to face Zahra, presenting the heavy green-blue circles beneath her eyes.
And now that she gives herself the time to inspect her further, sheer exhaustion reeks off of her.
Chapped lips.
Dull eyes.
Pale cheeks.
The question if she is okay lays on Zahra's tongue, but Trin beats her to it.
"You need to swap shifts with Shen, by the way. Asap. I swear his whole chill-guy, and Dunkins-chugging facade crumbles the second Hashimi enters the room, and—"
"What do you mean with 'Shen'?", Zahra interrupts her, brows strung together.
If there’s one thing Zahra can say about herself with conviction, it’s that she’s thorough.
She rummages through her backpack twice before every shift to make sure everything is where it’s supposed to be—checking her scrubs pockets at the end of the shift to make absolutely sure she doesn’t take any medication home with her.
The journal on her nightstand is filled daily with three positive affirmations.
The meal-prepped food in the fridge is sorted by expiration date and labeled.
She doesn’t have individual songs in her favorites; instead, she adds them immediately to structured playlists by their vibe and mood.
And above all: She knows her schedule and all the colleagues on duty. And if her eyes didn't fail her at the ripe age of 28, Zahra is one-hundred percent sure that Shen should be on shift with her.
Santos, however, claps her hands together, plastering the same smile on her lips that she always uses for patients she deems too stupid to understand the simplest of concepts she is explaining to them.
"As you should know by now, dearest Dr. Avdan, there are people in your environment referred to as 'colleagues'. One of said people is Dr. Shen, the tiny devil in disguise."
"Got it", Zahra states, flicking a piece of paper from her desk at Trin. "But isn't he supposed to be on night shift with me and Ellis, Dr. oh-so-genius Santos?"
Zahra didn’t know she was capable of casting spells. But suddenly, the air around her grows heavy. The sounds—the beeping of the monitors, the crying, the exchange of information—penetrate her consciousness. And Santos seems to be feeling the same way. Her hand wanders over her forearm, finding a patch of skin that her fingers fiddle with.
"No, he switched with…uhm, I think it was Dr. Mohan."
Something about her sentence feels off. It’s not just that she’s obviously lying, but especially her quiet yet frantic tone; the way Trin's gaze darts from person to person in the busy ER.
Are you okay?
The words melt on Zahra's tongue, absorbed by the warm flesh, before she has the gut to say the usually easy coming words out loud.
"I think I just saw her in South 15", she says instead.
"Hm."
Zahra's gaze follows Trin's, which still lingers on a few people occupying themselves around the hub.
"Hm?", she copies her, eager to gain her attention again. "Trin, are you alri—"
"You know what? I'm quite busy charting here, so why don't you rest those pretty legs of yours before your shift starts?"
And with that she turns towards the screen again, typing patient histories, procedures, and her train of thoughts faster into the document than Zahra can process.
Yet, she stays by her side, hip nudging her desk as she crosses her arms over her orange-coloured vest.
"You're avoidant."
Her eyes do not waver once from the computer as she says, "That's what four night shifts and one sudden fucking morning shift does to you."
Zahra considers shooting more questions at her for the next thirty minutes that are left before her shift starts, but leaves the topic when she remembers that it took three months for Trin to reveal her favorite colour—of course it's red.
Consequently, the chances of her telling the truth are slimmer than the likelihood of a quiet shift after some idiot has uttered the forbidden words.
So Zahra squeezes her shoulder one last time. "Text me when you want to catch up to an episode of Too Hot To Handle, okay?"
"I will!", she promises with a thumb up, still not looking up, even as Zahra distances herself from the hub to greet the gossip sisters—Perlah and Princess—next.
"I bear gifts for my superwomen", Zahra declares whilst fishing the two bracelets she ordered off of etsy out of her pocket and holds them up like an oscar.
To be honest, she feels awful lying to the two of them.
The words should have just come out of her mouth: "Oh, I spent my vacation crying and lazing around in bed, watching one documentary after another, instead of on the beach in Spain." But they were so happy for her when she lied about having a ticket already booked, and Spain was the plan—and it would have worked if she hadn’t had to leave Aman behind for that to happen.
The guilt would have eaten her up before she’d even caught a whiff of the sea air.
"I want the pink one!", Princess says, arm shooting out and yanking the bracelet out of her hand.
"But it will suit me more!", Perlah counters.
Zahra inhales, preparing herself for the upcoming banter, and…
"Pink is my colour", Princess insists.
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
Zahra doesn't understand the sentences in tagalog that follow, besides some slip-ups in form of: bitch, seriously, and fuck. But after some mediating, and convincing from Zahra's part that the blue-shell bracelet seemed like a wonderful choice too, she's squeezed into a hug from two directions.
"How were your five seconds of freedom?", Perlah begins the interrogation, before Princess ruins the innocence of their conversation with a wiggle of her eyebrows and a smile that Zahra knows just all-too well.
"Yeah, any hot summer flings?", she whispers.
Zahra doesn't know which is more embarrassing: the fact that her cheeks are flushing even though she's a grown woman, or the realization that other people still believe she has a love life.
Dear God, she can't even tell the last time she had enough energy to invest her emotions into a fictional crush, let alone a real one.
No, not since…
Her stomach twists, hand already flying up to the golden necklace placed on her sternum.
"Only between the sun and my skin. I swear I applied three layers of sunscreen and I still got sunburn", Zahra lies, fingers drawing over the curve of the sunflower attached to her necklace.
And even though it’s perfectly normal for women to go without a partner for long periods of time—or their entire life—, Zahra still thinks she sees a flicker of pity in Perlah’s eyes when the words reach her mind.
"Well, it turns chocolate before you know it, sweet thing", Princess assures her with a wink.
"Scott Disick!", Mel yells excitedly from behind them.
Perhaps it's the lie that gnaws at Zahra's conscience, or that strange conversation with Trinity. But the way the others are looking at her today seems…different.
She sensed it with Dana, not to mention with Trin, and now also with Princess and Perlah as she puts her arm around Mel.
"So how was it?", Zahra asks in an attempt to silence her own inner voice that won't stop screaming 'something's wrong, something's wrong, something's wrong'.
"You know…", Mel starts, puffing out a sigh, "…stressful."
Through the corner of her eyes, Zahra notices how Perlah examines her watch, exchanging a glance with Princess that she cannot quite interpret.
"Do you still use the spinning ring?", she distracts herself and Mel further.
Zahra gifted her the ring to her birthday, along with a spa day. To her, the ring has three benefits: it created an image of marriage to ward off any creeps, looked beautiful with its crystal and sun in the center, and helped Mel to fidget with something other than her limbs.
"Of course! I love it—thank you. But some situations tend to be a little too intense to…fidget them away, I guess."
Zahra plants her hand on Mel's arm, rubbing circles into her skin. "Well, then talk to me."
"Oh, I will."
And then, as if she weren’t completely tearing Zahra’s world out of existence, she goes on to say: "But, you know, Langdon returned while you were gone so it wasn't that lonesome without you."
Cardiogenic shock.
Zahra has associated the term with confined spaces. With dozens of people crammed into one place, all rushing into another. With someone whose life is in danger on the operating table.
Never with herself.
Yet the symptoms are the same.
Her pulse, racing and sweat-inducing, feels like it might tear her eardrums apart, so that she doesn't register the words that continue to form on Mel's lips.
But it doesn't matter. She reads the same word over and over again from her lips. And with each time, her breath stutters and falters.
Langdon.
Langdon.
Langdon.
The name rushes through her veins like adrenaline until it sets her entire body ablaze.
Breathe, she demands, clinging onto Perlah's touch on her back that she didn't notice until a second ago.
"Not that I didn't miss you", —Mel's voice finally runs through Zahra's ears like sweet molasses—, "of course I did! But it was nice to talk to someone else while you were enjoying yourself in spain, and—sorry I sound like an egotistical douchebag!"
Zahra grabs her fidgeting hand, burning a tight smile on her lips. "No, you don't. I'm really glad you didn't feel alone."
She smiles at the cautious expressions on Princess', Perlah’s, and even Trin’s face, who must have joined them during Zahra’s embarrassing glitch.
She takes a deep breath, resisting the urge to clutch her necklace.
Everything’s okay.
But she sees his face, and—
Everything's okay!
"I should use the toilet while I'm still able to, right?", Zahra states, pointing at the bathroom somewhere behind her, before she shatters like glass in front of them like they already expect her to.
"Sounds like a plan", Perlah encourages her.
Even though she's only been up for two hours, Zahra has to focus and drag her heavy limbs to the bathroom.
The last thing she hears behind her is Trinity's blaming "Why did you tell her?!", until the metallic click of the lock and her frantic breath isolate her from the past five minutes of her life.
Zahra tries to keep her eyes open.
To look at the cold waterdrops splashed against the mirror and sink. Or the bubbles of soap slowly sinking into the drain.
But all she sees is him. Covered in blood that once belonged to the person she loved most. Carrying the last whispers of her in his ears, and crushing the last warmth she shared in his hands instead of Zahra's.
I don't ever want to see you again, a voice, so distorted by the past that it takes Zahra a heartbeat or two to make it out as her own, rings through her mind, before a voice, so clear yet far away, responds with: I love you.
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Thank you so much for reading! Please forgive any errors, plot-holes etc.. I primarily began writing this fic for my friend, so I might take it down—depending on how long our hyperfixation on the pitt lasts (but let me tell you, I'm hooked). This fic is also cross-posted on ao3 :)
Lots of love <3
