She wanted to cry. The email on her phone all but screaming at her.
Management expect the attendance of the following staff members at the UPMC Annual Fundraiser:
Melissa King (MD Emergency department.)
Formal attire mandatory.
Who the hell would pick her for a social event? She of the clueless directness? Her stomach churned at the thought. The old fear of being at the end of some mean prank. Being asked out by the most popular person in school and just getting torn to shreds.
‘You look like I feel.’ Dr Mohan sat down opposite her with a cup of water and two protein bars. One outstretched to Mel. Her smile felt tight and wobbly as she took the offered bar.
‘Feels like high school.’ Immediately she could tell that Dr Mohan didn’t really get what Mel was saying. At least on the level Mel had experienced. She’d seen it not felt it.
Mohan rubbed at her temple. ‘I barely know how to wash my face. They expect me to be all dressed up.’
‘I may break my ankle? I don’t do well in heels.’
Mohan’s face blanched. ‘I didn’t even think of the shoes.’
Both women sat in horrified silence. ‘And scrubs are not appropriate attire.’ Mel flinched as Dr Mohan’s head hit the table. The noise she utter may have been a shriek but it did morph into laughter.
Mel found herself joining in easily. Some days, increasingly often days felt more like herself in her black scrubs. Maybe Becca was right. She needed more time out of them. Garcia stormed into the room. Her hair fraying slightly. ‘You two invited to this shindig too?’
Her angular face frowned at the both. ‘Why do you look like someone just died?’
‘I’m not going.’ Dr Mohan pouted, crossing her arms and staring up at the ceiling. Slightly undercut but the reddening mark on her forehead.
Garcia leant over the table. Mel backed up quickly. ‘Hate to burst your bubble but Al-Hashimi is on the warpath about it.’ Mel winced. Dr Al could be tenacious at best. The surgeon turned to Mel with just as much fire. ‘And don’t think about faking a sister emergency. There will be consequences.’
‘But I don’t know how to-’
Dr Mohan gestured at herself. Panic in her voice and her trembling hands. Mel got it. Garcia’s head whipped back and forth. Her sigh was weary and worn. And if Mel wasn’t kidding herself, there was a good deal of fondness in it. ‘This is going to be a fucking montage isn’t it???’
And given the dark plum backless silk dress she picked out ended up on Frank’s floor barely half way through the gala. Garcia should have become a stylist.
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No warnings! This fic is also a very very very belated birthday present to the absolutely lovely @smolfangirl ❤️❤️ sorry it took me so long to get something written for you 😭
“You’re sure this is what Adam wants for the first time we’re having his family over?” Mel frowns down at her cart, which looks less like the kind of dinner their mother would make when hosting people, and more… eclectic. “I really do think I should at least make the pot roast mom used to make for—”
“Adam says this is what they like,” Becca interrupts, her voice crackling over the phone. She’d sprung the idea of inviting Adam’s parents and younger brother to their birthday party three days before the day itself and when the invitation had already been extended. Now, Mel finds herself last minute shopping for her own birthday dinner. “And remember, he only likes the Betty Crocker boxed confetti cake mix! Okay, I have to go, I’m almost done your present! Love you, bye!”
With a click, Mel is left looking down at her cart and aching for the days when her birthday dinner was exactly what she liked.
Mel’s always had problems with food. Not as bad as Becca with her official ARFID diagnosis, but not great. That’s why she likes things a certain way. Always the same brands, always the same recipes. Order is important. Only this year instead of the Costco chiffon she loves, she’s making something to suit her sister’s boyfriend.
It’s fine. It’s okay. It’s—
After the dishes have been done and Adam and his family have left with polite goodbyes, Mel hears a knock at her door. There isn’t anyone there when she checks, but the handwriting on the card gives Frank away even if he didn’t sign it.
Happy birthday, Mel.
Next day off I’m making pot roast for you and the kids. Don’t forget about it.
Yours,
F.
The card sits atop a single slice of chiffon cake, exactly how she likes it.
For @kingdonmicrofic I Day 2: Ice Cream I 486 words I Description: First dates and Ice Cream Kisses
Ao3 Link
“What do you mean you’ve never been taken out for ice cream?” Frank exclaims, incredulous, as he and Mel sit side by side on his couch after a long shift.
She laughs and shrugs. “No one’s ever really taken me. I didn’t even go on a real date until college.”
“MEL? That’s ridiculous.” He shakes his head, still trying to wrap his mind around it. Not one person in high school saw what he sees every day? The longer he thinks about it, the more absurd it feels. Then again, he hasn’t exactly confessed his own massive crush either.
“No. No, Mel. That’s a crime. Put on your coat. We’re going out.”
“Langdon, it’s not that big a deal.”
“Yes, it is. Come on, Dr. King. We’re going on a date.”
She hesitates, watching him like she’s trying to catch the joke. But he’s not joking. He stands, hand out, soft grin on his face. When she finally takes his hand, he gently pulls her to her feet.
He opens the door for her, lets her step out first. As they walk down the street, he doesn’t rush. The city is quiet tonight, the kind of stillness that makes moments linger. He inches closer and gently links their hands. She glances up at him, surprised, but he just smiles and keeps walking.
At the shop, he holds the door again, waits for her to choose her flavor, and pays before she can argue. It’s not about money. It’s about showing her that someone wants to take her out. That she deserves softness. Intention.
Outside, he leads her to a nearby bench. His hand finds the small of her back without thinking, just enough contact to steady them both.
They sit and eat, talking like they always do. He makes her laugh, and he listens more than he speaks. But beneath the surface, he watches her. The way she stays just a little guarded, even when she’s happy. Like she’s waiting for it to end.
“This was fun,” she says softly. “But you didn’t have to. You’re not obligated or anything.”
He wants to say a dozen things. That he’s thought about this moment for months. That she quiets the noise in his head. That she matters. That she’s never been an obligation, only ever a choice.
He’s been pretending friendship was enough, settling for closeness when what he really wants is something more.
So instead, he shifts closer. He gives her a chance to pull away. She doesn’t.
Then he kisses her, slow and certain. No rush, no performance. Just everything he’s been holding back, poured into one quiet, honest moment.
When he pulls away, her eyes are wide, lips parted, like she’s still catching up.
“Did that feel like an obligation?” he asks, voice low.
She blushes, looks down for a moment, then meets his eyes with a shy smile.
The Pitt, Mel King/Frank Langdon, 500 words, Rated G, High School AU, for @kingdonmicrofic
The Cone Zone is the best ice cream shop in town, no contest. Becca begs to go about once a week, so tonight Mel obliges her. Of course when they get there it’s packed. Becca elects to find them a table outside— she’s very good at it— so Mel heads inside, steeling herself for the noise and lights, the smell of sweat and sugar.
She recognizes various classmates, most of whom wave, calling greetings, and Mel waves back, pleased. She knew doing a variety of extracurriculars last year was a good idea. Samira had stubbornly focused on academics and now was fretting about not having a social life. At least she has their upcoming senior year to make up for it.
Spirits buoyed, not even the long line fazes her. Dennis Whitaker and Trinity Santos are working, an efficient, if unlikely, team, and Mel knows she’ll get her turn soon enough.
Someone gets in line behind her. She gets a whiff of chlorine, and somehow she knows, even before they speak, who it is.
“Hey, King,” says Frank Langdon.
She turns to face him. “Hi, Langdon.”
He looks good, freshly showered, dark hair curling around his neck, his skin a bit darker than when she’d seen him last. “Just got off work?” She’d heard from various sources that he got a lifeguarding gig at the local pool. Most girls swooned over it, especially since he’s fairly newly single.
“Yeah,” he flashes her a smile. “Ice cream for dinner.”
She frowns. “That won’t sustain you for long.” He’s an athlete, he should know this.
Slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants (she doesn’t), he nudges her shoulder with his. “First course, then,” he concedes.
She eyes him. Is he making fun of her? But he just looks at her, all earnest blue eyes. “Good,” she says. “Don’t want you to get scurvy, or anything.”
As bad as the joke is, to her relief he laughs. “Definitely not,” he assures her. “Had my fruit this morning. How’s your summer? Now that we’re a little farther into it.”
A joke of his own, referencing their brief conversation at the end-of-year pool party a couple weeks before. He’d asked how her summer was; she told him it was too soon to tell. “Fine,” she says, feeling shy. Lazy mornings reading. Afternoons volunteering at the library. Movie nights with Samira. “Just. Hanging out.”
“Come here often?” He asks, before realizing his mistake. “Oh, um. I didn’t mean— well, actually—”
“It’s ok,” Mel stops him. “I know what you meant.”
He opens his mouth, still looking a little distressed, probably embarrassed, before she hears her name. “You’re up, King!” Santos calls. “What’ll it be?”
Mel turns away to answer. Once she’s gotten her cones and paid, she’s tempted to wait for Langdon, but their ice cream is rapidly melting and Becca is waiting, so she calls good-bye and leaves, hoping he gets his ice cream soon. When she left he looked pretty hangry.
Frank tried not to be superstitious. Really he believed in science and rationality. And the stupidity of humanity. But Friday the 13th. October Friday the 13th just tended to get him. What else could explain the RFDI scanner shorting out as he touched his ID to it. Literal sparks flying in the air. Up his air.
Mel quick to check his hand. ‘Oh are you okay?’ Robby was glaring. Gesturing for them to get their asses back on the floor. Frank made a show of trying to open the door. Failing and then a dramatic re-enactment of the panel frying itself. All one handed. Robby didn’t shoot him the finger. But Frank knew he was desperate to.
‘It’s fine Mel. But I think we’re stuck.’ Her brow furrowed a little. His hand felt oddly empty as she let him go.
Her rattle of the door much louder than his own. ‘Oh.’ Frank struggled to bite back his quip about her verification process. Dana and Al fut-zed with the door.
‘Yeah they’re locked in.’ Slightly muffled.
Frank shrugged with a boyish grin. ‘Surely there’s an emergency release?’ Mel turned to him with hopeful eyebrows. He had to be quick to get out of her way as she pried open the panel.
Mel King carried around a Swiss army knife?
Why did Frank find that so damn hot?
He hoped that his slightly stunned face could be interpreted as being over the dawning realisation that they were stuck.
‘Poor Mel-aria stuck in there with him.’ Santos’s derision was about a five on the scale of Langdon fury. Almost pleasant.
‘I am sure you’d be a fucking delight Santos.’ He was an asshole. Really, truly. But Frank could see Mel process the thought and fight the shudder response.
Yeah he was Mel’s favourite.
Must resist urge to preen.
Santos did shoot him the finger. Mel huffed at the panel, hands on her hips. ‘I don’t have the tools to fix this.’
‘Wanna play 20 questions? He offered with a grin, sliding down to the floor.
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Over the word count. Could not get it under or a. Not a hope in hell.
-------------
‘Will your far lesser half ever get up to sing?’ Santos elbowed Mel none to gently. She looked at her... friend? Mel struggled to define their relationship. One moment it was a verbal battle Mel hated, the next such deep emotional vulnerability that felt far too raw.
So they were... something friend adjacent.
‘It’s up to him. Not everyone likes to sing publicly.’
‘And some people shouldn’t.’
Mel puffed up her cheeks. Refusing the take the obvious bait. Two ginger ales. Dr La- Frank was watching the current singer with a forced pleasant look on his face. The current singer was... middling at best. ‘Thanks Mel.’ They both flinched as the woman butchered the last note of Defying Gravity. ‘Oh thank god.’ His face was exaggeratedly relieved as she made her way off the stage. ‘She was... enthusiastic.’
Mel giggled a little. ‘Careful you might alter your reputation.’ Frank shook his head with a fond grin. Santos was a little annoyed that Mel had invited him to karaoke. But she had invited half the department – and Dr Garcia. And Mel wanted him there.
‘Perish the thought.’ Whitaker took the mic. Mel tried to arrange her face in an intrigued expression. A gentle nudge at her shin had her checking under the table. Frank’s eyebrows lifted a little. ‘Careful you might harm your reputation.’
While Whitakers song choice of Ed Sheeran wasn’t exactly groundbreaking or inspired. His voice was beautiful. Everyone was thrown by it. Santos had dropped her drink on Dr Garcia’s shoes. ‘Can’t believe I am sympathising with Santos.’ Frank exhaled with an exaggerated face. ‘I’ve been there.’
‘Well at least Trinity has more options for apologising than you did.’ She winced. Why did she say the stupidest things?? Frank stared at her silently for a long moment. Then snorted.
Through loud pearls of laughter he managed to speak. ‘You are fucking hilarious.’ Mel glowed. People thought her weird. Or laughed at her. Never that she was hilarious. Until him.
Dr Garcia knocked a still laughing Frank on the shoulder. ‘You’re the only hold out.’
‘I’m an observer not a participator.’
Her brown eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Oh you will participate.’ Mel frowned as Garcia hissed something in his ear. Panicked blue eyes glanced at Mel. Why?
Dragged to the stage, they continued having hissed argument stage.
A single note rang out. Frank jolted to attention.
‘Oh god he was a fucking emo as a kid wasn’t he? Eyeliner the full thing.’ His voice was lovely. Deep and rich but Mel mostly appreciated how unafraid he was to get into the music.
Mel had always like the emo kids. They didn’t pick on her. And were nice. The idea of Frank’s eyes surrounded by dark liner. Mel felt a little guilty for thinking things like that about her married friend.
