#langdon x reader

Robby yanks the rear passenger door open. A woman lies folded awkwardly across the seat, one arm trapped beneath her, the other clamped over her abdomen. Blood has seeped through her fingers, soaked into her blouse, pooled beneath her hip.

"Ma'am?" Robby braces a hand against the roof of the car as he leans inside. "Can you hear me?"

A weak sound escapes her, barely audible, more like a pained exhale.

He looks back at the driver.

"Do you know her?"

The man shakes his head so hard his whole body moves with it.

"No! There was... There was a robbery! They had a gun. She... she ran over trying to help me. They turned the gun on her."

Robby swallows thickly before reaching to place his arms carefully beneath the woman's shoulders.

"Ma'am," he says, keeping his voice steady despite his pulse already screaming in his ears. "I'm Michael Robinavitch, but you can call me..."

Her head rolls toward him. Loose strands of hair fall away from her face and everything inside him stops. The words never come as he pales.

For half a heartbeat he simply stares, recognizing her; his first year, the one he’s been dreaming up punishments for the past hour because she didn't come to work on time, the one he’d never openly admit to favoring among the new batch of interns.

She should've been upstairs complaining about the coffee by now, instead of admitting she’s not a coffee person. She'd never once been late…he should have known something wasn’t right.

His chest constricts with such force it almost steals his breath. He slides one arm beneath her knees, another behind her shoulders, lifting with care despite the panic detonating beneath his ribs. Blood immediately soaks into the front of his scrubs, warm through the fabric.

"Stay with me," he murmurs, though he isn't sure whether he's speaking to her or himself.

Then he runs.

"I NEED A GURNEY!"

The shout echoes through the emergency department enough to turn heads. Dana’s already moving before she even sees who he's carrying. Whitaker follows so closely he nearly clips the corner of the nurses' station.

Dana gets a clearer look and her eyes widen. "Jesus Christ..."

The gurney slams beside Robby as more nurses join him. Together they transfer her over.

Her head lolls sideways, and her skin has already taken on that frightening waxy cast Robby has seen a thousand times, just never on someone whose evaluations he'd signed last week.

"What do we have available?" he demands, grabbing the rails as they start running.

"Trauma One's open."

"What happened?" Dana asks.

"GSW to the abdomen." His words come clipped between breaths as he pushes harder. "Tried playing the hero."

The automatic doors burst open and within seconds the room explodes into chaos.

"Monitor."

"Large-bore IVs. Two."

"Type and cross."

"Massive transfusion protocol."

"Get blood moving."

Gloves snap over Robby's hands. He drags the inside of his forearm across his damp forehead before reaching for shears, telling himself to focus.

The blood keeps coming. She barely reacts as clothing falls away beneath the scissors. Her abdomen is rigid, distended, both pointing to just how bad her state is without any monitors or labs.

"FAST," Robby orders.

Whitaker already has the probe, gliding it over her abdomen. The screen blooms black, darkening Robby’s mood further.

Whitaker's expression shifts almost immediately. "Positive in Morrison's pouch." He moves lower. "Free fluid in the pelvis." His brow furrows. "I think the liver's the primary source."

Robby watches the image only long enough to confirm it himself.

"Someone should get Langdon."

Whitaker glances up. "He's tied up in..."

"It doesn't matter." Robby doesn't even look at him. "You take his patients. Send him here."

Whitaker hesitates, but Santos steps right up beside him to take over.

"She'd want him here," Robby mutters.

The hesitation in Whitaker disappears. He hands off the probe and bolts. Meanwhile Robby palpates her abdomen gently, noticing her flinch despite the lack of any other clear signs of consciousness.

"Pressure's seventy-eight systolic."

"Tachy at one-forty."

"She's crashing."

Santos continues scanning. "The liver's bleeding heavily. I can't rule out a right renal injury... and I think there's bowel involvement. Could've nicked intestine."

Robby nods once. "Let's tube her."

His mind turns on him, reminding him he failed her. She was late and he should've called instead of thinking of ways to make her tardiness a teaching moment. Well, she’s teaching him a lesson now, one he never wanted to be taught.

His hands don't stop moving, preparing to intubate. Her airway disappears behind blood and secretions before he clears his view.

The vocal cords come into sight and the tube slides through.

"Cuff."

"Bag."

Just as he tapes the tube, the trauma room door opens and Frank Langdon walks inside.

He barely makes it two steps before his entire body goes still. His blue eyes lock onto the table, his lips part but nothing comes out at first. He’s struggling to catch his breath, to accept the image before him as reality and not a nightmare he can’t wake up from.

"What..." The word barely forms. His eyes refuse to leave her face. "W... what..." His voice breaks halfway through. "What happened?"

His knees buckle just enough that he catches himself against the counter. The smell of fresh blood crashes over him, turning his insides. It fills his lungs until breathing becomes something he has to remember how to do, because this coppery scent filling his nostrils is not the kind he's used to. No...this is hers. That's something he'll never get used to.

"Robby!" The volume startles half the room. Frank forces himself upright, his hands shaking so violently he curls them into fists. "What the fuck happened to my girlfriend?!"

No one looks surprised. Everyone already knew about their relationship, despite their attempts at hiding it. They were good at pretending nothing was happening between them, but their eyes always spoke volumes of what went on behind closed doors.

Robby strips off one pair of bloody gloves and pulls on another. "She intervened during an armed robbery." His voice remains level, though even he isn’t sure how. "We're looking at massive intra-abdominal hemorrhage. Liver laceration. Possible right kidney injury. Likely bowel involvement."

Frank stares for a moment, then slowly, he takes a few steps closer, like every step needs permission from muscles that have forgotten their purpose.

Once he reaches the her, for a long moment all he can do is look at her. He notices faint traces of her mascara, the ventilator tube taped between pale lips, the blood collecting beneath fresh dressings.

He notices things no one else would, like the faint bruises from yesterday's blood draw because she had a check up, the tiny burn scar on one finger from trying to cook with him, the strand of hair caught beneath the tube.

Then his eyes drift lower to her fingernails, finding they’re dusky blue…cyanotic.

His throat closes. "She's anemic," he whispers. "She... she doesn't have blood to spare on her best day and now -"

"We've started O negative," Robby reassures. "A surgeon is on their way. We're keeping her alive until they get here."

Frank nods, the movement almost imperceptible. His eyes refuse to leave her face, allowing everything else to disappear. If she dies, if she stops breathing, he knows he won't make it.

Months ago he'd have laughed if someone told him love could hollow a person out from the inside. He used to believe love was nothing of consequence, that it should make you want to run away, to thrive on arguments, to put one's mind on the brink of madness. It's what his first marriage was.

Y/N showed him his perception of love was entirely false. Love should feel like coming home.

She made it so easy, like breathing. She's the only reason he believes in love at all, the reason he's been thanking his lucky stars every single day because meeting her has given him solace he never found in other women, work nor drugs.

She's been his guiding light, not because she rescued him...No. She simply showed him that he could rescue himself, and that she'd stand by him and lend a helping hand if he ever needed it. Y/N never judged him, or dwelled on his shortcomings, nor did she bleed him dry in arguments. Everything could be resolved with enough patience and willingness to communicate.

She taught him all of that.

And now she's fading right before his eyes and he can't do anything to help her. His job is to save people, to keep death at bay and yet he's entirely helpless.

Dana appears in the doorway, still holding her phone. "Garcia called."

Every head turns.

"Says there's no need for anyone to come down. They've got an OR ready for her."

"Good."

Robby adjusts the tubing one final time before looking at Frank.

His expression softens just enough. "If there's anything you need to tell her..."

He doesn't finish…He doesn't have to.

Frank runs both hands through his hair before dropping one to hers. Her hand rests open against the mattress, weightless, cold.

He inhales sharply on contact. She was always cold, sneakily slipping her hands into his hoodie pocket, stealing his gloves, complaining that hospitals were somehow colder than the Arctic. He'd wrap both of his hands around hers until she'd laugh, but it always warmed her up. Now he rubs her fingers between his palms, but nothing changes.

He bends until his forehead rests against hers, closing his eyes.

"Don't die on me." The words tremble apart. "Please..." His thumb brushes across her knuckles. "You hear me, Sunshine?" He draws a shaky breath. "Hold on." His voice cracks completely. "Just... hold on for me."

"Langdon." Robby's voice is gentle. "We have to move."

Frank doesn't lift his head. "I need you," he whispers, hoping some part of her hears him. "I need you so much." His lips hover against her forehead. "So don't you dare leave me."

"Frank!" Robby raises his voice ever so slightly. “We can’t wait any longer.”

Frank finally opens his eyes. His hand slips from hers one finger at a time and the empty space left behind feels unbearable.

The team wheels her through the trauma room doors. He watches until even the edge of the gurney disappears around the corner.

Only then do his knees finally give way. He catches himself against the wall with one hand, breathing hard through a chest that suddenly feels too small to hold the grief forcing its way through it, wondering if he’ll ever see her again.

You woke to the feeling of his large, warm chest pressed against your back as he rolled over to kiss your temple.

Usually, you didn't stir and wake to this, but you knew he did it most mornings anyway, gathering you closer before he had to leave, kissing whatever part of you he could reach. If you didn't wake, you would a few hours later to a 'Good morning. Money is on the table for your coffee' text, sometimes accompanied with a time of day that would work for you to come in, or to wait a few hours and he'd let you know if it was a good day at all.

You flipped over in your half-dream state, lazily pulling him in with your arm around his neck and hiking your leg over his hip.

"Sorry to wake you, honey," Robby's gravelly voice murmured in your ear, still drenched in sleep.

You only hummed in response, burying your face between the pillow and his neck, soaking up as much of his warmth—and his time—as you could. His broad palm slid up and down your back while he kissed your ear, your neck, the top of your shoulder where your spaghetti strap had fallen. His lips were warm against your skin, patient as they moved over you, though they did nothing to lull you back to sleep.

Your body began to squirm, seeking more from him before you had even properly opened your eyes. You hefted yourself higher against him, your ankle locking behind his back as your hips settled into his lap. You could feel his morning arousal between the thin layers of his sleep boxers and yours (which, admittedly, were his as well—that you'd stolen). He was warm and firm where you pressed against him.

"I have to go to work," he warned, but you could hear the smile in his voice without having to look at him.

You shook your head against his neck, which only made him chuckle.

"Will you come in today for me?" he murmured. His fingers spread wide over the small of your back.

You turned your head so you could kiss his neck, trailing your mouth up toward his thick beard as you sighed dreamily, "Want you now, not later."

"I know you do," he cooed, his hand still sliding up and down your back, soothing you while you rubbed yourself against him. Despite the denial, his palm pressed down at the bottom of your spine, tilting your hips against him a little harder, making you whimper.

"I'd have to text Jack, and he's almost done with his shift, honey."

You whined a little more, your mouth still pressed beneath his jaw. It only made him laugh again.

"Why do you haaaate me," you said petulantly into his skin.

"Could never, ever hate you." He kissed your ear, grinning against it. "Only trying to be fair. Trying to teach my best girl a little patience."

You sighed and tried to pull away from him, pushing at his chest when it became clear he only planned to torture you further. But the arm that was pressing into your back kept you locked securely around him, and he hoisted the cradle of your lap higher against his throbbing length.

"Ah, ah—" he tsk'd.

You pawed at his shoulders. "Why do you keep teasingggg…"

"You think it's easy for me to deny you, honey?" His hand tightened against your back when you undulated over him again, making him groan as he went on: "To deny my one great pleasure in life, hm?"

You opened your groggy eyes to look up at him finally.

The room was still mostly dark, faint light slipping through the gap in the curtains and laying a blue gray stripe across the foot of the bed. He looked so handsome like this that you almost wished you'd kept your eyes closed after all, sparing yourself the trouble of missing him before he'd even left. His hair was mussed against the pillow, his face loose with sleep, his eyes serene without any trace of the day that would deepen his crows feet or sprout new grays. There was only that small smile on his lips while he looked down at you, clearly pleased with how thoroughly you had wrapped yourself around him.

He reached down and pressed a chaste kiss to your frowning mouth.

"But we have to be patient. We have to be good. Things are different now."

"I know…"

"Come see me today." His thumb brushed over your lower lip. "We'll have our fun, hm?"

You nodded, the hands that had been working to push him away now pawing him closer.

He leaned down and kissed you again, longer now— so tender that you nearly forgot he still meant to leave. You were quick to hold onto him, giving a soft kitten lick to his bottom lip before catching it gently between your teeth.

You felt his smile return before he let you in, indulging you because he always did, because you were his favorite thing to spoil even when he was telling you no. Even when he was being strict or forgiving. Your tongue slipped past his lips while your leg tightened around his hip and pulled him flush against you again.

Robby moaned into your mouth, letting you have this—this one thing before he left—right up until his alarm began to blare from the bedside table.

He rolled away just enough to swipe off on his phone, then turned back toward you before you could complain.

"Would stay right here all day if I could, honey," he murmured into your neck.

"Tell them you're busy," you said, pulling him closer until all your limbs had folded around him again. He turned the both of you so you were on your back and he was settled over you with a groan, his shoulders rolling, the creak of his bones and the strain of his muscles finally waking up for the day.

"Think Jack might have a problem with that, don't you?"

"Bring him home too." you answered easily.

Robby chuckled, kissing you one last time before pushing himself upright. You let him go, albeit reluctantly, your hands dragging down his arms until he moved out of reach.

He crossed from the bed to his dresser, and you watched him through half closed eyes. Tall and handsome and bare except for his boxers that tented where he'd denied himself. He moved through the room with the same quiet routine he kept every morning— opening the second drawer and pulling out a clean shirt and then the third drawer for his cargos, carrying them into the en suite bathroom over one arm.

The light clicked on, the fan followed with its low mechanical hum, then the shower started behind the half closed door. Steam gathered and began billowing into the bedroom while you sank deeper into his pillow, breathing in what was left of him.

You had fallen asleep again by the time he leaned over you a little while later, his lips touching your temple. The smell of Irish Spring invaded your dreamy state, making you smile and roll over to catch him by the back of the neck before he could straighten.

"Leaving already?" you mumbled.

"Was gonna invite you to coffee on the way, but you seem like you need the sleep, honey."

You shook your head against the pillow. "I'm up. I'll come."

"Okay." He kissed your forehead. "Fifteen minutes."

You sat up once he left the room, hair fallen across your face and one strap of your sleep top hanging from your shoulder. The floor was cool beneath your feet when you crossed to the closet and pulled on a pair of soft shorts, a bralette, and the oversized hoodie of Robby's from the pile neatly folded in the closet. You shoved your feet into sandals, did your best to tame the worst of your hair, then gathered it into a loose knot while the bathroom fan continued to hum behind you.

By the time you found him near the front door, he had two helmets in one hand and his travel mug in the other, his backpack over his shoulder.

His eyes moved over you.

"That mine?" he said, pointing one finger to the hoodie.

You tucked your hands into the sleeves. "No."

A note of amusement touched his mouth as he opened the door for you. "Course not."

Robby kept one hand at the small of your back as he walked you into the coffee shop, guiding you around the cluster of people gathered just inside the door. The place was already busy with the morning rush, chairs scraping over the wood floors and paper bags crinkling at the pickup counter while the espresso machine hissed behind the register.

It smelled so good inside—like freshly ground beans, sweet pastries, bagels toasting and bacon sizzling somewhere in the kitchen. You leaned into Robby with familiarity, eyes half open while he continued teasing you about nearly dozing off against his back on the bike.

"So if I looked in your helmet right now, would there be drool on the visor?" Robby chuckled.

“No.”

“Could've sworn I heard some snoring back there at one point."

“I do not snore!”

He laughed under his breath and followed close behind you, his palm returning to your back while customers passed around you. Looking up at the menu, you felt Robby’s steps pause beside you, his hand stiffening against your back when the crowd thinned.

Because Frank Langdon stood at the register.

He had one hand in the pocket of his jacket and the other curled around his wallet, his head tipped toward the barista while he finished ordering. He looked over at the sound of the door, first at you, then at Robby.

“Mornin', boss.” he greeted after a moment.

The smile on Robby’s face thinned, and he replied with only a short nod of acknowledgement.

Langdon stepped away from the register with his receipt and a quick thanks to the barista. “Didn’t know you two came here.”

“I do sometimes,” you said, smiling at him and elbowing the taller attending beside you. “Finally talked him into it recently instead of living off the 50 year old coffee pot at home. You heading in?”

“Yeah.” His eyes moved between you again. “S'good to see you.”

"You too, Frankie."

Robby’s hand remained at your back, though the pressure of it had changed. His palm sat flat against the hoodie, keeping you near his side while he watched Frank over your head.

In the past few months, things had settled somewhat with Langdon being back in the emergency department, but Robby still carried a chip on his shoulder about it. You tried not to push him. And since you hadn’t been seeing much of Frank anyway outside of quick hello’s, and short conversations, you hadn’t needed to.

Still, you wanted to ask where he had been, how he was doing. Whether he had time later.

You could've sworn something was on the tip of the resident’s tongue too, but his eyes kept flickering between you and Robby with something uncertain, his lips pushed tightly shut together as he gave a short nod.

And then the barista called his name from the corner.

“Langdon needs to get to work, honey,” Robby said. His voice stayed calm, but the decision had already been made. “Say goodbye now.”

You looked at Langdon apologetically, understanding the dismissal for what it was, and he gave Robby another brief nod before looking back at you.

“Have a good day, Frankie.” you murmured.

“See you later.”

You nodded, staying beside Robby where he'd pulled you in a little closer while the resident turned toward the coffee bar, and then headed to the door with his drink in hand. He looked at you, just a tilt of his head, before eyeing Robby, and heading out.

You watched him go, your eyes peering over the arm that was around you, and you realized Langdon was watching you the same way. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and stepped onto the sidewalk with his back to the world, still looking at you while the glass swung shut behind him. Even after he turned right, his head stayed angled toward the window, bright blue eyes finding yours through the passing bodies outside until someone crossed between you and he disappeared down the block.

When you turned to Robby, the lightness had gone from his face. His shoulders were stiff beneath his own hoodie, his attention fixed on the menu board like he wasn’t going to order the exact same thing he always did.

“I want to talk to Frank today.” you said.

Robby’s jaw ticked. He pursed his lips, then nodded, looking almost resigned, like he had known the words were coming from the moment you laid eyes on his resident.

“We can talk about it.”

He finally looked down at you when you didn't reply, his expression controlled again, though the warmth had returned around his eyes as his gaze found yours.

“Go order your coffee, honey.”

The emergency department was already bustling by the time you arrived with Robby a little while later, your coffee half drank between your hands as you crossed the street and entered through the waiting room. You said good morning to Ahmad and Donny, then Emma and Lupe as you passed through triage. Deeper into the department came more familiar faces, Whitaker and Santos already bickering about something, Dana listening to Lena at the desk about the night and patients still waiting on tests. The board was less crowded than usual, though the red phone was already ringing at the desk. There was always something comforting about slipping back into the middle of it all when you had Robby beside you.

One familiar face had your belly doing somersaults.

He stood at the back of the charge desk, bent over a computer with a frown on his face. Maybe it was the caffeine kicking in, or maybe the sleepiness had finally worn off during the ride over, but something in your skin buzzed at the sight of him.

"Morning, sweetheart," Jack greeted when he spotted you, the frown leaving his face as he leaned over to kiss you from his half bent position.

"Hi, Jack," you smiled as you wrapped one arm around his middle.

He straightened and fell into step beside you and Robby, keeping his arm around your shoulders while the three of you moved farther into the department.

“How was the night, Jack?” Robby asked.

“One thing after another.” Jack glanced toward the board. “Two intoxicated falls, a GI bleed that tanked in CT, psych boarding all night, then severe sepsis from a stone around three that bought herself pressors and a trip upstairs.”

Robby grimaced in understanding. “Sounds pleasant.”

“Yeah, real relaxing.” Jack rubbed at one eye before looking back at his charts, pointing blindly up to the electronic board. “But we finally moved some people. A few beds just opened up, and I’ve got two waiting on discharge instructions. Should be a clean start for you.”

“After the night you had, I’ll happily take it.” Robby set his coffee and bag down at the charge desk. “Music to my ears.”

“We had ortho down here too,” Jack added, his mouth pulling tight, standing up straight and logging off. “Crush injury in trauma one.”

There was enough bitterness in the words that you looked up at him immediately.

Robby caught it too. His head tilted slightly, considering Jack’s tone, though the sharp tick in his jaw made it clear he understood exactly what he meant.

Your eyes followed Jack’s toward the trauma bays.

Brendon Park stepped out through one of the double doors, tugging a glove from his hand. He slowed when he saw the three of you standing together, his gaze moving from Jack’s arm around your shoulders to Robby beside you. Something darkened across his face before he looked away and started down the hall.

“Park,” Robby called.

Park didn't bother stopping, but sent a look over his shoulder that told Robby he'd heard him well enough.

“Need to talk to you. Hang on.”

Park barely slowed, his expression closed, then gave a short nod and waited near the hallway.

Robby turned to you, the tension easing from his face by a fraction when his eyes met yours, his hands rubbing together apologetically.

“I’ll get her set up in a room,” Jack said before Robby had to explain, his voice stiff. “Hand-offs should be starting. Shen’s in South Four getting them going.”

Robby nodded, looking across the department toward ortho surgeon who wasn't even looking your way. When Robby turned back to you, he caught his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, considering.

“I’ll come in and get you set, okay?”

Your skin went hot and prickling all at once. "Okay," you said. It was hardly above a whisper as you felt the tension in the room rise.

Robby looked up at his fellow attending. Their eyes held, some quiet conversation passing between them before Jack turned you in your steps and led you away from Robby’s path.

He smiled down at you, his hand giving your shoulder a small squeeze. “And how are you, sweetheart?”

“Fine.” you answered, the back of your neck tingling a little with awareness. "Sleepy."

He hummed in understanding, rubbing your arm where his hand cupped it. The uneven pull of his gait and the weight of his arm around your shoulders kept drawing you closer into his side as you walked.

“Surprised to see you so early this morning,” Jack said once he had you to himself. You could feel him trying to distract you from Park's icy demeanor. Maybe he was distracting himself too.

You shrugged. “I was woken up at the crack of dawn.”

“Oh?”

You smiled, pushing your shoulder gently into his chest. “Just cuddling, Jack…”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s all it was.” He winked. “Anything else you want to tell me?”

Your smile slipped before you could stop it. You knew he probably meant what you and Robby had gotten up to. Something easy for him to tease out of you while he walked you toward a room. But your mind ran back through the rest of the morning instead—the coffee shop, the way Robby's face dropped when you saw Langdon, how the resident had looked at you too, bright blue eyes fixed in the front of your mind like a freeze-frame.

Jack had already led you into North Three by the time he noticed you had gone quiet. He let the curtain fall behind you, the door shut, then looked over.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to feel any way about seeing Park… Are you okay?”

You didn't even notice you'd started chewing on the ends of your fingers, the oversized sleeve of your hoodie falling to your elbow.

“C’mere. Sit with me,” Jack offered, his voice lowered now, the amused grin gone as he studied you.

He guided you to the edge of the hospital bed with his arm around you again. When you sat beside him, he reached up and tucked some of your hair back from your face.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

You held the cup of forgotten coffee between your hands, careful with it even while your fingers felt heavy and restless where they overlapped. Jack’s hand came down over your knuckles, warm, calloused, the skin dry from all the hand sanitizer. His thumb moved across your fingers before he gently worked the cup free and set it on the counter beside him.

Then he replaced it with his own hand, opening his palm for you. You slipped your fingers through his.

“Nothing’s wrong. It's not even Brendon…It’s just…” You licked your lips, trying to sound casual. Trying to remind yourself that this was fine. That everything was fine. Because it was, after all. You were only letting the thoughts build, ruminating over what that stare had meant as Langdon had walked out the coffee shop.

Jack stayed quiet, giving you time to find the words.

You sighed and looked down at your joined hands. Jack didn’t have anything against Langdon, as far as you knew. There was no reason this should feel so difficult to ask.

“I want to talk to Frank today,” you said finally, looking up into Jack’s studying gaze.

His brow creased. It clearly wasn’t what he had expected. “Oh.” He nodded once. “I don’t see why not—”

“Robby and him don’t really get along anymore. Ever since, you know…”

“I know.” Jack’s thumb moved across the side of your hand. “But that doesn’t have anything to do with you, does it?”

“I don’t know.” Your fingers tightened around his. “I still…feel bad asking for him.”

You knew it was silly. Only a couple of months ago, you had asked for Langdon on his first day back. Robby had been annoyed then too, but he knew you hadn’t meant anything by it. He had still let you go through with it. But… this still felt different somehow.

Jack watched your face for another moment, thinking.

“How about this,” he said. There was a little more weight behind his voice now, something he seemed to be trying on. “I’ll go get Langdon when he’s done with night-shift hand-off, and I’ll bring him here for you to talk to.”

“But Robby said—”

“Robby’s probably going to be a little while, sweetheart.” Jack’s hand closed more securely around yours. “I’ll tell him I sent Frank in. Just to talk.”

He paused, watching to make sure you followed, and then: “Nothing else unless we clear it with Robby first.”

You nodded, understanding. “Okay.”

"Okay?"

You smiled at the slight change in his tone. “Okay.”

Jack’s mouth tipped at one corner. He leaned a little closer, his eyes moving over your face while he decided to go on.

“I want to hear you say, ‘yes, sir.’”

A playful smile immediately pressed at your lips. You tried to hold it back, but the longer the two of you looked at one another, the worse it got.

He really could be so cheeky sometimes. You liked that about him, how easily he could pull you out of your own head, easing the nerves that had gotten the better of you until you were smiling again.

But there was something else beneath it now too. A new confidence beginning to take shape each time he tried something and watched how you responded.

“So,” he continued, settling into it a little more, “I’m going to get Langdon and bring him in here. You’re going to be a good girl and wait until either Robby or I tell you otherwise.”

He paused there, watching you closely. You could almost see him feeling it out, deciding what sounded right coming from his mouth and what made your attention hone in on him.

“All you’re doing is talking,” he added, firmer this time. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

The answer changed something in his face—his eyes sharpened with interest, a pleased look of satisfaction settling there before he covered it with a small nod.

Then you tilted your head. “Does that include kissing?”

Jack stared at you for a moment, a bemused look breaking across his face. “You sure are spoiled, you know that?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” you answered with a giggle.

His mouth twitched. He glanced down at your joined hands, considering the question more seriously than you expected him to. This part was newer. Permission, boundaries, deciding what he was comfortable allowing when Robby wasn’t in the room to make the choice for him.

“I’m okay with kissing,” he decided slowly.

“Thank you, Jackie.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

His thumb pressed into the center of your palm before he let your hand go, still looking faintly pleased with himself. "I'll go find him for you."

You nodded, and watched him go.

The door opened again only a minute or two after Jack left, and Langdon slipped inside.

He shut it carefully behind him, one hand staying on the handle while he looked over at you. For a moment, neither of you said anything.

“Hey,” he said finally.

“Hey, Frankie.”

The smile came easily when you saw him, but it didn’t seem to reach him the way it usually did. He stood near the door in his black scrubs, looking freshly arrived despite the tension already pulling through his posture. His hair was still slightly mussed from the walk over, and he kept rubbing his thumb along the edge of his badge.

“Jack said you wanted to talk.”

“I do.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, glancing toward the counter, the bed, anywhere he might reasonably stand. “I, uh, want to talk to you too.”

Your stomach tightened at the words. You had known something was coming since the last time you saw him near the supply alcove, and again from the moment he looked back at you through the coffee shop window. Hearing him say it now made the feeling settle heavy like lead in your stomach.

He finally crossed the room, over to where you still sat at the edge of the bed, your feet hanging above the floor. He stepped between your knees seemingly out of habit, close enough for you to catch his hand before he could overthink where to put it. His fingers closed around yours immediately.

“You look so tired,” you murmured.

“Feel fantastic.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Liar.”

“Little bit.”

He gave your hand a squeeze, and there he was again. Your Frankie. Sweet enough to make you feel listened to even when you had hardly said anything. He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb moving slowly across your knuckles.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said. “At the coffee shop.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know.” His mouth pulled to one side. “Making it weird. Robby looked like he wanted to put me through the window.”

“Don't pay attention to him. He's always grumpy early in the morning.”

“Yeah, well.” Langdon glanced toward the door. “Usually I deserve it a little more.”

You studied him, trying to catch the joke in his face, but it faded too quickly.

“Where have you been?” you asked. “You keep saying you’re around, but every time I see you, you’re like… running away from me.”

“I know.”

“And the last time we talked, you said you had something to tell me.”

“I know.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I know.” A tired laugh slipped out of him, though his eyes stayed lowered, and the smile dropped from his face quickly. “Sorry.”

You tugged gently on his hand until he looked at you.

His blue eyes had been so easy to read once. Nervous, excited, irritated, proud. Every feeling used to move through him before he could catch it. Now there was something held back behind them, carefully arranged before he let you see.

“You’re making me nervous,” you admitted.

His face softened immediately.

“No, baby. Don’t—” He stepped closer, his free hand coming up to push your hair back. “You didn’t do anything. This isn’t because of anything you did.”

Your fingers tightened around his. That helped, but only enough to let you breathe again.

“Okay.” you whispered.

“Okay,” he repeated softly.

His knuckles grazed beneath your eye, and you leaned into the touch before you could stop yourself. Langdon watched you do it, his lips parting around a quiet breath. For one second, the room shifted back into something familiar—the way he stood between your legs, the warmth of his fingers against your cheek, the look that usually led to him leaning down and telling you how pretty you were.

But… he didn't.

Instead, he leaned over to pull the rolling stool closer with his foot and sat in front of you, keeping hold of your hand while his knees bracketed yours.

Your chest felt tight, like it was being pinched between each rib, your heart beginning to thud loudly against its cage.

“Can I ask you something first?” he said.

You nodded.

“Are you happy?”

The question caught you off guard. “With Robby and Jack?”

“With everything.” His eyes searched yours. “Them. This. How things have been.”

You blinked rapidly, but the truth sat on your tongue despite the dread of where this was going. “I am.”

“Good.” His shoulders lowered a little. “That’s good.”

“Frankie…”

“I’m getting there.” He gave you a small smile, apologetic and fond. “I had this whole thing figured out before I came in today, and then I saw you at the coffee shop and forgot every word.”

“But you always know what to say,” you assured him, squeezing his fingers.

“Not today, apparently.” He breathed out, dragging his free hand over his forehead while the other stayed interlocked with yours.

For a moment, he kept his eyes lowered to your joined hands, his thumb moving once against the side of yours while he gathered himself. Then he looked back up.

“You know—probably more than anyone—what my divorce was like.”

You nodded slowly.

“It was bad.” Langdon looked down at your hands again, his thumb pressing into the side of yours. “The pills started because I was in pain. Then I needed more to get through a shift, more to feel normal, and by the time I admitted how bad it was, my marriage was already gone. I had to leave here. Go to rehab.”

His mouth pulled tight. “I know I let a lot of people down. At home. Here. Robby. You.”

“Frankie—”

“It's true.” His fingers tightened around yours before you could argue. “I know why people were pissed. I know why they stopped trusting me. I’m not saying they were wrong.”

You stayed quiet, watching him work through it. His knee bumped against the side of yours awkwardly, the rubber sole of his shoe squeaking against the tile.

“When I left for rehab, nobody reached out.”

Your brows drew together. “Nobody?”

He shook his head. The answer made your throat tighten and your heart constrict— the thought of him leaving the department after everything had come apart, going somewhere unfamiliar with nothing but the wreckage of his marriage and career following behind him. You had known he was gone. You had known why, eventually. But the idea of Langdon sitting there alone, waiting for a call that never came… it made your eyes sting.

“I had no idea,” you whispered hoarsely.

“I know.”

“No, Frankie, I—” You swallowed, looking down when your eyes began to fill. “I would’ve called you. I just didn’t know if I was allowed to, or where you were, or if you even wanted anyone from here—”

“Hey, baby, no.” His free hand came up immediately, cupping the side of your face.“It’s okay.”

“It isn’t.” you whispered. There was something so soft in his eyes, and you couldn't help but love the sound of the pet name from his lips.

“It is.” He leaned closer, catching your eyes when you tried to look away. “I promise. You didn’t know how to reach me. And even if you did, I probably wouldn’t have made it easy.”

Your lips pressed together, but the wetness still gathered along your lower lashes. His thumb moved beneath one eye to catch the tear in its track.

“I’m not telling you to make you feel bad,” he said softly. “That’s the last thing I want.”

“I still do.”

“I know.” His face softened. “But you don’t have to.”

You turned your cheek into his palm, holding his wrist against you.

“I missed you,” he admitted. “I missed this place too, which sounds insane when you’ve actually worked here.”

A small laugh caught in your throat.

“But I did. I missed the noise. Helping people. Dana and Robby and interns yelling my name from three different directions.” His eyes moved over your face. “I missed you wandering in here and acting like you had no idea that you own the place.”

“I don’t.”

“You absolutely do.” he chuckled, the dimple in his chin deepening as his lips quirked. "I know you don't see it, but we revolve around you, baby."

You gave him a watery smile.

“Coming back scared the shit out of me,” he said. “I knew everybody would be watching. Waiting for me to screw up. First day back, it felt like nobody wanted me here.”

“Frank—”

“Except you.”

Your breath stopped in your lungs.

“You walked in and… and asked for me.” His thumb moved over your cheek again. “You looked at me like I was still me. Like the last ten months hadn’t changed everything.”

“You were still you.”

“I didn’t feel like it.”

“You were, though.”

His eyes lowered, and you watched him swallow.

“Well, it meant a lot,” he said, licking his lips. “More than I probably ever told you.”

You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him before you could think better of it. The stool rolled a little beneath both of your weight, but he caught you, one arm coming around your waist while the other held the back of your head.

“I’m glad you came back,” you murmured into his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“So glad.”

He held you there for a few seconds, his cheek resting against the side of your hair. His hand moved up along your back before he eased you away, keeping both hands on your arms.

“That’s part of why this is hard.”

Your stomach flipped on itself again. Langdon looked at you, then away. He planted both feet against the floor and leaned forward, forearms resting over his thighs while his hands folded together.

“I’m trying really hard now,” he said, his hands cupping your one hand in both. “With everything. Sobriety. Work. People.”

“I know.” you said quickly, your hand going to his hair to brush through the long locks. One of his hands came up to catch yours, stopping it, but squeezing and not moving you away. He sucked in a long breath.

“I keep thinking about what they said in treatment: Don’t fix your whole life at once. Don’t promise everybody you’re a different person…Just do the next right thing.”

You nodded, even though your pulse had started beating harder beneath your skin.

“And there’s someone,” he continued, looking up, bringing both of your hands into his. “Someone I’ve been spending time with.”

Your fingers dug into his. Frank glanced up carefully.

“I’m seeing someone.”

“Oh.”

It was all you could say. Your brain sort of short circuted at that, not fully wrapping around the concept.

He nodded, holding your gaze. “Someone you know.”

Your mind ran through the last few weeks. The way he had been harder to find. How he had seemed happy to see you, but always kept some small distance between you. The look on his face near the supply alcove when Trinity approached. The ease that had started to settle into him, quieter than the pride after a good case but just as real.

“Oh,” you said again.

Frank watched the answer arrive.

“Mel.” you whispered.

“Yes.”

His shoulders lowered with the breath that left him.

You stared at him, the pieces clicking together one after another. The phone call with Mel, how she'd been with someone in the car. The party, how Frank had known you'd be there because he'd dropped her off. It made more sense the more you began to wrap your mind around it.

“You…and…Mel.”

“Yeah.” His mouth pulled into a small, nervous smile to mirror yours. “Me and Mel.”

Your own smile began to form, still uncertain around the edges, but you let out a breath. “Aw, Frankie, that’s—”

The door swung open hard enough to strike the stopper against the wall, making you jump, your hand flying from Frank’s to your chest as both of you turned toward it.

Your heart didn't slow down when you saw who it was.

That piercing, selachian stare cutting across the room with the same concentration he brought to an operating table, one hand braced against the door, broad shoulders taking up the entire frame. He always looked at you like that—honed in, making you feel pinned beneath his attention.

“Brendon—” You drew in a breath. “What—”

“I need to talk to you.” He ordered, though he made no effort to step into the room or close the door behind you.

You looked toward Langdon. He sat stiffly on the stool in front of you, one hand still resting over your knee, his thumb no longer moving.

“I’m trying to talk to Frankie right now,” you said.

“Five minutes, Bunny.”

There was softness in the name, but nothing in the way he stood suggested a request. He had already decided you were coming with him. The five minutes were only the amount of time he expected it to take.

“Can it wait?”

“No.”

Langdon breathed out through his nose. “She asked you to wait.”

Park’s eyes moved to him for the first time. “She can answer for herself.”

“She did.” Langdon lifted one hand, gesturing toward you. “You heard her.”

“I heard her ask a question.”

“And you answered like an asshole.”

“Frankie,” you murmured.

Langdon’s jaw worked, but he stayed seated. His hand gave your knee a small press before he withdrew it, sitting back enough to look directly at Park.

“Why don’t you wait outside?” It wasn’t really phrased like a question. Langdon’s back had gone straight, shoulders set.

Park's expression changed quickly at that—from his usual glare to a smile that showed his sparkly teeth as he gave a short laugh through his nose. “You think I’m gonna take orders from a junkie?”

“Brendon,” you hissed, getting to your feet.

"It's okay, baby," Langdon soothed, even as his jaw flexed, the muscles pulling tight beneath the stubble that had began to grow along his cheek as he looked back at Park. He stood up beside you.

“Get out, man.” Langdon said flatly.

“I’m not here to talk to you.” Park snapped back.

“Then stop standing there talking to me.”

Park’s stare sharpened. “Bunny. Come with me.”

He held out his hand.

You looked at it, then at him. It was that simple to Park. He wanted something, so he reached for it. Everything between the wanting and the getting seemed to register as wasted time.

“Oh my God.” Langdon dragged a hand over his mouth. “You really don’t hear yourself.”

“Stay out of it.”

“You walked into a closed room and told her no when she asked you to wait.” Langdon stepped around the stool. “There’s nothing to stay out of. You brought it in here. So take a fucking hint, man.”

“Brendon, I’ll find you later.” You tried to keep your voice level, though your pulse had already started climbing. “I’m talking to Frank.”

Something changed in Park’s face. The hard focus cracked around the edges, giving way to a worry that felt too urgent for the tension that had built in the room.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not.” you said quietly. A lie. A big, big lie.

You had been avoiding him. Ever since Santos’ party, since he had used you to get beneath Robby and Jack’s skin and then acted like the ugliness that followed proved something about them. He kept talking about saving you, freeing you, making you see what he saw. But you had never asked to be saved. You were happy, and every time he insisted otherwise, it left you feeling less like a person he cared about and more like evidence in an argument he was determined to win.

“Then come talk to me.” he pleaded,

“I said later.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice thinned despite your effort to hold it steady. You lifted your chin, hating that you already felt cornered. “Later, Brendon.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Langdon scoffed. “She doesn’t owe you a time slot.”

Park’s eyes cut toward him. “Sit down, Langdon.”

“Go back upstairs.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your shiny OR.” Langdon stepped closer, the last of his patience showing in the tightness around his mouth. “Go somewhere people are paid to pretend your ego is useful.”

Park gave him a flat stare, and Langdon’s voice sharpened as he said: “You’re not needed here. You’re not wanted here. Is your skull that thick that you can't understand something as simple as no?”

“Okay, enough.” You moved between them, raising both hands to keep the space open before either could close it. “Both of you, stop.”

Their bodies had gone rigid on either side of you. Langdon stood narrow and tense, anger pulling him forward onto the balls of his feet. Park barely seemed to move at all, but his stillness had become its own threat, his attention fixed past you at the man who had just told him he wasn’t wanted.

Park caught your hand before you could lower it.

His thick fingers closed around yours and pulled you toward him, planting your palm against the center of his chest. His heart beat hard beneath the thin fabric of his scrubs.

“Bunny, please. Just give me a few minutes.”

“Brendon, I was trying to talk to Frank.” You pulled against his grip, but he held on. “I can find you later.”

“No.” His fingers tightened when you tried again. “Now. It’s important.”

Your breath started coming too quickly. The exam room felt smaller with all three of you standing between the bed and the closed supply cabinets, Park taking up the space in front of you while Langdon crowded closer at your side. Blood rushed through your ears beneath the fluorescent hum.

Park dragged your hand higher against his chest, bending your wrist between you. His eyes searched your face with the same relentless concentration, waiting for you to understand something he still hadn’t said.

“I was having a private conversation with Frankie,” you told him, forcing the words out clearly.

Langdon’s chin lifted, a note of pride crossing his face.

Park barely glanced at him. “What were you talking about?”

“What?”

“You’ve been down here with him all this time. What were you talking about?”

Langdon let out a disbelieving laugh. “Oh, come on.”

Park’s head turned. “Did I ask you?”

“You are so full of shit Park, you need your ears cleaned or something?”

“Frankie,” you warned, though your voice came out thinner than you intended.

“What?” Langdon snapped at you, and then his expression softened for only a moment before his attention snapped back to Park. “Baby, he's not listening.”

You felt Park's reaction to the pet name where he held you tighter, his chest puffing.

“I’m listening,” he barked.

“No, you’re not.”

Park took a step toward him, tugging you with him before your feet could follow.

“Brendon, stop.” Your shoulder pulled tight beneath your hoodie. “Let go.”

Langdon’s gaze dropped to Park’s hand around yours, and every trace of humor left his face.

“Hey.” He stepped forward. “She said let go.”

Park’s fingers only moved, but didn’t release you. “Bunny, come on. Please.”

“I said I’ll find you later.”

“Let go of her, man.” Langdon moved around you, his arm shooting across your body when Park tried to pull you another step closer. “She’s answered you.”

“Get your hands off me, Langdon—”

“—You need to leave—”

“—Fuck you—”

“You know what your problem is, Park?"

Langdon's eyes were just as sharp as the surgeon’s, mirrored in their rising anger, as he went on:

"You think being good with a scalpel means nobody notices what a miserable prick you are everywhere else.”

“Guys—” you tried to plead, your arm twisted at a strange angle between them, the press of Park’s fingers deepening into the sensitive flesh of your wrist. You pulled back, but his grip dragged you forward again, your shoe catching against the leg of the exam stool as you stumbled forward.

Their voices crashed over one another after that, too loud and too close to separate into words. Langdon caught Park by the wrist and tried to force his hand open, but Park only wrenched back harder, taking your arm with him until your wrist bent funny and panic climbed hotly into your throat.

“Hey!”

The shout came from the doorway, nearly swallowed by the ruckus. You couldn’t see who was there, only heard the sharp Pittsburgh accent and caught a blur of blonde pushing into the room.

Dana wedged herself between them, her hands landing against the cups of both men’s shoulders as she tried to shove them apart.

“Hey, stop—this is a hospital for Christ's sake—!”

Neither of them seemed to hear her. Their bodies rocked around her, Park’s hand still locked around your wrist, Langdon trying to force himself between you. Dana stumbled sideways when Park jerked back.

Then, over his shoulder, you saw someone running into the room.

“HEY!”

Robby’s voice cracked through the exam room, booming above the tangle of shouting until every other sound seemed to fall beneath it.

Park went still. Langdon’s hand froze around his wrist. Even Dana stopped pushing between them, her blonde head turning toward the doorway while you stood caught in the middle, one arm pulled forward, your shoulder burning where Park’s grip had wrenched it out from your body.

Then Robby was here.

He crossed the room so quickly you hardly saw the distance disappear. One moment he was in the doorway, the next his body was forcing its way between the two men, his forearm driving hard into Park’s chest while his other arm caught Langdon and pushed him back without ever taking his eyes from what was in front of him. Dana grabbed Langdon's arm, holding him back, and he went willingly, his tongue dipping out of his mouth to wet his dried lips.

The sight of Robby sent relief flooding through you, your knees going weaker, the strain of fight or flight ebbing from your bloodstream.

Your body felt like it been fighting every direction at once—pulling away from Park, reaching blindly for balance, trying to follow the words through the shouting—but the second Robby stood in front of you, you stopped searching for a way out. He had found you. He had heard the shouting or seen seen the panic in your face, and there was no part of you that doubted that he wouldn't be able to handle all of it. Air finally reached the bottom of your lungs.

Park’s gaze turned thunderous, that sharp stare fixing on the chief attending. They were close enough in size, but built differently. Park’s broad stance filled the narrow space, muscle packed beneath his scrubs. Robby didn’t need any of it. He was tall and looming and stood spine-straight in front of him, dark eyes fixed, every inch of him certain.

“I don’t need to deal with you too, Robinavitch—” Park began.

“Can you believe this guy?” Langdon snapped from behind Robby, already trying to push around his shoulder. His face was red, his scrubs pulled crooked where Park had grabbed at him. “He comes barging in here and puts his fucking hands on her—”

Dana held onto him harder, and Robby threw a hand up to shut him up, and then caught him across the chest and to hold him there. “Frank—” he warned.

Langdon stopped against both Dana and Robby holding him back, breathing hard through his nose, his eyes still fixed on Park.

Robby's attention moved around the room for half a second then, taking in Dana's hands around Langdon, cataloguing the resident's flushed and angry face, and then his eyes dropped to Park’s hand around your wrist.

His entire face darkened.

“Park,” he said, his voice lower now, his eyes glued to where you remained connected to the surgeon. “You have about two seconds to let go of her before I have Ahmad escort you out of my department.”

“Your department.” Park gave a short, humorless laugh. “Your girl. Your rules. You ever let her decide who she talks to?”

“Brendon,” you said quietly. Your voice barely made it past your throat, but all of them seemed to hear you immediately. “You’re scaring me.”

His eyes found yours.

The fury in them lessened for half a second, so much so you could see him beneath it, to see that he was hurting. His gaze moved over your face, your uneven breathing, the angle of your arm where he still held you fast. Then the softness disappeared beneath something darker as he looked back at Robby.

“I really don’t want the pile of paperwork Gloria’s gonna hand me for giving a surgeon a black eye.” Robby's voice was low now, each word stripped down and hard and mock polite. “So let go of her fucking arm, and then you and I can talk.”

Park's fingers opened.

The release came so suddenly as you wrenched your arm away and stumbled backward, your hand snapping against your chest while the blood rushed painfully back through your wrist.

Langdon caught you before you hit the bed, one arm closing around your waist, your legs unsteady beneath you.

Robby’s eyes followed you until Langdon had you secure, and he let out a breath he seemed to be holding.

Then he looked back at Park.

“Out.” he said, his voice baritone and authoritative once again. He wasn't just Robby then, he was the chief attending, he was the man who ran this bottom dwelling chaos. And Park was in infested waters.

He stood there for another second, his hands opening and closing at his sides. He looked at you once more, but Robby shifted into his line of sight before you had to meet it.

“I said out.”

Park’s gaze hardened as it moved from Robby to Langdon, then briefly toward Dana. He turned and walked out, his shoulder striking the doorframe on the way through.

Robby followed him to the doorway before stopping, one hand closing around the frame. The back of his neck was red above his collar, his shoulders held tight beneath his hoodie, but when he looked back, his eyes found yours immediately.

“I will be back,” he said.

The promise beneath it steadied something inside you. Then he looked to Langdon.

“Frank—check on her. Please.”

Langdon swallowed beside you and nodded, his hold tightening around your shoulders. “Yeah. I’ve got her.”

Robby stayed there one second longer, making sure that was true, before turning and following Park into the department.

The door swung shut behind him.

For a moment, the room felt strangely hollow without him in it.

Langdon and Dana turned toward you at the same time.

You didn’t realize how badly you were shaking until Dana’s hands found you, one settling at your shoulder and the other brushing over your arm. Her hair had come loose around her face from trying to force herself between them, her eyes wide with worry as she looked you over.

“You’re okay, angel girl,” she whispered. “You’re okay.”

“C’mere, baby.” Langdon’s voice softened completely as he guided you back toward the bed, one hand firm at your waist while the other steadied your elbow.

You sat down because they moved you there, your body strangely numb everywhere except your wrist. That burned hot beneath your sleeve, each beat of your pulse pushing through the place Park had held you.

“He’s never like that,” you tried to say.

“I know.” Dana cupped your shoulder, her thumb moving over the fabric of your hoodie. “I know.”

“Why was he like that?” The words came out thin. Heat climbed into your face while your throat tightened around the next breath. “I told him later. I kept telling him—”

“I know, baby.” Langdon crouched in front of you on the stool again, his knees pressing against the edge of the mattress as he carefully reached for your arm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You let him take your hand, though your fingers curled when he eased the sleeve away from your wrist.

The skin underneath was red where Park’s fingers had pressed.

Langdon went still. For a moment, all the softness left his face again, his jaw tightening while his thumb hovered near the marks without touching them. You saw Dana's eyes flicker up to him too, watching his reaction.

“Frankie,” you whispered.

His eyes lifted to yours immediately.

“It’s okay,” he said, quieter now, letting out his breath. “I’m okay. Just let me look at you.”

Dana stayed close beside you, one hand rubbing between your shoulder blades while Langdon turned your wrist carefully beneath the overhead fluorescents. You watched his face instead of the skin, watched him swallow whatever he wanted to say about Park and press it back down for your sake.

“He looked so upset,” you said. The burning in your throat began to become unbearable and searing as your eyes filled with tears, and you looked down quickly, embarrassed by how fast they came after everything had already ended.

Dana moved closer at once, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Oh, angel girl.”

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” you said, your voice catching.

“Because it was scary, baby,” Langdon answered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I got so angry too."

"It's okay," you croaked.

“And because you’re safe now,” Dana added, pulling your head against her shoulder. “Sometimes your body waits until afterward.”

You pressed your face into the side of her neck, one hand still held carefully between both of Langdon’s.

From somewhere beyond the door came the low hum of Robby’s voice, too muffled to make out but unmistakably controlled, and then it opened again.

He looked exhausted already as he stalked over to you. “How is she?”

“She’s okay,” Langdon said immediately. His voice stayed careful, all the earlier anger worked down into something useful. “Some tenderness. Might leave a bruise."

Robby clicked his teeth as he held out his hand without looking away from your wrist. Langdon gave it over immediately, easing your fingers into Robby’s palm before moving back to let him in.

Robby turned your hand beneath the light, his thumb braced carefully along the side of your palm. The marks were deep, the shape of Park’s fingers beginning to show beneath the heat in your skin.

His jaw tightened. “Motherfucker,” he muttered.

“I'm fine,” you whispered.

“I know.” His eyes lifted to yours at once, sighing. “I know, honey.”

He stepped closer, still holding your hand between both of his. His thumbs moved around the sore place instead of over it, checking the bend of your wrist, the spread of your fingers, making sure for himself that nothing had been strained worse than Langdon thought.

“Can you move it?”

You nodded and curled your fingers, then turned your wrist back and forth. All was fine.

Robby watched the movement, his mouth pressed flat.

“Okay.” He breathed out through his nose. “Okay.”

You could tell he was trying to put the anger somewhere. It sat in the hard set of his shoulders, in the way he kept looking down at the marks and then back at your face, checking each one against the other.

“Are you okay, honey?”

You nodded.

"Are you sure? Do you want to go home with Jack?"

You shook your head, "No, no… I'm okay."

He studied you for another second, and whatever answer he found seemed to ease him only slightly.

“I tried talking to him earlier,” he said, more to himself than anyone. “Could tell he was in a mood, but this—”

His thumb stopped beside the bruising.

“This is different.”

Dana lifted from the bed, neck craning back to look up at Robby, her hand going to his arm. “I’m gonna see if Abbot’s still here, Cap.”

Robby nodded, already looking back down at your wrist. “Yeah. Thanks, Dana.” It came out breathless, distracted, his mind moving through several things at once.

"He's going to be so mad," you whispered, your free hand going up to your face to cover your eyes.

"Well, so am I." Robby said stiffly, and then seemingly tried his best to dispell the anger with a long sigh.

Langdon stood from his seat beside you, walking towards the door behind Dana, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Some of the fight had left his face, replaced by the uncertainty from before Park came in, the unfinished conversation still sitting somewhere between the bed and the stool.

Robby looked over at him. “Hey… uh, Frank.”

Langdon looked back.

“Thank you.”

The words seemed to catch the resident off guard, his eyes widening a fraction before he looked down, then back up again. “Of course.”

Robby held his gaze for another moment, something passing between them that had nothing to do with Park anymore.

“I’ll come get you soon.”

Langdon went still. It was subtle, the change in his face, but you saw it. The surprise first, then the understanding beneath it. Robby wasn’t only thanking him for stepping in. He was telling him he had done right by you. That he still trusted him here. That whatever they had been discussing before the room fell apart, Langdon had not lost his place in it.

“Okay,” Langdon said softly.

His eyes moved to you, and there was something almost boyish in them now, a little stunned and hopeful beneath the worry.

“I’ll be around, baby.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

Robby waited until the door shut behind Langdon before he let his eyes close. His head moved slowly from side to side, his mouth pressed tight while he tried to collect whatever was left of himself.

The room went quiet as he kept your wrist in his hands, his thumbs resting along your palm, and when he looked back at you, the exhaustion returned all at once.

"I'm sorry—" you began, it was only a whisper, hardly more than breath. But Robby's head was tilting, brows furrowing.

“What for?” he asked. “You’re the one who got hurt, honey.”

You shrugged, and your chin started to wobble again. There were too many answers crowding your mouth. For asking for Frank. For making Robby deal with Park. For being the center of another problem in a department already full of them.

“Okay." he sighed, "C’mere.”

Robby sat beside you and released your wrist only to put both arms around you.

“C’mon,” he said, quieter this time, drawing you into his chest. He moved further onto the hospital bed and laid back with a tired groan, bringing you with him until you were tucked against his side, your cheek pressed over his heart. The sheet beneath you shifted loudly with every movement, but neither of you tried to fix it.

“Don’t you have patients to see?” you sniffled.

“They can wait.” His hand spread over your back. “Jack’s still here.”

“He’s going to be so mad.” you said again.

“Yes.” Robby’s chest rose beneath your cheek with a tired breath. “And we have every reason to be.”

You closed your eyes.

“You understand that, right?” he asked.

You nodded against him, hiding your face deeper in his hoodie.

His hand moved up and down your back, steady, familiar, while his other pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Can’t believe Park,” Robby muttered. His jaw shifted above your head. “If he thinks he can ever be in the same room with you again—”

“Don’t.” You curled your fingers into the front of his shirt. “I don't want to think about it, and I don't want to make any big decisions right now."

Robby went quiet.

“Can we just cuddle?” you murmured then.

The anger left him in a long breath, though you could still feel it sitting hard beneath his skin. “Of course, honey.”

He bent his head and kissed the crown of yours, keeping his mouth there for a moment before pulling you closer. His hand settled between your shoulder blades, holding you against him while the noise of the department continued on the other side of the door.

But of course, it didn't take long for the knock on the door to come. Dana opened the door only a few inches, her voice gentler than usual when she told him there was a double trauma ten minutes out. Even then, she waited for Robby to answer before stepping away again.

Robby sighed, his chest falling heavily beneath your cheek.

“Honey.”

“Hm?” you hummed.

“I’m going to get Langdon again, okay?”

Your eyes fluttered open in surprise, "Really?"

He nodded. "I know he still wants to talk to you."

"He… we talked a bit."

“Okay…” One corner of his mouth pulled faintly. “I have a feeling he may want to do more than talk.”

“But…?”

Robby shifted so he could see you properly, his hand coming up to cup your face. His eyes flitted across your face. “It sounds like it might be the last time, honey.”

A flutter moved through your belly, waking every nerve that had gone dull after the panic. Heat prickled beneath your skin, gathering at the back of your neck.

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

Robby nodded, his thumb brushing once beneath your eye. “I’m only going to have a few minutes to get you ready, okay? Then I need to go.”

Before you could answer, the door opened again.

“Holy shit, what happened?”

It was Jack, and he was crossing the room in two long strides, already reaching for you. His hand smoothed over the top of your head, pushing your hair back while he searched your face.

“I’m alright,” you added, giving Jack a small smile.

“Langdon told me while we were dealing with the head trauma in T2.” His hand stopped against your hair. “Park put his hands on you, sweetheart?” Then he looked at Robby. "What the fuck?"

Robby sat up, bringing you with him. He took your hand carefully and laid it across his lap so Jack could see your wrist.

“Grabbed her arm.”

Jack’s mouth flattened. “That piece of…” he trailed off under his breath. He took your hand from Robby, turning your wrist between his calloused hands with the same care he used examining a patient. His thumbs stayed clear of the marks, but his grip tightened around your palm when he saw them.

“I’m fine,” you urged, turning your hand so your fingers could close around his wrist, squeezing gently. “Really.”

His eyes lifted to yours. The anger in them was immediate, dark enough that you could see him fighting to keep it contained. His eyes went back to Robby.

“What did he say when you talked to him?”

Robby looked at you first, then back at Jack. "Just some bullshit about her not belonging to us, that she can talk to who she wants…"

“I tried to tell him I was talking to Frank,” you said. “He wouldn’t listen.”

Robby’s hand stopped against your back, Jack’s fingers closed more securely around your arm. You felt the anger building between them again, feeding itself now that they were both in the room.

“But I’m fine now,” you said quickly. “I just want to get on with the day.”

Neither of them looked convinced, so you turned toward Robby.

“I want to talk to Frankie again.”

He nodded in understanding, rubbing his eyes with one hand. With a big sigh, he looked at Jack. “I’ve got a double trauma at the back door in a few minutes. I was going to get her ready, then get him.”

Jack stared at him. “Even after all this?”

“Especially after all this,” Robby said quietly. “It’s important we keep to our routine. Park doesn’t get to walk in here and change what she does, what we want.”

Jack looked down at your hand again, his thumb moving once along the side of it.“S’just been one thing after another today,” he muttered.

He stepped back from the bed, dropping your hand and dragging his fingers across his forehead. The exhaustion from the night shift had returned beneath the anger, leaving him looking worn down in a way he hadn’t when you first arrived.

“Jackie…” You reached for him. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, honey,” Robby said, rubbing a hand down your back.

Jack looked at you at the same time, his expression pulling tight.

“Nothing,” he agreed.

Robby shifted beside you. “C’mon. Lie back again, honey. I’ll take care of you.” He looked toward Jack. “If you want to head out, we’re good here. I’ll send her home with one of your night-shift residents.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Jack rolled his eyes. “I’m here. I’ll take her.”

He looked at you once more, then toward the door. “I just…need some air.” He started to head for the door, his shoulders still rigid beneath his shirt. “Before I find him and put him through a wall,” he muttered under his breath.

“Jack,” Robby warned.

“I said I’m gettin' air.”

The door shut behind him.

Robby watched it for a moment, then looked back down at you, his face tired all over again.

“Well,” he sighed, brushing his knuckles along your cheek. “This morning certainly went to hell.”

The door shut once more, the silence filling the room once again. You pulled your arms around yourself, your heels kicking under the side of the bed. "Do you think he's okay?"

Robby watched the door for another moment before turning back to you. “He will be.”

“He looked really upset.” you whispered.

“He is upset.” His hand came up to the side of your neck, his thumb resting beneath your ear. “So am I.”

Your eyes moved back to his face. His fingers tightened on your neck, just a gentle amount of pressure to soothe you. "Jack knows how to take care of himself, and right now, it's my job to take care of you. We're just upset at Park, not at you. You understand?"

You nodded.

He leaned in a little, "Can you use your words for me?"

You nodded again, shutting your eyes before your thoughts could start circling—before you could wonder whether there was something you should have done differently to keep Jack from getting so upset. Even to you, it sounded ridiculous. You hadn’t gone looking for Park. You hadn’t invited him into the private conversation between you and Langdon. You hadn’t done anything except ask him to wait.

Your breathing caught, then slowed, and you opened your eyes, "I understand."

Robby studied your face, “There you are,” he murmured. "My best girl."

His thumb moved beneath your ear before his hand slid to cup the back of your neck. He held you there, warm, certain, giving your thoughts one place to settle.

“Lie back for me.”

You obeyed, easing yourself down onto the mattress while he kept one hand behind your neck to guide you. The sheet moved beneath your shoulders, bunching your hoodie at your waist, and Robby smoothed it flat before settling beside your hip.

He stood, grabbing two gloves from the wall, and then returned to you.

"Let's take this off." he murmured, reaching for the zipper of your hoodie.

Your attention pulled toward the door again when a cart rattled past in the hallway. Robby stopped his movements to pinch two fingers beneath your chin and turn your face back to him.

“No,” he said softly. “Eyes here, honey.”

You looked up at him.

“That’s it.”

His gloved palm moved over your sternum, resting there without pressure while he watched your breathing.

“In through your nose.”

You breathed in.

“Out the mouth, good—again.”

The second breath went deeper.

Robby nodded, his hand following the rise and fall of your chest.

“Nothing outside this room is anything for you to worry about for the next few minutes,” he said. “Not Park. Not Jack. Not the trauma coming in. You understand?”

“Yes, Robby.”

"That's my good girl." he nodded, finally pulling your zipper all the way down, pushing the fabric off your shoulders, pulling it from your bed.

“What belongs to you?” he asked.

You hesitated.

“My voice,” he prompted as he sat on the rolling stool, bringing it to the side of the bed. Usually, he brought it to the end of the bed, more clinical, more procedural. But today seemed different. He seemed to know you needed him closer.

“Your voice.” you repeated.

“And?”

Your eyes moved over his face, the tired line beneath his eyes, the care he was still holding together for you.

“You.”

Robby’s mouth softened. “That’s right.”

He leaned down and kissed your forehead, bringing one hand to the waistband of your shorts only to settle his palm against your belly instead, rubbing there in one slow, soothing pass.

“Now let me get my best girl ready.”

You let out another long breath and settled fully into the mattress. The bed was still warm from where the two of you had been lying together, and when he leaned over you, you could smell the Irish Spring on his skin and the lemon pine natural detergent you’d made him switch to a few months ago, before the long shift had a chance to settle into his clothes.

"That's it, that's it." he cooed from beside you, his gloved hand pushing back your hair, petting your head, and leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

His other hand pinched gently beneath your chin again and turned your face toward him. He kissed you properly this time, and you breathed him in, the prickle of his overgrown beard catching against your skin. His nose pressed along the side of yours, pulling a dreamy sigh from you when his tongue touched your bottom lip.

He nipped at it gently, wordlessly asking permission to deepen the kiss. You gave in—of course, there was nothing more you wanted—letting your tongue slide against his when he pushed into your mouth.

A little whine slipped from your throat as the hand beneath your chin began to move. His gloved fingers traced down the front of your neck, passed over your bralette to cup your breasts gently, then continued over your belly, lower and lower, until they slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts and covered your panty-clad mound.

You gasped.

He moaned against your open mouth, and then began to pepper kisses over the side of your face, "Oh, I know, I know."

“Robby,” you sighed. “Moreee…”

He was only pressing two fingers up and down over you, your panties still in the way of where you wanted him most, dampening quickly beneath his touch.

Robby chuckled, still kissing you softly, his breath warm where it moved over your cheek. “Okay, okay. Anything for you. How’s this?”

Tucking two fingers beneath the edge of your panties, he dipped them into the arousal already gathered there. A low grunt left him, breath warm against your face, followed by a pleased hum. Your lungs caught as your eyes rolled back as your spine lifted from the bed.

Then, slowly, he pushed both fingers inside you. Your legs spread on reflex, opening as wide as the shorts allowed, while both hands came up to hold his wrist.

“Ohhh, yeah. There you go.” He watched your face as he pressed deeper. “How’s that feel, honey?”

“S-sooo good, Robby.”

“Mhm. I know.” His fingers curled inside you. “You love my fingers in you, don’t you, honey?”

"God, yes."

"Gonna be a good girl for my resident?"

"Yes, yes, yes."

“Gonna let him do what he wants with you?” His mouth brushed yours again. “With my best girl?”

You nodded quickly while his fingers worked against your walls, curling upward before dragging slowly back. Your ears burned at the wet sound of your pussy taking him deeper, slick gathering against the heel of his hand each time he pressed in.

"What if he wants you to suck his cock?" he asked with a tick of his head, watching you open mouthed.

Your mouth opened too, almost instinctively, knowing what he'd want. You felt silly, begging with your tongue sticking out: "Yes, oh oh oh, yes—"

He leaned down and dragged his tongue over yours where you offered it to him. “Gooood girl,” he moaned. “And if he wants to fuck this sweet pussy? Will you let him enjoy it as much as I do? As Jack does?”

You whined a little, "Yessss—"

"Ohhh, right there?" he whispered, pushing his fingers higher against your walls, crooking them, then fucking them deeper.

Your moans grew louder with each thrust, the pressure in your belly winding tighter until your thighs began to shake around his arm. “Oh, fuck—please, please. Just like that—”

“What a good girl.” His thumb pressed down on your clit and began making perfect, tight circles. “That’s it. Ask me nicely.”

“Please, Robby. Please let me come.” Your fingers tightened around his forearm, feeling the muscle flex beneath your grip every time his hand drove forward.

“Okay, honey. Go on.” He kissed the corner of your mouth. “I wanna feel you come on my fingers. Show me how good I make you feel. How badly you want to fuck Dr. Langdon.”

Your eyes flew open, a startled laugh almost breaking through at how filthy his mouth had gotten.

Then his fingers curled again, and your back bent into a perfect arch from the mattress, your legs trembling before closing around his hand as the tension inside you snapped. A loud, mewling cry left your mouth while your walls clenched around his fingers, pulling them deeper.

Robby kissed you hard through it, swallowing every sound, and you could feel the smile spread across his lips.

As you settled and your body slowly loosened beneath him, your breathing returned to steady pulls while a laugh began bubbling out of you. Robby’s mouth traveled over your cheek, your temple, then into your hair as he held you through the last few tremors.

“You are filthy today,” you giggled.

He chuckled too. “Can’t help it sometimes. You make me crazy.”

You tipped your chin up and kissed his bottom lip, your own lips dry from dragging in deep breaths. He eased his hand from beneath your panties, and your mouth fell open around a small gasp when his thick fingers slipped from your sensitive walls.

“Okay,” he groaned, straightening his back. “I’m going to go before Dana comes barging through the door.”

“Robby—” you called when he stood and snapped his gloves into the trash.

He turned back to you.

“Thanks for…” Your fingers worried at the waistband of your shorts. “The distraction. For letting Frankie…”

Robby shrugged, though his expression softened as his bare, warm fingers came down to pet gently over the top of your hand.

“He deserves it today. And so do you.” His thumb passed once across your knuckles. “I’ll have Jack come get you when you’re done.”

You nodded, tucking your bottom lip under your teeth. “Okay.”

Robby leaned down to kiss you once more, quick and brief and warm, before brushing your hair back from your face.

“Be good for him, honey.”

Your smile softened as you caught his wrist and kissed the center of his palm.

“I will.”

Langdon was back a little while later, knocking softly before he let himself into the room. Whatever surprise had been on his face when Robby told him he could return had settled into something more measured by then. He closed the door behind him and asked if you were okay in that sweet way he always had about him, his blue eyes searching yours as you told him yes, that you were. Even if he didn’t quite believe you, he didn’t make any show of it.

Instead, he sat beside you, your knees touching as his hand found yours and brought it into his lap. His fingers moved along the inside of your palm, tracing the lifeline, the heart line, where each one broke and split before finding itself again. The marks along your wrist had darkened, red fingerprints that Langdon circled with so much tenderness.

Quiet was nothing new between you. It had always come easily, the two of you understanding each other without needing to fill every second. This time, though, there was more sitting inside it.

The knowledge that this was it.

“Frankie,” you murmured after a while, “are you sure this is what you want? I can understand if… you wouldn't want to—ya know—with me…”

He kept your hand cradled in his lap, his gaze fixed somewhere near your joined fingers. He hadn’t looked at you in a long moment.

“Yeah, I am sure,” he said softly.

Then he lifted your wrist to his mouth and pressed a featherlight kiss on the marks.

You expected him to leave it at that, but his mouth kept moving, peppering kisses along your arm until gooseflesh rose beneath his lips and your body began answering before you meant for it to. Your eyes fluttered shut even though you wanted to keep watching him. You wanted to commit all of it to memory—him, you, the tender simplicity of being with him. How easy it had always been. How good he was to you. How good his lips felt on you, too.

His mouth reached the inside of your elbow, and you giggled at the ticklishness of it, trying to slip your arm away. Langdon held fast, though his fingers stayed gentle around you. Nothing like Park’s grip. Nothing you had to fight.

“Not so fast,” he murmured with a crooked grin. He sat upright and drew you toward him, your hand coming to rest against his middle as you folded halfway into his chest. He leaned closer, his mouth near yours.

“Can I have a kiss, baby?” His eyes moved between yours. “A real one?”

“Are you sure?” you asked again.

Langdon nodded, tilting his head. The blue of his eyes had already begun to disappear around the widening of his pupils as his gaze dropped to your mouth. He released your arm and brought his hand to your face, his thumb passing slowly over your bottom lip while he worried his own between his teeth. He watched you hold your breath beneath the touch, then purse your lips to kiss the pad of his thumb.

“Are you?” he asked.

You brought your hand up and wrapped your fingers delicately around his wrist, holding him there before drawing the tip of his thumb into your mouth.

“I always want you, Frankie,” you murmured around it.

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You can't say shit like that, baby.”

“S’true,” you answered immediately, closing your lips around his thumb again.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

He pulled it from your mouth and crushed his lips against yours.

The two of you let out mirrored moans at the contact—relief and need breaking from somewhere deep after spending so long holding yourselves back. You had almost forgotten how soft his lips could be, how he always knew what you needed from a kiss before you found the words to ask. His tongue pressed up against the seam of your mouth, and you opened easily for him—greedily seeking him out. Your tongue slid against his, pushing back before pulling it between your lips and sucking gently.

A low, pained groan left him as his hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, holding you close as the kiss deepened, and before long he was guiding you down against the bed. Your legs opened around his middle, winding around his hips as he settled into the cradle of your lap.

You could feel the strain of his cock through the thin cotton of your shorts and the damp fabric beneath them, the thick length pressing into your clothed pussy just right when his hips grinded forward.

You moaned into his lips as he deepened the kiss— teeth clacking, mouths panting, the wet slide and smacking of lips and moans filling the room.

“I missed kissing you, baby,” he murmured against you at one point, dragging his mouth along your jaw before dipping down your sternum and nuzzling into your breasts.

Your hands went into his hair, long and thick and chocolate-brown between your fingers. When your nails scraped lightly over his scalp, he pressed harder beneath your breast, kissing and licking at the lace covered flesh before mouthing his way toward the edge of your bralette. He pushed the cup down and drew your nipple into his mouth.

His hands snaked around your middle, and your back arched to give him room when he reached for a clasp that wasn’t there.

“Frankie—it’s not—” You giggled and tugged his head up.

His mouth unlatched with a soft pop, his lips swollen and wet.

“It’s just a bralette. Pull it over.”

He hummed, his eyes drooping with arousal, a hazy little half-smile deepening the dimple in his chin. His hands moved beneath your ribs instead, gathering the fabric and pulling it up over your head before tossing it to the floor.

Then he dove back into you.

His face pressed between your breasts, his mouth moving over you with a slow attention that felt different now. His lips and tongue searched every familiar place, lingering where he knew you were sensitive, and then you remembered.

This was it.

He was cataloguing you too.

The next moan that left you when he took your other nipple into his mouth broke too close to a cry.

Langdon’s blue eyes flashed up at the change in your voice. He released you and crawled back over your body, concern clearing some of the haze from his face.

“What is it, baby?”

You shook your head, refusing to ruin this. This perfect pocket of time, the weight of him against you, his eyes on you, the hard press of his length fitting so perfectly between your legs.

You hooked your hands behind his neck and pulled him down into another searing kiss, squeezing your eyes shut.

He seemed to understand without making you explain. He gave the kiss back to you, one hand threading into your hair while his elbows rested beside your shoulders. His other hand slid down to hook beneath your knee, drawing it higher around his waist before pressing his cotton-covered cock harder against you.

You moaned and broke from his mouth, the pressure emptying your head for one brief, merciful second.

“Fuck, Frank.”

“Gonna make you feel so good, baby,” he whispered, bringing his mouth to your ear. He kissed beneath it before speaking against your skin. “Wanna make you feel so good with my cock. How’s that sound, hm? Can I fuck you?”

You shook your head. “Wanna—wanna make you feel good first—”

“Oh, I know. I know.” He lifted his face to yours again. “You always do. But if we do that, I’m not gonna last, and trust me—” A smile pulled at his mouth as he tucked your hair back. “I want to make this last.”

Your brows pinched together again.

His expression softened. “Baby…”

“It’s okay,” you whispered, shaking your head as an uneven breath pulled into your lungs. “I’m just—I keep remembering we’re never gonna have this again.”

His brows drew together too.

“I’m really happy for you, Frankie,” you went on quickly, your fingers combing through his hair the same way his moved through yours. “And Mel—she’s perfect. You’re perfect for each other. I promise. I just… I’m feeling…”

Selfish.

The word sat on the tip of your tongue, so ugly that you couldn’t make yourself say it. You felt so selfish for wanting to keep every version of him. The sweet one who listened when you stumbled through your thoughts. The proud one who lit up after a good case. The man above you now, hard between your legs and looking at you with all the care in the world written in his face.

Your want had always felt bottomless. There was room in it for Robby, for Jack, for Frank, for the others, and somehow that only made losing a piece of it feel worse.

“And how do you think I feel?” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your chin. “Seeing you with Robby and Jack all the time…”

He drew back enough to look at you while his hands began traveling over your body. They passed over the cups of your shoulders, squeezed gently around your upper arms, then slid across your clavicle and down to your breasts. He massaged them together beneath his palms before cupping them from underneath, his thumbs grazing over your nipples.

“Knowing they can have you whenever they want,” he continued, his hands moving down your rib cage toward the spread of your hips. “Knowing the best girl I’ve ever met loves them. That I’ll never have you to myself.”

The L-word had your face contorting in on itself, and he misunderstood, shaking his head as he squeezed the flesh of your thighs. "S'okay, baby, I learned long ago that sharing is caring. But fuck, if I don't get jealous as hell."

“You do?”

“Of course I do.” He dipped down to kiss you once, brief and soft and warm. “It’s natural. We all get jealous of each other.”

His eyes moved over your face, and some of the humor returned.

“I mean, Park didn’t do all that because he’s just an egotistical lughead.”

A small smile pulled at your mouth.

What happened with Park had frightened you, yes. You could still feel the tenderness in your wrist when you moved it. Even so, Langdon’s admission lit a small fire beneath your skin—the knowledge that they wanted you enough for jealousy to find its way in, even when they tried to handle it better.

“Robby doesn’t get jealous,” you said, your breath catching when Langdon began pulling your shorts down your legs.

He paused with one leg free, the other side still caught around your calf.

“Robby?” he asked. "Michael Robinavitch? We talking about the same guy, here?"

You watched him, your teeth tucking over your bottom lip. “Mhm. He likes to share. He doesn’t—”

“Oh, baby.” Langdon scoffed and tugged the shorts the rest of the way off. “If you think that man isn’t the most jealous one out of all of us…”

He tossed them aside, then leaned over you again.

“But enough about that.” His fingers hooked into the sides of your panties. “I don’t want to hear another man’s name on your lips right now.”

He pulled them down in one swift motion, a low whistle leaving him at the sight of your glistening folds waiting for him.

“This all for me, baby?”

You nodded. “Yes, Frankie.”

“What a nice girl you are,” he sighed.

His hands stayed on your thighs for another moment, spreading them wider while he looked at you. Then he pushed himself upright and began stripping out of his layers, the urgency making him clumsier than usual as he caught his scrub top briefly around one wrist.

“Why don’t I get off the bed,” he said, tugging it free, “and you turn over for me?”

You nodded.

Langdon stepped down to pull off the rest of his scrubs while you rolled onto your stomach, the sheets warm beneath you. When you looked back over your shoulder, he was naked, his hard cock standing out from his body and bobbing low with each step he took toward you. It twitched when he caught you staring.

“You sure I can’t… play?” you teased with a smile.

Langdon walked back to the bed, his mouth already pulling at the edges. “Okay, maybe a little bit of play. Go on—”

You opened your mouth for him, taking only the tip of his cock between your lips and sucking hard. Your tongue slid beneath the ridge, finding the sensitive underside until his hand shot out to brace against the wall.

His head fell back with a moan, and you echoed it around him, one hand reaching to wrap around the rest of his length as you began to bob. Your mouth and fist worked together, wetting him thoroughly while your own pussy clenched with want, empty and impatient and needy between your legs.

On one slick pull of your lips and hand, his hips jerked forward. One of his hands went to your hair, dragging you off him before you could push any deeper. “Oh—oh, okay. Easy. Fuck.”

You giggled as he pulled away, his cock wet and twitching in front of your face, the string of spit still connecting you to him.

Langdon climbed onto the bed again with a smile, settling over you until his weight pressed into your back. His cock found the crease of your ass and rocked there, slick and throbbing while his mouth brushed your ear. "What's so funny, baby?"

You gasped when his hand snaked beneath your hip and pulled you back against him, his fingers finding your clit. “Ah—you—” Your breath broke apart the words. “I like—I like making you feel good, Frankie.”

“I know you do, baby. So good at it too.” His fingers circled your clit slowly, then dipped lower. “Almost came down your pretty throat just now. You wouldn’t want that, would you—oh—”

The question made your pussy contract beneath his hand, his fingertips barely pressing against your entrance, making you lift your hips up and back into him, asking wordlessly for more.

“Oh, you would’ve loved that, huh, baby?” His voice dropped closer to your ear. “You like the idea of me coming down your throat? That it?”

“Yessss,” you moaned into the pillow beneath your face. “Pleaseeee, Frankie. Please fuck me—I need it.”

“What a nice girl, begging so well.” He kissed the side of your face.

You nodded quickly, and he lifted off you only enough to bring you with him, pulling you up onto all fours.

“Little grinding and cock sucking is all it takes, huh, baby?” he murmured. “You that needy for me?”

“Yessss, Frankie,” you whined, your feet kicking against the mattress.

He chuckled, then pressed forward.

The head of his cock slipped inside you, followed by another slow inch, then another. He took his time, stretching you open until his hips finally settled flush against your ass.

The groan that left him when he folded himself over you made your pussy clench around him again. He sounded nearly pained by it, his breath hot and uneven against your neck.

“Fuckkkk. Fuck, baby—”

You wiggled your hips, already ready for more, for him to just do something—but his one hand stopped you immediately, "Do not fucking move."

His voice had gone so low and ragged that it was enough to empty your head. The restless need inside you softened beneath the order, your body going still while that obedient part of you blinked her eyes open and rose to meet him. Warmth spread beneath your skin, your thoughts narrowing until there was only his hand holding you in place, his cock buried deep inside you, and the next thing he might ask of you.

"Oh," Langdon sighed, "Yeah, that's it, such a good listener, what a good girl."

You keened at the praise, but the sound split into a needy whine before you could hold it back. He twitched inside you, the thick pulse of his cock making your walls tighten and draw him deeper while his breath came hot against the side of your neck, every uneven exhale moved through the hair at your nape.

His hand came up to your face, fingers closing around your jaw to turn you over your shoulder, forefinger and thumb squeezing your cheeks. His lips pressed into the side of your face when he spoke. “I’m gonna fuck you now, okay, baby?” His voice was still rough from holding himself back. “Would you like that?”

You nodded quickly. “Yes—” The word muffled against your pursed lips when his fingers squeezed, holding your face against his.

Langdon drew his hips back only a few inches, the slow drag of his cock along your walls leaving both of your mouths hanging open against each other. Your breath caught in the same instant his did, the emptiness already making you whine before he pressed forward again and filled you up. His hips rolled into yours again, shallow but controlled, then withdrew a little farther the next time.

He built the rhythm patiently, each stroke opening you around him before settling deep again. His fingers held your jaw tighter while his mouth stayed open against yours, sharing every pant and moan and mewling plea. His other hand gripped your hip, keeping you steady beneath him whenever your knees slid against the sheets.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “I’m gonna miss you so much, baby.”

Your brows pinched despite the pleasure loosening everything else inside you. “Frankieee…”

“Gonna miss kissing you.” His next thrust landed harder, pushing a cry from your throat, pressing a wet kiss to the side of your mouth. “Gonna miss this perfect pussy—oh, fuck—taking me so good every time.”

His hips struck yours again, the force traveling up your spine.

“You’re such a good girl, baby. Ohhh my God.”

“Frankie, you feel so, so good,” you panted, the words still distorted by the hand holding your cheeks.

He pushed his tongue between your parted lips. You tried to kiss him back, catching at him with your mouth whenever the movement of his body allowed it, but the pleasure kept breaking your rhythm apart. Beneath it sat the other feeling, sharper every time he said he would miss you. Each thrust seemed to press it farther into you, the sweetness and grief tangled so completely that your chest hurt with it.

“You feel so perfect around me, baby.” His mouth dragged over yours while he spoke. “You like my cock splitting you open, hm?”

“Yes, Frankie!” you cried out as his thrusts became heavier and faster, your voice rising in octaves. The bed creaked beneath you with every drive of his hips, the frame giving a faint knock against the wall. Skin slapped wetly behind you, his moans crowded the room with yours, joined by the slick pull of his cock working in and out of your walls. His aftershave still clung to his neck beneath the heat of his skin, mixed now with sweat and the thick smell of sex trapped inside the closed room.

“You have to know—” he panted against your mouth, it sounded different—softer, so gentle as the two of you were breathing each other’s air. He refused to lift his face from yours, his cheek rubbing against yours with every thrust, keeping himself as close as his body would allow. “You have to know how much you mean to me. To everyone, baby.” His voice cracked. “You’re such a good girl.”

“Don’t—” Your throat tightened around the word. “Don’t say that. Please—”

“You are, though.” He shook his head against yours, fingers pressing harder into your cheeks to hold you there, to make you hear him. “You are.”

His rhythm broke for half a second when your pussy clenched around him. “Oh, fuck.” His hips drove forward harder. “I’m getting close, baby. Talk to me, please, baby, tell me how it feels—”

“So good. So good—oh my God.” Your hands gripped at the sheets, your elbows slipping beneath you. “Please, please come inside me, Frankie. I want to feel you. Want to—”

“Come with me, baby.” He begged. “Please. Oh, fuck, please—”

You nodded as much as his grip allowed.

His jaw dropped, his tongue brushing clumsily over your upper lip before speech abandoned him completely. He was nothing but moans and grunts now, hot breath striking your mouth while your own came back at him. Your hips tightened beneath his hand. Your spine drew taut. The pressure winding low in your belly pulled tighter with every erratic thrust until your whole body seemed to gather around it.

“Frankieeee—oh my God, I’m coming. Frankie, please, please—”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he moaned.

His thrusts turned frantic, striking so deep that your legs were shaking beneath him. Then his whole body locked, and the first hard pulse of his cock inside you sent the tension of your belly snapping apart. Your eyes rolled back as your orgasm tore through you, your walls convulsing around him and holding every twitch, every hot release. A cry left your mouth while your thighs trembled trying to keep you upright.

“Good girl,” he breathed into your ear. “Yes. Yes, baby.”

The hand gripping your face opened at last, his fingers immediately turning soft as they stroked over your cheek. He kept petting you through every contraction, his voice falling apart beside your ear while your body pulled him deeper and neither of you tried to move away.

Neither of you was anything more than heaving breaths as the orgasms began to loosen their hold, the sweat and heat between your bodies cooling by slow degrees. Langdon wrapped both arms around you, and the two of you folded into the bed together, limbs tangled beneath the sheets while his weight settled completely across your back and you laid flat.

For a while, all you did was breathe.

His chest expanded against your back, his heart still knocking hard through his ribs. His spent cock remained inside you, softening gradually while your walls gave small, lingering pulses around him. Neither of you seemed willing to be the first to move and end that final point of connection.

“m'I crushin' you?” he finally slurred into your hair.

You shook your head against the pillow. “Feels nice.”

“So I am crushing you,” A breathless laugh moved through him and onto your shoulder.

“A little.” You smiled into the pillow. “But I like it.”

Langdon kissed the side of your head, then your bare shoulder, before resting his cheek there. His breathing had nearly settled when he spoke again.

“What I said…” He paused to draw in another breath. “About you meaning a lot to us. You know that’s the truth, right?”

Your mouth pulled into something close to a smile, but you didn’t answer.

When you opened your eyes, he was already watching you. His eyes had returned to that clear blue, the pupils slowly shrinking again. Sweat dotted his forehead and dampened the hair near his temples.

“Just because we can’t do this anymore doesn’t mean I stop caring about you,” he said. “Doesn’t mean you’re not still one of my favorite people, okay?”

You nodded.

The burning had already started at the back of your throat again, and you tried to swallow it down before he noticed.

“I can still love you as a friend,” he said.

Your heart dropped.

“You…” Your voice caught, your eyes widening, “You love me?”

It was a word you had sworn never to say, to never accept, to never want ever again. Love meant there was something to lose, someone you could fail, another person who could leave you carrying every word you should have said and every moment you should have been there.

Your parents had loved you in their own way, and you couldn't help the thorn that had been pushed in deeper by the loss of them . That you had gone about your life wrong, that you'd let them down. And then... That you had gone on living when they couldn’t, building a life they would never see and finding happiness that no longer included them. Loving someone again felt too close to offering the world another way to hurt you.

But hearing it from Langdon felt different. He wasn’t asking you to promise him anything or give him a name for what existed between you. You could remain friends and still hold this fondness for one another, right? This bittersweet love that didn’t need to belong anywhere else.

“Baby, why are you crying?” he whispered, lifting himself to kiss the tear from your cheek.

“I keep crying today. Don’t worry, it’s not just you—” You let out a wet laugh. “I’ll just… miss you, Frankie.”

He sighed, perhaps understanding that you couldn’t say it back. Maybe you did love him. Maybe you were still capable of it, despite everything. But for now, the word frightened you too much. It still meant loss before it meant gain, still felt like the surest way to be hurt worse than anything else in the world.

So he held you until there was no more time to borrow, before the two of you had to step outside and find out what came next.

kingdon nation rise UPPPP !!!

ohhhhhhhhhh I lovee this one you guys :') frankie will always be so special to me ughhh !!! thank you SO much for reading and please let me know what you think <3 your therapy bill can be sent to my lawyer

🏷️ @realwhoreforfictionalmen, @kittymeowmeow17, @viviandarkbloom11, @kneelforloki, @kitkatrina, @dugiioh, @ineedbooksandoldermen, @spookyscaryfish, @dugiioh, @ineedbooksandoldermen, @spookyscaryfish, @anthropsych, @shawnysimp, @1-800-bobcut, @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing, @thoroughfareblues @isasdreams @katestuff17 @obi-wansgirl @archxve, @readersassemble5, @ohmeohmy0, @vipervixxen @earthhtoness, @kkatnapp, @macbaetwo, @honeylilli, @marvel-mistress, @harryswizzle, @imabapical, @rosetintmworld, @satanssideho, @imabapical, @pearlessance, @peterthehorseisinhere, @xitsvivibxtchx, @eugene-emt-roe, @holyhozierwp, @rabbotseatcarrots, @yippee799, @bookwormnation, @janeetyler, @afyreinjuly, @princessjas1-11, @for-those-who-hate, @sambajulie, @romancebookreader4life, @stoptheinnocence, @kerosenedopamine, @deadlyperfectionist1228, shetasteslikesunlighttt

Any other day, you might be worried about the chemicals —or lack thereof— in the water. You might fluster over the possibility of a property manager reneging on Frank’s lease or a neighbor snitching on you for trespassing. 

It’s too goddamn hot to care about any of that.

You square up to the steel-barred fence, about seven feet tall, nibbling on your tongue in concentration. This whole week, even after sundown, you’ve existed in a perpetual, thin sheen of sweat. A bubble of perspiration. 

The still, blue water mocks you.

Probably isn’t even that cold, you reason, having sat in direct sunlight all day. Trying to convince yourself you don't need it. Even if you were thinking about cool water splashing over your skin all day.

“Let’s just go inside,” Frank sighs behind you. “I’ll blast the AC, we can stand in front of the freezer and not touch each other. Like a normal, loving couple.” 

You barely hear him, too focused on the siren call of the water. It would be such a relief, even if it’s only ten degrees cooler than the air. 

“Baby?” Frank asks. 

You launch your towels over the fence. “Give me a boost, Frankie.”

His bewildered reply: "What?"

You whip around to see his head cocked to the side, an adorably confused German shepherd.

No, a golden retriever.

"Give me a boost," you insist, jerking your chin in the general direction of the pool.

"Are you serious?"

"No, I just threw our towels over for fun," you mock him, too miserable in your own skin to pretend you're playing instead of straight-up being mean. "Yes, I'm serious!"

"We might get it trouble," Frank protests, much to your surprise.

"No doy, dummy," your voice ventures further into annoyance territory. "Come on, it's too hot to play by the rules."

"God, you were the kid pressuring everyone to drink at parties in high school, weren't you?" He asks, crouching and beckoning you forward.

As you clamber into his grip, you grumble. "That would require me to have been invited to parties in high school."

Frank punches your weight up, giving you enough momentum to vault over the fence.

Your ankles scream when your flip flops smack against the concrete, but you're otherwise unharmed. You beckon Frank towards the metal bars.

He doesn't move.

"Come on, Frankie," you coo, giving your best impression of Marilyn Monroe. The air around the water is humid, but inviting.

You tug on the strap of your swimsuit cover-up —a dress made of towel material. "Don't you wanna see me in my swimsuit?"

"Got a pretty good view when your legs flew over my head, Tinkerbell."

Your doe eyes tighten to daggers. "Pervert."

Frank snorts and grabs a fistful of the materal through the gap in the fence. "Tease."

You smack his hand away.

"Come on," you step out of his reach. "I don't want to break the law by myself."

"But you look so cute in orange."

"Frank!" You whine now, going so far as to stomp your foot.

"Ok, ok. Jesus," he holds his hands like you've got him at gunpoint, then glances around.

Frank finds a concrete block by the gate, and uses the extra six or so inches to white-knuckle the top of the fence. He grunts as he swings himself over and lands in a shaky squat. The chlorine instantly infiltrates his nostrils.

You stand with all the patience of a feral cat, your hip jutted out at an angle. Lips pressed tightly together.

The urge to kiss that disgruntled look off your face is all-consuming, but Frank has learned from experience that it's far too warm for you to appreciate —nay, tolerate— any physical displays of affection.

The heat wave this past week has been hell for many reasons, but the worst of all is how touch-starved Frank has been.

On a typical day, his hands find your body through countless excuses. At work, he often 'needs to slide past' you, strong palms finding your shoulders in a firm squeeze.

From the moment you leave the hospital, he's a stage-five clinger. Holding hands. Finding any reason to cup your cheek, scratch your back, tug at the hem of your shirt. Whether you like it or not is irrelevant. You put up with it as a comfort to him, and he's grateful for the grounding the skin-on-skin contact provides on a daily basis.

You've never complained. Until this week.

And Frank agrees, it's too hot to be swapping oxygen back and forth for any length of time, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss it. Deeply.

To the point where glancing up your little towel-dress-thingy was enough to send him into orbit.

And now, as you tug the dress over your head, the water casting a soft, yellow-blue glow over your sweat-polished skin, Frank's breath catches in his throat.

Your swimsuit's nothing to write home about, objectively speaking —just a white one-piece decorated in little pink stars. But it sculpts over every last one of your delicious curves. Frank thinks he might like to have it framed.

After folding your dress into a neat rectangle, and setting it atop your towel, you clock Frank gawking at you like a schoolboy.

"Is your back okay?" You ask.

"Huh?"

"Your back, Frank," you reply, all concern as you step closer. Entering his personal space for the first time in a week. "You've got this horrible look on your face. Did you tweak your back?"

"N-no," Frank stutters through a broken laugh, then blows out a long huff of air. "Let's just… let's just get in the pool before we get caught, yeah?"

"Okay, weirdo," you scoff, then take the clip out of your hair. Tresses spill from where they'd once been secured, falling around your shoulders in waves. Frank's heart trips over itself.

He peels his own shirt off then, dropping it beside the towels in a heap beside your neatly folded cover-up. There's a splash behind him.

When he turns around, you're emerging from the water, hair now slicked back against your neck. You rub the water from your eyes, and smile up at Frank for the first time in a week.

"Oh my god, Frankie, it's fucking amazing in here," you exhale all in one breath. Water ripples around you.

The water is almost perfect, perhaps a hair too warm, but still an ice bath compared to the muggy, thick heat hazing over the rest of Pittsburgh.

Frank squares up to the deep end, creating distance between him pool's edge. You scrunch your whole face up at him, perplexed, until you see him take a running start.

"Frankie, no, we gotta be quiet!" Your words are drowned out by the enormous splash that reverberates through the whole pool as result of Frank's cannonball.

Water flies in all directions, small waves erupting through the water. You're lucky enough to miss the brunt of the splash, but that's the least of your concerns.

You flick your head around, searching for anyone who might be around to bust you for trespassing. Once the cool(ish) water sent relief through your body, the mild delirium started to clear, and now you're dreadfully aware of how much toruble Frank could be in, lest you get caught.

When his head bursts out from underwater, you glare at him.

"You're gonna get us in trouble!" You growl from where your feet can still touch, hanging on to the concrete side.

"Wanna see me do a handstand?"

Your frown persists as a long silence passes between you. Him, wanting attention. You, denying it.

He swims to you in wide, broad-shouldered strokes, the cords of his arms rippling with each arc. His hands find your hips under the water, tugging you closer.

You shove his shoulder, but make no real move away from his touch. "I actually wanted to cool off, not just have a five-second dip in the water," you complain.

"Grumpy, grumpy girl," he tuts, relief spreading through his visage as he spreads his hands over your backside. "I wanted to show off. Can you blame me? You're just so pretty."

"Hmph."

"Grumpy Gus," his touch drives your hips, angling you so your back presses against the side of the pool. "You didn't like my cannonball?"

"You're a child."

"You're the one who broke into the pool," he counters, tilting his head closer to yours. "I missed you."

"I haven't gone anywhere," your brows knit together as Frank's lips find your neck.

"No, you've been gone," he husks between wet, pointed kisses, tingles shooting up and down your arms. "The heat took you from me."

You purse your lips in the side of your mouth, not quite giving in to the desire starting to rumble in your tummy. "I didn't realize I was so terrible in the heat."

Frank pulls his head back, frowning at you. "Baby," he scoffs.

"Frank."

"This week has been awful for everybody," he explains.

"But apparently I'm grumpy and terrible to be around and not at all myself," your mouth flattens, arms still flopped, useless, at your side.

"So's everybody else," Frank says like this makes it all better. When you don't cave, he slides his hands to your shoulders, squaring you up to him. "Baby, you've always been high-maintenance. You can't look at me and tell me that's not true."

Your expression tightens.

"You think I'm high-maintenance," you phrase it as a statement rather than a question.

"Everyone thinks you're high-maintentance," Frank shakes your shoulders like you're a ragdoll. "But, listen, okay? I like being the one maintaining you. It's, like, my favorite job. Second only to Dad."

Frank presses his wet thumb to the corner of your mouth, coaxing a half-quirked smile.

“There's my girl," he hums, then ducks his head to kiss you.

On instinct, your palms slide up his bare chest, winding around his neck. You reach up and pierce your fingers through his sopping hair.

He hugs you closer by the hips, one hand traveling to squeeze your rear.

Frank’s tongue juts out to play with yours, lapping you up like… well, water. But these aren’t kisses you’ve gotten before. These are a homecoming, missing-you, glad-to-have-you-back kisses.

You whimper. He swallows the sound, legs tangling with yours under the water.

“You’re not so grumpy anymore, are you, baby?” He hums, voice low and breathy, as he squeezes the curve of your ass.

“It was just hot,” your pout rematerializes, but Frank’s just as quickly kissing it away.

“I know,” he sympathizes. “But you’re all cooled down now, aren’t you?”

One hand bursts from the water to cup your jaw, rubbing with pressure. Under the water, his fingertips dip beneath the taut nylon at your thighs. It’s a tight fit, teasing you under your bathing suit, but he manages somehow.

“Not here,” you shake your head in a whine, and Frank’s fingers leave the warmth under your suit. You crave his touch, but you aren’t willing to risk trespassing and public fornication. Not tonight. “Later, though.”

“Mmm, okay,” Frank hums, then kisses you again.

It’s just as deep and long and wanting, the promise of what’s to come once you’re out of the pool, out of this suit, out of your heat-induced bad mood. He nibbles and sucks at your bottom lip. Where your hips square up to his, you feel a distinct firmness.

Your man. Your best friend. The guy who breaks into a pool with you half past midnight.

"You do a good job at it, Frankie," your voice comes out a half-moan, a squeaky lilt. "Maintaining me."

"I know," he pulls back to shoot you a cheeky grin. "Now will you please watch me do a handstand?"

He catches pieces of your phone conversation, mostly frustrated comments on your end. "This is ridiculous, I paid for a room already," you mutter, then ask to speak to a manager.

After another couple of minutes, you hang up the phone and slam it face-down on the workstation.

Frank grimaces. Anyone with half a brain knows not to test you when you're wearing the same exact expression you have now: locked, tight frown, deflated posture, and a sharp crease in your brows.

"What's going on?" he asks after a moment, peering over the top of the divider to find you cradling your head in your hands.

A sharp inhale shoots you ramrod straight.

"Nothing," your insistence comes suspiciously fast as you school your frown into a tight, neutral line. "I'm fine, let's just get the hell out of here, huh?"

"Okay, Karen," Frank teases without thinking about it, shifting his gaze back to the computer, where all the words swirl together. He blinks long and slow. There's a possibility he's reached a semi-delirious point of exhaustion.

"Excuse me?" Your nostrils flare out. Frank swears there's steam shooting out of your ears. "Did you just call me a Karen?"

Blue eyes widen, the reaction more pointed under the harsh hospital lights. "I just mean because you asked for the manager," he gulps, holding up two hands in defense.

You narrow your eyes at him.

"The hotel I'm staying at tonight just called to say they gave my room away," you nearly growl, your intonation making it seem like it's his fault.

"Why are you staying in a hotel room?" he asks.

He's been to your apartment once, months ago, crammed shoulder-to-shoulder with half the day shift for a movie night. You'd somehow wrangled everyone into watching Jurassic Park because Whitaker and Javadi said during a shift that they'd never seen it.

You're hard for Frank to pin down. Half the time you scare the shit out of him. The other half you're hosting movie nights, bringing in banana bread, or showing the med students a procedure with gentle, practiced hands.

It wasn't like he made himself easy to get a read on, either. Between the divorce, the kids, and sprinting upstairs after trauma just to make his drug test before the lab closed, most days he'd barely managed to keep his own head above water.

It took a while, but somewhere over the last few months, his conversations with you started getting longer. Less about patients, more about whatever happened to come up between charts.

"My apartment is being fumigated," you slump back into your seat, locking your hands atop your head. Frank has never seen you so… despondent. It's unnerving. "I told the hotel I'd have a late check-in, but they still gave my room away."

After a moment's thought, Frank realizes the bind you're in. You moved to Pittsburgh for your residency. You don't have any friends or family here. If your hotel screwed you over this late in the evening, then you're up shit's creek.

If he's being honest, he's also seeing something in you that he sees in himself, nearly every time he catches his reflection in the mirror.

Loneliness.

His leg jiggles restlessly under his desk. "You can…" he swallows when your inscrutable eyes meet his. "You can sleep at my place, if you want to."

You furrow your brow. "I wasn't asking—"

"I know," Frank cuts in, saving the chart he's working on, then exits out of it. "But I'm offering."

Frank sees the gears turning in your head. You'd rather gnash your teeth and suffer through the plot of Armageddon than ask for help. You nibble on your bottom lip —an expression Frank has only ever seen you make during a complicated intubation. He never noticed how adorable it is until now.

"I don't want to be an imposition," you say, a little quieter.

"You wouldn't be," he shakes his head. "I don't have the kids tonight. They still don't have beds yet, but I've got a sofa. It's yours if you want it."

"Yeah, okay," his heart gives a little flip when you finally relent, a tight, forced smile stretching across your lips. "Thank you."

Langdon flips the light switch once you're inside, illuminating the apartment in a familliar fluorescent glow.

He drops his backpack by the door, then waves a hand at the small, sparsely furnished space.

"This is it," he says.

"It's nice," you nod at the space, noting the distinct lack of anything particularly Langdon.

"No, it's not," he snorts. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

He's right in assuming you're just being polite. A laminate island divides the kitchen from the gray-walled living room. A sofa faces the television mounted opposite it, and a small table with three chairs fills the remaining space. Functional instead of homey.

If someone told you this was a furnished rental, you'd believe them.

The only evidence of anyone actually living here is the little toy kitchen in the corner, decked out in primary colors. A small plastic chest sits beside it, dotted with yellow stars and two names hand-painted on the side.

Tanner & Penny

Your lip quirks up at this.

"Your kids'?" You ask as you lean against the edge of the island, hooking your thumb towards the playset.

"Yeah," he smiles in familiarity, then steps around you to get to the fridge. He pops a photo out from under a magnet, and slides it across the island to you.

You've never seen photos of Langdon's kids before, but they are, without a doubt, his.

"That's Penny," he points to the little girl with a dimple in her chin. "And Tanner," he says of the slightly larger boy with eyes that are bright, clear water blue.

"They're cute," you nod. "They look a lot like you."

Langdon's thin smile lingers, then he clears his throat. "I can get the sofa set up for you, if you want to hop in the shower," he offers. "Or, did you want to get something to eat? I have a pizza in the freezer, but not much else."

"Pizza's good," you reply, then stifle a yawn. Your body aches with the kind of exhaustion that should knock you out cold, but your brain refuses to follow suit. "I might go ahead and take a shower, if that's okay with you?"

He nods.

Frank grabs you a clean towel and shows you how to work the faucet.

The whole thing feels strangely intimate. His razor on the sink. His shampoo in the shower. The towel he'd pulled from his own linen closet. All of it is closer than you've ever thought you'd be with a man who is, technically speaking, your boss.

You skip washing your hair, leaving it up in a clip as you cleanse your body of the day's grime.

While you towel off, you catch the faint hint of something, then realize that Langdon buys fabric softener. It takes a moment for that fact to digest.

You change into your pajamas —a ratty t-shirt and a holey pair of sweatpants. A little embarrassing, but you packed for a secluded hotel room, not Frank Langdon's dad-chelor pad.

When you emerge from the bathroom, there's a distinct smell of pizza in the air. You pad out in too-big socks to find cushions scattered about the living room and Frank hunched over the sofa, yanking at a steel frame. His cheeks have gone red, manipulating the frame with no success.

"I didn't realize it's a…" you lose the word as you join him, tugging at the opposite side of the frame.

"Pull out," Langdon spews, exasperated and cranky.

"I'm trying!" You say as you try from a different angle.

"No," he huffs, out of breath as he stands up straight. His hands fly to his hips. "It's a pull-out couch."

"Then why isn't it pulling out?" You snap in response, peering into the mechanism.

There's no way to tell why, exactly, the mattress isn't extending like it should, so you try pushing it back in.

It creaks in stubborn response, but doesn't budge.

"It's not going back in," you grumble. Langdon grabs his end and also tries to shove the frame back in. Nothing, save for a distinct click. As though the metal decides to lock in place.

"Sssssshit," Langdon drags out the word, staring at the sofa like he might chuck it through the curtainless window. He scrubs his hand over his face, so hard he leaves white fingerprints over reddened skin.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to say. Do you apologize for possibly making it worse? Do you just leave?

"I'm so sorry," he bounces on his heels, shaking his hands, expelling all his nervous energy at once. "You can sleep in my bed. I'll take the floor."

"What? No, that's… that's way too much from what you've already offered," you bluster, then hook your thumb towards the door. "I'll just find a hotel, Langdon, seriously. Not a big deal."

You turn on your heel, but a large hand catches your shoulder.

"No, it's way too late for that. You'll end up in some piece-of-shit motel," he says as you spin around. You glance down to where his fingers splay across your shoulder. "And then you'll get murdered, and I'll feel just terrible about it." You roll your eyes, but he presses on. "Please, just… take me up on it?"

He looks so tired, you realize, gazing up into cloudy blue eyes.

The timer on the oven cuts through the moment in a shrill, incessant beep.

Langdon glances down at his hand, then slowly draws it back. As he wanders past you into the kitchen, you brush your fingertips over the spot, catching the residual heat.

He takes the pizza out of the oven, the pan tudding on the kitchen island. Your mouth waters at the sight of steaming, gooey cheese and pepperoni.

Langdon follows your gaze to the pizza, then smiles at you. "Will you stay?"

Every logical piece of you screams to grab your backpack and leave, but you suppose you're too damn tired for all that. "Sure," you whisper.

The pizza disappears within fifteen minutes of leaving the oven, no evidence it ever existed apart from a crumb-scattered pan. Frank changes the sheets on his bed, and tells you goodnight.

Relieved for the shower he's desperately craved, Frank follows a delicious, floral scent to the bathroom, the source of which he quickly finds on the sink.

Rose & Pearl is the scent of your body gel, though Frank's not sure where the pearl part comes into play as he sniffs the open bottle.

He catches himself in the mirror, then slowly sets the bottle back down.

Pervert, he scolds himself. Didn't even realize he picked up the damn thing.

When he steps out of the bathroom later, a trail of steam billowing behind, he exhales at the sight of the closed bedroom door. You're in there, leaving that rosy scent all over his pillowcases. His sheets.

In attempt to distract himself, he plucks his phone off the kitchen counter, only to realize it's nearly dead. "Shit," he murmurs. His eyes dart to the closed bedroom door.

He takes a deep breath before knocking.

"Yeah?" You don't sound groggy, so any potential guilt about waking you vanishes from the queue.

"Can I come in for a sec?" Frank asks.

"Yeah," you reply. The door creaks as it opens.

"Forgot my phone charger," he gestures apologetically to the nightstand on the side of the bed opposite from where you sit, propped up against the headboard.

In his bed. With your hair down, spilling around your shoulders in glossy waves. Always so put together in the ED, Frank's never seen you so… cozy.

"It's okay," you force a thin smile.

You crane your neck when Frank rounds the bed, frowning at his setup on the living room floor. Beside the broken couch lays Tanner's Paw Patrol pillow and Penny's Disney Princess blanket. A bright contrast against the drab, gray carpet. "That doesn't look very comfortable," you assess.

"It's alright," he waves off your concern. As he plucks his phone charger from behind the nightstand, he feels the weight of your eyes lingering on him. Frank turns, and finds you boring a hole through his head with your stare.

"Why don't we share?" You ask, exhaling long through your nose.

"Huh?"

"Langdon," your voice borders on an exasperated mumble as you pat the empty space on the bed. "Just lay down. It's already midnight, we're both exhausted. I don't care. It's fine."

Frank's eyes dart from you to the shoddy setup in the living room, and back. He really doesn't want to sleep on the floor.

Jesus Christ. He gives an appreciative nod. He grabs the blanket off the living room floor, and against all his better judgment, climbs into bed with you.

You turn off the lamp on your side of the bed, leaving the room mostly dark, save for the streetlight peeking in from the blinds.

The mattress is a queen, large enough for the both of you, but the space between your bodies is limited. Frank's nose is clogged with the sweet smell of your body wash. Your heat mixes with his.

Get a grip and go to sleep, Langdon, he thinks.

"Goodnight," you murmur from somewhere beside him. Frank's stomach rolls around in his gut.

"Goodnight," he whispers back. He adjusts so he's on his side, facing away from you.

A strong pair of arms looped through yours radiates warmth. Four legs all tangled up like dock knots, and a nose nudging into your hair. Your hand rests over top of the one on your hip. And somewhere between the small of your back and the curve of your rear, a firm length smushes up against you.

You whine at the feeling, not quite conscious, not quite asleep, and roll over. Your bones feel like lead, but the feeling quickly melts when that hardness rubs against your core. Pleasure shoots up through your veins.

You slowly blink awake to see the snoring figure of Frank Langdon. Your eyes widen.

Fuck, you think. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

You freeze, unsure of how, exactly, to disentangle yourself without waking him up.

He's definitely asleep. You can tell by the slow thud of his heartbreat, and the soft, lazy snoring that rumbles through his throat. Morning light stretches through the slats of the blinds, striking the top of his softly mussed hair.

So peaceful. You blink as the word crosses your mind — peaceful. Something you don't think you've felt since you moved to Pittsbrugh almost a year ago.

It's been lonely, you can admit that, especially since you have no family here, no real friends besides the ones you've made at work. Princess and Perlah, Samira. Mel. Jesse. Langdon.

Langdon, whose dick is pressed right up against your ass.

Shit. You peel away from him, starting with your legs, then roll out of the bed. Somehow he remains dead asleep, pawing at the empty space you left behind. Something self-indulgent inside of you keeps your feet glued to the ground for a moment.

His face is half-squished into the pillow, his t-shirt partially riding up to reveal a slightly hairy tummy. You can appreciate a nice figure, right? Doesn't have anything to do with the safety you felt blanketing your entire body when he touched you.

No, you insist, as you pad quietly towards the bathroom. Doesn't have anything to do with anything.

When you return about ten minutes later, teeth brushed and changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, you find Langdon sat up in the bed. Eyes glued to his phone. Pillow placed over his lap.

"Morning," he inhales upon sight of you, a smile stretching across his face so tight you know it's forced. "Sleep okay?"

"Yep," you chirp, forcing a stretched smile of your own. "Like a log."