Chapter Text
The cart wheels rattle softly as Jesse wheels the ultrasound into place, the sound almost lost beneath the steady beeping of the monitor.
The room has shifted. The chaos from earlier is gone, replaced with something tighter, more focused. Every movement has purpose now. Every word is measured.
“Alright,” Dana says, pulling on gloves. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
Jesse hands her the probe, already squeezing a line of cool gel across Langdon’s lower abdomen.
The contact alone gets a reaction. Langdon’s body tenses slightly, a faint sound catching in his throat, more a reflex than intention.
“Easy,” Dana murmurs, even though she knows he’s barely processing. She positions the probe carefully, eyes flicking immediately to the screen, watching the shifting grayscale shapes, the familiar static of soft tissue imaging as she adjusts her angle.
“There,” she says.
Robby leans closer, gaze locking onto the monitor. The darker area stands out from the surrounding grey. It's irregular. It's defined. It's not supposed to be there.
“That’s free fluid,” Dana says, voice tightening slightly, staring at a distinct pocket of fluid sitting where it shouldn’t be.
“That’s. Significant,” Robby says quietly.
Dana nods once, adjusting the probe to get a better view. “Yeah. That’s not minimal.” She shifts slightly, tracing the area, confirming what she’s seeing.
“There’s the ovary,” she adds, pointing. “And that,” she tilts the probe again, “that’s the fluid pocket adjacent to it.”
Santos is standing just behind them. “What is? What am I looking at?” she asks, her voice slower now.
Robby answers without looking away from the screen. “Free fluid in the pelvis,” he says. “Most likely from a ruptured ovarian cyst.”
“What?” Santos blinks, her gaze flicking from the screen to Langdon and back again.
Robby continues, still in clinical mode, his tone even. “Ovarian cysts are fluid filled sacs that can develop on the ovaries. Most are benign and resolve on their own, but when they rupture” he gestures slightly toward the monitor “they can release fluid, sometimes blood, into the abdominal cavity.”
Dana nods in agreement, still scanning. “Pain can range from mild to severe. Sudden onset like this, especially with this amount of fluid, can be debilitating.”
“And depending on the volume,” Robby adds, “and whether there’s active bleeding, may require surgical intervention.”
Santos knows those words, but something doesn’t connect. Her brow furrows deeper, confusion sharpening. “No,” she says slowly. “That doesn’t-” She gestures toward the bed. “Why does Frank Langdon have an ovary?”
The room stills. Not completely, the monitor continues its steady rhythm. Langdon’s breathing remains audible, deeper and still uneven.
Robby and Dana both pause, eyes meeting briefly, starting to speak at the same time.
“We- ”
“He- ”
Both explanations die off, neither of them seeming quite sure how to say it.
Not here, like this.
Not for him.
The silence stretches just a second too long.
“I’m trans, Santos.”
The voice is rough, weak, but unmistakably present.
All of them turn.
Langdon is looking at them. Really looking, this time. His eyes are clearer now, still glassy with pain, lined with exhaustion, but focused and aware.
“Was born with them,” he adds quietly.
Santos just stares at him.
Processing.
Reframing everything she thought she understood.
“Oh,” she says finally.
/
Dana is the first to move again.
She shifts seamlessly back into clinical focus, like the moment never happened. “Frank,” she says, stepping closer to the bed. “Can you tell me where you are?”
Langdon blinks slowly. “ER,” he murmurs.
“Good,” she says. “And do you know what day it is?”
He hesitates. “Tuesday,” he answers after a second.
“Close enough,” she replies. “We’ll take it.”
Robby steps in slightly on the other side, his tone steady but direct. “Pain level?”
Langdon exhales weakly, his head turning just slightly against the pillow. “…Nine,” he says.
“Any history of ovarian cysts?” Robby asks.
Langdon gives a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Yeah.”
“Ruptures before?”
“Yeah, a couple times.”
“Does this feel similar?”
Langdon’s brow tightens faintly. “Worse,” he admits.
“Okay,” Robby nods once, already integrating that. He glances toward Jesse. “Heat packs. NSAIDs. Let’s also consider a muscle relaxant.”
Jesse nods, already moving.
Langdon’s head shifts slightly, his voice coming out a little stronger this time, still strained, but a bit more present.
“No- ”
The protest barely has time to form.
“Langdon-” Dana starts.
“You're taking them,” Robby cuts her off.
They both pause, eyes meeting in a silent conversation, then continue like nothing happened. Langdon lets out a weak breath that might almost be a laugh if it didn’t hurt.
“Figures,” he mutters.
/
Jesse returns quickly, the shift back into motion almost seamless despite everything that’s just happened.
He’s carrying a small stack of supplies, heat packs already activating in his hands, along with a paper medication cup.
“Levsin and Advil,” he says, setting them down within easy reach. “Should help with the cramping and pain.”
Dana nods, stepping aside just enough to give Langdon space without actually backing off. “Let’s get those heat packs in place.”
Jesse moves first, positioning the warmth carefully over Langdon’s lower abdomen. The moment the heat settles, Langdon flinches, sharp and immediate, but the tension eases a fraction after a second, his breathing shifting with it. Uneven, still heavy, but less strained.
Langdon stares at the cup.
“Frank,” Dana says, steady.
Langdon looks at her. Then at the cup.
His hand lifts slowly, a little unsteady, and he takes it from the table.
For a second, it seems automatic, like he’ll can just get it over with, but he doesn’t.
He just stares.
Two small pills sitting at the bottom of a flimsy paper cup.
Nothing complicated, nothing dramatic, but his fingers tighten slightly around it anyway.
The room quiets, and the hesitation stretches. Not intentionally, but long enough to notice.
Langdon exhales slowly through his nose, eyes still fixed on the pills. His thumb shifts along the rim of the cup, a small, restless movement.
Control.
It’s about control.
About what goes into his body.
About not losing that again.
Dana watches him carefully, something more understanding than clinical in her expression, but she doesn’t push.
Santos stands off to the side, unusually still, gaze flicking between Langdon’s face and the cup in his hand, piecing things together in real time.
The silence breaks.
“If you’re not taking them like that,” he says, voice even, matter-of-fact, “you’ll get them through an IV.”
Dana’s head snaps toward him immediately, Santos too, both of them staring, sharp and startled.
Robby doesn’t look at them. His attention stays on Langdon.
Langdon’s jaw tightens slightly, grip on the cup shifting.
For a second, he looks like he's gearing up to fight, to push back.
It dies out just as fast as it came, the energy just not there.
Not with the pain, the exhaustion, dragging at him.
He swallows.
“Fine,” he mutters under his breath.
And before he can second guess it he tips the pills into his mouth, swallows, takes the water Jesse hands him without meeting anyone’s eyes, then passes the empty cup back, his hand dropping back to the bed as he leans his head into the pillow.
/
Santos hasn’t moved much. She’s still near the foot of the bed, watching everything unfold, now with a completely different perspective.
She glances once more at the ultrasound screen, where the dark pocket of fluid is still visible.
Then back to Langdon.
Her jaw tightens slightly, not in anger this time, but something closer to realization.
/
“Alright,” Dana says after a moment, stepping back slightly. “We’ll monitor him closely. Repeat imaging if needed. If that fluid increases or his vitals worsen, we escalate.”
Robby nods. “Agreed.” He looks down at Langdon briefly. His expression is still controlled, still guarded, but there’s something less distant than before.
“Try to rest,” he says simply. It’s not soft, but it’s not dismissive either.
He turns, and leaves.
Dana and Jesse follow, the three of them stepping out of the room to coordinate next steps. The door closing behind them with a quiet click.
/
The room quieter again. A steady rhythm of monitors steadily, and the faint hum of equipment filling the space where urgency had been just moments ago.
Santos lingers.
She doesn’t move right away. Just stands there for a second, like she’s deciding whether to stay or go.
Langdon shifts slightly on the bed, the movement slow, careful. The edge of the pain is dulled now, but it’s still there, low, heavy, lingering.
He glances toward her.
“Hey,” he starts, voice rough.
Santos looks at him.
Langdon hesitates, exhales.
“Sorry,” he says, quieter. “About earlier. I” he trails off, swallowing. “You can go. I’m fine.”
It’s automatic. Reflexive. Dismissive in the way he always is when it comes to himself.
Santos frowns slightly.
“Yeah, no,” she says, shaking her head once.
Langdon blinks at that.
She shifts her weight, arms crossing loosely. “I’m not leaving because you told me to,” she adds.
There’s a brief silence where she hesitates, just for a second, trying to figure out how to say something she’s not used to saying.
“I’ve seen people code,” she says finally. “Hearts stop. People die.”
Her voice is steady, but there’s something tighter underneath it now.
She looks at him.
“You just dropped,” she continues. “And you wouldn’t respond to anything. Not me, or Robby, or any of us.”
A small pause.
“That’s not the same.”
Langdon watches her for a moment, then looks away, up at the ceiling.
“Yeah,” he says quietly.
Another beat.
“It’s like” he starts, then stops, searching for the right words. His brow furrows slightly. “Like being overwhelmed,” he tries again. “But physically, not mentally."
He exhales slowly.
“Everything just, whites out,” he says. “Like static. I can hear stuff sometimes. Voices, and people talking.”
His fingers shift slightly against the blanket.
“But I can't do anything with it,” he adds. “Can’t move. Can’t respond. It’s like my body just checks out.”
Santos listens.
Really listens.
“That’s what that was?” she asks.
Langdon nods faintly. “Yeah.”
Silence settles again.
Santos shifts slightly in her chair, glancing at him, then away, then back again like she’s debating something small but unfamiliar.
“So,” she starts, a little less certain than usual, “he him?”
Langdon turns his head to look at her.
There’s a brief pause.
“Yeah,” he smiles.
She nods once.
“Cool.”
She nods once, stands, turns, and walks out of the room.
Leaving Langdon alone again, the quiet settling back in around him as the weight of everything, the pain, exhaustion, and exposure, finally starts to catch up.