Chapter Text
Frank Langdon grew up Catholic.
While he no longer considered himself religious, he still considered himself Catholic in the way that a lot of non-religious people who grew up Catholic do. Because that shit changes your brain irreparably.
He stopped going to Mass at age fourteen and two decades later the incense and stained glass still haunted him. Mostly in the form of an all consuming guilt.
It’s funny that rehab and NA emphasize that faith and spirituality can really help someone stay sober and well-adjusted. Didn’t these people know that Catholicism got him into this mess?
OK, popping pills was more on him than it was on his first communion or confirmation or being an altar boy for a hot second, but it sure didn’t help. Because the back pain that was holding him back had made him feel guilty above everything else. Guilty that he couldn’t work as hard at his job, or lift his kids over his head, or more often than not had him falling asleep on the sectional in the living room because the hard cushions felt better than the soft mattress Abby had picked out.
And the pills were right there. In front of him, all day, every day.
A fix for the guilt, something to help him be a normal man.
What a stupid decision.
As if stealing benzos would give him less guilt? He must have been really fucked up. Stealing was for sure a sin, he knew that. And sinning led to guilt. Even if you hadn’t been in a confessional booth for twenty years.
He’s not any less fucked up now, just untangling some of the fucked-up-ness of his whole life.
Which unfortunately included asking his beautiful, wonderful wife for a divorce. He almost took the request back when he saw the utter relief on Abby’s face. A mean thought, but come on, why did he have to be the brave one? But he couldn’t fault her for the relief, or being so careful around him. He was only three weeks out of rehab and wasn’t even back to work yet. He admitted he was kind of a burden right now, or possibly a very delicate time bomb.
Again, that brought him back to the raised Catholic thing. As far as he could tell, he was the first person in his family to get divorced. Which was crazy, because Aunt Cheryl definitely should have divorced Uncle Don rather than just wait for him to die of a major coronary after forty years of an awful marriage.
It felt odd. His only experience with divorce as a kid were his friend’s parents. Sometimes he’d hang out at Sam’s mom’s house and sometimes he had to go clear across town to hang out at Sam’s dad’s house. And Matt’s mom had a full breakdown and divorced his dad and moved to Australia and married a surf instructor when they were in the sixth grade.
Even worse, he was getting divorced before he was thirty-five. They hadn’t even made it ten years. Most of his college and med school friends hadn’t even gotten married yet, and here he was getting a divorce.
Show Frank as many statistics as you wanted, tell him that it’s okay for a relationship to change, that he hasn’t failed. But he would still feel like a failure. Even though it was the most amicable divorce of all time, where Abby made a custody plan that accommodated Frank’s job and his responsibilities for keeping sober like meeting with his sponsor (McKay had pretty much ambushed him at home, he suspected she illicitly pulled his address from the personnel files) and NA meetings and therapy, for his brain and his body.
It was bizarre. Abby used to get so frustrated at him for the long hospital hours and any flakiness, but now that he was no longer her husband, she was flexible. And again he couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed or angry about that. Because yeah, she should be enjoying her life not herding a man-child into acting like a good husband.
It was practically finalized in three weeks, not court official, but Abby was now in a downtown condo closer to her job and Frank was alone in their suburban house. Well, not alone. Wagner was there. Abby’s most vindictive move was making Frank keep the puppy at the house, and no way he was going to drop him at the shelter at this point. Tanner and Riley were already too attached to the little wrecking ball. But now Frank was solely responsible for training the little monster and paying for his day time boarding when Frank was on shift.
The morning the divorce felt the most real and definitive, it was a Tuesday. Frank had been back to work for a dozen shifts now (strictly probationary, a lot of Robby or Abbot supervision, to Frank’s displeasure. But it had been easier for the ED to wait for him to do rehab than find another resident, thank god for the expense of the hiring process). At 5:45 AM he was staring at himself in the bathroom mirror.
It made him uncomfortable to look at himself for too long. The difference three months made. He wasn’t as wan as he had been at the clinic, but he still looked too skinny, eyes slightly sunken. Riley said he looked like a skeleton.
He splashed cool water on his face, rubbing his eyes, he could feel his wedding ring scrape down his cheek. He clutched the edge of the bathroom counter, stared hard at the gold ring on his left hand.
Frank had asked for the divorce, Frank ostensibly wanted this to happen. But removing the ring, he didn’t feel ready.
He knew Abby removed hers. She asked if he wanted the wedding ring or engagement ring back for any reason, because if not she was thinking about taking them to a jeweler to make a necklace for Riley. And without a good reason for wanting them back, he said it was fine. At least Riley would get something nice out of it, but what a three year old needed a diamond necklace for he didn’t really know.
Wagner starting his morning bark in his crate interrupted Frank’s sad musing and without another thought, he slid the ring off his hand and placed it next to the faucet and went to the living room to let the fluffy terror out of his prison and into the backyard for his morning potty break.
The ED crew generally knew that the divorce was happening, but Frank did not talk about it. These past few weeks at work, he tried to just talk about work with his coworkers. They already knew too much. And he did not want any more Disappointed Robby looks than he already got. Plus who would notice a missing wedding ring? They wore latex gloves 70 percent of the workday anyway.
Dr. Melissa King was someone who would notice that kind of change. Because she was endlessly observant, which made her a superb doctor. Not that she announced the observation in front of the whole ED, as she was also the soul of discretion. Another thing that made her a great doctor.
So Frank only knew that Mel noticed when they were looking at a patient’s chart together (Cholla cactus in the leg, unusual for Pennsylvania, but the guy worked in the cactus greenhouse at the botanical garden), and she leaned over to quietly ask, “Are you doing okay?”
Langdon was confused as it had been a pretty normal day, nothing particularly tragic or difficult, and then Mel gestured to his hand.
“I noticed the ring. Or the absence I guess”
On every shift he’d had with Mel since his return, it was like nothing had happened between her very first day and now. She looked at him no differently, didn't surreptitiously watch him like a hawk like Mohan and Santos (though their motivations were different), didn’t avoid him completely like Javadi and Whitaker. They fell right back into whatever dynamic that had bloomed that first day, even though in his absence Mel had formed strong working relationships with Mohan and Collins. Frank was sure that since Mel had found two other doctors who seemed more on her level, she wouldn’t seek him out. She had no reason to look to the fucked up addict physician with those to paragons of medical excellence taking a shine to her.
But their very first shift together she slotted right by his side and gave him a wide grin. The Pitt really happened upon an absolute gem in Mel King.
Frank cleared his throat, “Oh, uh yeah. I’m good. Really. Better than I thought.” Scrolling through info about the Cholla cactus without really absorbing anything. No one was really sure how to remove the barbed spines from the patient’s leg.
Mel nodded thoughtfully. “Good to hear.”
And Frank felt like she really meant that. That it was good to hear that this change wasn’t causing him turmoil, that he was actually fine. And it made Frank grin, which earned him a smile back from Mel.
Cholla cactus guy had his spines removed by Dr. Estrada, another resident currently in the ICU, who had interned in Arizona and had actually dealt with cactus mishaps before.
This one moment of tenderness had Frank most looking forward to shifts with Mel, those were the days he felt most normal. The furthest from the edge. Even shifts with McKay, his sponsor, the one who understood his situation best, could be annoying. McKay had that concerned mom energy that could be nice, and was nice in their weekly dinners, but at work it put his nerves on edge. He could do without attention being drawn to the addict thing while he was at work and McKay was part of his addict life.
Mel was just Mel. If Mel was “just” anything. Frank knew she was extraordinary that first day, unlike any other physician he had worked closely with. He’d met a lot of nervous nellies like Whitaker, or weirdly aloof and goofy like Shen, or the weight of the world is on my shoulders types like Robby. There were many personalities that could make a good doctor, even abrasive assholes, as he and Santos demonstrated. But Mel’s tenderness, her genuine care for every patient and case, probably made the best he thought. Collins and Mohan had those same instincts, but with Mel there was something extra.
Though every challenging or tragic case made her feel more than the average ER doctor, she bounced back and had the same level of care for her next patient. He could see that it wasn’t getting “easier” for her to lose someone and she wasn’t getting jaded either. She just genuinely wanted to help everyone who came through the doors, regardless of her own feelings.
It kept Frank in her close orbit, because he felt like her warmth was bleeding out and hitting him as well even if it was aimed at the patients. He was truthful that first day, she was teaching him something, and still was. That above all patients value your patience and understanding, more than the diagnosis and healing. And Mel was the best listener in the ER.
He started taking breaks when Mel did, sitting on the low brick wall near the ambulance bay. He would resist the urge to pull out a cigarette as one day he had noticed Mel wrinkling her nose as he blew a stream of smoke out of his mouth. She didn’t even say anything, and she wouldn’t because she was an understanding person and knew he was displacing pills with another habit. Even if that habit was also pretty bad, it was acceptably bad.
But Frank stopped doing it around Mel because Mel didn’t like it.
On these quick reprieves they would talk about anything other than work.
Today, Mel talked about Christmas shopping, and her agony over finding something good for Becca. She explained how hard it was to shop for her sister, not that her sister wouldn’t appreciate whatever Mel got her but Mel always wanted to find the perfect gift for Becca.
Frank talked about Wagner acting up at puppy school. While all the other students respected their people, Wagner seemed determined to ignore anything Frank said. The dog trainer told him to be more authoritative, while Wagner had his leash in mouth and was shaking it like fresh prey.
“Wagner, like…the composer? I guess that would be Vahg-ner” Mel asked after the latest update on his problem child. “I’ve been curious about his name,” Mel said sheepishly.
Frank laughed. “Wagner as in Honus.”
Mel looked at him blankly.
“Honus Wagner, the shortstop. Pittsburgh Pirates great from the 1900s. I am not much for composers.”
“Oh,” said Mel. “Wagner is a nice name for a dog. Has wag in it, like…the tail. Though if it had been music related I would have asked why you didn’t name him Sinatra. Because then you’d be Frank and Sinatra.”
Frank chuckled. Any break was good when Mel got a laugh out of him. He felt like he could make it through the rest of the day without a problem, buoyed just by the mischievous smile on Mel’s face, utterly pleased with her joke.
“Then the other dogs and owners really wouldn’t respect us. Being the divorced single dad with the unruly doodle dog already makes me a target.”
“I’m sure he’s not that bad. How can you hate a puppy? I’d love to meet him. I love dogs.”
Frank looked over at her and said, “I remember.” Crosby had been on his name shortlist, but decided it would be a little weird, after their encounter with the other dog named Crosby. “And I don’t hate Wagner. How could I? He’s got that face. Sometimes he looks up at me and it reminds me of your face when you crack a challenging diagnosis.”
He noticed a pinkness rise in her cheeks, but it was December and windy in the ambulance bay. It could plausibly have been the gust that came through that caused that.
Mel looked down at her shoes. “I…remind you of a dog?”
Frank grabbed her shoulder lightly, “No! No, Mel, I’m sorry I don’t mean you remind me of a dog. It's just like, Wagner has these curious eyes and it reminds me of you because it's, well…cute.” He finished before he really realized where he was going. He didn’t really think that he would be calling his coworker cute today, but here he was.
Mel cleared her throat and hopped to her feet and glanced at her watch. Frank’s hand fell back in his lap. “We should get back inside. It’s been nearly ten minutes.” She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for his response or waiting for him to follow.
Looking back he should have realized what had happened. Should have realized how deep he was in it before he noticed he was actually drowning. An unusual, nice kind of drowning.
But of course he didn’t. Frank hadn’t been a single guy in fifteen years, he forgot how it felt. When someone was worming their way into his heart.
Puzzled, and a bit concerned, he walked back into the ER. Mel seemed fine inside, straight back to work, examining a toddler with puffy eyes, clearly an allergic reaction.
Frank picked up a different patient from the big board and got back to work, unable to quantify how much one conversation changed his life.