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Frank was no rookie in the Pitt. He knew better to verbalize the Q word out loud. Thinking the word was okay, typically, as long as you didn’t dwell on it.
It was a quiet night tonight. Night shifts usually aren’t. This sense of chaos only seems to exist when the stars twinkle in the dark sky. Frank sat with one leg bent, the other stretched out on the rough rooftop ground, a cigarette burning low between his fingers.
He took a drag of it, letting his lungs fill up before exhaling as he stared at the city that was sprawled out in the distance. The thick humidity of July still clung and settled but there was still a slight chill in the air.
Frank felt a rare flicker of genuine calmness, something that rarely existed ever since that shift from hell when his entire world was thrown off its axis. He’s a selfish man—there is no uncertainty about that—but he was a selfish man trying to not royally fuck every single fragile relationship he had left, so he jumped at the chance to work nights, wanting to keep his interactions with Robby to a minimum. And Santos. Even if these days they both placed their hostility and irritation in neat little boxes, it was better not to risk it.
So, Frank would live and breathe these night shifts, even if it gave him more of a chance to be left with his thoughts. He highly doubts he would ever come to flourish in these shifts like Abbot and Shen and Ellis do but he would cherish them because he almost lost it all.
He already lost Abby—but he was positive that he lost her long before he tweaked his back and started stashing little baggies of pills around the house—always high up places because of the chance of Tanner or Zoey finding them, popping them in their mouths like candy, and—Frank promptly used a metaphorical scalpel to cut off that particular train of thought. It wouldn’t help to go there.
It really wouldn’t fucking help anything.
What’s done is done. As much as Frank wished for a second chance to go back and change things, it was impossible. All he could do now was deal with the now.
And now was this: Frank with a divorce lawyer and bi-weekly NA meetings and every other weekend with his kids and an empty apartment the rest of the time.
Frank took another drag while the hum of the HVAC units remained constant. White noise that blurred the edges of silence without completely interrupting it.
He was so absorbed in the view, the sounds, and his swirling thoughts that he nearly jumped out of his skin when the roof door slammed open.
His heart rate immediately went out of sync as he twisted around from where he sat. And then it picked up again like Mel herself held the defibrillator before it evened out to something resembling normalcy. Mel made a face, a twisted-up look that conveyed surprise, all wide eyes and pursed lips.
Soft pink, slightly chapped lips that Frank only stole a glance up before forcing his eyes upwards to a far safer part of her face. Except no part of Dr. Melissa King’s face was safe and that little fact was a serious fucking problem for Frank Langdon.
Her signature smooth braid was halfway undone with a few strands sticking to her temple. Frank knew the pieces would annoy her sooner or later, but once again he refused to let himself engage in the phantom ache of his fingers guiding those strands into their rightful place.
“Hi,” Mel says, and as easy as it was to breathe, Frank felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile that matched hers. “Are you up for company? Or—or do you want to be alone? You have been up here quite a long time and I was worried, not worried that you would do anything, but—anyways. Sorry. I feel a little jittery from all the caffeine running in my system right now.”
“Hello,” Frank repeated back, not thinking twice about stubbing the lit end on the ground, waving a hand around the area where he sat to disperse the lingering smoke. ”While I can’t say I'm up for anyone’s company right now, I’m always up for your company, Mel, so come sit down. The view is…subpar, at best.”
Mel didn’t have to be coaxed any further than that. She dropped down next to him, legs stretching out like his, a few feet of respectable distance between them. “Well, I think the view is pretty,” Mel noted, leaning her head back to stare at the night sky for a few moments, “being in the city, you can barely see the stars this clearly. I love that you can just…come see all this so easily from where we sit. No wonder Dr. Abbot comes up here all the time.”
Frank let the silence hang in the air after that, leaving Mel time to take in the view while he took in his view. It certainly was not the stars and moon. It was something infinitely brighter and mesmerizing. The second Mel glanced away Frank did the same.
Fiddling with his cigarette butt, the two of them didn’t say much for a while after that. Breaks like these were always stolen and over as soon as the tension began to melt from your limbs. Mel eventually broke the silence by pulling a package of Skittles, ripping it open, and pouring some in her hand before softly nudging Frank with the toe of her shoe.
He took it with a smile and copied her movements, except after handing the bag back he went to work picking out all the yellows and transferring them to his other hand.
Without a word, he gave them to Mel, warmth erupting in his chest when Mel made a happy little noise. “Oh, thank you, Dr. Langdon.”
“Frank.” He corrected, immediately. ”Actually, I think I should thank you and your weird taste buds. I can’t believe you like the lemon flavor. No one likes that flavor, it’s nasty.”
Mel popped a few yellows into her mouth, making an exaggerated sound at the taste, laughing when he faked a gag.
Frank swiped a few of her pinks in retaliation. It wasn’t much of one though, because Mel grabbed the remaining few pink pieces in her palm and handed them over, like the Angel she was.
God. Frank wanted to do something stupid like slide his palm against hers to see how it felt holding something precious and real in his blood-soaked hands or tuck that errant strand of hair behind her ear.
Obviously, both are terrible ideas, so he went back to his Skittles.
“So,” after a beat Frank speaks up, “how are you liking the night shift? I was surprised to see you on the schedule. I know you usually prefer days.”
Mel chews and swallows her Skittles before replying. “Um, yeah, I do prefer days. But Becca made a few friends at her center, so she’s been staying there overnight, and I get kind of lonely at night and I know nights are short staffed…” it was quiet again for a while as Frank kept his mouth shut, sensing Mel had more to say but was struggling to formulate it. “And. Well, and I missed you. That’s the biggest reason I guess, I was lonely without you. Not that I have anything against Dr. Mohan, Dr, Collins or Dr. Robby! I like them, in the professional sense of course, just how I really like you. In the professional sense.” She tacked on, at the last second.
It should be noted that Francis Langdon promptly ignored the L word just like how he ignores the Q word when anyone stupid enough (Shen or Whitaker) happens to say it aloud. Instead, he focused on the first part of her rambling, because it was safe and smart and didn’t make him feel like he was standing on a live landmine.
“How is Bec? I feel like it’s been forever since I saw her last.”
Frank feels a little dazed when Mel gets this soft look in her eyes at the mention of her sister, and how that soft look shifts into something even more tender when looks at Frank. “Becca is doing well! She finished that one puzzle she was working on the last time you were over. If you want, you can come to another movie night with us, she really enjoyed you being there with us. I’m off the next two Friday nights but you don’t have to come if like, you have plans. Or if you just don’t want to.”
Frank softly nudged Mel’s shoulder with his own. Rather than flinching or moving away, Mel nudged him back. “Pencil me in, Dr. King. I’ll be there. Becca is on movie-picking duty, and obviously, you’ll pick the snacks.”
“What will you be in charge of?” She asked.
“Dinner. I make a mean spaghetti and meatballs. Prepare to be blown away by my culinary skills.”
There are many endearing qualities about Mel King but the most endearing is the way she’s so open and free with her expressions, never hiding away how she feels. And right at this moment, it was crystal clear that she was trying her damndest to not offend Frank. Clearly, she wasn’t as confident in his skills but was trying to be nice about it.
Giving Mel an out, Frank picked the bag of Skittles off the ground to give his hands something to do. “I’m also really good at putting frozen pizza in the oven. Not to brag but Tanner gives me two thumbs up every time I make it for dinner.”
This time, it’s Mel who intentionally bumped against his shoulder with her own. “Deal. I love frozen pizza.”
“Okay, deal.”
There was a lull in the conversation after that.
Frank didn’t mind it, not at all actually, mostly because it was never truly silent with Mel. She was humming softly under her breath as they switched pink for yellows and yellows for pink. He wasn’t sure if she was humming a string of nonsensical sounds or if she was humming one of her favorite songs at that moment—either way, Frank could listen to it forever and ever, Mel and her lovely little sounds.
It drove him crazy in the best of ways.
The clock was ticking. It was a miracle the two of them were allowed to disappear together for this long, but Frank knew all good things had to come to an end.
Before it could, Frank cleared his throat and steeled himself.
All shift, he had a question he wanted to ask Mel but—but there were a million reasons as to why it was a bad idea. But sitting here next to her, underneath the stars, listening to the cars race by, Frank had trouble remembering those reasons.
“Mel?”
The humming came to an end as Mel brought both of her knees up, hugging her arms around them as she gave Frank her full attention. “Yes?”
“Are you busy after this shift? I could go for pancakes this morning, actually, good pancakes that don’t feel like you are chewing rubber like the ones at the cafeteria. Want to go out for breakfast with me?”
Tucking one of the strands behind her ear, Mel doesn’t immediately reply. She lets the question hang, almost as if she’s thinking extra hard about his question. Her cheeks go slightly pink as she averts her gaze, chewing on her bottom lip. “Oh, Frank, that sounds lovely. But I have plans this morning. I have a date.”
If Mel’s heart is located firmly on her sleeve, Frank’s is stuffed behind layers of dust and chains.
He keeps his face carefully neutral, or at least attempts to, fighting the urge to light up another cigarette. His face might be blank but he’s positive his voice does something weird when he asks “a date…with who? sorry, you don’t have to answer that question” because Mel turns her face in the other direction. Okay. So maybe his face is doing weird shit too.
“Um. I don’t mind telling you who it is. It’s not like it’s a secret or anything.”
She still isn’t looking at him, though and Frank’s mind is conjuring up a handful of faces. No matter who he lands on, his stomach sinks with dread and poison.
Oh my god, is it Mateo? Did Mateo ask her out? Frank knows he has that whole rule where he doesn’t date coworkers but if anyone is worth breaking that rule for, Mel is.
Abbot? Fuck no. He’s somehow deep in his own version of infatuation with Slo-Mo.
Whitaker? Could it be Whitaker? He does follow her around a lot…but he does that to everyone, it’s kind of his thing…no wait, who else? Someone he knows…Henry the paramedic? Luka the ultrasound tech?
“His name is Tony the Tiger. You heard of him, right? Me, Tony, and The Real Lives of Mormon Housewives have a date with my bed as soon as I get home. Frank? Frank. Dr. Langdon…Frank—“
Frank finally catches up with Mel’s words a few seconds too late, and once he does he gapes at Mel in complete bafflement. She’s still hugging her knees but she’s staring at him in concern now, eyes wide behind her frames.
Frank stares back.
And then he explodes, laughing so hard his stomach burns, but oh, oh Frank has never been so happy to be at the tail end of a truly random and unexpected joke from Mel King.
She clearly knows she got him good because she laughs right along with him, dropping her head against his shoulder as the two of them laugh over everything and nothing at all, only to sit back up straight a few moments later.
It was a testimony to just how sleep-deprived they really were that they found this hysterical.
He misses the weight of her cheek on his shoulder and her hair tickling the underside of his chin like a painful ache, so maybe that’s why he doesn't think, he just does. One minute they are doing this weirdly delirious snort-laughing thing and the next Frank is threading a hand in Mel’s hair to pull her in.
He doesn’t kiss her—he doesn’t press his mouth against her own until he coaxes his own special sounds that are meant just for him.
No, he presses their foreheads together, ignoring the way her glasses are awkwardly digging into the bridge of his nose.
They couldn’t get any closer than this, but it’s not close enough for Frank. He’s greedy. Everyone knows that. And Mel knows that too. She knows he’s not a good, honorable man, but she’s not pulling away. Her laughter fades away and suddenly she’s leaning in, affectionately rubbing her nose against his own.
This is weird.
It’s weird and inappropriate in a million different ways. But he can’t bring himself to pull away, not when Mel shuffles close and grabs ahold of Frank’s black scrub top, nor when he can feel the shiver that passes through her body when he sucks in a deep breath.
“You…” Frank starts, voice raw and husky and so, so wrecked. “Jesus Christ. Mel. That was a terrible joke.”
It was hard to see Mel like this so he pulled back a fraction, dragging the hand he had in her hair to her cheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the blooming pink that kept on blooming the longer Frank touched it. “I know. I regretted it as soon as I said it. But, Frank, you laughed. So I guess my joke wasn’t too terrible.”
She’s smiling at him. Proud of herself for making Frank laugh over a truly dumb joke.
Would they still be laughing if it wasn't the middle of the night on top of this rooftop, under the stars? Maybe not. Maybe so.
Frank traces that blush down and down until his thumb is resting against the corner of Mel’s smiling mouth. It’s getting very hard to talk himself out of kissing her. It’s all he can think about. All he wants. All he craves. He’s desperate for a taste.
Mel’s eyelashes are fluttering behind his glasses. He searches her face, every little micro-expression, for any sign of alarm or disgust or discomfort.
But what he sees instead will become a permanent fixture in his dreams. Frank wonders briefly if he looks just as mesmerized as she does in this moment too.
Leaning in, Frank gives Mel enough time to pull back. Instead, she presses a warm palm on his chest. Right against his heart. And she leans in closer too, letting her eyes fall shut, waiting for Frank to make the move.
But at the last second, though, Mel rears back in alarm, shoving Frank against the chest as she fumbles with the pager in her jacket pocket.
He didn’t hear or feel the vibration, nor did he hear his own, given he was a bit preoccupied. But clearly, it’s going crazy now.
Mel mouths the words on her pager screen while Frank stays where he is. Blinking in confusion.
“Oh no. Oh, shit. That was Dr. Ellis. There was a five call pile up nearby, ambulance ETA 4 minutes out.”
Frank sits where he’s at even as Mel becomes a flurry of movement. She pockets the Skittles and reaches down for Frank’s hand, which he easily gives.
And then they are rushing across the rooftop and peeling open the door, but at the last second Mel freezes. He doesn’t have time to ask what’s wrong before she’s spinning around in front of the door-way, fisting the collar of his scrub top and bouncing up on her tiptoes to kiss the corner of Frank’s mouth.
It’s sloppy and messy and rushed but so…so sweet, so Mel, that Frank melts like putty in her hands.
He stands there dumbfounded even as Mel takes off like a bolt of lightning down the hallway. It’s not until Mel turns back around and grabs his hand to pull him along that Frank gets with the program. Dodging carts and beds and wheelchairs and nurses, they run like their lives depend on it.
And when the shift ends—when Frank comes out of the locker room, Mel is standing there. Waiting for him. Listing off a bunch of nearby dinners that offer non-rubber-like pancakes.
Frank waits until Mel is sitting in his passenger seat before he tugs her by the tail of her braid and kisses her fully on the mouth, soft and sweet and over way too fast, but that’s okay because as they sit across from each other in some random dinner at 7:30 in the morning, Mel reaches for Frank’s hand, loosely holding it with while the other hand stabs a piece of pancake with her fork.