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It had been a long shift.
They didn’t really get short shifts, of course, but it was the sort of shift that never slowed down. It felt like they lost too many patients, which Mel had thought before and been told, “We’re doctors, not God.” That didn’t make it any easier.
Still, there were two hours left in the shift and Mel was feeling like she needed to step away for a minute, or find Frank, maybe, since the inebriated man in South 7 had just cussed her out and thrown a slew of insults at her, the worst of which being “weird bitch.” Her ears were ringing. It made her feel unsteady on her feet, and the department was busy, so she stumbled awkwardly towards the desks and caught Robby’s eye.
“Have you seen Dr. Langdon?” she asked, hoping her voice was steady enough.
“He had to leave,” Robby replied, glancing up at her. It felt eerily similar to that day—her first day— and Robby must have felt it too, since he added, “Said something about his kid. He’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
“You need something?”
“No, uh,” Mel looked around quickly, features twisting briefly. “He was my ride home.” That wasn’t why she’d asked after him, which Robby probably knew too, but he nodded all the same.
“Ah.”
Mel nodded, one sharp, quick nod, and turned on her heel towards the breakroom, thinking, repeatedly, about the fact that Frank had, once again, left without saying goodbye.
They’d talked about it once before, once they had acknowledged that they were, actually, friends and Mel had felt like she could tell him things about herself without feeling anxious. It had started when she’d asked, very simply, a not at all simple question:
“What were you thinking about when you left?”
Frank was refilling his coffee cup, which he drank black, unless Mel had hazelnut creamer in the break room fridge. “What, for, uh, rehab?”
“No. When you and Robby…”
He stopped mid pour. They sat in silence.
An itchy sort of anxiety started to gnaw at Mel and she said, quickly, “Sorry. That’s probably invasive.”
“No! No, it’s okay,” he said, putting the coffee pot down and turning to look at her. He was leaning against the counter. “I just wasn’t expecting it is all.”
Mel was quiet.
“I don’t know that I was thinking about anything. It was mostly just the word ‘fuck’ over and over again,” he laughed, awkwardly. “It took a while before I realized he was right.”
She hummed in quiet agreement.
“Why do you ask?”
“Oh. I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Frank said, not unkindly. His eyebrows were raised just slightly, accompanied by the private smile she’d recently realized was saved for her.
“It feels silly,” she said instead.
“I’m sure it isn’t.”
Mel took a long, slow breath. Frank sipped his coffee. He didn’t press, because he never did, and she said, softly, “You didn’t say bye.” Something she didn’t recognize passed over his features, something soft and a little sad that made her think maybe now was a time where she should give him a hug, but instead she said, “I know you had a lot going on, and we didn’t really know each other, and I’m not upset or blaming you, I just was wondering abou—”
“You noticed I had left?”
“Well, yeah, of course. I think I only made it twenty minutes before I asked someone where you were.”
“Really?” he asked, his voice sounding raw and a little heartbreaking. Would it be weird to give him a hug?
Mel nodded.
“Were you upset that I didn’t say goodbye?”
She nodded again, froze, shook her head. “Sort of. I wasn’t upset, that’s not the right word, more… confused. It felt like being thrown off balance, since you’d been there all day and then you just… weren’t. Without saying anything. I didn’t really feel like I got along that well with anyone else, so it was, uh, disorienting.”
“Okay,” he said, slowly, gentle again.
“Okay,” she repeated.
That unsettled, thrown off balance feeling was back now, worse than the first time. Worse because they were friends, she thought, and because he always said goodbye to her now, even though she hadn’t actually asked him to. Worse because having him back at work had felt like getting part of her back, like her left arm, like she didn’t realize she hadn’t been the best doctor she could be until he was there again. Worse because he was her ride home, had been for weeks, and he could have at least sent her a text or something since he knew her routine and how she felt about it. All of this worseness made her feel angry and guilty for feeling angry and she sat down on the breakroom floor. And then, because she could think of nothing else to do, she checked the bus schedule and scowled at her phone.
…
The shift got worse, because of course it did. Two back to back MVA’s, a kid who died because his parents waited too long to bring him in, and the formerly-inebriated-now-mildly-hungover guy continued to be rude when she went in to discharge him. By the time she managed to clock out, she’d missed the two buses that would have gotten her to pick up Becca on time, so she calls the center to apologize, asks if Becca can stay the night, then apologizes and says goodnight to her sister. And then she sits, teary eyed, on the cold bench at the bus stop and takes slow, deep breaths.
She hears the car approaching before anything else, looking up only when it stops in front of her. The passenger side window is rolled down and Frank, in a hoodie she doesn’t recognize and looking, well, bad, is staring back at her.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, at the same moment that Mel whispers,
“You did it again.” She can’t think of anything else to say.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
She looks at her phone, at the time that tells her the bus isn’t coming anytime soon, and picks at her nails.
“Let me drive you home, Mel.” He says it simply, without expectation, the offer simply floating in the air between them. “Please.”
His voice sounds funny again, like he used it incorrectly, and when she does finally look at him, there’s something a little wild, almost panicked, in his expression, something that starts to recede when she stands up. She gets in the car.
They drive in silence for a while, soundtracked by the slow hum of the engine. Frank drums his fingers against the steering wheel. Mel looks out the window. Frank’s breath seems to rattle. She looks at him.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
He blinks and looks over at her, and she thinks she sees his features relax. “Rough day. I’m okay,” he says, looking back at the road. She appreciates this, of course, since she’d rather not be the third car accident she’d see that day, but a part of her misses the weight of his gaze on her, like she could anchor herself with it. “Are you?”
“Rough day,” she echoes.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not yet. Do you?”
“Not yet.”
It’s quiet again, and Mel watches the outlines of the trees and pinpricks of streetlights pass them by, exhaustion heavy in her bones.
“Shit,” Frank says suddenly, a little too loud, and she winces. He’s pulling over. “Sorry. Shit, sorry, Mel. I was driving towards your house, first, but Becca—”
“She’s staying the night there,” she says quickly, realizing that he means to turn around and go back the way they came, and she loves him a little more for that, she thinks.
The car slides in to park. “I’m sorry,” he says, again.
Mel looks at him. “Why do you keep apologizing?”
“I don’t,” he pauses, rubbing his hand over his face quickly. “I don’t want you to be mad at me.”
“I’m not. I wasn’t. Mad at you, I mean.”
“But I hurt you?”
“A little,” she admits, because she doesn’t like to lie to most people, but mostly because she feels incapable of lying to him. “I wish you would have said something to me.”
“I know. I know. I’m so sorry.”
“Frank,” she says softly, and the sound of his name must startle him, or something, since he reacts by jolting, just slightly, and turning to look at her. That look is there again, the one she doesn’t know well, the one that makes her want to hug him even if the gearshift would dig into her ribs. She studies it for a moment, trying to piece together this part of him with everything else she knows. She thinks about him at work, then her day again, then the realization occurs to her: “Wait. I got out late.”
“Yeah.”
“You assumed I would get out late?”
“What?”
“You came back to the hospital to pick me up.”
He looks sheepish, suddenly, intent on staring at the steering wheel. “I, uh, may have circled it a few times.”
“Frank.” Again, his name snaps his gaze back to her. “You could have texted me.”
His face seems to fall open, like the idea truly hadn’t occurred to him, the tops of his ears suddenly bright pink. It’s endearing. He looks so thoroughly ashamed of himself that she doesn’t really know what to do, a little stunned. And then Mel laughs, surprised, the sound bubbling out of her, and then he laughs too and the car feels brighter, somehow.
“Oh my god,” he mutters, covering his face with his hand again.
She’s still laughing, and she laughs harder when he peeks out at her through his fingers, and the day feels more manageable when he reveals that soft, private smile and leans back against the seat, chuckling to himself.
He drives her home. She invites him inside, because she does want to tell him about her day and she wants to hear about his, and they sit on her couch and drink chamomile tea. Or, at least, she drinks it and he makes a valiant effort but only manages a few sips. He tells her that Tanner got sent home sick but the school couldn’t reach Abby. She tells him about the patient who was rude to her and he’s angry in a simmering way that would probably be scary if it weren’t on her behalf. He asks about Becca and offers to pay for their next pizza night, which she insists is unnecessary but invites him along anyway. She finds the spare clothes he has at her place and throws him a pillow for the couch. She gives him a hug that goes on for longer than she thinks most people hug for, but she can’t bring herself to care when she lets go and feels settled, like she’s been righted, like he knows how to put her back on her axis. She says “Goodnight, love you,” without thinking and smiles to herself when he calls back “Love you too, Mellie,” and even lets the nickname slide.