Chapter Text
Frank Langdon was not a good person.
That’s the conclusion he had come to after his first two weeks of a month-long rehab stint. For a program that was supposed to make you feel better, this whole 12 Step shit had only made him feel, well, shittier.
He tried to buy into it, which had been difficult at first. The facility was nice enough, tucked away about twenty minutes from Pittsburgh. It still had the tone of a stereotypical rehab facility, but the staff had attempted to spruce up the place with confusing abstract art and cliché inspirational quotes.
For the first five days, Frank couldn’t contact anyone. He wasn’t allowed to have his phone for the entirety of the 35 day program, and calls to “support people” could only be made after those hellish five days, tucked away in a corner in the visiting room on a classic office phone.
Who are my support people? He thought to himself when filling out the paperwork. Abby, of course, but she was still pissed at him. Frank had left her alone with the kids and the puppy for a month. She was angry that Frank had hid this from her. He was angry at himself too.
Robby was a no-go. Not after that explosive fight in the ambulance bay.
Dana had her own shit. And she was leaving the pitt anyway.
The pen in Frank’s hand had stilled over the page. He had to write someone besides Abby. He wasn’t even sure she would pick up the phone.
And then it hit him.
It felt so wrong, though.
Frank had known Dr. Melissa King for not even 24 hours. But a truly hellish 15 hour shift can show you a lot about a person. Mel had made a great first impression.
Mel had been the calm in the storm that is the ER the day of the MCI. She took direction well, asked questions when necessary, and patients seemed to appreciate her soothing bedside manner. Mel was trustworthy. Mel was good.
Mel is a good person.
With that final thought, Frank scrambled through his pockets, finding the sticky note Mel had written her number on. She had asked Frank to contact her if he heard any news about the shooting victims they had worked on together. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her that wouldn’t be possible.
Finding the paper in his sweatshirt pocket, Frank pulled it out and examined it. Ten numbers, written in precise, neat handwriting, stared back at him.
I’m such an idiot.
_________
That was how Frank found himself talking to Mel over the phone on a regular basis. At first she had been apprehensive about it, having only met him once. But Mel was too nice to say no, and eventually, they talked every day, after Mel’s shift. In the time it took Mel to get from PTMC to her sister Becca’s facility, Frank spilled his guts to her.
By their fifth call, the conversations had more of an even playing field. Frank shared what he had done in rehab that day and Mel kept him updated on the events of the pitt. She talked about her sister Becca, and Frank talked about his kids. He learned that Mel was a surprisingly good conversationalist, and an even better listener.
He had called Abby precisely once, to check in on the kids and tell her he wanted a divorce.
In hindsight, that was another shitty thing he had done in his first two weeks in rehab, but he didn’t feel particularly bad about it. He had love for Abby, but he wasn’t in love with her. Not anymore. Maybe he never had been.
Abby had taken in surprisingly well. She had probably expected it.
Today, his fifteenth in this hellhole they called rehab, his therapist, an unassuming middle-aged guy named Adam, had told him that Frank needed to forgive himself first if he ever wanted anyone to forgive him. To be honest, it had sent Frank into a spiral.
Frank didn’t deserve forgiveness. He wasn’t a good person. He said as much to Adam, who gave a slight bend to his head, and simply asked: “Why?”
Frank had spent the remaining fifteen minutes of the session talking non-stop, listing out the reasons Frank knew he didn’t deserve to be forgiven.
Maybe it was the ADHD. Maybe it was the withdrawals. Or maybe Frank was finally giving into the whole talk therapy thing. Because when he finished his speech with a deep sigh, Adam looked at him, a slight smile on his face, and said, “Frank, I’m proud of you for opening up like that. But I have to tell you that all of what you just said is wrong. You’re a good person who made bad decisions.”
And then time was up in their session, and Frank had to walk out of the room and pretend like his world hadn’t just been turned upside down.
Glancing at the analog clock on the wall outside Adam’s office, Frank realized it was Mel’s lunch break, and made a beeline for the visiting room. He had a few minutes before his next activity, some art class everyone was required to take that made him want to gouge his eyes out. Frank needed to talk to Mel. She always knew what to say to make him feel more like himself, and she always had lunch at the same time, if she could help it. Mel was reliable like that.
A nurse approached from a connecting hallway, and Frank let her know where he would be for the next few minutes. He sped off without waiting for a response.
The visiting room was quiet. A white noise machine whirred from the corner, and an essential oil diffuser next to it scented the room in lavender. It was one of Frank’s favorite rooms in the place, mostly because he made contact with the outside world in it.
Sitting in the designated chair with the desk in the corner, Frank grabbed the receiver and punched in Mel’s number. He had it memorized by now.
On the second ring, Mel answers.
“Dr. Langdon! I didn’t expect you to call right now. Are you ok?”
Shit, Frank thought. In his post-therapy haze he had forgotten about their scheduled call for tonight, when Mel gets off of work.
“Everything’s fine, I actually just got out of therapy. I thought I’d call you while you were on your lunch break. Sorry if I’m interrupting.”
“Oh, no it’s fine. It’s good to hear your voice. How was therapy?”
In a rushed tone, Frank explains the revelations of his appointment. Mel listens without interrupting. When he’s done, there’s a pause.
“...Mel?” Frank says. Maybe he had scared her off.
“Uh-sorry, I was just taking that all in. You think you’re a bad person?”
“Well, I’m not a good person.”
“That’s not true.”
“Adam said I’m a good person who made bad decisions. He said I should forgive myself. But, like, I can’t, right? I fucked up my marriage, and I think the kids hate me. Robby hates me. I kinda hate me too.”
He hears Mel take a calculated breath.
“Well, I think Adam’s right. You are a good person, Dr. Langdon. I saw it the day of the mass casualty. You never give up on your patients. It’s different without you here. And Robby doesn’t hate you. I think he’s worried about you and has a weird way of showing it.”
Before Frank can respond, Mel says something that surprises him.
“If it’s any consolation, I forgive you.”
Frank thinks his heart breaks a little when Mel says that. What kind of person leaves without saying goodbye to their new favorite coworker, and then calls them from a rehab facility practically begging for their support? A good person wouldn’t do that.
“Mel, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry, I should’ve at least said goodbye…let you know where I was going.”
He can hear the frown in Mel’s voice when she says, “I was so worried about you when you didn’t come in the next shift. No one would tell me what was going on.”
Frank feels tears form in his eyes. In his fifteen days here, no one had told him that they were worried about him. No one told him that they cared. No one except for Mel.
She continues. “But… I’m over it now. I’m glad you called me. I get to hear your voice and know you’re doing okay. I forgive you.”
With a shuddering breath, Frank responds.
“Mel, you have no idea how much that means to me. Seriously. I think I needed to hear that.”
“Well, now that you’ve been forgiven by me, you should try it on yourself. You’re an easy person to forgive. You’re a good person, Dr. Langdon.”
Just as Frank’s mind is imploding, a beeping noise comes from Mel’s end of the line. Frank would recognize that beep anywhere. The pager is calling her to the latest trauma.
“I’m so sorry, Dr. Langdon. I have to go. Talk to you later?”
“Talk to you later. And, Mel?”
“Yeah?”
“Call me Frank.”
“Oh…uh, okay. Bye, Frank.”
“Goodbye, Mel.”
Mel hangs up. Frank takes the five minutes he has until art class to sit and cry. For himself. For Mel. For Abby and the kids. For those stupid pills.
When the five minutes are up, he feels marginally better.
Maybe forgiveness isn’t so far out of reach.