Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mel was chewing on her thumbnail and thinking things that she should not think.

She was sitting at the hub, pretending to work on the computer. Luckily Perlah and Princess were too absorbed in the scene ahead of them to notice that Mel’s face was flushed.

And what a scene it was.

Frank was 20 minutes late for work and sporting dark sunglasses, a black t-shirt and a duffel bag flung over one shoulder. Dr. Robby had intercepted his path from the ambulance bay to the lockers and was currently berating him for his tardiness.

Mel knew that Frank was late because his daughter woke up sick, meaning he had to wait for his mom to come in from the suburbs to watch her for the day. He'd texted Mel the situation this morning, with 3 facepalm emojis.

Mel also knew that Frank was too stubborn to tell Robby that, believing he was entitled to the benefit of the doubt that he'd lost when he was outed as an addict. Frank thought that, ten months after his return from rehab, he should be able to show up late because of “traffic” once in a blue moon like any other employee.

So that left Robby doing that thing where he leans forward and speaks very intensely, hands fisted in his sweatshirt pockets and eyebrows reaching up toward his hairline. He was telling Frank to head to the labs a few floors up to go pee in a cup.

And there was Frank, biting back a retort, clenching his jaw and looking just like Johnny in Mel's sixth favorite scene from Dirty Dancing . His hair was a little disheveled, too, hanging over the top edge of his sunglasses.

These were the thoughts Mel shouldn't think.

Mel had seen Dirty Dancing countless times. It began when her mom first popped her old, then-grainy-with-age, VHS tape in the player to introduce Mel to her favorite movie. Mel was 13. She'd watched it nearly every day for three weeks after that.

Mel's crush on Swayze, specifically him as Johnny Castle, became a foundational text for all of her crushes growing up. In high school marching band there was the guy on drumline who was totally aloof, but would sometimes wave at her as he smoked behind the school. The guy in her undergrad biology class who wore a leather jacket and brought a different classic novel every week. She never acted on those crushes, yearning from afar while feeling deeply uncool.

Anyway, associating  Dr. Langdon with Johnny from Dirty Dancing was bad. Frank was a friend, the first person she would text if she needed to vent about anything. The person who would relieve her burnout at work with a break before she even knew she was crashing. And he’d open up to her too, sometimes, when the self-loathing got too bad and when he worried the divorce was affecting his kids.

Mel knew he really needed a friend right now -- just a friend -- and it wasn’t fair to either of them for her to want anything more.

She suddenly realized with a guilty pang that this friend was currently being humiliated in front of the two biggest gossips in The Pitt while she sat by and lamented over not being able to sleep with him. 

Mel abruptly stood, crossing the space to plant herself awkwardly beside Robby and Frank, clutching her tablet over her chest and forcing a closed-mouth smile. She stared ahead, focusing on the floor rather than either of their faces. Her presence didn’t break Robby's monologue, but it broke Frank's attention to it.

“Morning, Mel,” Frank said. She looked up to see him peering over his sunglasses with a warm smile. He repositioned the duffle bag on his shoulder. His arm looked nice.

She heard Robby trail off his sentence and give an exasperated sigh.

“Hi,” she said, before turning to Robby. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have a patient over in J14 that's giving me some trouble.”

Robby nodded, oblivious to the fact that he was a charging bull, and she was the little red cape that just distracted him from his target. 

“We're done here, anyway. Right, Langdon?”

Frank grimaced, giving Robby a mock salute and Mel a quick wink before pushing past them both to head toward the lockers.

Mel suppressed a smile and began walking to the patient’s room, trying to think up an issue for Robby to help with there. The patient had a weird but likely benign mole. Maybe Mel needed a second opinion on testing it. Yeah.

---

Hours later, Mel was making the most of a rare lull in cases, listening to rainforest ambience and scarfing down a power bar in front of an intake computer. It was early enough in the day that, if she got a viable alternative in Becca's head, she could potentially escape another re-watch of Elf . 

“Dirty Dancing tonight?” 

Becca began typing back almost immediately. A few moments later, a gif appeared of Johnny Castle on his knees playing air guitar. Mel grinned, and texted a heart back. 

Becca mostly liked the movie because it was their mom's favorite. When she and Mel watched it together, Becca would point to the screen every few minutes and say “Mom loved this part.” Mel hadn't been able to watch for a while after their mom died, but now it was a way to feel closer to her. She would have to pick up a pizza on the way home.

She felt a few gentle knocks on the desk, disrupting her thoughts. She knew who it was without looking. Frank was the only one who knocked when she was wearing headphones, rather than waving their arms in front of her face or -- ugh -- tapping her shoulder. Samira tended to hover close by until Mel noticed her, which was kind but somewhat inefficient.

Mel pulled her headphones out and looked up at Frank. His black scrubs were just like the other doctors’ but on him they looked so… Johnny Castle. She focused on even breaths.

“Hey,” Frank said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. So blue. “Can I ask you a huge favor?”

Mel nodded, expression serious.

“I can usually handle Myrna, but she's on another level today. Do you mind just being in the room with me while I treat her?” he asked.

“Do you want me to just take over her case?” Mel offered. She didn't like the way Myrna objectified her male coworkers, but she was an easy patient for Mel to treat. Just an IV for fluids and making sure she doesn't spit out her meds.

“No, but thanks. Robby hates working with her, so if I can do it, it'll help my rep,” Frank said.

Mel worried that Frank made too many of his daily decisions based on Robby's hypothetical reactions to them. She wasn't sure if Robby even noticed Frank's good moments anymore. But she would never say that to him.

She stood and brushed her crumbs from the desk. Frank huffed a sigh of relief, thanked her and led the way to Myrna's room.

The second Frank stepped foot past the threshold, Myrna's expression turned feline. 

“Hey, pretty boy,” she cooed.

“Hello, Myrna. This is Dr. King, she'll be helping today,” Frank said, hands pulling on the stethoscope around his neck. He was tense, restraining himself from bouncing on his feet. Mel didn’t feel the need to remind him that she and Myrna were already familiar. She was wearing a new cheetah print cardigan today over a purple shirt with a bedazzled crown on it. 

“Oh, blondie can watch. I do love an audience,” Myrna purred. “There's a cuckold chair for her in the corner.”

Goodness. Mel gave Myrna a half-hearted wave.

“Myrna, we've got the usual medication here,” Frank said, rattling a little paper cup of pills.

Myrna rolled her eyes, but extended her hand out to him.

Frank visibly relaxed, then crossed the room to hand her the cup. Myrna proceeded to immediately dump it out on the floor. 

“Oopsie. Guess you'll have to pick those up,” she said. 

Frank looked up at the ceiling, as if giving a quick prayer. Mel intercepted before he could bend over and give Myrna the view she wanted.

“We'll have someone come sweep those up. Dr. Langdon will grab you some fresh pills and I'll start with your IV,” Mel said, moving to set up the equipment. She gave a pointed look at Frank, who nodded and spun on his heels to ask Dana to sign off on more medication.

“Which arm, Myrna?” Mel asked, pulling on gloves. She was just helping, not technically stealing Frank’s case.

“You're no fun,” Myrna replied, crossing both arms over her chest defensively.

“Nope,” Mel said, popping the ‘p’ when she said it. “I’m not any fun.”

They stared at each other for a few beats, like two gunslingers facing off. Mel held the IV needle up, keeping still and knowing one wrong move could turn the whole thing further south. Myrna was wearing a deep blue eyeshadow today, smudged on both sides.

Myrna blinked first.

“If you make this more fun, I won't put up a fight,” she said.

“And how would I do that?” Mel didn’t know why she was entertaining this.

“Sing for me. It'll help put me at ease while you're shoving a needle in my arm,” Myrna said. 

Her grin was wicked, but Mel sensed a little sincerity underneath it. Just because Myrna was always in the ER didn't mean she wasn’t scared of doctors, needles and the like.

“Alright,” Mel said. She glanced back at the door, making sure Langdon hadn't returned. Dana usually wasn't available right away to approve his pill distributions, which was an annoyance for him but would buy Mel some time.

Myrna looked shocked, then theatrically settled back into the hospital bed, eyes closed. She extended her left arm, wrist up.

“Whenever you're ready.”

Mel cleared her throat, then began a warbled rendition of the song that had been ping-ponging around her mind all day.

“Now I've… had…. the time of my life. No, I've never felt like this before…”

Myrna's eyes popped open, delight brightening her features. She joined in. Very loudly. 

“Yes I swear, it's the truth..”

They continued the song in whatever the opposite of a harmony is while Mel installed the IV. Despite herself, she was grinning. Myrna danced and shimmied in her bed once the line was secure, and when they sang “we take each other's hand,” they did just that.

Mel, spurred by Myrna, sang a little louder.

After the first chorus, Myrna looked past Mel's shoulder toward the doorway.

“You ever going to join in, or are you just going to keep standing there looking pretty?”

Pure, undiluted mortification washed from Mel’s head, down her veins and into her feet.

Mryna laughed and squeezed Mel's hand before letting go. 

“I'll take my pills now,” she said, extending her hand past Mel. She gave Mel a wink. “Thanks for showing me a good time, doll.”

Mel unfroze, shoving herself backward on the rolling stool. She crashed straight into a warm torso which was shaking with silent laughter. In her peripheral vision, she watched Frank juggle the small paper cup of pills post-collision. He thankfully managed not to drop it.

He put a stabilizing hand on Mel’s right shoulder, a silent plea to not to headbutt him, and reached past Mel to hand the pills to Myrna.

As Myrna tipped her head back to consume them in a single gulp, Frank squeezed her shoulder and leaned down from behind, voice low next to Mel's ear.

“Outstanding work, Dr. King.” 

--

Mel’s third favorite scene in Dirty Dancing is only a second long. It’s when Johnny jumps off the stage during the final dance and flips his head up right on cue with the singer crooning “Hey, baby!”

So it was very distracting that, for the rest of the day after her karaoke session with Myrna, Frank had been quietly singing those two words to her every time they ran into each other. A “Hey baby!” when he slid into the chair next to her in the breakroom. Another when they met in the middle both jogging to an ambulance.

She couldn’t help but laugh every time he did it which, knowing Frank, meant he’ll probably do it tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.

But moments of levity are always fleeting in an ER.

The sunny morning had spoiled, with clouds bringing a downpour starting in the early afternoon. That meant the last hours of their shift were inundated with car crash victims.

She and Frank left the latest procedure at the same time, quickly binning their blood-covered disposable aprons. The patient would be alright, but with some gnarly scarring.

“I haven’t seen that movie in forever,” Frank said with no preamble, putting his hands on his hips and catching his breath.

“What movie?” Mel asked. Because she had to be the only person in the world who thought about Dirty Dancing while picking shards of glass out of someone’s chest.

“ Dirty Dancing. The one with the song. I used to watch it with my sister all the time growing up,” he said, then started laughing. “One time, we tried to do the lift in the living room and I put her head straight into the ceiling fan, which was on. It hit her in the face like four times before I thought to lower her back down. I got in so much trouble even though it was her idea.”

Mel laughed, imagining it. His sister had moved to California several years ago, and Mel knew it had been hard for him.

“I watch it a lot,” Mel said. Understatement of the year, but she had learned from experience to suppress her excitement about movies and tv shows, knowing she could be very intense and people tended not to care.

But this was Frank.

“It was my mom’s favorite. I have the whole thing memorized. I think it’s probably the greatest script of all time,” Mel said. “I think it was really ahead of its time on things like abortion rights, class commentary and its portrayal of masculinity.”

Frank smiled, leaning against the wall as she spoke.

“Swayze’s nice to look at, too,” he said, once she finished. Mel felt her face heat. She reminded herself that no matter how much it seemed like it sometimes, Frank was not able to read her thoughts.

Mel was about to work up the nerve to invite him to her and Becca’s watch party when Dana shouted at them from the hub.

“Hey! My dynamic duo - get ready,” she said. “Incoming gunshot wound.”

They rushed toward the ambulance bay, Langdon grabbing fresh gloves for them both en route. They were ready for the EMS team as they wheeled in the victim, a young man who was writhing and cursing on the stretcher.

At first glance, it was clear the bullet was buried in no-man’s land. It was a wonder the patient had stayed conscious. Moving around so much could cause more internal damage, though.  

“Try to keep still,” Mel instructed, taking one side of the stretcher.

“Shut the hell up, bitch. Have you ever been shot? You try keeping still.” the patient spat back. 

Mel shook her head, already swallowing back tears, which was humiliating in itself. She never got used to sexism from patients and wasn't able to respond cleverly like Santos or Collins.

“Hey, jackass,” Frank shouted, snapping several times in front of the man’s face to pull his attention to his side of the stretcher. “Pretty soon, we’re going to put you under, and that doctor is going to save your miserable life. Stop talking, and stop moving.”

The man groaned and laid back down. 

Mel looked up at Frank, grateful he jumped in and hoping for the anchor of his gaze. But he was looking ahead toward the operating room, jaw clenched like he was biting his tongue from saying more.

They wheeled the man in and Robby was there a heartbeat later, both gloved hands at the ready. Mel quickly presented the case, cursing herself for letting her voice shake so much. As the nurses cut the man’s clothes off and sedated him Robby glanced at Mel with concern, then at Frank who was glaring at the patient like he wanted to melt him with his mind.

“Anything else happen?”

“No.” both Mel and Frank said in unison.

Frank then cursed. Mel followed his gaze down the patient’s body and inhaled sharply. The man had been wearing dark pants and, once gone, they saw there was a second bullet wound much too close to the femoral artery. The first responders had overlooked the injury, likely because he was so unruly and his blood-soaked white t-shirt drew all the attention. He was bleeding steadily from the leg wound.

“I’ll take this one while you work up top,” Frank said, tying a tourniquet high up on the man’s upper thigh.

Robby shook his head emphatically.

“I need you up top. Mel can do the leg,” Robby ordered.

Frank furrowed his brows, but didn’t argue. 

Frank and Mel swapped places, which took them both all the way around the table, so he could pump air through the balloon instead of her.

They both knew Robby’s decision to sub them out wasted precious seconds and only served to bench Frank. Robby had been treating him differently since his return, but he'd slowly been getting more and more responsibilities in the operating room. This felt like Frank lost months of progress in an instant, and Mel had no idea why.

She didn’t have time to think much more about it. She leaned in, carefully feeling for the bullet with her forceps. The gentle scrape when she found it took her straight back to Pittfest for a moment, a thought she dismissed. She carefully removed it, grateful it hadn’t glanced the artery.

When she looked back up, she inhaled sharply through her teeth at the tension in the room. Frank was squeezing the air pump like it was a stress ball, glaring daggers at Robby who was still working on retrieving the second bullet.

Robby’s focus was on the patient, but he must have felt Frank’s eyes boring into his head.

“Next time, piss in the cup when I ask you to,” Robby said, not even sparing him a glance. He removed the bullet and plunked it on the tray.

Robby might as well have shot him. Frank scrunched his eyes shut for a moment, as if in pain. When he opened them, he desperately scanned the room for allies. He found none in the nurses or the on-call surgeon, Garcia, who Mel hadn’t seen banter with him once since his return.

Being on Robby’s bad side meant Frank was essentially a communicable disease, socially. Mel was immune because everyone assumed she was too naïve to ice him out.

When Frank’s eyes finally, finally landed on Mel, she held his gaze. He held it back, mouth going slack, and she felt like if she looked away he might drown.

So she moved toward him, putting her hands over his on the air pump.

“Let me.”

Frank instantly moved away, shoulders sagging. He looked around at everyone one more time before storming out.

Robby shook his head again, wrapping up the work on the patient’s stomach. He was treating Frank like a teenager with an attitude problem and not a colleague that he’d openly harassed twice in the same day. 

Mel had enough of this.

“The bullet was not migrating toward the patient’s femoral,” Mel said, staring up at the monitors, which had stabilized.

“I know that,” Robby said.

“You know that now,” Mel said, simply. “But you didn’t when you first saw the wound. I didn’t, especially with the rate the blood was coming out. What you did was decide it was worth the gamble -- worth wasting time and risking further injury to the patient -- just to be cruel to someone who does nothing but try to impress you.”

Mel heard Garcia hum. It sounded like approval.

“I know that,” Robby said, again. When Mel finally looked at him, she saw shame in his eyes.

“The patient called me a bitch, earlier,” Mel said.

Robby’s jaw dropped, and he looked to the door. “I thought -- shit. ”

Did he think Langdon had been the one to upset her?

He really didn’t know them at all.

Mel had nothing more to say to him after that, beyond what was needed to finish up with the patient. After he was sent upstairs, she went to find Frank.

He was out in the ambulance bay, sharing a cigarette with Dana. Frank claimed he wasn’t a smoker because taking drags off someone else didn't count, which was so ridiculous Mel couldn’t argue with it. But it meant he got breaks with Dana, who was one of his few friends remaining in the department. 

Dana was muttering softly to him, one of her expert pep talks, and he was nodding the way he did when he wasn't really listening.

When Frank looked up at Mel, Dana turned to follow his gaze. She squeezed Frank’s arm and turned to go back inside, tossing the cigarette in the receptacle. She gave Mel a friendly wink as she passed.

When Mel approached Frank, he was standing with his arms folded around himself, looking small.

“Hey, baby,” he said. He didn’t put in the energy to sing it this time.

Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around him, his folded elbows digging into her front. She knew she was being a little awkward about it. She squeezed hard, because that felt right, until he wheezed a little.

“Sorry,” she muttered. She loosened her grip, and he maneuvered his arms to hug her back. He rested his chin on the top of her head. They didn’t hug often, usually only during an acute emotional crisis at work, but it was always nice. 

“Are you doing okay? That patient was really awful to you,” Langdon said. 

“M-hm,” Mel said, but squeezed him a little tighter. “Do you want to watch Dirty Dancing with Becca and I tonight?”

She felt Frank shake his head before letting her go. She felt a little pang of rejection before seeing his expression.

“That would honestly heal me, but I’ve got the kids all this weekend. As soon as I’m off I need to go relieve my mom who’s been dealing with snot all day,” he said.

Mel nodded. She knew what it was like to never really clock off. 

“We’ve got an hour and a half left in this shift. Want to spend it with Myrna?” she said, smiling so he would know it was a joke.

Frank tilted his head, and pursed his lips, pretending to consider it. “I would love to hear your rendition of ‘Hungry Eyes.’”

“Let’s get out of here then,” Mel said, already moving toward the doors.

---

The rest of the shift went pretty seamlessly, but Frank and Mel were pulled apart into different procedures so she only saw him in passing after that.

Unexpectedly, when Mel entered Myrna’s room one more time to check her levels before discharging her, she found that Robby was already doing it.

Mel had never seen him willingly enter a room with Myrna before. He looked over at Mel, and gave a kind of lame nod.

“Bye, Myrna,” Mel said, as cheerfully as she could manage.

“Farewell, Dr. King,” Myrna said, the epitome of respect. Robby’s head whipped around to Myrna in shock. 

Mel turned and left before Robby could say anything about it. Myrna had been her last stop of the day, and she was more than ready to go home.

She went to gather her things from her locker and saw Frank’s stuff was already gone. Having a locker with no door was another post-rehab Robby policy. He'd taped a drawing by his son in the back, some messy Pokémon hybrid thing, but otherwise he only kept shoes and clothes in it, always neatly folded since it was a public display.

Mel let Frank store his phone, keys, and wallet in her locker, and when she opened it she found he’d taken those out too.

He usually said goodbye to her at the end of the day. She tried not to be hurt that he’d left without doing so. She wondered if she had been too much today. Too obvious.

The hollow feeling lingered even as she picked up Becca and ordered the pizzas. 

Nothing that Dirty Dancing couldn't fix. She hoped, at least.

They were in the final stretch of getting settled for movie night when Mel noticed she’d missed a very important text.

Dr. Frank Langdon

6:48 p.m.

HEY, baby!

Let me know when you start the movie. 

The kids are asleep so I can watch it too. 

We can watch at the same time

Mel

 7:13 p.m.

Yay!!! we're starting in like 10 minutes.

[Mel shared a photo]

Hi to Becca! That pizza looks good. 

I already ate but have one of those kombuchas you hate. 

She says hi back .

7:23 p.m.

okay I'm going to start it in exactly 1 minute

Yes ma'am

STARTING!! Now.

this may be the best opening needle drops ever

Yes.

7:31 p.m. 

I should dress like this

[Mel liked a message]

I forgot the asshole future doctor is named ROBBY.
ur kidding me. I wanted to watch this to escape work.

[Mel disliked a message]

7:43 p.m.

She carried a watermelon.

She carried a watermelon.

8:07 p.m.

Did you know Swazye injured his back filming this scene?
It nearly ended his career. 

And you still have a big fat crush on him, right?

Yes.
Why would a back injury affect that?

You know who else has a bad back?

…. you do.
That's why I sent the not-so-fun fact 

about Swayze.

Yes, I do have a bad back. 

And so does Joe. 

Joe Mama? Really Frank?
My mother is dead.

Oh God, Mel that was so stupid of me.
And during her favorite movie too. I'm so sorry.

JOKING!!! Sorry.
I should have added an emoji or something.

No, I deserved that. 

You know who else deserved that? 

Joe Mama.

Perfect joke execution, I’m so proud.

I like that you're comparing me and Swayze.
I’ll try to take the compliment in stride next time
instead of making jokes.

Great. Speaking of:
Do you own a leather jacket?
Have you owned a leather jacket?
Will you own a leather jacket? 

8:16 p.m.

Omg Baby’s dad has a go-bag just like Abbot

8:27 p.m.

[Dr. Frank Langdon shared a photo]

Oh my god is that you?!??!! 

You're so tiny!!!

Took me forever to find it on my mom's Facebook.
I was actually horrifically bullied for being chubby before my 9th grade growth spurt,
so thank you for calling me tiny. 

Hush. I want to put middle school you

and your leather jacket
and gelled hair in my pocket as-is.
Those sunglasses are incredible.

Thank you for sharing.

I was trying to look like Neo 

from The Matrix.
No this was not Halloween.

I've never seen it. 

WHAT. Patrick Swayze isn't in it,
but I think you'd like it a lot.
We should watch it together sometime.

Yes. 

Oh this here is my favorite scene.

Mine too.
The way they crawl on the floor toward each other is crazy.

I love it.

8:45 p.m.

I'm sorry you were bullied.

It's okay, I got revenge by becoming a hot doctor.

I guess. 

But that doesn't make it better.
Sometimes I feel like I'll never shake middle school me.

Also I didn't mean ‘I guess’ about you being a hot doctor.
I meant it more like I guess that's revenge.

Does that mean you agree that I’m hot? Thanks :)

Sometimes the gossip at our job FEELS like being back in middle school. 

Speaking of… I heard about what you said to Robby today. 
Thank you for sticking up for me.
I think middle school you would be proud. 

Also if he starts being mean to you I'm going to flip
Please tell me if he does.

Do you think  we would have been friends?

In middle school? Oh definitely.

I totally would have asked you to the sock hop too.
But the floor-length leather jacket stays ON. 

I had a Hillary Duff shirt I wore like every day.
Sock hop??

It’s a dance. I thought it was a normal middle school thing lol.
maybe just in jersey.
and hell yes to the neo and Hillary Duff combo.

the bullies would be scared of us.

8:58 p.m.

Here comes the lift! 

I can almost hear my sister's head hitting the ceiling fan.

Is it weird that I cry every time?

Probably but I'm also crying a little.

Thanks for watching this with me.

Next time we can do it in the same room.

Becca fell asleep 30 minutes ago haha.
Need to get her up to brush her teeth
Goodnight, Frank.

Goodnight, Mel.

Mel put her phone down, cheeks sore from smiling, as the end credits played.

Chapter Text

Mel’s car was, her own twist of logic, the last gift she ever got from her parents. 

Most of their life insurance payouts went into a savings account which Mel used for Becca’s care, but their crash had left them without a car. Mel was in college at the time, without the need for one of her own. She liked the bus, too, it gave her time to read.

But with med school, long shifts, and being solely responsible for getting Becca to appointments, taking the bus became untenable. After missing a midterm, which the professor thankfully let her make up, she found a beat up RAV4 on craigslist and pulled the trigger on buying it the same day.

She loved this car. But it had been begging to be put out of its misery for their whole acquaintance. The check engine light was decorative at this point.

So Monday morning, when she turned the key to weak sputtering followed by deafening silence, it wasn’t a total surprise. But it was a problem.

“Maybe try one more time?” Becca said from the passenger seat. Mel did.

“They’re serving French toast sticks this morning, Am I going to miss it?” Becca said. She had the care home’s rotating menu memorized. It was 6:15 a.m. though, so there was plenty of time given that breakfast would be served until 9.

Mel, however, was at risk of being very, very late for her 7 a.m. shift.

“It'll be fine, Becs. Let me try to figure something out,” Mel said. They were already running behind after Mel overslept, not doing much beyond brushing her teeth. “Can you braid my hair?”

Mel turned awkwardly in the driver’s seat, handing Becca a hair tie. She pulled up Lyft on her phone, and nearly choked at the price. She’d have to do it, though. There were no other options.

Becca finished up the braid as Mel pulled up The Pitt’s day shift group chat. The scheduling one that included Robby, not the one for memes that included everyone except for Robby. 

Mel

6:18 a.m.

I’m having car trouble.
I’ll be in as soon as I can, I’m so sorry

[Dr. Dennis Whitaker reacted with a prayer emoji]

[Dr. Trinity Santos reacted with a skull emoji]

[Dr. Robinavitch sent a thumbs up]

[Incoming call from Dr. Frank Langdon]

“Car trouble?” Frank said when she picked up. His voice sounded gravelly, like these were the first words he'd said all morning.

“Yes,” she said. She gave the keys one last turn, in case the car miraculously fixed itself.

“I’ll pick you up,” Frank said. It wasn’t a question.

“It’s okay,” she said, admittedly weakly. 

“What’s your address?”

“I have to drop Becca off, too. You can’t be late two shifts in a row, Frank,” she said. Becca perked up in the passenger seat at Frank’s name. They hadn’t met in person yet, and Becca had been pestering Mel for an introduction ever since she let it slip that she thought he was handsome. The pestering only got worse when Mel showed her a photo of him. She'd taken it after he let a young patient tie the front of his hair into pigtails. It was his contact photo in her phone. Becca had decided then and there that Mel and Frank were meant to be.

“Haven’t you heard? I love being late. It’s in my nature. Just ask Robby,” Frank said. She heard a door slam and a car start on his end. “That’s a joke. I’m coming to get you.”

Mel sighed, but gave him her address. In the 12 minutes it took before he arrived, Mel tried to coach Becca into not calling him “handsome doctor Frank” to his face, as Becca had been doing at home.

When Frank pulled up in his SUV, white and with a notable dent in the side from letting his son Tanner steer a grocery cart last month, Mel was already waiting at the curb with her work backpack on. Becca was grinning wildly beside her.

He parked and dashed out of the driver’s seat to the passenger side’s back door, with a quick “Hey, Baby!” to Mel since he was apparently never letting that joke go. He threw a car seat in the trunk followed by some random kid things off the ground, including a shoe and a container of slime. Becca called shotgun, so he held open the passenger door for her while Mel climbed into the back.

“Thank you, Hot Doctor Frank,” Becca said primly, clicking her seatbelt. “I’m happy to finally meet you.”

“You’re welcome, Beautiful Becca. I’m happy to meet you too,” he replied without missing a beat before shutting the door, which made Becca giggle.

Heat rushed to Mel's face. 

Once they were all settled, Mel gave Frank the address for Becca’s care home and he took off. He didn’t seem half as worried about being late as Mel was, gently humming to a Beyoncé song playing low on the radio and tapping the steering wheel. It was still mostly dark outside and she felt her heart leap a little every time a street lamp illuminated his strong features. With him focusing on driving, staring openly felt a little safer than usual.

“Thanks for doing this, Frank. I’m really sorry,” she said.

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “We’re friends. Friends drive each other places.”

Friends. Yes.

“Are you single?” Becca said abruptly, opening his glovebox to take a peek inside, rifling through his papers.

“Becca.” Mel pleaded.

“Uh,” Frank glanced at Mel in the rear view mirror. “Yeah.”

“So is Mel,” Becca said. “Do you think she’s pretty?”

“Becca. Stop,” Mel jumped in, primal fear making her voice harsher than she wanted it to be. Frank’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel. 

“Okay. Sorry,” Becca said, unphased. She snapped the glove box shut and turned toward him. “Dr. Frank. You have a dog?”

Frank laughed, sounding a little uneasy.

“Yes, a golden doodle. Daisy,” he said.

That was enough to redirect Becca, who spent the rest of the drive sharing dog facts while Mel picked at some kind of food crusted into the seat beside her. What would Frank have said about her looks if she didn't cut him off?

They dropped Becca off at 6:53 a.m., meaning that they’d be 16 minutes late to work at a minimum counting the time it took to get in from the parking lot.

“She's awesome,” Frank said, after watching to make sure Becca made it inside okay. He sounded like he meant it. He'd offered to walk her in, too, but Becca liked doing it on her own. “We should all go to the park sometime so she can meet Daisy. It'll have to be one of the weekends that I have her and the kids.”

“I’ve never been late before,” Mel said from the backseat, mostly to herself. Moving to the front would only waste time. Frank nodded, and pulled away from the curb.

“It’ll be okay. It happens,” he said. “Robby will understand.”

Mel couldn’t think of anything else to say, too anxious about being late to think straight. Also, did she just talk over an invitation to meet his kids for the first time?

Frank, she knew, was bad at prolonged silences. He lasted a whole two minutes, which was pretty good for him.

“I think you're really pretty,” Frank said quickly. “More than pretty.”

“Oh,” Mel said, heart skittering to a stop.

“I don't want you to think I was going to say no, when Becca asked,” he grimaced and the drumming on the steering wheel became a little more frantic. 

Mel couldn’t suppress her grin. When he finally glanced at her in the mirror, he smiled too.

“I'll shut up now,” he said, leaning forward to turn up the music a little.

Mel knew she'd be analyzing that interaction on repeat for at least a week. Friends can call each other pretty. Samira had called her pretty just the other day, when she tried out a high ponytail instead of a braid during her shift. It wasn’t a big deal.

Her anxiety soon redirected her train of thought back to being late for work. But then she had an epiphany.

“Do you mind if I change into my work clothes while you drive?” she said. “That will save some time.” She usually liked waiting to change until she got to work. It felt like a marker of dividing her personal and work lives. The scrubs were like a costume upon arrival to help her play the part of a confident doctor.

“S- Sure. Yeah. No I don’t mind,” Frank said.

Mel would never take her seat belt off in a car, which made the task a little more challenging. She wiggled out of her pants to put her scrub bottoms on. With quick glances over at Frank throughout, she could see he was staring very intently at the road ahead.

“This is like that scene from Dirty Dancing, ” Frank said, as she quickly slipped into her work shirt. “When she changed in the back seat after the hotel dance? Except I’m not looking like he was, I promise.”

Mel laughed. She wasn’t used to someone else bringing up that movie before her. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“I've been thinking about that movie all weekend,” he said, and smiled fondly. “I did the lift with Emma in the kitchen. She kept asking to do it over and over, but I -- very responsibly -- stopped after the third time, when I threw my back out.”

“Frank!” Mel exclaimed.

“I'm good! This time last year I could barely pick her up at all. I just got a little carried away,” he said. “When we watch The Matrix together I promise not to bend over backwards to recreate the bullet-dodging scene.”

“I don't know what that means,” Mel said, deciding to drop the back injury thing for now.

“Oh, you will,” Frank said, grinning at her in the rear view mirror. “How about this Friday? I don’t want to intrude on your movie night, but I think Becca would like it too. She strikes me as a Keanu Reeves appreciator.” 

“We can try,” Mel conceded.

It was hard to get Becca to watch new movies. But something told her that if Frank was involved, she would be more than willing. 

--

Frank had temporarily distracted her from the fact that they were very late. After a bad parking job on his part, they hustled to the ED. Frank insisted that Mel eat a protein bar he brought for her breakfast as they walked. 

But when they got to the lockers, they stopped so short that Mel's tennis shoes squeaked.

Without a word, she reached out to take his hand, which was already near. It was so much warmer than hers, and shaking a little.

Frank's locker door was restored. 

“What the hell is my combination,” Frank muttered. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, and squeezed before letting go.

They separated just in time for Robby to round the corner.

Robby watched Frank fiddle with the combination, his hands shoved in his sweatshirt pockets. Mel could see their attending doing the math about their arrival.

“I'd rather have one late doctor than two, Langdon,” he said. Mel saw Frank deflate a little, but Robby continued. “But thanks for getting Dr. King here safe.”

That was good, right?

“Robby, what's my combination? It's been so long since I had a real big boy locker that I can't remember,” Frank said.

“I reset it. It's the date you got sober,” Robby said. 

Mel's stomach dropped. But Frank laughed.

“Well that's easy enough to remember. Thanks,” he said, putting in the combination and popping the locker open with a flourish. Robby's eyes softened, a subtle smile appearing.

Mel wouldn't ever fully understand their relationship.

“King, I need your eye for details, when you're ready to get started,” Robby said, turning to her. “Got a patient with glitter packed into a protruding fracture. Don't ask.”

Excitement surged through Mel's body like caffeine. She threw her stuff into her locker and bounced after Robby, giving a goodbye nod to Frank who was smiling at her.

“Have fun, you two,” Frank called as she and Robby were nearly out of the hall.

Mel was thinking about the best tools for removing glitter from a wound - maybe flushing it out then going in with a wet cotton swab? But before she could enter the room, Robby stepped in front of her to halt her path.

“You and Langdon seem to be getting awfully close,” he said, lowering his head to meet her eyes. 

“We're friends,” Mel said. It came off defensively.

Robby looked skeptical, but continued. 

“He doesn't talk to me anymore.” Mel raised a brow at that. Robby nodded. “And that might be partly my fault. Will you-” he paused, wiping a hand down his face. “Will you let me know if he starts slipping again?”

“You want me to spy on him for you?” Mel said. She knew that wasn't his request, but wanted to hear more of his thought process.

“No. God. I just… I missed it last time. And then when he came back - maybe I've been too harsh. You were right to call me out last week. If he didn't have you and Dana he'd probably-” Robby shook his head. “I hope it hasn't taken too much out of you. It's not your job to help him. It should be mine.”

Mel nodded, and exhaled, smothering her annoyance at the back half of his statement. Helping friends wasn’t a job. Not to her. And she knew Robby wouldn't care if it were anyone else but Frank. 

“Why are you telling me this, and not him?”

“Good communication isn't really our thing,” Robby said. It was a joke, but Mel didn't smile.

“You can always practice,” Mel said. As if on cue, the patient groaned loudly from the room.

“If you'll excuse me, Dr. Robby.”

Robby nodded, looking a little lost. He let her pass.

--

Even cleaning specs of green glitter out of sinew wasn’t enough to totally calm Mel, who was fixating on the worst case scenarios about her car. What if it never ran again? What if yesterday was her last day with it, and she didn't even know? It was the perfect anxiety storm for her. It combined money woes, scheduling issues and her emotional attachment to an inanimate object.

Samira caught her right outside the patient's door, pulling her into a hug. Mel hung her arms straight to her sides throughout, but kind of rested her chin on Samira's shoulder which she hoped conveyed that she liked it. Samira had asked about her stance on hugs several months ago, after a particularly tough case involving a little girl in anaphylactic shock. Mel's stance was that hugs were very welcome from Samira.

“I'm so sorry about your car,” Samira said, letting her go and stepping back. “Are you doing okay?”

Mel nodded, feeling her throat get scratchy already. She hoped it would be an easy work day today.

“I started my shift early today, and didn't see you'd texted,” Samira said, looking guilty. Truthfully, Mel hadn’t realized anyone would want to give her a ride, let alone two people. “Did you take the bus?”

“Dr. Langdon drove me,” Mel said, smiling idly.

“Of course he did,” Samira said, grinning and lightly punching Mel on the arm. 

Mel's confusion must have been apparent.

“You're clearly his favorite resident to work with, he’s always pulling you into cases with him,” Samira said. “There's a noticeable difference in him when you're not here. He gets kind of… sullen. It's hard to watch, having worked with him before everything. He used to be so confident. It's no wonder he'd go out of his way to make sure you would make it here okay.”

Mel's eyes wandered, searching the room for Langdon. He was at the computer across the room. He looked a little frustrated at something, clicking the mouse hard enough to be audible.

As if sensing her gaze, he whipped his head up over his shoulder to look back at her. His eyes narrowed.

“Are you guys talking about me?” He called, already heading their way.

“Just about Mel's car trouble, and your valiant rescue this morning,” Samira answered before Mel could say otherwise.

Frank grinned, rocking back on his heels and pulling his stethoscope.

“Anything for Mel,” he said, casually. “Hey, Mel, can you join me in C7? I could use an extra pair of hands, I've got a patient who needs stitches in like eight different places on their leg. Dog bites.”

Samira gave Mel a look, her point proven.

--

As much as Frank checked in on Mel throughout the day, he always seemed to get annoyed when she did the same. She noticed his expression was harder than usual, and by the afternoon he was moving slower and with fewer improvised spins.

“You alright?” She asked, standing by him and folding her hands behind her back as he watched a pack of sugar-free mints inch closer to the edge of the vending machine's shelf. He went through half a pack a day since becoming sober, and she was surprised to see he’d run out entirely before lunch.

“Hm?” he said, eyes fixed on the mints.

She reached out to touch his upper arm. He tensed a little.

“Is it your back?” She said, softly.

“I’m fine,” he said, a little harshly. She withdrew her hand. “I don’t need to be coddled.”

“I know,” she said, and meant it. “But I want to know when you’re hurting. You mentioned doing the lifts in the kitchen. I haven’t forgotten. I can’t help but feel a little responsible.”

The mints clattered to the bottom, and he gave her a weak smile before going into a full squat to pick them up rather than leaning over.

“Yeah. It’s hurting. It’s also definitely not your fault, I’m the one who lifted a toddler over my head multiple times,” he said, straightening up just to immediately lean a shoulder against the vending machine. She got closer to deter eavesdroppers, tilting her head far back to look into his eyes. He held open the open container of mints between them, and she took one.

“Yes, but I watched Dirty Dancing with you knowing how powerful of a film it is,” Mel said, very seriously, lisping a little on account of the mint.

He barked a laugh, which confused her. He cleared his throat and nodded, face sobering.

“Yes. It is a very powerful film. But I don’t need you to send me a list of stunts to avoid recreating every time we watch a good movie together,” he said. “I gotta just get better about knowing my limits.”

A list! There’s an idea. 

“Mel, no. Don’t do that,” he said, reading her face. 

“No lists. Sure,” she said. There would have to be a column for type of movement, like lifting or bending, and she’d have to gauge his pain over time. “You said it was the third lift that did it?”

“You’re a monster,” he said, grinning. “I give up already. Yes, third lift. My pain is at a four, right now, a seven immediately after the lift. If anyone is to blame, it's not you, it's me. And maybe Patrick Swayze.”

They weren’t together much after that, but she kept her eye on him and could tell the pain was getting worse, along with his mood. At one point, she flashed him a thumbs up from across the room and he smiled, but shook his head to let her know things were very much not good.

He was a powder keg by 4 p.m., when they were both pulled into a case together -- a well-dressed man in his mid-40s who was clammy and unconscious with a dangerously low heart rate. His suit stank of bodily fluids. They were joined by Mateo and Javadi, who had become a pretty effective pair since Pittfest.

It was clearly a fentanyl overdose. They saw so many come in that they could tell right away, and the drug test was just a formality. The EMTs had administered Narcan on the way over which helped, but the man would end the day in a coma if they were lucky. They worked to intubate him and Javadi took over on the balloon once it was in.

They pushed medication and did several rounds of shocks to the heart before the man finally stabilized. The room quieted for a moment, the toughest part of their task over as they waited for a team to free up and come take him up to the ICU.

Javadi looked at the patient and curled her lip.

“That’s why I’ll never, ever touch pills,” she said. It was insensitive, but fine since the patient was sedated. But then Javadi looked at Frank and her eyes widened in panic. “I mean-”

“Good for you,” Frank interrupted, through gritted teeth. “It’s not worth it.”

“But you were never in danger of this, since, you know, your source…” she winced, and Mel widened her eyes at her, not believing where this was going. Javadi continued anyway.  “...Was the hospital. Which wouldn’t have undisclosed Fentanyl…” 

Frank leaned both hands on the table, staring hard at the patient’s face, arms taut. Mel tried and failed to think of a way to interject.

“Crash, if you keep talking you’re going to be the reason I start using again,” he said, tone even and low. “If I’m ever in this guy’s place and you’re shoving a tube down my throat, and I’m covered in piss and vomit, I want you to think: ‘I did this. I killed Dr. Langdon and left his children without a father because I never know when to stop talking.’”

“Hey, lay off,” Mateo growled at Frank, putting a gentle hand on Javadi’s shoulder.

Javadi was already in tears, still pumping air into the patient.

Frank looked to Mel, exasperated, like maybe she’d take his side in this. Mel just shook her head. He was on his own.

Mel knew taking the high road every day despite constant insults was a struggle for him, but that was really, really low. She felt sick to her stomach about it. Almost ashamed of herself, too, which didn’t make sense.

Frank sighed.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Javadi,” he said. She sniffed. “I know you were just trying to be nice.”

“It’s okay,” she said, clearly still upset. She glanced at Mel, who still didn't know what to say.

“Good job on the, uh. Good job on the air,” Frank said, and winced.

Javadi only nodded. Mateo huffed and shook his head. Mel wished for the ICU team to get there faster, so they could all get out of this room.

--

Samira knew that Abbot knew a guy who knew a guy, so Mel was able to get her car towed from her apartment to the mechanic during their shift, where another guy who Abbot knew would give her an extreme discount.

Despite her luck on that front, Frank was still her ride home.

They walked to his car in silence. It felt like it had been a lifetime since they’d held hands that morning, seeing his locker had a door on it. When they climbed in and shut the doors she decided he would speak first, or they just wouldn’t talk at all.

He sighed and put his face in his hands.

“I know. I'm sorry,” he said. His tone was more ashamed than anything. Good. 

“I know your back was hurting a lot today,” Mel said. “Do you need me to drive?”

He shook his head, grinding his palms into his eyes before sitting up.

“God, Javadi’s face. Jesus. I’m such an asshole,” he said, staring at the steering wheel. “I don’t want to be that guy.”

She nodded. She had the urge to reach out, to touch him where he was hurting. She wished she could lay her palm against his back and force the pain out, along with the parts of himself he didn’t like. She pushed her glasses up her nose instead.

“Do you mind if I call Abbot’s mechanic before we head out?” She said, moving on. 

Frank told her to go ahead, relaxing a little into his seat. He still looked wary, eyes a little wet, like he was expecting her to start shouting at him or something. He should know by now that she never yelled, not at anyone. His expression felt bigger than this conversation. Her heart ached for him, seeing the little boy in the dorky jacket from the middle school photo.

She gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder, and he exhaled. Her throat felt tight.

She dialed the mechanic's number and chewed on her thumb nail waiting for him to pick up, watching the sun as it sunk behind the hospital's roof.

“Hello?” said a gruff voice on the other end of the line.

“Um, hi,” she saw Frank perk up in the corner of her vision. “This is Melissa, the one with the RAV4? Jack Abbot's colleague?”

“Oh, hey there!” He said, voice becoming twice as soft. “I hope you're giving Jack a run for his money in the ER. Man's a saint, but he still needs to be kept humble.”

“Um, yeah. I will try,” Mel said. The mechanic -- Ed, she remembered --  laughed. “How is my car?”

Ed hummed. “Well, kiddo. It's your alternator. The thing that charges your car battery as you drive. How does $150 sound altogether?”

Mel's heart swelled with relief. It was a very good deal. “Yes!” she squeaked. Frank smiled at her.

Ed wasn't done.

“I'll do it then, but I gotta tell you this thing is still going to be on life support. Your belts are in bad shape, for one, and I haven't done a full eval of the engine yet but it's getting way up there in mileage. The next fix is going to be much more trouble than this thing is worth,” he said. 

“Oh,” Mel said. Frank frowned and made a concerned noise, leaning his head closer to her phone which was pressed against her ear. She put it on speaker and lowered it, bringing a finger to her lips.

“I can tell you've been taking good care of it, but nothing lasts forever. You can keep driving until the wheels fall off, if you'd like, but that day's going to be sooner rather than later,” he said.

“Oh - okay. Can you,” Mel swallowed. “Can I just do the alternator for now?”

“Sure, kid,” he said, sounding a little disappointed. Mel frowned and pushed up her glasses. “Should be done by Saturday.”

“Thank you. Thanks,” she said, already reaching to hang up.

She wouldn't cry. She would not cry.

She looked up to Frank who was still leaning in close even though she'd put the phone on speaker. She could feel his minty breath on her nose.

He leveled a look at her. 

“You okay?” he asked, in the way he did when he already knew she wasn't.

She choked on a sob, hot tears flooding out immediately.

Frank surged over the center console to draw her in and she curled into it, tucking her head under his chin and pressing her face hard into his chest, hard enough that Frank wedged his hand between them to gently remove her glasses before bringing her close again.

There was nothing holding her back now. She always cried like this. Too extremely. Loud and snotty and on the edge of hyperventilating. All the hard parts of the day had stacked up, all the awkwardness and stress and worry, and her body shook with the force of it. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Frank muttered, his hand a firm pressure on the back of her head.

They stayed like that for a while, and eventually his steady breaths helped her even out.

“Sorry,” she whimpered, leaning in a little harder. “I'm sorry.”

He shifted a little, pressing his lips to her hairline. That was new. It made her feel a little lighter.

When Mel leaned back, he let her go. Her hand flew back to his chest and she tried to wipe her snot off his scrubs, cringing. He laughed, looking down and lacing his fingers into hers to stop her.

“It's okay. We'll figure it out. I'm pretty good with car shopping,” he said. “And it sounds like we have a little time left?”

Mel didn’t miss the way he said ‘we,’ like it was their problem now, not just hers. She also didn't miss that he was still gripping her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. She caught those signals, but didn’t know what to make of them. It was like he handed her a balloon on a windy day.

“It's not that I'm afraid of buying a car. Well, I am. But this is my car. It's - I spent my parents’ life insurance payout on it. It was the equivalent of like four months of care for Becca. It was so selfish of me to buy it. I shouldn’t have bought it. The mechanic said it. Nothing lasts. Everything breaks eventually. Everything leaves, everyone dies,” she rambled, tears returning.

Frank kissed her knuckles briefly and dropped her hand, only to reach over and scrape hair that had escaped her braid behind her ear, no easy feat with the tears and snot on her cheeks. He lingered there a little, searching her face before dropping his hand again. Her face felt cold in its absence.

“Mel, you know I love you, but that's a really fucked up thought process,” he said, which made her bark out a hysterical laugh.

She loved him too, but in different ways than he did, she knew.

He smiled, and shook his head.

“I mean it. You needed a car. You got a good car. It's served you and Becca really well for a very long time. You gotta let the car go to car heaven. Or hell, or maybe car purgatory,” he said. “Lame joke. But it's time to let it go, baby.”

She nodded, smiling at the nickname. 

“Yeah?” he asked, voice pitching up with excitement. “Maybe we can find a good used dealership, or scope out Craigslist.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “Or I'm sure Abbot knows a guy.”

Chapter Text

Robby, for once, looked sheepish in front of Gloria. He'd gone from room to room to grab available staff, which brought together an odd huddle near the intake desk of Frank, Mel, Mateo, Whitaker, Santos, and Collins. Perlah, who had the misfortune of catching Robby's eye, was also reeled in at the last-minute.

Gloria cast a sideways look at Robby, folding her hands in front of her.

“I have made the mistake of assuming Dr. Robinavitch checks his email,” she began.

“You always come down here anyway if it’s important,” Robby groaned.

“Which means,” Gloria continued, “He has neglected to inform you that, if you are off-duty, your attendance is expected at a gala next Friday, one week from today, benefitting this very department.”

“A gala? What is that?” Whitaker said, looking nervous.

“It means free booze, Huckleberry, and we'll have to find you a tux,” Santos grinned, rocking back on her heels and pulling her stethoscope. She was so like Langdon, sometimes.

“Precisely,” Gloria smiled, looking relieved that the first response wasn't a refusal.

Mel saw Frank firing up something snarky to say to Santos, eyebrows furrowing and lip curling. Mel shot him a pleading look which snuffed out that fuse. He rolled his eyes and jokingly blew his hair off his forehead. She smirked a little at that. She liked that they could talk without speaking. 

“Dr. Robinavitch has assured me he has forwarded you all the email with the link for tickets, the dress code and further information,” Gloria said. “But I wanted to invite everyone personally. This is a very important fundraiser for the hospital, because our donors enjoy hearing about our work directly from the folks doing it.”

Mel glanced at her phone, which had no email notifications. She opened her mouth and was about to inform Gloria of this when she saw Robby staring her down from across the circle of people. He made a quick slicing motion across his throat. 

“Yes?” Gloria said, noticing Mel's expression.

“Oh! Nothing,” Mel said, rubbing a hand on the back of her neck.

Robby clapped his hands, once, drawing everyone’s attention.

“O-kay, thank you, Gloria. I will see you all there, if you aren't otherwise busy saving lives. Please spread the word amongst yourselves,” he said. “And bring a date!”

Mel, who was on uneven footing after the email thing, thoughtlessly whipped her head straight to Frank at that. She didn't want to be the only one without a date.

Frank grinned, and leaned down to bump her with his shoulder. Was that a yes? She grinned too, bouncing a little.

“Or…. come alone, that is also good. Better, even,” Robby added, looking between them. She heard Whitaker exhale with relief, and Collins chuckled. “Okay, dismissed.”

“Oh, you're so my date, Huckleberry,” Santos said as they dispersed. “We'll get matching white tuxes like 21 Jump Street and both leave with hot, rich girlfriends.”

Frank gave Mel a secret smile. 

“Still got that Hillary Duff t-shirt?” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. She shook her head and laughed.

He spun away to return to his patients. They had plans to watch The Matrix tonight, too, which was going to make focusing at work even harder.

Robby stopped Mel before she could leave, interrupting a nice thought about slow dancing under cutout stars with Frank. Robby leaned close, and she worried he’d been reading her mind.

“Dr. King,” he said, barely over a whisper. “Do you know how to recover a deleted email?”

--

When Mel finally had time to slide into the breakroom, arms achy from relocating a patient's dislocated hip, she was surprised to see Javadi, Frank and Samira all sitting at the table together, leaning in conspiratorially despite the otherwise empty room.

Samira and Frank sitting together made some sense. She hadn't totally ignored Frank like the rest of their colleagues, and had even gone out of her way to compliment his work as he found his footing after rehab. Still, Mel hadn’t really seen them hang out before. Maybe Robby’s ice wall blocking Frank from everyone else was finally melting.

Frank and Javadi sitting together, however, was totally unexplainable.

Frank was holding Javadi’s water bottle next to his kombucha, walking them across the table like action figures and seemingly in the middle of a lengthy explanation.

“Mel!” he beamed. He waved her over with the kombucha still in-hand. She sat down, but Javadi opened her mouth to object.

“If we don’t tell her now, I’m going to just tell her about it later. I can’t keep any secrets from King,” he said, very earnestly. Mel folded her hands in her lap, feeling a little lost but absorbing some of his giddiness.

Javadi thunked her forehead against the table and groaned. Samira snatched a baby carrot out of Frank’s lunch bag and leaned back, biting it with a snap and waggling her eyebrows at Mel.

“Mel is as big as this circle gets, I promise. Please?” Frank said. 

“Fine! Fine,” Javadi said, shooting her head back up off the table and gesturing grandly for Frank to speak.

“Yes!” Frank grinned. “Okay. So, we all know that Javadi has a super obvious and embarrassing crush on Mateo.” Samira nodded emphatically. Mel creased her brows, worrying this was mean, but let him continue.

“So. As a formal apology for being a dick to her with the fentanyl guy the other day -- and sorry again --” he nodded at Javadi, who gave him a shy smile. “I, we, are launching Operation Get Mateo to Ask Javadi as His Date to the Gala.”

Samira giggled and clapped, then looked a little embarrassed about doing that.

Mel looked to Javadi.

“Why not just ask him out yourself?”

“Because he’d only say yes out of pity, which would be humiliating. Also - I don’t think I could get through that sentence without turning into a blubbering mess,” she said.

“Plus she asked him out on her first day and he shut her down. Ball’s in his court,” Samira supplied. Javadi groaned.

“That was so long ago!” Mel exclaimed before she could stop herself.

“ Plus, ” Frank added, “Mateo’s already most of the way there. Remember how he jumped in to defend her when I was going off? Like he would fight me? Guys only do that when they're into someone.”

Samira rolled her eyes, and Frank threw his hands up before taking a swig of his kombucha.

“That’s not true,” Mel said. “You defend me all the time.”

Frank choked on his drink. Samira gave him a pitiful look, patting his upper back through his coughing fit. 

“Even if that’s true, which it’s not,” Javadi said, not waiting for Frank to stop coughing, “How do you propose we psychologically manipulate this very sweet boy into asking me out within,” she checked an imaginary watch, “the next four shifts?”

Frank took a deep breath, surfacing from the coughing fit. He looked to Mel and wiped tears from under his eyes, then turned to Javadi.

“Okay. So I know I just said this circle doesn’t get any bigger than us. But I think we need to recruit Dana,” he said.

Javadi groaned, forehead meeting table again.

Frank’s grand plan, it turned out, was to have Dana assign Mateo to rooms alongside Samira, Mel and himself whenever possible for the days leading up to the gala. Then they would bring up the gala, and compliment Javadi, whenever possible. Subliminal messaging, he’d said confidently.

Mel, to her horror, was up first not even 20 minutes after lunch. Frank had hissed the plan to Dana at the central desk who shot him a thumbs up then worked her scheduling magic on her tablet. 

Frank knew social recon wasn’t an easy task for Mel, and had suggested trying to bring up either the gala or Javadi just once per case. She wanted to be involved, but worried she was the weak link.

“Just a pinch, and then some burning,” she told an elderly patient who would need several stitches on two fingers after slamming them in a door. Mateo was by her side, oblivious to Mel's inner turmoil.

“These are my bowling fingers,” the man -- Harold -- said, dejected.

“They should heal up pretty quick,” Mel assured him, finishing with the numbing injections. “And try to disinfect the bowling ball holes first until the wounds are fully sealed, they’re notoriously riddled with germs.”

“Oh, I have my own ball I bring from home,” Harold said.

Mateo made a noise like he was impressed. Was this a good time for The Operation?

“Do you… bowl?” Mel asked Mateo. She was playing it very cool. So far, so good.

“The bowling alley was a big date spot back in high school, but I haven’t been much since then,” he said. The patient grinned at that, showing off his big white dentures.

“It still is a great date spot,” Harold said. “Met my third wife there. I saw her get a turkey in 1994, and the rest is history.”

“Right on,” Mateo said, passing Mel the supplies to begin the suture. In her nervousness she almost dropped them. Mateo kept them steady, giving her a subtle, concerned look.

She checked with the patient that his fingers had numbed up.

“You should ask this fine young woman to go bowling with you,” the patient said, nodding to Mel.

Mel looked to Harold, then to Mateo, then back to Harold. This was not conducive to the plan.

“No, he shouldn’t ask me,” she said, a squeak. 

“Well, why not?” Harold prodded.

This could not be happening. Frank wanted subtle. Frank wanted her to mention either Javadi or the gala. But she couldn't bring up Javadi now, it was too obvious a transition.

Okay. Pivot. She began the first suture, staring very intensely as she pierced the skin.

“Mateo. Are you going to the gala next week?”

She saw him rear back in the corner of her vision.

“Oh. Yeah, probably. Maybe?” he said, voice cracking. “I need to check my work schedule.”

“Okay,” she said, face hot. “Just wondering.”

“Atta girl!” Harold said, giving Mel a hearty thumbs up with his good hand.

--

“Wait, I’m confused,” Frank said, following Mel into her apartment and sliding the pizza boxes onto the counter. Becca hustled past them and sat on the couch, grabbing the remote.

“Remember, we’re watching The Matrix tonight, Bec,” Mel said. “Can you pull it up?”

She turned back to Frank. She wouldn't get her car back until tomorrow, so he’d driven them both straight from work to pick up Becca and dinner, and was still in his scrubs. But he’d brought “movie clothes” in his backpack, whatever that meant.

“I am also confused,” Mel said, chewing a nail. “I was confused as it happened. I wanted so badly to help with the plan but I think I accidentally asked Mateo out.”

Frank was holding back laughter. “What?” He squeaked. There was already a literal tear in his eye.

“Don’t laugh!” She begged, waving her arms. “I - bowling. And then he - ugh.”

“Oh, sure, yeah I understand now,” he said.

She sighed, and started over.

“Our patient told him to ask me out, to take me bowling, and I didn’t want to fail my assignment, so I said ‘oh what about the gala Mateo are you going to that?’ and he totally thought I was coming onto him,” she said, burying her face in her hands. “I ruined your plan. I’m so sorry.”

Frank gently grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands down. She scrunched her nose and opened her eyes to see that his expression was unbearably… fond.

“Baby, I think you’re the most valuable agent in our operation,” he said. She loved his voice like this, soft and certain.

“Really?”

“Yes. Mateo knows he doesn’t want to go with you -- you're perfect, but he's into Javadi --  but he’s so nice that he won’t be able to refuse you if you ask him directly. Which means he needs to find another date quickly so he has an excuse. And why not ask the girl he actually has a crush on?” he said. “You’re like an evil genius.”

“None of this was intentional,” Mel said.

“Even better,” he grinned. He was still holding one of her hands, swinging it between them a little in his excitement.

“Dr. Frank, which Matrix is it? There are four here and the posters all look the same,” Becca said from the other side of the counter.

Frank dropped Mel’s hand, and gave her a quick chuck under her chin, smiling and shaking his head. “Evil genius,” he muttered, before dipping out of the kitchen to go help Becca, leaving Mel standing dumbly by the pizzas, hand tingly and cheeks warm.

It turns out Frank's “movie clothes” were a pair of running shorts and a light grey hoodie from his son's school with “Go, Cougars!” on it, which he had already made a joke about. Mel found her gaze snagging on his toned thighs as he put both feet up on her coffee table, in a pair of fresh socks he'd also brought. Becca was mirroring Frank on the other side of the couch, which left a space for Mel in between them.

Mel had emerged from her room wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, and lingered in the threshold, dumbfounded with the realization that Frank Langdon was in her home. And that he looked… cozy. Like he belonged there. Frank looked her up and down with a smirk before patting her space on the couch emphatically.

“C’mon, King, it’s time to enter The Matrix,” he said. “Your life is about to change.”

They were barely into the first scene before Becca started peppering Frank with questions.

“How did she jump like that?”

“Why is it green?”

“Why are they dressed like that?”

Mel worried it would annoy Frank, but each question seemed to delight him. 

“You’re asking all the right questions, Bec,” he said. He then turned and whispered to Mel, “I totally forgot the main character’s name is Trinity. We’re two for two on movies that don’t let me escape my work nemeses.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. He had yet to admit out loud that he'd warmed up to Santos. Maybe in a few years he could even admit that he owed her a lot.

Mel was glad Becca was asking so many questions about the movie, because she had the same exact ones. By the time she watched a live robot bug thing slither into Keanu Reeves’ belly button, she was utterly lost.

She looked over at Frank, wondering if she should pretend she was into it. He was already watching her intently.

“What?” she said, feeling for stray pizza sauce on her face.

“I want to see your reaction to the next scene,” he said, motioning for her to pay attention.

Finally - the big reveal - that Keanu Reeves actually lived in a slimy egg thing in the future. Mel was in shock, mouth open in disgust and awe. Without thinking, she slapped Frank’s arm several times in excitement.

“That’s crazy!” she hissed. Becca nodded in agreement.

It wasn’t until the kung fu fight between Neo and his mentor that Mel remembered she had a list to make. She pulled out her phone, and made do with the notes app. She could plug it into a spreadsheet later.

FRANK DON’T’ DO THESE THINGS - THE MATRIX

-kung fu

-Leaping off buildings

-Backflip

She bit her lip, trying to remember stunts from the first couple scenes. 

“Are you texting right now? This is like the best fight scene. Here, I’ll pause,” Frank said, reaching for the remote.

Mel showed him her screen. He smiled and tipped his head back toward the ceiling, groaning.

“You and your lists.”

He sat up and put an arm around her. She leaned into it instinctively, tucking her head into his shoulder. He tensed a little, and Mel realized that he’d only been reaching around to try and snatch her phone out of her hand. She held it an arm's length away where he couldn’t grab it.

Frank gave up immediately, arm settling around her shoulders. He kept it there, turning his attention back to the movie.

Never one to keep still, he soon started absentmindedly tracing patterns with his fingers on her shoulder. It surprised Mel how comfortable it felt, how grounding his touch was.

They kept commenting on the feasibility of different stunts, his voice now a pleasant rumble she could feel against her whole left side, until Becca shushed them. Becca was paying them no mind otherwise, completely transfixed on the movie and leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

“Oh my god, wow,” Mel whispered much later at a particularly incredible shot of dusty room amid a hail of bullets. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Frank was making a finger gun with his unoccupied hand to aim at the bad guys along with Neo. Her heart swelled. She’d known he was a dork, with his medical podcasts and unabashed love of Bluey, but this was another level. 

Feeling a little stiff from staying still so long, she turned to lean more of her back against him, stretching her legs toward Becca. He leaned his elbow on the back of the couch, restless fingers going to play with the end of her ponytail, which she'd worn high.

-No bending over backward to dodge bullets

-No jumping out of a helicopter 

“That doesn’t seem like a very practical list,” Frank said, reading her screen and speaking low into her ear so as not to bother Becca. Mel felt his voice down her whole spine. “When would I have the chance to jump out of a helicopter?”

She turned up toward him to whisper something back, but found herself speechless at how close he was. He was looking at her, fond, again. She swallowed.

“You never know,” she eventually said, turning back to the TV and nestling her head back into him.

When the end credits rolled, Becca clapped, turning to them for the first time in over an hour and grabbing Mel’s knee to shake it in her excitement. She looked to Frank for a high five, and Mel had to lean off of him so that he could reach.

Becca looked at the two of them together, and her eyes narrowed.

“I’m… going to go to bed now. Let’s watch another Matrix next Friday. Frank, you can come,” Becca said.

Frank grinned. “Thanks.”

Mel didn’t want to burst their bubble and remind them she and Frank had a gala to attend. She hadn’t let Becca know yet they’d have to skip a Friday night movie, but maybe they could all do it on Saturday. 

As Becca went to brush her teeth, Frank began cleaning up plates and glasses without asking. He picked up everything in one go, so Mel was left to follow his trail into the kitchen while trying to object. She could get the dishes herself in the morning.

“Too late,” he said, looking around for a dishwasher. When he didn’t find one, he pushed up his sweatshirt sleeves, grabbed a sponge, and started scrubbing. Mel leaned back on the opposite counter, a little in shock. It wasn’t that this was a surprise coming from him, he was a very considerate person, but it was just… nice.

He had just made her life a little easier, and he hadn’t thought twice about doing it. No one did that for her, not in a long time. 

“Did, uh,” he turned his head down the hall at the sound of Becca shutting her bedroom door for the night. Mel couldn’t see his face. “Did Robby talk to you today?”

Mel laughed. “Yeah, I had to show him how to pull that gala email out of the trash. I also had to step in and send it out to the department list for him. He was trying to type everyone’s emails in one at a time.”

Frank chuckled, placing a clean dish in the drainer. “Classic,” he cleared his throat. “But he didn't talk to you? About… me?”

Mel's heart dropped.

“Did something happen?” She knew he hadn't relapsed. She had to know that. It felt wrong that her mind even went there.

“No, nothing new,” Frank said. “He noticed that we got excited about the gala. He told me to… leave you alone. He,” Frank sighed, scrubbing harder. “Something about how I've ruined enough lives.”

Mel clenched her jaw.

“He doesn't get to say that. I choose my friends. You're my decision.” 

Frank's shoulders sagged. “Yeah. Sorry I brought it up. I don't want you to think… I do worry, Mel. What you sticking up for me all the time may mean for your career. If getting close to you means I'm going to hurt you,” he said. “Robby’s right about some things.”

“He's not. You're worth it, Frank,” Mel said, voice hard at first, then softening. “And I don't worry about it. My work speaks for itself. So does yours. You're a good doctor. I learn from you every day. If you want me to make a list of reasons I want you in my life, I will.”

She wanted so badly to see his face. Either he was really slow at doing dishes, or he was stalling. She felt glued to the floor.

“We are going to the gala together, right?” Mel asked, tentative, because Frank wasn't often quiet. A fundraiser for the hospital that underpaid them shouldn't have been such a big deal to her.

“Well, it sounds like you already have Mateo as a date,” Frank teased half-heartedly, examining a glass before giving it another rinse.

“That wasn’t real,” Mel said, suddenly feeling desperate.

Frank shut off the water and turned around. He braced both hands behind him, gripping the counter, suds shining on his arms. He looked at her, tilting his head to study her face.

“Of course we’re going together,” he said, softly. He was flushed, blue eyes fixed on her, dark brows furrowed in concern. “What do you mean by real?”

Mel shrugged, feeling foolish. What she wanted to say was that what they had, here, whatever it was, was real. That she liked being with him. Liked how he watched her. Liked the way his arm felt around her. Liked the way he looked doing her dishes. Everything.

“I don’t know,” she said, staring at the ceiling.

“I think you do,” he said, the same way he invited her to speak her mind at work, watching her intensely. His hands were frozen on the counter, forearms flexing as if it was an effort to keep still.

“You’re my best friend, Frank. That’s real,” she said. He nodded, and finally looked away, swallowing hard.

“And,” she continued. Frank looked back to her and she could see the tears welling in his eyes.

“There are also a lot of real things in the way of what I want to have, with you,” she pressed on, painfully.

She knew there were things in the way. But if he asked her to list them right now, she would draw a blank.

“And what do you want with me, Mel?” His voice was rough. He looked like a man on the edge of a roof.

She knew what she wanted, had known for a while. She wanted him, all of him. 

But she hadn’t entered this conversation prepared to realize that he wanted her back. Wasn’t equipped to believe it. 

Maybe if she could study him closer. Eyes fixed on his, she approached until he was so near that she could hear his shaky breaths, feel them on her face. 

His gaze shifted her mouth. His breath hitched.

There it was. She knew what it meant.

Her hand flexed, aching to reach out and touch him.

And yet, a voice in the back of her mind screamed at her, telling her she was misreading all of these things, that he didn’t want her this way, that she was being embarrassing.

And besides, what would happen if she went there? How long would it be until he left, too? She'd been here before with people she cared about much less. Who'd looked at her like this only to later tell her she was too much, too busy, too odd. Each time leaving her with thicker skin.

And when Frank didn’t move closer, when his hands stayed fused to the counter, the doubt won. 

She knew how to be lonely. It was safer that way.

“I don't know,” she said again, taking a step back to clear the air.

He nodded. She looked at the floor.

“That's okay,” he said, voice cracking a little. “Hey, Mel,” he said, a little more surely, when she didn't look up. He brought a damp hand to her cheek, coaxing her to meet his eyes. She leaned into his touch, sighing and tearing up, and his face softened at that. 

Mel knew she'd hurt him. He had needed her to be brave for the both of them. To show him that she wanted him, despite everything. That he was good enough.

“It's okay,” he said again. “You're my best friend, too.”

“I'm sorry,” she said, “I don't know what's wrong with me.”

Frank shook his head, pulling her into a hug. This was familiar territory. She melted into him, breathing him in, and he laid a cheek on the top of her head.

“I can be patient,” he said. She laughed at that, because it sounded like a personal pep talk he hadn't meant to say out loud. 

“I should go home, let you sleep. It was a long work day,” he said, letting her go and stretching his arms behind his head. He rocked on his heels like he needed to go for a run or something. He spotted one last glass in the sink and turned to give it a rinse and put it in the drainer.

Mel hated herself for ruining the moment. And she hated herself for being a little relieved about it. She wasn't a spontaneous person.

Frank grabbed his work backpack, pulled on his shoes and headed for the door, giving her one last searching look before leaving. She waved, feeling numb, before closing the door behind him.

That's when the panic set in.

She heard his footsteps reach the bottom of the outdoor staircase, and ran to rip open the sliding glass door to her balcony. She was on the second floor, and he'd parked close by. He was walking briskly to his car, shoulders tense.

“Frank!” She called out.

He stopped and turned around, looking up at her in confusion.

She hadn’t planned what to say next. She just wanted to see his face one more time before he left.

She smiled, wish fulfilled.

He smiled back.

The gala. She’d be ready, then. One week.

She watched him climb into his car, and her phone immediately buzzed with a new text.

Dr. Frank Langdon
9:32 p.m.

To be crystal clear, I am your date to the gala. 

I am willing to fight any of your other prospects.

Goodnight, baby.

I'm all yours,

no duels needed.

Goodnight, Frank.

Chapter Text

“Baby, please - this is so embarrassing,” Frank groaned, both hands braced on the brick wall of the ambulance bay. There was sweat on his brow.

“Almost there,” Mel said, chipper, beside him. “This is the 11th position out of 12.”

“Atta boy, Frank!” Dana called from their right as she exited the building, already lighting a cigarette, which Frank looked at longingly. One of the EMTs wolf-whistled, sharing a laugh with Dana. Mel and Frank were both doing calf stretches, butts facing the bay.

Mel had passed the poster of OSHA's recommended “Stretch & Flex” routine a thousand times in the hallway at work, but today it had stopped her in her tracks. It practically glowed under the fluorescent lights. It was genius. A way to help Frank's back pain, while also using up all his break so he wouldn't have time to smoke a cigarette. 

It hadn’t been hard to convince him to do it with her. He'd been following her lead all week. He could be patient.

“Alright. Quads,” she instructed. 

Frank quickly spun around so his back was facing the wall. He picked up a leg, giving Dana and the EMTs a stink eye which only made them laugh more.

“I hate this,” he said. “I look like a tool.”

“If we do this every day, I bet people will join in,” Mel said, believing it wholeheartedly. “It feels nice to stretch, doesn't it? After standing all day?”

Frank cast her a sideways look, switching legs when she did. “Maybe. Fuck,” he sighed in defeat. “Yeah, it does.”

Mel grinned. He grinned back.

It was mid-morning Thursday, the day before the gala, and in ways it had been easy between them in the week since The Matrix . They'd worked patients like a single entity, barely needing words to make treatment decisions together. They gravitated toward each other in every room, too, the pull somehow even stronger than usual. 

But they'd been touching less. They hadn’t hugged since Mel's kitchen. Every move since that night felt charged. They’d brushed hands reaching for the same forceps on Tuesday, and Mel had tensed as if red lights and an alarm would start blaring across The Pitt.

Mel knew he was following her lead on that, too, allowing her the physical space she needed to keep her nervous energy in check at work. Time to think through everything. She'd noticed he was fidgeting more when they were together, pulling and twisting at Tanner's latest bracelet as if he needed to distract his hands.

But it wasn’t all because of Mel. He hadn't brought up Robby's comments about ruining Mel’s life again, but they'd clearly cut deep. Whenever Robby was in the room with both of them, Frank would barely even look at her.

An unrequited crush on Frank had been a safe impossibility. A mutual one meant that she'd have to lower her last remaining shields to let him in, to confront her own insecurities and fears to make it work. That he’d have to do the same.

But she knew the next time they were alone again she would close the gap. She could admit, now, that he wanted her to. That he was buzzing with the anticipation of it just like she was.

Back during stretch number five, the shoulder pull-over, she'd taken her jacket off and felt Frank staring at the length of her neck, her bare arms flexing. She'd liked it, when she noticed his eyes wandering. She liked when he ducked his head to the side, sheepish, when she caught him doing it.

She could tell he felt the same, giving her a cocky smirk when she fixated on the sliver of his stomach exposed when his shirt lifted during stretch number four.

It was fun, this in-between time with him. Being friends on the verge of something more. For once in her life, nervousness felt more like butterflies than lead weight. 

She wondered what kind of kisser he was. She hoped she would find out tomorrow. 

She was staring at him again, she realized. Her face flushed and she looked away.

“You're killing me, Mel,” Frank said.

“Oh, gosh. Sorry, you can put your leg down now,” she said.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

--

It was a slow day so far, so after seeing Myrna's name in the system Mel rerouted to say hello to her and to rescue anyone she might be cornering. 

She instead found Robby leaning in the doorframe to Myrna's room, a hand over his mouth, red from holding back laughter. When she approached, he quickly hushed her and pointed inside. Mel poked her head in.

Myrna was laying back with her eyes closed, smiling placidly, while Whitaker worked to install her IV. His back was to the door. 

And he was singing. With feeling. His singing voice was lower, and much better, than Mel would have expected.

“And I DON’T want the world to see me, ‘cause I don't think that they'd understand,” he crooned, bopping his head to the left and right, really getting into it. “When EVERYthing's made to be broken-”

Mel quickly backed into the hallway before her laugh bubbled out. Robby grinned and followed her away from the door.

“I have never seen Myrna so… agreeable,” Robby said, shoulders shaking, finally allowing himself to laugh. “Whitaker's got pipes!”

“This might be my fault,” Mel grinned, then crossed her arms defensively, wondering if she'd made a mistake. “She asked me to sing for her a few weeks ago and I did. Maybe I shouldn't have, I didn't think she'd ask anyone else.”

“I knew you two were in cahoots!” He said, slapping his thigh with glee. “Honestly, Dr. King, this is a total breakthrough with her. Good job being willing to put some dignity on the line to better serve a patient.”

Mel grinned.

“I don't want this place turning into Broadway, though, so let's just make this a Myrna special,” he added. “And I will not be participating.”

She liked this lighter side of Robby. Admired it. She also felt a little guilty that he revealed it so easily to her. The mask never slipped when Frank was there.

“If you'll excuse me,” Robby said to Mel, having seen Dr. Collins walking by. She looked busy.

Robby jogged to catch up with Collins, leaning close to say something. Collins grabbed his elbow and detoured straight to Myrna's door, the two of them already giggling.

--

Mel and Frank were side by side, cherry picking their next patients from the boards. 

Mel usually chastised him for being selective, but the day before the big gala had brought a last-day-of-school energy to the entire Pitt which Mel was happy to coast on. Most of the day shift would be going to it, Robby and Abbot moving schedules around to let them off early on Friday. It worked out perfectly since the night shift crew wanted excuses to skip it, deeming it too corporate.

Also cherry picking was fine, Mel thought, given it was a relatively quiet day. She’d even seen one empty chair in the lobby the last time she peeked.

She looked around to make sure no one was within earshot.

“Did you hear that Whitaker sang to Myrna this morning?” Mel said, leaning in and lifting her tablet up to cover her mouth. 

Frank snorted. “McKay told me. She didn't hear what song it was, though. We think it was probably country.”

Mel grinned, happy to be on the leading edge of gossip for once.

“I was there. Or, I walked in on it. It was ‘Iris,’ by the Goo Goo Dolls,” she said. She'd vaguely recognized it, and had looked up the lyrics the first chance she got.

“Oh my god. That was on my divorce playlist,” Frank said, laughing and hanging his head. “Whitaker must be going through it.”

“He looked like he was having fun,” Mel assured him. “Wait. Divorce playlist?”

Frank cringed, eyes going back to the patient boards. “My sister made me a ‘divorced dad rock’ playlist as a joke pretty early on. But I couldn't stop listening to it. I think divorce unlocked the part of my brain that understands Creed,” he said. “Helped fill the silence in my new apartment, anyway.”

Mel smiled, but she recognized this as one of his self deprecating jokes.

Mel reached out to squeeze Frank’s arm, pressing her head to his shoulder. He leaned on her, briefly, and they separated again. She felt brave, doing that in the middle of the workplace, and it was the most they'd touched in days. Dana was the only one at the desk anyway, and she was wrapped up in the day's Wordle. 

Mel turned back to the boards.

“I'll let you take the foreign object in the nasal cavity. Because I'm a nice person,” Mel said. “I'll take the gluteal rash.”

“You spoil me,” he said.

Before they could leave, Javadi came barreling toward them, grinning maniacally. She threw her arms around Frank's waist, jumping up and down. Frank held his arms up off his sides, looking flabbergasted.

Javadi then released him and turned to do the same to Mel, before stopping short and offering a high five instead. When Mel fulfilled it, Javadi tugged Mel’s hand close and jumped a little more.

“It worked! Dr. Langdon,” she squealed, then composed herself, looking around before leaning close, face sobering. “You guys. It worked. The Operation. Just now.”

Frank grinned, offering a fist bump. Mel spread her arms wide to offer a hug, and Javadi dove into it, laughing.

“So, how'd he do it?” Frank said once Javadi released Mel, pulling them closer to the desk and out of the walkway. He leaned an elbow on it to get closer to their eye levels.

“We were working with Earl. I love Earl. And when I offered to go get Earl a sandwich Mateo followed me to the sandwich cart and asked if I'd be his date tomorrow,” Javadi sighed. “It was so romantic.”

Frank nodded, looking like he was trying not to laugh.

“That does sound romantic. I'm very happy for you, Dr. Javadi. I'm glad he finally saw what was right in front of him,” he said, and glanced at Mel, who smiled.

“Thank you for your help, Dr. Langdon, this wouldn't have happened without you meddling,” Javadi said, grinning. “And you, too, Mel! I'm going to go text Samira. I wish she was here so I could see her face.”

She walked away, saying “Me and Mateo, going to the gala,” in a sing-song cadence as she left, giving them one last grin over her shoulder.

Frank laughed, shaking his head. “Told you. You’re an evil genius.” 

Frank then glanced at the far side of the desk and straightened.

“I'll go attend to that patient’s nasal cavity now,” he said, suddenly formal, but his eyes were still smiling. He nodded at Mel before departing. “Dr. King.”

Mel looked to the other end of the desk. 

Robby was at the computer, glasses perched on the end of his nose, clearly eavesdropping on the entire interaction. Mel should have been embarrassed, and felt a pang of worry that he’d seen Frank goofing off.

But she was too excited for Javadi to let the worry stick. She grinned at Robby, raising her eyebrows.

Robby chuckled, shaking his head and returning his attention back to the computer screen, smiling secretively.

--

Maybe Mel was cursed. 

Maybe she was only allowed a set amount of happy moments per day, and she'd hit her quota. A slow day in the ER never stayed slow. She was foolish to hope it would.

It just wasn’t fair.

She wasn't being logical, but how else could she explain that PittFest happened her very first day of work here? 

Or that her parents died the same day she got accepted to her dream internship? Had they been celebrating her that night? Ordered one more round than usual? She knew her dad was too flippant with drinking and driving. Her whole life, she hadn't known the right thing to say to him to get him to stop. 

She’d never told anyone that. Becca didn't know, and didn't need to. Their dad's medical records showed he had been barely under the legal limit, which meant Mel could get the insurance payout. She could buy herself the crappy car, another thing that would break.

And now she met drunk drivers regularly on her operating table. Felt their blood between her fingers. Worked to keep them alive so that they could try to be better people in the future. So they could have a chance to learn from their mistakes.

It hurt every time, but not as much as this.

Dana had seen the call come in that a crash victim was on their way in an ambulance. Mel was the closest doctor to the door. Dana told her to be ready. Braced her with the knowledge that the patient was under five years old. That's when Mel's ears started ringing. They brought the girl into a treatment room in a blur.

It was self-centered for Mel to believe her bad luck somehow caused this little girl to end up in a hospital bed. The girl’s dad was the one who drove drunk. So why did Mel feel guilty?

The parents died at the scene. If Mel succeeded in saving this child, she would wake up completely alone.

Mel's hands were now moving independently, immune to her anxious stream of consciousness. Her training and Robby's instructions were going straight to her brainstem, bypassing any thought on Mel's part. 

“Pedes cart. Purple drawer,” Robby ordered, voice even but tight. Princess yanked it open, grabbing the proper child-sized tube. She handed it to Mel.

God. It was tiny. She intubated, focusing on that action, the familiar feeling of it. She did it cleanly and Robby nodded in approval.

He pulled up the portable ultrasound, searching her chest for internal bleeding. She'd been wearing a Spiderman shirt, which was gone now. Becca loved Spiderman.

Garcia blew into the room, Langdon right on her tail. He stared hard at the girl, then looked at Mel with concern. He took Robby's right side and got to work stabilizing what he could.

“Heart and lungs intact,” Robby moved the wand around, looking at the screen. He hissed. Mel followed his gaze to the screen and felt her stomach bottom out. “Ruptured liver.”

Mel's throat was scratchy. Princess handed her an IV, and Mel installed it, hands steady.

Robby asked Mel what to do next, always a teacher, and she answered as if reciting from a textbook. When he nodded, she did it smoothly.

The phone rang, and Langdon sprang to the wall to pick it up. 

“OR is open,” he announced to the room.

“We'll take care of her,” Garcia said, sounding confident, already pulling on the girl's bed to roll it out of there as the team came in.

With the girl gone, the ringing in Mel's ears returned in full force. In her peripheral vision she saw Robby putting his hands on his hips, his face crumpling.

Mel should have done more. Been more present. She didn't even know the girl’s name.

There was a splash of blood on the floor. Someone should take care of that. 

She kneeled down, wiping it with her gloved fingertips. It only smeared. She spread her hand, wiping harder with her palm.

She needed a paper towel. 

She was hyperventilating. 

Suddenly, Frank blocked her view, blue eyes and a blurry face. He was crouched in front of her, saying something that she couldn’t hear.

“It’s okay, baby. Please. You're okay. Can you look at me?” he said, words coming into focus. 

The fear in his voice tethered Mel back to herself. She felt her body shaking, noticed her teeth were chattering.

He helped her stand, and he pulled off her bloody scrub covering and gloves, Mel lifting her arms numbly to let him. Princess appeared, grabbing them from him to take to the bin. Frank quickly removed his own and returned to Mel's side.

“Robby,” Frank said, sliding an arm around Mel's waist to hold her up. “She's done for the day. I'll take her home.”

Robby looked between them, expression unreadable. Then he shook his head.

“Let's get her to the family room. Take 20 with her, Langdon. Then come find me,” Robby said. “I'll see if Kiara is available.”

Frank nodded, readjusting his grip and looking to Mel who was staring at the blood again. He reached over and pushed her glasses up her nose. They must have been falling.

Mel felt distant embarrassment that Frank and Robby were planning what to do with her like she wasn't there. Like she was a patient. She wanted to work. But she couldn’t speak.

Frank led her to the family room. He kept the lights low and shut the door behind them. He guided Mel to sit in a chair. 

Frank kneeled in front of her, searching her face. 

“Oh, honey,” he breathed.

Princess appeared a second later with a cold bottle of water, handing it to Frank before ducking out the door again.

Frank set the water aside, then clutched Mel’s hands. He was looking up at her like this was really bad. Like she was dying or something. She’d overreacted.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, freeing one of her hands from Frank’s grip to push his dark hair back from his face. 

He didn’t look well. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, then moved two fingers under his jaw to check his pulse. It was racing. 

Frank gently pried her fingers off, and kissed her palm.

“Hey. I’m fine, Mel. It's you I'm worried about,” he said. 

“You’re not fine,” Mel said. Seeing hurt kids always affected him.

“No, I guess not,” he said, smiling weakly but beginning to cry. “But I want to take care of you right now. That will help me feel better. Can you let me try?”

Mel nodded. Frank sniffed, wiping his tears off on his arm and standing up to take the chair next to hers. He placed gentle, doctor’s hands on her face, checking her pupils. When he finished his exam, he handed her the water.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, gentle.

Mel shook her head, taking a small sip. Her throat was burning. She was feeling vulnerable enough that if she started talking, the whole truth about her parents would come out. She wanted to tell Frank, someday. She knew he’d understand that they were good people. But this wasn’t the day for it, not when they might be losing a young patient upstairs as they spoke.

“That’s okay. What do you usually do, when you feel like this?” he asked.

“Um,” Mel said, pulling out her phone. There were a lot of apps to choose from. A lava lamp, a koi pond, a sandy shore. She thrust it at him. “Pick one.”

He scrolled down and chuckled, pulling up the DVD menu screensaver with the icon bouncing from wall to wall. He leaned back in his chair, and Mel followed, laying her head against his shoulder. They watched it together for some time, Frank tracing the inside of Mel's arm with his free hand. Her body ached as the tension left it.

“What do you do, when you feel overwhelmed?” she asked.

“Well I used to… you know. Which we all know was bad. Now I usually go for a run or call my sister,” he said, quietly.

“No ‘divorced dad rock?’” Mel said. She wanted to catalog all the ways to make him feel better.

Frank snorted. He probably thought she was making a joke. She decided to circle back on it at a later date and returned her focus to the DVD logo.

“Is it ever going to hit the corner?” Frank whispered, a few minutes later. 

“The uncertainty is half the fun,” Mel said, feeling lighter. Then, suddenly, “You called me baby in there. In front of Robby.”

Frank winced. “Yeah. Sorry. Professional boundaries.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and turned to plant a kiss on the top of her head.

Mel smiled, using his shoulder to push her glasses up, then settling her cheek on his upper arm again. She hadn't thought of that. She'd been thinking about how Frank might get in trouble for not heeding Robby’s warning.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Kiara entered. Frank handed Mel her phone back and gave her knee a squeeze before standing. 

“You okay? I should get back to work,” he said. Mel nodded.

He gave Kiara an awkward nod as he slid past her. They’d had pretty frequent mandatory meetings together when he first got back from rehab.

“How are you feeling, Mel? Dr. Robby filled me in,” Kiara said, taking a nearby seat. 

“Better,” Mel said, crinkling the water bottle in her hands. “I can get back out there.”

Kiara smiled, gently. “You're off early today, Mel. But you're welcome to stay in this room as long as you'd like.”

Mel flushed, annoyed at herself for losing control in front of everyone.

“It just got to me. She was so young and --” Mel stopped herself, when she thought of the girl's face. “I can manage.”

Kiara nodded, eyes soft. “You don't have to manage on your own. Have you thought about getting mental health support?”

“I don't have time,” Mel said, truthfully.

“You can do it during your shift. Take an hour every month and visit one of our counselors. They specialize in helping health care workers. You don't even have to leave the building,” Kiara said. “Dr. Robby has already approved the time. It's an option, if you want it.”

“Oh,” Mel said, lip trembling. “Okay. Yeah.”

After getting her first appointment set up, Mel headed for the lockers. She'd try to make the most of the afternoon off before it was time to pick up Becca. She could go grocery shopping. Clean the apartment. Figure out what to do with her hair for the gala tomorrow. 

On her way out, she saw Robby and Frank speaking tensely by the intake desk. Frank’s arms were crossed. 

He looked… sad. Disappointed. Angry. Robby was rubbing his brow, looking exasperated. Were they talking about her?

Mel stood there, staring from across the room, trying to figure out what was going on. Dana soon saddled up beside her.

“Hey, kiddo,” she said, squeezing Mel's shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. I'm on my way home for the day.”

Dana nodded. She probably already knew that. Then she bit her lip. It was the face she made when she had bad news.

“What is it?” Mel said. Dana hesitated. Mel kept staring at her.

“Frank has just been scheduled to work tomorrow evening,” Dana said, looking sorry she had to say it. “During the gala.”

Oh. 

“Is it my fault?” Mel said, quietly.

“No, never. Not with those two involved. Whatever Robby's reasoning, he's not telling me. He just said ‘unforeseen circumstances,’" Dana said. “I tried, my love. I really wanted to see you and Langdon all dressed up together.”

“It's okay,” Mel said. It wasn’t. But when she was already feeling so raw, what was one more blow? 

“Can you tell Frank I said goodbye? And that you told me about the gala thing?” Mel asked, feeling numb. Dana nodded.

By the time Mel got to her car, she already had a new text waiting.

Dr. Frank Langdon

4:33 p.m.

I'm so sorry, Mel.

Let me know when you get home safe.

Mel choked on a sob. She had been so excited for tomorrow. 

She should have known not to get her hopes up.

Chapter Text

Mel woke up to two new emails Friday morning. The first was a much lower offer for a car someone was selling on Craigslist. 

It turned out Abbot hadn't known a guy with a car for sale, to Mel’s surprise. But he insisted on looking over her top finds and revising her inquiry emails to sellers. He always took out all of her exclamation points and lowballed by a shocking amount. She forwarded the email to him with a “?”

The second email was an introduction from a therapist at the hospital, confirming an appointment for next week. Mel felt antsy about it, but taking the time and energy to find someone to talk to had always been one of her biggest barriers to counseling. Kiara had done it all for her. Mel felt indebted.

As she was spacing out and brushing her teeth, a text came in.

Dr. Frank Langdon

5:45 a.m.

Iced Americano, right? I have a flavor budget, too, 

if you want to actually enjoy your coffee.

Coffee is a flavor.

Not everyone drinks hummingbird feed

How are you feeling?

I'm okay.

I'm sad we're missing the gala.

You should still go. 

I'm not sure if I'm up for it.

Let's talk when you come in.

When she walked into The Pitt, Frank was sitting by the lockers, iced coffee in-hand. He wasn't in his scrubs, just jeans and a t-shirt and disheveled morning hair, and Mel realized with a pang that he wasn't even working until this afternoon. He'd come in just to see her. 

He gave her a brief hug and kissed the top of her head. He exhaled as he did it, seeming relieved to see her standing.

“You okay?” he said into her hair. She nodded, and he pulled away, handing her the coffee.

“I'm sorry, Mel. I really wanted to go with you. Robby was being so weird. I asked him yesterday if it was because of the ‘baby’ thing, and he said no. Obviously I don't believe him,” Frank said. “I feel like I can't win, no matter what I do.”

Mel had come to terms with missing the gala, as best she could. Becca was already set to stay over at a friend’s house, so Mel would probably just try to get some work done. She had an application to write that she’d been procrastinating.

She was hoping to change their hospital policy to better serve autistic patients, which would require a trial run and surveys. But she hadn’t chosen the right time to pitch it to Robby. She’d kind of thrown the idea at him last month, unpolished, while they walked between rooms. He’d been half-listening while looking at charts. To Mel's surprise, though, he’d emailed her a link to the application form after work. She still hadn’t opened it.

And thinking of Robby right now just made her angry. Maybe she’d just procrastinate more and go to bed early.

“Up for The Matrix 2 tomorrow?” She asked Frank, desperate for something to look forward to.

“Hell yeah. Reloaded is my favorite. Becca's going to flip,” he said. Mel smiled, relieved. 

“I really think you should still go to the gala, Mel. I want you to. Enjoy getting dressed up, eat as much on the hospital's dime as you can. Send me pictures,” he was smiling, but Mel could tell he was sad to miss out.

She sipped her coffee, unconvinced. Having him as her date had been most of the gala's appeal. 

“And you don't have to go alone. I overheard Santos inviting Samira to a pregame thing at her place. Obviously I was not invited. You should ask to join.”

That did sound fun… and Mel already bought an outfit. But Santos had stopped inviting her to things after several months of effort because Mel kept saying no, never having time to do anything after work. The thought of inviting herself so last-minute made her nervous.

“They love you, Mel. Just ask,” Frank said, reading her mind.

It turned out Mel had no reason to worry. She found Santos leaning on the intake desk and she started talking before Mel even opened her mouth.

“Hey,” Santos said, and stuck her bottom lip out. “I heard Robby cockblocked you.” 

Then her eyes flared in panic, seeing Mel's face. Mel hadn’t realized everyone was so in the loop. Santos continued.

“What I mean is: Samira is coming to my place to get ready tonight. You should come. I know you're available so you can't say no.”

“I'd love to,” Mel said, regretting it immediately.

The rest of the day -- the whole day -- went smoothly. Everyone was going out of their way to check in on Mel, which felt a little abrasive, but also nice. Dana let her know that the little girl from yesterday’s car crash, Jenna, was expected to live. And her aunt would be there when she woke up.

That afternoon another child came through the ER doors with severe burns from grabbing a pot of boiling water off the stove. 

Robby assigned Mel to the case immediately. He leveled a look at her, giving her a chance to decline. Mel accepted his challenge.

The boy would have scars, but his pain wouldn't last longer than a few weeks. Mel saw he was wearing light-up Bluey shoes, and was able to distract him by talking about the show. She'd never seen it, but had gleaned enough from Frank’s recaps.

She texted Frank these things on her way out the door. 

She wished him well on his night shift, and let him know that there was a Red Bull in the break room fridge with his name on it.

-

Hours later, Mel was sitting on a stool in front of Santos’ bathroom mirror, vision blurry. She'd taken her glasses off after her stylists kept jostling them.

“Guys, I need to pee,” Whitaker said, not for the first time, appearing outside the open door.

“Should have thought of that earlier,” Santos said. “Let the masters work.”

“Mel, your hair is so pretty,” Samira said, running her fingers through the length of it. “Trin, we should just leave it down like this.”

Santos hummed, indecisive. This had been going on for a while. Mel was biting back discomfort at all the touching, rubbing one thumb over another and choosing to focus on that feeling. Her hair had gone up, then down, then up again. Mel worried that both she and Whitaker couldn’t make it much longer.

Whitaker popped his head back in.

“What about leaving most of it down but doing a braid thing?” he said, motioning around the top of his head. Santos and Samira ooohed.

Samira made quick work of it, Santos getting in Mel's face to pull strands out strategically. She’d wanted to cut Mel bangs earlier, which Mel declined.

When they finally stepped back, Mel put her glasses on and was startled by her own reflection. She couldn't remember the last time she made an effort with her hair like this. She looked pretty.

“Okay. Me next,” Santos said, taking out her ponytail and flipping her head up and down a few times, forcefully enough that Mel felt the breeze. “Done. And Mohan, your hair already looks gorgeous. As usual.”

“Everyone looks great. Please let me pee,” Whitaker said.

Mel didn’t mind dresses, but she rarely felt comfortable in them. So last weekend, when she had pulled a rosy pink jumpsuit from a clearance rack and it fit perfectly, she’d taken it as a good sign that the gala would go perfectly. That was, of course, when she still thought she had a date.

But she still loved the way she looked tonight. The jumpsuit had thin straps and was more fitted in the top, but with fun and flowy pant legs. With comfortable heels, too, she felt like herself but just different enough to make it a special occasion. She took a few moments alone in the bathroom to let her excited bounces out, grinning at her reflection.

The feeling doubled when she emerged to cheers and whistles from Santos, Mohan, and Whitaker. 

“Okay, King! I see you,” Santos said, grinning. Mel did a little spin in place for her, hands in her pockets.

Santos was in a navy blue pantsuit, not matching Whitaker like she'd joked about, but Mel wondered if it was intentional that his tie was the same exact color.

Samira wore a slim-fitting lavender dress with pretty floral patterns in velvet. She looked like a princess, Mel thought, and she immediately felt a little underdressed. But Samira was still admiring Mel and looking like she could cry with pride. 

“Okay, I've summoned the Lyft,” Samira announced after a beat, looking to Santos. “The lighting in here is horrible, but I checked the museum's website and think we can get good photos inside.”

“The perfect lamp hasn't found me yet,” Santos muttered. 

Whitaker rolled his eyes. “Lamps are lamps, I'm going to Goodwill and buying the first one I see if you don't pick something soon.”

Santos whipped her head toward him. “I let you put your family portrait with the insane cow-print frame on prime living room wall space. Don't test me.”

“Lyft will be here in five!” Samira cut in. “Get ready!”

Mel was already good to go, so she perched on the arm of the couch and watched Santos scramble to grab seemingly random items and shove them in her purse. Mel checked her phone and saw that Frank had texted. She smiled, biting her bottom lip.

“Share with the class,” Samira said, ever observant.

“Oh!” Mel suddenly felt shy. “Frank wants pictures.”

Santos snorted, and crossed the room to snatch Mel's phone out of her hand before she could object. She snapped a picture of Whitaker’s aforementioned family portrait. When she handed Mel her phone back, she'd already sent it to Frank. 

“Langdon's going to have to wait until we have you in good lighting,” Santos said. 

Frank responded immediately.

Dr. Frank Langdon

5:53 p.m.

That picture frame is insane. 

Yeehaw.

To clarify, I meant pictures of you.

Please? 

“Mel. Door. Out. Now,” Samira instructed, which made Mel look up to realize everyone was already leaving. She pocketed her phone, figuring her next reply could be a well-lit photo. 

Their Lyft driver was a nice older lady who started asking questions about her own health issues as soon as she found out they were doctors. By the time they made it to the Carnegie Art Museum, she’d promised them she would book an appointment with an endocrinologist.

Through the front door was a long entryway with white marble on the floor and walls, fancy columns and a red carpet. Samira deemed the lighting good enough, and started directing them where to stand, one at a time, for photos. Santos was a natural, of course, and Whitaker was coachable. Santos got some glamorous pictures of Samira, which only left Mel.

But Mel couldn’t relax. She stood alone in the middle of the hallway, arms folded across her middle.

“Oh my God, just loosen up!” Santos said. “You look hot! Act like it!”

“It’s okay, I don’t need my picture taken,” Mel said, wanting this to be over.

“Whitaker, distract her,” Samira said, phone still up.

Whitaker immediately put his hands in his pockets and started doing a little line dance, humming something Mel couldn’t identify. It was so sudden and goofy that Mel burst out laughing. Samira took the opportunity to snap a picture of her.

“Done,” Samira said. She then got a group selfie of all of them, Mel reflexively giving a thumbs up in it for some reason, before leading the way inside. She sent all the pictures to their new 'Pitt Gals' group chat which also included Whitaker and Javadi. Mel forwarded the photo of herself and the group selfie to Frank.

Then they headed inside. 

Mel gasped. It was potentially the fanciest room she'd ever been in. Huge Corinthian columns stretched up two stories, and every surface from the walls to the floor shone under glowy warm lighting. She craned her neck to look at the ceiling, where intricate molding surrounded a grand chandelier.

Mel had pictured a big dance floor, maybe a table with a punch bowl, but the space was filled with over a dozen circular tables set up for a full dinner service. Clearly it would not be a buffet. Music drifted from a live string quartet in the corner. There must have been over 200 people milling about and chatting, and a few photographers ducked and weaved throughout the room, flashes of light in their wake.

Samira's jaw was a little slack, and Santos snagged a passing waiter, handing the group champagne glasses from off his tray.

“Remember. Free booze,” she said to them. Whitaker tipped his head and downed half his glass in one gulp.

“Oh, this is intense,” Mel whispered to Samira.

Samira nodded, and suggested they should secure a table to park their purses at.

They made it ten feet before Gloria intercepted them. Mel whipped her head around to see that Whitaker and Santos had already made themselves scarce.

Gloria smiled, but it looked forced as if she was juggling a hundred things at once, and Mel and Samira were two additional items added to the fray.

“I am very pleased to see you both here. You're the perfect ambassadors to help share the high quality of care we provide in our emergency department,” she said, robotically. Mel didn’t think Gloria even knew her name.

“Dr. King,” Oh, she did. “During dinner I'd like to sit you, specifically, next to Mr. Corson, who is a very important donor for us,” she pointed to a man in his 70s wearing a plaid tie, an oversized suit and a much younger woman on his arm. “He'll be interested to hear more about your day-to-day work, but spare him the gory details. Mr. Corson is on the hospital board, and is an influential voice in approving in-house research projects. Dr. Robinavitch told me that may be of interest to you.”

Anxiety roiled in Mel's stomach. So Robby was listening to her pitch last month, after all. But he didn’t warn her that he’d set this connection up for her tonight. Mel would have prepared, if she’d known.

Gloria had another advantageous pairing planned for Samira, who'd be sitting next to a prominent sickle cell researcher. But dinner wouldn’t start for another hour, Gloria said, and she asked them to mingle with everyone they could before then and to say nice things about the hospital.

As Mel and Samira made the rounds, it was hard not to miss Frank's presence and ability to charm people. It was exhausting, sharing her name and role ad nauseum followed by questions like “What's it like saving lives?” (unanswerable) and “Was PittFest horrible?” (hard to answer politely).

Mel soon started to resent the people she was meeting, who wore jewelry and watches worth more than her car. These people thought donating a fraction of their massive wealth meant they were part of the emergency department team.

Mel felt her social battery draining over the course of the hour. She found herself speaking more incoherently to anyone who didn't know very technical medical terms. Samira was pulled away from her, and she was now trapped in a similar situation across the room. Meanwhile Santos and Whitaker appeared to be networking with ease, making the donors double over with laughter at whatever story they were telling in tandem.

Then, like a lifeboat, Mel saw Mateo's beautiful head of curly hair weaving between tables. Mel followed and he led her right to Javadi. She looked lovely in a glittery emerald-colored dress. Her eyes lit up on Mateo's return, and he handed her a cocktail. 

“You found Mel!” Javadi said, looking past him. Mel waved at her.

“Huh?” Mateo said, then turned around, following Javadi's gaze. Mel realized pursuing him across the room in silence may have been odd. “Oh. Hello, Dr. King.”

“Hi guys,” Mel said. She'd been relieved to see them, but realized she'd walked into the unfinished social awkwardness of Mateo thinking Mel was alone tonight because he'd turned her down.

“You two look great together,” Mel said, meaning it, which made them both smile and look shyly at each other. They still had an awkward first-date body language of standing stiffly a few feet apart, though, and Javadi was clutching her drink with both hands. 

“I heard Dr. Langdon got scheduled last-minute. I'm so sorry, Mel,” Javadi said, looking genuinely heartbroken.

Mateo knit his brows and looked between them in confusion.

“Oh, he and I made up. He helped me out with a difficult case,” Javadi said brightly, without divulging any more details. 

Mel felt an urge to more blatantly clear the air between herself and Mateo.

“Frank was always my date. He and I are… yeah,” she said, already fumbling her words. “I think you're an amazing nurse and a really great guy but I did not want to be your date. I'm sorry for asking you out, it was an accident.”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a second. Why could she never stop talking?

“Oh!” Mateo said brightly, to Mel’s relief. He relaxed and stepped closer to Javadi.

It was Javadi's turn to look confused. Mateo moved on quickly.

“Collins, Princess, and Dana are also here, somewhere. No one's seen Robby, which is weird because I think he's supposed to give a speech or something,” he said, craning to look around like Robby might suddenly appear.

Mel hoped she wouldn’t run into Robby tonight. It was already enough of a social minefield.

“Oh, God,” Javadi said, turning around and hiding her face in Mateo's shoulder. “My mother is here.”

Mel knew that Javadi had recently moved from home into an apartment with three roommates, much to the insult of her mother. The tension between them whenever Dr. Shamsi came downstairs to The Pitt was enough to make Mel squirm. 

Mel checked her phone for the time, and saw that Frank hadn't yet responded to her text with the photo. It was just about time for the gala's dinner service, though.

“There's still space at my table, come sit with me,” Mel said, already planning a route which would avoid both Dr. Shamsi and Gloria, who would no doubt love to sit a donor between two generations of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center doctors.

When they arrived at the table, the board member -- Mr. Corson -- and his young wife were already sitting down. Mel introduced herself and sat beside him. Javadi and Mateo grabbed the free seats on the other side. The rest of the chairs, save an empty one next to Mel, were all full of older rich white people.

Waiters began passing out the first course, some kind of salad, while Gloria gave a speech on a podium up front about supporting health care workers and facility upgrades. Mel mostly tuned it out, trying to psych herself up for speaking to Corson. She could see that a few tables over, Mohan and the sickle cell researcher had already become fast friends.

“So, Dr. King,” Mr. Corson said, “What research would you like the hospital to pay for?”

Mel sat straight up, surprised at his directness. “Is this an interview?” 

He shrugged, smiling and forking some arugula into his mouth. “It can be.”

Strangely, that made Mel feel a little better. It was more straightforward than small talk.

She shared her pitch, which was two phases. First, she’d survey autistic patients about how they felt about their care after visiting with a doctor like herself, Langdon or Collins who already made an effort to keep lights low and modify intake questions without being required to do so, and survey those whose doctors did none of the above. Then, depending on the patient feedback, they’d incorporate the approaches into hospital training and make it a standard. Mel believed that it could reduce the trauma and stress of ER visits for autistic patients, improving their long-term health outcomes, and with only a few minor adjustments.

Mr. Corson finished his salad while Mel spoke.

“Autism, huh? Touchy topic. And I'm not sure if that's in the scope of care for an emergency department,” he said. “Your job is to stop the bleed and send ‘em somewhere else. Research, training, and slowing down to give people special treatment equal dollars lost.” 

Mel caught the disappointed side-eye his wife, Alexa, gave him as she picked up her glass of wine. It gave Mel a flicker of confidence that she was right in this and should push a little harder.

“Well, sir, I'd estimate we have at least a dozen patients a week who are on the spectrum, and who…” What would someone in Gloria's world care about? “Who may be inclined to leave high patient review scores if they felt their needs were thoughtfully and preemptively accommodated.”

Mr. Corson nodded, looking like he was finally considering her pitch for the first time.

“Do you have a card, Dr. King?” Gloria’s email had recommended that they bring business cards to the gala, so Mel had brought 50. She dug one out from her purse and handed it to him, hands slightly shaking from adrenaline. Now she'd just have to stay on his good side for the rest of the meal.

But Mel was running out of steam by the second course. The board member was relentless with his questions, a lot of them based on false assumptions about how her job worked, and Mel was struggling between whether to correct him or try to roll with it. 

Corson couldn't seem to grasp that surgery wasn't really part of her job, and that's what he seemed most interested in. Alexa kindly jumped in a few times trying to get the subject off of medicine and onto topics like pickleball, which would fizzle out because Mel had never played. Mel was picking a cuticle raw underneath the tablecloth.

The PittFest question finally reared its head when two gentle knocks on the table to Mel's right made her heart swoop.

She stood up so quickly that she bumped the table, rattling plates and silverware. 

“You're here!” she exclaimed, sidestepping her chair to throw her arms around Frank.

If they weren't surrounded by people, she would have cried with relief and joy.

“In the flesh,” he laughed, clutching her tight. 

Frank let her go and took a step back. When he looked her up and down, his smile dropped into something akin to awe. He tilted his head slightly as he took in her face, her hair, her outfit, like he had all the time in the world to do so. The intensity of his gaze made her face flush. He reached out, reverent, to brush some of her hair over her shoulder. “You look beautiful,” he said, quietly.

He was wearing a dark suit and a white dress shirt without a tie. He looked so handsome that it made Mel's chest hurt. She brought a hand to his cheek to make sure he was really there, and when he smiled his dimple appeared under her thumb. 

“How are you here?” She asked, dropping her hand. She knew it was well past time to introduce him to the rest of the table, but didn’t really care.

“Robby came in and picked up my shift. He said it never should have happened, and that he was sorry,” Frank said, shrugging, but clearly still hurt. Then he looked at Mel again and smiled. “But you'd already sent that picture and I thought I might die if I didn't see you as soon as possible, so I didn't take the time to question it or let him change his mind.”

Mel rolled her eyes, flattered at his dramatic proclamation. She turned to the table, who had returned to their own conversations, bringing her hand to rest on Frank’s upper arm.

“This is Dr. Frank Langdon, a senior resident in the emergency department. He’s got plenty of great stories from the job. Frank, this is Mr. Corson, a hospital board member, and his wife, Alexa.” 

Mel actually hadn’t spoken to the rest of the guests at the table, who were smiling politely at Frank. Since they were standing, Mel could see Mateo and Javadi again over the gaudy centerpiece. They both waved.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Langdon,” Mr. Corson said, reaching out for a handshake. With Frank’s hand still in his grip, Corson’s smile fell, and his expression darkened. “Langdon. Why does that ring a bell?”

That’s when Gloria appeared out of nowhere.

Her smile was painted on, and Mel suddenly got the sense that something was deeply wrong.

“Dr. Langdon,” Gloria said, trying to communicate something urgent with her eyes. But when Mel glanced at Frank, she could see he was confused too. “I was told that you were working tonight.”

“Oh!” Frank said, relaxing. “Dr. Robby picked up my shift so I could come.”

Gloria’s eyes flared. “He did, did he?” She cast Mr. Corson a strained smile, then turned to Frank, leaning in close to speak in a hushed tone.

“Dr. Langdon. We have assigned seating, but I think I can squeeze you in over there,” she said, pointing to a table in the back, half-blocked by a marble column and completely vacant of people.

Mel was starting to piece everything together. There wasn’t assigned seating. 

Gloria was trying to put Frank in a corner, out of sight.

“There’s an empty seat right next to me,” Mel said, pulling out the chair and giving Gloria a chance to move on. Gloria looked at Mel briefly, like she hadn’t even noticed she was there. 

Gloria turned back to Frank, smile gone, mouth at an apologetic slant.

“Dr. Langdon. The board thought this fundraiser might not be the best fit for someone on probation with the hospital,” she said, cutting straight to it. “I’m sorry that Dr. Robinavitch didn’t communicate this properly to you.”

The realization fell heavy into Mel’s stomach. Robby had taken the blame for scheduling Frank so he wouldn’t have to know he’d been blacklisted from the gala by a higher power. That a whole board of people deemed him too much of a liability to be seen in public.

Maybe Robby had hoped Gloria wouldn't want to make a scene when Frank showed up tonight. Maybe he couldn't stand being the one to hurt Frank again, and didn’t think through anything else.

Either way, he'd made a bad call and now Frank was paying the price.

Frank stumbled backward a step, nodding like he’d already accepted the insult and would leave quietly. He looked at Mel, shameful tears already in his eyes.

Mel instantly reached out to grab his arm to keep him in place.

“You’re not sorry,” Mel said, turning to Gloria. It was loud enough for the table to hear, but Mel couldn’t help it. She was so mad.

But her voice was even. Mel never yelled. “The board’s not sorry.”

“Dr. King,” Gloria warned.

Mel dropped Frank's arm and stepped in front of him, fists clenched at her sides.

“No. The board doesn’t get to say sorry. You ask us to perform miracles at a discount every day, with laughably few breaks and no support. Then you turn around and ostracize someone who did everything he could to keep up, to the point that it nearly killed him,” she said. 

She thought of the man who overdosed last week, how Frank so quickly saw himself in his shoes. Every doctor in The Pitt, Mel included, had more in common with patients like him than these people. In a high pressure environment, everyone did what they could to stay sane, to stay productive. Mel herself skipped meals, lost sleep. How soon until her exhaustion got someone hurt?

Frank had certainly done wrong, and it had cost him dearly. But the only thing that changed at the hospital after he got caught was the way people treated him.

“No one saw that Dr. Langdon was in trouble, not for a long time. Administration only notices when someone burns out hard and loud enough to make a scene. When it hurts the bottom line,” Mel said, looking right at Mr. Corson at that. “Dr. Langdon is doing everything you’ve asked since returning, and then some. He’s exceedingly good at his job.”

She looked back at Frank. He didn’t look horrified, so she kept going. 

“He’s taught me so much about the kind of doctor I want to be. Someone who’s attentive, and kind, and confident. And he’s so excited to come to work every day and help people. The fact that he can still be that man after everything he’s been through is incredible,” she said, voice cracking for the first time. “But you don’t want him here.”

Mel noticed that a few of the nearby tables had turned to look. She was making a scene. She should stop talking.

“You don’t want him in your promotional photos? Don’t want him talking to the precious donors? Well you’re not getting any more from me, either. Not tonight. We’re leaving,” she said, pushing her glasses up her nose and grabbing her purse off the chair.

But looking at the shocked faces around the table, and at tables beyond, made her realize she may have just gotten herself in deep trouble. Oh God, she’d just made everything so much worse for Frank, too.

The first person to move was Alexa, who tipped her wine glass to Mel, looking impressed. When a furious Mr. Corson tried to stand, face bright red, she kept him down with a gentle hand on his shoulder and a slight shake of her head. Mel bit down a nervous smile.

Then Javadi barked out an excited laugh. She stood up, pulling her napkin from her lap and dropping it on the table with gusto. Mateo looked nervous, but stood up beside her.

“Victoria!” Dr. Shamsi hissed from three tables away. Javadi rolled her eyes, and gave Mel a smile and a nod.

Frank skirted past Mel to grab a bread roll off the table, taking a bite of it before dropping it on her plate and grabbing her hand. “Ugh. Stale. C’mon.”

He began running to the exit, pulling her along. And when he looked back at her he was smiling, eyes wide and bright. A firework went off in her chest at the sight of him.

She realized she felt just like this every day. 

The feeling came when she trailed him to the ambulance bay, watching him spin and turn just to keep looking at her. It came the times he asked if she was okay, and when he wouldn’t leave her alone until he believed it. When she saw him focused and in his element, eyebrows furrowed and biting his lower lip. Even the times when he said something snarky to a colleague, which she disliked, but then looked at Mel like he was pleased with himself and hoped she might laugh this time. 

She loved him, she loved him, she loved him, she loved him.

They burst out the front door of the museum in a whirl, the cool night air welcome on her skin after the stuffy company.

Frank turned to look back at her again and Mel closed the distance, pulling his face down to hers with both hands.

It was an inevitable collision. They both smiled into it.

Frank kissed Mel the same way he spoke to her. Soft, certain, and searching. It was like settling into a warm bath. He braced his arms across her back to lift her up on her tiptoes and she threw her arms around his neck, an excited laugh bursting out of her.

Frank pulled back to catch his breath, putting her feet back on solid ground before surging forward for another, deeper and more desperate kiss. He made an overwhelmed noise in his throat which made Mel's knees go weak. He then pulled back for real, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Hey, baby,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “That was really badass.”

“Nobody puts Frank in a corner,” she said, pleased at the Dirty Dancing reference but cringing a little at herself.

“Oh my God,” he said, laughing and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Does that mean I’m Baby?”

The front doors banged open and Santos strolled out with Whitaker in tow along with Samira, Javadi, Mateo, Collins, Princess, and Dana. It was everyone from The Pitt who had shown up at the gala. Gloria’s seating machinations must be in shambles.

Mel and Frank turned to face them, Frank keeping an arm around her waist.

“Ugh, gross,” Santos said. But Mel could tell she was pleased. “So there’s a great karaoke bar within walking distance, and it’s also their $4 beer night. I am not wasting this outfit on those rich assholes. Who’s in?”

Javadi raised her hand straight in the air. Princess nodded, and Collins and Dana gave each other a look.

“Sure, why the hell not,” Dana said. “It might be our last day of employment.”

Samira ran up and hugged Mel, clasping a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Finally. I was about to launch Operation 2.0 to get you to admit your feelings for her,” she said to him. Mel blushed.

“I’m texting the group chat, too, to see if anyone else wants to join when they get off work,” Santos said.

“Go ahead and put it in the chat that includes Robby,” Frank said, glancing meaningfully at Mel. Santos gave him a surprised look, but didn’t argue. 

“Thank God,” Collins said. “Your breakup has been so tiring. It's not easy listening to Robby cry about it every day.”

Frank reared back and asked “What?” but Collins was already walking down the block toward the bar. He called after her anyway. “Heather, was that a joke? Or does he talk about me? You have to explain that!”

The group began to follow her, but Frank didn’t move.

“Wait, we’ll meet you guys there. I need to get something from my car,” Frank said. Dana wolf whistled, and he laughed. “No, I actually do. We’ll see you there.”

He and Mel turned in the opposite direction, arm in arm. Mel felt warm and giddy and so, so happy to have Frank here, and that he was hers. They kept looking at each other while walking, then giggling and looking away again.

Frank kept rubbing his jaw like he was nervous, which was really cute. He had such a nice jawline. Mel wanted to bite it. It was a jarring thought that made her laugh again.

They made it to his car and Frank opened his trunk. He fumbled around for something while Mel stood on the sidewalk, enjoying the view.

“Wait, close your eyes for a sec.”

Mel obliged and heard a rustling. When he told her to open again, he’d swapped his suit jacket for a genuine vintage leather jacket. He stood with his arms splayed, as if to say “Ta-da!”

God, he was such a dork.

“Dana’s husband lent me this last week, but I was too nervous to wear it after seeing that dress code- “ Frank began, but was interrupted by Mel rushing over to pull him down by the collar. She trailed desperate, open-mouth kisses from his lips, down his jaw and to the side of his neck, where she lingered. He had such a nice neck.

He tilted his head back to give her access. His hands went to cradle her face, then slid into her hair. She could feel him breathing hard, at a loss for words for once. Giving into impulse, Mel went back up to gently sink her teeth onto the side of his jaw, the brashness of it sending a shiver down her spine.

A somewhat startled moan came out of him and he stumbled backward to sit down in the open trunk, pulling her along to stand between his thighs and guiding her face back up for another kiss. Mel fitted her thumb in his chin dimple, as she’d so longed to do, to coax his mouth open a little wider for her. He obliged. 

His restless hands moved to her waist, then wandered higher, before settling on her hips and pulling her body even closer, a soft “baby” under his breath. She could feel him everywhere.

The voice in her head that had convinced her Frank didn’t want her like this was long gone and dead and buried. Mel felt like a free woman. She felt a little unhinged, too, which was thrilling.

She felt the rumble under her hands, which had wormed their way underneath the jacket toward his shirt buttons, when he started laughing. She leaned back to examine his face, which was flushed, his beautiful eyes framed by smile lines.

“Dr. Melissa King. Are leather jackets, like, a thing for you?” His voice was so fond she couldn’t even be mad that he was teasing her. 

“On you, definitely,” Mel said, playing with the jacket’s collar, then bringing her thumb to the corner of his mouth, wanting to keep kissing. Frank groaned, nipping at it.

“Should we just skip the bar?”

Mel's stomach flipped with excitement. It was very tempting. But Santos had a point about not wasting a good outfit.

Mel kissed him one more time, deeply, because she could, then leaned back. “We should make an appearance. Everyone did ditch the gala for us, after all.”

Frank looked down, smile fading. “That was really nice of them.” 

“They really care about you, Frank. So do I,” Mel said, brushing his hair off his forehead, letting it flop back down again. “You’re easy to love.”

Frank looked up at her, face crumpling. He tipped forward to lean into her, pressing the top of his head into her sternum, and she ran soothing hands down his back, heart squeezing. She settled a palm on the place where he hurt most, and pressed hard with the heel of her hand, massaging it.

He took a few deep breaths to compose himself.

“Okay. Bar,” he huffed out, but didn’t move.

“Then bed,” Mel grinned, poking both sides of his face and spinning out of his grasp.

“You’re evil,” he said, sitting up, hair disheveled and looking a little dazed. It was the loveliest compliment in the world.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t the type of bar Mel was used to going into, not that she went out much. For one, there were no windows. Just a heavy metal door, a flickering light and a sign that said "NO MINORS" at waist level, as if it was there for delinquent children to read. Cigarette butts dotted the sidewalk outside, and a cotton candy vape smell lingered in the air. Mel’s nose scrunched in distaste, but Frank just smiled at her, starry-eyed, as he had been doing since the car.

They were definitely at the right place, though. They could hear someone singing “Pink Pony Club,” very passionately, from half a block away.

Frank held the door open for Mel, bracing it with his arm high, and she walked underneath him into the building. It was surprisingly roomy, with curved booths surrounding a dance floor and a raised karaoke stage. The place was busy, with most booths full, but not overwhelming. Some older guys played pool in the corner, and there was a pretty big bachelorette party in matching pink cowboy hats taking up two tables. 

It wasn’t a gay bar, but a pride flag on the wall made Mel feel a little more comfortable. Granted, the eclectic decor meant it was next to one of those singing robot fish and a signed photo of Guy Fieri.

It turned out the singer on stage was Santos. Now that they were inside, Mel grinned with the realization that she was awesome at it, even flawlessly riffing on some of the notes. Mel smacked Frank’s forearm in her excitement, and he used the movement as an excuse to link their hands together.

He pointed to a booth in the corner, already pulling her toward it. “There’s everybody.”

The table cheered when Mel and Frank walked up, Samira the loudest. Whitaker stayed silent, standing to the side to record Santos’ performance. He gave them a brief nod and smile before returning his focus to his task. Mel was pleased to see Mateo and Javadi pressed shoulder-to-shoulder.

Their table already had empty glasses all over it, which explained the flushed faces.

“There’s the woman of the hour!” Dana said.

Did she mean Mel?

“Robby called, we’re in the clear,” Collins said, smiling. “Apparently Gloria drove all the way to the hospital to chew him out in front of everyone, blaming your speech on his ‘bad influence and poor communication skills.’ Robby told her that he fully endorses everything you do, at all times, forever.”

“Oh no, is he going to get in trouble?” Mel said, and Frank squeezed her hand.

“Robby?” Princess laughed. “I once saw Robby blow off a handshake from the CEO just to tuck a nursing union pamphlet with a list of complaints directly into his suit jacket pocket. He’s been busting their balls for a very long time, Mel. You probably made his whole week.”

Dana elbowed Collins, who shot her an annoyed, incredulous look and mouthed “Now?” Dana nodded and tilted her head toward Frank.

Collins cleared her throat.

“Langdon, we were talking about what Mel said back there and - Jesus, I’m just so glad you’re still with us,” she said, her eyebrows furrowing. “I’m sorry I’ve been giving you the cold shoulder, that we all have. I was just… frustrated that you did what you did and you were so entitled thinking you could just waltz back in that same day. It left a bad taste in my mouth, when I heard. And Robby was so hurt -- God, you broke him, Frank!” 

Collins shook her head, as if dispelling bad memories. “I forgot that you were my friend, too, and that you were also hurting. I'm so grateful you've been able to get through this.”

“Oh, uh. Thanks. I'm sorry too. Every day,” Frank dropped Mel’s hand and rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. There was a long, awkward pause.

“Let the man have a drink, first, jeez you guys,” Princess said, which deflated the tension around the table with some laughs.

“Oh I don’t drink anymore,” Frank winced.

Collins let out an exasperated sigh and pressed her forehead to the table. She then stood up, shooing at Dana to let her out of the booth. Collins stood and pulled Frank into a hug.

After a moment of stiffness, he returned it. Mel saw his whole body relax. Collins took a deep, shaky breath. Mel almost started crying, herself, but it wasn’t her moment.

“I never thought I’d see you cry over me, Collins,” Frank said. “How much have you had to drink?”

Collins stepped back and rolled her eyes, smiling fondly and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Langdon, if you were sincere for longer than ten seconds, I think your body would have an allergic reaction. Also, what is going on with this jacket? You only get one mid-life crisis.”

Frank grinned at her, and popped the leather jacket's collar before smoothing it back down. “Alright, glad we’re back to normal. Can I get your next round?”

“Yes,” Princess said from the table. Frank glared at her.

“I didn’t get any heartfelt apology from you,” he said. She gave him a sweet smile paired with a middle finger.

Frank got drink orders for everyone, including Mel who decided to go for one of the $4 beers Santos mentioned. Mel offered to help him carry everything, but he declined and said he’d take multiple trips. She let him, sensing that he wanted to have a few minutes alone with his thoughts.

Mel settled into the booth by Samira, who waggled her eyebrows at her and looked pointedly at Frank. Mel realized she didn't fix his hair after the car, which probably gave them away.

Santos finished her song, and they all clapped. The bachelorette party across the room went crazy. Santos jogged down the stairs, pumping her fists like a boxer, and ran to collect her phone from Whitaker who was smiling with pride.

Samira then leaned in close to Mel, covering her mouth with her hand.

“I have had two drinks and I think you might be one of my best friends and I really want to tell you something very important before he gets here,” Samira whispered. They must have been strong drinks.

“Who, Frank?” Mel laughed.

“Shh. No. Jack,” Samira said, then clasped a hand over her own mouth.

Mel shook her head, confused. She couldn't think of anyone she knew named Jack.

“Dr. Abbot,” Samira hissed.

“Oh,” Mel sat straight up. “What do you want to tell me?”

“I think he’s so hot,” Samira whined. “I don't care that he's old.”

“Oh,” Mel said, again. She could kind of see that. Whenever those two worked together, everything they said sounded like an innuendo. Once Frank had pointed that out to Mel, she couldn’t unsee it.  “That’s it?”

Samira nodded, looking tortured.

“Okay. Thank you for telling me,” Mel said, feeling unequipped for this confession. Luckily Frank returned with the first set of drinks at that moment, and Mel helped pass them along down the line. She turned back to Samira.

“If you want it, go for it,” Mel said, thinking of her own luck with Frank. “And be yourself. I’m happy to launch an Operation, if needed.”

Samira smiled wide.

Frank returned, putting the remaining drinks down and sliding an arm around Mel, which made her feel warm and fuzzy. The $4 beer, it turned out, was also warm. Gross. She sipped it anyway. Frank had gotten a glass of cold kombucha on tap, somehow. This bar had a very confusing vibe.

Mel settled into him and enjoyed letting the conversation at the table wrap around her. Frank toyed with her hair, staying mostly quiet. But he was clearly engaged, reacting audibly to Collins’ theory that some of the rats lived, had unionized, and were stealing food from the breakroom.

When there was a prolonged break in the karaoke queue, everyone chanted Samira’s name until she agreed to sing something, with the caveats that she took a shot first and that someone went up there with her. Santos volunteered.

Mel took the opportunity in the shuffle to flatten Frank's hair as much as she could. Once she had it to her satisfaction, he grinned and mussed it up again, leaning in to kiss her annoyed face.

Their friends were in the middle of an interesting performance of “Breaking Free” from High School Musical when the door opened and Abbot entered the bar, still in his scrubs. Samira yelped into the microphone and tried to hide, but Santos grabbed her arm to keep her in place. Samira kept singing, keeping a hand over her eyes.

Abbot's ever-stoic face broke into a smile, and he stopped in the threshold, crossing his arms and gazing up at the stage.

Mel elbowed Frank, and tried to widen her eyes in a way that conveyed Do you see the way he's looking at her? 

Mel wouldn’t spill Samira’s secret, of course, but it was hard to keep things from Frank. He was so fun to gossip with. She hoped he’d put two and two together soon so they could talk about it. 

But for now, he just gave Mel a confused look and turned in Abbot’s direction just in time to see Robby walk in the door, along with Perlah who joined Abbot, transfixed in place by the performance. Santos was still singing but had wrapped her arms around Samira Titanic-style, as Samira held her arms out like an airplane.

Robby lingered close to the door, one hand still on it like he wanted to walk straight back out.

Frank turned back around to face the table. He took his arm off of Mel and patted his hair down, then grasped his kombucha glass with both hands. She briefly squeezed his knee under the table before scooting away to give him space. 

Robby scanned the room before seeing their table, eyes catching on the back of Frank’s head. Robby rubbed a hand across his beard, looking stressed, then looked to Mel which made her realize she was being obvious with her staring.

She decided to lean into it and wave to summon him over. Frank widened his eyes at her in disbelief. But it was time for these two to rip the Band-Aid off. She knew Frank was ready. She hoped Robby was.

Robby took his sweet time, passing their table with a nod before going to the bar. Frank stiffened slightly as he walked by, which made Mel's heart ache.

“Robby, I swear to God,” Dana said under her breath.

When Robby returned, holding a beer, Collins eased the tension a little by being the first to speak.

“You missed quite the gala,” Collins said.

“And you all missed quite the 20 car pileup. I've done so many concussion tests today I feel like I got one myself,” Robby said. Then he turned to Mel.

“I heard about what happened. Gloria is pinning the anti-board talk on me and I'm happy to claim that influence. I'm proud of you, Dr. King,” he said, then winced a little. “For what that's worth.”

Mel smiled. Despite everything, it was still worth a lot. 

“Oh, and Kiara can work in your study on autistic patients into her quarterly accessibility recommendations. I should have thought of that earlier, rather than making you go through Corson,” he grimaced. “The board usually approves whatever Kiara submits without batting an eye. Can you write a plan up for her this weekend?”

Mel nodded enthusiastically. “That's incredible, thank you!” 

Frank, the subject of Mel's whole gala speech, was silently watching the exchange. Mel wondered if she should have reigned in her excitement. Seeing Robby be a good mentor to her may have been salt in the wound for Frank.

Robby finally turned to face Frank fully.

“Hey, Dr. Langdon. Can we talk?” Robby said, gesturing to an empty booth across the room.

Frank looked up at him, then turned to Mel, and she felt that same feeling as that day Robby humiliated him in the emergency room. Like if she looked away first, he'd drown. It was brief, but seemed to give Frank the confidence he needed.

“Robby, this has been one of the best nights of my life, and I really don't want to ruin it with a lecture. What is there to talk about?” 

Robby looked between Frank and Mel, shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pockets, hunching his broad shoulders then straightening them again.

“I don't know, Frank, how about we start with counting the ways I've been a dick? Can we please -” Robby paused, then cooled his voice. “I was wrong. I want to say that I was wrong. I understand if you want to save that talk for another time.”

Frank relaxed, and gave Mel's knee a quick squeeze under the table before he slid out of the booth.

“Well, I do owe you big time for picking up my shift tonight. Lead the way,” Frank said, which seemed to startle Robby into a smile.

As those two settled into a booth, Abbot came over and asked Mel if he could take Frank's empty seat. When she nodded he eased down with a sigh, leaning his leg straight out and rubbing the place where prosthetic met flesh.

“Long day?” Dana said to him, eyes soft.

Abbot only nodded, exhaustion written on his face.

Mateo began to get up. “I'll get you a beer. Victoria, want another Sprite?” 

She shook her head, and started getting up to follow him to the bar. “Maybe. Let me look at the drink menu.”

Abbot smiled at them, just with his eyes. Then he turned to Mel, and his face brightened even more.

“Hey! Way to stick it to the man today,” he stuck out a fist, which Mel almost shook, before changing course to tap her knuckles against his.

“You should have seen it,” Dana said, proud. “I thought Gloria's head was going to explode. Did you hear they fuckin’ voted to blacklist Langdon? How insane is that?”

Abbot nodded. “Robby asked me to testify against it during their meeting Monday, but to try to keep it under wraps so Langdon wouldn’t catch wind of the vote. I talked about how much he stepped up when we had him on the graveyard shift his first two months back, how he didn't have any attitude, how many saves he’s had. The board wasn't listening,” he said. “One guy was even texting during it.”

“Monday?” Mel squeaked. “Why did Robby wait until yesterday to tell Frank he couldn't go?”

Abbot shrugged. “He hoped he'd be able to fix it.”

Collins nodded, but didn’t add anything else.

Mateo returned to drop a beer in front of Abbot with a nod before heading to the pool tables. Victoria was already setting up a game for them, leaning down to line everything up exactly right, emerald green dress sparkling under the warm lighting. She was arranging the pool balls like an expert. Mel wondered where she learned to play.

“Dr. King, how’s the car search going?” Abbot asked, bringing her attention back to the table.

She asked if he’d seen the offer she forwarded this morning. Abbot shook his head, and pulled out his phone to check it out. He zoomed in on the pictures of the inside of the hood. Mel wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he was nodding.

“That's a great deal for that car. Let's set up a time for my mechanic to join you and check it out. How about Sunday? I can come with if you want,” Abbot said.

“Don’t you have stuff to do, on your day off?” Mel said. She did want him there, though. He clearly knew what he was doing.

Abbot shrugged again. “This is more fun than what I had planned.”

It would be really embarrassing if Mel started crying right now. She didn't know what she did to earn any of this kindness.

Abbot leaned away from her, looking puzzled at her reaction.

“Sorry,” Mel said, inhaling and schooling her face. “Yes, that would be great. Thank you.”

Samira slid into the opposite side of the booth, a fresh drink in hand, and Abbot sat up straight.

“How bad was I?” She groaned.

Princess laughed. “You're lucky you went for medical school and not American Idol .”

“I thought you sounded great,” Abbot said, then cleared his throat. Samira hadn’t sounded great or even good, but he sounded like he meant it.

“Thanks,” Samira smiled warmly, straightening one of the straps on her dress. “You up for a duet?”

“Hell no,” Abbot said, and took a long drink of his beer.

“Well, how about teaching me how to play pool?” She nodded over to the tables, where Javadi seemed to already be handily beating Mateo.

“That I can do,” he said. He gave Mel a nod before easing up out of his seat to follow Samira.

That was flirting, right? Mel stared straight ahead, not wanting to reveal anything with her face. But it was hard to miss the look Dana and Princess shared before Princess leapt from the table, likely to go find Perlah.

Mel looked to Frank and Robby’s table, where they were sitting on opposite ends from each other, both looking at their drinks and avoiding eye contact. But at least they were talking, and both their faces looked relaxed. She smiled to herself at the sight of them.

“You really love him, huh?” Collins said, kindly. Mel’s eyes widened and she turned back to her and Dana, the only ones left at the table.

Mel could only nod, smiling and biting her lip. Collins gave her a fond smile.

“You’ve brought something out of him that I haven’t seen in a long time,” she said, watching Frank and Robby talk. “You know we worked through Covid together? And he had Tanner right in the middle of it, and Emma came right when things were easing up. And that damn back injury. I don’t think he’s taken a real breath in five years. You make him pause.”

Dana nodded, looking pained. Then she smiled. “You make him less of an ass, too.”

Mel knew it was a joke, and that Dana loved Frank, but she felt a need to defend him. “He’s been good for me, too. I wouldn’t have been able to do what I did today without him.”

“You would have,” Dana said. “But point taken.”

Mel smiled, sipping her gross beer. She looked around and saw that both Santos and Whitaker had cozied up to the bachelorettes. Santos had taken off her suit jacket and was arm wrestling the bride, and Whitaker was about to take a shot along with the rest of the table.

Perlah and Princess were sitting on barstools, leaning close and gossiping just like they did at work.

Over at the pool tables, Samira and Abbot were playing as a team against Javadi and Mateo. Samira bent over to line up a shot, lavender dress nicely showing off her curves, closing one eye to aim. Abbot blatantly looked up at the ceiling, tilting his head up and everything, to avoid looking at her butt. Mel laughed, and turned to see Dana and Collins had noticed it too.

“Oh boy,” Collins said, and Dana rolled her eyes, sharing a smile with Mel.

Feeling that moment of camaraderie with these women, and taking in the scenes around her, made Mel suddenly mourn all the invitations for after-work drinks that she’d had to turn down. These were her people. 

More time passed, some friends had more drinks than others, and Mel was deep in a discussion with Collins about a new medical study on disparities in STEMI wait times when she felt two knocks on the table. She smiled, turning to see Frank.

“Hey, baby,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners. He had taken off the leather jacket, which he tossed down onto the seat. He’d rolled up his sleeves, too, his toned forearms a welcome sight.

Frank extended a hand, and she took it. He pulled her up and a few steps away from the booth. He looked nervous, glancing toward the empty karaoke stage. 

Mel turned back and saw Robby slide into the booth next to Collins, and Abbot and Samira joined them right after.

“How’d it go with Robby?” Mel said.

“Huh?” he said, looking back at her. “Oh. Good. Really good, Mel. I’m so fucking relieved. But I’ll tell you about it later.”

Mel smiled, wishing later could happen now. But Frank’s attention was totally fixed to the front of the room.

Then Santos climbed the steps, and Frank smiled. Whitaker hopped up onto the stage behind her wearing one of the pink cowboy hats from the bachelorette party. All but three of his dress shirt buttons were undone.

The karaoke manager watched Whitaker, finger hovering over the button to start the song. He, like Mel, was likely concerned Whitaker was about to topple over.

Whitaker took a deep swig of his beer, holding the glass with both hands like a toddler. Some foam leaked down the sides of his mouth.

“Oh, God, I'm so sorry Mel. This is going to be a disaster,” Frank said, dropping her hand and peeking through his fingers like he was scared to fully look. What would he have to be sorry about?

Despite being twenty feet away and up on the stage, Santos caught Frank's distress. She turned to Whitaker, bringing her microphone up to her mouth.

“Dennis!” She shouted, making the mic screech with feedback. Whitaker startled, looking around the room like he was being attacked by a bird. “Dennis. Langdon paid us 20 bucks for this, I need you to lock the fuck in.”

“Yeah, lock in Whitaker!” Robby shouted from his table, through laughter. Collins elbowed him, rolling her eyes but grinning.

“Atten-hut!” Abbot added, faux-serious which made Samira giggle so hard she snorted.

Apparently, the attendings’ voices cut through the drunken fog. 

Whitaker locked the fuck in. Santos handed him the second mic, and he clicked his heels together, standing pin straight like he was about to perform the national anthem.

He gave a curt nod to the karaoke manager. 

A familiar note began to play.

And out of Whitaker's mouth, in a silky, deep and dulcet tone, came the words that made Mel scream in delight, jump up and down, and hit Frank in the arm a few times.

“Now I've… had… the time of my life… No, I've never felt like this before… ”

“Oh shit he's really good,” Frank said, grinning at Mel, rocking back on his feet and laughing in disbelief. 

And Santos had already demonstrated how good of a singer she was the other times she was up there, but she was really working this one. Mel saw Dana pull out her phone and start recording them, smiling like a proud mom.

When the music kicked in, Frank took Mel’s hand again and wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Dance with me.”

“Where, here?” Mel said, looking around to confirm that they'd be the center of attention as the only dancers on the floor, which was right in front of the stage.

“Yeah, here,” Frank grinned, raising her arm and leading her into a spin. He swept her to the center of the dance floor, and she heard Whitaker say “aww” into his microphone.

Mel looked around. Everyone was staring at them. Well, the bachelorette party was mostly staring at Frank, if they weren't staring at Santos. One even rested her chin on her hand and sighed. That brought Mel a confusing blend of smugness and anxiety.

But Frank just leaned closer to her, and said, warmly: “It's just you and me, here.” 

She melted. Then he suddenly dipped her backwards and she came up laughing.

Mel rested her head against him, feeling his heart racing under her cheek. She breathed in a nice, clean cologne he never wore at work, an oasis in the cigarette and beer smell of the bar. They did a kind of swaying, slow-dance thing, which didn’t fit very well with the music but felt very right. Her heart was so full.

When Whitaker crooned, “Hey, baby!” Frank and Mel laughed. Mel planted a kiss on his cheek and thanked her lucky stars that he'd started saying it as a joke all those weeks ago. She never wanted him to stop, and knew that he never would.

And, when Mel looked around again, she saw that they weren't alone anymore.

On the far end of the dance floor, the bachelorette party had joined in, forming a circle with the bride doing the robot in the center.

Javadi and Mateo were also dancing, not touching, but facing each other while mirroring the other's dance moves and looking ridiculously happy. Princess and Perlah had pulled some strangers up from the bar to dance.

Collins swayed to the music and watched the scene from her seat. This was apparently enough to encourage Robby to stand up and extend a hand to her, gentlemanly, which she accepted with a shy smile. They took to the dance floor and made quite a stunning pair, despite the clash of her red gala dress and his scrubs.

Samira had taken to the dance floor on her own, grooving with a big smile on her face and her eyes closed, drink held high. Abbot was sitting, frozen with a beer halfway up to his face, eyes glued on her. 

Dana elbowed Abbot with a knowing smile. He looked at her sheepishly and took a sip of his beer, face red.

Frank kissed Mel's temple, bringing her attention back to him. Everything about him was so beautiful. 

The music was building, and Santos and Whitaker were putting on the performance of a lifetime, serenading each other directly, eyes wild, harmonizing like they practiced at home daily.

“You're the one thing I can't get enough of…”

“Here comes the lift, you ready?” Frank said, into Mel's ear. She could hear that he was smiling.

“Don't you dare,” she laughed.

“This could be love, because -”

Instead of a lift, Frank cradled Mel's face in both hands and kissed her deeply, which was much better than a lift anyway. It certainly made Mel's top 10 list of the happiest moments of her life. When they broke apart, both grinning and a little teary, Frank picked her up by the waist, just slightly, to spin in a circle.

The saxophone came in and she looped her arms around his neck, feeling like he'd just lassoed the moon and stars for her. Frank's mouth went slack, smile fading, settling his arms around her waist. 

He looked like he was holding himself back from blurting something out

“What is it?” Mel said, wishing she could read his mind.

“I just love you so much, Mel,” he said. “I'm in awe of you.” 

“Good,” Mel said, smiling, and laying a hand to his cheek. “Because I am so in love with you.”

“Yeah?” Frank said, eyes bright but looking a little unsure of himself, like he worried he was being too much. But Mel had never been more sure of anyone.

“M-hm,” she nodded before planting a soft kiss on the crook of his neck and settling in.

“Cool,” he exhaled, relaxing and hugging her tighter as they swayed. 

Mel wished she could live in this moment forever. But she also couldn't wait for what lay ahead for them tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. For one, they had several more Matrix movies to watch. She was also so excited for work on Monday, knowing he'd be a terrible flirt and she'd probably have to steal a kiss during their stretch break or they'd both go crazy. 

She also couldn't wait to meet his kids. She wondered what parts of him she'd see in their little mannerisms, what parts were brand new. She wanted to meet Abby, too, and to know everything Abby could tell her about who Frank was before he was Mel's. She wondered if they'd all like Becca's favorite ice cream spot. 

Maybe she was thinking too far ahead. But, for once, it was nice to let her mind wander out of her control.

When the music picked up again for the instrumental finale, Mel felt another arm wrap around her, and the rim of a cheap cowboy hat dug into the side of her head.

“I love you guys,” Whitaker said, loud but muffled by Frank's shoulder. She hadn’t noticed him leave the stage. “Is it okay that I'm hugging you? It just looked really nice. I don't get hugged much since leaving home.”

“Hey, buddy,” Frank laughed, pulling his arm out from where Whitaker had wedged it, tipping the hat back and out of Mel's face, then wrapping an arm around their friend's shoulders. “Get in here”

Samira's lovely floral perfume engulfed Mel as she materialized to hug them from the other side.

“I'm so happy for you guys,” she said, emotion and alcohol making her voice wobble. 

Then, from behind, she heard Javadi say “Wait, me too!” before she came behind Mel and joined the hug. Mel could feel Javadi's forehead digging into her back. But it was strangely really nice, being fully enclosed on all sides like this. Both Mel's arms were secure around Frank, keeping her grounded, but she loved this awkward group hug with her friends.

They broke apart when the song ended, but Frank kept an arm around Mel.

Their friends at the tables clapped, while Santos bowed, still on stage. She hopped down and one of the bachelorette girls was next up, beginning an ear-piercing, off-pace rendition of the long version of Taylor Swift's “All Too Well.”

Frank looked at the singer with distaste. He turned to Mel, tipping his head into hers to speak low and close.

“Wanna get out of here?”

Mel nodded, electricity racing from his hand on her waist all the way up her spine. She was more than ready to go home with him. 

But she looked at Whitaker and Samira, who were now dizzily waltzing to the bad performance, and felt a pang of guilt for leaving it up to a relatively sober Santos to herd them into a Lyft. 

“Do you think we could drop them off at Santos’ place first? Just to make sure they get there okay?”

Frank gave them a judgy look, then glanced at Mel which softened him immediately. “They're lucky you're the nicest person in the world, and that I'm in a charitable mood,” he said.

--

A drunken Whitaker insisted on shaking everyone's hand when saying goodbye, even the bartender who had neglected to cut him off, so it took a while to actually leave. Frank was spinning his keys around his finger, looking impatient but amused. He’d given Mel the leather jacket to wear on the walk back, which she kept grinning about, hugging herself with it. Samira was leaning on Mel’s shoulder, occasionally singing “Be-cause I’ve had…the time of my life,” under her breath.

They watched as Whitaker took extra time with Abbot, clutching the pink cowboy hat to his chest out of respect. Mel winced when she heard him say “Thank you for your service.”

Abbot, to his credit, held in his laughter until Whitaker turned around to finally leave. Abbot looked to the others at the table and raised his eyebrows, smiling in disbelief. Robby went bright red, laughing with his whole body, burying his face in both hands and falling into Dana’s shoulder. Collins was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

“Get him home safe, Frank,” Collins called to them, looking like she was trying to not tease Whitaker too badly, and was about to fail. “Make sure he drinks some water.”

Frank flashed a thumbs up, mouth pressing into an annoyed straight line showing both dimples. Robby gave him a fond smile and a parting nod, which Frank returned.

On the walk to the car, Frank kept Whitaker from wandering into the street by linking elbows. He also kept having to reach up to make sure Whitaker's new hat stayed on. They walked ahead while Mel and Santos took either side of Samira. She was fine to stay upright on her own without help, but still occasionally bumped into them, giggling.

They piled into Frank's SUV, Whitaker taking the middle seat in the back between Samira and Santos.

“Why is my seat sticky?” Santos said, as soon as the doors closed.

“Why are you complaining when you're getting a free ride home?” Frank said, tossing her a bitchy look over his shoulder as he clicked his seatbelt. He did a double take. “Is that someone's phone number on your arm?”

“Yessir! From one of our cowgirls,” Santos said. Mel couldn’t see her face, but it was certainly smug. “She's cute too. Yolanda is going to be so jealous when she sees my insta story.”

Mel and Frank shared a look. Their breakup had been a disaster.

“Oh my God, slime!” Samira said, leaning over to pick a container up off of the ground then popping it open to shove her fingers into it, making a flarp noise.

“I love you guys,” Whitaker said again, leaning forward to put one hand on Frank's seat and another on Mel's, before emitting a burp that sounded dangerously wet. “I’m so glad you’re going to get married. You’re my favorite coworkers besides Santos and also besides Samira and also Javadi and also Jesse. And also that old guy who mops - ”

“Jesus Christ,” Frank said, resting his forehead on the steering wheel and turning the keys. Mel reached over and gave his upper thigh a reassuring squeeze, grateful he was willing to do this for their friends. Then she quickly folded her hands in her lap, heat rushing to her face. That was the first time she'd ever touched him there. In her excitement all night, she'd completely forgotten this was all still very new for them.

Frank clearly hadn't forgotten. He turned his head and gave Mel a look that made her think he might call that Lyft after all, just to get her alone with him as soon as possible. 

“Whitaker,” Frank said, head still on the steering wheel, eyes still on Mel. “Buckle up. Now.”

The drive was as chaotic as could be expected, but Mel stayed quiet, enjoying the constant noise from their friends in the backseat. They’d taken to trying to name a medical term starting with every letter in the alphabet. She meditated on Frank’s features, loving his intense and careful focus on the road ahead, how he subtly mouthed along to the song on the radio, how his blue eyes turned into dark pools in this low light. She wanted to reach out and touch him. He must have felt her gaze, because he moved a hand over toward her lap, palm up, so she could lace her fingers into his for the rest of the drive.

Frank unbuckled his seatbelt when they reached their destination, but Santos told him to stand down. She ushered everyone out of the backseat and onto the sidewalk. Samira and Whitaker immediately linked elbows to do a square dance thing, Samira snatching the cowboy hat off his head to wear it herself. Frank rolled down his window, and Santos leaned into it, hands in her pockets.

“You sure you don’t need help getting them inside?” Frank asked, a hand waiting on the car door’s handle.

“I’ve got them from here, Langdon. Thanks for getting us home,” Santos said. Then she leaned forward to rest her elbows on the window, extending a folded $20 bill to him in two of her fingers.

“You should take this back,” she glanced at Mel, smiling softly. “I'm glad I got to be a part of that. It was really fun.”

“Nah, keep it. You definitely earned it with that performance. You can buy some hangover breakfast burritos in the morning. Those guys are going to need them,” Frank said, nodding to the drunk duo.

Santos narrowed her eyes, appraising the real meaning of Frank’s offer. An apology, for everything. A request to try to be friends. Mel was so proud of him, and was doing everything she could to keep a casual expression.

“Alright,” Santos said, pocketing the money. She leaned further into the window, pointing to Mel abruptly enough that Frank leaned back into his seat. “Mel! I never got to say how fucking awesome that speech at the gala was. Don’t you ever forget that you are way cooler than your boyfriend.”

Frank laughed. “Don't I know it.”

Mel brought a hand to her cheek, grinning. Boyfriend.

“Okay, goodnight. See you losers Monday,” Santos said, going to collect Samira and Whitaker. Frank didn’t take the car out of park until he saw them successfully make it inside.

--

Mel and Frank stumbled to the front door of her apartment, giddy after having stopped to make out on the way up the stairs. Frank kissed the side of Mel's neck from behind as she fumbled for her keys, both his hands roaming around her waist.

After several failed attempts to get her key in the lock, Mel opened the door, flipped on the lights, and stopped short.

She hadn’t had time to tidy up after work, and the apartment was in a state. Mel hadn’t thought Frank would even be at the gala, let alone that he would come back here. There were dishes piled in the sink and papers and books strewn across the coffee table.

“You okay?” Frank asked, straightening up behind her and moving his hands from her hips to her shoulders.

“Yeah. I just need to -”

Mel broke apart from him and headed for the coffee table, embarrassed. She began to tidy up while shaking her head, annoyed at herself for not cleaning earlier.

She kept glancing at Frank. He was still standing by the door, observing her, looking flushed and concerned. She'd already undone his top few dress shirt buttons on the stairs. 

Then he nodded to himself and headed to the sink, pushing up his sleeves. He got to work on the dishes like he was totally content with this abrupt change of direction.

“Want to watch a movie or something?” he asked, placing a clean dish in the drainer. “Or just sleep? It's pretty late.”

Mel shook her head. She knew, logically, that he wouldn't have cared about the mess. She cursed her anxious brain for placing a roadblock in front of their route to the bedroom.

Frank read her face, then smiled softly, continuing to wash dishes. He could be patient.

With some effort, Mel abandoned the mess on the table. She took a deep breath, and shook out the tension in her arms, bouncing on her feet. She stripped off the leather jacket, dropped it on the couch, and returned to the kitchen. 

She wrapped her arms around Frank's middle, resting her cheek on his back. He was so warm. He hummed in greeting and continued to scrub dishes.

“I'm nervous too,” he said, a few dishes later. “Like really fucking nervous. You're a big deal.” 

He shut the water off, keeping his hand on the faucet. “But I want to, tonight, if that’s what you want. And if you want to wait until another night, we wait. As long as you need.”

Mel tightened her hug around his waist, resting her forehead on his back and closing her eyes, enjoying his nearness.

She exhaled, steeling herself to go for what she really wanted. 

Mel unfurled herself from him, and Frank stilled. She kissed his left shoulder, through his shirt, then tiptoed to kiss the nape of his neck, then the right shoulder. Maybe it was strange of her, but it felt right, to telegraph her movements and intentions to him this way.

Frank turned around, bracing his hands back on the counter and looking down at her with that unbearably fond expression that Mel now recognized as love.

She placed her hands on the counter on either side of his waist, bracketing him in, and kissed the left side of his neck, then the right underside of his jaw, which made him exhale shakily.

He leaned forward so Mel could reach his mouth, which was parted. She stopped just short of a kiss.

“Frank, I'm going to head to my room, and I'd like it if you came with me,” she said, then realized she should be a little more clear with her meaning. “I really want to have sex with you tonight.”

His eyes widened and he nodded, swallowing hard. 

“Cool.” It was only one word, but he sounded out of breath.

-

The butterflies in Mel's stomach had, on occasion, done backflips at work when she saw the face Frank made when he was really focused on a procedure. He'd part his mouth, tongue teasing his lower lip, while speaking soft and low and a little strained, eyes locked on the task at hand. He looked -- Mel was allowed to think it now -- hot.

So being the subject of that focus was intense, to say the least. Especially when that expression kept breaking with a brief, incredulous smile every time her body reacted or she made a new sound.

And they rarely stopped talking to each other throughout, which kept Mel blissfully tethered to herself and in the moment. His voice gentle, “Is this okay?” turned into “Like that?” turned into incoherent praise. She loved him, and he was so good to her, and she told him these things over and over.

Afterward they kissed lazily, both content and smiley but finally at a loss for words. Sleep pulled at Mel's eyelids.

But - she couldn’t go to sleep without using the bathroom, brushing her teeth, and washing her face. After the thought struck, she informed Frank of this and abruptly peeled off him, rolling out of bed and grabbing her glasses from the night stand.

He leaned up on his elbows to watch her pull on a fresh t-shirt and underwear with a goofy smile on his face. When she entered the bathroom, she soon heard his footsteps padding down the hallway toward the kitchen. She smiled to herself.

She opened the bathroom door back up and Frank appeared, holding a glass of water, and leaned on the doorframe to watch her. He'd put his underwear back on, but this was her first real look at him without a shirt. She reached out to run a hand down his chest, just to acknowledge how much she liked it, still brushing her teeth. He grinned.

“Can I borrow that toothbrush when you're done?”

“That's unsanitary,” Mel said, lisping from the toothpaste. She spat in the sink.

Frank pouted. He didn’t need to say the joke out loud that their mouth germs were already very familiar. 

“Just use your finger, I'll buy you a spare toothbrush to keep here,” she said.

He leaned off the door frame to hand her the glass of water, which was apparently always for her, then applied the toothpaste to his finger. 

When they climbed back into bed they laid on their sides, facing each other on separate pillows. After all the touching, which was so good Mel's body was still floaty and buzzing from it, it was also nice to just let things reset for a little while, to not touch. 

Frank seemed to understand her need for a break, and compromised by only playing with the ends of her hair splayed across the pillow.

Noses inches apart, they debriefed the gala and the bar, speaking in hushed tones with loud outbursts of laughter. When Mel told him about Whitaker's “Thank you for your service” thing, which Frank hadn't overheard, he giggled in a boyish way she'd never heard from him.

They were both so exhausted and happy that it had the delirious energy of a middle school sleepover.

Mel had a sleep deprived thought. She wished they could have met back then. She would have fought his bullies, told him he was cute, taken him to the dance. She realized she could say these kinds of thoughts out loud to him, now, so she did.

“I can't believe you're thinking about middle school right now,” he said, hiding his face in his pillow. But he was smiling.

“Well, I'm thinking about you and me,” Mel said. “Actually, I guess I don't wish we could have met back then. But I wish I could have told middle school Mel about you. That she had a lot to look forward to, and middle school isn't forever, you know?” 

Frank's smile softened and he swallowed hard, turning on his back to look at the ceiling. “I'm so scared for my kids to get to that age. Tanner only has one friend in kindergarten so far, and that friend is kind of weird,” his voice dropped to a whisper, a horrified confession incoming. “And Emma… she ate a worm last week, Mel. Not even whole. She chewed it.”

Mel snorted.

“Weird is good. Weird is interesting,” she said, examining his side profile, his dark eyelashes and the slope of his nose. They both knew personally that being weird made middle school bad, too. She didn't say that part.

Frank smiled, and looked over to her. He didn't call her weird out loud, but she could tell he was thinking it, very fondly. He looked back to the ceiling.

“Robby and I had a good talk at the bar,” he said, suddenly.

Mel couldn’t resist. “I can't believe you're thinking about Robby right now.” 

That made Frank snort a laugh, to her satisfaction. But she wiggled forward to throw her arm around him and lay her head on his chest, to make sure he knew she was listening. He continued, softly.

“I think about who I was the day we met, and feel sick. You were already looking at me like I mattered to you, like you trusted me, and I was actively using and stealing and -” he sighed. “Robby had been right to worry about us being together, even though his delivery left something to be desired. I just really don't want to fuck this up. I'm laying here and I'm so fucking happy but I'm also already thinking about when I'm going to lose you.”

He made a pained noise and turned to kiss Mel's hair, breathing in. 

Mel propped up on her elbow, over him, to look into his eyes. She thought about the first time she ever laid her head on his chest, crying in his car.

“Frank, you know I love you, but that's a really fucked up thought process,” she said, keeping her face serious.

He closed one eye, smirking. “I deserve that. Sorry. I'm not trying to freak you out or push you away. I'm just tired. My filter is gone.”

“I once warned you I'd make a list of all the reasons I want you in my life. I'll start writing it tomorrow,” she smiled, fitting her thumb onto his chin. “The first thing on it is that you always try to be a better person, every single day. So we'll take it one day at a time, knowing there will be bad days.”

He exhaled, settling back into the pillow and tearing up. He was looking at her like he was memorizing her face, still worrying about the day she'd give up on him. Mel knew the look because she knew the feeling. But this was the first time in her life that she wasn’t the one feeling it. So she continued.

“Number two is you're so gentle with me. I want you to try and be gentle with yourself, too.”

She kissed him, briefly, and laid back down, tucking into the crook of his neck, wrapping a leg around him. Mel was so comfortable that she started dozing off almost immediately.

“What's number three?” Frank asked the ceiling after some silence, pulling her from near-sleep.

“Greedy,” Mel said, smiling and keeping her eyes closed. “Time to sleep.”

Frank huffed, but she felt his breathing even out as he relaxed. Mel then leaned up to whisper in his ear, already grinning at her own joke.

“Number three is that you're really great at sex. Goodnight, Frank.”

“Jesus Christ, Mel,” Frank laughed, sleepy and low. “Actually, I'd love to see you put that in writing.”

She smirked against his skin, but stayed quiet. She was on the verge of sleep. He held her a little tighter.

“Goodnight, baby.”

-

It turned out they were both restless sleepers. Mel woke to sunlight streaming through the windows, completely reoriented on the bed with Frank draped halfway over her like a sweaty weighted blanket. He was still passed out and mouth-breathing, and she felt a little cold spot on her t-shirt where he’d drooled. It probably should have grossed her out, but instead she felt a surge of fondness. She kissed the top of his sleeping head, smiling to herself.

Then she put two and two together. It was sunnier than it should be.

She sat straight up, pulling her glasses on and reaching for her phone. It jostled poor Frank who slid down and made a grumpy noise before burying his face into the side of her hip, still mostly asleep, throwing his arm around her waist like a seatbelt.

Becca had slept over at her friend Yvonne’s house, and Mel had said she’d pick her up at 9 a.m. It was now 10:30 a.m. Mel couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept this late. Yvonne’s mom, Ava, had called Mel twice already.

Mel whined, cursing herself for not setting an alarm. She didn’t think she’d need to. She thought she’d wake up naturally bright and early like always. She dialed Ava, who answered immediately.

“Mel! I was getting worried about you. Is everything alright?”

Mel exhaled, relieved. She couldn’t help having an initial fear whenever she messed up that somehow Becca had gotten hurt because of it. She pried Frank’s arm off and climbed out of bed, crossing the room to get pants out of her drawer.

“Hey. I’m so sorry, Ava. I way overslept. I’m on my way,” she said.

“I’m glad you’re finally getting some good sleep! Take your time. These two are still having fun together. If you can get here in the next hour, though, I’d appreciate it. We have Pirates tickets and I’m hoping to get some errands done before that,” she said.

Mel saw that Frank was now sitting up, looking half-awake and fully concerned. Mel gave him a weak thumbs up. He tilted his head, mouthing “What is it?”

“Okay. Thanks again. I’ll be there soon,” Mel said, but hung up still feeling panicky. She put the heel of her hand to her sternum and pressed, trying to soothe herself.

“Mel?” 

She kept getting dressed as she explained the situation to him. Anxious words spilled out on their own accord. She hadn’t been this late picking up Becca in ages, not since PittFest, and now Ava wouldn’t get her errands done. And Mel wouldn’t have time to write the study summary for Kiara until tomorrow night, because she’d promised Frank they’d watch The Matrix 2 tonight.  

She didn’t stop talking until she felt Frank’s hand on her lower back. 

He gently turned her around, placing one hand on her shoulder and the other on her cheek. He didn’t start talking until she made eye contact with him.

“Mel, honey, it’s okay. It happens. Can you take a deep breath for me?” he said, voice gravelly.

Mel rolled her eyes, annoyed at him, but did it. She then took another deep breath. It helped.

“Okay,” he said, letting his hands drop, speaking softly and holding eye contact. “If you’re up for it, how about I pick up Becca, she and I can go grab some brunch to bring back here, and you can have the next hour or so to get started on that application? And if you need more time, Becca and I can think of somewhere else to go?”

Mel shook her head, looking down. “You don’t have to do all that.”

“Mel, you have to know by now that I love taking care of you. It’s like the main reason I get up every morning,” he said.

Mel looked at him, a little shocked. He was smiling like it was a joke, but Mel could tell by the slightly panicked look in his eyes that he’d said something out loud that he hadn’t meant to.

She decided it might be nice to try being taken care of.

“Fine. Weirdo,” she stepped forward to push his hair off his forehead and kiss him, gently. She loved taking care of him too. 

Frank smiled, eyes bright, then wrinkled his nose.

“I am going to shower first though. I promise I’ll be quick,” he said, hustling toward the hallway. Then he stopped short. “What do I say if Becca asks why I’m picking her up? Do you want to be the one to tell her that we’re together?”

Mel grinned. “Yes, but only because I want to see her reaction. Just tell her you’re doing it because you missed carpooling with her, she’ll love that. But if she asks you directly, don't lie about it. She never forgets a lie.”

He saluted with a grin, ducking into the bathroom. 

Mel texted Becca to ask if it was alright that Frank pick her up, to which she replied “YES” with a record breaking number of exclamation marks. There was a very high chance she'd interrogate Frank about their relationship the entire car ride.

Mel went to the couch and got to work on the write-up for Kiara. Frank emerged from the hallway after about 10 minutes, hair wet. He was wearing his dress pants from last night, and one of Mel's oversized college t-shirts. Mel smiled, knowing Becca would ask questions about that right away.

Frank handed Mel his phone, smirking with both dimples showing. He left her to read it as he went to pull his shoes on and grab his keys.

It was a text from Santos. It included a photo of herself, Whitaker and Samira holding breakfast burritos in a restaurant. Santos was flipping off the camera, Samira was smiling with her teeth, eyes closed, and Whitaker had his hood up and looked like a sickly Victorian child. Mel noticed it was the first-ever text exchange between Santos and Frank. 

Trinity Santos

10:46 a.m.

$20 barely covered two breakfast burritos, 

you cheap motherfucker

Frank

Maybe I didn’t want to pay for yours specifically.

Wowwww. Homophobic.

“Aww, that’s sweet,” Mel said, handing Frank his phone back. “I’m so happy you guys are friends.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Frank said, looking pleased. He quickly kissed her on the temple, turning to leave. Then he turned back, tipping her chin up to kiss her full on the mouth. Mel laughed and gave him a gentle shove toward the door. He jogged away, spinning around to smile at her one last time. “Bye, baby!”

“Bye, weirdo,” Mel said. 

It turned out Mel didn’t need much more than an hour to get her pitch written down for Kiara. All she had needed was some responsibility-free time to get her thoughts together.

Still, Mel was nervous. When she finished the draft and read it through several times, she decided she had finished early enough to get a second opinion before submitting it.

She drafted an email to Robby, asking for his thoughts. Then, after some hesitation, she hit send.

Robby responded within minutes.

Excellent work, Dr. King. It looks good to go on an initial read, but I’ll have time for a closer look later this afternoon. I think we can implement some of these practices starting this week, too. I’ll pull out some guidelines from this and send it to the department email list. 

Mel squealed in excitement, then looked around to the empty apartment. She checked her phone. Frank and Becca wouldn’t be back for another 20 minutes.

She had time. So she opened a new document. 

Reasons I want Dr. Frank Langdon in my life.

It didn’t take long to fill a page.

- 

Seven months later

Mel was staring at a cow hide lampshade, with spots and hair and everything, hoping no one would ask her if she liked it.

‘Do you like it?” Whitaker asked, sitting on the couch next to her, smiling politely.

“Oh!” Mel said. “It’s very unique.”

He leaned over to whisper to her, blocking his mouth from the kitchen with his hand. “I know it’s ugly. My plan was to pick one so bad that Trinity would have to hurry up and a replacement that she was happy with. So far, no dice.”

Mel laughed. Becca leaned over Mel to whisper, much louder.

“Why are you lying to Trinity?” Becca said.

Whitaker’s eyes flared in panic, looking over to the kitchen. Luckily, Santos and Frank were too busy arguing over when to remove the take-and-bake pizza from the oven to overhear. Santos wanted to take it out now, but Frank thought it needed a few more minutes.

“Wait, what are we lying about?” Samira said, who was sitting on the floor and scrolling on her phone.

“How ugly that lamp is,” Mel said, helpfully.

Samira appraised it, and nodded. She looked to Mel, changing the subject.

“Are you excited for tomorrow?” 

Mel smiled, and hugged her knees. “Nervous.” 

Frank was working a surprise night shift on a weekend he had custody, the only attending available to fill in for Collins who had taken a sudden medical leave this week. 

Mel had promised not to tell anyone, even Frank which was torture, that Collins was taking it to rest up for the first month of a pregnancy. Robby knew, of course, and Mel had only found out about the whole thing after catching him researching preschools at the intake desk. He asked her not to mention that part to even Collins.

With Frank working overnight, Abby had agreed to let Mel try her hand at a sleepover with the kids. Abby said she was relieved, even, since it meant she wouldn't have to cancel a first date.

“Abby will be on-call if there's a big meltdown, but mostly I'm worried I'll be too boring,” Mel said, then leaned closer to Samira to stage whisper. “They're so hyperactive.”

Whitaker laughed. “I used to babysit my little cousins all the time. I'll send you some activity ideas. But you’re great with kids, it’ll be fine.”

Mel smiled. 

“Well Becca will be there to help, right Becca?” Samira said, with a friendly smile to Mel's sister. 

Becca nodded enthusiastically. She and the kids got along great. Emma and Tanner were also pretty good about volume control and not overwhelming Becca or jumping all over her.

Well, they were good about it now. The first time they were introduced it was a disaster. It ended in tears for everyone, including Frank and Mel the second they were alone. 

Samira looked back to her phone, then called toward the kitchen.

“Hey, chefs, Javadi just confirmed she and Mateo are still stuck at her family thing and can’t make it until we start the sequel. We should hold one of the pizzas and bake it closer to when they get here.”

“Heard, chef,” Santos called.

“It’s not a sequel,” Becca said, in the tone she had when she felt passionate about correcting someone, but was trying to not be mean. “It’s set before the first movie. And it’s not even clear if it’s in the same timeline.”

Mel looked at her, amused. “I still can’t believe you watched it without me. I didn’t even know it existed until like two weeks ago.”

“Well it’s not very good,” Becca said. “But at the same time it’s really good.”

They were doing a double feature movie night: Dirty Dancing , and Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights . Samira had never seen the first movie, much to Mel’s horror, and only Becca and Whitaker had seen the not-sequel. Whitaker said it was “hot” and “had a Star Wars guy in it” but “lacked substance.” 

“Hey, Becs,” Frank ducked his head into the room, hands up as if he’d sterilized them. “Do you want me to pick the olives off for you, or is this feeling like the day you want to try olives?”

Becca feigned gagging.

“Heard, chef,” Frank said, spinning back into the kitchen, right as Santos barked from inside that she was plating slices up. Leave it to Santos and Frank to make a take-and-bake pizza feel as urgent as working in an ER.

“Guys,” Samira said, squinting at her phone. “What do you think it means that Jack replied with a thumbs up on my thirst trap?”

The whole room groaned.

“Mohan, please just be straight up with Abbot and tell him how you feel,” Frank called from the kitchen. “He’s not getting any younger.” 

Santos cackled at that, and Mel heard the smack of a high-five. Samira frowned.

“Mean!” Mel called to them both.

“Sorry, baby!” Frank replied, not sounding sorry.

“Oh!” Samira perked up. “He just wrote to say he hit that button on accident and is sorry. How do I respond to that?”

Everyone groaned again.

“No phones during the movie,” Mel said, “You can respond after.”

Samira sighed, then dramatically slid her phone across the carpet. Frank came in balancing several plates, a skill he’d kept from a high school serving job, while Santos followed with a big salad bowl. He was wearing his “Go, Cougars!” sweatshirt, which Santos had threatened to steal saying he “hadn’t earned it” and that “stolen valor is a crime.”

Frank passed everyone a plate, no olives for Becca. Santos took the remaining middle space on the couch between Mel and Whitaker.

Frank joined Samira on the floor, leaning back between Mel’s legs and balancing his plate on his knees. He tilted his head all the way back to smile at Mel, upside-down. Dork. She leaned forward to smack a kiss on his forehead and he sat up again.

“Thanks for dinner,” Mel said, leaning down next to his ear.

Frank turned to kiss the side of her knee, making an affirmative “m-hm” before scarfing down the first bite of his pizza.

“Alright, let’s get this party started,” Santos said, scanning the room for the remote. Whitaker waved it at her, and hit play.

The opening credits rolled.

“ The night we met I knew I needed you so

And if I had the chance I'd never let you go”

“Best opening song of all time,” Frank said.

Mel nodded. “Agreed.”

“Are you two going to talk through this entire movie?” Santos groaned.

“Yes, they will,” Becca replied. “They always do.”

“We'll talk through both movies, it’s a double feature,” Frank reminded Santos.

“Oh!” Becca said, pointing to the screen once the opening credits ended. “Mom loved this part.”

Frank squeezed Mel’s calf, reassuring her. He knew that she’d been really nervous to watch this movie with their friends. It was like having open heart surgery.

But, sharing this movie with Frank had been one of the best decisions of her life.

She knew that if it wasn’t through Dirty Dancing , they would have found their way to loving each other eventually. One way or another they would have run straight into the writing on the wall.

But she was happy this is how things played out. That she was here, eating slightly burnt pizza and watching her favorite movie with her favorite people in the world. 

It was fun to have a love story with a soundtrack.