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"Dr. Abbot, I need some help here!"
That's never ideal, especially when it follows about five minutes after a loud crash. Still, he takes his time, finishes up, until he can hand his patient over to the R2 he just coached through a crike. "What is it?" he asks as he throws his gloves out and takes his PP fleece cover off.
"It's Dr. Langdon." The nurse who called him has her arms up, like she doesn’t want to do this any more than he does. It's a polite acknowledgement that something is wrong. And it's urgent enough that they're looking for him to get Langdon back on the floor - because it's only the two of them tonight after Jack sent their two feverish, flu-ridden R4s home.
They've had a benzo overdose and two ODs with fentanyl after that and Langdon got all three of them. That's not something that can be helped, but it's definitely something that sometimes causes a little hiccup.
"Where is he?"
"Break room. We need him on the floor."
He makes his way there immediately and finds Frank at the counter, stress-dipping a tea bag into a mug. Jack pulls another mug out of the cabinet and refills the water heater, to make his own. He grabs an herbal blend that doesn't taste like much of anything and unwraps the bag. He doesn't want any; it's more of a symbolic cup, an opportunity for companionable silence while they each wait for some sort of acknowledgement of why they're here from the other.
The rumbling of the electric kettle gets steadily louder, preventing them from having a conversation. Out of the corner of his eyes Jack watches the way Frank's hand trembles. When the water is boiling, he pours his own mug and leans expectantly against the counter.
When Frank takes his mug to the table, movements stiff and slow, Jack sees what the nurse saw. It makes him angry and sad at the same time. At home, he could be easier on Frank, he could coax him into doing what they both know is best. He could give him a break, let him talk about why he's so reluctant to take the necessary help that's been prescribed to him, that's been okayed for him, tailored to his needs. But not here, not at work, not when they're Langdon and Abbot and he's the attending in charge.
Here, he's not talking to his lover, but to his second attending who is out of commission at the moment – on a stressful night when he cannot afford to lose his most skilled colleague on the floor, because they’re already two good doctors short.
"I need you functioning for three more hours," he says and takes out the pill box he always has on him for emergencies. "You either take it or you go home and I call someone else in." Frank looks pale. "If you think you'll throw up or if we need to make it work faster, I'll give you something IV."
Frank takes the two tablets he offers, as expected. His voice is pinched and tight, when he brings them between his lips. “I’ll take Suze for 100, Alex.” The lame joke makes his resignation even worse. Recovery and chronic pain go together like gravel on gravel. Jack wishes he could be nicer about this.
When Frank has swallowed the two pills, Jack nods and looks at his watch. "Good. Come sit at the hub and advise until you're ready to get back in the game. I'll let the nurses know to help. If the pain gets worse, come to me." He gets up, too hot mug with his too hot tea forgotten and untouched. He feels exhausted. At the door, he stops before depressing the handle. "You know I love you. I'm proud of you. I'm sorry it has to be this way sometimes."
Frank looks at him and nods. "Shit night."
"Yeah. Well, only three more hours."
"Thank you. For…" Frank gestures at the box in Jack's hand.
Jack nods and puts it away. "Let's talk about this some other time, yeah?"