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Frank hated working holidays. Yeah, every emergency medicine doctor could say the same thing, he knows that. But how was he supposed to focus on his shift when it was Valentines Day and you were waiting for him to get home for the night-in you’d both planned? Especially when you’d teased him all morning about the surprise you had planned.
He’s already two Red Bulls deep by the time one o’clock rolls around. The shift wasn’t anything worse than the usual holiday-weekend nonsense- at least that’s what he’d been telling himself.
“Plans with that special someone tonight?” Dana bumps her hip into his as he reads through the patient board at the central hub.
The eyeroll she gives him is on instinct but he can’t stop the smile that tugs at his lips. “They said they had a ‘surprise’ for me when I got home.”
“Oh-ho, somebody’s in for a treat.” She can’t help but laugh while tucking her glasses into her scrub pocket. “Probably got a cute new set for ‘ya, just for tonight.”
“Don’t get him too excited,” Donnie calls over his shoulder from the other side of the desk. “He’ll forget there’s still 6 hours left in the shift.”
Frank lets out a playful groan, letting his head lull back. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”
“Okay, Romeo,” Dana chuckles. “South 15 is ready for ya.”
“Can’t get Whitaker to stitch them up?”
The blonde simply smiles. “He’s on his third scrub change of the day already, cut the kid a little slack.”
Begrudgingly he takes the tablet from her hands. “Yes, mom.”
Dana is mid-conversation with Robby when the phone at central rings. Her gaze hardens as she listens to dispatch before thanking them for the heads-up and hanging up the call. “Rig incoming, thunderclap headache with possible signs of stroke.”
He just nods and takes a deep breath. “Get Trauma 2 ready.”
The doors of the ambulance open, the late afternoon sun sitting just above the horizon and shining directly into your eyes. Instinctively you squint, moaning in pain as your head throbs.
“29 year old female, thunderclap headache with neck pain and stiffness. BP 135/86 but stable. Responds to auditory and visual input. Gave one unit of morphine in the field.”
You lie on the gurney, audibly groaning but not moving. Even a centimeter of movement made your brain feel like it was on fire. You can make out the sounds around you- voices talking urgently, wheels against pavement, the idling of an engine. But it all feels.. far away. Almost like you’ve stepped out of your skin. The ringing in your ears is like steady background noise, overpowering the voices around you just enough that you can only catch a few words here and there.
You recognize Robby as soon as he’s wheeling your gurney into the Emergency Department. You’d met briefly- you had stopped by to pick up Frank after work one night and Robby was outside talking with Dana as you pulled into a parking spot. He seemed nice, but you immediately picked up on the way his jaw tightened a bit when you mentioned your boyfriend’s name.
But his expression was different this time. Eyes firm, calculating, voice stern. A true captain guiding his crew.
Before you even realize it you’re being pushed into a trauma room. The bright lights make you hiss, eyes fluttering as you try to fight off the wave of nausea from the extra stimuli. The sounds get louder. More voices. Machines beeping. Numbers being exchanged. Words that are clearly medical but mean nothing to you are spoken overhead.
Nothing makes sense, but you know where you are. You specifically told them to take you to PTMC.
Suddenly they’re counting to three and your body is jolted when they transfer you to a bed. You cry out in pain, nearly screaming as you feel electricity shoot through your spine and into the back of your brain. The dizziness is back. Nausea sitting low in your stomach but thankfully not bubbling up anymore.
The lights hurt. The sounds hurt. Forming words hurts. Your brain feels like a bowling ball, forcing your head against the thin mattress below you. Even if you wanted to lift your head the muscles in your neck and shoulders feel like they’ve been superglued in place.
Someone to your right is asking questions. A blonde woman with glasses- the only thing you can pick up through your blurry peripheral. Robby says it again, louder. You only hear “history” and “migraines”.
“Fr..” you try to say, the words feeling like sand slipping through your fingers. “Fra.. F..” You keep trying, knowing what you want to say but not being able to form it on your lips.
Robby takes a deep inhale and calls to someone else in the room. “Get Langdon in here.”
“What’s going on in there?” Frank nods to Trauma 2 as he takes a sip from his bottle of water.
“Thunderclap headache,” Dana says, only sparing a glance from the screen of her tablet. “29 year old female, hope it’s not a stroke.”
He stands a little straighter automatically. Immediately a bad feeling curls in his stomach. His bottle is abandoned on the counter next to Dana before he crosses the room. He’s barely close enough to see through the huddle of bodies before Perlah is opening the door.
Their eyes meet for a mere second.
“Get in here.” She calls out to him, not leaving room for questions.
His feet move before his brain catches up. The room is controlled chaos- but not the typical kind that comes in for traumas. No bleeding, no open wounds, no struggling to breathe or pulse only faintly thumping.
It’s you. On a hospital bed. Hooked up to monitors and lying there in obvious confused agony. His eyes flick to the screen denoting your stats and he feels his throat tighten at your elevated blood pressure.
“Langdon!” Robby’s voice brings him back to life. “I need a history.”
“Uh-yeah, yeah, um,” he stumbles, blue eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he tries to figure out his thoughts. “They, uh, have a history of migraines- range from mild to severe. On propranolol and sumatriptan.”
“High blood pressure?”
“No,” Frank shakes his head, arms folded over his chest to hold himself together. “Propranolol as a migraine preventative.”
You can hear his voice, but you can’t see him. “F.. Fran-“ you try again, brain working overtime to connect the syllables.
“I’m here,” he calls to you, heart breaking at the way you look so confused and broken. “Don’t try to move.”
Even if you wanted to, your body physically won’t let you.
Scissors have cut off the hoodie around your body. Your favorite one that you’ve stolen from Frank- an old, cracked screen print of the Penguins’ logo filling the front of the fabric.
You tense instinctively when a cold stethoscope is slipped under your tank top. Someone instructs you to take deep breaths.
“Normal breath sounds on both sides.” The monitor’s steady beeping shows your elevated heart rate and Frank’s jaw tightens. A light is flashed at your pupils and your hands clench at the blanket beneath you while you cry out. The light makes your brain feel like it’s being tased “Pupils reactive, photophobia present.”
Frank’s brain is running a marathon. He wants to jump into the action, push past Robby and hold you. But he knows it’s not that simple. The attending clearly is still holding that fucking grudge, and he knows that the momentary relief of being next to you isn’t worth more disciplinary action and months more of triage hell.
They give you fluids. They give you fentanyl for the pain. Perlah draws blood for the usual tests. Him and Mel keep talking about your medical history. He feels like his heart is in his throat as everyone starts spitting out differentials.
“We’re gonna need a CT.”
They need to rule out so many things, and God he is praying it’s not a stroke or hemorrhage or anything terrible. But he also knows he can’t let himself get his hopes up.
He clings onto the bed as they wheel you out of the room.
“Fr..” you start to say as those blue eyes look down at you. “F.. Frank.. ie?” The syllables are rough, but the pain is lessening with each moment. Talking isn’t as exhausting as before, and the sound of your voice in your head doesn’t sting.
“I’m here,” he nods, trying to put on a brave face. He can see the deep-set confusion and fear in your gaze. “You’re gonna need a CT to see what’s going on in your brain.”
“F..Frank?” To manage to say in almost a full breath. “‘M scared.”
“I know, sweetheart. It-“ he stops himself before the words keep going. If he shouldn’t give himself false hope, he can’t imagine trying to give it to you. “I’m here. You’re in good hands.”
The CT scan feels like your brain is vibrating. The buzzing creeps into your body and you feel that same distant feeling from when you were being brought into the ED. The pain isn’t as bad as before, but the familiar throbbing in your skull is still present.
You’re now quietly lying in a room with the lights dimmed when the door opens. Frank slips in, shutting the door behind him before pulling the chair close to the side of your bed.
“Hi,” you murmur, body shifting slightly to look at him. The bed below you was propped up slightly, your body between a lying down and sitting up position. There was a pillow behind your head and two blankets- Dana made sure you were warm enough after having to tug on a gown. If someone came in they might not even realize you were sobbing from pain and fear just thirty minutes ago.
“Hey,” he breathes, his hands reaching over to gently take your left one.
“I tried texting you.. while I waited for the ambulance,” you admit shyly, gaze averting his. “My.. hands were shaking too much.”
“It’s okay,” he immediately assures. Frank’s thumb rubs back and forth across your knuckles, the motion meant to soothe him just as much as you. “I’m just glad you got to a hospital.”
You suck in a breath, the noise shaky. “It was.. the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life, all shrunk down to a minute.”
He nods, eyes looking at your hands. “Clear signs of thunderclap.”
Bottom lip between your teeth, the skin raw. “For the record, this was not the surprise I was planning.”
He cracks a tiny smile- barely more than the corner of his lips turning up. “I figured as much.”
“WebMD said I was dying.”
“WebMD says that no matter what you look up. LangdonMD says you are still very much alive.”
You can’t help but smile.
“Sorry about the hoodie,” you say a little sheepishly. “I wouldn’t have put it on if I knew-“
“Sweetheart,” Frank says just a bit louder, his fingers giving your hand a small squeeze. “It’s just a hoodie, I’ll get over it. All I care about is you being okay.”
You simply nod at his words, not trusting your voice.
There’s a brief moment of silence before there’s a knock on the door. Dana slips into the dark room. “Hi hun,” she smiles sympathetically, a soft hand placed on Frank’s shoulder while looking at you. “Was really hoping I’d get to meet you outside of this shitshow.”
Frank had always said that Dana was the only one able to keep the day shift crew smiling on bad days, and you could clearly see why. You already felt comfort just from her presence and can’t help but huff a small laugh at her lighthearted words. “Guess I just wanted to really see you in your element.”
Her smile widens even more, a twinkle in her eye. “I see why Langdon snatched you up. Grumpy pants needs to laugh more.”
She slips on a pair of gloves and starts to take your vitals again. BP was still elevated but was consistent with the last few listed recordings. “I feel bad sometimes. Poor Frankie’s gotta play doctor with me even when he’s home with all my migraine issues.”
“Sweetheart-“ Frank says almost on instinct. He doesn’t know if it’s a warning or to brush off your worry.
Dana’s brow quirks up. “Frankie?”
He practically deflates. “Oh no.” You hear him curse under his breath.
“I guess she’s gonna use that nickname for evil?”
“Absolutely,” the two of them say almost in unison, and you laugh.
Once Dana finishes with your vitals she excuses herself out of the room. Frank, knowing that something wasn’t quite right due to his medical knowledge, gives your forehead a soft kiss before following her out the door.
“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
She sighs, not looking up from the tablet in her hands. “There’s a lot of things I’m not telling a lot of people.”
Frank sucks in a deep breath and runs his hands down his face. “You know what I mean,” he subtly gestures towards your room.
“Sweetheart,” Dana finally turns to look up at him, expression neutral. “I just don’t want you getting your hopes up.”
“There’s no family history of stroke or high blood pressure or-“
“That you know of. And we both know that doesn’t mean it can’t happen.” The older woman reaches out to rest her hands on his shoulders. Even the touch is comforting, despite the chaos and stress of The Pitt around them. “Hope for the best, but please expect the worst.”
His shoulders slump, her words setting in. He knows she’s right, regardless of whether or not he wants to admit it. “Yeah, I know. I’ll.. do my best.”
Robby makes himself scarce around you and Langdon. He knows it’s scary for both of you, and the last thing he wants to do is let his lingering anger and frustration with Frank take over and make him say something he’ll regret.
He makes sure Mohan and King are on your case, and gives his input when needed. Tells Dana that Langdon can take the rest of his shift off if he wants to stay by your side. You tell Frank that keeping himself preoccupied with patients will be good for him. If you need anything, your room is in Dana’s line of sight.
The CT results are good- no hemorrhage, no clots. A good sign that this isn’t a stroke or a much more serious issue.
When Mel and Samira come in to go over the results with you and Frank, you make a dumb off-handed comment about having a headache the past few days. With chronic migraines and EDS, you’ve almost grown accustomed to the pain and have started being able to keep going with at least one part of your body yelling at you.
But apparently, to three medical professionals, that isn’t normal.
Frank eggs you on, practically begging you to explain more in-depth. Location, how long it lasts, does it get worse when you move.
“Hurts more when I stand up and is better when I’m laying down,” you say casually, almost shrugging it off. “Just figured it was my hormonal cycle.”
Mel’s eyes widen just a millimeter, but Frank clearly detects it in the way they share a look.
“MRI with gadolinium,” the blonde says, tearing her eyes away from Frank as Samira moves to the computer.
“Why?”
“Sweetheart,” Frank speaks up, his right hand cupping your cheek. “You.. are more than likely leaking spinal fluid.”
His words feel like he punched you. “W-what? Spinal fluid? How?”
“Your connective tissue disorder,” he searches your eyes as he explains, making sure you understand. “It weakened the membrane around your spine enough that it caused a leak. The MRI will show where it is so they can patch it.”
Of course. Of course this was because your stupid body wasn’t built correctly and is actively fighting against you. Because the migraines themselves weren’t enough.
Samira, sensing that this was about to get emotional, politely lets you know that someone will be by soon to bring you up for the MRI before her and Mel leave the room.
The moment they leave the tears that were brimming your eyes fall. Your body still hurts, and Frank wants so badly to tug you into his arms, but he doesn’t want to risk making you feel worse. But when you look over at him, so small and fragile and scared shitless? He can’t take it. Wordlessly he pulls down the railing on the side of the bed and squeezes in next to you on the tiny mattress. Right arm wraps behind your back, barely pressing against you, while his left hand cups your cheek. “This isn’t your fault, sweetheart.”
“Sure feels like it,” you mumble between tears.
“I swear on my life this is not your fault. You have no control over chronic illnesses. There isn’t anyone to blame for you having EDS.” Frank helps you turn your body towards him so he can look into your eyes. “I love you. I love everything about you, regardless of how many good days you get between the bad ones.”
You hold his gaze but can’t get any words to form. Your chest feels tight from all the love you have for him.
“You saw the good in me when I was at my lowest and everyone else abandoned me. And I plan on staying here, doing the exact same thing for you.”
Despite the dull ache in your body you lean into him, wordlessly connecting your lips.
A mix of lips and tears, the salt melting into your mouths as he moves against you. Your hands grab fistfuls of his scrub top- holding on for dear life. He’s solid against you. Sturdy. Your shoulder to lean on when you just can’t do it alone anymore.
Just as you did for him- freshly divorced, almost done with rehab, lost in the world. Your presence a guiding light back to existence as he crawled out of rock bottom.
His hand cradles your jaw like you’re made of glass. The most precious thing in existence, right here in his arms.
You rest your forehead against his when you part. You’re breathing a little heavier now, cheeks stained with streaks from your tears. Hair messy, hospital gown wrinkled against your body, eyes red and slightly puffy. God, you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“I love you too, Frankie,” you whisper.
The contrast for the MRI doesn’t hurt it just.. feels wrong. Like ice water running through your veins, making your body tingle. There’s a metallic taste on your tongue.
All of it is normal, Frank reassured you.
This wasn’t even close to the first MRI you’ve had, but that doesn’t mean you’re necessarily used to them by now. They weren’t comfortable. They were loud. The air smelled like sterile antiseptic cleaner and nitrile gloves.
Frank urges you to eat when you’re wheeled back into your room in the ED. Something from the cafeteria- a mere step above the sandwiches on the boarder’s cart.
He hovers while you pick at your food but you don’t comment on it. You know he’s just as stressed about all of this as you are- probably moreso. Based on the way he can’t sit still you know he’s still coming down from the adrenaline high of seeing you in the trauma room.
“Honey,” you gently call to him. His gaze snaps up to you, like he’s waiting on a command. “I’m okay.”
You watch him take a breath. And another. “I know,” he nods. “I’m just.. antsy, I guess.”
“I’m sure they need help out there. We’ve gotta wait for the MRI results anyway.”
He wants to argue, wants to stay right here with you, but he knows you’re right. Even if Robby told radiology that they needed these results rushed, it would still take at least an hour or two. Dana, Mohan and King were all checking in on you regularly. There was no reason for him to sit here twiddling his thumbs while you two waited.
With a resigned sigh he nods. “Alright,” he breathes. “Fine. But only to make you happy.”
You chuckle softly, gaze softening up at him.
He pushes the bedside tray closer to you as he stands. “Eat. You’ll feel better.”
“Whatever you say, Dr. Langdon.”
He rolls his eyes at your teasing.
When the results come back Frank slips into your room once again. CSF leak in the bottom of the cervical spine. Explains the neck stiffness, the pain in the back of the head that pulsed when you moved. Frank knows you hate the idea of surgery. Your EDS has made it so any time you’ve had a procedure done the healing time was significantly longer than most patients. Thankfully, your case wasn’t as bad as it could have been and a blood patch should do the trick with lots of bed rest and fluids.
Dr. Mohan orders the treatment and steps out of the room, giving the two of you privacy again.
“Thank you,” you mumble once the room settles into silence. “For everything.”
“You never have to thank me.”
“I know.” A deep inhale fills the silence, tongue jutting out to lick your chapped lips. “I know it’s your job to take care of people when they’re sick. I just..”
You trail off, looking down at your hands.
Frank calls your name, voice soft and gentle. “I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”
Your body relaxes a little more. Eyes flutter closed as he leans in to press a kiss to your temple. “You took care of me when I was at my lowest, babe. Now let me take care of you.”
The morphine has helped enough that you can move your head a bit. It’s a stiff nod, but he catches it regardless. “Okay,” you swallow. “Okay.”
He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his expression softening. “Love you, sweetheart.”
Your lips curl up into a tiny, barely-there smile. “Love you more, Frankie.”