Chapter Text
Sometimes when he can’t sleep because the ever present cravings are too loud or the pain in his back is too piercing, Frank gets out of bed, trudges into the living room of his empty one bedroom apartment and watches the stupidest videos he can find on the internet from the comfort of his couch. The big screen tv that he never had before he lived alone fills the room with a blue glow that reminds him of being a kid up too late when his parents had told him to be in bed by nine and the videos are sometimes mindless, sometimes funny, or like that one he’d stumbled across last week about the making of ping pong balls, sometimes even a little educational.
He had sent the one about ping pong balls to Mel, there was something about the repetition of the process he thought she would like. It reminded him of her lava lamp app a little with its soothing predictability.
He’d waited until the morning to send it to her though, not wanting to seem like a loser for being up at nearly two AM with nothing better to do than text his coworker stupid videos.
Now he’s perched on the couch and flicking through his phone that is mirrored onto the big screen and he remembers how she had only thumbs upped the ping pong ball video. He had wondered at the time if she even watched it. But later that day between patients, she looked up from her clipboard and asked him if he knew that there were no USA based ping pong ball producers and then proceeded to tell him that the majority of the world’s ping pong balls were created in Japan. He hadn’t known that so he just nodded and smiled to himself as he walked off to deal with the next emergency.
He stops scrolling, none of the videos catching his attention and closes TikTok. He does it mindlessly and without any real thought taps on the green messenger icon and then on the little icon of a panda emoji with yellow background next to Dr. Mel King. The last few messages she’d sent him were about work. Shift changes or patients and he scrolls past them, passes the ping pong ball video and up to the text that he thinks about sometimes when he recalls that hellish shift nearly thirteen months ago or his stint in rehab or his first day back in the ED on the fourth. He realizes now that he thinks about it a lot. Maybe more than is really appropriate considering how simple of a message it is.
Hi Dr. Langdon, this is Mel King, I got your number from Dana. I hope that’s okay. I heard about what you’re going through, and I just wanted to say I hope you’re well and I’m looking forward to working with you again soon.”
Professional, courteous and more than anyone else he worked with bothered to say. In fact he hadn’t heard a single thing from any of his other coworkers until he showed up to work that day on the fourth. She had sent it about a week before he returned, and yet here he still is, thinking about it over two months later.
Frank drops his phone onto the couch cushion beside his head and stares at the ceiling fan above him for a moment, there’s a crack he should patch this weekend after his trip to home depot for wall paint... If he’s honest with himself, which he tries to be more often now after rehab— he doesn’t just think about Mel’s text a lot. He thinks about Mel herself a lot more than he maybe should. He thinks about the day after the Fourth of July From Hell when she had shown up to work with her hair in a high pony tail that swished a little when she walked, and how she had run up to him in the parking garage that morning to thank him for taking such good care of her sister, for the fifth time, and how her hands twitched towards him like she wanted to grab his arm but stopped herself.
He thinks about how after he sent her the ping pong ball video Mel had told him that there was a ping pong ball table at Becca’s care center and that she’d never played before but liked to watch the orderlies at the facility play when she visited because they were really good at it.
He thinks about how when he stopped wearing his wedding ring six weeks ago she looked down at his hand as they flipped a patient onto his back and her eyes darted to his as fast as lightning, her clever gaze knowing. She hadn’t said anything but later that day he had felt strangely compelled to admit to her that he and Abby separated while he was still in rehab. She was the first person at work he told and when he thinks about it now, it does seem a little strange. They’d only really known each other for two and a half months, save that one fifteen hour shift the day of The PittFest, but it wasn’t like he really had anyone else to tell. Not at work, not outside of work either.
Frank picks his phone up and pulls up her text thread again.
hey
He types out the three letters and deletes them. What did he have to say to her that wouldn’t come across as weird? Or, given the late hour, like a you up text? He rolls his eyes and inwardly chastises himself for even thinking that.
He isn’t some dumb frat boy… anymore. He doesn’t send you up texts… anymore.
He swipes over on his phone until the internet browser pops up and he closes the tab where he had googled can you get custody of a dog during a divorce? and types into the search bar, places to play ping pong in Pittsburgh, not sure if anything will even show up in the results.
The page loads and to his surprise a place called Pins is the first thing that shows up. It seems like a bowling alley and it’s not far from his new apartment. He scrolls through the google listing and sees that besides bowling, they have foosball and arcade games and… ping pong tables.
He flips over to TikTok again and looks up the establishment there.
After watching four or five of the videos on the business’s page he finds one that’s from some account with a title like BurghThingz or Things2DoInPGH. Some influencer is talking about how fun it is and he has to admit, it does look like fun. Before he can decide against it he clicks the share button and then Mel’s little panda icon and sends it.
if you ever wanna try and play instead of just watching :) he adds in the text field and sends it shortly after the video goes through.
He drops his phone again and clenches his eyes shut. What is wrong with him? It is the middle of the night, for crying out loud, but then the image of Mel smiling at him from across the green field of a ping pong table swims to the forefront of his mind and he let himself wonder if she might wear her hair in that bouncy ponytail, or maybe even down around her shoulders on a night out. He wonders if she ever does things like that— go out with friends for a fun evening, or maybe on dates?
No, Mel isn’t the casual dating type, he thinks, too quickly, because the thought sends a little shiver down his spine that he doesn’t like. He doesn’t like the idea of Mel on a date with some guy who doesn’t even know her. Some guy who doesn’t send her ping pong videos in the middle of the night.
Frank rolls over into the cushions of the couch that still smell brand new and groans. Does he want to take Mel on a date? Is that what this is?
His phone buzzes directly next to his ear and in his silent apartment it might as well be a gunshot. It nearly scares him half to death and he scrambles for it as he sits up and unlocks the device.
Panda icon.
1 new message from Dr. Mel King
Looks fun, are you working a night shift?
He stares at the message. What does she mean by looks fun? Looks fun in general? Looks fun… to go together? Is it a confirmation that he does want to take her on a date if he admits he hopes it’s the latter? Frank glances at the time stamp. It is just past two, of course she thinks he’s on a night shift, why else would he be texting her this late. She doesn’t know he’s a loser insomniac with nothing better to do.
No, just at home. Can’t sleep, are you at work?
He presses send, deciding to be honest. The three little dots that tell him she was waiting for his response pop up, and then disappear and to his surprise his breath comes a little quicker with anticipation.
Oh good
Good that you're not at work, not that you can’t sleep.
He smirks at that. Some people’s personalities don’t come through over text but he can practically hear her soft voice when he reads her messages. Another comes through and his eyes flick downwards.
Also good that you’re not working nights, you’d be missed on day shift.
Frank almost drops his phone on his face. Does she mean she would miss him? He can’t think of anyone else who would really care if he switched shifts, or even if he quit all together. Especially with Robby scheduled to return from his supposed sabbatical in less than a week.
He stares at his phone, not sure how to respond. He doesn't want to say that he doesn’t think he’d be missed lest it sounds like he is being self deprecating. He wants to ask if she would miss him, but that feels too personal, like a step too far and too close to the truth he was slowly coming to.
He changes the subject.
What are you doing up this late? Didn’t expect a text back so quickly.
Good, he thinks. That sounds casual. That sounds… normal.
She takes a little longer to respond this time. He doesn’t see the typing bubble pop up immediately so he rises from the couch and meanders to his meager kitchen. Frank catches his reflection in the mirror by the front door and is shocked by the state of his cheeks. They’re red. Bright red and his hair is sticking up all over the place at every angle imaginable. He looks ridiculous.
He puts his phone on the counter as he opens the fridge and fishes out an ice cold water bottle. He wishes it was a beer but knows that it’s a slippery slope when it comes to himself and substances, even his favorite substance in the world. God, how he misses a cold beer at times like this... His phone lights up again, distracting him, and he reaches for it as he gulps down the water.
I was watching tv and lost track of time.
He smiles for some reason at that, picturing her in her apartment that is probably decorated in soft colors.
What are you watching?
He sends back quickly, not caring that she might assume he was waiting for her response.
It’s silly
She types back immediately, and the three dots appear again. Frank realizes he is fully smiling at his phone now as he leans on the kitchen island, resting on his elbow, phone in hand.
Have you seen the Great British Bake Off?
A chuckle creeps out of him and he taps out his next message.
No but I’ve heard of it. It’s gotta be better than scrolling TikTok for hours, maybe I’ll give it a try.
He straightens and grabs his water before heading back to the couch where he picks up the remote. B R I T I S H B— he starts typing into Netflix and the thumbnail of smiling people and a frilly logo appears. When he settles back into the cushions he catches his phone light up out of the corner of his eye. He reaches for it and sees that it’s not a text, it’s a call. Mel is calling him. Mel is calling his phone and it is two in the morning. He considers sending it to voicemail but as if his fingers are no longer under control of his brain, he slides the button over and answers.
“Uh, hello?” He asks, surprised to find that his voice is scratchy and deep. He hasn't spoken a word aloud since his shift ended, he probably shouldn’t be so surprised.
Nothing.
“Mel?” He questions as it dawns on him that she hadn’t meant to call him. He listens for a response, a noise, anything.
There's a rustling, the briefest bit of dialogue, probably from her TV and then… her voice. Gentle and unsure and low. Lower than he’s heard it before, like she’s keeping her voice down just for him to hear.
“Oh… sorry, I didn’t mean to— I meant to send you a picture.” She says quickly, obviously embarrassed and Frank laughs quietly. He likes when she gets flustered like this, he always does. It tickles something in his chest to think of her blushing.
“I figured” He mutters, then realizes what she had said. A picture? A picture of what? He had been ready to hang up but he finds his interest is piqued. “A picture of what?” He asks before he can think better of it.
“Um, just, Becca and I made a cake for the season finale of Bake Off last year, it was a disaster…” She pauses like she’s not sure if she should continue, but Frank wants to know more so he prompts her gently.
“Yeah?”
”Yeah, I burned my hand on the oven taking it out and Becca spilled ganache all over me.” She continues with a quiet laugh.
“Send me the picture, I wanna see this nightmare cake.” Frank says.
“We didn't even take a picture of the cake, the picture is of me covered in chocolate ganache." She sighs, and now he is definitely interested in seeing the picture. He doesn’t think she knows how much more he wants to see now that he knows it's a photo of her, how could she?
“Well, I still wanna see it.” He says trying to sound casual.
“Okay.” she murmurs and then there's a moment of silence before his phone buzzes. He puts the call on speaker phone and pulls up his messages.
“Got it… oh—“ He says when the photo pops up, his voice failing him momentarily.
Mel is smiling up at him from his phone and her glasses are in her hand rather than on her face, and they're covered in chocolate along with the rest of her. His eyes travel down to her front, her lavender tee shirt is also splattered and her hand that’s not holding her glasses is wrapped in bandages from where she burned it.
“Hope the burn wasn't too bad.” He says stupidly, at a loss for anything else to mention. It’s not like he can tell her that he likes her hair down like that, even with the ends of it covered in ganache.
“Not really, I’ve got a little scar though.”
“I’ve never noticed it.” He replies quickly, thinking back to try and remember if he’d ever seen it. He tries to picture her hands but gets distracted by the photo on his phone again. There’s a tan sofa behind her that is adorned with pink and green throw pillows. He wonders if that’s where she is at this very moment.
“I’ll show you tomorrow.” She sighs, she sounds relaxed now, her voice more steady.
“I’ll show you the one I got in college from a hot grill and too many Yuenglings.” He mutters in response, trailing his finger over the patch of pink smooth skin on his palm. She falls silent and he wonders what she’s thinking. If it’s weird for her to be talking on the phone with him like this… it’s a little weird for him, but he doesn't not like it.
“I guess tomorrow is today.” He adds when she doesn’t say anything else.
“Yeah.” She says, her voice barely more than a whisper. It does something to him to hear her sound so soft. He feels his flush spread from his cheeks to his neck and he panics a little.
“Yeah… Well, thanks for texting me back.” He says quickly.
“Thanks for sending me that place, it does really look fun.” She says, and he catches her melodic inflection that belays a little hopefulness. Or is it wistfulness?
He thinks this is the moment he should ask her to go with him if he’s going to do it. He hadn’t planned on it, he hadn’t planned on any of this. Not the call, not the feeling the sound of her voice stirred in him.
“Yeah, well, I’ll see you tomor— later today.” He says instead, surprising even himself.
“Okay” she mumbles. “See you.”
“Yeah…” he sighs and moves to press the end call button but hesitates.
“Frank?”
“Mel?” They both say the same time. And he pauses, waiting for her to fill the silence.
“Get some sleep” she finally says and it makes his stomach flip.
“I’ll try” He sighs when he gets control of his voice again. There’s another stretch of silence where neither of them says anything and he wonders what her ever expressive face is doing right now.
“Night” She finally says. He’s not sure but he thinks he can hear it in the way her voice trails upwards in pitch at the end of the singular syllable, that she is smiling.
“Good night Mel.” He replies and hits the red button on his phone before he can think of another reason to keep her on the line any longer.
He falls back into the pillows and stares at the Great British Bake Off thumbnail as his mind races and he realizes that he has a big fat crush on his coworker, Doctor Melissa King. It hits him hard and even though the evidence was stacked against him long before now, it knocks the air out of his lungs.
He hasn’t felt like this since he was seventeen. Maybe that was why it was taking him by such surprise, the feeling so foreign and almost forgotten, but not unpleasant.
Frank reaches for the remote and presses play, the idyllic English countryside fills his television screen and the jaunty classical music swells, and he makes a decision. He’s going to show Mel the scar on his hand tomorrow, and when she shows him hers, he’s going to take it in his own and then he’s going ask her to go play ping pong with him.