Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mel King had only attended one gala in her short time as a resident. She had just started at the VA, barely knew a single soul and left before dessert.

The music was too loud —a bad DJ who didn’t take requests or offer any real variety in his song selection— and her fellow staff members spent the majority of the evening trading inside jokes and you had to be there stories that she couldn’t follow. Some had even walked right past her as though she was a piece of furniture (and not their colleague who they saw forty-five hours a week).

She left half way through, deciding that she wouldn’t be any more lonely in her empty apartment than she was there. At least at work she was needed. There, she felt invisible, blending into the decor.

So overall, Mel’s experience with hospital fundraisers hadn’t been overwhelmingly positive.

Which was why, when it was first announced that PMTC would be holding a fundraiser gala for the hospital in a few months’ time, Mel had been skeptical at first.

But upon reflection, she really needn’t have been. First and foremost, PTMC was nothing like the VA. And perhaps more importantly, she had actually made friends in the almost three years she had worked there. 

Now whether they would be interested in going to the gala was another issue. But Mel felt pretty certain they would come round to the idea. After all, opportunities to dress up in anything other than the ever-exciting black scrubs were few and far between for all of them.

Samira Mohan examined the flyer plastered to the fridge courtesy of Robby, taking in the details with a frown.

“This sounds like hell,” She said, plainly, “Schmoozing a bunch of donors while they tell us how inspiring our work is.”

“You sure know how to sell it, Mohan,” Donnie muttered as he passed by with a steaming cup of two-minute noodles.

Samira gave him a greasy smile as he walked out. Mel was standing beside her, eyes flitting over the flyer too.

“It might be fun though…?” She said, nudging Samira with her elbow.

“Yeah, if you’ve got a date, maybe,” Samira scoffed, then she smiled, “But I guess dressing up would be kind of exciting…”

Mel’s face broke into a grin, just as Frank came up behind them, leaning over Mel to get a closer look, arm hovering just above her shoulder.

“You gonna go?” Frank asked her casually, as Samira moved to the bench to stir her tea.

Mel shrugged, attempting nonchalance.

“We’re expected to, aren’t we?”

“You might be,” There was a tinge of bitterness in his voice, “Not sure that they’d want me there.”

“Don’t be silly,” Mel retorted, eyebrows furrowed, “Why wouldn’t they?”

He frowned at her, lowering his voice. “I feel like the gala committee would probably prefer that the doctors in attendance aren’t former benzos addicts who stole from their beloved hospital.”

“You’re one of the best doctors here," said Mel, firmly. 

“Debatable,” He muttered, refusing to look at her.

She reached for his arm and gave it a firm squeeze, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Not to me.”

He studied her for a beat longer; a faint smile flickering across his face.

Then he cleared his throat, and she quickly let go of him.

“What are you going to wear?” He asked suddenly, arms crossing in front of him as he leaned down to meet her at eye level. 

She flushed a little — at the closeness, at the question. “To the gala?”

“Yeah, what’s the dress situation?”

“Uh, I’m not sure,” She said, truthfully, chewing her lip, “Probably take Becca shopping or something — make a day of it.”

“Well, her opinion does matter most,” He said, with mock solemnity, and she laughed.

“You’re not wrong there.”

He was called into an incoming trauma a moment later, but not before he called out: “We still on for Sunday? At the park?”

She nodded, with a grin. “Yep! Becca’s been talking about wanting to walk Charlie again all week. Will Tanner and Penny be there too?”

“If they’re awake, maybe. You never know with the those two,” He made a face before disappearing out the break-room door.

The buzz of excitement that filled the hospital in the days following the announcement was nice. In truth, there had been very little complaint about the whole thing — even among the people who didn’t have dates, a group Mel counted herself part of.

Or at least she had, until a week later, when Raj Chainani waltzed into her life.

It was a chance encounter, at least at first, though they both worked at the same hospital — he in cardiac step-down, her in emergency — so, maybe not entirely by chance.

They kept running into each other early in the morning, both opting for the coffee at the small cafe a block from the hospital, rather than the one inside (which they both agreed tasted like gravel). It was several weeks before he actually approached her and introduced himself. And several more before he actually asked her out.

“Would you— like to get coffee?”

“Yes, Raj,” She had said, laughing, “That’s why I come here every day.”

“No, I mean — with me,” He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Like a date.”

Her mouth formed an ‘O’ shape. It had been a long time since someone had asked her on a date — let alone someone in the wild (not that her online dating escapades had ever been very successful either).

Frankly, she was surprised that he was even interested in her — though, she always found it a little surprising when men were interested in her.

Historically, men had given her little reason to take their words at face value. Kindness could be cruel; flirtation could be a game.

Like a spectacle she had unwittingly become a participant in. Two particularly bad interactions during her high school years had taught her that some practical jokes weren’t beyond the realms of possibility. That sometimes the joke was the point.

But Raj wasn’t laughing. There were no marks of mockery; he seemed almost nervous. Patiently waiting.

And yet, traitorously, someone else’s face surfaced in her mind.

Frank.

It was absurd really — to feel as though she were breaking an oath she never took, betraying a man who had never asked for her devotion.

It was completely illogical. And yet, the sensation persisted all the same.

So what if a pair of the bluest eyes she had ever seen had flashed before her in violent protest at the question? As though the mere suggestion of saying yes to another man were an act of treason?

So what?

What was she to do? Remain loyal to a man who was — in every conceivable way — unavailable, unattainable and unequivocally uninterested?

When an actual man was offering her a real chance, not a hypothetical one?

No. She had nothing to lose.

She agreed before she could change her mind.

And Raj was — well, he was lovely. He was gentle and considerate, and seemed to really like her. That part was nice; the being liked part.

They had been seeing each other for just over two months — not long enough to be serious, but long enough that it felt settled and comfortable. Their first date had been a late one — at a Vietnamese restaurant downtown. Even after a twelve hour shift, she found his company enjoyable, so much so they went out again after work a few days later. They swapped patient stories and bonded over their collective burnout, and he marvelled at how she handled the chaos of the ER, and she, his composure, his steady approach to his work.

Before long, it became a regular thing; dinner after work or takeaway at his place. He even cooked for her a few times, which was sweet. No man had ever done that for her before.

And, the sex had been — fine. Nice. Like in all other areas of his life, Raj was attentive and patient — checking in with her, making sure she felt good, his touch always cautious and delicate.

It wasn’t earth-shattering but it was fine.

Everything about it was fine. Mel was trying to be satisfied with fine. Trying to convince herself that this was enough. Because it had to be.

She didn’t notice right away that the more she saw of Raj, the less she saw of Frank. How their coffee runs on shift became rarer, their Sunday walks with Becca and Charlie became almost nonexistent. The only time they really saw each other was at work, and while there, it was easy to pretend nothing had changed; Frank pulling her in on interesting cases, coming to her aid without her needing to ask, letting her lead on some of the more advanced procedures.

But outside work, their interactions added up to a grand total of zero. Mel’s only free time went towards her sister and her budding relationship with her boyfriend - which was to be expected. That’s what one did in a relationship — make time for them, spend time with them.

What wasn’t so great was that although Becca liked Raj, that didn’t stop her from asking about Frank — often. Where was he? Why didn’t he come to the park with them anymore?

“He’s busy, Bec,” she would say, trying to brush it off, but that only seemed to deter her for so long.

The fact that Raj was going with Mel to the gala did help things a little. The whole affair proved a good distraction from Frank’s absence. Becca thought it was just so exciting that Mel was going to have a date to the gala (or the ‘ball’ as she kept calling it - Cinderella had always been her favourite of the Disney princesses), and that definitely bumped Raj up a few notches in her books.

Still, it was early days. She had only met him a handful of times — he came over for a movie night a while back (Elf, obviously), and they had all gotten boba tea a few Sundays ago. So, all things considered, it was going okay. 

“Take lots of photos, Mel!”

“I will, Bec, I promise,” Mel had said to her the night of, phone pressed to her ear as they were stepping out of the cab, right out front of The Whitmore.

It was an impressive building, though most gala venues were quite impressive, she supposed. It was three stories high with ornate stonework decorating the entrance. The marble staircase leading up to the double arched doors exuded grandeur and opulence — the kind Mel had only really witnessed through a TV screen. She snapped a quick picture for Becca, smiling to herself. 

By some stroke of luck, it hadn’t snowed in several days, making the staircase much less hazardous than it might have otherwise been.  Still, a sharp chill lingered in the air, all the arriving guests bundled up in thick coats. It wasn’t until they all got inside that the oohing and ahhing began, all the newcomers reacting to each other’s dresses and ensembles excitedly.

Mel had the distinct feeling that Princess and Perlah were rating everyone’s outfits as they came through the door — she couldn’t be sure because of the language barrier, but from the amused glances they shared, it definitely looked that way.

Samira went in first, handbag tucked under her arm, her voluminous waves catching the breeze — and paired with her dark red lip,  she was the picture of old Hollywood glamour.

Mel followed close behind, hunching slightly so as not to draw attention, Raj’s hand resting at the small back of her back.

He cleaned up remarkably well, in a crisp navy suit, his mop of curly dark hair framing his smiling face. He had asked ahead time about her dress colour so that they could match — when Mel told Samira that, she clutched her hand to her heart with mock emotion, swooning at the romantic gesture. Mel laughed, but she agreed — it was sweet.

And the ballroom itself was beautiful — with high ceilings and a grandiose chandelier hanging in the centre, golden hues reflected in every direction. Clusters of cocktail tables dotted the wood-panelled floor, draped in crisp white linens.

She had been relieved to learn the event was not a sit-down affair like the previous gala she attended; the high tables allowed for much more freedom.  She had already moved between several to greet Jesse, Kim and Donnie who had been scattered throughout.

That’s how they spent the first stretch of the evening; making the rounds. Mel introduced Raj to Robby and Collins and a few others from her department, and Raj introduced Mel to some of the other nurses from his ward who had also snagged an invite.

They were all friendly enough, and also, all women.  The greetings quickly blurred into one another, each followed by another chorus of awww. At first, they commented on what a sweet couple they made, and after a while it seemed less about them as a pair, and more that everyone was just ecstatic Raj had landed a date.

But Mel smiled and thanked them politely, secretly very pleased when Dr Ellis waved them over, giving them an appropriate exit to the conversation.

She was still taking in her surroundings as they milled about, sipping champagne as they went. Waiters in slick black shirts and aprons were circling now too, with trays of canapés.

It all felt very polished and official — even more so when the live band began to play; jazzy melodies filling the air. Before long though, the music began to recede into the background, the hum of chatter growing louder with the arrival more guests.

Mel heard him before she saw him — the low timbre of his voice. Her brain seemed hardwired to prioritise it no matter the soundscape — the cacophony of noise in the ER or the soft buzz of melody and conversation. She chanced a glance over her shoulder, and — her breath caught at the sight of him.

He looked devastatingly handsome — not that this was news to Mel. She was well aware of it. But in this light, it was even more apparent, even from the other side of the room. The streamlined fit of his tuxedo accentuated his build, his height. His hair was slicked back, the sharp line of his jaw on full display. Mel swallowed, unable to take her eyes off him.

So much so that it took her a second to take in the woman on his arm.

Abby Langdon. No doubt about it.

Mel had seen photos of her — only in passing though, when Frank was showing her a picture of their dog or their kids. But it was undeniable. She was beautiful. That was an indisputable fact. She looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine.

The deep emerald fabric of her dress cascaded down her body like liquid glass, making her dark red hair all the more vibrant.

In heels, she was almost as tall as he was, the high slit of her dress exposing her long slender legs.

Mel glanced down at her own dress, feeling a bit deflated. She had opted for an a-line navy dress that cinched at the waist and fell just below the knees. It had felt like the right choice in the shop, but now she just felt frumpy in it.

Especially while they were over there greeting Dr Collins and Dr Shen, looking like a royal couple. Or they would have, if the strain wasn’t so obvious even from where Mel was standing. The stiffness in Frank’s shoulders, the tautness in his throat.

She was about to turn around when Frank’s eyes suddenly met hers. He froze, taking her in, slight slack in his jaw — he looked stunned — and then, he started coughing loudly and suddenly. Collins seemed to be slapping him on the back and Mel quickly surmised he must’ve choked on his drink or something. He didn’t look at her again after that, and she whipped back around, slightly flustered.

Because she knew. She was very conscious of the affection she felt — or had felt towards him. Affection that slowly but surely blossomed into intense attraction over the past nearly three years they had worked together, even with Frank spending much of that first year in a rehabilitation centre.

She could still remember the day following the MCI, returning to work and learning of his abrupt departure from a subdued Robby at the nurses station, surrounded by the rest of the exhausted, dishevelled staff who had also miraculously decided to come back to work after what would undoubtably have been the worst shift of their lives to date.

To say she was disappointed would be a gross understatement. It felt unfair — like the universe was mocking her. To dangle someone so kind, so good in front of her, only to rip him away.

But as the months went by, and she grew accustomed to his absence, she figured that the minor, frivolous, unobtrusive crush she had developed on a married coworker over the span of one fifteen-hour shift, would subside.

And in many ways it did.

But then, he came back. 

While the nature of her feelings was hardly obvious at first, the intensity with which they grew after his return left her with no choice but to acknowledge the simple and undeniable truth: she might have been the teeniest, tiniest bit in love with him.

Just a smidge.

But it had sort of been inevitable, hadn't it? That she would fall for him. How could she not? When he was quite possibly the first person in her life who had ever seen her. Like, really, truly seen her.

Frank Langdon. Who was married. With children. And a dog. 

It was all rather unfortunate really; finding out the man who might very well have been the love of her life already had a love of his own.

It was inconvenient, unsustainable - and impossible to act on. 

(It didn't matter that their marriage had been rocky since long before Frank's stint in rehab. Nor did it matter that Frank had opened up to her about this at one in the morning over the phone, when he was spiralling after a bad pain flare up. It was several months back, and they had talked for nearly three hours - while Abby was sleeping soundly in the next room. 

None of that mattered). 

She hadn’t had a choice. She had to bury them — these feelings. Pack them away and shove them into a tightly sealed box in the basement of her brain.

Dating Raj certainly helped. It was a deliberate, conscious effort by her to move on, to redirect her barrage of feelings onto someone who was actually available. Who was free to love her. And what started out as a distraction, became something of a lifeline - something that actually brought her joy.  Raj served as a reminder; that she could still hold affection for another, that with time and in the right circumstance, she could grow to love someone — maybe him.

It was the right thing — bottling it up. Moving on. She knew that. She also knew that it was her only option if she was going to survive working fifteen-hour shifts alongside him day in and day out.

And she had gotten rather good at it.

Until a week ago.

Until she found herself on the precipice; perilously close to the line she had sworn never to cross.

It had been the night shift from hell.

Or, at least, the worst she had experienced in recent memory.

With snow blanketing most of the city, they were mainly occupied with patients involved in ice-related accidents. By ten o’clock, the ER waiting room resembled that of an overcrowded ski lodge— clusters of patients donning overcoats and parkas, trails of muddy slush lining the floor, and an array of colourful scarfs and beanies decorating the heads of all those inside. 

It was relatively calm in the beginning. Mel even had time to take one of her fifteen minute breaks (that were supposed to be mandatory but somehow always got missed because of some crisis or other). 

She saw an elderly woman who slipped going up the steps of her front porch, and broke her hip. A middle aged man with a fractured wrist, after trying to break a bad fall on an icy curb. A college kid and his little brother, both with mild cases of hypothermia because their car got stuck in a ditch and assistance didn’t arrive for over an hour.

But then, the motor-vehicle accidents started and they didn't stop - with one particularly bad collision; a nine vehicle pile up on I-79, in Butler County, that saw twenty-eight patients pour through the ER almost simultaneously. 

Several were in critical condition upon arrival, and one —an eleven year old boy— had died at the scene. Just an awful, awful day. 

The atmosphere inside had been hectic, stressful - but nothing Mel wasn't used to. 

They managed to stabilise most of them - including a fifteen year old girl who had arrived in a critical state and coded a couple times due to severe internal bleeding from a lacerated spleen. She was sent up to the OR shortly after, with strong vitals and a high chance of making a full recovery. 

Her older sister was the one they missed.

She had arrived with her - a nasty cut on her upper arm and moderate pain in her chest, more concerned with her sister than herself. She had been upright, talking normally, complaining about the cold, asking for updates about her sister's care — and then, in a flash, she was gone.

They worked her for twenty-seven minutes.

Time of death was called at 5:56am.

Mel had been up on the roof, wrapped in an oversized puffer jacket and pacing — as was her custom after a particularly bad shift. 

Trying to make sense of everything that had happened in the last few hours. Especially when she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had failed to catch something. 

She thought she had slipped away unnoticed from the chaos downstairs, but Langdon had found her before she even reached the railing. 

This wasn't unfamiliar territory for them either. They often went up there to decompress after a shift - calm each other, comfort each other, vent about the day's mishaps, whinge about annoying patients - or on some occasions, just sit in silence. It could be nice, peaceful - sometimes. 

It was not peaceful that morning. Mel was anxious, fidgety; her words tumbling out in a frantic, rapid-fire stream. Frank was leaning against the railing, hanging onto her every word, as he so often did. 

“I swear, thepatientwasstable —  BP was 118. Mild tachycardia. FAST was clean,” She was saying, words running together messily, “But I did see borderline mediastinal widening—“

“Yeah, borderline.“

“I should’ve ordered the CT angiography earlier.”

Frank shook his head. “You weren’t to know—“

“—And, I just let her sit there.”

“You didn’t — she was hemodynamically stable.”

“She told me she had back pain — between the shoulder blades.”

“So does every other patient who’s suffered blunt thoracic trauma with bruised ribs.”

She chewed her lip momentarily, the cold air whipping the loose tendrils of hair out of her face. Thankfully, it wasn’t forecast to snow again until the weekend.

“Her systolic dipped,” She said with renewed vigour, turning to face him again, “And then it came back up, but she was moving and talking— and maybe that was the window.”

“No, no— Mel, that wasn’t the window. It was likely a contained transection when she got here. The adventitia was still holding, tamponading the bleed. That’s why she was still talking.”

“If I’d skipped the scan and pushed her straight to the OR.”

“Without imaging? You’d have been going in blind. Plus, surgery would never have approved it.”

“They might’ve if they’d seen her. If I could have just gotten her there—“

“The outcome wouldn’t have changed. It would’ve ruptured in the hallway instead of the OR. That’s all. You ordered a CT angiography — you were monitoring her. When she crashed, you placed the chest tube. You got ROSC once—“

“For a minute!”

“Mel, you did every possible thing you could’ve done.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Most patients in this case die at the scene. The fact that she made it to us at all was pure luck.“

“Then, what are we even doing here?” She asked, exasperatedly, voice shaking, “If someone’s stable and talking and we still can’t save her—“

“We give her a fighting chance. We do everything we possibly can. And you did that. You. Just sometimes, it’s not enough.”

His eyes met hers, fervent and unwavering — and all the fight went out of her. Her shoulders slumped inward, and she stared at her feet. Neither spoke for a moment, only the odd car horn or ambulance siren punctuating the calm of their slowly stirring city.

“But that’s not fair,” She said, in a stupid, small voice, before he closed the gap between them.

“I know,” He cooed softly, tucking her under the open flaps of his jacket and enveloping her in a warm hug, “I know it’s not.”

She let herself melt into him, fisting at his scrubs to get as close as possible, burying her face into the scratchy material.

They stood there for a long time, his heart thrumming loudly against her cheek. Nothing but the rise and fall of breath. 

She hadn’t realised how cold she was until he had her folded into his arms.

“She was a twin,” She mumbled against his chest, some time later.

There was a damp patch on his scrubs from her tears, and she took a step back, feeling slightly embarrassed. He was looking at her, with a sort of bewildered expression. She straightened up a bit, leaning against the railing. The metal was cool under her fingers.

“I found out when I had to inform the family — that she d-didn’t make it. Well, some of them — the younger one’s still in surgery - she doesn’t even know yet, god, it’s horrific. And, Julia, that was her name —the twin— she said they’d never been apart before. Ever.” Her voice wobbled, throat burning.

She tried to swallow. Couldn’t.

“When we took her to the viewing room, she was holding onto her so tightly — like, if she just held on a little longer, it would all be okay. It would be enough to keep her alive."

Frank nodded, solemnly. But he didn’t say anything, just listened. Open, patient — like always. She found it hard to look him in the eye.

“I was thinking about Becca. The whole time. Pretty selfish of me, I guess.”

“Not selfish,” Frank interjected, almost sternly but his gaze was soft, “Just being human.”

She let out a frustrated sigh, raking a hand through her hair. It was a sweaty mess —she was definitely going to have to re-braid it before she went back down.

“Becca is only six minutes older than me, you know," She said, looking up a him, "I don’t think we’ve been apart longer than a week — maybe ever. Even before our parents… and I became her primary carer, we were inseparable."

“I remember you said you missed her a lot. That it was hard, not seeing her everyday — when you first started at PTMC,” He said casually, as if it didn’t still knock the wind out of her when he remembered things she had said on a random day, years ago.

Mel nodded. She thought of the look on Becca’s face when she had first introduced the idea of staying in a facility. When she had finally understood what it would mean — which took several practice runs, and with it, many tears and arguments and frustration. The separation was hard enough for Mel and she knew all the reasons why it was necessary — so it was torturous to think of how her sister must have felt; the confusion, the betrayal, the abandonment.

Mel cried herself to sleep that very first week. Her apartment had felt so cold, so empty— even with Becca staying with her three days out of the week.

And then, she cried even more when she realised she had slept better than she had in years. The guilt still sat coiled in the base of her abdomen; unmoving, heavy.

“It made me think, you know? It’s just her and me now. And, if something were to happen to me….she wouldn’t…,” She shuddered, hands knotting together in front of her, tightly, “She wouldn’t understand, where I went. She wouldn’t really…. she would just… wait.”

“I’m her only person,” She half whispered, tears threatening to fall again, “We don’t have anyone else.”

She swiped them away, frustratedly. Frank was watching her, eyes wide with concern.

“You cannot stand between her and every bad thing in the world. That’s not something any one person could do.”

“Yeah, but if I’m gone, she has no one.”

He stepped closer then, blocking the harsh winds like a buffer, warm palms settling on her shoulders. Heat seeped through fabric, through skin.

The world was sharp and cold, and out of control — but, he wasn’t, she thought.

And he was right here.

“Mel, if something were to happen to you — and I am not saying that it will — god, I pray nothing does, but — Becca would not be left alone,” He said firmly, giving her shoulders a squeeze as though to emphasise the point, “You have people. Friends, colleagues. Here at PTMC. People who care about you— who love you. She would never be left alone.”

He had that look in his eye — the one she sometimes caught when he thought she wasn’t looking. Like he could see directly into her soul. Like he wanted to pitch a tent inside her thoughts and just stay there. Like he knew her mind better than she knew herself.

Her eyes were brimming again.

“I would make sure that she was safe. And seen and heard. And I wouldn’t be the only one.”

His hand slid up her face, the pad of his thumb grazing beneath the rim of her glasses to catch a stray tear.

“You can’t promise that,” She whispered, leaning into his touch without thinking.

It was like gravity — this pull she felt towards him. She had no choice but to yield.

With his free hand, he cupped her jaw, tipping her face towards him to meet his eyes.

“I can promise I wouldn’t let her fall through the cracks. Not while I’m alive and breathing.”

Something deep inside her stirred, unclaimed and unspoken — like a wild animal rousing from hibernation, coaxed back to life. A fiery warmth settled beneath her ribs, folding into the very fabric of her bones.

It was a good thing he had an arm hooked around her waist, because she was positive that her legs were about to give way.

His hand slid to the back of her neck, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes on the way. His touch was slow, deliberate; it sent a thrill down her spine.

Not that him touching her was out of the ordinary — in fact, he was always touching her. A slight brush of the hand, a squeeze of the elbow, a nudge with his shoulder, a tug of her braid (she had told him off for that one — even though some twisted part of her secretly liked it). Frank was a very tactile person, and despite being someone who honestly wasn’t that comfortable with touch, she was comfortable with him. And she had become accustomed to a reassuring hand on her shoulder, a palm on her cheek — his body, his hands — grounding her on the worst days imaginable in the ER.

But — this wasn’t that. This was something else entirely. There was a weight to this.

The streets below had long since faded to the background — the only thing registering now was him, and the pale morning sun crowning his head in light — like, a sort of makeshift halo, a gleam impossible to ignore.

The air between them felt charged, humming with years of restraint — like, one match could set the whole thing ablaze. He pressed his forehead to hers, so close they were recycling the same air. His breath was warm on her cheeks.

She could just about feel the ghost of his lips against her mouth, warm and solid, when the door behind them burst open — a shriek of metal scraping against concrete as it slammed into the brick wall.

They jumped apart at once, Mel nearly skidding on the sleet beneath her.

Dr Abbott was standing in the doorway, hand still closed around the doorknob, puffer jacket half thrown over his shoulders lazily.

His gaze flitted between them, quick and assessing — astute as ever. He released the door handle, letting it swing shut behind him.  Mel was staring at the ground, trying to keep her hands from trembling. Her heart was hammering so fast she thought she might pass out.

“Sorry,” said Jack, grimacing at them, “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” Frank said, quickly.

He didn’t look at her — wouldn’t look at her. She could feel her cheeks burning, way too exposed in the sunlight.

Abbot studied them for half a second longer. He looked tired, dark circles lining his under eyes.

“Rough one tonight,” He said gruffly, as he moved to his usual spot at the railing, settling a few feet away.

Mel nodded jerkily, as Frank replied, “Yeah, it was.”

When he turned back to them, there was something knowing, almost wistful in his stare.

“Take care of yourselves, yeah?” Abbot said, glancing at Frank before settling on Mel.

She tried to smile - hoped it was convincing. She just wanted this exchange to end as soon as humanly possible.

“I’ve got to- go, I just remembered that I— I havetogo,” Mel said abruptly, trying to sound neutral, normal. 

She felt Frank go to touch her hand but she stepped out of reach, avoiding his gaze — and Abbot’s.

She gave them both an awkward wave. “I’ll, um, I’ll see you.”

And then she had fled.

That was the last night shift she had worked in twelve days. 

She had been on nights for a couple months - her choice; she needed the extra money. Langdon been doing nights for a while too — it helped avoid any altercations with Robby, with whom Langdon still had somewhat of a tense relationship with despite the years that had passed. Abbot was far more understanding in that regard - and Mel did really like his approach to the work, he was less of the hover and correct type like Robby, and more the you have my trust, find me if you need me type. 

But in the aftermath of that ill-fated morning, she had immediately put in a request to swap back to a day shift rotation. Anything to reduce the number of interactions she would have to have with Frank. Luckily, Walsh, who had just come back from leave, was more than happy to take her shifts.

He tried to speak to her a few times at changeover but she always managed to get away quickly with some excuse or other. She did feel bad about icing him out but, she didn’t have a choice. It was an act of self-preservation. The truth was she didn't trust herself around him anymore. If even the odd one-second glances they shared while passing each other in the hallway were testing her - no. 

So she returned to the day shift, and had been steadfastly avoiding both Langdon and Abbot ever since. And galas were crowded affairs so, she had numbers on her side. 

But she wasn't stupid. She knew the distance couldn’t hold for long, she was bound to cross paths with one of them sooner or later. 

And sooner than she had hoped, it happened. She was leaning on one of the high cocktail tables,  scanning the faces around her, half listening to Raj tell a story about his brother’s new girlfriend and her apparent lack of boundaries. Her eyes jumped from group to group, trying to suss where he was — so she knew where to steer clear.

Then, without warning, there he was. Right in front of her. They were one table over, only now visible due to a small group of men in pressed suits vacating the table between. 

Mel had hoped by some stroke of luck, their presence would go unnoticed — but to no avail.

Frank was already looking at her when she went to check. He motioned at her, a half wave. 

“Do you know him?” Raj asked, clocking the interaction at once. 

She could see Frank stepping around the table, guiding Abby towards them. 

Mel gulped. “Uh…”

“Dr King!” He said as he approached, with a strange air of formality. 

“Dr Langdon,” She returned, her voice brittle. 

“This is, erm, Abby,” He said, without taking his eyes off her, "My wife."

“Nice to meet you, Dr King,” She flashed her blindingly white teeth, smiling down at her. 

“It's just Mel — call me Mel,” She replied quickly. 

Up close, Mel was even more intimidated by her. She held herself in a way that screamed confidence, self-assurance, and Mel was pretty sure the woman had zero pores — like, at all.

After a beat, she felt their gaze tilt to the left of her, curiously — and she jolted. 

“This is— Raj,” She blurted at once, gesturing to him, “He’s my…date —boyfriend— and my date.” 

Raj didn’t seem to notice her blundering — merely smiled at them both, and offered his hand to shake.

“Raj Chainani. Cardiac step-down.”

Frank took it, his smile tight, controlled. “Uh, Frank Langdon. Emergency medicine, I guess.”

Mel kept trying to catch Frank’s eye but he seemed intent on ignoring her — in fact, he didn’t look her at all after Raj was introduced. Like, he was studying him, with an almost clinical detachment. It was the same way he would assess a patient he didn’t find particularly trustworthy.

“So, you’re a step-down, huh? Must be nice. Having more stable patients,” Frank said dryly, a hint of provocation there.

Mel shifted on her feet, nervously. But Raj seemed unperturbed. “I find it’s very rewarding work. And very challenging too.”

Frank nodded, with a sardonic smile. “Oh, I’m sure. The ER must be a walk in the park compared to gen med.”

Mel shot him a look, heat rising in her chest, but he ignored her, taking another swig of his drink — a non-alcoholic ginger beer, from what she could see.

“Don’t mind him,” Abby said smoothly, “Frank thrives in chaos — anything else is boring to him.”

Raj laughed politely, but Mel wasn’t paying attention now. Too fixated on the way Abby‘s fingers curled around Frank’s arm, like a vine. A gentle reminder that he was not hers. That he never had been.

“And you — do you work in medicine too?” She asked rather abruptly, forcing herself to look up.

She was pretty sure she didn’t, but couldn’t recall Frank ever mentioning her occupation. Come to think of it, he didn’t mention her much at all — at least not her, anyway. She tried not to think too deeply about why that might be.

“Oh, god no,” She said with a laugh, her auburn hair rippling down her back as she shook her head, “No, I’m in consulting. Much less blood.”

Mel nodded. She was slightly baffled as to why blood would be even a small component of consulting work — but she neglected to question it. This unfortunately resulted in a slight lull in the conversation, that had Langdon shifting his feet awkwardly, and Raj glancing between all of them like a fish out of water.

Mercifully, a distraction arrived in the form of Dana, radiant in a champagne satin dress, with a boat neckline and cap sleeves.

“Well, if it isn’t Abby Langdon,” said Dana, planting a kiss on Abby’s cheeks, “Looking beautiful as always.”

Abby smiled somewhat bashfully, all lip-gloss and shimmer. Mel ignored the twinge of annoyance she felt.

“That’s very kind coming from you, Dana.”

Dana waved her off, dismissing the compliment in full as she looked around at them all. She positively beamed when her gaze fell upon Mel, reaching for her hand.

“Oh my stars,” She exclaimed, practically forcing her to do a spin on the spot, “You’re a vision, Dr King. Doesn’t she look marvellous?”

Mel felt her cheeks redden, as Dana’s hands came to down to frame her face. “And no glasses?”

“Contacts,” She mumbled, with a small smile.

She saw the corner of Frank’s mouth twitch, his eyes twinkling as he looked at her. Suddenly, she felt naked without her glasses on.

“Me too, kid,” Dana said, winking at her before signalling at Raj, who was standing a few feet behind her.

“And who might this strapping young lad be?”

“Hi — Raj. I’m Mel’s— or, Dr King’s date. I work upstairs — cardiac unit.”

Dana raised her eyebrows, half smiling.

“Well, you picked a good one,” She said cheerily, “Dana. Charge nurse in Emergency. Responsible for making sure these two play nice with the other kids."

Mel could feel Frank’s eyes on her again, but refused to meet them, turning her attention back to Raj. He gave her hand a squeeze.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Langdon.”

“Cheers, Dana,” Frank quipped, rolling his eyes.

She laughed, her eyes flitting from Mel to Frank in amusement.

“Could hardly recognise you two without your bloodstained scrubs. Looking very civilised indeed.”

“I think he always looks pretty put together,” Abby said, patting the front of his chest proudly, but something about it felt performative. 

Mel felt her grip tighten on her glass unconsciously.

“Well, you haven’t seen him at work, hon. He looks a hot mess.”

Frank frowned. “I do not.”

“Good thing he has our sweet, Mel, here to make him look better.”

“You two work together a lot, then?” Abby asked suddenly, glancing between them.

Mel opened her mouth to respond. Closed it again.

“You should see these two in action, Abby,” Dana exclaimed, gesturing wildly, “Mindreaders — the both of them. Always anticipating the other’s next move. Like synchronised chaos. With a splash of codependency.”

Mel forced out a laugh, glancing at Frank. He was fidgeting, foot tapping the ground at a rapid speed.

Abby raised her eyebrows, still processing this new information. “I had no idea.”

Frank shrugged, casually in response. But Mel felt Abby’s gaze fall to her and stay there for a beat. She didn’t dare meet it.

“It’s always good to feel part of a team, I guess?” Raj commented, blissfully unaware of the tension filling the air, “I think this line of work cultivates that— that closeness.”

“Couldn’t agree more, kid,” Dana said with a snort, slapping a hand on Raj’s shoulder, “You know, I think it’s time for a drink.”

Raj grinned, nodding over at her. “You want one too?” 

Mel started to say no but upon seeing Abby whisper something in Frank’s ear — lips brushing over the nape of his neck — she changed her mind.

“Great,” Dana said, leading the way, and Raj moved to follow, “Come with me, Raj. There’s some people I’d like you to meet.”

“I’ll be back,” He said, giving her waist a squeeze, and she tensed at the contact.

(She was trying and failing to ignore Frank‘s gaze, which was tracking the movement, jaw sharp).

“Oh, Sarah’s calling— I better take this,” Abby said, untangling her hand from Frank’s, looking frustrated, “Our sitter— the kids are probably refusing to sleep. One sec.”

“Penny’s going through a phase — refuses to go down unless she’s heard at least two dozen stories,” Frank supplied, an exhausted (yet still fond) expression on his face.

Abby nodded along, smiling briskly at her. She lifted the phone to her ear, and disappeared amongst the clusters of doctors and donors, and Mel let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding in.

There was a momentary silence before Frank turned around more fully to face her, and she finally gave herself permission to look at him properly - for the first time since he had approached. He looked even better up close — freshly shaved, jawline sharp. The top button of his shirt was slightly undone too, leaving the stretch of skin at the base of his neck visible.

The suit was nice too —likely very expensive — the worsted black wool taut over his broad shoulders. When he angled more towards her, the fabric shifted over his muscle, subtly hinting at the strength underneath. He was close enough she could reach out and touch him, run her fingers up his arm — if she really wanted to. A shiver ran through her.

Get a grip, she thought.

But when she forced herself to look up, she found that he seemed to be doing the exact same thing. His eyes were roving over her with a certain meticulousness— her face, her exposed shoulders, then her waist — as though he was savouring each detail.

Her cheeks grew hot under his stare, but she found she didn’t want him to look away. In fact, she thought she might die if he did.

When he spoke, his voice was soft, reverent. “Your hair. You’re wearing it down.“

“Yeah.”

“Suits you.”

“Thank you,” Mel replied stiffly, unsure where to look.

He stepped an inch closer. “You look—“ he paused, dropping his voice. “No— you are beautiful.”

That warmth blossomed in her chest again, unbidden — and she caught his eye, basking in the awed expression on his face.

He looked like he was going to say something else, but before he could, Yolanda Garcia had sidled up to Frank. She looked taller than usual, donning a black and white dress with shoulder pads and a plunging neckline. She said a brief hello to Mel, before smirking at Langdon.

“Wow. Didn’t know Mattel made dolls this big?” 

He rolled his eyes, hand instinctively moving to muss up his hair.

“You look nice, Yo-yo. Did you leave the dalmatians at home, then?”

She grinned, devilishly.

They bantered back and forth for a moment, as was their way, making Mel all the more relieved when Samira appeared at her side, seemingly out of nowhere. She greeted them all before linking arms with Mel, and whisking her away, insisting she meet some people. She could still feel Frank’s stare as she moved — burning through the back of her skull. It took everything in her to not look back at him.

But Samira had pulled her into a conversation with some donors nearby, thereby forcing her to wrestle her attention away from him. And this was probably for the best. The last thing she wanted was to get overstimulated and trip on her own tongue in front of the very people they were trying to impress — the ones who funded half the hospital.

She was also trying to keep an eye on Raj which was more than enough to occupy her busy brain. He seemed to have gotten distracted from his mission to get more drinks — which she was fine with, (maybe more so than a girlfriend ought to be at her boyfriend’s lengthy absence).

When she spotted him, he was chatting animatedly with Dana and some other nurses at the bar. After a while, he caught her eye and motioned silently if he should come over but she shook her head, gesturing to Samira. He understood at once, gave her a thumbs up and turned back to the others.

It was a good thing that although she despised them, Samira was a natural at navigating these kinds of events — because without her, Mel would’ve been floundering.  She told ER stories with ease, turning to Mel for input here and there, but never overwhelming her. And Mel had never been more grateful for her friendship. She truly was the perfect companion for a gala.

They had gotten ready together at Mel’s flat several hours earlier. As it turned out, not only was she a great conversationalist, but she was also a genius with a round brush and a blow dryer; using surgical-like precision to coax Mel’s flat, mousy head of hair into something almost glamorous.

Mel would have loved to return the favour but her skills in that department were incredibly limited — hence, the simple braid she wore almost daily. It was a sensory thing too— anything else seemed to irritate her scalp. (The only variation she’d ever tried at PTMC was wearing two braids instead of one, which resulted in Santos calling her Pippi Longstockings for the rest of the day. After that, she had been reluctant to branch out again).

She did iron Samira’s dress though, along with her own — she was glad to have been useful in some way. 

They listened to Mel’s hype playlist whilst doing their make up — Samira had recently begun to understand Mel’s obsession with Megan Thee Stallion and Kendrick Lamar — and they mixed some cocktails to calm the nerves and mentally prepare for the night ahead. 

And in hindsight, she was very glad they did. But even the homemade margaritas couldn’t keep the endless questions from donors  interesting for very long.

By the fourth round of questioning, Mel felt her enthusiasm waning; something about spotting sprains versus fractures (it doesn’t work like that), how often cases were fatal (rarely), and how on earth you manage to fit a social life around your tedious job (we don’t, thank you).

Samira didn’t look like she could last much longer either, which made Mel feel a little better.

“Well, I think we’ve officially exhausted our stock of thrilling ER tales,” She remarked, with exaggerated joviality, “But I’m sure Dr Robby has plenty more he’d be thrilled to share.”

Samira gestured subtly towards Robby, who was standing a few feet away.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure Dr Robby would be thrilled to take over for you.”

Santos had joined them, Whitaker at her heels, offering a solid nod for effect. The donors clearly didn’t see the smirk playing at her lips — all more than happy to let Samira steer them in the direction of the attending.

Mel mouthed a thank you to her as she went past, and Santos slid into the space Samira had vacated.

“Having a good night so far?” She asked, eyebrows raised, as she took a large sip of some kind of tropical cocktail — pineapple flavoured maybe, judging from the colour.

“Yeah, it’s been fun, I guess,” replied Mel, with a shrug.

Santos let out a huff. “Well, I’m glad someone’s having fun.”

Mel furrowed her eyebrows, confused. She looked to Whitaker for some kind of explanation.

He sighed. “Santos is just sulking because Garcia brought a date.”

“I am not sulking. God, Huckleberry.”

Whitaker rolled his eyes, sharing an exasperated look with Mel. “Right.”

“But, shit, she does look good in that dress.”

Mel followed her gaze to where Frank and Garcia stood, clearly still deep in conversation. She felt Santos’ glance at her,  slyly.

“How’d it go with Langdon?”

Mel whipped around so fast she thought she heard a crack. “What?”

“I saw the introductions earlier. You know, work wife meets actual wife. That’s gotta be awkward.”

Mel blinked, lowering her glass from her lips. “That’s… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Whitaker was looking anxiously between them. “Trinity…”

She threw her arms up, defensively, the wide sleeves of her suit jacket narrowly missing Mel’s face.

“What? You’re his work wife — you’re basically attached at the hip. You are.”

“No, we— we’re just on the same rotation,” Mel countered clumsily, cheeks burning, “So, we work together — a lot. That’s all.” 

“Whatever you say, Melatonin,” Santos said, looking incredibly smug, “I’m just pointing out what everyone already sees.”

“Then maybe everyone should mind their own business,” Mel bit back, harshly.

Santos stared at her, stunned — an expression she almost never saw on her face. Whitaker was gaping too, eyes widening.

Mel felt a wave of shame wash over her.

“Sorry, I… I should go to the bar — and find Raj,” She murmured, unable to look either of them in the eye.

Her b-line for the bar however proved to be futile, as the little cluster of nurses he had been standing with, were no longer there. So, she began moving quickly through the space, scanning as she went.  She caught Frank’s eye a couple times, but hurriedly looked away — the last thing she needed was to talk to him.

After circling the room once, she surmised Raj must’ve gone to the restroom, and decided to wait by the long tables displaying the auction items. She could use a breather, she thought.

But, clearly that wasn’t in the cards tonight.

“King. You look like you could use a drink.”

She glanced around to find Dr Abbott standing behind her, in his outstretched hand, a flute of champagne.

It was strange seeing him out of work and in something other than scrubs but he looked good - sporting a charcoal grey suit, the very picture of rugged masculinity. She might have said as much if she didn't feel slightly sick at the sight of him, her stomach twisting. 

Or rather it was, before she saw the look in his eyes. Knowing, sincere — a flash of recognition — of wordless understanding.

I won’t bring it up if you won’t.

She felt herself relax, resting a palm on the bidding table beside them.

“Thank you,” She smiled, grateful for the drink — and his discretion.

She downed half of it in one go, a torrent of bubbles fizzing in her mouth.

“Not so fast, champ,” He smirked, looking amused, “The night is young and the bidding’s barely started.”

“Oh, I won’t be bidding on anything,” Mel said quickly, gaze flitting over the array of items and experiences lining the table.

“Not even the three-night ski holiday in Colorado?” Dr McKay had appeared at Abbot’s side, glass in hand, “I know Harrison would kill for that one.”

“You look gorgeous, Mel,” She added, admiring her dress, “That colour looks beautiful on you.”

Mel gave her a sheepish grin, folding her arms in front of her chest. “Thank you — so do you.”

She smiled in thanks, dimples forming in her cheeks. Cassie’s hair was down and styled, auburn waves framing her face nicely. Her dress was grey and satin, with a halter neck, giving her a sleek silhouette.

“Haven’t worn this dress in years — almost forgot I had it,” Cassie said with a sigh, “Maybe I should bid on the private yacht experience — so I have an excuse to wear it again.”

Mel glanced down — and sure enough, there was a private yacht experience, with bids already triple Mel’s monthly wage. But this one appealed even less than the others — Mel had only been on a few boats in her life, but the bouts of seasickness she’d suffered were enough to turn her off for good.

Jack had picked up the clipboard next to it, something about season passes to the Pittsburgh Penguins. Cassie rolled her eyes when she saw that one but they lit up again at the sight of a waiter passing with a tray of appetisers — some kind of crostini.

“Thank god — I’m fuckin’ starving,” she said to Mel as she plucked two off the plate, tucking one in a napkin and passing it to Abbot wordlessly.

She didn’t break eye contact with her as she did it, and to Mel’s surprise, Dr Abbot hardly reacted, despite him facing the other way. There was something so fluid and practised about the movement — almost intimate, that made Mel pause. They were standing very close together too, she quickly realised. He had rotated half an inch to make room for her, but seemed more than content for her shoulder to press against his chest. They were just so comfortable; standing there, playfully debating the value of each item on offer.

Mel found herself trying to recall any instances of the two of them interacting like this in the past — but came up short.

She knew Cassie often picked up night shifts on the days she didn’t have Harrison, but even so. That didn’t explain the level of closeness— the familiarity.

She quickly filed the theory away in the back of her mind with the rest of the unanswered questions she had for Langdon, (questions which she had no hope of receiving answers to any time soon, given the current status of their friendship — if one could even call it that now). 

But, if anyone were to know something, it would be him — he was her closest friend at work after all. The two became very close after his return to PTMC, what with Cassie becoming his sponsor.

There had even been rumours that they were having an affair at one point — at least, that’s what Perla and Princess said.

Santos had told her in the break room one morning, after she heard them gossiping in Tagalog during one of those rare slow days.

“Rumour has it McKay and Langdon are hooking up,” She said, plonking down in the seat next to her, kicking up her feet onto the table.

“But he’s married,” Mel said, stubbornly, sipping from a juice box.

Santos just sent her a look as if to say, and?

“Like that’s stopped people before,” She muttered, with a shrug.

Javadi was sitting opposite them, making short work of a large bag of Lays.

“Yeah, spousal cheating is way more common that you think. One in four marriages end because of it,” She said, through a mouthful of chip.

Trinity cocked her head to look at her. “Where’d you get that stat, Einstein?”

Javadi dusted crumbs off her lap, before replying, very quietly, “Um, TikTok.”

Santos rolled her eyes. “Right.”

But Mel needn’t have spent so long speculating because within a week, Frank pulled her aside after a STEMI to talk to her about it.

She gave her best attempt at nonchalance, at being a good friend, despite the mistake he may have made, and despite how much they made her skin crawl — and probably not for the reason he would think.

“I won’t say anything, if that’s what you’re asking,” She blurted, a bit awkwardly before he could finish speaking, “You don’t have to worry.”

His brow knitted. “What? No, Mel — it’s not true.”

Her heart lightened in spite of herself. “It’s not?”

A breathy laugh escaped him, and he smiled. “No, no, of course not. Cassie’s great but, god, no. That’d be like kissing my sister.”

Mel thought it was strange that he didn’t mention the obvious reason why him kissing Cassie might have been a problem —namely, the gold ring on his finger — but she didn’t mention it, just nodded.

“Oh, okay.”

“You have to believe me, Mel,” There was something sharp, urgent in his expression, “I’d hate for you —especially you— to think that I would do that. Because I wouldn’t.”

Mel had stared, surprised at how serious he was. How insistent he was for her to believe him. And why, especially her? What did that mean?

But she never got to question it, because a few seconds later an incoming trauma had him running towards the ambulance bay.

They never spoke of it again after that, though the rumour still did the rounds for a while. Santos brought it up again once or twice— not to her directly, but with her present in the room. It was usually after having overheard a new strain of gossip earlier that day.

“They left together again yesterday,” She was saying to Whitaker, hunched over desks at the nurses station, completing their charts.

“Who?”

”Langdon and McKay,” Santos said, as though it were obvious, “It really doesn’t look like they’re trying very hard to hide it.” 

“Maybe because they have nothing to hide.” 

“I don’t know. Princess thinks they're definitely doing it. ‘Said she always thought he’d be capable of cheating.”

“Why, because he’s good-looking?”

Santos pulled a face, and Whitaker threw his hands up in the air. “What?”

“He is not good-looking,” Santos said grumpily, through gritted teeth. 

Mel was very, very glad she was able to hide her face behind her computer - her cheeks were beetroot red. 

"Whatever you say," Whitaker sighed, "Still don't know why that would make him more capable of cheating though."

"I didn't say it would," Santos said stubbornly, "I'm not even sure if I believe it. Perlah doesn't. Thinks he’s not the type."

Whitaker looked up from his computer screen.

“Maybe he isn’t?”

(Mel used to think he wasn’t. She wasn’t so sure anymore).

“Let’s hope not. Besides, Cassie could do so much better.” Santos said, with a sigh, slumping over her keyboard with a yawn.

Their conversation was cut short with the arrival of Cassie herself; grabbing Whitaker to come assist her with a head lac in Bay 4.

She wondered if Santos would approve of Dr Abbot as a potential romantic partner for Cassie instead — because after what Mel had just seen, that option certainly seemed more likely.

“If you’re having a night on the town, where is your Harrison?” Abbot was asking, as Mel shook herself out of her thoughts.

“He’s with his dad — which I’m fine about,” Cassie replied, though she certainly didn’t sound fine about it, “Just shitty that he gets him on one of my weekends.”

“He couldn’t stay with your parents?” He asked, to which McKay shook her head.

“They’re out of town — visiting my great aunt who’s ill,” She sighed, with a shrug, “The bastards.”

Abbot snorted, and she grinned, while Mel looked between them, confused at what could possibly be funny about that.

“And you couldn’t get a sitter just for the night?” She piped up.

Jack jolted, as though he had forgotten she was there. Mel bit back a laugh. 

“I could have, but that’d be hard to do when my two best sitters are over there getting hammered behind that ornamental tree,” She nodded behind her to where Mel could just make out Javadi’s glowing face.

She was leaning against the wall, giggling loudly with Mateo, his curly hair just visible behind the plastic branches. They both looked extremely giddy — and Mel would also concur— drunk.

McKay was still watching them with an amused expression when Mel turned back to face her.

“Bless em,” She sighed, half smiling, “Anyway, that makes me free as a bird tonight.”

Jack raised his eyebrows, peering down at her. “That’s…interesting.”

Cassie didn’t look at him, but her mouth curved into a knowing smile. “It is, isn’t it.”

Mel was just about to excuse herself from (whatever the fuck was going on between) them, when Gloria approached Dr Abbot, imploring him to speak to some veteran donors who had just arrived.

“Duty beckons,” Jack called over his shoulder with a dramatic sigh, and Cassie snickered, shooing him away.

When Mel caught her eye, she seemed to straighten up, schooling her features into something more neutral.

God, she wanted to talk to Frank about this.

“So…” Cassie took a long sip from her glass, “Raj, eh?”

Mel’s eyebrows furrowed. “What about Raj?”

She laughed, nudging her conspiratorially. “He’s cute.”

Mel followed her gaze to where Raj had resurfaced, finishing off an arancini ball, all the while juggling two glasses of champagne and chatting formidably with Perlah.

She found all she could do was nod in response, forcing a smile. But clearly, that wasn’t going to fly with Cassie McKay.

“Well?” She said, eyebrows raised in anticipation, “How’s it going with you two?”

Mel had the sudden urge to ask well, how’s it going with you and Jack?— but she caught herself. It was hardly her business what they got up to outside work, not to mention, there was nothing inherently scandalous about it. They were both unattached, unencumbered and free to see whoever they pleased.

Unlike you, the little voice in her head supplied unhelpfully. She shoved the thought away at once.

“Yeah, uh, it’s good, nice,” She replied, in a stilted sort of way.

Cassie stared back, clearly expecting her to say more, but mercifully she didn’t push her on the subject.

“I think your lover boy’s heading this way,” She whispered a moment later, smiling as Raj approached them.

“Sorry that took so long! Your colleagues sure love to chat,” He said, face falling a bit when he saw the half full glass in her hand, “I see you already got a refill.”

“That was Dr Abbot actually,” Mel replied, scrunching her nose at him apologetically.

“Right, right,” He said, laughing awkwardly and turning to McKay, hopefully, “Don’t suppose you want a champagne, do you?”

Mel’s stomach dropped. She opened her mouth to intervene but before she could, McKay gently reached out and touched her arm.

“I’m good, but thank you,” Cassie said, kindly, giving Mel an appreciative look.

Raj glanced between the two of them, curiously but didn’t ask further questions. Instead, he put down his plate on a nearby table, and turned to Mel.

“Wanna dance?” He asked eagerly, reaching for her free hand.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” Mel grimaced, turning to him.

Which in all fairness, wasn’t a lie — but it was a slight exaggeration. Mel could follow a 4/4 beat and had “basic rythym” as Becca kindly informed her, having dragged Mel to one of her many extracurriculars (on this particular occasion, salsa).   

“Neither am I,” Raj laughed, his hand still outstretched, “But I’ll be leading so you can blame me if we’re terrible.”

He looked so excited; to say no would be like kicking a puppy.

“Go on, Mel. It’ll be fun!” said Cassie, cheerily,  giving her another nudge, “I’m gonna go see if Gloria has released Jack from her clutches yet. Poor thing.”

Mel giggled at the silly face she made before disappearing into the crowd. She reluctantly got to her feet, letting Raj intertwine their fingers.

An upbeat song was playing when they joined the fray, and Mel eased into it all pretty quickly. The music was loud and infectious, and Raj was easy to follow, leading her through some clumsy footwork. The tempo of the songs didn’t seem to matter, as his arsenal of dance moves was rather limited, so he rotated through the same few over and over. By the third song, Mel was almost able to mirror him. It reminded her of the dance parties her and Becca used to have with their mom when they were kids — clumsy spins and flailing limbs. Playful, joyous. 

When he leaned in to touch her eventually, it was careful, hesitant — but the pressure was nice all the same, and when he twirled her once, twice — three times, she found she was almost enjoying herself. Almost.

Until she saw him out of the corner of her eye.

Because, of course she did. Despite the sea of bodies between them, Frank was easy to spot. But it was more than that—  the way her body would orient itself around him, her brain always unconsciously cataloguing his whereabouts, tailing his movements — even her hearing seemed attune to the particular cadence of her voice. In the ER, she was able to brush it off as strong workplace rapport or a professional intimacy, forged from hours upon hours of close calls with critically ill patients, where the desire to always know where he was felt appropriate — and necessary.

Here, it just felt plain wrong.

He was on the other side of the room, his arm at Abby’s back as they weaved through the throngs of people dancing. She stole a quick glance — she couldn’t help herself, and their eyes met for a split second before she hurriedly looked away. And that momentary lapse in concentration led to her trodding on Raj’s toe — but thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice, too engrossed in lip-syncing to a jazzy cover of Fast Car word for word.

He was helping her regain her balance (after he had accidentally twirled her directly into Ellis and Ellis’ partner, Maia — who thankfully, laughed it off kindly), when the band decided to pivot, opting for a slower song. A hush fell over the dance floor, even the lights dimmed a little, the room bathed in a soft glow. The ambience shifted to something more intimate, couples moving closer to one another instinctively.

She felt Raj slide his hands to the small of her back, pulling her closer. And when he pressed a light kiss to her cheek and then lips, she felt him smiling against her mouth. Her stomach lurched. The ease she felt just moments before, extinguishing at once.

Still, she settled into the space between his arms, letting her own loop around his neck. Her chin found his shoulder and rested there, and she could almost pretend everything was fine.

He stroked her back gently as they swayed, which to anyone else might have felt comforting, but she found slightly irritating for some reason. She didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop though, so she just silently willed the song to end — letting her eyes flicker shut. 

When she opened them, Frank was in her eye line again. Across the room, but in full view. 

He met her gaze slowly, his jaw tight, expression unreadable. But there was a certain intensity there. 

She let Raj guide her in a clumsy spin, breaking their stare-off. But as soon as she turned back around, she found him still looking at her. He wasn’t even trying to hide it.

She watched as his fingers flexed once— twice at Abby’s back, grip tightening in the fabric of her dress. It might’ve looked possessive. Except his eyes never left Mel’s.

If anything it was barely concealed restraint. The same kind she was trying to exercise too as Raj spun her, now acutely aware of the hand resting at her back — a perfect mirror to Frank’s.

For a moment, she let herself to imagine it. That it was Frank’s hand splayed at her spine instead — his touch firm and insistent, pulling her close with quiet authority.

She blinked the image away at once.

A wave of nausea swept over her, and she gripped Raj’s shoulder tighter — to steady herself more than anything else. He seemed to take that as an invitation to move closer, and stepped further into her space, so they were chest to chest. The sudden bout of claustrophobia that followed was almost unbearable — and it wasn’t Raj’s doing.

Frank was several feet away, and yet it was his presence she felt most keenly, pressing against her skin — hot, magnetic, inescapable.

All at once, the music was too loud, the crowd of dancing bodies too close, the overhead lights too bright. She felt whoozy, like the air around her was growing sparse. Like she couldn’t breathe.

By the time the dread hit her bones, she had already stopped short, stumbling as Raj took another step before realising.

“Mel? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, no it’s just — I’ve gotta— get some air,” She stammered, trying to still her shaking hands, “It’s too stuffy in here.”

Raj reached out, brows furrowed in concern.

“Do you want me to come?”

“No,” She said, sharper than she intended, feeling a little guilty at the crestfallen look on his face, “No. Sorry— I’ll be right back. Just— stay here.”

Mel forced the best smile she could muster, patting him on the shoulder to reassure him, even though her throat felt like it was closing up. To her relief, he nodded - albeit reluctantly, stepping aside to let her pass.

She moved as quickly as would be deemed respectable through the clusters of familiar and unfamiliar faces, and made a proper break for it the second she passed through the grand double doors.

Waiters balancing trays, the occasional guest  who had taken respite in the quiet, the odd security personnel — she dodged them all, hastening down the corridor as fast as her heels would carry her.

She even considered ducking outside but it was far too cold for such a venture, and she hardly had the time or the mental faculties to stop by the cloakroom on the way.

Her chest heaved with each breath— shallow, uneven, and she wondered fleetingly if it sounded as loud to everyone else as it did to her own ears. But it was hard to regulate that when it felt like the world was caving in, and every step was like trekking through a lake of bubbling tar— her legs heavy, disjointed.

Once she rounded the first corner, she was met with long ornate windows overlooking the city skyline — which on any other occasion she might have considered a beautiful view, but right now, it was bright, neon, alive. And utterly overwhelming.

She turned on the spot, clocking the black-handled doors lining the wall opposite. The closest one had a brass plaque which read Business Suite 3 and opened on the first go, so she slipped inside, yanking it shut behind her.

The room was an office of sorts, but she could hardly take in her surroundings in this state. Her sharp, jagged gasps were only partially drowned out by the rattling aircon above. The music was still audible too, but only registering as a dull thump, which was nothing compared to the frantic drum inside her head. So loud, so visceral she didn’t even notice the door opening behind her until she felt the presence of another person in the space.

Two quick strides brought him to her side. The air suddenly felt warmer, almost feverish.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” He was whispering, his breath pillowing against her neck.

She shivered, goosebumps erupting down her back. Her feet were tingling, vision slightly blurred. And her throat was dry, so dry, tongue glued to the roof of her mouth.

“Take a deep breath for me.”

Large hands bracketed her shoulders, and she jolted at the contact. But they were warm and steady — familiar, so she obeyed the pressure without really thinking about it, grateful for the structural support they provided.

“Mel, you’re okay, it’s gonna be okay, you hear me?”

Her eyes were clenched shut, chest pounding in a way that made her feel dizzy, disoriented. He gently turned her around, so she was facing him, the piercing blue of his eyes bright against the blur of the dark room.

“Mel, I want you to do something for me, okay? I want you to list five things you can see,” Frank instructed, palms still firm on her shoulders, “Just name them for me. Out loud.”

She let out a shaky breath, eyes darting around the room. The streetlights flickered through the window behind half drawn curtains.

“Um, the- the chair. The light switch. That ugly painting of a tree…”

He let out a low breathy laugh, that sounded far away despite him standing so close. He had released his grip on her now; the air turning cold in his absence.

“The…the curtains, the….” She looked up, searching.

Your eyes. They’re so damn blue, she thought. She looked away.

“Um—” Her voice wobbled, “Your shoes.”

“Good,” Frank said, approving. “You’re doing great, now just breathe. And tell me four things that you can feel.”

Mel swallowed, eyes still glued to the ground.

“The ground— under my feet. My dress — the zip against my back. This desk. And—” She hesitated, fumbling for a fourth.

He watched her a second before he reached out, his hand hovering between them. His fingers curled around her wrist very tentatively, like he was still giving her the chance to refute the contact. But she didn’t.

And he was gentle, thumb pressing just enough to ground her, before he intertwined their fingers, his wedding band cold against her skin. The blur in her vision was clearing, but the dread in the pit of her stomach still remained. He squeezed her hand, bringing her back.

“Your hand,” She whispered, relishing in the warmth.

“Good. Now, three things you can hear.”

“The air vent. The music— it’s muffled,” She closed her eyes again, focusing intently, “Your breathing.”

She could hear him exhale more loudly this time, as though on purpose.

“Good. Two things you can smell.”

“Air freshener. Lemon, I think. And—“ She stopped herself again, letting his woodsy scent pervade her senses.

He was tracing circles into her palm, soft and slow.

“Your cologne.”

Her cheeks were burning — and she prayed the outside lights were dim enough to obscure her face. His breath hitched and he nodded, taking a step closer.

“One thing you can taste.”

She licked her lips, gaze dropping to the slight curve of his mouth.

“Peppermint,” Her voice as even as she could make it, “From the— my gum earlier.”

It was then that she began to realise the ringing in her ears had faded. She was no longer swaying, her feet fixed firmly on the ground.

The tension seemed to slide off her shoulders, and she let herself sink into him, her forehead hitting his chest. His arms closed around her, his familiar scent, a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. She wanted to burrow into him, crawl into the warmth of his embrace and hide there.

And he might’ve let her do just that if she hadn’t become suddenly very aware of what she was doing and whose chest she was currently nestled into.

The realisation struck hard and fast.

Before he could do anything else, she shoved him back, jumping away, as if burnt.

“Mel, are you— what’s wrong?”

“That was — you shouldn’t have done that,” Her eyes were wide, chest heaving.

He made to step closer, but stopped when she flinched.

“I was just making sure you were okay.”

She laughed then— sharp and humourless. The sound shocking, and unfamiliar to her own ears.

"Well, I am not okay," she whispered, a slight tremor in her voice, “Your wife is out there.”

Frank dragged a hand through his hair, loose strands falling around his face. “I know.”

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Her voice wavered slightly, and she gripped the edge of the desk tighter to steady herself, “Abby — she’ll be wondering where you are.”

Something ugly and raw flickered across his face— so fast she almost missed it.

“Since when do you care about her?” He snapped, sounding suddenly irritated. “You don’t even like her.”

It was less of an accusation, and more of a statement — but that didn’t lessen the shock.

“What?” Mel looked up, genuinely startled.  “That’s— I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” He said, coolly, “I’ve seen it. The way you seize up when I mention her at work — even tonight. Don’t deny it.”

Her brow furrowed. She floundered for a moment. “I don’t—that’s…. I don’t dislike her.”

His lips curved just a touch.

“Mel, you may be one of the best doctors I’ve ever known, but you are a terrible liar.”

She froze, shock rooting her to the floor. A flush crept across her cheeks; she forced a glare.

“Go back to your wife, Frank.”

“No,” He said, simply.

“Frank, please.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Just stop— just stop it!” She hissed, desperately, “Stop doing that.”

He stiffened. "Doing what?”

"That," she said, jabbing a finger at his chest,  eyes bright, furious —terrified, “That look. Please, stop looking at me.”

“Looking at you?” His eyebrows furrowed and the incredulous look on his face would be almost comical if she wasn’t about to implode internally.

“Yes! Like I'm the only person in the room. It’s— it’s suffocating. I feel like I can’t breathe sometimes when you look at me— well, obviously, I can breathe but I become so aware of it that my heart starts to beat really fast— because no one should be that focused on breathing and ventilation-perfusion ratios— it’s an involuntary bodily function, that doesn’t require conscious intervention—“

“Mel, slow down—“

“—but I can’t not think about it because you do it all the time! You, you give me that look— yes, that one — the one you’re doing right now, and I just — I can’t do it. I can’t do it.”

Her words were all running together now, like if she paused for even a second, she would lose her nerve.

“And after what happened last week on the roof—when you, well, I— we almost— that was too close — too close. And it was wrong, so wrong, and we shouldn’t have—“

”Mel, you need to breathe—“

“—because we - don’t tell me what to do! God, I am trying so so hard to do the right thing here - but you, you are making it impossible!” She finished, in a rush, almost short of breath. 

He was staring back at her, jaw clenched in stunned disbelief. “I am?”

“Yes, you are." She said, her composure cracking. "You’re making me feel crazy.”

“What exactly do you think you are doing to me?” He sounded hoarse, the veins in his neck strained against his skin.

The rawness of it halted her on the spot. 

“I don’t know!” replied Mel exasperatedly after a moment, her voice shrill and faltering, “I think that, that you’re confused and maybe needing someone to lean on and we’ve always had that closeness and, I’m happy to do that for you — be that for you—“

He shook his head. “That’s not—“

“No, really, it’s okay! Honestly, it makes sense given everything that’s happened, that you’d search for comfort in the wrong places—“

“Stop trying to explain my own feelings to me,” He cut in sharply, but his gaze softened almost at once, “Please. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t?” Mel countered, swiping her hair out of her eyes impatiently.

“No, you don’t.” His eyes flared with something volatile, "You think I want this?"

His voice was low and gravelly — and angry in a way she had never heard before.

"You think I want to feel like this? To not be able to stop thinking about you, day in and day out, huh? You think I enjoy feeling like a piece of shit before I’ve even brushed my teeth in the morning?”

Mel stared, transfixed. There was something almost feral about him. It sent a strange thrill through her.

“I wake up next to my wife — my wife. Who, who stuck by me — when I sure as hell didn’t deserve it. Through med school and night shifts and the kids and my addiction, and rehab — and yes, we have had some —a lot—  of issues, we even tried the couples counselling thing, and— but she’s still — she’s my wife. The mother of my children.”

He was almost panting, his gaze so intense, she thought she’d disintegrate under it.

“And I have been trying so hard to be better. A better husband, a better doctor, a better father — to try and make all of this work. But it is impossible — because, all I can think about is how quickly I can get out the door without it showing on my face - that the only place I want to be is the ER. Because that’s where you are.”

Mel blinked, something inside her going very still. It took a second for the impact of the words to hit her.

“Frank…”

He was breathing heavily, eyes searching her face for something — anything. There was a quiet desperation there, like everything was hinging on this one moment. She stepped closer.

“I never meant for…”

He sighed, shoulders sagging in exhaustion. “Sweetheart, I know. I know.”

“I can’t be the reason that—“

“That’s not why I’m telling you.”

She tried again, “But, I—“

“No, please let me finish. Please,” He begged, as though the restraint was causing him physical pain.

She fell silent, swallowing the urge to pull him close or flee, to kiss that pained look off his perfect face, or leave the room never to speak to him again — want and logic warring for dominance in her scattered brain.

“I just— I tried to ignore it, to bury it. I told myself it was just some emotional displacement bullshit they taught us at NA but— it’s not. It’s not. And it’s not going away. Mel, I think— no, I know. I love y—“

“No, no, no, no…—"

Before she had realised what she was doing, she had crossed the space between them, clamping her hands over his mouth. His warm breath against her palms stymied her momentarily, heat unfurling in her chest. He let out a frustrated groan, dragging her hands away, fingers closed firmly around her wrists. His eyes were wide, anguished.

“Mel, please, you have to let me say it—“

They struggled for a moment, limbs tangled together before he released her. Her skin tingled at the contact, and then mourned the loss of it.

She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes, trying to ignore the need— the longing welling up inside her. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you do, it becomes real — and if it’s real….,” She took a shaky breath, “I… I can’t pretend that I’m still a good person.”

“Mel….”

“I’ll have to say it back.”

His eyes widened, lips parting in surprise — or relief, she wasn’t sure which. “That’s not— you don’t have to say anything—“

“But I do. Feel the same, I mean. Of course I do,” Mel cut in gently, leaving the rest of the words unsaid, knowing full well he understood.

That she was in love with him.

“You can’t ask that of me.”

“I’m not asking you to— I just,” His voice was raspy and strained, like it was a real effort to even get the words out, “I needed you to know.”

She chewed on her lip, tracing his features with her eyes; his thick brows, the bags under his eyes, the little dimple in his chin.

God, she loved him so much.

“This isn’t fair.”

Frank leaned down a little. “I know. It’s really not.”

“You’re— you’re married,” She whispered slowly, but all the conviction had left her.

He took a tentative step forward, dark strands of hair coming loose again. She wanted to reach out and run her fingers through it.

“I know.”

“You have children.”

He moved closer. "I know."

"And a dog."

A ghost of a laugh left his lips. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"And…. And I’m with someone," She added, though it felt more like she was trying to convince herself than him.

“I know,” Frank’s now gaze fixated on her mouth, his cologne flooding her senses again.

Her breath hitched. She thought guiltily of Raj — in the ballroom somewhere, drink in hand, waiting for her. Maybe even searching for her. Sweet Raj. Who cooked her his special rigatoni pasta on his one night off, who brought her those peonies she loved that one time, who could be the most perfect, loving man in all existence and it would never be enough because her heart already belonged to someone else. Someone who wasn’t even hers to have.

But that fact seemed more like a technicality than a fundamental truth at present. Not when he was looking at her like that — like she was the only real thing in the world.

She had moved closer without realising it, tilting her head to look up at him. “He’s good to me.”

Langdon merely hummed in response. He was still staring at her lips, like a man starved.

“He’s kind, and he laughs at my jokes,” She continued, voice catching slightly as his fingertips began to skim down her arm — slow, exploratory.

“I’m glad.” He almost sounded sincere then but not quite.

She wondered if he could feel her pulse — that it was racing. He stepped in further, so close their foreheads brushed.

“He’s patient, and generous, and I know where I stand with him…”

She trailed off as he reached down, slowly tucking a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, toying with the ends of it absently — like, he had every right. Like, his wife wasn’t right outside.

The backs of his knuckles dragged over her cheek, her jaw, her collarbone. His touch light, deliberate, leaving her ample space and time to pull back— but she leaned in further, heat pooling beneath her ribs, down her legs. His other hand had settled at her waist, gripping the material of her dress, almost possessively.

“And where do you stand with me?” He asked quietly, tongue ducking out to wet his lips before he spoke.

Sweet Jesus.

Mel pressed her thighs harder together, now unable to tear her gaze away from his mouth; the smooth edge of his top lip, the fullness of his bottom one. She imagined what it would feel like for him to bite down on hers. To explore the rest of her body with just his mouth.

She shuddered, brushing his nose with her own. He was practically shaking with want, with need — like an elastic band threatening to snap.

Her resolve was wearing thin too; she knew it. She just needed to know what it would feel like — to just stop resisting.

His fingers laced around her neck then, thumb digging into her chin, forcing her look up.

“You need to leave,” She breathed. 

His lips hovered over hers, barely touching; slow, tentative — as though he was committing to memory the line he was about to cross. Giving her one last chance to stop him. And she really should have.

Her eyes flitted down to his mouth. Then back up. His lips were parted; waiting.

“And if I don’t?”

She didn’t hesitate.

She grabbed his lapels and yanked him down to her, kissing him hard. Any and all restraint left him after that, and his mouth enveloped hers in a way that made her gasp. She went pliant against him, letting his hands roam her back, squeezing and sliding. He was kissing her like a man possessed, like he was trying to devour her whole.

And it was rough — messy. A collision of tongues and mouths — both far too desperate to close any remaining gaps between their bodies than worry about precision. Because even with her flush pulled up against him, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.

He moved as though in a frenzy, desperate to touch every inch of her he could. The kisses were urgent, sloppy, all-consuming —and when she licked into his mouth, tugging his lower lip between her teeth, she felt a groan reverberate through him — heating her insides.

As she shifted closer, her hair spilled across his chest, and his fingers threaded through it at once hesitation, like he had been waiting for the opportunity. When he pulled on it, she let out the softest of sighs, her nails digging into the nape of his neck, and she felt him smile against her mouth — stirring a warmth low in her chest.

He walked them both backwards, shoving her up against the wall while cushioning the contact with his hand, the other still tangled in her hair and angling her head up so he could kiss her again. The wide neckline of her dress slipped a little during the movement, Frank’s hand rushing to slide it back up, fingers tucked under the sleeve and settling on her shoulder. He didn’t even break the kiss — thumb dragging roughly across her jaw line.

And god, it was like ecstasy. Not that she had ever done ecstasy — or would — but it was the closest she could come to naming the sensation. It was like every nerve in her body was firing. 

Better still was knowing that the need ran both ways. She could feel his desperation — how completely it was undoing him. When she arched into him, sliding her leg tentatively between his own, a low moan left him, from deep in the back of his throat. His eyes flashed in warning when he pulled back to look at her, but she just smiled mischievously, tugging on the ends of his hair.

Then, he was kissing her again. Slow, deliberate drags of his lips against hers, like he was cataloguing every ridge, every contour of her mouth.

He was kissing her like he had time. Like the world beyond that room was nonexistent. Like he didn’t care if he burned his whole life to the ground, if it meant he could keep kissing her.

The thought sent a surge of longing through her — one that she had deprived herself of for far too long.

His hands moved from her waist to her hips to her ass, gripping tightly, her dress bunched up under his fingers. Part of her wished he would just tear it off, but the sensible part —if there even was one anymore— knew better.

His lips moved to her cheek then, trailing kisses down her face, her neck, her collarbones, her chest. His mouth was laser-focused on a freckle in between her breasts, when they heard it — the quiet shuffle of footsteps right outside the door.

They froze. Panic flared, sharp and sudden. She could feel her heart thumping, as adrenaline crept in, cutting through the haze; bursting the delicate bubble they had created. His arms were still fixed at her hips, like he was delaying the moment he would have to let go. Their mouths were mere inches apart, foreheads still touching, both breathing heavily — chests rising and falling in a synchronised way.

Another clatter from outside did it. They jerked apart, hurriedly untangling limbs and putting some distance between them. But the air still felt charged, humming with tension.

Her cheeks were flushed and her lips felt swollen — and if Frank’s slightly dishevelled state of dress and mussed up hair were anything to go by, she probably didn’t look too good either. Her dress was twisted at the shoulder, she could feel the strap digging into her skin, and her make up must have been smudged too, given the faint smear of colour staining Langdon’s bottom lip.

Instinctively, she licked her thumb and rubbed it off — ignoring the way his breath caught when she made contact. They shared a look, both in disbelief — in awe.

She knew she should have been wracked with guilt, but the giddy thrill coursing through her — with the realisation that they had finally acted on this thing between them, that had been eating away at her for months, years even — seemed to eclipse any real rational thought.

They set about straightening collars and smoothing down fabric in silence. Mel felt strangely calm, despite her racing heart.

“We should—” She gestured to the door, cheeks still crimson.

“—Yeah.”

“Maybe separately?”

He nodded, hands slipping into his pockets. “That’s sensible, yeah.”

“You want to go first?”

It was almost amusing - how polite a conversation they were having, after where his mouth had just been.

“No, you go. I’m just gonna fix my hair.”

He nodded slowly, swaying on the spot for a second before moving begrudgingly across the room to the door. She let out a shaky breath as he turned away, hand closing over the doorknob.

Then, almost impulsively, he turned and ran back. She was about to ask him what he was doing, when his hands shot up to cup her face, fingers sliding through her hair once more as he slammed his lips against hers. Her arms hooked around his neck straight away, as she kissed him back fervently. She melted into him faster this time, their mouths moving in sync like they'd never parted.

All too soon, he pulled back - chest heaving, gaze still locked on hers. 

There was an unspoken agreement in that look — a share recognition; this wouldn't be last time they ended up here.

Her cheeks were flushed again, body buzzing with giddy exhilaration. She felt hot all over, shaking her head at him, breathlessly.

“G-go!” She stammered, half laughing, and waving him out, “Go!”

He stared at her for a beat before nodding. With a shy grin, he moved to the door, still facing her as he went, a glint of mischief in his eyes — but a softness too.

“Yeah…okay.”

Then, he was gone.

And Mel stood there grinning like an idiot. 

She’d have to go back out there and face reality in a second — she knew that.

But for now, she was going to let herself enjoy it.

Just a little longer.