Chapter Text
Dennis wasn’t happy.
It had been two weeks since Frank had let Robby’s words slip without thinking. Dennis had bumped into Frank at a coffee shop, both too late and too early, the twenty-four-hour cafe eerily quiet at two in the morning. Dennis sat down, the conversation awkward and stilted, but still Frank hadn’t brushed him off. Finally, Dennis asked Frank what he was working on.
“Just applying to a fellowship or two.”
Dennis sat back in his chair. “As an R4?”
Frank shrugged, tired and careless, taking a sip of his beverage of choice. “He told me he doesn’t want me in his ER, just trying to speed up the process of not disappointing him further.”
Dennis sat there floored. It was the tired acceptance, the tone of utter defeat, quiet and done that made Dennis’ stomach turn. He knew exactly who Frank was talking about.
"You could move to the night shift, full-time.”
Frank’s laugh was sharp and mirthles looking at Dennis with hollow eyes, the blue Dennis found there dull and lifeless. “He’s the department chief, at the end of the day, it’s still his ED, and you’re honestly telling me Abbot doesn’t report to him every breath I take? Nah, I’m out. I can’t do this anymore…”
Dennis didn’t like the sensation growing in his stomach. “And if you don’t get a fellowship?”
Frank exhaled slowly as if he had asked himself that a million times. “Then I quit the Pitt.” Dennis sat straight up in his chair at the simple statement, a million protests dancing on his tongue, none of them making it past his lips.
“I’ll apply to other hospitals; Mercy is always short-staffed.” Dennis curled his lip in disdain. Mercy was a fine hospital, or so he heard, but it felt wrong for Frank to be anywhere but the Pitt.
“Cool…” He finally uttered, “Keep me updated…”
He ignored the look of surprised confusion that crossed Frank’s face. “Uh, sure…”
Dennis didn’t bring up their conversation after that, still secure in his role as Robby’s new protegé but still he found himself watching Frank more, seeing the way he would shrink into himself more, not staying long anywhere Robby might be unless he had to. Dennis’ unhappiness grew.
He wasn’t close to Frank, neither trusting nor liking the man after Trinity told him what had happened, the ten months of his absence doing nothing to change that, but then Frank came back, quiet and unsure, the subject of Robby’s cold ire. Weeks turned into months, and then Frank had been back for six months, and Dennis found himself with no real opinion on Frank, having worked with him, under him, he had seen what Robby had seen from the beginning, and it made something in Dennis oddly mournful.
Dennis had told Trinity the day after he ran into Frank at the coffee shop, his roommate nodding with pursed lips. Dennis had been there for their only real conversation about everything that happened on Trinity’s first day.
“Doctor Santos, do you have a minute?”
“Not really, but fine.”
“Eleven months ago, I fucked up badly…thank you.”
“That’s fucking it? I fucked up? Thank you? What, no apology?”
“Are you ready to hear one?”
“....no.”
“I’m not going to force an apology on you, Santos. I just…thank you.”
Dennis remembered watching Frank walk away, shoulders hunched and quiet, leaving a surprised Trinity behind. Trinity still didn’t like him after that, but things were a little easier after that; he didn’t try to apologize and Trinity would bring it up to Dennis from time to time, but she also didn’t push it, Frank silently apologising in small acts of service, like it was the only way he knew how to.
“...That’s fucked up,” Trinity said in response. “I don’t like him, don’t trust him, but he needs fucking support, not to be kicked to the curb. How is he supposed to stay sober when he already thinks he has nothing to lose? Still, not our business, Huckleberry, let it go."
Dennis nodded and was planning to do just that, and then promptly threw that idea out the window when Frank had pushed Dennis out of the way just as a patient grew aggressive and swung a fist, hard and mean, connecting with Frank’s face instead of Dennis’.
It left Frank with a black eye, a concussion, and a reprimand from Robby about being reckless.
That was a week ago, and Dennis refused to let it go.
Frank hissed as he slowly took off his scrub top, every movement aching with the action. His bruised ribs screaming at the action. He let his head fall back, teeth getting through the pain before he tossed his scrub shirt aside, looking down at the bandages wrapped around his torso, accompanied by ugly road rash that marred his stomach and left side. He just got his gloves on when the curtain opened.
“Langdon,” Trinity started, having seen the man sneak into the empty room while hand off was happening, “What the fuck?!”
“I’m fine.”
“The fuck you are. What the fuck happened?”
“A car hit my bike, I got it checked out, bruised ribs and road rash. I’m fine.”
Trinity inhaled sharply. “You got into a fucking accident? And you didn’t tell anyone? How stupid are you? What do you mean you got it checked out? Do Robby and Jack know about this? Of course they fucking don’t.”
Exhausted Frank pegged Trintiy with a look. “The driver is a doctor at Presby. They took me in, had me checked out, and have a fucking clearance note in my bag. Happy?”
“Oh,” Trinity let out dangerously quiet, “you don’t want to know what I’m feeling. Get on the bed, Langdon.”
“No. I’m just going to put-”
“Get on the bed, or I will kick out your legs and put you on there myself.” Trinity snapped. Frank exhaled but got on the bed anyway, past having the energy to deal with whatever was happening. Trinity’s sharp glare didn’t leave Frank as she pulled out her phone, giving whoever picked up no time to answer.
“Huckleberry, south 10, now.”
“I’m serious, I’m fine.”
“Stop talking now,” Trinity ordered the older man just as Whitaker rushed in.
“What’s going o-OH.”
Frank hated the look on Whitaker's face. Surprise and horror were clearly evident. “He got hit by a car,” Trinity bit out “, and didn’t tell anyone. I need you to watch him for a moment.”
Horror bubbled hot and fast in Frank’s chest. “Trinity, stop. I don’t need-”
Dennis was by his side in a moment, eyes hard, jaw clenched, his hand in the centre of Frank’s bare chest, pushing the man back against the bed. “I’m just going to go-”
“You’re not going anywhere, Frank.”
In that moment, Dennis reminded Frank of Robby. Too much like Robby. Frank was going to be sick.
“It was a minor accident. I got it checked out, and I was cleared for light duties.”
“Light duties,” Dennis repeated in disbelief. Any further conversation was halted by Robby storming into the room, Jack hot and grim on his heels, Robby’s eyes blazing hot and fierce, stopping when he saw Frank.
Frank was in too much pain to see the sheer fear and worry in those eyes, fueling Robby’s anger, but Dennis didn’t, and it pissed him off. Jack’s were ice cold. They made Frank flinch.
“You were in a car accident?” Robby all but bellowed. “Really, Frank?!”
“It’s not a big deal. Two bruised ribs and road rash. I was checked out at Presby and cleared to return.”
Robby’s bark of laughter was sharp and cold, bordering on manic just for a moment. He placed the palms of his hands together. “Not the fucking point, Frank. You are hurt. You-”
Frank watched as Robby rushed a hand through his hair, looking at Frank with such disappointment that Frank thought he would shatter under his gaze, leaving nothing but regret and despair in his wake.
“You came to work, injured and in pain, here to my ER, and didn’t tell anyone. You once again put the patients at risk, you put yourself at fucking risk. What the hell do I have to do to get through to you? You come to me.”
"Michel.” Jack interrupted quietly and deceptively calm, not missing the way Dennis had positioned himself protectively between his mentor and where Frank sat on the bed.
Robby’s mouth closed with an audible clack of his teeth. “When did this happen, Frank?”
“...As I was going home this morning.”
“And you thought you could work a shift like this?”
Frank couldn’t look at them. Even now, six months later, he was still fuckig it all up. “I was going to talk to you, once the shift started,” he admitted quietly, “I was just putting on the antiseptic cream”
He snapped his head up “It was given to me at Presby, has my name on it, I’ve only taken Advil, I swear.”
“Fuck, Frank, you’re hyperventilating-” Robby cut him off, his voice lower than Frank remembered. Frank couldn’t breathe. The room was spinning. Why was it spinning? When did his cheeks become wet?
“I have it, Dr Robinavtch.” Frank felt something warm on his shoulder “Hey, Frank, I’m here, need you to breathe with me, in-out-in-out, just like that.”
Frank was coming back to himself, Dennis’ hand still on his shoulder, steady and reassuring, when Trinity came back into the room, followed by a stern-looking Dana.
“I called Presby.” She started her voice steady, looking between the two senior doctors, Robby staring in horror at Frank and Jack standing stiff as a board, afraid to make a wrong move. “He was brought in by a Doctor Roberts, treated for bruised ribs, road rash, and a mild concussion.”
Jack gave a sharp nod. “How did you get that information so fast?”
"I told them he was a doctor here, that we were currently treating him as a patient, and I was the charge nurse, and if they needed a Doctor to request the patient release, I would get one, but it would just waste their time and pisse us off, and that I was his mother.”
Frank let out a small, wounded noise. “Yeah, I went there.” Dana’s eyes narrowed at the man she loved as much as her own. “And trust me, we will be having a fun conversation, Francis Benedict Langdon, when this is over.”
Frank was going to be sick. “We’ll take him back with us.” Dennis declared, glaring at the two older doctors.
“Since you don’t want him,” Trinity muttered darkly, earning an eyebrow raise from Jack, the man feeling dangerously close to snapping.
“That won’t be necessary, Doctor Santos, Doctor Whitaker” Jack’s words were clipped, his voice tight and controlled. Cold. “We have this.”
“I-” Frank started feebly, not having the words.
Robby moved, closing the distance between them in two strides, slowly reaching out like one would with a wounded animal, sheer desperate worry and heartbreak now clearly evident on his face.
“Oh, kid,” He placed his hand on the nape of Frank’s neck, ignoring Denni’s glare, the resident’s hand still on Frank’s shoulders like it had a right to be there, a right Robby knew he had lost. Still, Frank didn’t move away. “Why didn’t you come to me?”
“W-why would I?” Was the question a broken pathetic thing “You said you didn’t want me in your ED. Why would I come to you?”
“You said, fucking what?” Jack demanded dangerously, but Roby ignored his husband.
“Fuck, Frank, I want you to come to me. I’ve always wanted you to come to me. I shouldn’t have said that-please, Frank, just come to me next time.”
Frank shook his head. “You haven’t wanted me to come to you for a very long time, Robby.”
“Doctor Santos, Doctor Whitaker,” Jack looked at the two residents, something in his tone making both stand up straight, “go home. We’ll take care of Frank.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Trinity countered, between clenched teeth.
"Not your call to make, and not a fight you can win, Doctor. Frank is my patient now, and I’m telling you we have this. Go. Home.”
Shen popped his head in the curtain, no clever retort on his lips. “We have this covered, boss. Take your boy home.”
“Yeah,” Robby nodded absently, his hand not moving from Frank’s nape, trying desperately to figure out why he had let things get so bad between them. How could he have fucked up so badly?
Frank sat there, mentally and physically exhausted, everything just slightly fuzzy and way too cold. “Thanks, Shen, we’ll do that. Come on, Frankie, lets get you home.”
Dennis watched as Robby helped Frank up, Jack handing Frank his scrub shirt, the two men helping Frank put it on, Robby taking off his hoodie and putting it on Frank, helping his arms through, and zipping it up gently, only for Jack to wrap an arm around Frank, possessive, protective, afraid to let him go.
Dennis wasn’t happy.