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His shadow falls over the CT scan before Mel even hears him move. Then his hand is there—his palm settles firmly on the nape of her neck, his thumb sliding behind the earpiece of her glasses to tuck a stray hair back into her braid.
"Drink some water, Mel," he rumbles, his voice dropping into that low, private register that usually stays reserved for the quiet of his car.
Or: The one where Mel is getting overstimulated, Frank notices but forgets there are people around, but can't help himself to take care of her anyway.
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