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The first time it happened, Frank was sure that it was just a fluke, an accident. They had been arguing in the living room about daycare costs, trying to keep their voices low so as to not wake their children. Frank had been mid-rant about how in the long run, it would be more beneficial if they just sent both of the kids to the daycare center so they could both work full time, Abby clearly vehemently against it, when suddenly a hand was in his peripheral.
Abby slapped him.
The silence that followed made his ears ring. They had stood there, staring at one another, Frank’s hand cupping his reddening cheek. Betrayal had started to blossom in his chest and after a few seconds, he took a couple of steps back, only for Abby to follow him, pleading, desperate.
“Frank, honey, I’m so sorry,” she had said, reaching out to cradle his face in her hands. She looked devastated. “Baby, it was an accident, please. I’m so sorry.”
“Abby…”
“It won’t happen again, I promise. I’m… I don’t know what came over me. Frank, please.”
He had forgiven her, because she was telling the truth, right? In the morning, he had gone out to the kitchen to find print-outs of daycares sitting on the table.
But then it had happened a second, a third, a fourth time, and eventually he lost count. A slap on the cheek, a too-tight grip on his wrist, a bruise on his back from being shoved into the nearest wall. And every time it happened, later on she would love on him; buying him the watch he wanted but could never justify splurging on, cooking his favorite meal, giving him a massage to loosen the knots in his back.
An endless cycle of pain followed by sickeningly sweet love. Frank knew the signs–knew he was in trouble–but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He couldn’t do that to his kids; they needed stability. They needed their mom. And at the end of the day, he was the only one being knocked around. She hadn’t touched the kids, something he was so thankful for, and so he stayed.
. . . . .
‘Til death do us part.’
Frank snorts at his bloodied reflection in the cracked mirror. Yeah, right. More like his death do them part, because at this rate that’s the direction they’re heading in. Sighing, he grips the edges of the counter, knuckles straining against the stretch of his joints, and he rocks on his heels, jaw quivering as he holds back an ugly sob.
“Fuck me…” he whispers. Drawing in a deep breath, he pulls away from the counter and reaches for the hand-towel hanging on the wall, free hand flicking the faucet to warm without a thought. He soaks the towel before bringing it to his face; he gingerly wipes at the largest gash on his chin, at least two inches long–the aftermath of a jagged wine-glass stem being dragged across his skin–and presses down. It stings, and he bites his lip to muffle a weak, pained sound, and presses harder in an attempt to loosen the dried blood caked around the wound.
He repeats the process a couple of times, and eventually it works, leaving a thin slice across the bottom of his face. He grimaces at the sight–with its size and location, it was going to be a bitch to cover. No stitches needed, however. At least something good has come out of this.
Frank continues to clean up, wiping blood from his too pale skin like it’s second nature–which in a sense, it is; it’s not the first time this has happened, and it certainly won’t be the last. He checks his face as he goes–no facial fracturing as far as he can tell, no broken bones or ruptures. The split-lip is an eyesore along with the cut on his chin, but the two of them pale in comparison to the quickly purpling bruise that spreads across his cheek and temple, shaped like a crescent around his eye. It’s ugly, irrated and red, and he is so utterly fucked for his shift in the morning.
Ringing the hand-towel out in the sink, Frank goes to set the damp rag on the edge of the bathtub when he hears a sequence of soft thuds from the other side of the door. For a moment his breath hitches in his chest, terror shooting through him like ice in his veins, and he stills, hands squeezing into fists at his sides. A knock sounds out, echoing in the silence of the house, and Frank’s eyes shut tight as the doorknob begins to turn.
“Daddy?”
His breath releases from him like a wave.
“Tanner, hey… hey buddy,” Frank says softly, eyes opening as he sinks to the floor, sore body protesting as he settles on his knees. Tanner stares at him from around the door, bright blue eyes wide and round, and Frank tries his best to muster up a smile. “What… What are you doin’ up, bud?”
Tanner steps fully into the bathroom, hesitant and shoulders hunched. “Was loud,” he replies with a small shrug. He steps closer, eyes searching Frank’s face with a level of fear Frank wishes his baby would never have. “Daddy… are you okay?”
“I’m okay, bud,” Frank says. He swallows roughly, opening his arms in invitation. Tanner is quick to close the distance, pressing his small body to Frank’s without question, cheek smushing into his shoulder as Frank wraps him up in his arms.
“You’re hurt?” Tanner asks, voice muffled by Frank’s sweatshirt.
“A little,” he admits, “but I’m alright, I promise.” He cups the back of his son’s head. “Why don’t we get you back to bed, yeah? Daddy has to work early in the morning.”
Tanner hums against his shoulder and Frank keeps him close as he stands, cradling his little boy in his arms. Flicking the light off, Frank makes his way out of the bathroom and down the hall, rubbing gentle circles onto his son’s back. They come up on Penny’s room, and Frank can’t help but pause in the doorway, leaning over to peek in. She’s fast asleep–thankfully, she’s always been a heavy sleeper. If only he could say the same for Tanner.
“Here you go, buddy,” Frank says softly as they enter his room. He makes his way to the bed and sits down on the edge, and Tanner eases out of his hold and onto the mattress. He’s quick to cover him with blankets, smoothing unruly curls away from his eyes as Tanner lays back on his pillow. “Night, Tan’.” He leans down and presses a lingering kiss to his forehead. “I love you, yeah?”
Just as he goes to stand, tiny fingers wrap around his wrist, and Frank bites back a sound at the pressure–he must have a bruise there. Shaking his head, he turns back to look at Tanner, and he can physically feel his heart break at the terror in his son’s eyes.
“Daddy,” Tanner whispers, “can you stay?”
Frank presses his lips together. “What’s wrong, bud?”
Tanner’s chin wobbles dangerously. “I’m scared,” he says. “Please, Daddy?”
Frank nods and swings his legs up onto the bed as Tanner automatically scoots over to make room. The five-year old is quick to press into his side once he’s laying flat, and Frank wraps his arm around him, holding him close. “Can you tell me why you’re scared?”
Tanner doesn’t respond, and Frank sighs internally. Abby is sure to be pissed in the morning if she realizes he never went to their bed, but he really can’t bring himself to care. His kids are his priority, even if it’ll bring him more hurt. Frank rubs a line up and down Tanner’s back, and eventually succumbs to a fitful sleep, bruises throbbing in time with his heart.
. . . . .
He’s twenty minutes early to his shift, something that is happening more and more often as the days go by. Lately he just can’t seem to get out of the house fast enough, and if that means he’s leaving over an hour before his shift time and has to drive around with a coffee for thirty minutes, then so be it. Entering through the ambulance bay, Frank keeps his head low as he navigates around the night-shift, quickly making his way to the lockers.
He’s embarrassed, if he’s being honest. It’s not the first time he’s shown up to work a little roughed up, but it’s by far the worst. Abby’s usually pretty good at keeping her marks below the collar, tending to go for his ribs and hips, only giving him a small bruise on the jaw or a faint scratch on his temple. But this time? This time she had exploded in a flurry of fire, hurling her wine glass at him and shoving him so hard into the wall he smacked his head, giving him the huge bruise that’s around his eye.
His ribs ache as he reaches for his locker, and he has to swallow down a groan. This shift is going to suck.
“Morning, Langdon. You’re here early.”
Stiffening, Langdon forces himself to keep his head buried in his locker. “Dr. Shen,” he greets.
“Something interesting in there?”
“No, um… just getting ready,” Langdon says. He silently curses the way his voice shakes.. He can physically feel the way Shen stops behind him, and he sighs, letting his shoulders drop. So much for flying under the radar. He steps back and turns around, coming face to face with the attending.
“Langdon.”
“I know, okay?” Langdon says as Shen’s eyes widen. The man reaches out but doesn’t touch, hand hovering in the air. “Look man, don’t worry about it. It’s nothing–”
“That’s not nothing, man!” Disbelief is written across Shen’s face. “What happened?”
Langdon sighs. “I… fell down the stairs, cracked my chin on the step. Nothing’s broken, I checked,” he lies. His stomach twists at how easy the falsehood slips from his lips. “Can you not mention anything to Robby?”
Shen gives him a look. “I don’t think I’d need to, kid,” he says. His eyes sweep across Langdon’s face. “I’m pretty sure your face is telling enough.” He sighs. “Come on, I want to check you out myself; that shit looks like it hurts.”
“Seriously?” Shen’s deadpan stare is answer enough. “Fine, fine.”
Shen leads him out of the locker room, and suddenly it’s like all eyes are on them. Langdon shrinks beneath the wide-eyed gazes of his colleagues as they walk through the E.D. The worst look, though? The worst look is coming from Abbot at the nurse’s station.
“You’re kidding,” he says as they advance close enough to be in hearing range. “Shen, did you pick the poor kid up off the street?”
“Very funny,” Langdon says, but it’s lacking his usual snark. Abbot’s eyes widen even larger than before, but Langdon doesn’t have the time to pay it any mind before Shen is parking him in a chair and reaching for a pair of gloves. “Is this really necessary? I said I’m fine; I already checked myself out.”
Shen clicks his tongue and presses two fingers to Langdon’s chin. “What’s that saying, Abbot? Doctors are always the worst patients?” Langdon rolls his eyes and Shen advances his fingers towards his cheek. “Any tenderness?”
“A bit,” Langdon admits. “Possible bruised cheekbone?”
“I’d say probable,” Shen corrects. “This bruising around your eye looks pretty bad. Did you lose consciousness?”
“No,” replies Landgon. He tries to pull back, but Shen grips onto his jaw, holding his head in place. He swallows roughly. “Are you done, yet? I’ve got hand-off rounds to start.”
“Almost,” Shen answers. “I want to check your skull real fast for any bumps you could have missed.”
Langdon sighs but settles in the chair, allowing Shen to tilt his head forward. Abbot had wandered away at some point, and he feels pretty confident that he knows why.
“No blood, no bumps…”
“Langdon!”
“Aw man,” Langdon mumbles before Shen’s gloved hands are being replaced by larger, rougher ones. His head is tilted up, one hand coming to hold his chin while the other explores the bruising on his temple. “Hey, Robby.”
“What the hell happened?”
“Nothing,” Langdon stresses. “I ate shit on the sidewalk and smacked the ground. I’m fine.”
Shen makes a face. “I thought you said you fell down the stairs?”
Langdon’s mouth runs dry. “Did I?” he says airily, looking to the side. “That’s my bad, man.”
Robby frowns down at him. “Are you feeling confused? Did you lose consciousness?” he asks, eyebrows doing the pinchy-thing they always do when he’s worried.
“No, and no.”
“Well,” Robby sighs, “everything seems to be okay for now. Do you want to go ho–”
“No!” Robby rears back slightly at his outburst, and Langdon shrinks in on himself. “I-I mean, no thank you, I’m okay. I don’t need to go home. I need to be here, you guys need me.” The last place he wants to be is with Abby.
Abbot raises an eyebrow. “Kid, I think day-shift can spare you for a day. You look like you lost a fight with a bear.” He looks at Robby. “Right?”
“Right,” Robby affirms, nodding along.
Langdon shakes his head. “Seriously, I’m fine. Nothing a couple of tylenol can’t fix,” he says, almost pleadingly. “And besides, don’t we have like… four newbies today? You need me here.”
“Fine,” Robby says, and Langdon almost melts to the floor in relief. “But if you change your mind, come and find me, okay?” He lets go of Langdon’s face and steps back, crossing his arms. “Langdon?”
“Got it, yep,” Langdon replies, nodding. The motion makes his head pulse, and he barely manages to hide the following wince. The look on Robby’s face lets him know he was unsuccessful. “Can I… nevermind.”
“What is it?”
Langdon bites his lip only to immediately regret it as his teeth sink into the cut. “Why don’t I run chairs?” he suggests. Robby’s face does something… complicated… but not necessarily bad. “If you need me I can move back to traumas, of course, but I just figured–”
“That works,” Robby says, cutting him off. “You can…” something catches his eye, “ah, perfect timing.” He beckons, and Langdon turns to see four unfamiliar faces. “Dr. Langdon, meet Doctors King, Javadi, Whitaker, and Santos. An R2, Ms3, Ms4, and R1 respectively. Everyone, this is Dr. Langdon, one of our senior residents. You can present your cases to him if myself or another senior resident is unavailable, and you can go to him with any questions you may have.”
“What happened to your face?” Santos asks. Ouch.
Langdon simply shrugs, embarrassed.
“Dr. Javadi, Dr. Langdon will be running triage this morning–why don’t you join him?” she nods, and Langdon offers her a smile which she is quick to return. “The rest of you will be running traumas. You can look to myself, or Senior Residents Mckay, Collins, and Mohan, all of which are around here somewhere, for direction and assistance; we’ll introduce you when we have the chance. Any questions?”
A few minutes later, Robby rounds up the day shift for morning announcements. At the end, he points out Dana to the newbies, and while he does so Langdon flips through a couple of charts. Leaning against the nurse’s station, he’s halfway through reading one when there’s a tap on his shoulder, startling him so much he jumps nearly a foot in the air, an embarrassing sound escaping his throat.
He turns to meet Garcia’s eyes, and it takes less than a second for her playful gaze to turn fiery.
“What the fuck,” she hisses, leaning close to peer at him. “Frankie, what the–”
“Yoyo,” Langdon interrupts in a desperate attempt to shush her, He spares a glance towards Robby and the rest of the group, not missing the way Robby’s eyes are settled on the two of them while he addresses everyone.
“Don’t,” Garcia warns. In juxtaposition to her tone, she gently cradles his jaw in one hand, using her other hand to trace her fingers along the cut on his chin. “What happened?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Langdon dismisses with a shake of his head. “It’s not a big deal–” She gives him a look, and he shrinks beneath her gaze. “Yoyo, seriously. Drop it.”
“I’m going to kill that son of a–”
“Yoyo.”
Yolanda Garcia, his oldest and closest friend, the two of them attached at the hip since high school. They knew everything about one another, from embarrassing childhood stories to admitted truths in the dark. Or… almost everything. Langdon knows that she has her suspicions, and considering the fact that he’s a terrible liar when it comes to her, she pretty much knows. However, he’s never actually admitted it.
“Frankie,” she says, voice low, almost dangerous. “Just say the words. Please.”
Langdon merely shakes his head, causing Garcia to sigh. She lets go of his face to wrap a loose arm around his shoulders, and he can’t help but sink into the kind touch.
“And over here is Dr. Garcia, senior resident in surgery. She often consults on our cases, and you can frequently find her roaming our halls alongside Dr. Langdon,” Robby says, gesturing to the two of them, causing everyone to look over. “We’ve nicknamed them the ‘Terror Twins’ so watch out–they’re usually up to something.”
Garcia plasters on a smile so fake it makes Langdon’s face hurt. “Oh I’ll be up to something, alright.” She turns to him. “This conversation isn’t over.” She squeezes his shoulder before slipping away and back towards the elevators.
Langdon sighs and turns to Javadi. “Come on,” he says, offering her a smile. “We’ve got chairs to manage.”
. . . . .
Javadi’s good. She listens avidly to everything he says, and he can genuinely say he’s enjoying teaching her. After a couple hours of chairs, though, he can tell she’s running low on motivation, so Langdon decides to send her back to Robby. She thanks him with a bright smile and he waves her off before making his way back into the Pitt to grab one of his spare redbulls.
“Hey, Sugar.”
“Dana,” Langdon says. He grabs his redbull, opening it and taking a quick swig. “Is everything here running smoothly?”
Dana scoffs. “Does it ever?” she asks. They both laugh as she reaches for a clipboard. “We’ve got a kid two minutes out with a dislocated shoulder–suspected child abuse.”
Langdon frowns; cases with kids always make his stomach churn. “Jesus,” he mutters. “Have you called Kiara?”
Dana nods. “Of course I did,” she replies. “You doin’ alright, kid? You don’t look too good–if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were a ghost with how pale you are.”
“Yeah, of course,” Langdon says, waving her off like it would actually do something. “Just tired. Sore, really. Probably need to eat.”
“You take anything else for that shiner?”
“I’m… actually I’m due for more tylenol I think.” She holds out her hand, four pills nestled against her palm, and he smiles. “Thanks, Dana.”
“Of course, kiddo,” she says as he takes them. “Can’t have you dead on the floor of my E.R.” She shudders dramatically. “Think of the paperwork.”
Langdon steals a seat at one of the computers, absentmindedly flicking his badge over to the scanner to sign into it. For once, the waiting room isn’t packed to the walls like sardines, so he might as well chart while he can. Behind him, he can hear the swish of the bay doors and the familiar sound of wheels rolling. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Robby, Whitaker, Santos, and Mckay rush over.
“This little fella is–” someone accidentally crashes a cart into the wall, “five years old, anterior shoulder dislocation. BP is 95/108, heart rate 100.”
“Thank you. Hey buddy,” Robby says, and Langdon can hear the smile in his voice. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
A female’s voice answers. “He was dropped off in the car line like any other day, made his way inside and to his seat; we told the kids to get their crayons out but he wasn’t doing anything. Our aid went over and realized something was wrong.”
“Did he say how it happened?”
“He said… he said it was his mom.”
Langdon can’t help but bury his face in his hands, charting long forgotten. God, some people just shouldn’t have kids. Even just imagining doing something to harm his children makes him sick to his stomach.
“We’ve held off on calling Mom for now. We’ve tried contacting Dad though he hasn’t been answering, but he works pretty long shifts. I told our aide to contact the third emergency contact in his file if she couldn’t get ahold of Dad by now.”
Next to him, Dana wraps an arm around his shoulders, rubbing circles into his arm with her thumb. He leans into her touch. Fuck.
“Kiddo, can you tell us what exactly happened today? Start from the beginning.”
“Daddy woke up real early.” Langdon feels his heart melt at how precious the boy sounds. “‘Cause he’s a doctor, he helps lots’a peoples, you know. And I woke up ‘cause Daddy slept in my room and then he went to work, so my mom came to get me up.”
“Yeah?” Robby says, and Langdon can picture the way he’s leaned real close, elbows on the gurney, giving the child his full attention. “And then what?”
“After… after breakfast we needed to go to school, but I didn’t wan’ go with my mom.”
“Why didn’t you want to go with her?” Mckay asks.
It’s quiet for a moment. “‘Cause she’s really mean to my daddy.” The boy takes in a shaking breath, and Langdon’s heart breaks. “And… and I told her to… to stop hurtin’ my daddy, ‘cause he’s always sad, and I don’t like when he’s sad. He was really hurt, and she made him bleed and cry.” A loud sniffle. “And she grabbed me and pulled real’ hard on my arm, and it hurt really bad.”
Fuck. He can’t listen to any more of this.
Standing abruptly, Langdon ducks out from beneath Dana’s arm and starts making his way out of the nurse’s station. He’s nearly at the intersection when he hears thundering footsteps. Looking up just in time to see Garcia barreling towards him, phone in her hand with a vice-like grip, he pauses to catch her before she runs him down.
“Yoyo?” he asks urgently, searching the wild-look in her eyes. “What the hell? What’s wrong?”
She gapes at him like a fish. “Tanner’s school called me,” she breathes out, and Langdon’s stomach fucking drops. “They said they’ve been trying your cell, but–”
“My phone is in my locker,” he says, slapping a hand over his eyes. “Dammit. What happened? Is he okay?”
“He’s hurt. He has a dislocated shoulder–”
Static fills his ears.
“--they called an ambulance, he’s on his way to the E.R.”
Langdon closes his eyes. “Yoyo?” he chokes out.
Garcia grabs onto his arm. “Yeah?”
Mouth suddenly dry, Langdon slowly turns on his heel, finally looking at the newest ride-in. There, sitting on a gurney and surrounded by his team, is his fucking son. His son, who has a dislocated shoulder because his mom pulled his arm too hard.
He’s moving before he even realizes, crossing the pitt in long strides, cutting through the crowd like a wave. He can feel dozens of pairs of eyes on him as he advances, and as he nears, Robby turns, giving him an odd look as he marches on. Faintly he recognizes Garcia trailing behind him but can’t decipher anything past that. All his attention is on his son.
“Daddy!”
“Tanner.”
The E.R. goes silent.
Langdon comes up on the gurney, hands immediately reaching, fingers running soothingly through Tanner’s hair as one hand lands on his back. He stares down at his son, seeing the dried tear tracks painting his face, his reddened cheeks, his teary eyes–Fuck. He feels Garcia come up at his side, a grounding presence as she pressed their sides together.
“Hi Tan,” she says softly, offering a shaky smile.
“Yoyo,” Tanner greets happily, reaching out with his good arm to grab at her outstretched hand. “My shoulder hurts.”
Langdon presses his lips together, sliding his hand down Tanner’s face to cup his cheek. His eyes burn as his son presses into his hand, head tilting to stare up at him. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, swiping his thumb beneath his eye. “I’m so sorry, bud.”
“Is okay,” Tanner replies. He blinks, wide and blue. “I just wan’ to protect you…not your fault.”
“It’s my job to protect you, not the other way around.” Langdon’s breath stutters on an inhale and he spares at glance at his teacher. “You um… you said you haven’t called his mom?”
She hesitates for a moment. “That’s right,” she confirms. “I’m assuming you…” she waves her hand, and Langdon nods in agreement before looking back at Tanner.
“Okay buddy,” he says, “you remember how I’ve talked about Dr. Robby before?” Tanner nods. “Well he’s the one who’s going to be helping your shoulder so it doesn’t hurt anymore, yeah? Sound good?”
He glances toward Robby, trying to convey everything he’s feeling in his eyes alone. Thankfully, his attending picks up quickly, and he shakes off whatever emotion he’s feeling before stepping back up to the gurney.
“Alright Tanner, you ready to feel better?” he asks softly. Tanner nods emphatically, causing Robby to grin. “Okay then!” He motions for the paramedics to follow him to North-Four, “so we’re going to….”
“Wait!”
Everything stills at Tanner’s outburst.
“What’s wrong, kiddo?”
Tanner’s lip wobbles. “Can… Can my daddy come?”
Robby’s shoulders drop slightly. “Of course he can.”
The words seem to kickstart Langdon’s brain, and before he knows it he’s holding his son’s hand as Mckay administers the sedative. Tanner blinks sluggishly, staring up at him from the bed, clearly fighting the medication.
“Tan,” he whispers, leaning close. “Don’t fight it buddy. We’re gonna make you feel all better, I promise.”
Tanner head lolls, cheek pressing into the pillow. “You… stay?” he asks softly.
Langdon swallows back a sob. “I’ll be right here when you wake up,” he says. “Right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
. . . . .
Langdon gently moves a stray piece of hair from Tanner’s forehead with his finger, thumb trailing along his temple. He stares down at his sleeping son, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest like it’s life or death. He thinks he’ll never let him out of his sight ever again because if he does, it might actually kill him.
The curtain shifts, and Langdon spares a second to glance over. Robby, Garcia, and Kiara are there, and he sighs before turning back to his son. They shuffle around the room; Garcia takes a seat next to him, Robby leans against the wall, and Kiara settles on the rolling stool.
“Frankie,” Garcia starts, her voice barely a murmur. “Kiara wants to talk to you about some stuff. Are you up for that?”
Langdon doesn’t avert his gaze, but he nods. He figures he doesn’t have much of a choice, so what’s the point in fighting it?
“Dr. Langdon–”
“Frank is fine,” he grits out.
“Frank, then,” Kiara corrects as if he never interrupted her, “I understand that today has probably been a rough one for you.”
Frank scoffs. He brushes a knuckle across Tanner’s cheek. “You could say that again,” he says.
“I want to talk to you about what Tanner told us today. Are you okay with Dr. Robby and Dr. Garcia being in the room for that?”
“Yes.” He sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah, it’s fine.”
Kiara hums, and Frank finally pulls his gaze from his son’s form. She offers him a kind smile. “To start, how are you feeling?”
Frank hesitates. “Not great,” he admits. “I… my head’s kind of spinning.” He startles suddenly, turning to face Robby, eyes wide. “Robby, I-I’m so sorry, I totally forgot that I was on shift–”
“Hey, hey,” Robby interjects, holding out a placating hand. “I had Dana take you off already. You’re exactly where you need to be,” he says. Frank finds himself nodding along to his words. “You’re not in trouble, Frank.”
Kiara nods in agreement. “Exactly,” she says. “Frank, I want to ask you about your injuries today. You told Dr. Shen you fell down the stairs, and then proceeded to tell Dr. Robby that you fell on the sidewalk. Can you tell me what really happened?”
Frank swallows audibly, gaze falling back to his son. “Last night…” he starts, wincing at the dryness of his throat. “Last night, Abby and I got into it–she came home drunk, wanted to wake the kids up and take them to the park at half past eleven…I wasn’t going to let her do that, I mean, who would? –and she got upset. Really upset; started throwing shit, shouting, the whole thing.” Garcia takes his free hand, squeezing it tightly. He offers her a tight-lipped smile.
“And what else happened?” Kiara asks gently.
“She… she grabbed a wine glass from the counter and tried to hit me with it, but she missed and smashed it into the fridge instead…” he shudders, “Took the stem and tried to go for my neck, but she got my chin instead.” He pauses as a tingling spreads down his arms. “She got pissed, shoved me into the wall. I smacked my head pretty good. Gave her the chance to take a swing at me–she mostly missed, but her ring caught on my lip.”
“Has this happened before?”
“Yeah,” Frank admits. “Never this bad, though.”
“How long has this been happening?” Robby asks.
Frank closes his eyes, suddenly ashamed. “Two years?” he guesses. Garcia breathes out sharply, and the shame turns into something ugly, and he shifts to face her, squeezing her hand tight. “It’s not your fault, Yoyo.”
“It is,” she argues, shaking her head. Tears shine in her eyes. “I knew something was wrong, Frankie. I knew it. I could just never prove it.” She wraps her free-hand around where their hands are intertwined. “I’m so sorry.”
A sob threatens to burn its way through his throat. “Don’t,” he chokes out. “I didn’t want you to know.”
“Frank,” Kiara says, recapturing his attention. She leans forward, hands clasped in her lap, a determined look in her eye. “We’re here for you. Remember that. We will do everything in our power to help you through this.”
Frank nods. “Thank you,” he says, voice wavering dangerously. He sniffs hard, squeezing his eyes shut. “I never… I never thought she’d hurt our kids,” he admits, the words tearing from his throat. “Otherwise I-I would’ve left the day it started but… but I thought she loved them. I thought that they’d be safe.”
“It’s only natural to think that,” Kiara soothes. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Frank. She did–not you.”
Eventually, Kiara makes her exit, leaving Frank with Robby and Garcia. The three exist in silence for what feels like hours, the only sound being the steady beeping of the monitors surrounding them. But finally, Robby decides to break the ice.
“Langdon–Frank,” he says carefully, lowering himself onto the rolling stool Kiara had vacated. “Look at me, please.”
Frank tilts his chin up, trying to force back the gathering tears. “Yeah?”
Robby reaches a hand out and grips Frank’s shoulder. “You are a good father,” he says, and a tear slips past Frank’s dam. “You are a good doctor, you are a good person.” Robby’s eyes bore into his. “This? This doesn’t define you; it’ll only make you stronger.”
Frank nods and is barely surprised when Robby opens his arms. He’s even less surprised when he throws himself into his embrace, and he’s swallowed by a bone crushing hug. “Thank you,” he mumbles wetly into Robby’s shoulder. ‘Thank you.”
“We’ll get you through this, kid. I promise.”