Work Text:
“Hey, are you doing anything tonight?” Mel asked, her smile audible.
Frank didn’t look up from the ten bazillion charts he had to fill out before the end of shift- he had several left to go, and their shift ended in an hour.
“No,” he replied.
Why would I be doing anything? He thought. I am a divorced drug addict that no one wants to be around except for Mel and Cassie, for reasons I can’t really understand because I am a horrible person and they are so wonderful.
“Great! Do you think you could come out with me and Cassie tonight for drinks?” Mel asked. “We found this British-y pub a little ways down the road from here with genuine German beer and bangers and mash. It sound delicious and I’d really like to go there with my two best friends.”
Something in Frank’s chest cracked open at her words and he was slightly embarrassed to find that his eyes were burning.
“I’m one of your best friends?” He asked, his voice cracking.
Mel shifted. “Of course you are, why wouldn’t you be?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Frank muttered, self-hatred sharpening his words, “because I’m a washed up addict, a divorcee, and a social pariah at work?”
You could do so much better, Frank thought. You’re like the sun- bright, life-giving. Cassie’s like the stars- a little more distant, a little colder, but still just as bright. I’m like an asteroid- cold, scarred, and destroying everything that dares to exist in my path.
Mel whacked him sharply on the head, causing him to finally look away from his charts and towards her.
“Ouch,” Frank said, rubbing the tears out of his eyes, even though Mel would never even hurt a fly let alone him.
“No self-deprecation in this house, Frank,” she reprimanded him. “And is that a yes?”
She looked at him and Frank did not have the strength of will to say no to her.
“Yes,” he said.
It was worth it when Mel beamed, bringing a pleasant warmth to what was left of Frank’s shattered heart.
“Great! I should probably leave you to your work now, so I’ll go tell Cassie!” She hurried off, still smiling to himself.
The next hour passed quickly and before Frank knew it he was being herded out the door of the PTMC by two very determined women.
“I need to change,” he insisted. “So do all of us, actually.”
Cassie waved a hand dismissively. “We can change when we get home. No one cares if a doctor’s wearing scrubs outside of the hospital.”
“Yeah!” Mel agreed. “And besides, aren’t you starving?”
Frank was, actually. His diet these days mostly consisted of Red Bull and granola bars, and he hadn’t had either since this morning because of how busy today’s shift had been between the poor kid with an openbook fracture and a teenager rushed in with fucking clinical rabies. She was still alive, for now, but the first kid wasn’t so lucky and Frank knew that even if they attempted the Milwaukee Protocol on the teenager with rabies she was certainly going to die. It was a matter of when, not if.
His stomach rumbled at that exact moment, despite his morbid thoughts, and he shrugged, his face blushing.
“Alright, alright,” he laughed. “You win.”
Cassie’s smile turned sharp. “We always do.”
The trio walked down the street, their bags slung over their shoulders, until they reached a dimly lit restaurant with a sign that looked about ready to fall off despite a plethora of tape holding it to the. It read The Bumbling Boar, with a faint icon of a boar tripping over itself. Light flooded out of the windows and from under the oakwood door, and Frank faintly smelled cooking sausage. Mel walked in and with a glance at Cassie, Frank followed.
They got a table for three in the corner, but as they walked to their table Frank took this opportunity to look around. The restaurant was relatively small, but it had an old-fashioned and decidedly British feel to it; all of the tables, chairs, and beams on the walls and ceilings were made out of smoothly polished wood, all of the chatter was as quiet as could be reasonably expected, and all the patrons were much better behaved than in a typical American bar- though one guy with dark hair and shockingly gray eyes, Irish by the sounds of him, threatened to “throw that fucking Englishman in the sea” as the three doctors walked past his table.
Frank was very curious as to what the hell that conversation was about.
“What do you mean you’re engaged to that cunt, you fuckin’ eejit?” The Irish demanded just as Cassie, Frank, and Mel sat down at their table. “Why are you just now telling me this?”
“This is why,” the man’s companion, a said in exasperation, but with an affectionate undertone. “You look like you’re going to go put his head on a pike.”
“Drinks?” The waiter asked the table, blocking out the Irish man’s response.
Frank ordered a beer. Mel ordered one as well. Cassie, however, ordered some whiskey.
*
Eventually they ordered food- bangers and mash for Mel, shepherd's pie for Cassie, and toad in the hole for Frank (no amphibians were harmed in this product)- and soon they were all laughing, flushed and happy. A few drinks in and they all were feeling it, Mel and Cassie
“Never was there a tale of more woe, than that of Juliet and her Romeo,” Cassie declared in utter seriousness; her son was performing the play in school and she had heard it enough times by now to have had the entire thing memorized- as well as a mild glee in quoting it (and Shakespeare in general; she’d become hooked on that guy as of late) whenever and wherever she pleased.
Mel shot Frank a devious grin and he could tell she was about to say something ridiculous.
“Never was there a tale of more strife, than that of Macbeth and his stabby knife,” Mel stated, somehow with a straight face despite the mirth in her eyes.
Cassie choked. Frank snorted into his sausage. Mel looked at Frank expectantly, clearly wishing for him to join in on the shenanigans.
Hm…oh, I know. Hamlet.
“Never was there a tale of more sad-” Frank broke himself off by giggling and then continued- “than that of Hamlet and his spooky dad.”
Mel burst into laughter. Cassie rolled her eyes. Frank grinned so hard his face hurt, the movement feeling unnatural after going so long. It had been a while since he had last felt genuinely happy.
“You’re ruining Shakespeare,” Cassie complained, though not seriously.
Mel stared at her blankly. “What, you egg?”
Cassie threw her hands up in the air, looking mildly offended. “Oi! I wasn’t saying there isn’t anything ridiculous in Shakespeare- there’s a lot- just that you, mayhaps, are taking it a bit too far.”
Frank smirked at Cassie. “Mayhaps?”
Cassie flipped him off and stabbed her peas aggressively. “Fuck off, grammar Nazi.”
“Don’t bully him,” Mel told Cassie.
Frank glanced at her gratefully.
“Without me,” Mel added, laughing at the look on Frank’s face.
Cassie high-fived her.
“I thought we were friends,” Frank complained, secretly loving the banter and treasuring it.
“If you do not bully your friends into submission, are you really friends?” Mel asked nobody in particular.
“Also, you’re just so easy to fluster, it’s adorable,” Cassie explained. “You are such a sub, I swear to God.”
Frank turned bright red. “Cassie, what the fuck?”
Cassie shrugged. “What, am I wrong?”
Frank buried his face in his hands.. “I am two syllables away from summoning C’thulu just to get away from you guys.”
Cassie patted him on his shoulder mock-affectionately. “Don’t be ashamed, Franklin. Plenty of people like taking it up the ass. It’s very natural and nothing to be ashamed of.”
“First of all, it’s Francis, and second of all, I am going to shove you into your fridge,” Frank promised.
Cassie stared at him like he was crazy. “Are you kidding? I take my fridge everywhere, even to federal prison. You’re not going to be able to abuse it.”
Mel, who had slouched down and started staring into nothingness, suddenly straightened.
“I think I’ve unlocked shrimp colors,” she said in awe, distracting Frank from Cassie's mildly concerning statement.
Frank sighed deeply. “Mel, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not a shrimp. You can’t see shrimp colors."
Mel frowned and Frank almost regretted telling her that but goddamn it it was the truth.
“Don’t fall for it, Mel,” Cassie said with a perfectly straight face, “you’re being gaslit by a clam.”
Mel gasped. “I knew it! He has two hundred eyes, just like a scallop!!”
“Okay, I think you’ve had enough.” Frank reached for Mel’s drink.
Mel batted away his hand. “Knock it off, clam, or I’m going to sacrifice you to the syntax error.”
Note to self, Frank thought, keep Mel away from alcohol, as she goes batshit insane on it. She’s still wonderful, but without any brain cells or self control whatsoever.
“You can’t do that, he has plot armor,” Cassie stated.
Frank was pretty fucking sure he did not. If he had plot armor, the last few months would have been less shitty- Robby would’ve forgiven him, Abby wouldn’t have divorced him, and he wouldn’t be unable to see his own damn kids. However, if he had plot armor, he wouldn’t be sitting here, with his two (only) closest friends, happier than he had been since before rehab.
It is worth the pain, to be here with them, Frank decided, and the rest of the night passed in a happy blur.