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“There has to be some way I can make it up to you,” Buck pressed, looking at Langdon pleadingly.
The emergency department was busy, by their standards - though certainly not by the standards of Langdon’s previous employer, whether due to the day of the week, the overall leadership, or the lack of petty feuds that had so fueled The Pitt’s ecosystem.
Or maybe the comparative lack of urgency at the moment was due to the fact that they were standing in St. Paul and not in Pittsburgh.
So Langdon allowed himself time to pause here, at the emergency department entrance, and talk to the hot firefighter who had seemed so desperate at the meeting last night - probably you weren’t supposed to think hot thoughts about people who were newly in sobriety that you met at your NA meeting, but Langdon hadn’t gotten laid in a year, so his dry spell lets his ethics wander … for a just a tiny moment.
“You don’t owe me anything,” Langdon said, because it had been 24 months of sobriety and two months out of Pittsburgh, and he still remembers the self-righteous judgments of former co-workers and his ex-wife.
“I almost didn’t go in; I stood there in the doorway thinking I should just get in my truck and turn around and go home - if i had, I would have relapsed,” Buck said earnestly.
Langdon didn’t disagree; the man had looked rough last night in a way that the early morning light didn’t quite wipe away, but there was hope around the edges that had been completely absent last night.
“Just keep going to the meetings; if you need to thank me, that will do it,” Langdon said eventually.
“I will,” Buck promised, before turning to go back to his truck, and Langdon believed him.