Chapter Text
Ultimately, she decides not to pick up the phone. He’s married, he has children– it’s not like he can rush over whenever she needs emotional support. Plus, she’s sure his wife would not like the optics of him abandoning their family around dinnertime for his female coworker.
She’s fine; she won’t do it again. Mel’s been called many cruel things in her lifetime, but one thing that she knows she for certain is not is dumb. She’s always been smart, and that’s been her saving grace. Sure, she didn’t have many friends growing up, but teachers loved her, so they’d make sure to keep an eye out for anyone teasing her. When applying for undergrad, the colleges she applied to didn’t know how awkward or uncomfortable she could be socially, just that she had perfect grades and a stellar SAT score.
In interviews for jobs, of course, her social issues come through. But so does her intelligence, and her genuine care for other people, and it’s given her a viable career this far.
Mel is smart. She won’t do it again.
She watched an intelligent, successful woman get diagnosed with an eating disorder, and helped her find a therapist. That woman was not stupid. Mel knows this.
But this is different. She’s a doctor. She knows better. She’ll do better.
She’s stopped it before– once her parents died and she was left to care for Becca she had to cut that shit out immediately– the purging, the missed meals, the binging, the over exercise– and lock in to care for her sister.
So she can stop again now. Especially since there’s nothing to stop; it was a one time poor decision made after a rough day. It won’t happen again.
(She can feel the itch already spreading throughout her veins again– she’s a fucking liar.)
(For someone who has never been able to lie convincingly to others, she sure as hell is good at lying to herself.)
She knows what she would tell anyone else. She would tell them to make a therapist appointment ASAP to help keep this from snowballing, and to tell their loved ones for accountability and support. She knows what she should do, she’s just not going to do it.
It’s been a long year– it’s not an excuse and she knows that. There’s nothing that justifies going down this road again. But the ache is back, the cement blocks in her chest that press down on her without any mitigation to numb it, and she can’t stand it any longer.
She’s spent her whole life trying to give Becca one, and now Becca has a life, and Mel does not.
Maybe she can let herself have this one little thing that takes the edge off ever so slightly.
(She wonders if that’s what Langdon thought with the pills.)
Langdon. Quite possibly the only person she considers a friend who might be able to, to an extent, understand.
Also quite possibly her only friend; Becca’s her blood, that doesn’t count.
Langdon is kind. Langdon listens to her, doesn’t cut her off when she’s rambling unless the task at hand is time sensitive– and even then, he genuinely will follow up with her later, asking what she was saying. He’s empathetic– and the fact that he learned a small fraction of that empathy from her is probably the feat she is most proud of in her life.
Not caring for Becca, not completing med school, not surviving in the ED for 10 months… that she taught something to someone she looks up to. She may have only known him for maybe two weeks in total now, with one of those 13 days being 10 months ago, but he’s special. He sees her. He tries to understand her, but doesn’t talk down to her or treat her as if she’s less than. Mel has come across so many mentors in her career who mean well and are kind to her, but there’s a hint of treating her with kid gloves, whether they intend to or not.
She is a sensitive person. The ED is a tough place for sensitive people, but it needs them. It needs her.
It needs her to be healthy, if she’s being honest with herself, but she’s not ready for that yet.
She has work; she belongs there. That’s all she has, other than a complicated relationship with herself.
She matters at work; outside of the hospital she offers next to nothing. Is it really the worst thing in the world to fill the time when she doesn’t matter with a distraction? A goal to work towards, even though the goalposts are always moving and it only feels good for a month or so and then she’s miserable… but it gives her a sense of meaning, in a sick way.
Frank. What would he think? Probably nothing positive, she thinks.
But this is an out of work problem, not a during work problem. And Frank is a during work friend.
She thought about calling him for a brief moment there, sitting on the bathroom floor, in shock at what she had done. She thought about hearing his voice, how he’d probably have something calming to say, because he always has something calming to say.
It would make her feel better, she thinks, to call him, but she cannot and she will not.
Langdon has enough to deal with– he’s a recovering addict trying to balance being back at work, his marriage, and his kids. He’s re-intigrating himself to life after rehab and it would be selfish of her to expect him to add worrying about her issues to his plate.
And he would worry, she knows this. He’s too kind not to.
This is an out of work problem. Frank is an at work friend. She’ll keep her two worlds separate, because it’s the kind thing to do.
She lays in bed that night, tossing and turning and only sleeping in short, half satisfying increments. She’s going to stop. She’s not going to stop. She’s going to get help. She’s not going to get help. What she’s done is terrible. What she’s done is no big deal.
Her mind won’t settle, and it of course spreads to her body. She lies awake thinking that her lack of sleep is a major migraine trigger for her, and if she doesn’t get any real rest, she’ll have a migraine in the morning. Knowing this makes her more anxious, and therefore, it makes it harder to sleep.
She falls asleep for another brief half conscious, half asleep, half awake daydream combo for maybe fifteen minutes before her alarm goes off.
She turns off her alarm and gets out of bed, with of course, a hell of a migraine.
Mind over matter she tells herself, it’s what has gotten her through all the migraines in her life during work, or school, or watching Elf with Becca thus far. She pops some Excederin Migraine and hops in the shower.
She’s slightly nauseous by the time she gets to work, the Exederine vaguely helping but never enough to make her comfortable. The fluorescent lighting in the hospital always bothers her; today it bothers her even more.
“Hey Mel. You look like you want to crawl out of you own skin. You okay?”
She nearly bursts into tears, but she controls it. It’s incredibly touching and terrifying to have met someone who knows her so well, who notices when something isn’t right.
“Good morning, Dr. Langdon,” she says steadily, doing her best to project her normal levels of cheer, “Just a bit of a headache, but I’m alright. How was your–”
“Headache? More like a migraine, don’t think I can’t see how much you’re squinting.”
Motherfucker, how does he always know.
“You never told me you get migraines,” he continues, in that excited, whirlwind way of his, “how come you didn’t say?”
“I…” she trails off, really not knowing how to answer him.
Because they’ve only known each other for two weeks? No, because it feels longer than that. Because it’s never come up? That’s a better answer, but why does she feel vaguely guilty?
“It just never came up,” she decides, ignoring the guilt in her stomach– which is ridiculous– and the feeling of her cheeks flushing, “But really, I’m okay. I don’t even have them as bad as other people– I mean, clearly, I’m here at work. Some people have migraines so bad they can’t even function, I mean yesterday– or was it two days ago– Dr. Mohan was treating a patient whose migraine was so bad they came in thinking they were having a hemorrhage. I mean, can you imagine? I certainly can’t. She needed an IV from all the throwing up she was doing.”
His brow furrows. “Do you get nauseous with migraines?”
“That’s what you took away from that?”
He just cocks his head to the side, giving her a look. One she knows means you didn’t answer my question.
“Fine, yeah, I get a little nauseous,” she admits, feeling her cheeks flushing again, because somehow as a doctor her own medical history feels embarrassing, “but I rarely puke. So I’m good– really.”
He pauses, just for half a second, but he rarely ever pauses.
“I was gonna offer to write you a script for Zofran, but I’m still having to get what I prescribe heavily monitored, and Robby will no doubt be convinced I relapsed and am trying to treat my withdrawal.”
Mel scoffs a little at that, exhaling through her nose in amusement, before stopping in horror.
“I’m sorry, that’s not funny, you didn’t mean for that to be funny,” she apologizes profusely.
“Actually Mel, I did kinda mean for it to be funny,” he says, tapping her on the shoulder, “but really, I’m sure Dr. McKay or–”
“I don’t need Zofran,” she interrupts, feeling more and more self conscious by the minute, “but thank you, though.”
“Well, let me know if you change your mind,” he tells her, “because I could get someone to write a script for you.”
She opens her mouth to tell him that he’s being ridiculous, and that she’s a doctor, and that he doesn’t need to be worried about a run of the mill migraine, but duty calls.
“Incoming trauma! MVC, two patients, one with a possible TBI.”
He gives her an apologetic smile, and then he’s off to the races. Her head hurts so bad it takes her a half a second to realize that she’s supposed to follow him.
She doesn’t see him, not in any capacity where she’s able to actually talk to him, for a few more hours.
Of course, when that one minute of down time comes, he pulls her aside to ask her how she’s feeling. He shoves a bag of original flavor Lays into her hand, saying that plain and salty foods are the only thing his mother can tolerate when she has a migraine, and that it would be a shame for her to go hungry.
She just stares at him, like an idiot, until thankfully, she’s saved by the bell. Another trauma. Someone else is having the worst day of their life, but it saves her from having to stammer out an awkward thank you, and probably an apology, even though she doesn’t have anything to apologize for.
That evening, as she’s staring at the bowl of pasta in front of her, considering it like it’s a question on an exam and not simply just dinner, her phone dings.
Hey! Rest up and I hope you feel better.
Her eyes inexplicably fill with tears, and groans and puts her head down on the table. It’s sweet of him. It’s also maddening of him.
I need help she types out, when she can’t sleep again that night, but of course, she deletes it, and doesn’t hit send.
Out of work problem.
At work friend.