Work Text:
The carpet is rough and digs into Langdon’s knees. If he were to stand up, the pattern would be imprinted on his legs. He’s not sure how long he’s been kneeling for, but Garcia hasn’t told him it’s time to come up and Langdon doesn’t feel the need to safeword, so he stays in place. Yolanda had tied his wrists together—hands clasped together, bound behind his back. When he moves his hands, just ever so slightly, the rope bites into his skin, stinging deliciously.
It had been more of a shit show than usual in the ER that day and nearly all the staff were running on fumes by the end of the shift. Garcia had swung by on her way out, taken one look at him and practically ordered him to come home with her. Frank didn’t remember much of the ride to her place, distantly he thinks she called Abby to let her know he’d be home late.
Frank loves his wife, but she’s a Switch and she can’t always give him what he needs. It’s especially difficult when what he needs is for his head to go quiet, just for a while, when they’ve got two kids at home who haven’t seen their dad all day. Abby’s known Garcia helps him out from time to time since before they even started dating—Frank and Garcia were in the same college classes and became fast friends, eventually Garcia had introduced Frank to her roommate, a woman with long, blonde hair and a stunning smile, who turned out to be Abby.
He shifts, trying to alleviate some of the weight on his knees. He’s not quite ready to surface yet, but he’ll at least have to stop kneeling soon if he wants to be able to move around at work tomorrow. He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath the way his therapist taught him to. He forces himself to relax his shoulders which have somehow made their way up towards his ears. Right now, there’s nothing he needs to do. No split second decisions to make. No case to figure out. No children who need Dad.
Langdon floats. He’s not in subspace, but he’s not far off. He’s not as aware of the carpet or the rope wrapped around his wrists, he just is. For once his mind is quiet, not running at a million miles an hour trying to urge him to do a hundred things at once.
A hand runs through his hair, fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp. He tilts his head back into Garcia’s touch. She lets out a quiet laugh.
“You like that, huh, puppy,” she teases. Frank lets out an affirmative little noise, not yet capable of words. “Open your eyes for me, Langdon.”
He does so begrudgingly—with his head tipped back like this he can only see the top of Garcia’s head, but he can see that’s she turned on her lamps in the living room and her softest blanket is draped across the couch, ready for him.
Yolanda trails her hand gently down Frank’s back and then works on untying the rope around his wrists. She makes light work of it, her fingers sure and steady even after a whole day of surgeries. She massages his wrists and tugs his arms so they’re down by his sides.
“Up on the couch for me,” she says.
He turns. She’s already sitting on the couch, one arm on the armrest, the other patting the seat cushion next to her. He goes, sits by her side and she wraps the blanket around them both.
“How’re your knees?” Garcia asks, turning her head to look at him.
“A little sore, but they’ll be fine and before you ask my back is fine too.”
“God, you’re such an old man.”
“Fuck you,” Frank laughs. “Thanks for taking me down.”
Yolanda knocks their shoulders together. “Anytime. You know that.” She pauses. “You wanna talk about it?”
Frank thinks for a moment. “There was a kid, about the same age as Penny. He didn’t make it.”
It’s the one part of the job that never gets any easier, especially when it’s a kid that they lose. Langdon’s saved the lives of countless patients, but when he closes his eyes on a bad night he can only ever picture the ones he couldn’t. He’d seen the little boy on the gurney and his mind had immediately overlayed him with pictures of Penny. They were the same age, same height, same weight. He’d frozen—just for a moment because all he could see on that bed was his daughter, her eyes blinking up at him, pleading him to help her. Robby had snapped him out of his reverie but the kid’s chance of survival had been low even before the ambulance had picked him up.
“I’m sorry,” Garcia offers. “Are you alright?”
Frank shrugs. “Are we ever? After cases like that.” Garcia hums in agreement. “This helped though.”
“Good,” she says and rests her head on his shoulder.
“What about you?” Langdon asks.
“I’m fine,” she says, bluntly. Frank quirks a brow. “Today anyway,” she concedes.
They sit in silence for a while, just leaning against each other—breathing, trying to shake off the remaining vestiges of the day. Frank picks up his phone that Yolanda left on the coffee table. He sends a quick update to Abby, then thumbs through Instagram for a moment before turning the screen off.
“Alright,” Garcia says. “Time to deliver you back home.” She shrugs out of their entangled limbs and stands, her neck pops as she stretches it. Frank’s about to make a joke of it when he’s hit in the face with a bundle of material. “Get dressed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he snarks, but he pulls the shirt over his head and steps into his pants anyway.
Frank slides into the passenger seat of Garcia’s car, it still somehow smells new even though she’s had it for a few years. “Abby says you should stay for dinner,” Langdon says as they drive.
Yolanda makes a noncommittal sound.
“You should know she told the kids you’re dropping me off,” he needles. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint them, would you? They love their Auntie Yoyo.”
He sees her roll her eyes. “Right, right. It’s definitely just Tanner and Penny who’d be disappointed.”
“Well,” he singsongs, “I happen to know that Abby and I might be willing to help take care of our favourite Domme.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Ken doll.” Garcia remarks.
“We had you at dinner, didn’t we?”
Garcia, rather pointedly, doesn’t respond.