Chapter Text
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that when two overtired shift workers hit the town, for a night of karaoke and cocktails, one of them will inevitably end up crying in a toilet cubicle by the end of the night.
Well, maybe it isn’t a universal truth. Mel is sitting on the toilet sobbing, partly because she’s overstimulated- she knocked back two Long Island Iced Teas and is now suffering the consequences, the music is far too loud, some guy is screaming along to Limp Bizkit- and because Becca has finally texted her back, in response to multiple texts pleading for Adam’s parents to call her.
00:30
Becca
Mel I’m sorry but I told you
I was spending tonight at Adam’s
Adam’s parents are asleep now and I’m not waking them up
If you’re gonna keep ignoring me when I ask you
to trust me i’m going to keep asking for space
I need to have my own life ok
I need to have my own life ok. Ouch. A double implication there, Mel thinks: that Mel has not let Becca live her own life (unfair and mostly untrue), and that Mel doesn’t have much of one to begin with (probably true). Having a twin sister sets you up with brutal reads for life, Mel knows this, but Becca really knew what she was doing with that one. Mel is lonely, everything about today has confirmed that. She realises that she has cultivated most of her adult personality around being Becca’s caretaker, but Becca is the one with a circle of friends, an established boyfriend, and an (over)active sex life. Mel is drunk, crying in a karaoke bar on the 4th of July, with someone up until today she thought hated her. Granted, she did learn more about Trinity in the last two hours than the near year she’d worked with her, and she was pretty sure Garcia was an emotional sociopath.
“MeLLLL, Malfeasance? Melanoma? Malpractice?” Santos has come looking for her.
Mel quickly wipes her nose with her sleeve. “I’m in here,” she sniffles.
A beat. “Can I come in?” Santos’ voice is notably gentler, which means she’s probably clocked that Mel has been crying.
Mel sighs, pulls up her pants and flushes, and opens the door.
“Hey,” Santos' eyes are soft and concerned, “You okay?”
Great question. There’s another deposition on the books, with no date in sight so Mel can’t even imagine her life resuming after it- “The law is slow,” the hospital lawyer had told her in the elevator back to work, in lieu of an explanation-, the one person she wants to talk to about it has been hiding a boyfriend from her for six months, and Langdon is finally back and it’s wonderful but at the same time it’s like he’s a completely different person who knows her too well, and it’s going home to an empty apartment, where tonight she had at least thought she’d be watching Elf with Becca, which she was sick of. Realising how alone she was and how profoundly different from other people she felt. The karaoke bar is too loud.
Mel opens her mouth and just starts wailing. Santos awkwardly side hugs her while Mel still sits on the toilet, and Santos stiffly pats Mel’s hair for a couple of repetitions.
“Do you want to, uh-”
“I’m so LONELY!”
“Oh… I’m sorry, is this to do with-”
“She- she has everything, she has- a, a- boyfriend, and a therapist, and, a UTI…”
“I mean, you can’t blame yourself for the UTI thing? Everybody knows that sex is the best part of being in a group home.” She’s trying to be funny, so Mel laughs, and then starts crying again.
“I’ve made- (sob), my whole life about her, and apart from the Pitt I have literally nothing else in my life, and I can’t lose my job because of another deposition!”
“... Okay. Okay, honey, I think that this might be the shots talking-” oh, crap, Mel thought, she’d forgotten they’d done shots as well, and Santos rubs her back, and Mel realises she’s also trying to trying to get her off the toilet.
“Come on, let me get you an Uber,” Santos is shepherding her out of the bathroom.
“Oh, no, that’s okay-”
“Please, this can be my good deed for this shitshow of a day.” Mel wonders if her hanging out with Mel was supposed to be her good deed.
Trinity Santos
hey mel text me when u get home safe ok
I’ll see u next week
Mel
home safe
Fifteen minutes later, after muttering the lyrics of “Savage” under her breath with white knuckles to get through the Uber ride, she’s home. The house is exactly the way she left it this morning, and after running to puke into the toilet, is even more depressing to be in alone. Recently, with Becca spending most of the week in Middle Hill overnight, she’s had her choice of TV, and nothing new has stood out to her; she normally ends up watching the dating reality shows she and Becca watched together. She clicks bleary-eyed through Netflix, until the 1993 BBC miniseries of Pride and Prejudice comes up. Having adored the book as a teenager, and her and Becca generally liking movies with Colin Firth, this feels like a safe choice.
She ends up watching for two hours, falling asleep, and waking herself up at the Charlotte Lucas scene.
“Oh God,” Mel says to her apartment, “am I a Charlotte Lucas?”
HOW I DON’T END UP LIKE CHARLOTTE LUCAS
- I try to get dicked down once in a while
- I have a life outside of work
- I have a life outside of Becca
- I have a life
She doesn’t see Santos until the following Thursday, and spends the night before worrying if Santos has told everybody about her post-karaoke meltdown. She imagines a groupchat specifically made to discuss the incident and shudders.
“Superstar,” Langdon nudges her when she zones out at hand-offs, “you good?”. He’s coming off a night shift, probably because he knows Robby will return sooner than planned. He gives her a small smile and says it low, and she gives him a thumbs-up and a quick smile.
Santos is surprisingly kind to her the whole shift, which Mel hadn’t prepared for. Mel is still scanning the ER to catch a co-worker looking at her or discussing her with someone else, but everyone seems not to know about it or at least not care. Langdon is quieter than normal, and only hovers for an hour into the day shift, so she feels like she’s endlessly tagging along on the wrong cases.
“Well, we meet again,” Santos says to her when she finds her in the changing rooms after the shift is finally over.
,“I’ve been with you the whole shift,” Mel mumbles.
“No, I meant-” Santos gestures to the row of toilet cubicles- “Never mind. What’s up? You’ve said two non-work related words to me all day.”
“Have I?” Mel squeaks, and Santos looks at her skeptically. “I’m sorry, I just.. I was super embarrassed about um, karaoke night? I was oversharing and just, you know, being a lot, and”- nervous, inexplicable wheeze- “I certainly can’t hold my alcohol.”
Santos narrows her eyes. “That’s it? Melifecent, you’ve been to college, right? Drunk crying is like, one of the rules of binge-drinking.”
“Oh, that doesn’t sound that healthy, I’m sorry-”
“No, no as in it’s like a rite of passage. You’re normal for that one.” Mel looks at her feet.
“Cool,” she says lamely.
Santos sighs, and says, “Look, I’m really sorry that I just, sent you home when I found you crying. I freaked out and I didn’t know how to help you, and I just thought I should get you home in case I made it worse.”
“Oh, that’s okay-”
“ But I do get how you feel. I’m pretty sure everyone at the Pitt- bar you and Huckleberry- thinks I’m a bitch or a smartass, or both, and do you really think I’m doing well if I told you the entire saga of me and Garcia, unprompted?”
“It was interesting,” Mel mumbles. Santos looks down and shakes her head.
“Jesus Christ, you’re too nice. Come on,” and she motions to the exit.
“Oh I can’t go drinking again this soon, sorry-”
Santos raises an eyebrow, holds up her carkeys. “I’m driving you home, let’s go.”
“So, your sister has a boyfriend and you don’t and this is actively ruining your life?”
“I dunno,” Mel wrings her hands in her lap, “ I just.. I sort of thought that- I’m basically her guardian, I pay for Middle Hill, I- I just.. I thought the serious boyfriend and love and sex stuff would happen for me first. Like, I deserved it more or something.” She screws her eyes shut. “That sounded terrible, I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re okay,” Santos says, turning a corner. “You’ve been looking after her a long time, right? You said you lost your mom at 23.”
“Yeah.”
“Shit. I mean, are you saying you’ve never had-”
“ I’ve had sex, and I think I’ve technically had a boyfriend.” This is true. Her last year of college, she had befriended a Lithuanian engineering student called Alex, two years her junior, at her DnD club, in Michigan on a study abroad. He was patient, blunt, and built like a Disney prince. The week before he was due to return home, they’d had sex in her dorm room for the first time, and while Mel was sure she had not yet experienced her first orgasm with another person, it had been nice and made her feel closer to him. Shortly after his leaving her mother had called, telling her to come home, and there was suddenly no time for Alex. There were the concerns of her mother’s treatment, then her end-of-life care, and figuring out which medical school closest to home would take her, and of course taking care of Becca. She’d initially tried long distance with Alex, and thought eventually she would be able to manage all of this and find the time for regular videocalls and to meet up in Lithuania, but after a few months she’d made her peace with that not happening. Alex was a remnant of a past life, of a person she no longer had time to be.
“How long ago was that?”
Mel does the math. “Seven years.”
Santos brakes so hard at the traffic lights Mel is sure they’d both be through the windshield save for the seatbelts.
Santos looks at her. “Seven years?”
“Yeah,” Mel is blushing and avoiding eye contact. “I’m just after this left turn-”
“I mean, have you at least had an, an-”
“An orgasm?”
“Since then?”
“Oh yeah, absolutely.” She’d purchased a Hitachi in college. It had never failed her.
“Whew,” Santos exhales, and the lights go green. “That’s something at least.”
“That’s my house on the left..”
Santos stops right outside her door. Mel checks she has her bag, and reflexively checks her phone, when Santos quickly takes it out of her hand, tapping on the screen.
“Hey, what are you doing? I need that-” Santos hands her phone back with a smile.
“All done.”
Mel opens her phone. Santos has downloaded Tinder for her.
“Oh, um, I don’t-”
“Text me when you’ve set up a profile,” Santos is starting the car, and Mel jumps out, “You need a wingwoman, King, let it happen!”
Normally, tonight is pizza night, but Becca hasn’t honoured tradition, and ignored her text requests for a FaceTime. She’s hungry and overtired, so she might as well order pizza for herself.
8:30
Becca
Sorry I missed pizza night
Mel
That’s okay, I actually just ordered. I could come over to Middle Hill if you want
Becca
No that’s ok. I’m watching a movie with Adam and we’re going to have sex after.
Mel
Nice. You’re using protection?
Becca
Yes.
Mel
Cool. Elf again?
Becca
No
When Harry Met Sally
Mel
Okay, have a nice time. Call you tomorrow?
Becca
Yes. After work maybe.
When Harry Met Sally?, she thinks? A romcom she had often suggested they watch, which Becca had always dismissed, because she thought Billy Crystal was ugly? Who is this Adam guy anyway?
The restaurant confirms her delivery and it should arrive in the next thirty minutes, so she lies on the couch and picks up where she left off with Pride and Prejudice. Something is tickling her neck. She gropes around and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, wedged deep in the armrest.
HOW I DON’T END UP LIKE CHARLOTTE LUCAS
- I try to get dicked down once in a while
- I have a life outside of work
- I have a life outside of Becca
- I have a life
In sober eyes she can’t have really meant Charlotte Lucas; she probably meant to write Jane Austen. Her works, along with the Brontës, got Mel through the friendless years of high school, and she supposes she feels a kinship with them: intelligent, lonely women who depicted entire worlds unto themselves, to make up for the way real life let them down. As a doctor Mel watches people living their lives all the time, in a myriad of different ways, but she is always watching from the sidelines and treating them on normally one of the worst days of their lives. Mel’s life, of going to work, paying her bills, and seeing Becca, feels stupidly small in comparison.
The restaurant texts to say there will be a delay. She sighs, and reviews the list. It’s a start.
HOW I DON’T END UP LIKE CHARLOTTE LUCAS
- I try to get dicked down once in a while
- ( I join Tinder)
- I try to go on dates
- I have a life outside of work- try out different hobbies, sports, etc
- I have a life outside of Becca- try to make new friends, find hobbies and sports I like
- I have a life
???
***
“Okay, so we’re not going to mention that you’re a doctor.”
“I mean, I think that’s kind of important..”
Santos is reviewing Mel’s profile in lieu of finishing her own charting. “Yes, when you meet them in person, but you put it in your bio and you’ll end up with a bunch of freaks who want you to cosplay Grey’s Anatomy.”
“Hey, leave Shonda alone,” Mohan is peering over their shoulders. “Oooh, are you making a Tinder profile for Mel?”
“It’s a work in progress,” Santos sighs. She frowns at Mel. “Did you mean to set your preferences to men and women?”
“Yes,” and Mel feels herself blush as Santos and Mohan look at her, surprised. “Meredith Grey was my queer awakening, so..” she offers.
Mohan smiles. “Derek Shepherd was mine.”
“Of course it was,” says Santos, and Mohan gives her a look, then rolls her eyes. “Whatever, come on, finish up.” She squeezes Mel’s shoulder, “Best of luck Mel,” and goes back to her computer.
Santos groans at Mel’s phone. “Did you intentionally pick only the worst pictures of yourself?”
“Hey, is that the Fort Pitt museum?” Langdon has appeared out of nowhere, and they both jump.
Santos sighs, muttering, “Wear a bell or something, Jesus Christ,” and swiftly resumes charting. Langdon doesn’t seem to take the bait, simply smiles politely at Mel, and heads back to wherever he was going beforehand.
He’s been like that recently, Mel thinks; sort of scurrying in and out of conversations and interactions, always ready to flee the scene. Maybe it’s because he’s on night shift all the time now, and she just doesn’t get to see him that much anyways save for the first and last few hours of a shift; he never goes home on time.
“And, I am finally done. HUCKLEBERRY!”
She says her goodbyes to Whittaker and Santos, and turns down the offer of a car ride, because Becca said to call her after work, and the heat is too oppressive to get immediately into a car. The ambulance bay is strangely peaceful.
“Hey!”
“Hey Mel.” Thankfully, Becca seems to at least be at Middle Hill; she’s pretty sure it’s arts and crafts night.
“How are you?”
Becca is giving her nothing. “Good. How are you?”
“I’m good, work was pretty chill today, we had a crazy car accident though, like two hours before the end of shift, this guy had-”
“That’s cool.”
Mel pauses. “I wanted to tell you again, how sorry I am about last week. I should never have yelled at you like that, and you don’t have to tell me things you don’t want to. I just.. I just I was hurt, and scared that I’d unintentionally let you get hurt or something.”
Becca pauses, her face giving nothing away. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And, and Adam sounds really nice. I’d love to meet him soon.” It’s well overdue, she thinks, given that you’ve been with him for six months.
Becca frowns and looks away. “I told you that I wanted my own life, Mel. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but- I knew you’d freak out, and you did, and I just.. I wanted something for myself. Why can’t you just find a boy to kiss?”
Once again, her sister has speared the whole issue in three sentences.
“Well, you know, I’m actually-”
‘Why haven’t you just kissed Dr Langdon?” Becca seems to say this sentence ten decibels louder, and, oh Christ, speak of the devil, Langdon is walking through the emergency doors.
Mel scrambles. “Becca,” she hisses, “Dr Langdon is married.”
“I don’t care!” Becca hisses back. Oh, and he’s seen her. “Okay, I’ve gotta go, am I picking you up tonight?”
“No, I think I wanna stay at Middle Hill tonight.”
Mel swallows. “Okay, love you,” and quickly hangs up.
“Hey,” says Langdon, “What are you doing out here?”
“Oh, um, I was just giving Becca a quick call..”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I can go somewhere else-”
“No, no she’s fine, um.. You’re fine.”
“Okay, cool.” He was polite enough to ignore the first time Becca ratted her hero-worship crush out to him, she can’t take another humiliation from her sister today.
“What are you doing out here?”, and Langdon sighs, gives her a guilty smile, and pulls out a carton of cigarettes.
“Oh.” So he smokes now. He looks at her looking at him light one, and sighs again. “Long day.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” They stand in silence for a few minutes, and he’s taking a drag when Mel realises what’s missing.
“Hey, your wedding ring-” Langdon seems to clock it himself, and as she’s about to list off potential places it could be, he immediately covers his face with his hands and groans.
“Oh..” Once again, she’s put her foot in it. “So, you’re-”
“Divorced? Basically, yeah,” he lets out a dry chuckle, “We tried for a while after rehab, but, um, yeah I signed the papers this morning. Agreed on custody and everything, I’m moving into a new place next month.”
Mel doesn’t know much about his (ex?) wife, other than her name is Abby, which was also the name of one of her bullies in middle school, and that Abby never left Virginia and was now almost certainly involved in an MLM.
“Oh my God, that’s awful, I’m - I’m so sorry,” but Langdon shakes his head.
“Don’t be. It was probably a long time coming.” Mel is silent, so he continues. “I haven’t been wearing it outside of work for a week or two now. I didn't see the point in keeping up appearances.”
“Appearances?”
“Yeah, you know: ‘Oh shit, he’s back from rehab,’ versus, ‘Oh shit, he’s back from rehab and his marriage has fallen apart.’ One rumour mill at a time.”
“Oh, I’m sure nobody’s noticed, I mean, loads of doctors don’t wear their wedding rings in the ER for hygiene reasons..” but Langdon is vigorously shaking his head.
“No, they’ve noticed. Jesus, I’m only here two hours and I think this shift might be worse than when Robby busted me last year. Everyone keeps fucking staring.”
These are not conversations him and Mel usually have, and Mel is struggling to keep up.
“Before you know it, Garcia will be riding me about my divorced dad apartment, and the EMTS will have a betting pool on when I’m going to relapse, because marrying my college sweetheart and being a family man was the only likeable thing about me-”
“Hey, that’s not true-”
“Why would they like me? I’m the doctor that went to work high and tried to get Santos fired so nobody else would think I was going to work high.”
Mel frowns. “You tried to get Santos fired?”
Langdon freezes. “I thought she would’ve told you..” Mel stares at him.
“My last day here.. She knew something was up, she noticed that the vials were off-”
“The vials?” Huh. So he was stealing drugs. She’d heard whispers about it during his absence but out of loyalty had chosen to ignore them.
Langdon sighs. “I got fired because I was stealing benzo vials from the ER. Robby chose not to rat me out.”
“Oh.”
Langdon is fidgeting with his lighter. “I wanted to tell you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“... Because, you were the only person who was happy to have me back, and you said you didn’t want me to leave..”
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have told me…” Mel is wringing her hands.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready to lose your good opinion of me, I guess.” Mel is silent, processing all of it. He’d said he was never high at work, but even he doesn’t seem to be keeping that lie up anymore. She’d seen people pushed to monstrous limits in the VA from addiction, she knows how badly and how quickly it can take over someone’s life. It’s disorienting to hear all the same, from someone she’d built up so quickly in her head.
“So,” he says after what feels like ten minutes of silence, “Have I let you down? Actually, never mind, I shouldn’t have said that, you don’t have to answer that..”
Mel considers the question. “Hmm. You should probably be nicer to Santos, but, no, I don’t think you’ve let me down.”
“Really?”
“I’ve told you this before, you never let me down- I mean, I wish you would’ve told me all of it, but I- I like having you around. I still do.”
Langdon is staring at her and Mel worries she’s chosen the wrong dialog option. He quickly bridges the distance between them and kisses her hard. His hands are gentle on her neck and she can smell the antibacterial handwash, and she can taste the smoke, and before she can decide how she feels about the whole thing he’s pulling away from her, muttering “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done that, fuuuuuck.”
Oh well, great, Mel thinks. Love it when that happens.
“I’m sorry, my therapist said this could happen,” Langdon is running his hands through his hair, “Transference, being isolated, in a vulnerable position after the end of my marriage, yada yada, I’m not even supposed to be dating or that stuff until I’m at least a year sober, that really wasn’t cool, I’m sorry-”
“How long do you have left?” Mel blurts, and Langdon is taken aback.
“Six months.”
“Oh,” Mel squeaks. She certainly can’t wait that long.
Santos told her once that Garcia treated Santos as little more than a sexual stress toy, and while Mel imagined that must have made Santos feel bad about herself, in this moment Mel would gladly trade places.
“Are you okay? Mel? I’m sorry, I-”
“No, that’s okay, I’m okay, I mean. What your therapist said makes sense.” Feeling both high and deflated at the same time, she attempts a joke. “Santos is trying to, uh, get me back out there, so.. Thanks for the confidence boost, I guess.”
Langdon smiles. “I saw the Tinder profile.”
“Oh, yeah you did! I’m sorry I meant to tell you: it was the Fort Pitt museum. We went down there after Becca got accepted into Middle Hill, we made a whole day of it. You have a good eye.” And a nice face, she thinks absentmindedly, looking again at the lips that have kissed her.
He grins. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, I need to go back there sometime soon. Best of luck on Tinder. I’m sure there are loads of sober un-divorced guys without a shitton of baggage who can show you a better time.” He fidgets, looks towards the doors.
“I should probably head back..” The subtlety and kindness of his rejection makes it sting even more.
“Oh, of course,” and he’s walking back the way he came, and she’s watching him.
Mel has two options, she thinks: she can delete Tinder, and pine away for Langdon, who so obviously cannot give her what she wants, and things will roughly stay the same, except she’ll be sad about the one friend she’s made at the Pitt (Trinity might be a second, but it’s too soon to tell). Or, she makes the best of it, and the whole thing becomes a distant memory shared only occasionally between her and her Hitachi.
“Hey!” Langdon looks back at her. Mel’s hands are clammy and she’s wringing them senseless. “Would you, uh, would you like to be friends? Like, actual friends I mean, like.. We send each other niche memes and occasionally hang out outside of work friends?” Langdon looks down, smiles, and looks back to her.
“Yes, I would love to be your friend.”
“Okay, great! You can, uh, follow me on Instagram, it’s just my name and last name and 1234, so, yeah you’ll find me..”
He laughs, “Okay, sounds good.”
“Okay.” She realises she’s beaming at him like an idiot. “Okay. Okay. Bye, Dr Langdon!”
“Frank, you can call me Frank. We’re friends now after all.”
“Okay, Frank.
“Okay, Mel.”
Frank. Frank Langdon. She mutters his name at the bus stop, testing it out. It sounds like the name of a male love interest in an Austen novel. Sturdy and reliable-sounding, like a farmer or something.
That night, as she watches the BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice for the third week in a row, Frank Langdon requests to follow her on Instagram, and sends her a meme about scurvy. She still feels lonely, but it’s nice to have a friend.