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By the end of her first year as a tech at PTMC, Mel has solid end-of-shift routine. She drinks the four ounces left in her water bottle, says goodbye to the charge nurse, and then, unless Dr. Langdon happens to be at one of the computers at the main hub, she does a loop of the department. It's subtle enough, easily passed off as taking one last lap to make sure the blanket warmers are full and none of the rooms need to be flipped; it isn't that she's looking for him, just leaving the opportunity for them to bump into each other.
Tonight, she spots him in one of the smaller rooms, pulling a length of suture out of its plastic card, various tools set out on an instrument tray beside him. His patient, a middle aged man, appears to be sleeping, although Mel knows better; he'll only wake when the alcohol gets out of his system. After hovering at the threshold for a moment, Mel knocks lightly on the doorframe. "Goodnight, Dr. Langdon," she says when he looks up, raising her hand in a little wave. "I'm heading out."
He smiles. "You here tomorrow?"
"Yes—eleven to eleven."
"Good." Looking back at the patient, then up at Mel again, he asks in a lowered voice with a wry twist of a smile on his lips, "You wanna stitch this guy up?"
Mel frowns. "Oh, I can't—"
"You'll be doing it next year once you're in school," Dr. Langdon urges, "and it never hurts to get a head start." After a pause where Mel doesn't say anything, he adds, "No pressure, though, if you're uncomfortable with it."
"No, I'm—" Shaking her head, Mel steps fully into the room, making sure the curtain is closed behind her. "I can do it."
"That's my girl." Dr. Langdon beckons her to his side. "First things first—you feel dizzy, nauseated, anything feels off at all, you put everything down and tell me, okay? The last thing I want is for you to get hurt."
Mel swallows against a dry throat. "I will."
"Good. Now—your tools." He picks up the first one, which looks like scissors but with a flat end instead of a blade. "This is the needle driver, named such because you are using it to drive"—he makes a smooth, curving gesture with his wrist—"the needle through the skin. And these are forceps." He lifts a pair of tweezers and clicks the tips together a few times. "They're for moving the skin around and loading the needle back in the driver. We're gonna do what's called a no-touch technique, meaning that you never touch the needle with your fingers. You with me?"
Mel nods. "Don't touch the needle."
"It's not intuitive, but it's safer, and I'm not gonna have you making any bad habits on my watch. Needlestick injuries are a pain in the ass to deal with. I had to—" Dr. Langdon cuts himself off, abruptly pressing his lips together with a little shake of his head, his hair falling across his forehead. "Never mind. They're more annoying than anything. That being said, you'll probably see me pick up the needle with my fingers, but I'm old enough to make bad decisions." Dr. Langdon catches her eye, an almost amused expression on his face; Mel looks down.
He gives a quick overview of the needle type and the suture material but the names and numbers don't stick in Mel's head for long—she's too focused on looking at his eyes or the materials while he talks—really, anything but his mouth. This is the first time she's been so close to him, practically shoulder to shoulder, and she can't stop noticing the details of his face: the start of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the way his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, the barely-visible scar on his chin.
When he finishes, he says, "I'll do the first stitch so you can see how it's done, and then I'll help you with the rest."
Mel watches. Dr. Langdon narrates as he goes, talking about the size of the bite he takes through the skin, how to pull the right amount of tension, the number of throws it takes to make a secure knot. The whole process is elegant and over far too soon, the laceration now neatly bisected with a single black stitch.
"Ready to give it a shot?"
She is, but she isn't ready for Dr. Langdon to strip his gloves off and hold his hand up, facing her. Hesitantly, she raises her own hand as if to swear an oath and he presses their palms together. Mel holds her breath.
"Probably best this guy has you putting him back together—you've got nice small hands. Good for delicate work," Dr. Langdon says, going to the cabinet of supplies by the wall and sifting through a drawer. Mel takes a moment to just breathe, fingers twisted together as she stares at the patient in front of her; it occurs to her that this whole thing is less than ethical, but on the other hand, Dr. Langdon does always point out that this is a teaching hospital.
Before he joins her back at the bedside, Dr. Langdon walks past her and slides both the curtain and the door closed; the sounds of the ER disappear and it's just the two of them—again, and the patient, who Mel realizes she doesn't even know the name of.
"Technically you don't need to use sterile gloves for this," Langdon explains as he opens a packet and unfolds it onto the table. "The literature's pretty clear that for simple lacs in healthy patients, regular exam gloves are fine. That being said"—he takes a pump of sanitizer from the wall and rubs it into his hands, nodding for Mel to do the same—"I like the sterile ones. Have you worn them before?"
Mel shakes her head—when the doctors do sterile procedures, her job is to stay out of the way.
"Another first for you, then. I feel like they give me more control, plus"—he meets Mel's gaze, corners of his eyes crinkling again with a smile—"I just think it feels better. You'll see."
He walks her through the process of putting the gloves on, donning his own side-by-side with her. She's seen him snap at students—rarely, to be fair—but when she screws up the second glove, he just says, "That's fine—toss 'em and open a new pair." Once she's got them on, he looks at her expectantly. "How's that feel? Not too tight?"
Mel flexes her fingers. "No, it's—it's good."
"See what I mean about it feeling different?"
"They're…thicker than I was expecting." She runs her index finger down the back of her hand. "And tighter. Like a second layer of skin."
"That's why I like them. Some of the literature looked at doing it without any gloves at all, but that's a little too ballsy even for me." Shifting positions, he steps back and gestures for Mel to stand at the bedside. "Okay, so—you stand here. Whenever you're ready, pick up the needle driver." She does, putting her fingers through the holes like she would with scissors. "That's how I do it," he says, reaching around her, "but a lot of people like to palm it. May I?"
She hands it over, watching as Dr. Langdon clicks it open and closed with just the muscles of his palm. "It takes practice, but it makes it easier to pick up and put down. The scissor grip gives you better control." He goes back to the way he'd held it earlier. "Sensing a theme here? About how I like to do things?"
Dr. Langdon's arms are a solid bracket around her, and while his chest isn't right up against her back, she can feel the heat of his body. Only because he's out of sight, Mel finds it in herself to say, "I like when you're in control."
"Oh?"
It's entirely possible that Dr. Langdon can feel her blush from where he is, even the back of her neck going hot. "It's just"—she falters—"I like watching you when something big happens. You always know what to do, it's—I don't know—"
He only lets Mel flounder for a moment before saying, "Can I tell you a secret?" Mel nods. "I've been doing this for—how old are you?"
"Twenty-three."
Dr. Langdon lets out disbelieving breath of a laugh. "Christ. I've been doing this as long as you've been alive and there are still things that scare the shit out of me."
"Like what?"
Dr. Langdon's quiet for a moment before answering, "I did a closed cervical reduction a few years ago—basically realigning someone's neck to get pressure off the spinal cord, and if you don't do it perfectly, you paralyze the patient. I'd done it before, the patient did well, but my hands were shaking for hours after." He takes a deep breath, lets it out with a whoosh, and continues, "But your hands look nice and steady, so pick up your tools."
Mel does, and it's like she's watching it happen to someone else; Dr. Langdon makes a small adjustment to her grip, then puts his hand over hers. "Loosen up a little," he says, shaking her hand slightly. "I'll do all the work for you on this one so you get a feel for the movement."
There's no way in the world for Mel not to be tense with Dr. Langdon's arms around her, bicep pressed to her shoulder, but she follows his instructions, wiggling her toes to get her energy out elsewhere. "Okay."
"There we go." Dr. Langdon guides her through the motions, talking to her all the while; he's taller enough than her that he's not quite against her ear, but she can still feel his breath in her hair. A few strands are already loose after the long day, and she tilts her head slightly, trying to get them out of the way without using her hands. Once Dr. Langdon walks her through the final knot and has her trim the extra suture material, he strips off one of his gloves and tucks her hair behind her ear. "Better?"
She nods; Dr. Langdon looks at her other side and tucks a wisp of hair behind that ear, too—it hadn't been enough for Mel to notice, but the gesture is appreciated all the same. Seemingly satisfied, he goes to the other side of the room to get a nitrile glove. "I'm just supervising at this point," he says as he works it onto his hand. "All you for this next one."
With Dr. Langdon talking her through each step, Mel copies the previous movements as best as she can; sometimes, he adjusts her position, with a gentle but intentional hand over hers. Her first solo stitch looks significantly less elegant that the one they'd done together, but Dr. Langdon praises her all the same, and Mel's mouth spreads into a small, satisfied smile.
After her second stitch, she sets her tools down and flexes her fingers. "Dr. Langdon?"
"You okay?" Even as Mel nods, Dr. Langdon takes a step to the side, leaning in until he meets her eye, his expression intent. "You need a break?"
Mel shakes her head. "I don't need a break. I just—I have a question."
Visibly relaxing, Dr. Langdon steps back into his spot behind her. "Alright, hit me."
"Why did you say that needle sticks are annoying?" she asks. "I'd be so scared."
"Oh, your first one is always terrifying, but the end of the day, remember: we can treat hep C, you've got the vaccine for hep B, and we've got PEP to keep you from getting HIV."
"So is it annoying because you've had to do it a bunch of times?"
Dr. Langdon takes a moment before replying. "It's annoying because you've gotta spend the next month behaving as if you have whatever it is you were exposed to."
Mel frowns, still not understanding.
"I shouldn't have said anything." Dr. Langdon lets out a low laugh. "It's nothing."
Shifting her weight on her feet, Mel wiggles her toes in an attempt to burn off the familiar feeling in her chest, the frustrated flush crawling up her neck. A little unhappy sound escapes the back of her throat, and Dr. Langdon asks, "Everything okay?"
"I hate when people do that," she says, refusing to look at him directly. "Say something and then say 'never mind' when I don't get it right away."
Dr. Langdon takes a breath, then nods. "I'm sorry. I just—maybe don't tell anyone we had this conversation." He pauses. "Especially HR."
Mel shakes her head once, firmly. "I won't."
"Basically, it means that even if you got a vasectomy after your second kid," he says in a lowered voice, hesitating almost as if he hopes Mel will understand and keep him from having to say the rest, "it's back to using condoms until the one-month retest."
"Oh."
"Anyway. Just something to bear in mind." Clearing his throat, Dr. Langdon gestures for her to keep going. "Two more should do it."
Mel's grateful to have a task to focus on rather than on the thought of Dr. Langdon and his faceless wife having sex. He doesn't talk about her much, usually only if he's talking about his kids, and Mel likes it that way—Abby Langdon exists outside of this place, but in here, Mel can chase Dr. Langdon's attention without it feeling like a competition.
She places four sutures in total, each one a little easier than the last, and finally sets her tools down on the tray and stretches her fingers out. "Good job," Dr. Langdon says, leaning over her shoulder to inspect her work. "You're a natural."
His chest is against her back now, and while Mel has room to shy away, she does the opposite, leaning back slightly to press against him. She turns her head to the side, not enough to get more than a peripheral glimpse of him, but hopefully enough for him to see her small smile. "I had a good teacher."
"If you ever want another private lesson," he says, stepping back and letting Mel turn to face him, "I run the sim lab for the residents, so I can get us in after hours."
Mel's heart skips. "Yes." She nods, perhaps a little too eagerly. "Please."
"How's Thursday night look?"
If she has a shift that day, she'll call out. "I can do that."
"Great. We can do dinner first, but bring scrubs to change into." Mel frowns, brows together in question. "We keep things as realistic as possible in sim—practice how you play, you know?" She nods. "I wouldn't want you to make a mess of a nice outfit."
When Dr. Langdon smiles, there's something almost sly about it and Mel blushes so deeply and instantly that she worries she might pass out. "Mhm," she says, a squeak of a sound as she nods quickly. "Okay."
"Good. Now get outta here—you can probably still catch some daylight." While Mel takes off her gloves, Dr. Langdon starts cleaning up, holding the needle by the string and dropping it into the sharps box on the wall.
"Thank you," Mel says, hovering with her hand on the curtain. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow. And Mel?"
"Mhm?"
Dr. Langdon looks over his shoulder at her. "I don't have to tell you this is our little secret, right?"
Mel fights to contain her smile and loses, looking down at her shoes. "Our secret," she says, and when Dr. Langdon goes back to his task, she watches him for a moment before slipping out.