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Yoyo comes to find him on a secluded part of the roof, after their shift. Somewhere only one of their kind could access. A small way for PTMC to offer them a little bit of privacy. A thank you for their continued presence here, despite everything.
She sits with him, two cans of over-sugared tea in her hands. As close to the edge as they can. They’ve always loved dangling too close to the edge a bit too much. Him, and her and B.
“How it’s going?” Frank shrugs, placid in his answer.
“As good as can be. The old girl is doing her best to help” he says, tapping the ground he is sitting on with a deep fondness. “She feels guilty.”
“Well, she did overwhelm you.”
“Yeah, but what was she supposed to do? They’re not… it's like they're not hearing her. Not Robby. Not Abbot. Certainly not the newbies. How could they? When no one is attuned enough to teach them?” And you know how it is, the ED always gets the worst of it, it goes with the impossibility to know what to expect.”
They sit there, saying nothing, for a while, drinking in their tea and each other’s presence, the relief of being three once more, of not having to shoulder the responsibilities for the old Lady on their own, separated and far from one another, unmistakable. Frank is the one to break the silence first.
“Sometimes I wonder if Adamson knew. If he failed to teach that to Robby or if she was already screaming for help at that point.”
Yoyo says nothing. It is not the first time one of them has raised that question.
Brendon joins them not long after, having changed into his street clothes and bringing a refill of drinks with him. When he loops an arm around their youngest and tugs him against his chest, Frank doesn’t resist, instead relishing in the sturdy support and the familiar cologne. He has missed this.
Missed their little hangout on top of the girl, just shedding the hard day away, lulled into a light slumber by PTMC’s low rumbling, sometimes entertaining themselves by observing the little forms coming and going down, down on the ground, playing guessing games as to who they might be.
B and Yoyo visiting him during rehab had been a sad thing. Frank had refused to see them at first. Too ashamed of how low he had fallen to be able to face them, too certain the only thing he would find there would be disappointment. That slow, agonizing wound of having once been perceived as worth something and now relegated to the broken toys chest. And even when they had gotten through to him that this wasn’t what he was to them and never would be… Rehab was still rehab. It had left Frank exhausted and sick more often than not.
(Robby would never know, but Frank had needed to be hospitalized then. The first attempt to wean him off the benzos had sent his already highly distressed body into a spin. His vitals had dropped so fast the center had panicked and called Mercy’s emergencies. He had spent two weeks there, four days under complete sedation.
After that, the speed of his tapering schedule had been divided by two, then three. Until months had gone by and Frank had barely been at the halfway point. Robby thinks he took his time home before coming back, and he doesn't see the point in telling him otherwise.)
Coming back here, not just sober but more importantly alive, and as healthy as the Lady could let him be, was Frank’s biggest win. Even if the only people to know that were the two surgeons still standing by his side.
Xxxx
Jack sees the three of them leave that night. Yolanda Garcia, Park “the Shark” and Frank Langdon. An odd group, for sure. Although they’d always made it work.
He remembers the first time the Shark had come down for a consultation to meet Langdon, then a R1. On a night shift at that. Jack isn’t very proud to admit it, but he, Shen and Ellis had thrown the newbie at him, bets already made on how the poor guy would handle the encounter. He’d expected threats, he’d expected alpha posturing and intimidation, the way he has seen the Shark do with countless of residents over the years, even when he was one himself.
The way he’d acted, and was still acting, with Whitaker.
Instead, the surgeon had softened. Not much. Nearly imperceptibly. But softened he had. And Frank Langdon, fresh from med school, soft around the edge like he hasn’t been in a long time, had smiled brightly at the terrifying Ortho surgeon, like kindred recognizing kindred. If there ever was a day (or rather night) where they witnessed Park the Shark dabbling into favoritism, it would be this night.
The man had thrown a sharp smirk their way before positioning himself on Langdon’s side, nearly plastering himself to the younger man, and proceeding to manually guide him through a maneuver no resident this fresh had any business being taught!
He’d left with the patient, but not before outing them to their recruit. “Langdon!” he’d called back, all smug and smarmy while gesturing towards Jack and his faithful cronies. “These three owe you a year's worth of drinks. Don’t let them forget it.”
Then it had been Yolanda Garcia, and Emery Walsh, although the two of them never grew quite the same bond he shared with the Shark and his “Yoyo”. And by the time Langdon had reached his R2, his reputation was made. He was, officially, the Surgeons’ Whisperer.
Xxxx
Once Robby is gone, it feels like Park is everywhere.
Jack catches sight of his back when he leaves the ED more often than he ever has in the past four years.
In one of these rare moments when he is at the Pitt during day shift, he finds the man talking in low voices with Langdon in the ambulance bay, surprised by their proximity.
Park is leaning into Langdon's personal space like it is a normal thing for them, one of his hands resting on the resident waist with a familiarity that makes something squirm uncomfortably in his guts. Even more so when Langdon himself leans back into the surgeon’s broad chest without even looking or asking for permission, showing him something on his phone while sporting a dubious look.
“Dr Abbot?”
Jack doesn't startle at Al-Hashimi’s enquiring voice. Not at all.
She follows his gaze, softening. “Ah. I was wondering where these two had gone.”
“Is that usual for them?” Jack has to admit he is a bit taken aback by how easily she seems to take in the interaction going on a few feet from them. Has he really missed that much? Al-Hashimi’s tilt of the head certainly seems to point to it.
“Certainly. For all the biting they exchange on the floor, they can often be found together. Or with Dr Garcia. Is that really news to you? I thought it was a rather historical thing, with the way they've been acting around each other.”
Jack shrugs, somewhat off-kilter. “Guess being on nights has made me a bit more oblivious to what's going on in the day shift than I thought.”
“Surprising” she hums, and says nothing more, although she is looking at him with a curious frown, as if she expected him to be more in the know. Some instinct tells him this isn't just about Park and Langdon's closeness, but the woman doesn't seem keen on sharing more.
Then he remembers the spat that blew out between Santos and Garcia the day after Langdon's return. The woman had apparently watched the fireworks on the roof of the clinic with Langdon and Park, and she'd posted a photo on some social media or another. Something about finally getting her little brother back, with a picture of the three of them looking exhausted and slouched onto the ground with cans of juice and water between them all.
Santos had gone absolutely berserk at having been dumped for the man.
Garcia had turned icier than one of the Pole at her absolutely, unforgivingly inappropriate comment about relapses.
She had not been the only one.
It had been a bad day for more than one person, as the surgeon, now definitely fed up with what she’d dubbed their ‘ER bullshit’, had proceeded to rip them all a new one, new Chief attending included, before storming out of there. She had refused to answer any other demands that day and they had found themselves having to deal with Park instead, who had been in a worse mood than ever.
Langdon had done his best to make himself scarce but had still found himself having to talk to Al-Hashimi at the end of the day. The woman had caught up to him after a trauma, as he and Mel King were discussing how her sister was doing, somewhat shame-faced and had asked for a moment of his time.
Jack only remembers thinking that she really needed to make up her mind as to how she was treating the poor man. First welcoming, then snipping and now beseeching? No wonder Langdon had looked like a confused deer!
Still, he’d agreed, and as far as Jack was aware of, his relationship with Al-Hashimi had been a cordial one since then.
Xxxx
Frank had learnt about Al-Hashimi’s seizures the moment he stepped foot into the Pitt.
She is new, and supposed to take over while Robby flees across the country. She is an unknown, and the old girl is worried. She broadcasts her situation to him as soon as he arrives, not even a ‘hello’ or a ‘welcome back’ before she throws a medical condition at him. Frank would scold her for the terrible invasion of privacy if his brain was not so busy coping with the sheer weight of information being dropped on him after ten months away from the place.
While he could still feel PTMC, while he was still connected to her despite the distance, it is a very different thing from being back into the Pitt, into her heart. And the Lady has been trying to give him the time off he needed to heal.
It takes him a week or two before he can broach the subject with the new attending. Something, or someone, has rattled her rather badly and Frank has a good idea as to who that might be. Between Al-Hashimi's personal issues and the ones she had with him, she has several seizures before he has the opportunity to assess her.
But then… She has a seizure in the middle of a trauma. And Frank knows he has to act quickly. Knows just asking the Pitt to drag her out of this is not going to be an option. So he takes a breath, braces himself, and moves ever so slightly to brush against her without attracting attention, thankful for Yoyo’s presence as the woman starts insulting everyone around to cover for him. Just in time! As he drags Al-Hashimi out of her state, the connection laying a path for the Pitt to compensate for her absences but also leaving her open to Frank’s own pain.
Inevitable with such a quick job, unfortunately. The resident wishes he could have offered her an easier introduction into the truth of the place, but traumas don’t wait, and neither does the Lady.
Not anymore.
She’d waited after Robby. She’d waited after Abbot. After Collins and Shen and Ellis, even after Mohan. She’d waited to be heard until she’d nearly destroyed Frank. She isn’t waiting anymore.
And Frank really, really hopes Abbot is going to open his senses sometime soon! Because the battering she is laying against him is something to behold! And the resident does not want to witness the results if he denies her for too long.
He does not want to be the one picking up the pieces. Therapy is not going to be enough if Abbot doesn’t wake up soon.
Xxxx
She finds him, at the end of their shift. She comes to him, deeply disturbed by what she is experiencing, her understanding of the world that surrounds her unequivocally changed. Altered forever.
The fact that her first question is about him. About his pain level and the terrible strain she only had a glimpse of during their exchange tells him exactly why his Lady thought her a worthy candidate. It does not even occur to her to enquire about what the Pitt can do for her seizures, despite the incredible sleight of hand they just pulled on her.
“Dr Al-Hashimi” he interrupts her, not without kindness. “Why don’t we discuss this around a drink? There is a nice coffee shop not too far from here, and I am sure you have plenty of questions. I promise, I will answer them to the best of my abilities.”
She studies him for a long time, her keen eyes taking in every one of his twitches, and already adapting to the second view the Pitt is providing her. Finally, she nods. “Alright. But before we go any further… Is there anything I can do for you?”
Frank stills at the genuine care bleeding through her tone. It has been a long time since someone has asked him that with a real desire to help. To alleviate his pain. Yoyo and B stopped a long time ago, too aware of the state of his body to dare voice it. What was the point anyway? It’s not like they had a solution.
A part of him, the one born from instincts and reflexes, from years of being unheard and learning to simply hide it, nearly tells her no. No, there is nothing you can do. I am not allowed the one thing that used to bring me relief. Ironic, how bringing up his addiction has become easier than letting people in.
Instead he says, offering her a small smile “You might already be doing exactly what I need.” Then, as they are leaving the place for the day, he catches sight of Mel and invites to tag along. Al-Hashimi throws him a confused look but says nothing. Frank knows Mel is sometimes better at explaining these things than he is. Feeling the Pitt, connecting with her had been a natural thing for him, as easy as breathing, as simple as moving. His understanding of her instinctual, from the moment he had stepped foot in this ED, they had been one.
But this also puts him at a disadvantage in that occasion, and Mel, who’d felt the consciousness behind the place, who’d understood there was something more to the Pitt but had had to wait for him to come back to be able to connect, who’d had to learn might be better placed to answer some of their attending’s questions.
Xxxx
The next time Jack stumbles upon Langdon and the Shark is during one of the R4’s nights.
He finds them eating together in the breakroom at 3 fucking am during one of Langdon's shift. The smell of spices and braised meat wafting from the re-heated tupperware they are sharing. He doesn't get the time to ponder on this as Garcia storms through the ER, screaming bloody murder about food thieves and Langdon immediately throws Park under the bus.
He beats a hasty retreat before the woman throws him in with the two culprits.
At the end of the month, he stumbles on the three of them in the park as night is settling in. They've got a portable cooler settled on the ground. Park is sitting with his back to the bench, with Langdon sprawled against his chest and Garcia lounging on the bench.
Then, a few weeks later, he enters South 12 as the night shift is taking over and gets an eyeful of Langdon's long legs in fucking Park the Shark’s hands!
Langdon's painted grimace is the only reason he doesn't jump to conclusion right away. Still, he feels like he has to ask.
“I don't want to assume-”
“Then don't.” Comes Park’s immediate retort. God, the man is still an unbearable asshole! He doesn't even look at him! Still focused on moving Langdon’s leg with slow and precise movement, taking his time at each hisses from the man.
“Shouldn't that be the work of a PT?”
“Shouldn't you be out there, handling handover?”
“Langdon can talk for himself I think” he fires back, irritation now gaining him. Just in time for Park to touch on a bad spot which sends the ED resident into a full body flinch.
Jack narrows his eyes, ready to intervene. But Langdon only turns a sheepish smile towards him. “Sorry about…” his hand hovers around Park and the veteran takes the unsaid him, smirking. “We'll give you the room back soon.”
“Now get out Abbot. Or have you never heard about patient’s confidentiality?”
Jack makes his retreat, recognizing the dismissal for what it is. Still, he can't help but wonder. And worry. He'd known about Langdon's back, but he has never heard anything about him having trouble with his legs.
What is the man hiding now?
Between Al-Hashimi doing another 180 and the surgeons’ prowling all over the ED, Jack doesn’t even last a month before he takes to texting Robby, needing an outlet for all the weird shit he is stumbling into every other day.
Xxxx
Did you know Park and Langdon knew each other? Like, really knew each other. Found them cosying up pretty nicely this afternoon.
I feel like Al-Hashimi is in with them on some kind of joke. Can't explain her behavior any other way.
Brother. Brother come back. Whitaker just decided he would try to be a man by going after Langdon! The kid has been trying to snip at him for the most ridiculous reasons. What is possessing him?!
Robby? Brother, answer. Did you leave photos of Langdon lying around at your place? Is that why Whitaker is acting like a pissy chihuahua? For God’s sake the kid is going to get eaten alive!
Are they in a cult? This has to be a cult.
Ok, they're frightening me. Fuck that, they're frightening Shen! I don't want to see the three of them working on a case together ever again. They're the triplet version of the Shining twins!
If I am a dinosaur, I’d like to know what Langdon and King are! Who is Captain Scurvy? Why are they talking about lobotomy like it's a viable option?
They told Al-Hashimi they'd wear me down for next month's symposium. Parker heard them talk about going Fabian strategies. WHAT THE FUCK ARE FABIAN STRATEGIES?
ROBBY! You never told me your favorite was INSANE? Why did you never tell me Langdon was insane?!
Xxxx
He comes across Langdon on the roof, once. Takes the opportunity to check in with him. He hasn’t had much time, what’s with Robby fucking off on his sabbatical and the ED still running, but he has been wanting to do this for a while now.
In the days to come, the months even, he will be haunted by their conversation.
At first because it doesn’t make any sense, and if Langdon had not had to piss in a cup just before coming here he would have thought him drugged up to the gills!
But no.
No, Langdon is clean and he talks about the Pitt, about PTMC, like it is sentient!
He doesn’t seem to care much about Jack’s disbelief either, scoffing at the cutting tone the veteran responds to his nonsense, not even dignifying an answer to his comment about benzos having fucked up his brain. No. He looks at Jack like he hadn’t expected anything else from him. Like he had known Jack would let him down and is still disappointed by the proof of it. Like Jack is the one falling short.
Jack bristles, every part of him wanting to lash out! Frank doesn’t give him the chance.
"You're not listening Jack. Then again, neither is Robby, or Dana. You've all stopped listening to the old girl."
The R4 isn’t looking at him. His hand is running over the asphalt, fingers tracing idle patterns into the ground, his gaze unfocused, far away, head cocked to the side as if he is concentrating onto something. Something that is out of Jack's reach.
For a wild second the stress of the Pitt, the weight of carrying it all on his shoulders in his best friend’s absence is too much and the veteran feels the urge to push him! To grab him and tell him to get a grip on himself! To stop being a liability for their Department, a stain on Robby’s life, a parasite who refuses to leave!!
His heart stutters and at first, he thinks it’s his anger speaking. Then one painful thud turns into a second! His third comes too long after, his fourth too close! His breath falters, turning into ragged gasps, his view darkens, turning from white to grey, then back to white. A signal in his knees tells him something has changed but he can’t parse what!
“Enough.”
The order comes, clear, cutting through the fog in his head, unyielding. As quickly as it started, everything stops.
When he can see once more, Jack finds himself on his knees, one of his hands gripping the railing in a white-knuckle grip. He is shaking all over.
Frank, still seated in front of him, doesn’t exhibit any sign of worry at what just happened, only reiterating a soft “Enough girl.”
He waits for Jack to gather his wits back. For the veteran to stop quivering all over, to take a deep breath and center himself. Then his eyes find the attending’s. Deep, unnaturally bright blue eyes. And his voice is layered when he speaks, like a faulty stereo.
"I am not Robby's heir, Abbot. I never was. I am hers.”
He leaves Jack there. With his fears and his interrogations. Lost, questioning everything he thought he knew about the place. Everything he knew about the world.
Not ready to face the truth.
Not yet.
Xxxx
Robby comes back to a Pitt that has learnt to function without him. Where some tensions are still there, and others are not. Where the game of chairs that is most trusted (read: favorite) residents and best-to-call in case of disaster has yet again changed. Somehow once more in Langdon’s favor.
How the fuck did that happen?!
He decides there and then that there are things he needs to do. People he must talk to.
One of them being Langdon.
If only he could get his hands on the man without someone stepping in!
He doesn't think much of it at first. After all, the ED is always busy and they are rarely on their own, always in the company of a fellow doctor or a nurse. That's just how it works.
But then one attempt turns into two, two turn into three, and on and on and on. And at every turn Robby finds himself thwarted!
Cassie comes around the corner to wish him a safe return and by the time she is done Frank has already entered a patient room.
Robby catches sight of him across the hub as he takes a look at the board but he is hailed by Dana before he can even try to approach the younger man. He calls him over, knowing full well Frank would not dare refuse his order, and Trinity Santos (of all people!) appears to dump a new case on the resident, looking all too annoyed at the fact she has to do that.
Then it is Jesse who takes Frank's attention, talking about tox results and an invitation for coffee at the end of the day, and Mel who launches into a philosophers debate with him (and since when does Frank know anything about philosophy??!), and Whitaker who needs something or another from Robby, and Ellis who talks Penguins with Frank, and Shen who wanted to welcome the day shift attending back and Robby is really starting to believe everyone is in on it!
When Dana arrives just in time to stop him from following Frank, Robby is ashamed to admit that he explodes a little bit, demanding answers and accusing her of running interference. The indignant look she gives him is enough to shut him up. “I don’t know what you are talking about Robby. But I do think it would be best if you don’t follow him into the freaking bathroom looking like a crazed hound sniffing out his prey. What has gotten into you?!”
It is only after she’s said it that Robby realizes where he had been ready to corner Langdon. He flushes in shame and anger but drops the matter. For now.
He does talk to Jack about it, on the other hand. Especially as he witnesses for himself the bond that has grown between his ex-protégé and Al-Hashimi. He’d been so sure he'd caused enough damage before his leave to sour any potential teamwork between the two of them and yet… Here they were. Working so seamlessly together they did not even need to talk for the other to act.
It is one thing to hear about it in Jack’s texts, another to see it unfold in front of his very eyes.
What has happened while he was not there?
Xxxx
Jack corners the woman just before handover. If they can't get Langdon, they might as well go to her.
“Ok Dr Al-Hashimi, you clearly know something. Spill.” She levels him a look, strong and unyielding, the kind that would have him flirting with her any other day. But not today.
“I don't think you're ready to hear it, Dr Abbot.”
“Let me be the judge of that, why don't you?”
She only shakes her head. “Dr Langdon has tried telling you. And you're still not listening. You are not ready.”
It is the listening part that does it. That makes something click in Jack's brain. He gives her a disbelieving laugh. “Are you serious? Are you really onto that train of thoughts? So what? No one here is trying to run interference between Langdon and Robby because The Pitt is the one doing it? Is that where we're going?”
She just gives him a look. “As I said. You're not ready. Have a good shift Dr Abbot.”
And she leaves him there, disbelief written all over his face.
Xxxx
They settle into a new normal.
One where Garcia and Park still prowl the floor of the ED at odd hours like they’ve got nothing better to do. Where Al-Hashimi and Langdon tag-team traumas nearly as seamlessly as Langdon and Mel. Where Whitaker doesn’t dare take a step in the R4’s direction further than a 200m limit, eyes searching fearfully for some kind of boogeyman to appear every time he has to address the man.
Where McKay is close enough to him for the two of them to have a pick up system in place to get Tanner, Penny and Harrison in time when it is their turn to have the kids. Where Javadi turns to these terrible two like she has decided to adopt them as surrogate parents.
Where Melissa King still swears only by Dr Langdon’s teaching but now also shares historical inside jokes with him that are so obscure most of them find their brain error-404ing any time they try to follow their discussions. McKay and Shen once comment that they make them all feel stupid and Princess that it is like they had their own language, and Robby can only agree with them all.
There is something they are missing. Robby knows there is.
But he can’t, for the life of him, find what!
Xxxx
It happens too quickly for any of them to be able to comprehend what’s happening.
One moment they are working and joking, night shift getting ready to go home once Shen will be done making a fool of himself with Toomarian and they can finish handover. The next Frank Langdon storms into the hub, screaming.
“Everyone OUT!!”
To both Jack’s and Robby’s surprise, Al-Hashimi immediately relays his order, a frantic panic threatening to take over, already pushing some of their people towards the door.
Then…
The world explodes in a blast of heat and sound, so loud, so strong that it covers everything!
IV poles, plexiglass and beds’ parts come flying all over the place as the ED is rocked by a first explosion! Something clips the veteran’s head, then he watches Robby go down, a quake throwing him into the station!
He hurls himself over his oldest friend just in time as a second explosion rocks the hospital and debris fall on them, a massive chunk of the ceiling crashing right over his prosthesis in a screech of mangled metal and disintegrating plaster!
People are screaming, crying, begging! Somewhere to his left, there is a body lying down, thrown against the wall by the force of the explosion and having slid down at an awkward angle. Two feet away from them, someone else is propped up against what used to be a glass wall, littered with cuts and broken glass.
“OUT!! GET OUT!!”
Jack’s ears are ringing wildly, a strident sound hollering right into his brain, preventing him from communicating.
Still, Frank’s voice manages to cover it, with an otherworldly nature to it and when he raises his head, still shaking the dust and disorientation threatening to take over, he finds the resident slouched against a wall, only kept upright by the hand he is pushing flat onto it.
Frank isn’t looking at him.
In fact, he isn’t looking at anyone.
His blue eyes are shining unnaturally and he seems focused inward. His nose is bleeding, his skin is going grey. And yet, he stands still, connected to the place, keeping their doors open, pushing their people out with all his might, urging them, ordering them, all his strength focused on keeping the Pitt from crumbling down, power coursing through him and out of him so clearly that even Jack can’t deny it.
For an instant, he is thrown back to their rooftop conversation. You’re not listening to the old girl Frank had said. To his confrontation with Al-Hashimi. You’re not ready. She’d asserted.
Jack might not have been listening yet. But he sure is watching now!
Because there is only one way for the doors of the Pitt to still be open after such a disaster! There is only one way their patients and their people could come out of two explosions so easily, so lightly injured!
And that way is not rational.
“SHEN! ELLIS! GET EVERYONE OUT!” he screams at his two attendings, both already moving, already guiding people toward the exit. Further into the Department, Jesse and Emma are supporting Dana. Perlah and Princess are pushing patient's beds as quickly as they can. In what’s left of Chairs, Lupe and McKay are herding civilians out.
Robby groans under him, coming back to himself and Jack gives him a little slap. When he tries to get up, the veteran pushes him back onto the ground, “Not yet, let me see your eyes”, searching for a concussion.
Donnie runs past him, followed by Javadi. Suddenly, the entire structure shudders, the walls quacking and rumbling and screams erupts once more before the shaking is cut short.
Jack only has eyes for Frank.
Frank and his incandescent blue eyes.
Frank, who never loses physical contact with the Pitt, even when he slides down, down, down. Crumpling into a heap of bones and blood and soft tissues on the ground of the ED.
Jack loses time. One moment he is looking at Frank. The next he is trying to stop Robby from launching himself toward him as part of the ceiling comes crashing down. One moment Whitaker and Santos are right in front of them, frozen in fear and incomprehension. The next they are gone, only leaving Melissa King still there, checking the rooms, making sure no one has been left behind.
Only when she is certain no one is there does she skids at her senior resident’s side. Her hands are trembling as she cups his face, a light glow emanating from her entire being. Al-Hashimi drops just behind her, her hand already coming to connect to the wall, the way Frank still is.
“Mel, go. Leave.” A rasp. Weak, failing. So unlike the overwhelming orders he gave only minutes again.
The woman turns pale, madly shaking her head from one side to the other.
“NO! No, no, no, no, NO! I am not leaving you!”
“Mel please” he rasps, his strength already failing him, the blood on his lips and chin a violent smear against the pallor of his face. “You did wonderfully. But I don't want you to get caught in the crossfire.”
“They don't know anything! They're not feeling her! I am not leaving you alone to keep her standing!”
“I am not alone. Garcia is coming, so is B. They'll be here soon.”
“And I am here now” comes the voice of Baran Al-Hashimi. She offers the R3 a compassionate smile, her body angled towards her. “I am here Dr King. And I know. He is not alone, you have my word. Let him protect you. This one time.”
The young woman looks between her two seniors, torn. Robby's and Jack's presence definitely not registering. Not of importance.
Frank's right hand twitches and she takes it. The relief of close human contact is so strong his eyes close for an instant and it's all Al-Hashimi needs to take the other as he slumps a bit more against the wall.
“Please Mel.” He begs, voice low. “Get out while you still can.” It feels like he wants to say more. So much more. But he has neither the words nor the strength.
Finally, Melissa King gives in, squeezing his fingers tightly without a word. She is already at the door when she turns back, throwing one last look at her favorite senior. Her eyes say what she doesn't. Get out of here alive. Or I will be coming for you.
And Jack believes her.
A deceptive calm falls over what's left of them once the doors of the Pitt definitely break and stay closed.
Less than fifteen minutes after Melissa King stepped out of the building, Park and Garcia find their way to what is left of their team. They share a look, communicating without speaking, their eyes illuminated from the inside, the same way Frank’s are. Garcia takes a step toward Robby and him while the Shark heads for Frank and Al-Hashimi.
Garcia is quick in her assessment, as efficient as ever, but Jack can’t help being weirded out by the glowing irises facing him. A chill runs down his spine. “Alright, Robby, you’re good. Bruised all over, but nothing severe, not even a broken bone or a dislocation. What a really lucky man!” she comments, her sarcasm dry and cutting, and she once again throws a look to Park. The surgeon hisses, a low sibilant thing, still focused on repositioning Langdon against him now that he is satisfied with Al-Hashimi. “Same goes for you, Abbot. Apart from your prosthesis, you’re as good as one can be after a building just tried to fall onto them.”
She is already turning her back to them when Park calls for her, telling her to find a BiPAP. Jack feels himself go numb at the request. He shares a look with Robby, one hand finding his, both of them all too aware of the message behind Park’s words.
Frank is entering respiratory distress.
Xxxx
“Your heart is going a mile a minute babybird” rumbled the man, his big hand caressing a sweaty lock of hair. “You need to let someone in.”
Frank’s eyes search for him, laid as he is on the Shark. His ribcage rising and falling in short staccato-like movements, cold sweat covering him from head to toe. Shock. Jack's brain supplies unhelpfully. Garcia and Park have him on the portable BiPAP she managed to scrounge up, to relieve him a bit but he is still struggling too much. He can’t go on like this.
So Jack pushes himself off the floor and makes his way towards them, dragging his mangled prosthesis with him. The two surgeons watch him hobble around with a careful look.
He cups Frank's jaw into both hands, mindful of the BiPAP. “You once told me I wasn't listening kid.” He can feel Robby's gaze on his back, a smouldering heat of incomprehension and worry. But he focuses on Frank. On their boy, who is dying in front of him and still trying to spare them. “I am listening now. You hear me! I am listening, Frank. So open up.”
He brings their foreheads together, begging like he hasn't begged in years. “Please. Please, open up. Let me carry part of your burden. Don't make us lose you.”
A trembling hand comes to rest on his jaw and he grips it tightly, eyes locked with the man they left behind all these months ago. Frank is crying. Big, fat, silent tears of despair and pain and there is an apology swimming deep in his cerulean blues.
“Don’t feel bad kiddo. I want it. I’m asking for it.”
He can hear him think. No you don't. You don't, because you don't know what you are asking for. But Frank doesn't have a choice anymore. His body is tanking, he doesn't have the luxury of hesitation.
He rests the palm of his hand on Jack's cheek, the other holding onto Park for support as the man tightens his hold on him. On his other side, Garcia squeezes his shoulder tightly. The three of them share a look and then their eyes turn brighter.
For a moment. For a second there… There is nothing. And Jack thinks he has hallucinated the whole thing. That he must be lying in this ED, unconscious or delirious. That the explosion must have knocked him out.
And then…
Everything lights up.
Violently. Like a world in black and white suddenly being invaded by colors!
Like the communications lines that were laying dormant in him until now are abruptly thrown open with a battering ram!
A violent heat invades his every senses, scorching everything in its path, leaving him destroyed and new. Never to return, never to be the same. He reels back with a sharp cry, nearly escaping Frank’s tender hold, but the Shark hand closes in on his wrist like an iron cuff, keeping him where he is until he has awakened.
He sees Her.
In all her glory and her flaws. In all her majesty and her frailty. In the naked beauty of her truth. She is everywhere around them, breathing, beating, hurting. Booming in her attempts to survive and limit the strain she is putting on her people, her pain bleeding out into them, her wounds screaming for attention. A never-ending cycle of hurt and healing that she is projecting onto them. That they are projecting onto her in return. With Frank as the convergence point.
And she is magnificent!
No wonder Frank could not stay away.
No wonder he chose to come back here.
Despite the bitter insults and betrayal. Despite the judgements and the under-handed comments. Despite Whitaker testing the limits of his courage on him, and Santos asking for his self-immolation as retribution for an icing out that has nothing to do with him. Despite Robby, and HR, and… What is this?
Amongst the too many pain signals that have invaded his mind, Jack focuses on the form linked to his, his new awareness traveling from Frank’s hand to the rest of his body, his brain already making new connections. The back, and the legs, the pernicious pain snaking along his column to slowly climb higher and higher.
So this is what it is. What it has always been.
The Pitt is destroying him.
Has been destroying him for a long time.
Not enough people left who truly understand her. Not enough people to sustain her. And their resident has been bearing the brunt of her needs alone for too long now.
His back is a knotted mass of decaying bones and nerves, the poison spreading to his legs in technicolors and slowly creeping upwards. Though some of this might yet be reversible, this is not what attracts Jack’s undivided attention.
Not, it is the way his lungs and heart are faltering.
They light up in the sharpest orange/red Jack’s brain has ever been able to produce and it is enough to throw him out of his reverent haze, back into the cold, real world and face to face with Brendon Park. He has no hesitation when he asks, his resolve absolute.
“What do I do?”
“Connect.” Says Al-Hashimi.
“Shift the brunt.” Adds Garcia.
“Stop running away from your responsibilities. Take the place that should always have been yours.” Ends Park.
It should be hard. Jack has no idea how to do that!
It should be insurmountable.
It isn’t.
It is as easy as coming home.
Xxxx
Jack is floating.
Everything makes sense. Everything is so easy! Time and space and mind and matter. It all flows over him and under him and in him. It is him. And it is Other.
He is the Pitt. Or is the Pitt him?
No.
The Pitt is Frank. PTMC is Frank. PTMC is Garcia. Is Park. And they are PTMC.
One and many.
PTMC is them, but Other.
It was.
It will be.
PTMC is Adamson. Isn’t Robby?
Jack frowns. The Pitt is Robby! The Pitt should be Robby!
Why is it not?
Yes, something sings. Yes, she sings. The Lady. Frank’s old girl. She laughs. Her Frank. Her genius. So brilliant. So sensitive. He who calls her his Lady love.
The One she hurt.
Robby! She yearns for.
Robby! Frank cries out for. The Pitt is Robby. But Robby is not the Pitt. And Time, Space, Mind and Matter all flow around the negative space that should be him. An open wound that cannot close.
Worse than an excision.
An absence. A black hole in the tapestry of Existence.
Is that what his place looked like, before he accepted his role? Before he came home. Prodigal son of a Mother he repudiated without knowing her.
Robby! It begs for.
And Jack is Robby. The way Robby isn’t the Pitt.
Jack is Robby, and Robby is Jack. One and many.
Jack doesn’t ask. He should. Maybe? But Jack is Robby. He doesn’t ask. He tugs.
And Robby tumbles in.
ROBBY. PTMC sings. Frank sings. Garcia murmurs. Park acknowledges. ROBBY. HERE. US. ONE. And they are floating. One and many. Robby trashes in his surprise, in his wounded animal way, refusing to be known, refusing to be seen. And Frank is on him and around him and is him. Holding and being held. Son becoming Father. Robby. Home. Safe. Loved. US. One and many.
Frank extends a hand. Al-Hashimi extends a hand. The Lady reaches out for him.
For so long, Jack was Robby and Robby was Jack. Safe, secure in one another. Brothers. The one they could trust with every part of themselves, even the meanest, even the darkest.
Now Jack is Robby and Jack is the Pitt. And the Pitt is Robby.
And Robby is home.
At long last. Robby is home.
Xxxx
They are not aware of what goes on around them in the hours that follow.
They will never know who came back to assess the damages and the injured. Who found them, sitting or sprawling next to each other, eyes still open, still shining with an eerie glow that will haunt their rescuers for the rest of their life. Living in the darkest recesses of their brain, in the most sensitive parts of their mind. Resurfacing in their nightmares and at the witching hour. Will never know the strings Gloria had to pull to keep them safe.
They won’t remember who assesses them or which one is separated from the group first. Too engrossed in the Pitt, their collective conscience pulled in too many directions at once. Being one and everyone, running over the cracks in the place, patching up craters and holes, coaching electric systems like they would veins and arteries into a semblance of function, solidifying foundations and soothing minds ready to devolve into complete and utter panic.
Preventing a heart failure here, sustaining distressed kidneys there.
One by one, they will wake up. Surprised to find themselves in a hospital bed. Surprised to see the light of the day. Surprised to encounter a new PTMC. Softer, more settled. Borne by enough people for her to spread out her weight more evenly, at long last.
Frank is the last to come back, as the sickest of them all, and is surprised to find Robby sprawled out on his bed, soundly sleeping.
“Hey kid.”
Jack’s voice is rough. The kind of rough that comes with not having spoken for days on end. It has him raising his eyebrows questioningly. A tired chuckle is his only answer, the veteran preferring to run a hand through Frank’s greasy, dust-filled hair.
The contact is enough for the sensitive man to recognize what has been bugging him. He opens his eyes in sharp surprise! Now fully cognizant of both attendings’ consciousness hovering in the foggy, hive-mind like network of his old Lady.
A rush of amusement floods him as she preens at her favorite quick recognition. Her first. Her terrible child. Jack’s eyes widen and Robby wakes up, both startled by how swiftly the R4 has spotted their added presence.
“Frank!”
Robby rushes in, taking one of Frank’s hands into his. The resident can’t remember the last time the attending has held him with such care. Can’t find, in the mess that are his memories, when Robby last wore his love on his sleeve so clearly. He closes his fingers over that of the man who raised him through his residency, who did his best by him with the means at his disposal, not ever wanting to let go.
Jack lays his own hand over theirs, letting Robby do the talking.
And in that hospital bed, physically grounded by the two attendings who have always meant a lot to him, surrounded by the minds of his peers and supported by his Lady, Frank Langdon finally let himself believe that life can get better.