Chapter Text
Today marks one year since Dr. Langdon completed rehab. Mel wants to make a small surprise for him, giving him a present to celebrate his progress and show how proud she is of him. After reading a few articles, she begins to understand just how difficult it can be for someone to stay sober and not relapse.
At first, she considers giving him a history book or an atlas, but she quickly second-guesses herself. Dr. Langdon could buy books anytime, anywhere. In fact, he probably already has a list of books he wants to buy. What if she chooses something he does not like? Or worse, what if she buys him a book he already owns? Then he would have two copies of the same book, and Mel can already imagine the trouble she would have caused.
After narrowing down her options, Mel finally chooses a pocket knife, a vintage one she found at an antique store. She cleans it first, of course. She had read about how antique items can carry all kinds of germs, and some could even contain mercury. But aside from all that, she likes the idea of giving him something historically accurate, something that looks real and meaningful instead of like a cheap replica.
So there she is, wrapping it carefully in pirate cartoon wrapping paper that reminds her of Captain Scurvy.
She writes a little note and laughs softly, proud of herself. She is so excited that she walks faster than usual, which annoys Becca enough to ask her several times to slow down.
—
Mel arrived early enough that the locker room was still quiet.
That was good.
Quiet meant nobody asking questions. Nobody watching her overthink a paper bag like it was a controlled substance. She opened her locker, took out the small wrapped box, then paused.
Mel stared at it for a long second, then pressed her lips together, trying not to smile.
The wrapping paper was ridiculous. Tiny cartoon pirates with eye patches and swords and treasure maps. It was stupid. It was also funny.
Probably. Maybe.
Langdon might hate it. He might stare at it like she had handed him evidence from an unsolved homicide. Or he may say thank you in the driest, most uncomfortable tone known to medicine and then never mention it again.
That was fine, she took a deep breath. Mel slipped the present carefully into the back of her locker, behind her spare scrub top, where it would not fall, get crushed, or be seen by anyone who had no business seeing it.
By the time she reached the main ER, Santos noticed immediately. Which was unfortunate, because Santos noticed everything that could be turned into a problem. Mel had barely made it past the nurses’ station when Santos looked up from a chart and narrowed her eyes.
“Oh, no.”
Mel stopped. “What?”
Santos pointed at her face. “That.”
Mel blinked. “My face?”
“Yes.”
Javadi looked up from beside her. “What’s wrong with her face?”
“Nothing is wrong with my face,” Mel said.
Whitaker glanced between them, already looking like he regretted being present. Santos tilted her head, studying Mel with the intensity of someone examining a suspicious rash.
“You’re… brighter.”
Mel frowned. “Brighter?”
“Yeah. Not like emotionally stable bright. Let’s not get wild.” Santos waved a hand. “But you look like something good happened, and now I’m concerned.”
Javadi’s eyes moved over Mel’s expression with open curiosity. “You do look different.”
Mel turned to her. “That is not a helpful contribution.”
“I didn’t mean bad different.”
“You already said that with your face.”
Javadi straightened, mildly offended. “My face did not say that.”
Whitaker, very softly, said, “It kind of did.” Javadi looked betrayed.
Santos snapped her fingers at Mel. “See? Even Huckleberry sees it. What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“That was too fast.”
“I’m allowed to have a neutral morning.”
“This is not neutral. This is suspiciously pleasant.”
Mel crossed her arms. “Maybe I slept well.”
Santos stared at her. Whitaker looked at Mel, then at Santos. “Did she?”
Santos shook her head. “No. That’s not the face of sleep. That’s the face of a secret.”
Mel’s expression flattened. “I do not have a secret.”
Javadi, still trying to participate, said, “Technically, if she did have a secret, she would probably say that.”
Mel looked at her.
Javadi immediately looked down at her chart. “Sorry.”
Santos leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “Is it a patient thing?”
“No.”
“Family thing?”
“No.”
“Romantic thing?”
Mel’s face did not change.
Unfortunately, her ears did. Santos saw it.
Her mouth opened. Mel pointed at her. “Don’t.”
Santos’ grin spread slowly. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was going to say several things.”
“Don’t say any of them.”
Whitaker cleared his throat, looking anywhere except at Mel. “Maybe we should respect her privacy.”
Santos turned to him. “That is exactly what someone says when there’s something interesting.”
“No, it’s what someone says when you’re about to make it worse.”
“I make things entertaining.”
“You make things loud.”
Javadi nodded, then seemed to realize she had agreed too visibly and looked back at her chart.
Santos ignored them and focused on Mel again.
“So. You’re brighter. You’re defensive. Your ears are doing the thing.”
“My ears are not doing anything.”
“They’re practically filing an incident report.”
Mel inhaled slowly.
“Santos.”
“What?”
“I am going to find a patient now.”
“Because you’re avoiding the question.”
“Because this is an emergency department.”
“That has never stopped anyone from gossiping.”
Mel stepped around her. Santos pivoted to follow. “Is it Langdon?”
Mel stopped. Not dramatically but just enough to make everyone noticed.
Mel turned back around, her face carefully blank.
“Why would you say that?”
Santos’ grin faded a little, replaced by something sharper and more complicated.
“Because you made that face.”
“What face?”
“The face people make when they’re pretending not to care about Langdon while caring about Langdon.”
Whitaker looked uncomfortable. “That is also very specific.”
Santos did not look away from Mel. “It’s a thing.”
Mel’s voice was calm. Too calm.
“I am in a good mood. That is all.”
Santos held her gaze for another second.
Then she shrugged, but the teasing had lost some of its teeth.
“Fine. Be mysterious.”
“I will.”
“You’re bad at it.”
“I’m better at it when people stop narrating my face.”
Javadi, trying to be kind, said, “For what it’s worth, I think it’s nice.”
Mel looked at her.
Javadi hesitated. “Not the secret. I don’t know the secret. I mean… you looking happy. Or less unhappy.”
Whitaker winced slightly.
Javadi closed her eyes for half a second. “That came out wrong.”
Mel stared at her. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled. Small. Brief. Almost hidden.
“It’s okay,” Mel said.
Javadi looked relieved.
Santos saw the smile and pointed immediately. “There. That. That’s the thing.”
Mel’s smile disappeared. “What thing?”
“You smiled like a person in a vitamin commercial.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Whitaker smiled faintly. “It was kind of nice.”
Mel looked at him, betrayed.
He raised both hands. “Sorry.”
Before Santos could keep digging, Garcia’s voice cut through the department.
“Santos. King. Trauma Two. Now.”
The shift was instant. Santos straightened, already moving.
“What’ve we got?”
“Possible internal bleed,” Garcia called. “Hypotensive in the field. Family’s losing it in the hall.”
Mel’s expression reset at once.
Whatever brightness had been there folded itself away neatly behind focus.
She grabbed gloves from the box at the nurses’ station and followed Santos toward Trauma Two.
Javadi watched them go.
After a beat, she turned to Whitaker.
“She was definitely happier than usual.”
Whitaker nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Do you think Santos was right?”
Whitaker looked toward the trauma bay doors. Then he looked back at his chart.
“I think,” he said carefully, “it’s probably none of our business.” Javadi considered that.
Then nodded.
“That’s probably the mature answer.”
Whitaker smiled faintly. “I’m trying it out.”
Across the ER, the locker room door stayed closed. And inside Mel’s locker, hidden behind a folded scrub top, the pirate-wrapped present waited.
—
Langdon came out of Exam Four with his gloves peeled halfway off and an expression that, for him, almost counted as energized.
It was not happiness exactly.
Langdon did not do happiness in public unless forced by narcotics or severe professional achievement. But there was something lighter in his face as he crossed toward the nurses’ station, scanning the department with the sharp, irritated focus of a man looking for something specific and pretending he was not.
Or someone.
He spotted Dana first.
Then McKay, leaning over the counter beside her with a chart in one hand and a coffee in the other.
No Mel.
Langdon slowed.
Dana noticed.
Of course she did.
Dana noticed everything eventually, usually before anyone wanted her to.
“Looking for someone?” McKay asked without looking up.
Langdon stopped beside the counter. “No.”
Dana made a sound under her breath. McKay looked up. Langdon glanced toward Trauma Two, then down the hallway, then back to the board.
McKay watched the whole thing happen.
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m checking patient flow.”
Dana looked at him over the top of her glasses. “With your eyes?”
Langdon gave her a flat look. “That is generally how checking works.”
“You’ve walked past the board twice.”
“I’m thorough.”
McKay’s mouth curved faintly. “You’re looking for Mel.”
Langdon’s face did not change. Unfortunately, his pause did.
“No,” he said.
Dana clicked her pen once. “Convincing.”
Langdon exhaled through his nose. “I was going to tell her something.”
McKay leaned back against the counter. “Something work-related?”
“Yes.”
Dana raised an eyebrow.
Langdon hesitated. “Mostly.”
McKay’s smile widened slightly. “Mostly?”
Langdon looked between them, already annoyed that this had somehow become a conversation.
“I pulled living larvae out of a man’s scalp an hour ago.”
Dana stopped writing. McKay blinked. Langdon pointed vaguely toward Exam Four. “He thought it was a cyst. It was not a cyst.”
Dana stared at him. “And your first instinct was to tell Mel?”
Langdon frowned. “She would appreciate the diagnostic progression.”
McKay’s eyes sharpened with amusement. “The diagnostic progression.”
“Yes.”
“Of head maggots.”
“Larvae,” Langdon corrected.
Dana set the pen down. “That’s the hill you’re dying on?”
“It’s medically accurate.”
McKay took a sip of coffee, studying him over the rim. Langdon did not notice the look at first. Or maybe he noticed it and refused to dignify it.
“It was a good case,” he said. “Gross, but good. The guy was stable. No intracranial involvement. We irrigated, removed what we could, started antibiotics, called plastics.”
McKay nodded. “And you thought, naturally, Mel needs to hear about the scalp larvae.”
“She likes weird cases.”
“She does.”
“And she would ask relevant questions instead of making whatever face you’re making.”
“What face?”
“That one.”
McKay’s expression softened into something less teasing. Dana crossed her arms, watching him with the blunt, maternal exhaustion of someone who had seen too many doctors confuse professional rapport with an emotional lifeline. McKay lowered her coffee.
“I just think it’s interesting,” she said.
Langdon’s eyes narrowed. “What is?”
“That out of everyone in this department, Mel is the person you wanted to tell.”
Langdon stared at her.
“It was a case,” he said slowly.
“I know.”
“We talk about cases.”
“I know.”
“That’s not interesting.”
McKay’s voice stayed gentle. “It is when you’ve been looking for her since you came in.”
Langdon opened his mouth.
Closed it.
That was the problem with McKay. She did not push like Santos. She did not cut like Robby. She just said things quietly enough that it became harder to pretend he had not heard them.
“I haven’t been looking for her,” Langdon said.
Dana picked up her pen again. “You asked Mateo where she was.”
“That was clinical.”
“You asked Donnie.”
“That was operational.”
“You asked me.”
“That was staffing.”
“You asked a paramedic who doesn’t work here.”
Langdon looked at her.
Dana looked back.
“He was standing near the doors,” Langdon said.
McKay coughed into her coffee.
Dana shook her head. “Jesus.”
Langdon rubbed at the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t know why this is a federal investigation. I wanted to tell her something disgusting. That’s it.”
McKay’s smile faded a little.
Her voice softened.
“Frank.”
He looked at her.
“You’re allowed to want to talk to someone.”
The words landed too plainly. Langdon’s jaw tightened almost immediately.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t.”
“No,” McKay said. “You just keep explaining it like it needs a medical indication.”
Dana went quiet at that.
Langdon looked away first.
For a second, the ER moved around them without touching the space they had made. A monitor alarm sounded. Someone laughed too loudly near the supply room. Garcia’s voice cut through
Trauma Two, firm and impatient.
Langdon’s hand flexed once around the chart.
“It’s not that deep,” he said.
McKay studied him.
Maybe it wasn’t.
Maybe it was just habit. A familiar person. A good case. A person in the department who had never looked at him like he was a walking cautionary tale.
Or maybe it was the first soft place he had tried to reach for since everything else in his life had been taken apart.
McKay’s eyes moved over him carefully.
“How are you doing with the divorce?”
Langdon’s face closed.
Dana’s pen stopped moving.
For a second, nobody said anything.
Then Langdon gave McKay a look so flat it might have been laminated.
“That’s a hard left turn.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“It really isn’t,” McKay said. “You’re months sober. You came back to work. Robby barely looks at you without bracing himself. Half the department is trying to decide how much they’re allowed to forgive you. And you’re divorced.”
Dana looked down at the board, but she was listening.
Langdon’s voice lowered.
“I didn’t bring that up.”
“No,” McKay said. “That’s kind of the point.”
His jaw worked once.
“It’s handled.”
Dana snorted softly.
Langdon looked at her. “What?”
“Nothing good ever follows the words ‘it’s handled.’”
“It is handled,” Langdon said, sharper now. “Papers are signed. Custody schedule is set. Abby and I are civil. The kids are fine.”
McKay’s expression did not change.
“The kids are fine?”
Langdon looked away.
“They’re adjusting.”
Dana’s face softened, but only for a second.
McKay nodded slowly. “And you?”
Langdon laughed once, without humor.
“I’m not a pediatric patient, McKay.”
“No. You’re worse. Pediatric patients answer questions.”
Dana muttered, “Sometimes.”
Langdon turned back to the board like the conversation could be ended by refusing eye contact.
“I’m fine.”
McKay did not chase him. That made it worse.She just stood there, quiet and patient, until he had to either walk away or keep talking. He stayed.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he said finally.
“The truth would be a nice place to start.”
Langdon’s mouth twitched with irritation.
“The truth is it happened because it needed to happen.”
McKay nodded.
“That can be true.”
“It was already broken.”
“That can also be true.”
“I made it worse.”
Dana looked at him then.
McKay’s voice stayed soft. “That can be true too.”
Langdon swallowed.
For a moment, his face looked older. Not dramatically. Not enough for anyone passing by to notice. But enough for McKay and Dana to see it.
“I don’t get to be surprised that she was done,” he said. Neither of them interrupted.
Langdon looked down at the chart in his hand.
“I was not easy to live with before the pills. I was worse on them. And after…” He stopped. His thumb rubbed once against the edge of the paper. “After, there was nothing left to negotiate. She had spent all her patience keeping the kids stable.”
McKay’s expression softened in recognition.
“That’s a hard thing to accept.”
Langdon’s eyes flicked to her.
“You would know?”
McKay’s mouth curved faintly, but there was no humor in it.
“Yeah,” she said. “I would.”
That quieted him.
Dana leaned back against the counter.
“Divorce doesn’t mean you stop being someone’s father,” she said.
Langdon looked at her.
“I know that.”
“Good. Keep knowing it.”
“I do.”
Dana’s voice softened, barely. “And don’t use work to pretend it doesn’t hurt.”
Langdon’s expression hardened again, but not as fast this time.
“I’m not.”
Dana looked at him.
McKay looked at him.
Langdon exhaled.
“Fine. Maybe a little.”
McKay smiled faintly.
“There he is.”
He shot her a warning look. “Don’t.”
“I’m just saying, that was almost emotional honesty.”
“It was not.”
“It had symptoms.”
Dana nodded. “Possible early presentation.”
Langdon stared at both of them.
“I hate this department.”
“No, you don’t,” McKay said.
He looked ready to argue.
Then he didn’t.
His eyes moved once, almost involuntarily, toward Trauma Two.
McKay saw it.
Dana saw it too.
Langdon realized they had seen it and immediately looked annoyed.
“What?”
McKay shook her head. “Nothing.”
Dana returned to the board. “You’re lonely, Frank. It’s not a crime.”
His face went still.
The bluntness hit harder coming from Dana.
McKay shot her a look, but Dana did not apologize.
Langdon’s voice was quieter when he answered.
“I have my kids.”
“You have your kids on a schedule,” Dana said. “That’s not the same thing as not being lonely.”
Langdon looked down.
For once, he had no sarcastic answer ready.
McKay stepped in before the silence could become cruel.
“Wanting to talk to Mel doesn’t have to mean anything dramatic,” she said. “It can just mean she makes the day feel less awful.”
Langdon’s expression shifted.
Small. Defensive. Almost wounded.
“I don’t need her for that.”
“No one said need.”
Dana capped her marker. “You’re allowed to like people, Frank.”
He looked at her as if she had accused him of malpractice.
“That is not what this is.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not.”
“Okay,” Dana repeated, too calmly.
McKay hid her smile behind her coffee.
Langdon pointed at both of them.
“This conversation is over.”
“Sure,” McKay said.
“It was over five minutes ago,” Dana said. “You just kept talking.”
Langdon’s face went flat.
Then, before he could answer, the television mounted in the corner of the waiting area changed tone.
The soft blur of daytime news sharpened into breaking coverage.
A red banner flashed across the bottom of the screen.
Dana noticed first.
“What now?”
The volume was low, but the words were clear enough to pull attention from the desk.
“—police are responding to reports of an armed extremist group near the federal building downtown. Multiple streets have been closed as law enforcement attempts to secure the area—”
McKay straightened.
Langdon turned toward the screen.
The footage showed helicopters circling above a blocked-off intersection. Police vehicles. A line of people being moved behind barricades. The image shook as the reporter spoke over distant sirens.
“Jesus,” Dana muttered.
A nurse nearby lowered her voice. “Is that close?”
“Too close,” Dana said.
McKay set her coffee down. “Do we know if there are injuries?”
“Nothing confirmed yet,” Langdon said, eyes fixed on the screen.
His voice had changed.
The dry irritation was gone. The whole shape of him became clinical at once.
Dana looked toward the ambulance bay doors.
“That’s how it starts,” she said. “One report, then ten minutes later everybody’s bleeding in the driveway.”
McKay frowned. “Should we start clearing beds?”
Langdon was already scanning the board.
“We should at least know capacity.”
Dana grabbed the marker. “We have two open beds, one psych hold we can’t move, three pending admits clogging up the hall, and a waiting room full of people who all think their sore throat is the main character.”
McKay looked toward Trauma Two. “If it escalates, we’ll need Garcia.”
“If it escalates, we’ll need everyone,” Dana said.
Across the ER, Al-Hashimi stepped out from the physician workroom with her phone in one hand.
She had the controlled look of someone who had already absorbed the information and refused to let it become fear.
“I just spoke to dispatch,” she said.
Everyone turned to her.
“There are two hospitals closer to the incident,” Al-Hashimi continued. “They’ll take the first wave if anyone needs transport. We are the third option.”
McKay frowned. “And if it escalates?”
“Then we prepare accordingly,” Al-Hashimi said. “But right now, police are reporting that the situation is under control.”
Dana crossed her arms. “That phrase never makes me feel better.”
“No,” Al-Hashimi said. “But panic is not preparation.”
That quieted them for half a second.
Not because it made anyone feel better.
Because she was right.
Al-Hashimi moved closer to the board.
“Dana, I want a bed check every fifteen minutes. McKay, review discharges. Anyone who can safely go, goes. Langdon, look at critical supplies. Blood, airway carts, trauma trays. I want to know what we have before we need it.”
Langdon nodded once.
“On it.”
McKay glanced at him.
There it was again — the old Langdon, the useful one. Sharp, fast, already ten steps ahead.
The version of him everyone had relied on before relying on him became complicated.
Dana uncapped the marker. “I’ll tell charge upstairs to stop pretending they don’t have beds.”
“Diplomatically,” Al-Hashimi said.
Dana gave her a look. “I don’t do diplomatically.”
“I know,” Al-Hashimi said. “Try anyway.”
Langdon handed his chart off to the clerk and started toward the supply area.
Then he paused. Just briefly.
His eyes moved toward Trauma Two.
McKay saw it.
Dana saw it.
Langdon realized they had seen it and immediately looked annoyed.
“What?”
McKay shook her head. “Nothing.”
Dana returned to the board. “Go count airway supplies, Romeo.”
Langdon’s face went flat.
“Never call me that again.”
“Then stop looking tragic in hallways.”
“I’m not looking tragic.”
“You’re standing under fluorescent lights with unresolved emotional baggage. That’s tragic.”
McKay bit back a smile.
Langdon pointed at both of them.
“I was checking whether Trauma Two needed backup.”
“Sure,” Dana said.
“That’s a legitimate concern.”
“Absolutely.”
“I hate both of you.”
“No, you don’t,” McKay said.
Langdon looked at her, ready with some automatic retort.
But the words did not come.
For a second, his expression softened into something tired.
Then he looked away.
“I’ll check supplies.”
He walked off before either of them could say anything else.
Dana watched him go.
McKay did too.
After a moment, Dana said, “He has no idea.”
McKay picked up her coffee again, but did not drink it.
“No,” she said. “I think he has some idea.”
Dana looked at her.
McKay’s eyes followed Langds he disappeared into the supply room.
“I just don’t think he on aknows what to do with it.”
From Trauma Two, Mel’s voice rose through the open doors.
“Santos, hold pressure there. No, higher. That’s it.”
Langdon stopped just inside the supply room only for a second.Then he kept moving.