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“I’m sorry about the sixty-hour weeks, and for leaving you alone with the children, and the house, and yes, the dog too, but it's my job, Abby. What were you expecting, when you married a doctor?” he says, as he uncovers the sheets from his side of the bed.
Like each and every time they’ve tried to go back to sleeping in a single bedroom, they’re fighting again. In rushed, hostile whispers that threaten to create one more bad memory for their two children.
“What did I expect!? Frank, are you being serious right now? I don’t know,” her tone venomous with sarcasm. “Maybe something like Cherry, or Laura, or I don’t know, maybe something like all of the wives of the guys in med school you hung out with.-“
“Again!” he barks, louder than intended. Then, lower, “Again with the comparisons.”
“But then Robby happened, right? He whisked you away with this idea of sacrifice, and you’re just spineless, Frank; aimless! So happy to go be a martyr in that- that shithole, to throw my sacrifices to the trash -our sacrifices- , as long as you get to play the noble hero, and look where it's gotten you.”
She was being cruel, and Frank had a faint memory of her back in highschool. Abby was smart and disciplined, supportive of his dreams and so, so beautiful. But the mean streak is not new. As a cocksure premed, it charmed him. He liked that she called him out, kept him on a bit of a leash. His skin had, perhaps, gotten thinner with the years, or maybe it was a side effect from his latest fall from grace, but the meanness wasn’t something he was particularly thrilled to come back home to these days.
“-An anesthesiologist, a pediatrician, heck, a plastic surgeon, Frank. What did I expect? I expected to have a husband, not an exhausted emergency doctor with a wage we can barely afford to have the children in private school with.”
The money thing was an issue, undeniably. He had gotten her pregnant midway through med school, during a semester in which he constantly woke up sweaty from nightmares about failing to pass his exams and not being able to pay his student loans. Abby’s parents had covered the wedding, the prenatal checkups, the house. At least he’ll be a doctor, he had overheard Abby’s mother mutter to his father one afternoon in between stiff talks about their daughter’s future.
Of course Abby wanted private school, wanted a nice neighbourhood, a Birkin.
“A real husband- not a roommate, not a dispassionate fuck every other week, definitely not a fucking junkie-”
“Enough, Abby.” He says, this time a real whisper. “I get it. I’m sorry. I’ve said that before, I’m sorry about the drugs, but we had problems before. We- we never talk, we have nothing in common. Even before the drugs, we avoided each other in the house, Abby, you didn’t even notice I had a problem until I got caught.”
“Of course I noticed, Frank,” her tone is sharp, yet uneven, as if unnerved by his honesty and wanting to one-up him. “I may not be a doctor but I'm not an idiot, and I’m surprised that the hospital didn't notice sooner. You were a mess, you still are.”
He stares at her, shocked, mouth half open. Of all their argument, this is the only part that he hasn't heard a million times before. “You knew? You knew!? For how long?”
She looks away, mouth tight. Doesn't reply.
“You didn't do anything, didn't think to bring it up? You were my wife, and you didn’t think to-”
“I still am. I’m your wife, Frank.” Not raising their voice going out the window.
“Christ, Abby. Are you? Are we?” He returns the sheets from his side of the bed to the way they were in a clean sweep. Presses his palms to the sockets of his eyes. “I’m going back downstairs, Mrs. Langdon, my dearest wife. Have a great night”.
He has a mean streak, too. One that must not be new for her, either.
In the guest bedroom, he runs back their conversation in his mind.
These are the consequences, and he had gotten off better than he should have. He still had a job, a medical licence, and a wife. Abby stayed, but there was a part of him that wondered why, that secretly wished she didn't. He resented her lack of support, lack of warmth. Not that he had made it easy for her— he knew he had disappointed everyone, badly. He shouldn't want praise for kicking a habit he had gotten himself, shouldn't need to be coddled and made feel better about almost fucking his life up, their life up.
Abby thought he was pathetic, that she had married a loser. And she was right.
Maybe she could remarry. Someone nicer, who had less things to be sensitive about, less sore spots. Someone who made more money, definitely. Frank wondered if his children would like the new man better than him. If he would lose them to better gifts, to decent office hours, to someone who didn’t drag back the death he saw that day into the house.
The pills stopped him from thinking like this. They let him sleep, made him calm, and gave him some illusion of control. But when they would wear off, he always wanted more.
He has accepted, more or less, that he will eternally miss the feeling.
He tries thinking about the positives, like they had taught him in rehab. The hospital was, at least, getting to be tolerable.
It was still awkward, at least on the social aspect, but it was tolerable, and he was reminded of something crucial he had forgotten somewhere between being caught and rehab; that he was a really good doctor.
He thought about his coworkers, about what they would think of Abby if they heard how she spoke of him. Robby never truly liked her, and it was mutual. Garcia had met her once, but he couldn't remember the interaction. In a low moment, he figured she would get on well with Santos, at the very least their opinion of him was the same.
The thought of Mel listening, out of everyone, gave him an odd feeling. He imagined her reaction: her downturned lips, confused eyes, a slight shake of the head, how she would respond to Abby calling the Pitt a shithole, of her calling Frank aimless.
So far Mel had been the highlight of his return. He felt guilty some times, when he saw her earnest smile, of being such a cynic, not much older than her but much more jaded. Yet she thought well of him, which still surprised him, and filled him with a warm satisfaction that was not easily attained these days. She never let him say anything bad about himself, and he didn’t think she’d appreciate Abby’s comments, Abby’s sarcasm.
Not that he needed Dr. King to defend him from his wife, or anything. Imagining her reply just gave him some comfort. In knowing he had a real friend, a friend who knew about his addiction and still respected him, that knew about the stealing and did not despise him for it, and who, like him, understood the importance of the work in the Pitt, who loved it just as much as he did.
She made everything make sense. She would defend the Pitt, defend their work, defend him. Not out of obligation, but because to insult Frank would be to insult the Pitt and to insult the Pitt would be to insult her.
Mel, who was loyal and unassuming, who was earnest to a fault, with her blonde braid and small grin, excited to see him without expecting anything from him. Mel, happy to run around the ER with him, helping people while doing what they love. Showing off a little bit for her, making her feel at ease. Mel, and her expressive, adorable face that made him feel like a mindreader. Mel, who, not for the first time, he thought of as he finally drifted to sleep after another long, exhausting day.