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Dana eyes her doctors from the nurses' station, a sort of panopticon of which she is in charge of. Most doctors, at least the smart ones, know it's nurses who really run the place.
Dana, in particular, keeps a tight leash.
“Broken nose in central three,” she hears Dr. Langdon say from behind her. His is a familiar voice that she had gotten briefly unfamiliar with after his absence. It still stood out to her occasionally, the way the voices of the interns sounded different than the voices of the second years. Like they needed to be paid more attention to. With the hyperawareness of his voice, came a name that belonged in his sentences more often than not. “You're with me, Mel, let’s go.”
Dana's intuition peaked.
“Hey! Hey, you! C'mere!" Dana yells after Langdon, gesturing at him, her voice stopping him in his tracks from following Mel to central.
He signals at Mel to go on, who looks uncertain, perhaps concerned, but heads to the case as Langdon follows Dana into the break room. “What’s going on, Dana? Everything all right?”
She eyes him up and down, giving him a pointed look that is not necessarily reserved for the male doctors, despite them being the ones who most often provoke it. “Hope you know what you’re doin’ there, kid.”
He looks at her, attempting patience, but his stance betrays him, that of a child who wants to go back to the playground. Still an antsy kid at thirty-three. “What’d you mean?” he says, big blue eyes, the picture of innocence.
Dana knows him better than that, by now, knows him well and thoroughly, after almost half a decade since he first came through the emergency doors of the Pitt for the first time. She’s fond of him, in a secret, half maternal way that often shows up in affectionate mistrust and unwarranted advice.
“Runnin’ ‘round the hospital with that girl, givin’ her special treatment. People will talk.”
He shifts in place, looking away. “People already talk, Dana. Too much. If I cared what the people here had to say about me, I’d be in a different hospital already. I can’t—I don’t care about that.”
“‘Course you don’t,” she says dryly. “Take it or leave it, kid, I'm just telling you to be careful.” She pats his shoulder, affectionately. Thinks of leaving it at that, but instead continues, “and well, in any case, forget people. What about her?”
“What about her? She's good, I like working with her,” he replies, defensive. “Is that a problem now?”
Dana takes a beat. She’s fond of Mel, too. With her oddities and her brilliance, her quirks and her smiles. “She’s a sensitive girl. She looks at you like—Langdon, do I really have to spell it out for you? She sighs, "you're giving that girl every reason in the world to like you.”
“To like me? As in—no , Dana, she wouldn't.” He passes a hand through his hair. “You don’t know her like that. Trust me, she wouldn’t like me.”
“Why not? It's like you're trying to spend every second you can with her, you pick her for every case. And she’s lonely, she is all by herself, she—”
“She’s not desperate.” His voice gains a sharper edge, something akin to self-hatred, perhaps self-pity, perhaps an unhealthy mix of both. “I mean, look at me. I’m an addict. I have an ex-wife and not one, but two children. I’m mean. We’re complete opposites. She’s optimistic and kind and she would simply never—”
“Oh my god, Langdon,” Dana cries.
He searches her face; something half shocked, half endeared is hanging from the twitch of her lips, her eyes are unbelieving and amused, but her eyebrows read concern.
Frank briefly wishes everyone were as easy for him to read as Mel is.
“What? What is it, Dana?”
She laughs, then softly, secretly, says, “it's you who likes her!”
“W—what—no, she’s—” He stumbles over himself, feeling his face heat up. "It's not like that, okay. I swear."
"Tread carefully, kid. I'm serious.”
“No, I would never go there, Jesus. What do you think of me? I would'nt dare to try anything with her. She’s good, she—”
“Hey! Stop that, now. Enough with the pity party.” She touches his arm softly, gives it a little shake, adds softly, “You’re good, too. I’m not saying don’t. I’m saying be careful.
Frank looks at her, conflicted.
Dana may be right, but so is he. Mel is good. Far too good for him. She would never; he knows this for a fact.
He says nothing, which is, in more ways than one, an admission.
She leaves quickly after that, not before saying over her shoulder, “and, kid? Take off that wedding ring already.”
Enough softness for a day as hard as any around here, a day in a place that demands hardness back. He’ll figure it out. She thinks, as she returns to the nurses' station, to the curious glances of Princess and Perla, getting back in her spot; looking around for where else she may be needed.