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It's a polite, albeit urgent-sounding knock, for 2:14 AM. The last time Mel remembers waking up to a knock at this time of night, it was a much louder, more aggressive, more intense knock. The kind of noise that makes you really feel your heart in your body as it stills, then beats again. The sort of knock that creates the bad kind of goosebumps that cover your whole skin.
That knock that night was answered by her mother. Mel can still feel the cold under her 13-year-old self's feet from when she had slowly crept out of her room that night and heard the cop say her father was in a fatal car accident and had passed away at the scene. She could still hear her mother's precise screams if she thought about it hard enough. Mel didn't even know why her father was out driving so late that night, and she couldn't really ask her mother now, with her being gone as well. Sometimes she wondered if she was better off not knowing.
She's heard that knock in her nightmares during many nights of her life. That sound of that knock would awaken her in a deep sweat, playing in her head over and over again. That's what she assumes is happening again when she tries to close her eyes, but then she hears the knock repeat. A little quicker but still not too loud or intense. That's not the knock she repeatedly hears in her nightmares; it doesn't sound like the way a cop would knock. So, who could be knocking on her door at 2 AM?
She decides to get up, terrified that Becca has somehow got into an accident in the middle of the night. But then she gets the sudden thought that this could be a serial killer at her door, so she has the good sense to grab a weapon, just in case. She settles on grabbing her dad's old clarinet, which she never had the heart to sell or donate, because he loved it so much. It's probably damaged, anyway, because she's always kept it assembled, but she wanted to leave it as her dad had left it.
Mel teeters up to her door slowly, trying to see whose knocking through the frosted semi-circle of glass on top. She peeks up, pointing up on her tiptoes and sees a tussle of brown, floppy hair. That hair, she could almost swear–
"Mel? Please tell you're there." She hears. There's no mistaking that voice.
Before she can really process it herself, she swings open the door, clarinet-weapon in her other hand. She gasps when she sees him.
His lip is busted and actively bleeding; there's blood in his teeth, too. There's a deep gash above his eyebrow and the formation of a soon-to-be black eye around it. His hair is dishevelled, and his eyes look bloodshot, caused either by tears or something worse.
Frank meets her eyes, looking a little shy. He looks very small in this moment, so vulnerable. "I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to go." He says, quietly. He seems so unsure of himself.
"What happened?!" She wails as she steps back to let him inside.
"A fight. Well, actually, I guess I was mugged." He shrugs. Mel thinks he sounds a little drunk and hopes to God he hasn't relapsed.
"Mugged?!" Mel asks. She lightly pushes him into her kitchen so she can assess his injuries in better lighting. She suddenly feels a little embarrassed of her outfit–a white cropped tank top with a picture of Hello Kitty in the middle matched with long stripy pink pyjama bottoms–as she watches Frank's eyes look her up and down.
Frank looks back at her and laughs a little, which makes him wince. "What's with the clarinet?" He grins.
She frowns at him. How could he be laughing in this state?
"It was a weapon in case you were a serial killer." She informs him, as she puts the clarinet back down and flicks on her kitchen light. He quickly rinses his mouth out at her kitchen sink then sits himself up on her worktop.
She assesses him properly now. This is bad. He could easily have a broken jaw or cheekbone. His fists are bloody and bruised too. He's wearing blue jeans and a long-sleeved navy t-shirt, but she suspects he's probably covered in bruises and cuts across his whole body.
"While I'm proud of you for arming yourself before you answer the door at 2 AM, I'm not sure how effective a clarinet will be as a weapon." He smiles at her.
"Stop trying to make jokes right now, this is really bad." She complains, tilting his jaw to the side to assess it.
"You're right. I'm sorry." He says quietly, trying to make eye contact with her, but he can't because her eyebrows are so furrowed down in focus.
"Did you try to fight them?" She says, annoyed with him, as she inspects his bloody, swollen knuckles. "You're not supposed to do that, you're just supposed to give them everything. They could've had a gun. They could've killed you. You have kids." She rants at him, a little cry escaping her throat.
"Well, they got my phone. That's why I couldn't call you to tell you I was outside." He says, still so calm and detached.
"Wait, did they have knives or something, Frank? Were you stabbed?" She worries, lifting up his shirt and removing it without even asking him.
She inspects his skin, starting to bruise like he was thrown to the ground, and he has some scrapes, but no stab wounds. He winces and puffs air out of his clenched teeth as she touches her fingers across his stomach, even though her touch is soft and careful.
"They didn't. Or at least they didn't show me any knives, they literally just beat the crap out of me." He sighs.
Mel nods softly. "Take your pants off."
"What?" He asks.
"I need to make sure they didn't stab your legs." She says, trying to sound in control.
"Mel…they didn't stab me." He protests.
"You don't know for sure. We see it all the time, you might not have felt it with all the adrenaline." She hesitates for a second, then looks up at his eyes. "And I can smell the alcohol on your breath." She adds, trying not to sound too annoyed with him. "I thought you weren't supposed to drink on your programme."
"I had one beer, I even cleared it with my sponsor." He huffs before she turns around so he can unbuckle his belt and remove his jeans. She faces the wall opposite and folds her arms, trying to not think too much about his lack of clothes. He lets his belt and jeans fall to the floor, and Mel can't help herself but pick them up and fold them neatly next to where he's sat on the worktop. He smirks at her while she does it. She doesn't know how he's managing to smirk at a time like this.
"Smells like more than one beer." Mel says as she squats down to inspect his legs for any stab wounds or other injuries.
"Someone bought me a shot of tequila." He shrugs.
"Oh. Was it a date?" She asks, trying to sound neutral on the matter.
He laughs a little. "No. I was celebrating–maybe celebrating isn't the right word. I officially signed the divorce papers today, that's why I left our shift early. I just wanted to go out for a drink after. It was supposed to be the mark of a new era. It's not going to be a regular thing. Alcohol was never my problem anyway. Although maybe this is a sign I shouldn't drink again." He says, quieter and more vulnerable now than he had been before.
"Oh." Mel replies as she stands back up. She knew Frank had been separated for months at this point, and even though she knew divorce was where it was headed, its still a bit of a shock to get it confirmed. He didn't talk much about the whole process. Princess and Perlah will be abuzz with the news soon.
"You're going to be covered in bruises, did they push you down to the ground?" She asks, before opening her freezer and grabbing a bag of frozen peas and wrapping it in a dish towel. She hands it over to him, and he groans in relief once he places the ice to his lip.
Mel turns to a cabinet under the sink to search for her first aid kit.
"I think they got me down on the ground a couple of times." He frowns. Mel pulls her first aid kit up to the kitchen island and places it next to him. It's more like a full paramedic kit, really. Complete with bandages, sutures, a blood pressure cuff, scalpels, lidocaine, even an IV and more.
"You have all that from when your mom was sick?" Frank asks.
Mel looks up at him. "Yeah. She didn't want to go into hospice, so we had everything in our house towards the end. I know it's kind of weird that I moved it all with us when we left Virginia. It just felt strange leaving it all behind." She frowns.
"No, it's not weird. It's a connection to her." He replies as she places his arm in the blood pressure cuff.
"Do you really need to take my blood pressure?" He says, attempting a laugh again, but she immediately scowls at him, so he matches her frown.
"Yes. I need to decide if I'm taking you to the ER or not." She says, removing the blood pressure cuff and monitor. 135/85. A little high, but not immediately concerning. She turns around the monitor and shows him wordlessly.
"I'm not going to PTMC." Frank huffs.
"Fine. We'll go to Presby." She frowns as she reaches for antiseptic spray to clean his cuts, but he quickly shakes his head.
"Too many people know me there…and they all know Robby. Princess and Perlah will be passing around the story by 7:15." He frowns, looking down at the floor.
Mel takes a step back and puts her hands on her hips. "Did you take something, Frank?" She asks in an unsure and unsteady tone.
"No—that's not what I meant. I swear it was just the beer and the shot, I'm not…this isn't a relapse, Mel. I just don't want to give people another thing to talk about. It's why I came to you." He says, putting his face in his hands, then pulling them away when he remembers he's covered in cuts.
"OK." Mel nods, stepping closer. "How did you even get here?" She frowns.
"I walked from downtown. I wasn't really thinking straight. I thought no cab drivers would take me as soon as they saw my beat-up face. And I didn't want to go home to Abby like this. She'd go insane. I think my legs just sort of took me here…and then I was knocking at your door." He says, raising his head to look at her. She realises his pupils are huge when he does, the usual beautiful blue in his eyes drowned out.
"Did you hit your head?" She says, moving her own eyes to see if he follows.
"Maybe when I hit the ground. I think my back took the brunt of it, though." He says, rubbing his spine as he speaks.
"I'll get you some Tylenol. Follow my finger." She says. He rolls his eyes but does as she says. His pupils are still a little wide, but ultimately equal and reactive, which settles her.
"I would still send you for a CAT scan if you came into the ER like this." She huffs. "I want to drive you out to one of the rural EDs." She protests, staring at him, her lip pouted out and her eyebrows in a permanent frown.
"And have some po-dunk doctor misdiagnose me with a brain bleed or something worse? No thanks." He says sarcastically, but gets nothing but a disappointed look from Mel.
"They'll just end up transferring me to the Pitt, anyway. Please, Mel, I'll go in early and get Shen to properly look me over in the morning, I just—I wanted—I came here without really thinking about it." He says, breathing out, as he reaches out for her hand. She lets him grip her hand and looks at him with a sad frown. She lightly dances her fingers against his before she gulps and pulls her hand back.
"Let me clean your cuts." She says, trying to distract herself from his words. She leans in close to the one above his eyebrow first, examining for any debris. "Are you sure you fell on your back and not your face?" She adds, removing a small piece of gravel from his cut with her tweezers.
"Pretty sure. Maybe it was more on my side." He says as she lifts a medical swab treated with anti-septic spray. She carefully cleans out the cut, watching as he winces a little at the sting. "It's fine though, face scars will only make me look cooler." He smirks.
Mel frowns and ignores him, tilting her head close to his. "That's not funny. I think this will need a stitch, Frank." She says in a disapproving tone.
"I trust you." He shrugs, like she's offering something as simple as tying his shoelaces.
"No." She frowns, shaking her head. "I'm not as good at facial lacerations as you are. I'll end up scaring you or something. I sucked at my plastics rotation." She pouts, putting her tools down on the worktop.
"I'll talk you through it." He says, casually as he turns his head to inspect her kit. "This is so cool, you've got everything we need." He smiles softly.
"I don't know." Mel grumbles nervously, still unsure.
Frank lifts one of the sutures closer to read it better. He probably needs his reading glasses at this time of night, or his eyes have been damaged in the mugging.
"It's a 5-0 silk. That's perfect." He says, giving it back to her. He lifts her smallest needle and hands that to her as well with a small smile. "You're good at this, I've seen you do it many times. You can do it." He encourages her, softly.
Mel shrugs in defeat but gives into him. He grimaces as soon as she starts which makes her stop suturing. "Keep going, it's alright." He tells her, so she sighs and starts again.
"Sorry. I just want to be slow to make sure I get it right." Mel says, as she tries to make the stitch as perfect as possible.
"It's alright. I know you don't want to mess up my pretty face, Melissa." He smiles sarcastically.
Mel finally smiles and rolls her eyes at him. "It's really not funny Frank." She shakes her head, trying to not let him make her laugh.
"I still got a little smile out of you, I saw it." He whispers, grinning again.
"Fine. But be serious for a second while I finish the stitch." She asserts.
"Okay." He whispers, very quietly, a little cheekily.
Mel finally closes the stitch, then takes a step back again to look at it. "I think it's alright." She says, and hands him her phone out of her pocket so he can look at himself in her front-facing camera.
"Good job." He says, examining it like he's not the patient himself. "How's my lip looking?" He asks, removing the bag of frozen peas from it, which he hasn't even been keeping on with all his chatting.
Mel averts his eye contact as she tries not to think too hard about staring at his lips. "Can I?" She says, raising her finger.
Frank does a downward smile now, like he's making an effort to be more serious and nods. Mel quickly washes her hands before grabbing a glove from her kit and placing her finger just above his lip. "This one looks okay, I don't think it will need a stitch." She says. He hums in agreement.
She then slowly traces her finger across the cut on his actual lip now, accidentally licking her own lips as she does it. "Um–this one is superficial too. The ice has helped with the swelling." She adds, quickly stepping back.
"So you won't even need to kiss it better?" He smiles smugly. But that smile drops as soon as Mel looks up at him.
"Don't do that to me right now." She snaps, as she walks around and grabs Tylenol and Advil from her medical kit, and takes out two pills each.
"Mel, I wasn't trying to–" Frank starts, his face starkly serious now, but she stops him and just puts the pills into his hand.
"Was it your wallet you fought them for?" She asks, casually as she walks around the kitchen island to look at his back. "Ouch." She whispers to herself. It's covered in scratches and cuts and will definitely be bruised tomorrow. She softly drops her fingers across his tender skin.
"No. They got my wallet too. Fuck, I'll have to cancel my cards in the morning." He sighs.
"Oh, Frank, this is really bad. Your back is going to kill you in the morning." She says, grabbing the bag of frozen peas again and holding it to his back.
He contracts and shivers when she does it. "You have a scar here." She says, softly rubbing towards the base of his spine.
"Yeah. College football, I was knocked on my ass and it was a compression fracture. The scar was caused by nerve inflammation. It honestly wasn't too bad then, I just had to rest for six weeks and I was back on my feet. But I quit football after that and started taking pre-med more seriously. When I hurt my back helping my parents move I guess it was some kind of reoccurrence injury." He sighs. Mel nods silently.
"That feels nice." He whispers softly, and Mel realises she's been absentmindedly rubbing at the spot this whole time.
"Sorry." She says, pulling her hand back.
"So it was your wedding ring you fought them for?" Mel asks.
Even though she can't see his face right now, she can tell by the way he moves his head that he's squashing his eyebrows down in confusion.
"What? No. That's ironically sitting in the guest bedroom where I left it this morning. I would have handed that over to them myself, would've gotten it out of my hands. It's not even worth much." He shrugs.
"Wait. I don't understand, if you let them have your wallet and your phone and you didn't even have your wedding ring on–what did they fight you for?" Mel frowns, shaking her head.
"Mel–" He starts, but she can tell from his tone that he'll try to wiggle his way out of telling her. Mel tilts her head at him when a realisation hits her. "Leave it, Mel." He says, seeing the realisation in her eyes.
"Don't tell me you let yourself get beat up over the pin." She almost shouts, dragging out the last two words, and she walks back over to face him.
He drops his face to his hands like he's shy. "It was, wasn't it? Are you crazy? It wasn't even worth much." She cries, angry with him now, and how reckless he was over a little birthday present.
Frank had mentioned to her that he used to collect these little pins from Fort Pitt as a kid, but he never got the final one to complete the set before they stopped selling them. Mel set up eBay alerts and scoured Facebook Marketplace for the missing one. She dragged Becca around thrift shops and garage sales, digging through piles of different pins and memorabilia, searching for it.
She even sent a chain of emails that went back and forth for weeks until she was eventually introduced to the retired museum curator, who sent her to a collector he knew, who sent her to a different collector, who eventually sold Mel the pin for $13. The collector told her that "her husband" was very lucky to have such a dedicated wife. Mel had no idea how it got miscommunicated that she was a wife looking for a gift for her husband, but it felt nice to hear, so she didn't correct him.
It was a little five-point golden enamel pin with a lighter gold trim around it. Inside, there's a blue circle with a little cartoon fort and trees inside with text that reads "fort pitt" in lowercase white letters.
"It's worth a lot to me." Frank finally snaps, making her feel a little bad. "It was the best thing about that birthday." He adds, folding his arms like a badly behaved middle schooler.
Mel knew this was true. He worked on his birthday. Mel wasn't sure if he couldn't get the day off or if he just insisted on working it–he was still trying to take as many shifts as possible to 'make up for the time he lost in those 10 months'. He came in looking shy and exhausted, and quickly admitted to Mel that he and Abby had a big fight that morning.
"It was kind of about money. I mean she got me this fancy, really expensive watch, which is nice in theory, but where am I ever going to wear this precious watch? It's too expensive to wear at work, she told me. It wasn't even really for me, it was for her to post on her Instagram and show off–like 'look what I got Frank for his birthday'. I should have just said thank you and moved on, but I blew up at her. And she called me an asshole, rightfully." She remembered how he had shrugged and shaken his head.
"I get it. On a lot of birthdays, I just got the same as what Becca wanted, sometimes in a different colour. Our parties were always based around whatever theme Becca decided. I don't think my parents meant badly, I just didn't know how to ask for what I really wanted, I guess. I wanted to make their lives easier and like what Becca liked." She sighed at the time.
"I'm sorry. That sucks." Frank had said.
"Birthdays are overrated." She had smiled. And that had made him smile, too.
But even on the bad birthday scale, this one got worse for Frank by the end of the day, because there was an explosion at a local gas station. It was an endless day of burns, damaged airways, lost limbs, and many patients lost, including two kids. It sucked, and no one was really in the mood for blowing out candles after on the cake Dana had put in the break room for Frank's birthday. So Mel dragged him into a quiet stairwell and gave him his pin.
"I just wanted you to have something good out of today." She had told him. Once he saw the pin, he lit up like he was a kid getting his stocking personally delivered by Santa Clause himself and pulled her into a hug, resting his forehead on the back of her shoulder. His arms pressed around her so tight it was almost a little difficult to breathe, but it felt so nice. It was probably the best hug of her life, even though she was a little embarrassed by how bad she was at reciprocating it.
The next day, Frank turned up with his gift pinned to his winter coat, even though Mel protested he should keep it safely tucked away with the rest of his collection. He said he wanted to keep it close, and she had watched it move from his winter coat to his spring raincoat and now the zip-up jacket he wore in the early summer. It made her heart swell every time she saw it.
"I can't believe you fought them for that, Frank." She says, finally letting tears fall from her eyes.
He pulls her towards him so her hands rest on his bare knee. "I know it was stupid. But they asked me to hand it over and I just refused. They probably thought it was worth a lot of money. I fought them so hard for it they're probably expecting to pawn it for thousands." He laughs a little.
"But Becca told me how much effort you put in to get it. And it just meant a lot to me." He adds. Becca, we need to have a conversation about Things We Don't Tell Frank, Mel thinks.
Mel nods. "You really scared me, Frank." She admits, a little sob escaping her throat. "The last time someone knocked on my door in the middle of the night like that, my dad was dead. So, you can't–you can't do that to me. You can't get into fights in the street. You can't come to my door all beaten up and just smile like it's all OK. It's not OK! It kills me seeing you hurt like that! You could've been killed." She rants, threading her hands together repeatedly.
"Oh, sweetheart." He says, his own voice wobbling. "Come here." He commands, pulling her between his legs to hug her tight. She lets her head fall into the crook of his neck as she finally lets her emotions catch up to her, and cries huge tears onto his skin as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. He rubs his hands over the back of her hair, whispering little shushes to her ear. "I'm so sorry, Mel. It won't happen again." He keeps saying sweetly.
When he kisses the side of her head, she's suddenly very aware of his lack of clothes. And how embarrassed she is to be covering his skin in her deep tears, so she lets her head up, but he holds onto her waist to keep her close.
"I'm so sorry, honey. I know I must've really scared you." He says, lifting his hand to wipe away her tears.
"You did." She frowns. "But thank you for being sorry, and for trying to protect the little pin…even if it was stupid." She adds, letting her face smile a little.
He chuckles. "That's my girl." He says, which gives her butterflies as she coughs awkwardly and steps back.
"I promise I'll call my therapist and my sponsor in the morning after I get Shen to check me over in a few hours. I'll make a police report too, before you start, even though they'll be completely useless because–" He says, before Mel interrupts him by planting a small kiss on his cheek.
"Thank you." She smiles as she watches his whole cheek turn pink and worries she hurt him in some way.
"I'll–um–get out of your hair. I'll try and get a cab and get a couple of hours sleep." He says, picking up his jeans.
"No–no. Please don't. I'm still not 100% confident that you've not got a concussion or something way worse so I'm keeping an eye on you until we go into the hospital." She protests.
Frank smiles and nods softly. "If you insist." He grins. "I'll just take the couch." He says, limping over to it.
"No. You've already hurt your back enough, take my bed. I'll sleep in Becca's room. We share a wall so I'll hear if you start choking or seizing or dying on me." She insists.
"That's a lovely image, Mel." He says, sarcastically and shakes his head. "But okay, I'll do that, if it makes you happy." He adds.
"It will." She smiles as she watches him limp slightly again.
"Do you need a hand getting to bed?" She asks. Frank looks back at her, shyly, like his instinct is to say no, but he tries to take another step forward and stumbles. He then nods slowly at her. "OK." He says, like he's disappointed he can't get himself to the bed.
Mel leans down next to him so he can get his arm around her and lean more of his weight on her, and she thanks her past self for choosing an apartment with no stairs. Even though it sort of hurts to have all his body weight on her, the closeness and warmth of his body undeniably feels nice.
Mel opens the door to her room and watches as Frank looks around with a small smile on his face, scanning the photos on her walls. "Cute." He says, leaning his weight off of Mel and onto her dresser as he lifts up a little duck with glasses and a stethoscope around its neck.
"Becca got me that for my med school graduation." Mel smiles.
"It's very Mel." He grins, mostly to himself.
Mel fluffs up her pillows for him as Frank settles on the end of the bed. "I would've changed the sheets if I knew you'd be sleeping in them. I hope you don't mind." She says.
Frank shakes his head as he lies against the pillows and gets comfortable. "I don't care. Smells good." He says, sleepily, taking in a deep breath.
"Sleep against the wall so I can hear that you're still breathing, please." She points at the side of the bed that's up against the left wall, where Becca's bed sits on the other side.
"Yes, ma'am." Frank says with a grin. She can hear in his voice that he's sleepy now, so she slips out of the room quietly and falls into Becca's bed.
She eventually rolls her body until she's up against the wall, and is relieved to hear Frank snoring, confirming he's survived the two minutes she's let him out of her sight.
Just as she finally lets her own eyes drift off, she gets a call from an unknown number. Now, who is calling at–she looks over at Becca's alarm clock on her bedside table–2:59 AM?
She lets it ring out, but her phone immediately starts ringing again.
"Hello?" Mel says quietly, trying not to wake Frank on the other side of the wall.
"Mel! Have you heard from Langdon at all? Apparently he hasn't come home and his wife–actually, ex-wife–is freaking out. He's not answering his phone, so I'm getting kinda worried too." It takes Mel a second or two to register the voice to Yolanda Garcia.
"Oh. Yeah. He's okay, he's with me." Mel whispers back.
"Oh." Yolanda responds, and Mel swears she can hear a little chuckle in her voice.
"Not like that!" Mel immediately responds, then wonders if she should clear it with Frank before she tells Yolanda about the night he's had.
"He had kind of a rough night. He's in my bed." She adds, before realising that makes it sound worse. "Without me!" Mel shrieks.
Yolanda laughs a little. "I'm not interrogating you, scaredy cat, I'm just glad Frank's okay." She replies, then goes silent for a second. "Should I tell Abby he's with you or…"
"Um–probably not." Mel replies. She'd only met Abby once, when she ran into Frank and his family at the grocery store, and she could hear Abby telling Frank off for how he 'acted' with Mel before she'd even left the aisle. She guessed Abby wasn't her biggest fan.
"That's okay, I'll tell her he showed up at my door. Tell him to call me in the morning, please." Yolanda tells her. Mel feels like she can hear a tone of excitement in her voice by the way she says 'please'.
"Of course." Mel replies.
"Alright, Mel, enjoy definitely not having Langdon next to you in bed." Garcia teases.
Garcia hangs up before Mel can argue back, and her skin burns red when she hears Frank stirring against the wall. Then it sounds like he's groaning in pain, and before she can sit up, she hears him yelling.
Mel runs out towards her room, worried she missed an internal injury somewhere, and he's going to die in her bed.
When she throws open the door, Frank has wrapped himself up in the comforter but still appears asleep as he thrashes and yells.
"Frank!" Mel tries as he bangs his body against the wall. She gets a little closer. "Frank!" She repeats. He continues to move his body like he's currently in the street fight he was in earlier, so Mel reluctantly reaches out to push her hand firmly onto his chest. "Frank, wake up!" She yells.
His body stills for a moment, then he sits up quickly. "Are you okay?!" He says, panicked, his own breathing coming out at a rapid pace.
"You were having a nightmare, I think." Mel replies quietly.
"Oh. Was I?" Frank frowns, leaning back on the pillows. Mel sits down on the end of the bed and nods. "You were yelling a little, and moving around like you were fighting." Mel explains.
"Jesus, I don't think I've had a nightmare like that since I was kid." Frank frowns, rubbing at his back.
"Is your back starting to hurt?" Mel asks, assuming the adrenaline and alcohol were wearing off him now.
Frank looks up at her and nods softly. His face makes Mel want to burst into tears again. The cuts across his face, the black eye beginning to form… his posture is so un-Langdon-like to her. He looks so defeated, a change from the smug, snarky buzz he still had around her an hour ago.
"Do you want me to stay with you?" Mel asks, before she can talk herself out of it.
Frank purses his lips and stares at her. "If you want to, yeah." He says sheepishly, but gets closer to the wall to make more room for her.
Mel smiles softly and slides into the bed. Frank flattens out the covers so she can get more of the comforter that he had cuddled around himself. Frank still looks so stiff and unsure of himself. Mel would even say he looks scared, an emotion she wouldn't typically associate with him.
Mel ignores the rapid thumping of her heart, so loud it has started echoing in her ears, as she moves closer to where he's lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.
"My parents used to do this when Becca and I had nightmares." She whispers and softly lifts her forefinger to the top of his forehead, down the bridge of his nose and up again in a slow, considered, repetitive motion. "My mom used to say doing this has magical powers to make you sleepy, which I believed until an embarrassingly old age." Mel continues, watching Frank's body finally relax under her touch.
"It feels really nice." Frank whispers.
"Is it making you sleepy?" Mel says softly.
"Yeah." He smiles a little. "My mom used to tell me to pray to the Virgin Mary when I couldn't sleep as a kid, but I think the King method is more effective." He adds.
Mel giggles, softly stroking her finger around the full outline of his hairline, then down his jaw. "I've set an alarm for 5 so we can go in early and get Shen to check you out. I'm going with you to file a report to the cops, too, and I don't want to hear you say no." She asserts.
Frank goes to open his mouth when Mel returns to making her signature motion along his nose, silencing him. "Maybe that is magic because I don't even want to say no now." He murmurs.
"Oh, also, Garcia called me a little while ago. She said Abby was worried that you hadn't come home and you weren't picking up your phone so I told her you were with me. I hope that's okay." She says, feeling a little bit of nervousness in her voice.
"Oh crap, I didn't even think about that. I probably should've called her on your phone. Clearly, I'm a bad husband even when I'm officially divorced. Did Garcia–um–tell her I was with you?" He asks, sounding sleepy again.
"No. She told her you were at her place, I think." Mel replies.
"My lease starts on my new place next week, I can't wait to not have Abby track my every move." He sighs. It makes Mel stop her movements for a second, suddenly feeling like she's doing something that she shouldn't be doing.
"I know that kind of makes me sound like an ass when she's rightfully worried the father of her kids hasn't come home. It's just feels like we both need…separation now that everything is official." He sighs.
"That makes sense." Mel says softly.
"She's gonna kill me when she sees the state I'm in though." He frowns.
"Good." Mel says cheekily back, which makes him smirk too.
"Fair." Frank laughs.
"Don't waste any time caring about what anyone in work says, though." Mel says, knowing instinctively that he'll be worried about it. "I'll spread a rumour that you saved a helpless woman on the street and fought the muggers like you were Spiderman." She adds.
"Mel King willing to gossip, for me? I feel very special." He yawns.
"Come here." She says, suddenly feeling braver than she ever has in her life. She cradles Frank around her body in an embrace, and he tucks his head into her upper chest. She wraps her arms around him and strokes his back, leaning her head against his. He tucks his arms around her waist, and their legs thread together. She can feel his light breath on her chest.
"I should be the one holding you, taking care of you." Frank complains, tilting his chin up at her. He looks like he was made to be there—his chin dimple pressed against her skin, his blue eyes reflecting off her dark ones.
Mel doesn't know what overtakes her in the next moment as she leans down and leaves a small, soft kiss on his lips. He still tastes like blood, and maybe even beer, but there's still something so tender and special about it. Frank softly pecks her lip back and smiles up at her like she's the only other human he's ever seen.
"There's plenty of time for you to take care of me in the future. It's just my turn tonight." She whispers. As she feels Frank smile and fall asleep against her chest, she's never been so glad for a knock on her door.