Archive of Our Own

The day after the Fourth of July, Frank Langdon was served divorce papers.

He was standing in the ambulance bay around noon, bouncing on his feet in the anxious tic he had picked up as a child, wondering why his wife wasn't picking up. It was the third time he had tried calling her during his five minute break, and every time the rings faded into her voicemail his jaw grew a little tighter.

Frank had barely seen her the day before. He had been dreading the barbecue Abby's parents put on every year to celebrate the Fourth, already anticipating the sidelong glances from Abby's aunts and uncles while more bold in-laws would outright scoff at him. He wasn't looking forward to the questions about how he was doing, when he was getting back to work, how much debt he was facing now. When Lena called him the night before the family gathering, citing a call-out on the Fourth and an open spot for him to fill in, he didn't even ask his wife if he should go. He simply told Abby he couldn't make the event after all, to take the kids and have fun while he worked. He told her he expected he would be home late.

Abby tried to fight him, but he barely let her get a word in. He was too excited, his whole body buzzing with the need to get back to work, to see his old coworkers again. He had a lot of apologizing to do; he pictured them in his mind as Abby uselessly tried to tell him how much she wanted him at the reunion. He needed to talk to Dana, to Garcia, to Robby. Maybe even to Santos, if she let him. He desperately hoped Mel was still working there— he felt the worst about letting her down. The shocked, hopeful tremble of excitement in her voice when she saw him working during the MCI the year before echoed in his ears long after that day passed. He felt like such an asshole for letting them all down, but he especially hated the way he had left her alone.

He supposed it shouldn't have been a surprise when he heard footsteps behind him and turned to find himself facing Abby's mother. Her face grim and almost apologetic, an envelope in her hands… Frank's phone fell to the floor of the ambulance bay, the screen cracking thinly in one corner.

Frank worked through the pain. He thought he was getting quite good at that. When he returned home that evening the house was empty, dark, ominously quiet. There was a note taped to the front door: a long list of reasons why Abby had filed for divorce. She detailed his lack of communication, his prioritizing work over family, his inability to let her in these days. At the end it simply said, "And you didn't even come home to try and talk to me until you finished your damn shift. Frank, you're a good doctor… and a very bad husband." He handled the paper with a heart calcified by guilt and no small amount of shame. She knew him well enough to know he wouldn't ever come home mid-shift, even after being served. For once, his regret stung sharper than the stab of pain in his lower back.

He knew who he was at work. Outside of that… he wasn't sure he had ever known. Everything paled in comparison to the need he had to be useful, no matter the trouble it got him into. He had always pushed himself at his job, working longer shifts than most, and it was his stubborn insistence on single-handily helping his parents move that injured his back in the first place. As Abby slowly disappeared from his life, his view of the world tunnel visioned into the Pitt. It was all he had left.

The first time he got hurt at work was a few weeks after his divorce proceedings began. There was an unruly man out in chairs, demanding to be seen for the tightness in his chest. Frank found himself flashing back to a year ago, a man named Doug Driscoll snarling in his face through the protective barrier between them. He had come back later that day and assaulted Dana, right under everyone's nose— Ahmad wasn't taking any chances this time, but Frank found himself burning with anger and regret for not turning that man away sooner last time. For not being there when Dana needed him.

Against his better judgment, he stepped into chairs just as the man pushed his face into Emma's. Sweet Emma, so young and hopeful and determined to make a difference in the world. She hadn't been a practicing nurse long, but she had already seen her fair share of violence— both around her, and directed at her. He couldn't stand to see the way she squared up to him, eyes bright with annoyance even as she spoke calmly to the screaming man. Ahmad was calling in backup even as he moved in to grab his arm and escort him out. But Frank saw the bunching of the man's muscles, saw him raising his arm as his voice sharpened, and Dana's bloody face flashed through his mind.

His feet were moving without his brain's permission, his hands clenching against his will. There was a crack as his hand connected with the angry man's shoulder but the sudden, shocking pain swelling within him stole the air from his lungs. He had merely pushed the man aside, but Frank had received a punch to the chest. He groaned as Ahmad slammed the man to the ground, shouting at the both of them as if Frank hadn't just been trying to help.

He leaned against the wall, trying to regain his breath as Emma rushed over to him with wide eyes. He pressed his hand over his chest, wincing at the tenderness of his skin but relieved to find nothing broken or cut. He would bruise, but no permanent damage would be done.

"You didn't need to do that, Dr. Langdon," Emma sighed as she gestured for him to come back to the nurse's station with her. "But… thank you for defending me. That was really brave."

He hobbled after her, head low as he concentrated on his breathing, but he smiled down at the floor. The pain stung, but almost in a good way. He had earned this pain helping someone else. Defending someone who deserved it, teaching a lesson to someone who warranted it— it was worth the purple that would stain his skin in the following days. Dana was scolding him and Ahmad was reminding him to stay in his lane and Emma was fussing over his chest, but their voices melded together into one nondescript noise as he stared down at his hands. They still stung pleasantly from the slap he had levied to the aggressive man's shoulder. It felt good to take matters into his own hands for once.

The second time he got hurt at work, Mel was furious at him. This time, it was more or less on purpose. She knew that something had been off with him— she was very perceptive, and he felt like somehow she always knew exactly what he was thinking and feeling. She had guessed the very day after he was served that something was wrong with his marriage. Though he mostly kept his problems to himself so as not to burden her, she always managed to coax a few words out of him so she knew how to comfort him. His sweet friend Mel, so supportive and gentle with him even when he didn't deserve it. He wasn't sure exactly what he had done to cause her to care for him so much, but she had made her allegiance to him very clear since his return.

Which was why, when he came to her with a bloody lip and a sheepish grin, she actually scowled at him.

"This asshole was flinging himself around like crazy while we were transferring him from Trauma 1 to North 6!" Frank defended himself as Mel pushed him towards an empty room. "He kept saying he was gonna sue us all, personally ruin our reputations, even blow up the damn hospital— all I did was restrain him so he couldn't keep shouting that shit where the other patients could hear."

'That's security's job, Langdon," she groaned, pushing him down onto a stool in an empty room. She glared down at his face, at his split lip and the blood drying on his chin. "What did he do to you?"

"He might've, y'know. Kinda punched me in the face a little bit."

"A little bit?!" Mel cried, grabbing his chin roughly. Frank's spine tingled as her delicate fingers held his jaw firm and still, the pinpoints of warm pressure distracting him from the throb of his cut lip.

"He had a ring on his finger," he mumbled, his cheeks squished from her touch. "Not my fault."

"Yes, your fault," she sighed, reaching for a cloth and some saline off the cart at her side. "No one asked you to do that, Langdon. He would have been sedated soon anyways."

"I just got tired of hearing him say that bullshit," he groaned, wincing as she dabbed the blood off his lip a little too sharply. She slowed her movements with a huff.

"You need to take better care of yourself," she whispered, leaning closer to his face as she tilted his chin up. "That's twice in two weeks you've been wounded at work by a patient." He stared at her eyes as she dabbed gently at the open wound. He never could quite tell what color they were, but up this close he could see they were a mesmerizing golden-brown with soft streaks of green like the multicolored leaves outside, preparing to shed their summer coat for the ambers of fall.

"I'm fine," Frank mumbled around the cloth, his voice just as low. "Just a streak of bad luck, that's all."

Mel grumbled under her breath but didn't respond as she focused on cleaning him up. The cut was deep and stung like crazy— he knew it would require a few stitches and he wouldn't be able to eat in comfort for at least two weeks, but he relaxed as her hands roamed his jaw. It felt nice to be taken care of by someone else for once. And no, he could not find it in himself to regret pushing that man flat and getting in his face a bit. The satisfaction of action was well worth the pain that followed.

The third time he got hurt at work was, in fact, two weeks later. His lip had finally healed, though it was still sore and discolored around the split. Mel had taken to working even closer at his side than usual, her eagle eyes rarely leaving him as if she was worried he would get into more trouble without her watching him. They had begun to chat outside of work, which was a nice change of pace. He usually kept his work life and his personal life very separate, but with the divorce going on it was comforting to have someone both inside and outside of the Pitt who he could turn to.

But the day was busy, and sometime in the afternoon they lost sight of one another. A double trauma came in: two car crashes, both with a fatality and a wounded individual. An unscathed woman, the wife of one critically wounded driver, begged and pleaded to be let into the room as the doctors threw themselves into trying to save the man's life. Frank was working on the less critical trauma, but once that patient was stable he swiftly made his way over to the other room to offer an assist. The patient's wife blocked his path, practically screaming about her need to be let into the room.

Frank was not as gentle with the woman as he could have been. The hair was raised on the back of his neck from the horror of the injuries both drivers had sustained in the crash, the scent of blood and panic was clogging his senses, and his head was pounding from the screams of both parties. He needed to get in to help that man, and nothing else mattered— not even the begging wife in front of him. Frank told her to wait, to sit down and pray, but she pushed past him to get into the room anyway. He saw red.

A sharp scuffle, a scarlet puddle of blood, and a panicked shove was all it took for Frank's head to crack against the tiled floor. He passed out almost immediately, the violent white lights of the ER swallowing his vision whole.

He came to not long after, though it had been long enough that he was neatly tucked into a gurney in his own room. His head throbbed, though thankfully the lights were off; as his vision blearily cleared, he made out a blur of movement to his side.

"Don't move!" Mel gasped, quick hands holding him in place by his shoulders to block him from rolling to his side. He tried to ask what had happened, but he seemed to have lost control of his tongue. Mel's gentle face came into focus slowly, her eyes red and puffy as if she had been crying for quite some time. Her mouth was drawn into a thin line. "You have a scalp lac," she explained softy, "and probable concussion. That patient pushed you clean to the floor and you c-cracked your head." Her voice broke as she looked away, but Frank didn't miss the tear sliding down her cheek. Somehow, the sight made his heart ache worse than his head did.

"Asshole," he rasped, his mouth dry. Mel's hands fell from his shoulders as she looked down sharply at him again.

"Langdon, you didn't need to intervene with her. She was just anxious about her husband and Ahmad was already moving over to remove her!"

Frank simmered softly as he reached his hand back to press against his scalp. His whole skull seemed to throb with pain as Mel reached out and gently pulled his hand away from his head.

"She was… she was getting in the way. She pushed me, not the other way around," he grumbled as Mel lowered his hand back to his lap and adjusted the ice pack at the base of his neck.

"You pushed her out of the way first," she reminded him, her voice tense. "You're lucky it wasn't worse. C'mon, Langdon, you know that worried spouses and parents are like cornered animals. You need to move carefully around them, calm them and remove them so we can help the ones they're afraid for— not push them around!"

Frank looked down at his hand. Mel's palm still covered his bare skin warmly, though she removed it quickly when she saw he was looking. He couldn't gather his thoughts enough to say what he really wanted to, about how frustrated he was by the illogic of fear. He knew she was right, but every fiber of his being had been calling out to help that poor dying man. It made perfect sense to remove his every obstacle— didn't that woman know Frank was trying to help save her husband's life?

"Did he…?" he began, hesitating to say the words.

"He went up to surgery a few minutes ago. They were able to get his heart started again, but his injuries were… it'll be a miracle if he makes it."

"I should have been there to help. Not passed out on the floor like a fucking idiot," he growled, a spike of anger curling through him. He winced as the extra blood rushing to his face throbbed at the base of his skull. Mel shook her head at him disparagingly.

"Langdon… you need to be safer. You can't help anyone if you keep taking risks with patients like this."

Frank nodded as if he understood, agreed even, but the ache in his head was too great to focus on Mel's gentle words. He was sent home early that day, despite his begs to stay. He returned home to a dark, empty house and wept alone in his kitchen.

The fourth time he got hurt at work was both utterly preventable and entirely his fault.

He had begun to expect the pain, even enjoy it at times. It kept him focused, sharp at work where he was needed. Not like in the other corners of his life: Abby barely spoke to him anymore and his kids always seemed to want to go home to mom when it was their turn to stay with him. He grabbed medical instruments too sharply, relishing the familiar way they dug into his gloved hand before he put them to use. He hopped from case to case so quickly that he barely remembered to eat; the dull ache in his stomach filled him with some sensation other than numbness, so he welcomed it.

There were harsh voices in South 18 when he passed it, raised in palpable anger. His feet turned towards the noise instinctively— when he peered through the parted door, he was immediately grateful he had heard the commotion. Mel faced the yelling man calmly, her lips drawn into a tight line as she smiled thinly but placatingly up at him. His kid was asleep in the bed— Frank remembered vaguely that the young patient's grandmother had brought him in after a tumble down the stairs. His arm was in a sling, but the pain meds they had given him when stitching up the cut in his forehead had clearly knocked him out cold. Frank stepped behind Mel silently as the father glared at her.

"Do we have a problem here?" Frank asked coldly, crossing his arms over his chest. Mel startled, her eyes flinging wide as she looked over her shoulder at him. He almost felt guilty for the panic and alarm that flashed across her face when she realized he was there.

"N-no, I was just explaining that Danny here can't go back to football practice yet because of his broken arm—"

"This little lady is trying to tell me what my son can and can't do. Only me and my boy get to decide that!" the man yelled, hands on his hips as he squared up to him. Frank's nostrils flared.

"I'm going to go grab a second opinion," Mel said quickly, slipping out past Frank. As she passed him she whispered, "I'll be right back with security— do not do anything stupid."

Her words passed over him like water around a rock. He faced the patient's father, his back straightening and his shoulders squaring. He leaned angrily into Frank's face, but the way the man had spoken to Mel echoed in his ears over the roaring of blood.

"You can't treat our doctors like this," Frank growled, his face heating. "Your sons health is assessed by us, the professionals. You should listen to us."

"I don't have to listen to any of you," the father scoffed. He stood a little taller than Frank, his muscles a little bigger. Frank hardly noticed their differences as he sized him up.

"You don't have to, but if you actually loved your son you would," he said, his voice dangerously low. The man's eyes narrowed.

"Why you little—"

By the time Mel was pushing back into the room with security in tow, the father's arm was locked around Frank's neck. His fingernails clawed at the man's forearm, his breath escaping in tight wheezes as his windpipe crushed under the bulge of his muscles.

"Frank!" Mel cried as security pushed past her and ripped the aggressive father off of his back. Frank doubled over, gasping as his hands found his throat. The skin burned and throbbed under his probing touch. Mel removed his hands and pulled him out into the hallway, frantically checking him over as he gasped for air. "You need a room," she said, eyes wet with tears as she looked around to see what was free. He hated how familiar the sight of her tears was becoming.

He tried to protest, but his voice didn't seem to work anymore. Mel pulled him into a nearby room as it was being cleaned, urging the environmental services team to give them a few moments as she examined him. He could barely feel her fingertips against his swollen skin.

"Can you talk?" she checked around tears.

He nodded slowly, the words forming slowly and carefully. "Yeah. I'll be fine, Mel, he just—"

"Shut up and listen to me for a moment," Mel snapped, her voice rough and ragged. Frank's mouth closed in silent surprise. "Langdon, you— I don't know what's going on with you, but you're really worrying me. I don't want to keep… I can't keep taking care of you like this. You're hurting yourself, but you're also hurting me," she whispered sharply, her eyes avoiding his as she assessed his neck.

"Mel, I—"

"I'm not done. I know this last year has been… so hard, but this is not the way to deal with it. You got help before, Langdon. You went to rehab, you did the work, but now you're… what, acting reckless for the fun of it? Provoking patients, taking punches instead of calming the situation… this isn't the Dr. Langdon I know and love." Her words slowed his adrenaline pumped mind. She turned away from him quickly, wiping fallen tears from her chin. "I'm going to grab ice. Don't move."

Frank sat in silence, his windpipe aching. He could barely breathe, but he was grateful it wasn't bad enough for intubation— the idea of Mel having to see him like, of Mel maybe even having to intubate him herself, made his skin crawl. All he wanted was to keep her safe, protect her and the others he worked with. He had less to lose these days, so why not be the one who put himself in situations the others couldn't afford? But the tears glinting on Mel's sweet face… the shake in her voice when she said the word "love"… it confused him, made his head throb almost as bad as the concussion had. The bright lights of the examination room suddenly seemed too harsh; he closed his eyes and listened to the soft steps of her returning to him, as dedicated as always.

The cold pressure around his neck was a relief. He flickered his eyes open to see she had switched the lights off. Her tearful gaze still avoided him as she focused on soothing his irritated skin. He wondered if he should mention her slip of tongue, her admission of feelings that ran perhaps a bit deeper than he had known before now, but he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge them. Acknowledgment meant some form of approval or disapproval, and he didn't want either. He wanted to keep her at arms length, to hold her away from the cloud of bad luck that seemed to shadow his life as of late.

"You called me Frank," he croaked instead, his voice painfully ragged.

"I— huh?"

"When you saw that man was choking me," Frank said, smiling as her eyes flickered up to his in surprise. "You called me Frank instead of Langdon."

"Oh," Mel breathed, and Frank couldn't quite tell in the dim light if the blush that lit her cheeks was his imagination or not. "I didn't realize. Sorry, I didn't mean to."

"It's no problem," he assured her, wincing as he tried to swallow. Every word was like swallowing glass. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Mel agreed quietly, softening as she always did when he smiled at her. He knew it was hard for her to stay mad at him, though he felt guilt pooling in his stomach for taking advantage of it. "We are friends."

He was allowed to work for a little longer that day, though Mel practically pushed him out of the door a few hours later. His throat ached for days after the encounter, but he didn't press charges on the man. He couldn't stomach more legal issues in his life right now.

The fifth time he got hurt at work was a full month later. Mel had stuck to his side like an imprinted duckling, trailing after him no matter where he went. While most seemed to suspect that she liked his mentorship, perhaps even sought his praise and attention, he alone knew that she was merely keeping a close eye on him. He didn't have it in him to seek an altercation at work when she was around, lest he cause her any more pain than he already had. Or at least, he thought he was the only one who knew that.

There was an erratic patient towards the end of his shift, cursing and yelling as she demanded the nurses give her more morphine for her rolled ankle. It was Mel's day off and Frank had promised her he would take it easy, but the thrill of loud voices drew him near the scene. Donnie faced the woman, his face slack with exhaustion as he explained they couldn't give her any more medication. Dana was nearby, watching with a grim expression as she fiddled with something in her pocket.

Frank swore he was going in to diffuse the situation, offer a doctor's expertise to hopefully calm the agitated woman, but his presence only made things worse. He matched her raised voice, anger clipping his words short as he insisted in their inability to give her more medicine and assured her that they could help her with any withdrawals she might be going through. His sharp words, his assumption of her drug-seeking, pushed her over the edge. She surged at him and Donnie, a pocketknife pulled out of her jeans as she cursed at them. All Frank could think of was Donnie's wife and baby at home, waiting anxiously for his return. His shift would be over in a few minutes.

Frank pushed Donnie out of the way and grabbed for the woman, wrapping his arms around her shoulders to pull her away. He felt the pain before he saw it.

The hot, crimson stream of blood down his forearm as the woman's pocketknife clattered to the floor. A syringe of Versed swiftly followed, rolling after the blood-stained blade. Dana was a flash of gray at his other side, holding the collapsing woman as Donnie yelled for security. Frank immediately felt woozy. Other people's blood loss he could deal with all day, but his own left him weak and nauseous.

Dana helped the woman into a bed as Frank slumped against the wall, his hand instinctively covering the cut in his arm. He didn't want to look at it just yet, but he could tell the gash was long and deep. Blood flowed down his palm and dripped off the ends of his fingertips onto the white tiles.

Donnie was back just as soon as he had left with Ahmad and, surprisingly, Santos in tow. Ahmad quickly apprehended the knife, though his eyebrow raised at the syringe. Dana scooped it into her pocket and shot him a look as if to say, "And what about it?" He turned back to the aggressive woman without another word.

"Holy shit, man," Donnie said, eyes wide as he stared down at Frank's bloody arm.

"Perks of the job," Frank joked roughly, his mouth gone dry. Santos rolled her eyes.

"C'mon, let's get you stitched up," she sighed, gesturing for him to follow.

"I can help," Donnie said quickly, his eyes soft with guilt.

"No, go home. Your shift's over anyways," Frank urged, unsteadily pushing off the wall. He stumbled on his feet slightly, but caught his balance as Dana looked on with deep concern.

"You didn't need to do that, Langdon," Donnie said, looking away from the blood pooling at Frank's feet. "Thank you."

"Hold your kid a little tighter tonight, okay? For me," he said, trying not to let the pain creep into his voice. His heart ached for the loss of his kids even more than his arm throbbed; he missed the days he could simply go home after a rough shift and hug them close.

Santos led him away quickly, commandeering a room before it could fill. As she grabbed supplies Dana pushed a towel onto his arm, staunching the blood flow better than his hand could.

"Oh, kid…" she sighed, a worried frown pinching her face as she watched the white fabric slowly stain red.

"I'll be fine, Dana. Promise." He smiled weakly at her as he settled uncomfortably into his seat. He was getting rather used to being treated like a patient in his own hospital, though he was glad Mel didn't have to be the one to help him for once. Guilt flashed like lightning through him as he wondered how she would react to hearing he was wounded again.

"It's not that I'm worried about," she said, looking up to study his face. "It's your damn head."

"I'm not the one who had a vial of Versed drawn and ready," Frank scoffed, his voice harsher than he intended. Dana looked away.

"You gonna… let Al-Hashimi know about that?" she asked tensely. "'Bout time I took another break from this place."

Frank sighed, softening as he gazed up at the older woman. "No, D, I'll write you up the order as soon as you want. I just… we're both just trying to protect this place, right?"

"I don't protect it with my fists," Dana snapped, her voice choked. He was stunned into a guilty silence as he caught a glimpse of tears in her eyes. "I need you to be more careful, kid. This is one time too many."

She left as Santos reappeared. Frank sat in silence, reflecting on her words and the race of his heartbeat as Trinity slowly pealed back the towel and hissed through her teeth.

"Pretty deep cut you got here," she said, applying the topical anesthetic while he winced. He finally looked down at the slash: it ran from the crook of his elbow down almost to his wrist, flaying the skin neatly but not deep enough to do true damage to his tissue. Enough to scar, but not enough for him to bleed out. He watched the plasma well between layers of exposed skin, studied the drying blood coating his palm, and felt strangely calm. It had been worth it, to make sure that Donnie was heading home to his wife and child. It had to be worth it— he would carry the scar forever.

They sat in silence as Trinity cleaned the wound. Their relationship had been tense over the summer since his return, but Mel's growing closeness to both Frank and Trinity had softened them. They might not understand one another, might never even fully forgive the things they had done to one another, but the comfortable silence they sat in together was a start at least. When she began to stitch him up, she took care to align his skin meticulously and work with delicate movements so as to help reduce the promise of heavy scarring.

"You've gotten good at this," he offered her weakly as she moved down his forearm. He sensed a snarky comment on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it. Perhaps not for his sake, nor even her own, but definitely for Mel's.

"Thanks," she said instead, her voice sweet with sarcasm. He looked away from the needle entering his skin, though he mercifully couldn't feel it. He was content to stay silent for awhile, to subject himself to the humiliation ritual of having someone else take care of him, but it wasn't long before she spoke again. "You know I don't really like you, right?"

Frank looked up at the ceiling and thought of the note taped to his front door several months ago. Had his wife never known of his secret… had he never been forced into rehab… his life might be very different right now. Not only was it Trinity's fault that he had been forced to get help, had saved his life, it was also her fault that his wife ever knew his struggles in the first place. The dichotomy was difficult for him to accept.

"Right," he said slowly.

"Mel likes you."

This brought him up short. He looked down at her, but she kept her eyes locked on the task at hand.

"God knows what she sees in you, but she really does," Trinity continued quietly. "You're hurting her."

"Hurting… Mel? How?" he practically laughed, flustered by the sudden change in conversation.

"All this… whatever you've got going on," she scoffed, gesturing up and down his body. "You've had more work injures in the last few months than even some of the old timers have gotten in years of working here. Even our 'queen of self-sacrifice' Dana is worried sick about you, golden boy."

"I'm not asking anyone to worry about me," Frank said sharply. "It's not like I— I enjoy this, or seek it out, it just— I've had an unlucky few months, that's all."

"Bullshit," Trinity snapped, yanking on the suture as her eyes flickered up to meet his at last. "I know self-destructive behavior when I see it, Langdon. This is some kind of… weird self-harm thing you've got going on, like you can't just be satisfied helping people— like you need to be the hero, too. It's not healthy, and everyone seems to see it but you. Mel, most of all. God, she won't quit yapping about how worried she is about you these days. All she does when we hang out is talk my ear off about you!" She tied off the knot and moved onto the next section of his wound with quick, efficient movements as he stared down at her, dumbfounded.

"You two… hang out?" he asked. Trinity smirked.

"Duh. She'd probably bring you along if she thought you had more free time. Seems like she's pretty convinced all you do is work and mope around home."

Her words stung in their truthfulness. Mel saw him clearly. But somehow, it seemed as if Trinity did too. Frank regarded the top of her head silently as she carefully stitched up his arm. Her touch was gentler than he would have expected.

"I don't have a— this isn't a self-harm thing," he continued quietly.

"What do you call this then?" Trinity scoffed, gesturing down at the bloody gash cutting through his veins. "Say what you want, Langdon, but you sought this out." Frank stared down at it, stunned when he realized that he almost wished the pain was still present. His head felt foggy without the sting in his flesh.

"I try to be careful," he offered, though he sounded unconvincing even to his own ears. For some reason, it was all he could force himself to say. He hated to admit to himself that he felt stronger when his hands were balled into fists, when he could protect this place and these people that he loved. These days, it was hard for him to feel useful doing anything else. He felt like a failure as a husband, as a father, as a doctor— the very least he could do was take the pain for someone else.

"Try a little harder. Please." Trinity spoke shortly, as if she couldn't quite believe she was saying this to him. "If not for Mel's sake, then for my sake of not having to hear about how worried she is about you anymore. And come out with us sometime, it'll be good for you both."

"Are you… actually offering I come hang out with you?" he asked slowly.

"Alright, don't make me take it back," she scowled, though there was a hint of fondness in her voice. Mel really had softened her, in the same way she had worked to soften him. Frank watched as Santos made her way down his arm and let the guilt of his actions, on both women, sink in his stomach like a stone.

Maybe Trinity was right. Maybe he did have a problem, one she saw before he was even ready to admit it to himself… once again. Maybe he did savor the pain a little too much these days, since it meant any feeling other than the numbness that seemed to have spread out from his chest to corrupt every inch of his skin.

He didn't want to think about it, to admit to himself that he might have escaped one vice just to fall into another, but the sixth time he got hurt at work he was forced to face it. Because Mel made sure that this time, he wasn't hurt at all.

The shift passed in a blur. He had taken some time off to heal, but the cut from the pocketknife was on his non-dominant arm and he fought for the right to resume work. Robby returned to the Pitt as fall came around, his sabbatical ending in a stream of chaos— every shift since his return seemed busier than the last. Mel, as he had suspected, had been devastated to learn of what had happened to him on her day off. It was she who had insisted he take the extra time off, which he managed to spend with his kids. Though he enjoyed every moment he got with them he itched to get back to work, to the one thing he felt he was still good for.

Robby was less than pleased to hear of the trouble he had gotten himself into in his absence, but Frank didn't quite have it in himself to care. But still he promised Dana, and Santos, and of course Mel, that he would be safer at work. And he dedicated himself to that right up until he heard a low growl of anger in triage. Mel had been helping out in triage today, he remembered like a man awoken from slumber. He was standing at her back before he knew he was moving.

The patient was massive, muscular with a bandage over one eye. He was insisting that he needed to stay in triage, that he shouldn't go back to chairs to wait for a second look at his wounded eye, but Mel was firm in her assurance that he would be fine to wait in chairs until a room opened for him. When the man squared up to her, his voice still low but his words cold, Frank instinctively pushed her out of the way. She squeaked with disapproval and annoyance, but he stood before her with his arms crossed as he glared up at the man.

And he really should have let the matter go, should have called in some backup from the nurses or brought over security already, but the itch in his skin planted his feet firmly to the ground. Frank would not be intimidated by this man, nor would be let him talk to Mel so dismissively. But the patient was growing agitated, his hands waving before Frank's face as he talked, and when his finger grew close enough to swat at the tip of Frank's nose the rush of blood in his ears gave way to a white blanket of silence.

He wasn't even sure what he said that made the man so upset, that was the final straw that broke the dam of his anger, but he sure saw when it flooded over. Frank braced as the arm raised over him, determined to shield Mel behind him, but he could not predict Mel's movement. Oh how he wished he could see into the future, could stop her path before it was too late.

She came around his side, eyes round with horror behind the glint of her glasses as she flung herself between him and Frank. The sharp crack of the man's fist against her jaw… the way she crumpled to his feet… the world spun in slow motion as Frank looked down, sluggishly realizing that a few milliseconds had just changed both of their lives forever.

And then the patient was kicking, his face red as his heavy boots connected with Mel's ribcage. Security was already grabbing the man as Frank dropped to his knees, throwing himself over Mel's body. She had curled in on herself like a snake, coiled tightly against the relentless blows levied against her. In truth, the man had only struck her a few times but the world was moving so slowly that Frank was sure he must have killed her from the amount of times his boot connected to her chest. He longed to feel the sharp pain of the kicks against his back when he covered her, shaking hands cradling her head, but security was already pulling the man away and shoving him to the ground.

"Langdon!"

Frank's head spun as he lifted his head, trying to connect the voice calling his name to its owner as he slid his hands across Mel's jaw and blindly searched for signs of broken bone. She let out a low moan, her consciousness fading as he held her. A sob wracked his body when she went limp in his arms.

"Frank!" It was Robby, he realized distantly, hauling him up by his shoulders. Santos and Al-Hashimi were assessing Mel as Dana rushed over with a gurney. "Get off her."

"No!" Frank gasped, but Robby was already pulling him away. He wriggled in his attending's arms, but his iron grip held Frank tight to his chest as he watched the doctors decide to move her onto the gurney. "No, no, no…" he moaned, his vision hazy with hot tears as he watched them take her away. "I h-have to help, I have to—"

"You've done enough already," Robby said shortly, relaxing his grip on the lanky man. His hands were firm on Frank's muscular shoulders, keeping him in place so he couldn't leap after the procession. "Sit in the lounge, Langdon. Take a break."

"No!" he cried again, finally managing to wiggle out of his grip and race after them. Robby groaned under his breath as he followed; his arm blocked the door to the examination room before Frank could enter it. He watched numbly through the glass as Dr. Al-Hashimi felt along Mel's jaw while Santos began to cut her scrub top and undershirt off. Dana was already ordering medications as tears rolled down her face.

"She's in good hands," Robby whispered to him. His voice, for once, was soft. "She'll be okay."

"That should have been me," Frank said, his voice cracking as he stared through the door.

"And then what? You would be in there, being treated the same as her. It shouldn't have been anyone, Frank."

Frank nodded slowly, numbly, his chest aching as he fought to breathe. It was all his fault. It was always his fault. But he had been blind to how his actions were directly hurting his dear friend. He knew she was worried, but to step in front of him like that? To take the blow he knew he could handle on his own? Robby lowered his hand and stepped away from the door, watching Frank wearily as he began to pace. He knew better than to rush into the room, knew instinctively that what he and Mel had was already considered a conflict of interest, but he itched to do something. So he paced, his eyes never leaving the room as he monitored Trinity checking her bruising ribs, Al-Hashimi pressing ice to her swelling jaw, Dana carefully propping her head up with pillows. Mel was unconscious, her head rolling under their touch.

Frank only left once in the time they spent working on her. He ran to the nearest bathroom and vomited into the toilet until his stomach cramped and he could barely breathe. And then, as if he were sleepwalking, he was back pacing in front of the door. Passersby watched him wearily, but he never drew his gaze away from the movement around his Mel.

He wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed, but it felt like lifetimes before Al-Hashimi exited the room.

"Two broken ribs, lower left side. Dislocation of the jaw, which we righted. Major bruising on the left side with a few minor lacerations. She will recover." Frank closed his mouth, his questions already answered by his attending's quick summation. She arched an eyebrow at him. "Dr. Langdon—"

"I know, I know, Robby already chewed me out," he sighed, his eyes already sliding past her to peer into the room at Mel's resting body. "It won't happen again, I promise."

"You've said that before," she sighed, calmly holding her hands behind her back. "But that wasn't what I was going to say. I was going to ask if you had alerted our HR department to your relationship with Dr. King yet."

Frank looked back at her, his brow furrowing in confusion. "My relationship…? What do you mean, why would we need to say something to HR?"

"Well, it is customary to alert HR to workplace relationships," Dr. Al-Hashimi said, smiling softly.

"Workplace… but we're just friends?"

Her eyebrow raised even further. "Dr. Langdon… I've seen spouses of over a decade act calmer during an emergency than you just did."

"S-so? It was my fault she got hurt!"

"Not necessarily. You probably could have deescalated the situation better, I'm sure — your current track record on that matter is less than ideal, I'll admit — but we all makes choices in life to protect the things we love. Places, people… she knew what she was doing, and why she did it."

Frank was silent for a long time after that. Al-Hashimi left him to return to work alongside Robby, and after a few minutes Trinity followed her. She didn't say anything to him as she left, just shot him a cold look as she brushed past. He entered the room slowly, his heart hammering against his ribcage as he stared down at Mel's body and tried to remind himself that she wasn't lifeless, just sleeping.

"Here, kid. You're off the clock," Dana sighed, pressing the ice pack into his hands. "Al-Hashimi cut you both. You can go home if you want, but something tells me you're gonna stay with your girl here."

Frank wasn't quite sure when Mel had become "his girl," but he was beginning to think the people in his life knew something he didn't. He took the ice pack and sat at her side in slow motion, as if he were moving through a bad dream. They had pulled the hair from her braid— it tangled around her shoulders in messy golden-brown waves. Frank reached over and pushed some of it out of her face, his throat squeezing uncomfortably as her bruised jaw was exposed to him fully. The side of her face was stained a throbbing red, spotted with purple around her delicate lips. Her chest was tightly bandaged, but her discolored face was still and peaceful as she lay half-propped up before him.

He was there for a long time, alternating between pressing the ice pack to her swollen jaw and staring at the slowly beeping monitor. He bent over her side and wept until his tear ducts ran dry, his guilt spilling out of him in waves of anguish every time he caught sight of the relaxed, dreamy twitch of her face. He held her hand for awhile, marveling at how small and soft it was in his. He felt like a monster compared to her.

He had finally started to doze off when she began to stir. The ice pack had melted into a bag of cool water; his hand rested gently over hers against the bed. All Mel had to do was make a groggy, confused noise and Frank was wide awake, his hand tightening over her stirring fingers while his other hand pressed quickly against her forehead.

"Where… what am I…?" Mel mumbled, squinting as she looked around. Frank realized she was missing her glasses and rose to grab them, carefully sliding them over her nose as she looked blearily up at him. "L-Langdon?"

"Shhh, sweetheart, I'm here," Frank murmured, settling back down at her side as fresh tears dampened his lashes. "You're still at work. There was an… accident. Do you remember anything?"

"I remember… that man in triage…" Her voice was ragged and it clearly hurt her to speak. She raised a trembling hand and pressed it to her jaw, wincing at the sore swelling. Frank gathered the hand in his and pulled it off of her gently, holding it with her other hand in her lap.

"You took the punch for me, Mel," he whispered, so choked up he could barely speak. "And the kicks that were probably meant for me too. Why did you… you didn't need to do that."

"I know," she said, trying to shrug but failing as her face twisted in pain. "W-were you hurt at all?"

"No, no, security stepped in. I'm sure that asshole's in jail right now wishing he had just waited like you told him to." Mel slid a hand out from under his grip and probed at the wrapping over her chest, breathing in sharply though her teeth at the tenderness. "You have, uh, two broken ribs and a pretty nasty bruise. His punch dislocated your jaw, but they were able to relocate it again," he informed her, his voice broken. Mel nodded slowly and dropped her hand, resting it softly over his.

"That explains a lot," she whispered, her joke weak as she attempted to smile at him through the pain. "I'll be okay, Langdon."

"Frank," he said, squeezing her hand a bit tighter. "Call me Frank, please Mel."

"O-okay."

They sat in silence as his tears began to flow, wetting his skin as he looked down at their sweaty, clasped hands. Mel watched him cry silently, her own eyes misty as she ran her thumb soothingly over his knuckles.

"You shouldn't have done that, Mel," he said at last, sniffing. "I would have been fine, I—"

"I did what I needed to, the same as you do," Mel croaked, her eyes locked with his fiercely. "You're not the only one who can protect the people they love, Frank."

He gazed at her through the murky water swimming before his eyes. "Say that again, Mel. Please."

"Say… what?"

"My name."

She stared at him silently, her eyes tracing the path a single tear carved down the clench of his jaw. "Frank," she murmured, impossibly softly, and he melted. "Frank… Frank, please promise me this was the last time I'll ever feel like I have to step in to protect you at work."

He raised her hand to his mouth, his lips trembling as he pressed a wet kiss to her knuckles. "I promise, Mel. My heart has grown… cold, I think. I'm so numb, and I felt putting myself at risk for others was the only way I could feel… useful, valued, again. I don't like that it's taken me this long to realize that you have made me feel the exact same way."

"Oh, Frank," she hiccuped around a sob, her free hand raising to cup his jaw. He leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he kissed each of her knuckles one by one. "I know you've been going through hell. Please… let me in. If there's anything I can do to help, I promise I'll be here."

"You are helping," he whispered against her skin as her thumb stroked his cheek slowly. "God, Mel, I'm so sorry… it never should have gotten to this. I should have listened to you months ago, should have taken your concerns seriously. I've been so fucking stupid, and now you're hurt because of it."

"I would have stepped in front of you whether I knew what would happen or not," she confessed. "Listen to me, Frank, not that voice in your head. You have value outside of these walls, and you have value outside of helping others. I just want you to be… you."

Frank nodded, opening his eyes and blinking the tears out of his lashes. "I'm going to start therapy again," he whispered roughly. "And maybe take some time off work. Will you let me… will you let me take care of you while you heal? Please?"

"Oh," Mel breathed, her eyes sparkling with wonder as she gazed up at him. "Y-yeah, if you'd like. But only if you promise to prioritize yourself too."

Every fiber of his being wanted to disagree, wanted to insist that her health came before his, but he knew she wouldn't be able to stand hearing that. He had caused her enough pain for one day, so instead he nodded slowly and offered her a weak smile. "I just need you to be okay, Mel. And if that means taking care of myself too, then of course."

"Take care of yourself for you, not for me," Mel breathed. Frank smiled a bit wider and turned her hand to press a kiss against her wrist.

"Mel… sweetheart. When you say you care for me, that you… love me, do you mean you love me like a friend? Like you love… Santos, perhaps?"

"Well…" Mel flushed as he kissed his way down her wrist. Her hand slid from his jaw and bunched into her sheets tightly. "…I do love Trinity, she's a good friend. But… I don't think I feel quite the same way about her, Frank."

His breath caught in his throat as his eyes flickered up to hers, his head still bowed over her wrist. She watched through dazed eyes as he slowly, deliberately, placed a kiss against the flutter of her pulse. "I— I'm sorry. I've been so focused on myself, on my own problems, that I forgot to take a look around at how I was affecting the people I love. Such as you."

"Such as… me?" she echoed quietly. Frank smiled into her soft, sterile-smelling skin and half-stood to lean over her bed. She tilted her head to look up at him and his chest ached. Her jaw was swollen, her chest bound tightly, her red face streaked with glistening tears. He had done this to her. And now he knew that his only purpose in life was to make sure that nothing like this ever, ever happened to her again. He would turn tail and run from every danger he ever faced, if it meant keeping her safe.

"I love you, Mel," he murmured, bending over her body to press his lips against the surprised furrow of her forehead. Her skin was hot to the touch. "You have been more of a friend to me than I'll ever deserve." Mel whimpered softly as he leaned in closer to kiss her cheek, his lips hovering over the mark at the corner of her eye. Her damp eyelashes tickled against his jaw.

"You and me together from now on, okay? No more going in alone?" Mel asked, her voice trembling as his lips moved to kiss the tip of her nose.

"Together," he promised, smiling as she giggled softly at the kiss. "I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

"How do you think I've felt?" she laughed under her breath as his mouth moved down her face. He kissed her lips tenderly, pouring every ounce of love and fear and appreciation into the gesture as he possibly could. Their lips were wet with longing and tears but, despite the situation, it was still the sweetest kiss of his life.

"You'll never have to worry about me again, sweetheart, I promise," he whispered against her mouth when they parted. "My eyes are opened… in more ways than one."

Frank leaned back to look at her fully. Her hair was a mess around her slender shoulders, so he ran his fingers through it to pull it out of her face. Mel grabbed the hand at his side, gently entwining their fingers as she allowed him to tuck her hair behind her ear.

It would be a long road to recovery— for both of them. But here they were: hand in hand, lips tingling from their first kiss, and hearts still beating. The first step down the winding path before them had been taken, but they had taken it together. A long journey that would be made better by the person they loved, steadfast at their side.