Chapter Text
Walls of insincerity
Shifting eyes and vacancy
Vanished when I saw your face
All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you
Frank takes a final pull from his cigarette, glancing down at his watch and mentally counting down the hours until he can pass the ED over to Abbot and Shen. August temperatures have bled into September, and too many of the patients he’s seen today have forgotten summer heat prevention basics. Not a bad day—it’s certainly giving their still-green med students time to decompress after the weekend’s apartment fire—but one that leaves him itching under the skin for something to do.
He gives Otero a wave as they pass in the ambulance bay on his way back inside. In the few minutes it took to get his nicotine fix, the air in the pit shifted. Frank immediately notices that everyone looks slightly distracted, maybe even a little nervous—the kind of nervous they get when Gloria or Norris start sniffing around.
Fucking wonderful. His eyes drift upward as he curses under his breath at his mother’s God, the one who has seen him through nearly two years of sobriety. He didn’t need this today, another four hours with an increasingly irritable Robby. The urge to turn around and inhale another cigarette hits him like a freight train. He resists for now; Frank makes no promises about later. At this rate, he’s never going to get around to quitting smoking.
Seeing so many of his colleagues congregating in small groups and whispering surprises him. Yeah, he expects it from some of them, but Joy and Emma aren’t the type. Something seriously big must be happening. Immediately, Frank approaches Princess and Perlah.
“You think they just need to bang it out?” Princess asks, peering across the Hub.
“Gloria and Robby?” Perlah rolls her eyes. “You know he can’t handle that.”
Christ. He doesn’t… no, thank you
“Which is why they need to bang it out.”
Frank clears his throat. “What’s going on?”
“Some VIP is holed up in pedes, and Robby’s avoiding the case,” Perlah explains. “You know how he is.”
Perlah’s comment is loaded. He can’t help an indignant snort. Yeah, he knows how Robby is, probably more than most. But Frank does understand what she’s trying to get at. Robby hates the VIP cases because they reveal the rot in the system; administration can’t spare the resources until they can, usually when someone comes in with the right net worth. And when they do, Robby spends more time fighting with Gloria—willing to die on that hill if necessary—than it would take to treat the patient.
“Gloria thinks he’s trying to embarrass her as a final fuck-you before she leaves.”
Gloria might not be wrong about that. Frank doesn’t put much past Robby, not since he crowned Whitaker as his heir apparent. And it certainly doesn’t help that someone ushered this VIP into pedes of all places. Despite Frank’s numerous and varied attempts at convincing Robby he needs help, Robby remains as fucked up as ever. He’ll avoid pedes as much as possible if he can get away with it. Robby will probably pass the case to Whitaker. And while a year ago that might have rubbed him the wrong way, Frank has since stopped caring.
Before Princess and Perlah can circle back to the topic of Robby and Gloria in bed—and he knows they will; Princess had that look in her eyes—Frank steps away in favor of checking out the board. At least with a VIP in their midst, he won’t be fighting anyone for any interesting cases that might have come in.
Not that they have, Frank realizes, much to his disappointment. So he decides to give Plan B a go: see if Lupe has anyone languishing in chairs for him.
When Robby and Gloria come towards him, Frank nearly walks right on by. It’s only when Gloria steps in his path, an expectant and none-too-pleased look on her face, that he realizes they want to speak with him.
“Dr. Langdon, I’m sure you’ve been made aware that we have a special case in the ED.”
Robby, arms crossed and head bowed, glances up. “Grab a tablet and a nurse.”
Gloria’s expression turns sour as she looks at Robby and then back at him. “Please understand that this is a delicate matter. I’ll remind you that all patients are protected by HIPAA, and any leaks to reporters are in violation of the law.”
“Understood,” Frank replies.
“We’ve placed Olsen outside of the door for the duration of the patient’s time with us so that we can minimize disrupti—”
“Get to work. Dr. Langdon,” Robby interjects before turning and walking away.
With a polite nod to Gloria, Frank heads towards pedes. He motions for Princess to follow. While she thrives off gossip, Frank trusts that she’ll be professional. It’s not something he can say of all of the nurses. More than a year since his return to the pit and months after landing his attending position, he still thinks he’s on thin ice sometimes. He won’t do anything to give the hospital’s administration any reason to regret giving him a chance.
As he crosses the floor, Frank notes the patient’s sex and name: female; Doe, Jane. He scrolls further, scrolls back up, and then looks over at Princess.
“There’s nothing here, not even an age.”
“No, they brought her straight back without any intake information,” she answers with a shrug.
His head begins to pound. Great, just great.
During the year of couple’s counseling when he and Abby tried to salvage their marriage, Frank spent plenty of time feeling like a dumbass. Things that now seem so painfully obvious were complete mysteries at the time, like Abby was a one-thousand-piece puzzle he couldn’t solve when in reality she didn’t break fifty.
Stepping into pedes feels a lot like that, being reminded just how ill prepared he can be. Frank walks into the room expecting that he won’t recognize his patient, assuming her to be some aging state representative or CEO of a company whose product he’s never even heard of.
What he doesn’t anticipate is her.
Mel King. Global superstar. Performer of this year’s song of the summer.
Normally, that wouldn’t mean anything to him. The evening of their divorce, Abby—after they’d spent all day together with the kids—had sent him a playlist titled Divorced Dad Rock on Spotify along with the text: your marital status finally caught up to your music taste. He’d laughed then, sent her a couple of emojis, blowing a kiss and a middle finger, and went back to microwaving his pitiful frozen dinner. So no, he shouldn’t, by all accounts, recognize her. However, Penny has played that coffee song non-stop all summer, Tanner joining in the madness eventually.
By early-July, Frank gave up trying to get his kids to listen to anything else. A mere ten days later, he’d gone down the Mel King rabbit hole, first because a responsible parent should know what media his kids are consuming and then out of sheer interest. To say he felt relieved to find out she wasn’t some hypersexualized 18-year-old is an understatement.
But the Mel King that exists in the media is completely different from the woman lying on this hospital bed. Gone are the sparkly stage costumes, pin-up hair, and make-up, and in their place: leggings, an oversized tee, braided hair, and glasses. The latter short circuits his brain a bit; he always did have a thing for them, the trend broken with Abby’s nearly perfect vision.
He must be a little too hung up on the way her tortoiseshell glasses set off her hazel eyes because Princess elbows him sharply in his side, her smile tight. And great, just what he needs. Within the hour, everyone will know that he fumbled his introduction before he could even properly start.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Langdon,” he says, extending his hand for her to shake. “Sorry about the wait, Miss…?”
“King?” she answers, her smile small and brow pulling in amused confusion.
She clearly knows that he knows. Frank resists the urge to groan, opting to roll the stool over to give him an extra few moments to get his bearings. Typically, he’s not dazzled by celebrity—not that he’s had many encounters to speak of—and he certainly didn’t have this kind of reaction while watching her videos. Mel King, pop superstar, is a bombshell. That’s kind of her thing, after all. And obviously, Frank can appreciate her tiny outfits and long lashes; the drugs fucked with his libido, but he’s not dead. It’s just that there’s something about her like this—perfectly normal, like she might have been his anatomy lab partner—that has him awestruck.
He sits on the stool. “Right. Miss King.”
“You can call me Mel.”
“Alright, Mel,” he begins, a grin tugging at his lips. “Why don’t you tell me what brought you in today? They haven’t given me much to work with.”
“I’m fine,” Mel insists. “Vic overreacted. I’m causing so much disruption to your emergency room, and there are people here who actually need hel—”
Frank holds up his hands. “Whoa, hey. You’re here now, so let’s just get you checked out. You said Vic overreacted?”
“She thought I passed out during rehearsal,” she explains. “But I didn’t experience any dizziness or lightheadedness. Not really. I promise I’m fine.”
Princess approaches her with a blood pressure cuff and pulse oximeter as Frank jots down a few notes. Mel extends her arm for the cuff, but not without insisting one last time that she’s fine. It’s painfully apparent she’s concerned about inconveniencing everyone around her, maybe more than he might anticipate for even the most conscientious of stars. Making a mental note of it, Frank begins his list of questions to try to get to the bottom of things.
They’re not even two questions in before Mel starts to shift uncomfortably. Princess sends a look his way from over Mel’s head; not just his imagination then. By the time he asks about any recent symptoms or travel outside the country, she’s folding in on herself. It’s enough to make him set his tablet aside.
“Miss King… err, Mel?” Frank ducks down, trying to catch her gaze. “You okay?”
She rubs her knuckles against her sternum almost unconsciously. “Yes! Yes, sorry. I just…”
“Would you be more comfortable with a female doctor?” he gestures over his shoulder. “I can go get one of my colleagues.”
“Oh no, it’s not… I mean, I like you.” Her cheeks turn bright pink. “Oh jeez, oh… I meant, not like you like you. Just… I’m comfortable with you. As my doctor.”
Princess bites her lip to keep from laughing. Christ, he’s going to hear about this for a week. Sometimes this place is like grade school all over again. Still, Frank tries to ignore Princess in favor of returning to his questions. He’s not making it out of this case unscathed, but the sooner Mel King is out of the pit, the better off he’ll be.
When his eyes land on the next question on the tablet, Frank tries to catch himself before his face does something damning. He’s a fucking doctor, after all. But all those live concert videos that Penny streamed on the YouTube TV app suddenly play in his head in 4K: the swish of her hips, her legs spread wide on the set’s bed, the wildly suggestive lyrics that went right over his daughter’s head. Fuck.
“Any chance of pregnancy?” he asks, hoping to god he sounds normal. “Sexually transmitted infections?”
Her eyes drop to her lap, her fingers curling tightly against her thighs.
“No,” Mel says beneath her breath. “Definitely not. I’ve never had sex.”
It’s a testament to his recovery and marriage counseling that he doesn’t make some joke or ask her if she’s considered expanding into acting. Before, Frank didn’t always slow down with his patients, often hiding under a veil of cynicism and acting carelessly with their feelings. To say he acted recklessly with their care would be the understatement of the century, all things considered. But he’s learned a lot since then. The hard way, of course, but even that’s typical of him.
“Well it sounds like a case of dehydration, but I’m going to put in an order for a standard blood draw along with the fluids. Only out of an abundance of caution, I promise.”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all, Mel.”
Princess ducks out to gather the necessary supplies, and Frank nearly follows her until he notices Mel wincing. He steps closer, his brow furrowing.
“You okay?”
“I think I hit my head when I passed out.” She gently touches the back of her head, a pained sigh slipping past her lips.
“Let me take a look.”
Frank reaches to feel for any injury, Mel’s fingers brushing against his hand as she lowers hers to give him access. The touch has his gaze dropping to her face, her expression so unsure. Hesitant, even. She strikes him as… lonely, maybe? The more cynical version of him would have dismissed that outright, would have scoffed at the idea that someone with so much fame and fortune might have a rough go of it. But a couple of stints in rehab has taught him that money can’t always solve everything, that sometimes it even makes it worse, and that poor mental health doesn’t care about your tax bracket. Given what he’s gathered about her history, Mel King has more reason than most to suffer from depression and health-related anxiety.
So when he touches her head, he does it with extra care. Sure enough there’s a bump there beneath her braid. Her head must be splitting.
“Yeaaah, you’re going to have a pretty good goose egg,” he tells her, returning to the stool. “I can get you some Tylenol. Unless you need something stronger?”
“Oh no, that’s okay. I’m not very drug tolerant.”
He doesn’t probe further or insist. While he didn’t come across rumors of any substance use issues, that doesn’t mean Mel hasn’t done some hushed up stay in a facility for the stars. So instead, he pivots while he waits for Princess to return.
“Has this ever happened before?” Frank asks, gesturing at her head.
“Not like this,” she answers, eyes downcast as she fidgets with her fingers. “I’m not always the best at taking care of myself if I’m being honest. Lately, though, I’ve let it get out of hand. Pushing myself too far in rehearsals, things like that.” Mel glances up at him through her lashes. “The arenas are huge this time around. I couldn’t believe the ticket sales when Baran told me. It can be so expensive, you know? I don’t want to let anyone down.”
“You’re not going to let anyone down,” he says softly, giving her a sympathetic look.
Mel turns teary-eyed. “Pittsburgh has to be perfect for Becca. She won’t be going on tour with me this time, so I won’t see her for two months. We’ve not been apart that long since I was in undergrad before—” She stops abruptly and wipes her eyes. “And I’ll be meeting Adam’s parents for the first time too. It’s just—”
“Hey, easy. Just breathe, okay?”
Frank leads her through some box breathing until she relaxes, though tears still wet her cheeks. She holds his gaze like it’s a lifeline, a realization that twists his heart until it threatens to bleed for her altogether.
“I’m sorry,” she croaks, sniffling. “If I’m being honest, I’m really tired. And when I’m tired, I get all weepy and ramble. And that’s why I try to just push through it, you know? If I don’t let myself stop to think about it, I can just pretend to be normal. Not this overly sensitive person who just cries in front of strangers.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Mel.”
She looks at him miserably. “You’re really nice.”
“My patient satisfaction scores say otherwise.”
Her brows draw together before her face lights up, a small laugh escaping her. “A joke?”
“Did it work?”
Mel nods. He gives her a smile and lets the silence sit between them. Frank’s gotten better at that lately too.
After a moment, she shrugs, her lip wobbling. “I know it seems childish, being so upset about leaving my sister.”
“You two seem close.”
It’s a dishonest comment. Frank is all too aware that Becca King is Mel’s reason for everything. While she protects her sister’s privacy, Mel rarely misses an opportunity to talk about just how much Becca means to her. How, if it weren’t for her sister, she wouldn’t have even pursued a music career. As he scrolled through her socials and idly browsed her interviews, Frank learned that even Mel’s activism stems from her sister’s autism diagnosis. There’d been a minor scandal earlier in her career over comments she made about the harm done by organizations like Autism Speaks, but Mel doubled-down, asking her audience to educate themselves first and, if they still felt her comments misguided, they were welcome to stop listening to her music. He respected Mel for that. It might have even been the first moment where he thought that there was more to Mel King than sequined bodysuits and sexual innuendo.
She brightens immediately. “We’re best friends.”
“It’s gotta be tough—leaving her behind for the tour.”
“Realistically, I know she’ll be okay,” Mel admits, her voice turning sad again. “Ever since she moved into the assisted living center, she’s become more independent. She has this rich personal life that I never thought she would have back when I took over her care.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Yes! Yes, of course. I’m so happy for her.” Her eyes drop to her shoes. “I’m just struggling to figure out my place in her life right now, I guess. It was only the two of us for so long. I’m learning so many new things about her.” Mel looks around the room as if she’s searching for the words. “Like… she has this boyfriend, who she didn’t tell me about for months? And she doesn’t want to watch movies on Fridays anymore. …And… and I think she might be running an underground gambling ring at her Center?”
Frank bites back a smile at the last comment and then nods. “If you don’t mind some unsolicited advice?”
“Oh.” Her voice is soft and breathy, like he caught her off guard. “Yes, please.”
“Sisters have a way of always needing you even when you think they don’t anymore.”
“You have a sister too?”
“Younger. I’ve never had to worry about her hustling anyone at cards, but she keeps me on my toes, usually when I least expect it. N—”
Frank pauses, unsure whether he should continue with what he intended to say. It certainly would cross some professional boundaries, which wouldn’t exactly look good if anyone found out. Their conversation is already straying beyond Mel’s medical care though. The wise thing to do would be to wrap things up, to set things back on course. But she’s been so vulnerable with him, so trusting even though he did nothing to deserve that. Frank isn’t used to that anymore; people’s trust in him is hard earned nowadays. Justifiably so. The way she looks at him with wide, glassy eyes like… like she cares—like he matters even though he doesn’t, can’t, because he only met her fifteen minutes ago—is impossibly heady. And there it goes: caution, to the wind.
He clears his throat and drops his volume. “I’m in recovery. My substance use damaged a lot of my relationships. I disappointed my family, my friends. For a while, I thought they’d never come to me for anything ever again. Gracie took it hard. She didn’t understand how I could be so stupid when our mom made everyone’s lives a living hell with her alcoholism.”
“That’s not how substance abuse disorder works,” Mel interjects, expression sympathetic.
“No, but I understood. I hurt her. I used to be the big brother she turned to when she needed support. I thought that would stop, that she wouldn’t think I was dependable or safe. But, she did. Gracie had this terrible breakup in the spring. The guy was a complete asshole; I have no idea what she saw in him. Anyway, she showed up at my place around midnight like she’s done many times before, tears in her eyes and hugged me. I felt like I won a million bucks. So, all that to say, I think Becca is always going to need you, Mel.”
“Thank you,” she says, cheeks flushed. “I get why your sister relies on you.”
“Yeah, how’s that?” he asks, grinning.
“You’re comforting to talk t—”
The door to Mel’s room opens, Princess returning with a bag of fluids and vials for Mel’s blood draw. Frank turns to Princess and then back to Mel, noting the way the latter’s face seems to shutter and body tenses with Princess’s presence.
“Sorry for the wait. Let’s get these labs started.”
Frank stands, the weight of his conversation with Mel heavy on his chest. He overstepped without question. He should go—will go—but her attention is focused on him, magnetic in its pull.
“I’ll check in on you soon,” he says, throat suddenly dry.
Princess gives him a look as she preps Mel’s arm for the needle. Is he really so transparent? God, he feels sick.
In light of his inability to keep things professional with Mel, Frank gives pedes a wide berth as he waits for her labs to come back. While it’s not advisable to pick up any new cases with Gloria periodically checking in, the down time does give him a chance to catch up on charting. It’s not exactly riveting stuff, which is probably why his mind starts to stray to other things as soon as Perlah glances over at him.
While he trusts that Princess isn’t going to get into the specifics with anyone, Frank is all too aware that some rumors are going to spread about his interactions with their VIP. And look, he knows how it might look from Princess’ perspective: Mel King is a bombshell who oozes sex appeal, and he’s just a man.
But it’s not that; it isn’t. Yes, of course she’s gorgeous, all made up and prancing around the stage. He obviously finds her attractive like that. Even if no one believes him, that’s not the Mel he sees when he looks at her. She’s still beautiful, but in a quiet way.
(In the same way, really, that Holly Perkins was. Holly, who had been his first love. Holly, who read every one of his terrible English papers with a frown as her glasses slipped down her nose. Holly, who cheered him on at every track meet and danced every slow dance with him at senior prom. Holly, who spent lazy Sundays in bed with him—first in his dorm and then in their apartment—and stayed up late to help him study for the MCAT. Holly, who had been five months away from becoming Mrs. Holly Langdon. Holly, who starred in the role of his alternative universe wife—a universe where he wasn’t withdrawing from drugs in rehab, where he hadn’t blown up his career, where his marriage wasn’t on life support).
No, Frank shakes his head. Not like Holly. He only cares about Mel in his capacity as her doctor. Her lack of self-care is clearly a symptom of a larger issue that stems from stress, and it’s perfectly normal for him to ask personal questions about that given the context.
For five minutes, he replays that justification over and over again in his mind to the point that he believes it. Or, he nearly does until Princess sneaks up beside him all nonchalant.
“So our V-VIP may have mentioned that you have nice hair.”
Frank stops typing and looks up, surprised. “Really?”
“Of course not,” she says with a smirk, rolling her eyes. “She’s a global superstar. You’re a sad divorcé in recovery with two kids and student loans out your ass. But it’s nice to know that I’m right about your little crush.”
He might take the insult more personally if it weren’t for the fact that Princess had welcomed him back with open arms that first shift, telling him she was proud and that he looked good all things considered. He’d been grateful to the nurses, who seemed to be the only people who treated him with any degree of normalcy.
“It’s not a crush,” he says.
“No one would blame you. She’s hot.”
“I’m her doctor.”
It sounded more convincing when he was repeating it in his head.
“Okay.”
“I’m concerned in a professional capacity only.”
Princess raises her hands, her expression clearly unconvinced. “Whatever you say.”
Frank: 0, Princess: 1.
As much as he hates to admit it, Robby’s right about the rot in the system. Frank has Mel’s labs back within thirty minutes—a speed virtually unheard of even on the slowest days. A careful review tells him that, besides clear markers of dehydration, nothing else is physically wrong with her. He still isn’t sure how best to address the stress she’s experiencing.
Frank lightly knocks on the door to announce his presence and steps inside. As he closes it, he ensures it doesn’t make too loud a noise; Mel’s head likely still aches. And there she is, properly resting in bed while the fluids work to rehydrate her. She looks peaceful as she dozes, her glasses placed on her stomach.
He wonders how long it’s been since she stopped for a moment and quickly realizes that he doesn’t want to know. If he finds out, it might feed into the rest of it—this misplaced closeness he feels for a woman who he had only seen online before today. Abby always said he needed to be needed, that their marriage began to suffer when all that care turned to baby Tanner and his job, and he forgot about her. By the time he’d remembered, she’d already learned how to raise their family without him; she didn’t need him anymore—the real kiss of death. The addiction only sped up the inevitable.
Deciding not to wake her, he nearly makes his exit before Mel stirs. A pang of guilt thuds in his chest, crowding his heart until it feels fit to bursting.
“Dr. Langdon?”
“Uh, hey, Mel. Sorry,” he says, approaching her bed.
She sits up and settles her glasses back on her nose. “It’s okay.”
“So, good news: labs confirm some dehydration. We’re going to hook you up to another bag after this one, and you should be out of here soon.”
“Oh that’s a relief.” Mel lifts her hand, gesturing to the fluids. “I’m already feeling much better, thank you.”
“Yeah, of course.”
The conversation strikes him as superficial and stilted after their earlier one. Frank hoped that—maybe if he had an in—he might address the problem directly and not just the symptom. He hesitates, taking two steps backwards as Mel looks at him kindly, and then decides to go with his gut. Pulling the stool over with his toe, Frank sits in front of her.
“Mel, if I’m out of line here, please let me know. It’s just… you have this major tour coming up, and you’re already starting on the back foot. I’m concerned that, with all the stress you’re experiencing, you might find yourself in this kind of situation again. Do you have much of a support system?”
“I have my sister,” she answers, smiling in confusion like it’s a silly question to ask.
“So you talk with her about what’s going on?”
“Well… a little. Actually, we usually talk about the Center or Adam or Gilmore Girls. She’s been rewatching that all summer. On repeat. Every day. I’m dying to watch just about anything else, even Elf at this point, but she loves it so much. It’s important to me that she’s happy. We’ve had some difficult times.”
“You know,” he says, almost wincing. “Sometimes when you’re a caregiver it’s hard to be completely honest with that person because you don’t want to worry them.”
“That’s not me and Becca at all,” Mel explains.
Frank really, really doubts that based on what she’s just said. However, it’s apparent that he’s barking up the wrong tree here. He pivots.
“And Adam,” he continues. “You mentioned you’re meeting his parents soon, and it’s causing some stress. How is he helping you with that?”
“He’s not really,” Mel says simply. “It’s not something we’ve talked about. He and Becca are doing so well that I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize it.”
Frank frowns. Obviously, Becca matters to Mel more than anything, so he understands why she doesn’t want to upset the balance between her sister and her boyfriend. Families are complicated; Abby’s parents loathed him for the better part of their marriage. The entirety of it maybe, except that one two week vacation in Fort Lauderdale when Penny was an infant. The point being, if Adam had any misgivings about Becca, Frank can appreciate Mel not wanting to stir up conflict about his family to some extent.
And yet, he can’t help but think about how he would want to know if he were in Adam’s position. In fact, he would want to do everything in his power to reassure Mel that his parents were going to love her. He would make sure that his parents were on their best behavior, that his dad showed up on time to dinner and his mom didn’t have more than a glass of wine. It would have to be perfect for her because he wouldn’t risk upsetting her. Couldn’t bear it, quite honestly. And—
Shit.
“Look,” he says abruptly. “If he loves you, he wouldn’t want you to work yourself up over this.”
Okay, that might have been a shitty thing to say. He’s growing—divorce and recovery have helped a lot on that front—but he still puts his foot in his mouth sometimes. Instead of being upset about his comment though, Mel just tilts her head.
“He doesn’t love me.”
Frank recoils. “What?”
“It’s not like that. We don’t know each other that well,” she says. “Maybe one day he will. I hope so, but even if that never happens, I’ll still be happy.”
“Are you in a…” He reaches for whatever word Abby had used this summer when rehashing Taylor Swift and Loki with the other soccer moms at Tanner’s game, but it eludes him. “PR relationship thing?”
“Are you talking about Benito?”
He brow furrows. “Who?”
“Bad Bunny?”
“How did we get on the subject of rabbits?” Frank asks, squinting. “I meant Adam.”
“Oh!” Her brow raises in surprise. “Oh! Adam isn’t my boyfriend. He’s Becca’s boyfriend. His parents are coming to the show. I want to meet them before I go on tour since they’ll be checking in on Becca and looking after her if she needs a break from the Center.”
He ignores how his muscles relax when she clarifies things for him. Not that it matters. Her relationship status means nothing for him as Princess so helpfully pointed out earlier—single guy with two kids under five, a wily labradoodle with a shoe habit worse than his benzo addiction, an ex-wife who gives him constant shit with far more affection than she ever had when they were married. Yeah, not exactly circumstances that would appeal to an internationally acclaimed popstar.
Were she looking.
Which she isn’t.
Not to mention she’s his patient, a fact that he somehow seems to keep forgetting.
Frank sighs—he can’t help it—and resigns himself to the fact that the medical board really should have revoked his license when they first had the chance. Having a… a crush on a patient and talking to her about her personal life under the guise of it being tangentially related to her health definitely crosses lines. They’re going to have to rewrite the Hippocratic Oath for him.
I swear to fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgment, this covenant:
I will not be a fucking creep.
I will not fantasize about taking my beautiful patient on a date to Steel City Foundry to watch a Wings game, no matter how long it’s been since I’ve been laid.
I will not—
“Um, Dr. Langdon?”
He snaps out of it. “Yeah, sorry.”
“I asked if you knew how long until I’ll be released?” Mel lifts her phone. “Vic’s trying to get the timing right. Her mom is a surgeon here, and she’s hoping to avoid her if at all possible.”
“An hour. Two max,” he answers after eyeing the fluid bag. “You don’t have much left in that one. I’ll let Princess know you’re almost ready for the second.”
He’s grateful for the redirect, for a clear task that will get him back on track. Frank leaves the room without fanfare, not even looking at her as he walks out the door. When it snicks shut behind him, he scrubs his face with his hands. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!
After exiting the bathroom, Dana catches his attention. She moves her glasses down the bridge of her nose, peering above the lenses at him. He drums a beat onto the counter, fidgeting; sometimes it’s still hard to look her in the eye after everything that happened with the diversion. Sometimes he still feels shame knowing that she’d been assaulted by a patient, and the only thing he cared about in that moment was himself.
“All good, kid?” she asks.
“Yeah, pedes should be freed up soon.”
Just as the phone rings at Dana’s station, Emma pops up next to him, swapping out her tablet for a new one. “Is everything going okay with your patient, Dr. Langdon?”
He doesn’t miss the way Santos stops abruptly at the Board and pretends to look for her next case. A year ago, Frank might have reminded her that they’re not supposed to pick-and-choose their patients, hypocrite though he may have been. Now, he tries to give her a wide berth. Santos needs a mentor who knows how to get through to her, and it’s painfully apparent to all parties involved that that’s not him. He fought it for a while; she’s going to have to learn how to work with all kinds of people, especially ones she doesn’t like. But in the end, her education and patients’ care mattered more to him than being right.
“They’re doing great.”
“Do we get VIPs often? This is my first.”
Frank shifts, resting his hip against the Hub. “Occasionally. You should ask Donnie about our last one. They made a… lasting impression.”
“I’ll do that,” she says, expression turning a touch embarrassed. Everyone knows about her crush on Donnie.
“We got three traumas coming in,” Dana announces. “Shuttered church collapsed over in East Liberty. Had some unhoused folks living on the first floor. They’re routing them to us since Presby’s got their hands full with that capsized boat.” She looks at Frank. “They’re going to need an extra set of hands by the sound of it.”
“On it!”
The trauma cases turn out to be a mess. He’s tied up with an impalement initially—talking the med students through the procedure as they watch Ramesh, the new R2, do an abdomen ultrasound to check for organ damage—before he gets called over to Trauma 1. Cassie’s R3 fumbles the extraventricular drain placement, nicking a blood vessel and rapidly accelerating the pressure on the brain. He, and eventually Robby, step in to help. It takes time—a lot of touch-and-go moments—but they manage to get the woman stabilized enough for surgery to take her. The other two patients follow.
Then, no sooner does he step out of Trauma 2 than Dana informs him he’s cutting it close to his required drug testing again. After a year of clean piss and the chaos of the ED, one would think they’d cut him a little slack on the timing, but no, that’s not how it works. He goes through the ritual embarrassment of having one of his upstairs colleagues watch him pee, which might get easier someday, but that day is definitely not today. Not with Dylan—who is a complete fucking tool—observing him; at least he and Olivia have some inside jokes to get them through the ordeal.
So when Frank finally gets back down to the pit, he doesn’t expect to immediately get pulled aside by Princess. He certainly doesn’t expect to be handed Mel’s discharge paperwork, which would definitely fall under Princess’s purview. Frank glances up from the papers, brow raised in question.
“I told her she could go twenty minutes ago, but she asked to see you,” Princess explains.
“Is she okay?”
She shrugs. “If she’s sticking around for you, she might have hit her head harder than we thought.”
“Haha, very funny.” He pauses. “Look, Robby is already pissed about this, and if he finds out she’s waiting until I discharge her—”
“I won’t say a word.”
Frank starts walking backwards towards pedes. “I owe you!”
“Oh, I’m aware.”
Frank isn’t sure what to expect when he knocks on the door to pedes again, but getting to see Mel for any reason is good enough for him. He’s already suffered enough indignities in the last thirty minutes that he’s virtually untouchable right now. If she wants him to tell her what shower sex positions she should avoid for safety reasons with her A-list paramour, he would. Hypothetical shower sex with a hypothetical boyfriend, of course; he does listen to his patients. The point being, he would endure just about anything for another little smile.
“Dr. Langdon!”
“Hey, Princess said you wanted to see me before you left. Is something wrong?”
“Yes.” Mel immediately shakes her head. “I mean, no. No, I’m fine, but there is something I wanted to say.”
Frank crosses his arms over his chest. “Uh, sure. Go for it.”
She takes a deep breath, her fist resting against her breastbone. For a moment, Frank anticipates her giving him some bad news. Braces emotionally like she’s going to break-up with him or something, which is fucking absurd on a lot of levels. Maybe it’s just his body remembering that same prolonged lead up that Abby had given him before she asked for a divorce. When Mel looks at him with kind eyes though, he relaxes.
“Thank you for today.”
“Just doing my job,” he says, grinning.
“Oh, it’s…” Her fist tightens. “I’m grateful that you treated me like a person.”
“Mmm, last time I checked you are a person. My professional opinion.”
“You really like jokes,” she observes, her expression open and warm. “I meant that you… you listened. And you didn’t make a big deal about who I am.”
His heart aches for her if this is something she feels like she needs to express gratitude for. Over the course of their limited conversations today, Frank got the sense that she lives a lonely life, but even he wouldn’t have guessed it was this bad.
“Don’t think I forgot entirely. My two-year-old wants to be ‘Spresso Girl’ for Halloween. I hold you personally responsible for all the glittery eyeshadow in my house.”
“You have a daughter?”
He must imagine the way her eyes drop to his arms, searching for something. Maybe checking him out? In a split second, Frank makes the pitiful decision to flex them a bit. It’s not a crime; he’s broken the law enough to know that much. And Mel is effectively discharged. She’s barely even his patient anymore.
“A daughter and a son,” he explains. “They’re pretty big fans. I can’t wait to tell them that I met the Mel King today. I’ll be the coolest dad ever. At least for as long as their attention spans hold. Honestly, I need a win like this with them, so thank you.”
“Would you…” Mel bites her lip, hesitating. “Would you want to come to my show in a couple weeks?”
“Really?” he asks, surprised.
Mel shrugs, teasing, “In case your kids forget you’re cool. You—oh!”
She glances down at her phone the moment it dings with a message. Mel types quickly and then drops it back to her side.
“Sorry, that’s Vic. She’s outside and sending in Mike, my security guy.”
“She’s not coming in?”
“No, she has this thing with her mom. Last time Dr. Shamsi was at her apartment, Vic saged for days afterwards. Her mom wants her to go back to med school instead of being the PA to ‘Showgirl Barbie.’” Mel panics, adding quickly. “Please don’t tell her I said that. I don’t think it’s her nickname for me or anything. Vic thinks she picked it up somewhere and used it derisively in the moment.”
Having been on the receiving end of ER Ken, Frank sympathizes entirely.
“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
Mel’s phone dings again. Then again.
“Sorry, sorry! I really have to go.” She unlocks it and then looks at him. “Could I get your email? F-for ticket coordination, of course! Ah, and how many tickets?”
“Three would be great.”
“Your wife won’t be coming?”
“Ex-wife.”
He shows her his ringless hand, like she needs the evidence. Mel’s cheeks redden. It must be the heat getting to her because the alternative is impossible.
“As much as she loves concerts, I think she might appreciate the night off,” he continues. “I’ve been working long hours for the last few weeks, and it’s made time with the kids difficult. She’s ready to pull out her hair.”
Mel hands over the phone for him to add his contact information to her notes, which he does—name and email address as asked. For a moment, he considers taking a risk and adding his phone number, but no. She probably has a phone full of famous guys waiting for her to call.
If he were in her league—if he was some Hollywood TV star or something—he would be. Waiting for her call, that is. He’d slip it to her at some awards show after a few long conversations. Mel would like that—talking about things—and maybe it would be enough for her to notice him, for him to set himself apart from all those other guys. But, of course, he’s not a Hollywood star, and she’s so far out of his league that they’re not even playing the same game.
“I’ll have Vic send these over soon,” Mel says, taking back her phone.
“I’ll be looking for them.”
“Thank you,” she repeats, reaching for his bicep and patting it affectionately if a bit awkwardly. “I mean it. I’m… I’m glad I met you, Dr. Langdon.”
“Call me Frank.”
Mel smiles. “Thank you, Frank.”
Since starting his recovery journey, Frank has gotten used to things being difficult in ways they hadn’t been before. At a fundamental level, life is harder without the benzos—the back pain, the noise in his head, the too-muchness of it all at times. But on top of that are his relationships, the ones he irrevocably damaged with his lying, stealing, and using. Maybe because he was already so disconnected from Abby, he focused on how people at work would be disappointed in him, would never trust him again. Frank always felt himself more at home at the pit than in the home he was raising his family in. When he had gotten around to taking stock of his marriage though, he discovered a foundation rotted away by neglect before he had ever doused it in the gas of his addiction and lit the match with his drug diversion. Needless to say, things with Abby had been complicated, bordering on disastrous, there in the beginning.
Their relationship improved when the divorce process reached its midpoint, as if one day they both looked at each other and realized just how tired they were—the fight burned out of them already. That August, after a meeting with their lawyers, Abby looked at him from where she stood at his side a few steps beyond the building’s doors and scrunched her mouth just like Penny. She announced that she wanted a milkshake and tossed him her keys, letting him drive them to her favorite place in Southside. At that table—milkshakes between them—Frank saw the woman she used to be for the first time in a long time—the woman who made elaborate desserts for him in med school, who prodded him into social events until he had some semblance of a life post-Holly, who supported him during his first period of sobriety, who planned trips every time they had a break right up until she got pregnant. Their relationship had been fun, but not serious. Not the kind of soil you ever planted in and expected the roots to grow deep. It only made sense that they ended up like this: mid-divorce, navigating coparenting, performing a post-mortem on the Frank-and-Abby period of their lives over milkshakes.
Tanner and Penny were the priority. For the kids, they couldn’t be dysfunctional, and part of that started by not resenting each other and pointing fingers. Frank was more than willing to shoulder the blame, but Abby dismissed it. Addiction is a disease, and she supposed she should have put two-and-two together: his personal and family history combined with his back injury. Her focus had been on the kids though, always the kids. She admitted sometimes Frank was in the room and she barely saw him. Frank understood; some days he didn’t want to even be in that room.
So yes, Frank has dealt with a lot, and he expects an uphill battle for most things. When things came easier than normal—never easily, just less difficult—like as he worked out the logistics for the Mel King concert, he should have known it was too good to be true.
As he pulls out of the PTMC parking garage the evening before Mel’s show, Abby calls. Frank picks it up with a frown.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“Your son,” Abby begins, and Frank winces, “picked up lice from Hunter Hansen. I told him to make sure his things didn’t touch anyone else’s, and his jacket was lying right on top of Hunter’s at practice two nights ago. Christine said it’s like a lice plague hit the elementary school when I saw her at Giant Eagle this past weekend. And now Penny has it too.”
“Okay, calm down. Let’s—”
“Calm down?! Frank, I’m seeing bugs everywhere. I can’t stop itching.”
He deflates. This is exactly why things were going well: they were doomed to blow up in his face. As much as it pains him, he’s at least gotten used to the disappointment himself. But the kids? Even though it’s out of his control, Frank can’t help but wonder if this is how it’s always going to be with him and the kids—that he’s doomed to let them down. With Covid, he hadn’t even been able to be there for Tanner’s birth; he couldn’t risk exposing his wife and newborn to the virus. He missed so much of Tanner and Penny’s infancy and toddler years due to finishing his residency. Nevermind tainting their past two Christmases with separation and divorce, missing Penny’s first birthday because he’d checked himself into rehab, cutting back on their extracurriculars early on before he and Abby figured out how to make ends meet for two households.
This concert felt like a bright spot. A turning point, maybe. He would never be able to make up for every failure where his children were concerned, but this was supposed to be a new memory—something they would never forget. Since Tanner and Penny found out about the concert, their nightly bedtime calls were filled with excitement. Tanner bubbled with questions about how concerts work, what to expect, whether there would be “presents,” which Frank discovered meant tour merch. Meanwhile, Penny serenaded him with her favorite song, shouting “Ish tha’ me ‘spresso!” and mumbling through the lines she knew less confidently, embellishing the lyrics with mentions of Cookie Monster. Frank doesn’t remember them being this excited since he surprised them (and their mother) with Waffles.
“How can I help?” he asks, making a quick turn to head towards Abby’s place.
“I’ll text you a list.”
At CVS, Frank triple checks he’s gotten everything on Abby’s list of lice cleaning “essentials”—he has his doubts about some of the products—before finding his way down the kids’ aisle. When the kids find out about their last minute change of plans, they’re going to be upset. A candy and a toy each don’t exactly make up for missing a Mel King concert, but they’re better than nothing. By the time he places the bag filled with candy, a dinosaur lego, and an axolotl Squishmallow, he’s already got half his pitch to the kids as to why this is actually more fun than the concert figured out. (It’ll be a tough sell, but Frank thinks he has a good angle on it.)
When he pulls into Abby’s driveway, he almost has himself convinced that this turn of events is for the better. At home, he can really focus on engaging with the kids, slowing down and enjoying the moment while they’re on a temporary lockdown. Worst case scenario, they’re not having it and he has to find a livestream of the concert to appease them. He’s heard Chantanah and Kim talking about that kind of thing.
Frank raises his hand to knock on the door when his phone starts vibrating. Shuffling his overnight bag and CVS supplies, he sees it’s Abby. He answers, his brow knitting.
“Hey, I just got here. Come let me in.”
“Absolutely not,” she answers, using the same tone she does when the kids are in trouble. “I’m not risking you taking this home with you when you leave here. We’ll be passing these little fuckers back and forth between our houses until Tanner is in college if we don’t nuke them now.”
“Abby—”
“I’m up to my tits in laundry already.” As if she’s emphasizing it, he hears the dryer door pop open. That explains the language too; she’s in the basement. “You’ll just be in the way.”
He paces across her front porch. “I can keep the kids busy.”
“The kids are fine. We have a routine, Frank. You being here will just disrupt that. We’ve talked about this.”
“Look, I… I want to help. I have a couple days off,” he explains. “Abby, you don’t have to do this on your own.”
“No offense,” she begins, her voice softening and turning apologetic. “But, I’ve been doing this alone for a long time. We’re going to be okay.” And then adds, going for some levity, “Which is more than I can say for the bugs.”
“I want to be here, Abs,” Frank says, defeated but resigned.
“And I love you for that, but we both know it’s not happening.” Abby sighs. “Now did you get everything on the list?”
‘Yes.”
“Even the eucalyptus oil?”
He rolls his eyes. He has no idea why Abby thinks eucalyptus oil might help the situation—it’s probably something she read in one of those mom groups she’s on—but he bought it anyway.
“Even the eucalyptus oil.”
“Perfect, you can leave the bags by the door after you talk to the kids. They’re just finishing dinner. We checked the merch situation earlier, and they have their lists for you,” she explains. “Just give me a minute.”
“Wait, Abby. I’m not going to the concert now.”
“Your children want merch, Frank. The children who are currently incubating dozens of nits as we speak. You’re going to the concert so that we have one silver lining in this whole miserable clusterfuck.”
“Can’t we just… I don’t know, buy the stuff online or something?” he sighs.
“You can’t get it signed online.”
“I don’t even know if I’m going to see her!” he says, frustrated.
It’s not like he means to get short with Abby, but the question of whether Mel will show in the family suite after the concert—where she had chosen to seat him and the kids—has been a point of stress. He’s not under any illusion that Mel is interested in him; this is absolutely a Frank problem—his little crush. Since that afternoon at the pit, he thinks about her touching his arm whenever his mind wanders. And with unmedicated ADHD, it wanders a lot.
So if he’s going to see her, Frank wants to be prepared. He wants to be sure that he comes off as a normal guy and not like just another man hung up on her. Because the truth is, the person he’s crushing on isn’t the woman on the stage anyway. Despite the numerous videos and interviews he’s watched since that day, the woman he sees when he closes his eyes has a braid and glasses. Not that she would ever believe him.
“You said you’re going to be in the suite with her sister. If she didn’t want to say hello, she would have put you somewhere else,” Abby reasons. “Do you think she’d do a video for the kids? They would love that.”
“I don’t—”
“Daddy!”
Frank pivots on his heel to the large picture window where Penny taps on the glass to get his attention.
“Shit,” Abby says, apparently overhearing Penny through the phone. “She didn’t book it again, did she? I caught her on the porch waiting for the mailman earlier.”
“No, she’s just at the window.”
“Okay, give me a second. I’m walking upstairs. Let me put her on the phone.”
A moment later, Abby draws the curtains and ties them back so he has an unobstructed view of his one-time living room. She sets the phone to speaker to avoid any transfer from Penny’s hair and then passes the phone to their daughter.
“Daddy, you’re here!” she exclaims. “Mommy put goo in my hair. Look, it sticking up!”
“I see that. You look like the prettiest Who in Whoville,” he says, which makes her laugh. “Do you know why Mommy put goo in your hair?”
“Me and Tanny got bugs!”
“Yep! And you’re not scratching, right?”
She nods seriously. “Right!”
Briefly, Frank considers whether Abby would let him inside if he really presses the issue. He wants to be with his goo-covered children and elbows deep in laundry beside his ex-wife. Despite their marital status, this is his family—his whole world—and he can see that clearer now, on the other side of his addiction, than he ever had before it. In some ways, the pills had been a blessing; getting caught with them had forced him to finally grow the fuck up. But his desire to be present in parenthood with Abby came too little, too late. If he’d been a better husband when it mattered, maybe she would have welcomed his help.
“No ‘spresso girl, Daddy?”
He bends down to get eye-level with her. “Not this time, Penny Lou Who.”
“You go,” she insists. “For presents!”
“I don’t know if I can,” Frank says, pretending to be sad. “I don’t remember the words to the song. How am I going to sing along?”
“I know it! I sing it for you!”
Penny starts immediately, bouncing around the couch and using Abby’s phone as a makeshift mic. She fumbles through the lyrics—“Go to sleeeep baby, no! Ish tha’ me ‘spresso!”—giving a spirited performance of “Espresso (Penny’s Version).” Before he thinks twice, Frank starts a video on his phone. Maybe for no reason at all, maybe to show Mel King her biggest fan. Penny is endlessly entertaining—“Workin’ laaaate. ‘Cause Cookie Monsterrrr”—and he knows how much his daughter would have enjoyed the show. Frank wouldn’t feel comfortable asking Mel for another round of tickets because the kids couldn’t make it, but he could try to talk Abby into taking them to one of the other stops on the tour.
As she wraps up her song abruptly, he gives her a round of applause.
“Great job, Pen!” His expression turns confused. “Are you sure ‘spresso girl sings about Cookie Monster?”
“Yeah, I’m sure! She does. I singed it.”
“If you say so.” Frank blows her a kiss. “Can you give the phone to Tanner now?”
“Tanny!!” she shouts.
Frank winces at the sudden volume in his ear. Abby rolls her eyes and then calls for Tanner too, hurrying him along. Apparently, they have just a few more minutes on their lice shampoo before they need to wash it out.
It’s enough time for Tanner to tell him he wants a keychain and, for whatever reason, a tote bag and to remind him to take pictures of the arena where the Pens play. Frank promised a family trip to a game this season, and the kid likes to know what to expect. He’s his mother’s son.
Tanner and Penny pass the phone back and forth, giving a chaotic rundown of their days at ever increasing speeds as Abby reminds them time is almost up: the plot of the Bluey episode they just watched, what Grandma and Grandpa Keaton were doing on their cruise, and how Waffles dug up another of Abby’s plants.
“Alright, munchkins. Let’s get your hair washed,” she announces. “Tell Daddy bye. We’ll talk to him before ‘Spresso Girl tomorrow.”
Abby throws him a pointed look. And yeah, yeah, he’s going. How can he not when Tanner and Penny continue to babble excitedly about the concert? He’s disappointed them a lot in their short lives. He can’t disappoint them again.