Archive of Our Own

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Mel asks, her eyes tracing the contours of Frank’s profile. 

It’s the third time she’s voiced the question in the 20-minute drive between her townhouse and the hospital. 

“I’m fine,” he replies, also for the third time. 

He’s very much not fine. His knuckles are white around the steering wheel of his SUV, and his mouth is set in a perpetual grimace. 

Their morning commute is usually Mel’s favorite time of day. A little pocket of peace before the chaos of the ED. Where hospital talk is banned, and he lets her play DJ with his phone as he drives them to work, his fingers tapping out the rhythm of whatever song is playing against her thigh. But the bubble popped that morning the second she stepped outside and saw how slowly he climbed out of the car. She’s spent the better part of almost two years learning this man, memorizing his expressions, his moods, the way he moves. Mel would know there was something off about the cadence of his steps with her eyes closed, only needing the sound of his sneakers hitting the pavement to alert her that something was wrong. 

“Is it your back?” she tries again, toying with the sleeve of her navy track jacket. 

“My back is fine.” 

“Frank…”

“Can you please just drop it?” 

Mel flinches at the sharpness in his tone and turns to look at the river. Pressing further won’t do any good. She’d practically had to trick him into taking cold medicine when he was sick back in December after he’d spent three days hacking up a lung while repeatedly insisting that he was fine. It had become increasingly clear that he was mentally equating acknowledging that he was sick in any capacity with his addiction issues, that in his mind he was already sick and any other forms of illness were unacceptable. Once he was better, she’d gently suggested maybe it was something to bring up to his therapist. It’s a work in progress.   

He blows out a heavy breath and hangs his head as the car rolls to a gentle stop at a stoplight.  

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He reaches over for her hand, bringing it to his mouth to place a soft kiss on the backs of her fingers. “I didn’t mean to snap.” 

“It’s okay.” She looks down at her lap, unsuccessfully fighting to contain the color that floods her cheeks at the endearment. 

It’s only been 28 days since they officially started dating, and Mel’s not quite used to it yet. Not any of it. Not the way he now calls her baby or sweetheart more than he uses her name. Or the way he’ll slip in behind her and wrap his arms around her waist as she does the dishes. Or the sporadic kisses to the top of her head as they watch TV.  

They spent nine months after his divorce was finalized slowly intertwining their lives before acknowledging that there was more than just friendship between them. Dinners just felt so much more worth cooking when there would be someone sitting across the table. Trips to the post office or the dry cleaner were made on the other’s behalf. Keys were cut so that Frank could water her plethora of houseplants while Mel took Becca to see the San Diego Zoo, and so Mel could use his much newer washing machine and dryer, which didn’t leave her towels slightly damp.  

Hugs goodnight got longer, sometimes accompanied by a kiss pressed to the top of her head. The space between them on the couch shrank as they slowly worked their way through episodes of a documentary they both wanted to see. The arm stretched out along the top of the cushions started to wrap around her shoulders. All of it so gradually, Mel couldn’t quite place when things had changed between them. They just had.    

And now her fridge is perpetually stocked with kale and protein powder for Frank’s morning smoothies. Their mutual days off are spent with his kids and Becca. And most of her nights are spent with his body curled around hers, a heavy arm anchoring them together with a palm warm against her sternum. Mel can confidently say that she’s never been happier. 

Even now, as she sits in the worn leather passenger seat of his SUV, knowing something is wrong and he won’t tell her, she can’t quite tell if her chest feels tight with worry or because of how her heart just swells with affection for the man next to her at the sight of his hand on her thigh and the feel of his fingers tapping out the beat of the song on the radio against the inseam of her jeans. 

“I just wish you’d talk to me,” she says, and bites her lower lip as she goes back to studying the side of his face. 

“Mel…” 

“Don’t ‘Mel’ me. I know something’s wrong, and you’re about to tell me not to worry about it. But we both know I’m going to anyway, and the fact that you won’t tell me just makes me think it’s probably something terrible, and I…” 

“I’m fine,” he cuts her off, squeezing her thigh. “My stomach’s just off. I think maybe I’m coming down with that bug Penny brought home from school last week.” 

“Oh…” she says. “Why didn’t you say anything? You could have called out…” 

“I’m not gonna leave the ED shorthanded on a Saturday,” Frank replies. “I’ll be fine. I’ll wear a mask so I keep my germs to myself and get you to prescribe me some Zofran, okay?” 

“Only if you let me examine you first.” 

“Can’t keep your hands off me, huh?” His eyes cut in her direction, a teasing grin playing at the corners of his lips that turns into a wince when one of the tires hits a pothole.  

“No,” Mel replies, a little grin curling up the corners of her mouth for a moment before her expression once again turns serious. “But that’s not why. You were complaining about that pain in your side the other day, and now you’re feeling nauseous…” 

Now that she thinks about it, Frank’s seemed a little off the last couple of days. They’ve both just been so busy; she hadn’t clocked it. He’d worked a double to cover for Henderson on the night shift, and then Tanner had his school play. They’d debated whether or not Mel should go too, but ultimately decided against it. Frank hasn’t told Abby that they’re together yet and didn’t think Tanner’s big night was an appropriate time. 

They haven’t really told anyone, actually. Haven’t wanted to rock the boat at the hospital in case the disclosure of their relationship jeopardizes her emergency pediatrics fellowship or his appointment as second day-shift attending on the heels of Al-Hahashimi taking a job in Chicago. They know that they won’t both stay at PTMC forever. That’s not the nature of teaching hospitals, but she’d really like it if they could stay coworkers for as long as possible. Two more years are better than nothing.  

It won’t raise any red flags that she’s the one who’d examine him or write him a prescription. Everyone knows they’re friends and hang out outside the hospital. The onset of nausea, coupled with the pain in his side, has Mel concerned. He’d blamed the pain in his side the prior morning on accidentally getting rammed by a gurney. But it’s on his right, and… 

“My appendix and I are both fine, Mel,” Frank says, catching onto her train of thought.   

“I’d just feel better after an ultrasound. A quick one. If it is your appendix, we might even be able to treat it with just antibiotics.” 

“And then just needed it taken out in a couple years?” he asks as they enter the hospital parking garage. “I’d rather get it over with. If it even is my appendix. Which it’s not.” 

“I just think…” 

“You’re not gonna let this go and prescribe me the Zofran, are you?”  

“No.” She shakes her head. 

“Fine.” He sighs as he pulls into the first available parking spot. “A quick ultrasound. Just so you don’t spend the whole day worrying.”  

“First thing,” Mel replies. “As soon as we’re both changed. No putting it off. Doctor’s orders.” 

“Yes, Dr. King.” 

Frank leans over, unsuccessfully hiding a wince as he presses a kiss to the side of her head. She simultaneously wants to grab the front of his hoodie and pull him close enough to bring her mouth to his and curl her fingers around his wrist to drag him into the hospital. Wants to take back what she just said about waiting until after they’re changed and frogmarch him straight into an exam room. It’s torture just walking sedately at his side into the hospital, greeting their coworkers like it’s any other day. 

By the time he emerges from the locker room, still fidgeting with the drawstring of his scrub pants, Mel’s been waiting for at least four minutes. She doesn’t like the cast of his complexion. The faint sunburn that still dusts his cheeks from their recent trip to the zoo with Becca and his kids doesn’t disguise the pallor of his skin or the way little beads of sweat now dot his brow after the exertion of the short walk between the parking garage and the hospital and changing his clothes. 

“I’m…” Frank begins, palms raised. 

“Don’t say you’re fine,” Mel cuts him off, turning sharply and making a beeline for the charge nurse where she stands surveying the board. “Dana, what’s open?” 

“South 17 just got discharged,” Dana replies, turning to them and doing a double take as her eyes scan over Frank. “You feelin’ okay, kid?” 

“Just a stomach bug,” Frank says as he dutifully follows Mel toward the empty exam room. “Dr. King is insisting I need a full workup before she’ll prescribe me some Zofran.” 

“Dr. Langdon has nausea, tenderness on his right side,” Mel calls over her shoulder. “And I believe he’s also running a fever.”

“So I’ll take some ibuprofen too.” 

“Dana, where’s the cart?” Mel asks as she pushes open the exam room door and looks around.   

“Ultrasound was acting up next door, so they borrowed this one,” Dana replies. “I’ll grab it.”  

Mel raises the head of the exam bed, lowers the rail, and then tugs on a pair of gloves as Frank takes a seat. Grabbing the thermometer from its wall mount, she slips on a plastic cover before moving to his side to tuck it under his tongue. It only takes a few seconds before the tiny machine emits a shrill beep. 

“100.3,” Mel says. “You want to tell me again that you’re fine?” 

“It’s just a bug, baby.” 

“We’ll see. Lie back for me. I need to palpate your abdomen.”

“Told you you can’t keep your hands off me…” The last words come out as a hiss as Mel presses her fingers into his side.  

“And you also said you were fine,” she says, tilting her head a little as she studies him appraisingly. 

Mel doesn’t want to be right. She wants him to be fine. She loves him, although they haven’t said that yet. They’ve only been dating for 28 days. No one sane says ‘I love you’ after 28 days. Not according to her exhaustive Google searches. It’s actually been more like 528 days. Maybe longer. But still, Reddit seems to largely agree that you shouldn’t say it within the first month of the relationship. So Mel keeps that, and her hand that itches to smooth back his hair as Frank grimaces in pain, to herself. 

“One ultrasound machine,” Dana says as she rolls the cart into the room, a tablet tucked under her arm. “I got his chart started for you too.” 

“I don’t need a chart,” Frank grumbles. 

“Lift your shirt.” Mel grabs the bottle of ultrasound gel from the cart and takes a seat on the stool next to the bed. “This is gonna be a little cold.” 

He shoots her a look that almost makes her blush as he complies, but then she glances at Dana and clocks just how closely the nurse is studying them. Schooling her features into a neutral expression, she squirts a little onto his abdomen, then passes the wand over the area while they all stare at the image. None of them speak for a moment as they study the black and white screen. Then Mel turns to look at him, her brown eyes locking with his blue ones. 

“Fuck.” Frank sags back against the bed.   

“I’ll page surgery,” Dana says. 

“Not Garcia,” Frank groans. “Tell them to send anyone else.” 

“One med student, coming right up.” 

“Don’t listen to him,” Mel says, turning to Dana. “He has a fever. What Frank means is to ask them to please send Dr. Garcia.” 

There are plenty of qualified surgeons on staff, and maybe she should want an attending like Javadi’s mom, who’s been performing appendectomies since Mel was in elementary school. But if anyone is going to cut her boyfriend open, Mel wants it to be someone who cares about him. While they rarely admit it in public, Frank and Garcia are good friends.   

“That is not what I mean,” Frank replies, wincing as he attempts to sit up. “She’ll enjoy it way too much. I let her anywhere near me with a scalpel or a laser, and I’m waking up with a scar that says, ‘Yoyo wuz here.’ Is that what you want?” 

“What I want is for you to get the best medical care possible.” Mel wraps her arms around herself to keep from reaching for his hand. “And I trust Dr. Garcia wants that too. You’ll never let her hear the end of it otherwise.”

“You got that right.” He grimaces as he attempts to get comfortable on the bed. “Fine. But if I wake up missing a ball, it was not an accident. No matter what she tells you.”  

“You two done with this little marital spat?” Dana asks, hands on her hips as she eyes them appraisingly. “Or you want me to leave and come back so you can fight in peace?”   

Mel feels her cheeks flush, and she ducks her head to stare at the toes of her dark purple sneakers. 

“It’s not…” 

“We’re not…” 

“Sure you aren’t,” Dana says. “I’m gonna go call surgery and get them to send Garcia down if she’s available and then let Robby know what’s going on.” 

“Is it too late to get transferred to Presby?” Frank groans, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“Bite your tongue, kid.” Dana rolls her eyes as she pushes the door open with her back. “I gotta let the boss know you’re down for the count before he spots your name on the board.” 

“I’m not critical.” Frank tries again to sit up. “It’ll be hours before surgery gets to me. I can still…” 

“No.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

Dana and Mel speak at once, both emphatically shaking their heads. Frank flops back against the bed, the same expression on his face as the one Mel saw on his son’s a week before at dinner when Frank told Tanner if he wasn’t hungry for carrots, then he also wasn’t hungry for ice cream. It makes her heart squeeze with affection, and she drops her arm to let her fingers brush the back of his hand. 

“Nursing home patients are about to start pouring in,” Dana says, checking her watch and then looking at Mel. “You should get out there. And you. Stay in bed. Don’t make me get the soft restraints. 

“I’ll just finish his work up and be right out,” Mel replies, taking the tablet from Dana as she slides out of the room. 

“You can say it,” Frank says after the door clicks shut. “I know you want to.” 

“I’m not gonna say it.” Mel shakes her head, a rueful smile curling one side of her mouth as she wheels the stool closer so that her knees brush the side of the bed. 

“I deserve it.” 

“You do. But I think letting Garcia operate on you might be punishment enough.” 

“You are a little evil for that, you know that, right?” 

“I’m aware,” she replies, moving to the medication dispenser in the corner of the room. “But I can get you your Zofran now and some ibuprofen for the pain and fever. Do you need anything else? I’m gonna have to get out there, but I’ll stop by as much as I can. You’re still my patient until you’re officially transferred.” 

“I’m good,” Frank says. “I’ve got my phone. Maybe I’ll finally catch up to you on Candy Crush.”   

Mel bites her lip to contain her smile. He’s never gonna catch up to her on Candy Crush. It’s been her wind-down game for years, and he’s only been at it for a few months. But it’s cute that he thinks there’s a possibility. 

“Are you gonna call anyone?” she asks, setting down the little paper cup of meds on the little tray next to his bed and reclaiming her seat. “I don’t want you to be by yourself.” 

“You really think I’m gonna be alone here?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Once word gets out, half the hospital’s gonna stop by just to gloat.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I’ll be fine.” 

“What about your parents?” she asks. 

“I’m not seven, Mel. I don’t need my mommy here to hold my hand.” 

“They love you. They’d want to know so they can be here for you.” 

“And because I love them too, I share information with them on a need-to-know basis. This is not a need-to-know. I’ll tell ‘em after.”  

“I just…” Mel glances out through the glass wall at the busy ED and gives her shoulders a little shrug. “If my parents were still around…” 

“Mel…” 

“I’m not just playing the dead parents card,” she says. “Not really. You’re probably gonna get discharged tomorrow. And since we’re not telling anyone about us, I’m still gonna have to work. Someone’s gonna have to take you home.”

“I’ll call an Uber.” 

“Absolutely not.” The idea of him going home alone post-surgery in pain makes her nauseous. “You’re gonna have to tell them eventually, and I think your mom will probably take it better if she knows before the surgery.” 

“You know,” Frank replies after a moment. “If you wanted to meet my parents so bad, you could have just said so.” 

“That’s not…” Mel feels a flush creep up her neck and knots her fingers together in her lap. “I wasn’t…” 

That is definitely not something you do after only 28 days. Her internal timeline for that particular milestone was more along the three-month mark. 

“I gotta warn you, baby,” he says. “My ma… She…” 

“Well, well, well,” Yolanda Garcia says as she shoves open the door to the exam room. “What do we have here?” 

“Try not to enjoy this so much, Yoyo.” Frank sighs. 

“Oh, I’m going to enjoy this the exact right amount,” she says. “Which is extremely.”  

The door bursts open again as Robby enters the room, with what feels like half the ED on his heels. Mel swallows hard, regretting her seat on the stool as warm bodies fill almost all of the available space. Even Santos, who still generally avoids Frank’s presence as a rule, peeks in from the back of the crowd. It’s hard to follow what feels like half a dozen conversations all at once, between Frank and Garcia’s sniping at each other, Robby’s orders and refereeing, and the general murmurs of the onlookers. 

It’s eventually determined that Frank will stay parked in the ED for a few hours until he can be taken up for surgery, and Perlah’s tasked with getting the rest of his vitals that Mel hadn’t quite gotten around to. There’s nothing really left for her to do. She slowly rises from the stool as Perlah grabs the blood pressure cuff off the wall and shoots Frank a weak smile. 

“I’ll be back to check on you later,” she says, fingers just grazing the back of his hand where it rests on the bed. “Promise you’ll call your mom?” 

“Doctor’s orders?” Frank quips, lifting his arm so that Perlah can wrap the blood pressure cuff around his bicep. 

“Yes.” Mel nods and then glances out the window again.

Four elderly patients are being wheeled in through the ambulance bay, scattering the ER staff in every direction. They could probably use more hands. Being down one doctor will make the place more hectic than usual, but two… She sighs and shoots him a faint smile. 

 “I should go.” 

“Don’t worry too much, okay?” he says. “I’ll be fine.” 

“BP’s normal,” Perlah says as she undoes the blood pressure cuff. “120 over 80. Now make a fist so I can find a good vein for your bloodwork.” 

A piece of Frank’s hair has fallen onto his forehead. When Perlah turns to get something from the cart, Mel lets her hand come up to brush it back for just a second. She wishes she’d taken off her gloves so she could feel its softness beneath her fingertips. She likes his hair, likes running her fingers through it almost as much as he likes lying with his head in her lap for her to scratch abstract patterns on his scalp as they watch a movie. If Perlah sees, she doesn’t comment on it. Mel flashes him one last smile, or her best approximation of one, before slipping out of the room and letting herself get caught up in the flow of the department.  

She’s not a good compartmentalizer. Mel knows that once her brain starts worrying about something, it struggles to let it go. But working helps. The ED is always at its busiest on Saturdays. Between the influx of traumas from increased traffic and the misuse of lawn equipment now that the weather is nicer, coupled with all those who have been sick for days and waited until they have a day off to seek medical attention, neither the ambulance bay nor the waiting room ever even comes close to clearing out.  

She typically hates chairs. The waiting room is always hot and so noisy it’s difficult for Mel to make herself heard as she calls for patients. For once, though, getting sent out there with Whitaker and one of the med students kind of feels like a blessing. Taking vitals and performing basic wound care really help pass the time until Frank’s surgery. She’s on her way to pick up another patient when she spots two familiar faces looking around anxiously in the waiting room. Even if she hadn’t seen pictures of them on the walls of Frank’s apartment, she’d recognize the woman’s blue eyes and the man’s chin dimple anywhere. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Langdon?” she calls. 

The couple’s heads swivel in unison until they land on her, and the woman’s anxious expression drops into a frown. It’s not quite the reaction Mel is expecting, but she is a stranger. She doesn’t know what Frank has told them about her, if he’s shown them her picture or anything. They’re probably just wondering how she knows who they are.  

“Hi.” She sticks out her hand for the man to shake. “I’m Dr. Melissa King. I’m a… friend of Frank’s. I can get you your visitor’s passes and take you back to see him…”

Mr. Langdon gives her hand a perfunctory shake. But when Mel turns to his wife, she just looks Mel up and down, her lips pressed into a thin line, as Mel stands there, toes curling up tight inside her sneakers and her shoulders creeping up to her ears.  

“Oh, we know who you are,” Frank’s mom says, voice loud enough to carry over the din of the waiting room. “You’re the whore who stole our son away from the mother of his children.” 

Mel’s eyes go wide. The harsh word is so incongruous with the woman’s polished exterior, it almost feels like she hallucinated it. But she is still staring at Mel like she’s a bug that dared to land on her spotless kitchen counter. Everyone is staring, actually, and Mel feels like she has to say something, but words won’t come. A fine sweat breaks out along her hairline as her mouth opens and closes, her brain frantically spinning as she tries to formulate a response. She’s never… No one’s ever… That’s not what… He’s been divorced for almost a year… 

She looks around, her eyes locking with Whitaker’s as he stands across the waiting room, clipboard held loosely at his side, eyes wide, and mouth agape. 

“Dr. King,” he says after a beat, moving to her side. “Dr. McKay wanted you to take a look at some test results for her, and I need to check on a patient back in South 14. I can take Dr. Langdon’s parents back for you. Dennis Whitaker.”

Whitaker reaches out his hand for Frank’s parents to shake, and Mel can’t help but notice the gesture is returned with considerably more friendliness than she’d received. 

“Oh…” She swallows hard, willing any of the moisture to return to her mouth. “Okay. Thank you…” 

Mel’s half-tempted to throw her arms around the R2 in thanks for the easy out. There are no test results. Mckay’s out for the day at her son’s skateboarding competition. Mel’s surprised half a dozen pictures or videos haven’t already been sent in the hospital group chat, but her phone’s been silent in her pocket all morning. 

Attempting to extricate herself from the standoff she finds herself in with Frank’s mom, the woman’s painfully familiar eyes locked on her with open hostility, Mel takes a backwards step, her foot tangling in the strap of someone’s purse. Recovering from her stumble, she kicks herself free, murmurs an apology, and flees. 

She can’t go back into the ED. That will put her directly in the path of Frank’s parents. But the stairwell is usually pretty empty. It’s been her place of refuge when she needs a minute alone for the last three years, and she gratefully sinks onto a step. Time for ocean sounds and her lava lamp app until her heartbeat stops feeling quite so visible beneath the thin fabric of her t-shirt.  

Reaching into her pocket, her fingers easily find her AirPods’ silicone case, but her phone is missing. She’d been so worried about Frank that she must have left it in her backpack. It’s impossible to get it now. The locker room is directly in the path Frank’s parents are taking once they have their visitor’s passes. She’ll have to wait until the coast is clear. Maybe Trinity can grab it for her. Or maybe not. She’ll ask way too many questions about why Mel won’t get it for herself. Maybe Emma? Emma’s always quick to do someone a favor.  

The terrazzo tile banister feels cool against her forehead as Mel leans into it and closes her eyes. What a disaster. She honestly hadn’t really thought about meeting Frank’s parents, not enough to worry about it. She just assumed they would like her. Parents have always liked her. At all of the sleepovers and birthday parties she went to as a kid, she spent most of the time talking to the host’s mom. 

And while she hadn’t wanted to rush meeting Frank’s parents or anything, she had wanted them to like her. It’s just been her and Becca for so long. They have an aunt in Toledo they never see, but that’s it. It would be nice to feel like she was part of a family again… 

“I’m gonna kill him,” Trinity Santos says. 

Mel’s eyes flicker open as the R3 takes a seat next to her on the step and she attempts a weak smile. 

“Please don’t.” 

“Well, then, I’m gonna tell Garcia to cut his balls off while she’s at it with his appendix.” 

“I’d really prefer that you didn’t.” 

“Mel, you’re crying in a stairwell,” Trinity says. “At least let me drop a scalpel in his bitch of a mom’s foot. People will totally believe it was an accident.” 

Is she crying? Mel hadn’t realized. She pulls her knees in tighter to her chest and scrubs at her cheeks with the sleeve of her jacket. 

“No stabbing anyone,” she says. 

“You never let me have any fun.” 

“It’s not that. Becca’s facility fees went up last month, and if his mom presses charges for assault, I’m a little short on bail money right now.” 

Trinity’s head whips in her direction, mouth agape. 

“Was that a joke?” 

“Was it a good one?” Mel asks, a ghost of a smile curling up the corners of her lips. 

“People really should believe me when I tell them you’re funny.” Trinity shakes her head and bumps her shoulder against Mel’s. 

Frank says the same thing. Mel doesn’t say the words aloud. They’ll just be waved off. Mel’s started to see some cracks in the concrete wall between the two people she’s closest to in the department, but she thinks Frank and Trinity might just be two sides of the same coin, so painfully alike they’re destined to never quite see eye to eye. 

“So Whitaker told you what happened?” Mel says, toying with the laces of her sneaker. 

“That Langdon’s mom verbally assaulted you in the middle of the waiting room?” 

“It wasn’t that bad…” 

“Mel, she called you a whore…” 

The absurdity of the situation hits her square in the chest, and Mel feels a slightly hysterical giggle bubble up from somewhere in her chest. She’s never cheated on or with anyone. She’s kissed four people in her entire life and only slept with two. The second of whom is Frank, and that only happened for the first time 26 days ago, well after he was divorced. Not that she would judge anyone with more sexual partners. It’s just not a word most people would use to describe her. 

Once she starts laughing, she can’t seem to stop. Her entire body shakes with it. Trinity stares at her for a moment, like she’s taken leave of her senses, and then starts to chuckle as well. Their peels of laughter echo off the staircase as they giggle themselves teary-eyed and breathless.    

“That was definitely a first.” Mel shakes her head, taking off her glasses to wipe at her eyes. 

“So is it true?” 

“What?” Mel frowns. 

“You and Langdon?” 

“I didn’t…” Mel’s shoulders creep up to her ears as heat slithers up her neck. “We weren’t… It’s only been a couple of weeks.” 

“Oh, I know it hasn’t been that long. Langdon’s been smiling too much for the last month or so. It’s creepy. We figured you finally put him out of his blue-balled misery.” 

Mel has questions. Mostly who “we” is. But that doesn’t feel like the most important thing at the moment.  

“Does anyone else know what happened?” she asks. 

“I’m the only one Whitaker told,” Trinity says. “But there might have been some yelling from the direction of South 17 when I came to find you, so I’d say the whole department knows something by now.” 

“Yelling?” Mel asks, eyes wide. 

“Oh yeah. Langdon was pissed. It’s honestly the most I’ve ever liked him…” 

“There you are,” Dana says, hands on her hips as she appears at the foot of the stairs. “I’ve been looking all over for you, kid.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Mel pushes herself up off the stuff and brushes off her scrub pants. “We’re busy. I’ll get back to chairs right…”  

“Oh no.” The charge nurse shakes her head, motioning for Mel and Trinity to follow her back into the ED. “Your presence has been officially requested in South 17. Don’t know where I am today, the Pitt or General Hospital.” 

“Where?” Mel asks. 

“You don’t know General Hospital?” 

“Is it in Philly?” 

Trinity snorts and covers her mouth to smother a laugh. 

“Kids these days.” Dana shoots her a look. “Don’t worry about it. But for the record, either of you got a secret evil identical twin I should be aware of?” 

Mel and Trinity shake their heads. 

“Dana,” Mel begins, heart rate picking up as they wind their way through a maze of gurneys that line the walls of the ED. “I don’t think my going to Frank’s room is the best idea…” 

“Oh, you’re going,” Dana says. “The only way I kept Langdon in bed without restraints after breaking up that fight was if I promised to go find you myself.” 

“But his parents…?” Mel’s shoulders creep up as she twists her fingers together in front of her.  

“Have been exiled to the cafeteria until he invites them back,” Dana replies. 

“Oh.” Mel blows out a heavy breath, her steps slowing as they approach the charge desk and South 17 comes into view. “And about the yelling… How bad was it?” 

“Scale of one to ten?” 

“Sure…” 

She’d like something more specific. Numerical scales are so subjective. Dana’s version of a five could be Mel’s nine or ten. Or vice versa. And…  

“A solid eight and a half,” Dana says. 

For a moment, it feels like Mel’s heart spasms in her chest, and her vision gets spotty. That’s… worse than she thought. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen Frank at anything close to what she would describe as level four mad, let alone eight and a half. 

“But he did right by you in there, kid,” Dana says, laying a hand on Mel’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have come to get you otherwise. You’ve got yourself a good one.” 

“I don’t…” Mel’s entire body flushes hot and then cold. “We’re not…” 

“It’s a little late for the denial after the scene we all just witnessed.” 

All. Great. Suddenly, it feels like dozens of eyes are on her, like tiny ants crawling over her skin. Frank’s room instantly becomes the safest and most terrifying place on the planet. She wants to scurry in there and crawl under his blanket with him so that she can hide in the cocoon of his embrace and flee to the quiet safety of the stairwell all at once.  

The pull towards Frank is stronger. It’s only been a couple of hours, and already she feels like every cell in her body is straining in his direction. It shouldn’t be possible to miss someone so much so quickly. But the Internet assures her it's normal. It’s just her body craving the rush of endorphins and oxytocin it gets in his presence. Taking in a deep breath, her eyes meet Dana’s and then Trinity’s for just a moment before she sets off in the direction of South 17. 

Because of her angle of approach, she can’t see Frank right away. Each step she takes reveals a little more. Spider-Man socks that Tanner picked out for his birthday. Long legs still encased in dark blue scrub pants. Short, blunt fingernails tapping a haphazard rhythm against the bedrail. Wide, anxious blue eyes that immediately fill with relief at the sight of her as she reaches for the door handle. 

“Hi,” Mel says, slipping inside the room and pressing her back to the door as her eyes scan him over, her mind suddenly blank of what to say. “So… uh… How many levels have you gotten through of Candy Crush?”  

“Baby, I am so sorry.” 

Frank moves to get up and come to her, but stops when she shakes her head. 

“It’s not your…” She pauses, suddenly unsure. 

She doesn’t actually know what Frank has told his family about her. It couldn’t have been anything bad. Mel knows he and his mom are close. He goes to his parents’ nearly every Sunday for dinner after his shift. But could he have inadvertently given them the impression that she’d somehow come between him and Abby? Had he known how his mom felt and not warned her? 

“Mel, you have to believe me. I had no idea she thought…” 

“It’s okay.” Mel sidles over to take a seat on the stool next to his bed, hands clasped tightly in her lap.  

Now that she’s here next to him, it really is okay. In part because she always feels more at ease in his presence, but also because it just has to be. He’s about to have surgery, and even though it’s a relatively minor one, she doesn’t want him to go under with any tension between them. 

“No.” He says the word so forcefully, her eyes immediately snap to his. “No, sweetheart. That was not okay. I told you my mom still isn’t very happy about the divorce, but I didn’t think…”  

“What?” Mel frowns, tilting her head. “You never said…” 

“I texted you to warn you right after you left.” Frank’s brow furrows as he studies her. 

“I left my phone in my locker,” she replies with a little shrug.  

“Shit,” he sighs and licks his lips. “I figured you were probably just too busy to respond. I was gonna have Dana grab my parents when they got here so you didn’t meet them solo. Figured my mom would be on her best behavior if I was there. And once she met you, she’d realize how great you are.” 

“I just have impeccable timing.” Mel flashes him a hint of a smile before looking down at where her hands are knotted in her lap, her knuckles white against the navy blue of her scrub pants.  “I recognized them as they walked in. I’m sorry if I made things awkward for you…” 

“Mel, come here,” Frank says, patting the side of the bed. 

She glances toward the glass wall of the exam room, teeth sinking into her lower lip. Half the ED has conveniently found various reasons to loiter around the charge desk. This must be how the penguins at the zoo feel. It’s like they’re all staring, waiting to see if Frank offers her a pebble.  

“I think the jig was up when I lost my shit on my mom in front of everyone, baby,” he says, mouth twisted in a wry grin. “Please, come here where I can touch you.”  

It’s impossible to say no to him. Not when he’s looking at her so earnestly. Not when it’s something she also wants so badly. Mel swallows hard, glancing once again at the onlookers before slowly rising from the stool to gingerly take a seat on the edge of the bed. Frank immediately reaches for her hands, gathering them up in one of his as his eyes search her face. The way his thumb strokes the back of her hand sends little sparks across her skin.    

“You really didn’t know your mom thought that I…” she begins, her eyes on their hands. “That we…” 

“I swear, I had no idea,” Frank replies, shaking his head. “I know she still isn’t over the divorce. She and Abby are close, and she took it really hard. But I had no idea that she thought you were involved at all. Or that she would ever…”  

“It really is okay,” Mel says, attempting a reassuring smile. “It was mostly kind of funny. No one’s ever… I mean, I’ve never…”   

“No, sweetheart, it’s not.” He squeezes her hands. “Mel, you are one of the three most important people in my life. I’m never gonna be okay with anyone talking about you like that. Let alone, my own mother.”  

I love you. The words are right there on the tip of her tongue. Swallowing them back leaves a painful lump in her throat. She does give in to the urge to run her fingers through his hair, though, and her chest swells when he closes his eyes and leans into her touch. 

“Can it not matter today?” she asks. “I don’t want you worried about anything going into surgery?” 

“You mean other than what Garcia’s gonna write on my face in Sharpie while I’m out?” 

“She wouldn’t…” 

“She would.” Frank grimaces as he shifts on the bed. “It’s what I would do given the opportunity…. What? I’d wash it off before she woke up…”

Mel huffs a laugh and shakes her head as her hand slides down to cup his stubbled cheek. Her heart gives another painful squeeze as he turns his head to press a kiss to her palm. 

“I’ll tell my parents to go home, okay?” Frank says. “I don’t want my mom here making you uncomfortable.” 

“No,” she replies. “Don’t. They should be here for you.” 

“Mel, you shouldn’t have to…” 

“I can handle it.” She strokes her thumb along his cheekbone. 

His gaze is like a caress as he studies her face. She can feel it across her brow, down the bridge of her nose, along her cheeks. 

“Can’t slay all your dragons for you, can I?” he says after a beat. 

He wants to, though. She can see it in his eyes. Feel it in the way his fingers tighten their grip on her hand. How could she not love him? And because she loves him, she’s going to handle this on her own.  

“No.” Mel glances over her shoulder to make sure no one is still watching before leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. “And I promise I won’t tell your mom that you called her a dragon.” 

“You’re too good to me.”

“Not possible,” she says as she slides off the bed and then kisses the side of his head. “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit, okay? Maybe we can try the whole ‘meet the parents’ thing again?” 

“You want that?” Frank asks, deep lines etched into his forehead as he studies her. 

No, not particularly. But she also doesn’t want to tiptoe around the ED for the rest of the day attempting to avoid them either. Frank and Trinity have unknowingly teamed up for the last year and a half or so to help her learn to be more assertive and tackle things more directly. Mel doesn’t want a confrontation with his mother. That’s not in anyone’s best interest right before he goes into surgery. But she would maybe like an understanding to exist that her place in Frank’s life isn’t one of shame. That feels like it should be possible.  

“I want you to not worry about me today,” Mel says. “I can handle your mom.”  

“Okay,” He draws out the two syllables, reaching for her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “If you’re sure…” 

“I’m sure.” She pastes on her most reassuring smile as she squeezes his hand in return. “I should get back to work. I’ll come check on you again in an hour or so, and we can try the whole ‘meet your parents’ thing again?” 

“If you’re really sure…” 

“I’m really sure.” 

Frank still looks dubious, but he picks up his phone from where it rests next to him on the bed and clicks on the screen. He’s swapped out the background picture sometime that morning. It’s now one from their trip to the zoo a few days ago, where Tanner and Penny sit pressed to Mel’s sides in front of the monkey exhibit, the three of them making their best monkey faces for the camera. 

“Guess I’ll text my dad and let them know they can come back from the cafeteria,” he says, tapping at the screen. 

“I’ll come by to meet, or re-meet, them in a bit,” Mel replies, placing her hand on his shoulder. “No yelling this time, okay?” 

“Okay.” He reaches up to curl his hand around hers and bring it to his lips. “But for the record, I am never gonna be cool about anyone talking to you like that. Especially not my family.” 

She opens her mouth and then closes it again as she brushes his hair back off his forehead, chest too tight with emotion to speak. There really has never been anyone in her life quite like Frank Langdon. 

“You two kiss and make up yet?” Dana asks, poking her head into the exam room door. “Because we’ve got a couple traumas incoming, and we’re about to be all hands.” 

“I’m coming,” Mel says and shoots Frank one last smile before following the charge nurse out the door. 

She doesn’t see Frank’s parents return to his exam room. She’s too busy intubating a twelve-year-old who was unrestrained in the back seat of his family’s SUV when it collided with a guardrail. In the chaos, no one says anything to her directly about the scene they’d all witnessed while she was hiding in the stairwell, but she still feels the weight of their sidelong glances as they move about the patient. Dr. Robby in particular seems to be watching her every move with far more scrutiny than he normally pays to R4s. 

When he gives her a little nod and a “Nice work,” as the patient is being wheeled off to surgery, Mel feels the fist with a tight grip on her chest relax for all of 90 seconds before it’s followed by a “Dr. King, a word.” 

Mel has never in her life been called to the principal’s office. Never even had her clip moved on her second-grade teacher’s smiley face chart. But she’s had enough stress dreams about it in her life to recognize the sticky sense of dread sliding down her throat and over her shoulders is how she would have felt if her name had ever been called over the intercom to report to the discipline office as she follows Dr. Robby to a quiet, or at least quieter, corner of the ED. 

“So, it’s come to my attention that the nature of your relationship with Dr. Langdon is not as previously reported.” 

He looks up as he talks, like he’s consulting some HR handbook scrawled across the ceiling tiles. 

“We…” Mel’s toes scrunch up tight in her sneakers as her fingers twist and twine themselves together behind her back. “It’s… It’s a recent thing…?”  

Her voice goes up as she talks, and Mel swallows hard as she sneaks a peek up at Dr. Robby’s face. God, she wishes Frank was there. She’d feel a lot better if they were facing this together. Not that they’ve actually done anything wrong. Not yet, at least. The PTMC employee handbook says that they have 60 days to disclose interpersonal relationships of a romantic nature to HR, and Frank still has to make sure he does everything by the book. Their plan had been to file the paperwork once Frank had officially signed his new employment contract next month, just a few days shy of their 60 day mark.

“Really?” Robby asks, one eyebrow high on his forehead as he studies her. 

“Yes…” Mel looks up from the toes of her sneakers to study him. 

There’s a flash of what Mel thinks might be disbelief on his face for just a second before he schools his expression into something neutral. Or it would be neutral if it weren’t for the little microshifts of his eyes as he studies her back. Does he think Frank’s mom was right? Does everyone? Is this the impression they’ve been giving everyone all along? 

The urge to just word vomit their entire relationship history churns low in her gut. To explain that maybe, just maybe, she’d had a bit of a crush on Frank from the start. But she’d been more than happy just being his friend. That she’d never imagined he’d return her feelings, and she’s genuinely the happiest she’s ever been. That it causes her physical pain that suddenly people are looking at her greatest source of joy as a source of shame. 

But she swallows it all back and just returns his gaze as directly as she can, fighting back her natural inclination to overexplain in an attempt to make herself understood. It must be the right decision because Robby sighs and rubs the back of his neck. 

“I trust HR will have a relationship disclosure form on file within the next few days.” 

“Mmhmm.” Mel nods. “Absolutely.”  

“Langdon’s scheduled to go up for surgery at what, 2:30?” Robby says. 

“Yes…” 

“Hand off your patients to Santos and Whitaker when he goes.” Robby leans to the side to get a better look at something happening out in the ED. “And we’ll expect you back on the floor by 4:30.” 

His eyes find hers again, and he gives her a small, close-lipped smile. Mel’s shoulders instantly relax from their position up near her ears. She hadn’t even realized she’d been so tense. The smile doesn’t quite feel like one of approval, but maybe understanding? Like he doesn’t fully support her and Frank’s relationship for some reason, but he understands it all the same. She’ll take what she can get.  

“Oh, I don’t need the break…” Mel begins to protest.  

“You don't?” Robby interrupts, eyebrows high on his forehead as he stares her down. 

Mel bites her lower lip. Well, maybe she does. It’s a minor surgery. She knows that. The chances of complications are minimal, and Garcia is good at her job. Just thinking about it kind of makes Mel itchy, like she’s about to break out in the same hives she gets if she eats strawberries. Part of her wants to continue her insistence that she can keep working, wanting the distraction. But she also thinks maybe she shouldn’t look the gift horse she’s being offered here in the mouth. 

“I’ll be back as soon as he’s awake,” she promises and then takes a little sidestep out of the hallway. “I can get back to chairs for now…” 

“Oh, I think you’ve had more than enough of triage for one day,” Robby replies. 

“Right.” Mel flushes at the memory of her last trip to the waiting room. “Then I’ll go check the board…?” 

Robby nods, his attention once again on something happening at her back. He places a hand on her shoulder to move her a little to the side as he passes, hurrying to put out some fire in the department or another. Mel watches him go for a few seconds before cautiously stepping out of the hallway to pick up a patient and an iPad from the charge desk. 

She doesn’t exactly avoid Frank’s room for the next couple of hours. She just tries to work as efficiently as possible to make up for all the chaos she’s unwittingly brought to the department. Keeping her head down and working also helps block the way it feels like half the department is just watching her, and blocks out the whispers in rapid Tagalog between Princess and Perlah whenever she’s in their eyeline. 

Eventually though, it feels unavoidable. All of her patients are waiting on lab results or X-rays, and she doesn’t want to pick up anyone else so close to Frank’s surgery just to pass them off in less than an hour. Clutching the iPad tight to her chest, she swallows hard before taking a tiny step in the direction of South 17. 

Frank’s smile at the sight of her through the glass door sends a flood of oxytocin into her bloodstream. It’s just a little quirk of his lips, but he gets the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that she loves so much, and Mel just instantly feels lighter at the sight of it. She hopes he always smiles at her like that. Inhaling a deep breath, she pushes the door open and steps inside. 

“Hi.” Her voice comes out small as her eyes dart between Frank and his parents, where they sit at his bedside. 

“Hey, baby.” Frank extends a hand in her direction.

The angle is a little awkward, but Mel loves the way his large hand engulfs her small one, loves the feeling of his slightly calloused thumb stroking her palm. The sensation is almost enough to calm her racing heart. But only almost as she takes in the two faces of the people sitting in plastic chairs on the opposite side of Frank’s bed. They’re not as openly hostile as in the waiting room, but Frank’s mom still looks displeased. Frank favors her so strongly, it sends a pang through Mel’s chest to see the eyes she loves so much stare at her with barely contained hostility. The mouth curved down in a pinch-liped frown. 

“Mom, Dad.” Frank pauses to clear his throat as he pins his parents with a serious look. “This is my girlfriend, Dr. Melissa King. Mel, these are my parents, Paul and Julia.” 

Mel opens her mouth to speak and then closes it again, suddenly not quite sure what to say. The usual niceties feel inappropriate. It certainly hasn’t been particularly nice to meet them. Let alone a pleasure. 

“Frank’s told me a lot about you,” she eventually settles on, her eyes darting between the two people across the bed. 

“Likewise,” his mom says, hands clasped tightly in her lap as her eyes shift between Mel and her son. 

“All good things, we hope,” Mr. Langdon says with an awkward chuckle. 

“Umm…” Mel mentally shuffles through her internal rolodex of facts and anecdotes Frank has provided about his family and spits out the first thing her brain latches onto. “Of course. How’s your… uh… golf going?” 

The words come out wrong, but somehow it’s still the right thing to say, if only because of the way Frank ducks his head and bites his lip to hide his smile. She really likes when he smiles.  

“Well, that confirms he’s only telling you terrible things about us,” Mr. Langdon says with a chuckle, shaking his son’s shoulder. “But I will say, my golf game would be a hell of a lot better if I could get this one out on the course with me more than once a year…”  

“Maybe once my fellowship is over…” Frank says, but he cuts his eyes in Mel’s direction and gives his head a little shake. 

She has to bite back a smile as her eyes meet his. Frank hates golf. The last time he’d gone had been his dad’s birthday, and he’d complained about it for three days straight beforehand. Bemoaning the fact that his dad couldn’t have been one of those fathers who gets really into the Civil War or something in his retirement. Frank would have much rather spent the day tramping over the hills of Gettysburg or something than being stuck as ‘the golf cart DD’ while his father and his old business partners drank their way around the course. 

Mel wouldn’t really mind if he went golfing with his dad slightly more often. She hadn’t told Frank, because they weren’t saying things like that at the time, but she’d really liked how he looked in his khakis. There was just something about how they curved around his butt… She’d sat on his couch, blindly flipping through some old copy of The Lancet off Frank’s coffee table while her sheets spun in his washing machine as she watched him putter around his apartment in those pants and a polo nearly the exact color of his eyes. It had been the first time she’d really wanted to kiss him.  

When his dad’s birthday rolls around again in August, she’ll be able to. 

“I’m holding you to that.” Paul Langdon bounces a little on his toes as his eyes shift between his wife and son. “So, Mel, Frank says you’re going into pediatrics?”  

Mel swallows hard, unprepared for the focus of the conversation to suddenly shift onto her.   

“Sort of.” She nods. “I’ll be starting a fellowship in pediatric emergency medicine in July. But I want to focus on emergency care for people with special needs. There aren’t any programs for that specifically yet, so pediatrics was the best fit. And it let me stay here at PTMC for another couple of years.”

With Frank. She doesn’t say that, but it had certainly been one of her decidin Social Emergency Medicine instead, but it wasn’t offered at any of the hospitals in Pittsburgh. Her main choices would had been California or Florida, and those hadn’t really felt like options at all. Becca would not have wanted to move with her, not if it meant leaving her boyfriend behind. And Mel hadn’t been too keen on leaving anyway. Not when she had so many reasons to stay.  

“She’s amazing,” Frank interjects, squeezing her hand. “She’s gonna be part of a panel about care of autistic patients in the ED at that conference we’re going to in June.”

“I try not to think about that,” Mel says, ducking her head as butterflies explode in her stomach. 

Whether they’re from the obvious pride in Frank’s voice or the anxiety that floods her nervous system every time she thinks about having to present in front of a crowd, Mel isn’t sure. She’d nearly fainted when she’d read the email that her conference proposal had been accepted. But she’s also a little excited now that she and Frank will be sharing a room. It’s going to be their first trip away together. 

“You do like children, though?” Mrs. Langdon asks, eyes narrowed. 

“Absolutely,” Mel replies. 

“Hmm…” 

It’s not even a word. Just the tone is enough somehow to make Mel feel judged, and her fingers involuntarily tighten their grip on Frank’s. 

“And do you want any of your own?” Mrs. Langdon continues.  

Mel’s eyes go wide, and her breath freezes in her chest. That is not something they have discussed. Not something she’s really ever even thought about. Frank already has Tanner and Penny, and she’ll always have Becca…  

“Ma.” Frank’s tone is sharp, causing Mel and his father to exchange worried glances. 

Paul Langdon offers her a little smile as their eyes meet, an unexpected offer of allyship in the battle the two of them seem to have found themselves embroiled in, and Mel decides then and there that she likes him. 

“I was just curious,” Frank’s mom says, eyes wide as she looks at her son. 

Mother and son stare each other down for a long moment, obvious discomfort on both of their faces. Frank’s an only child, and Mel knows that he’s always been close to his parents, especially his mom. Knows that some of his favorite memories from his childhood were formed sitting at their kitchen table doing his homework or organizing his baseball card collection while she made dinner. Neither seems to know what to make of the other now that they’re at odds, and Mel hates feeling like the source of tension between them. 

“I should get back to work,” she says, giving Frank’s hand another squeeze. “I’ll come by again before you go up, okay?” 

“It was nice to meet you, Mel,” Paul says. 

“You too.” Mel nods, a little smile curling up the corners of her lips. 

Her eyes dart over to Frank’s mom, whose gaze has finally broken away from her son’s. Something about her expression says a thousand words had been exchanged between the two of them, and neither looks particularly happy. She no longer looks quite so openly hostile, but her gaze is still chilly enough to send Mel scurrying from the room, suddenly eager to get back to the ED.  

The crowd around the charge desk immediately disperses as she emerges, no one quite meeting her eyes. A few look openly disappointed, and Mel swears she sees one of the orderlies pocket a small wad of cash as she grabs an iPad off the rack to check if any of the labs she ordered have come back. 

“So, do I have your permission to stab anyone yet?” 

Mel jumps as Trinity appears at her side, the iPad nearly slipping from her grasp. 

“Please don’t,” Mel replies, her eyes flickering in the direction of the woman in the exam room standing with ramrod straight posture at Frank’s bedside in her pearls and pastel twinset. “I would like her to eventually like me. Maybe. Someday.” 

“That bitch?” Trinity scoffs. “Why?” 

“She’s his mom…” Mel shrugs, turning her attention back to the tablet. 

X-rays are back for her patient in Central 17. Good. There’d been no doubt the teenage skateboarder had a broken arm, but it’s a clean break. No surgery required. She can get it set and handed off for one of the nurses to wrap it in a cast well before Frank’s surgery. That’s one less patient she’ll need to hand off. Turning on her heel, she sets off in that direction   

“Trust me, mothers are highly overrated,” Trinity says as she falls into step with Mel, and then grimaces. “Or some mothers, anyway. Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Mel replies. “Just… I appreciate the offer and all, but please don’t stab my boyfriend’s mother?” 

“Boyfriend?” Trinity wrinkles her nose. 

It doesn’t feel like an entirely appropriate term for what Frank actually is to Mel either, but it’s the one she has, and she gives a little shrug in response.  

“Gross,” Trinity sighs. “Whatever. This doesn’t change our custody agreement. I still get you for karaoke night.” 

“Absolutely.” Mel grins.  

“And if you want some scream therapy after this day from hell, let me know.” 

“I will.” Mel pauses in front of the exam room. “Thank you.” 

Being friends with Trinity Santos isn’t always easy. It’s taken Mel the better part of three years to be confident, even 70% of the time, that she’s joking when Trinity utters one of her quick-witted barbs. But a more loyal friend might not exist. As terrifying and yet flattering as the fact is, if Mel had wanted Trinity to go through with dropping a scalpel in Frank’s mom’s foot, she’d do it. Consequences be damned. 

“I got you, sister,” Trinity replies, hands curled around the ends of her stethoscope as she leans past Mel’s shoulders to get a better look at the doors to the ambulance bay as they whoosh open. “Oh, what do we have here…” 

She sets off toward what is undoubtedly another incoming trauma, picking up speed as she goes. Mel watches her for a second to see if more hands are needed, but the gurney is swarmed with dark blue scrubs. Another body would only be in the way. 

Once her patients have all been transferred, at least temporarily, and Frank is actually off to surgery, Mel kind of wishes Dr. Robby hadn’t forced her to take the hour and a half or so his procedure will take off. She should be grateful, and part of her definitely is. She wants to be there when he wakes up. But after retrieving her phone from her locker, quickly FaceTiming Becca, catching up on the string of texts Frank had sent her, and deleting a few promotional emails, she doesn’t entirely know what to do with herself. 

The obvious answer is to make her way up to the surgical waiting room. It’s a nice one. There’s a bunch of recliners and two of the good vending machines that take credit cards and never eat anyone’s quarters. But she doesn’t want to awkwardly sit there in silence with his parents for an hour or more.

Mel hadn’t had a chance to see Frank alone again after she’d stopped by his room for her official introduction. There’d barely been a second to squeeze his hand and promise she’d see him after before he was wheeled out of the ED. So she doesn’t know exactly what was said between mother and son after she’d left to see to her patients. Neither had seemed angry anymore, but they could have also just agreed to pause their disagreement due to the circumstances. The uncertainty of it all feels big and scary, and coupled with her anxiety over Frank’s surgery, the waiting room feels more like a warzone than a benign space.  

She doesn’t have great memories of hospital waiting rooms anyway. She’s already spent more than her fair share of time sitting around while her mom went through procedure after procedure. Hospitals do their best to make them cheerful. They paint the walls soothing colors and scatter artificial plants to give them a sense of life. But the air in them just sits too heavy on Mel’s skin, too full of memories of disappointments and heartbreak. 

Still, she wants to be close. Wants to know the outcome as soon as possible. That leaves the stairwell. It’s quieter a few floors up, and Mel appreciates the peace as she pops her AirPods out of the case and selects one of Frank’s favorite playlists. She always teases him about his unapologetic love of what Spotify calls “Dad Rock”, but it’s weirdly soothing as she sits there on the cold tile floor. 

Anxious for something to do with her hands, she swipes at her phone screen to open her games folder and taps on the icon for Candy Crush. It takes a lot of scrolling until she spots Frank’s little icon down on level 726. He’d made some good progress that morning before his parents showed up. But he’s never going to catch up to her. Still, it’s cute that he wants to try. He will have some time on his hands as he recovers over the next couple of days after his surgery. Maybe she should give him a fighting chance. 

Mel slides her phone back into the pocket of her track jacket, wraps her arms around her legs, and closes her eyes. Her mind drifts, mentally painting the inside of Frank’s SUV across the insides of her eyelids. In her head, it’s Tuesday. Mel loves Tuesdays. It’s the day they stop on their way to the hospital at his favorite coffee place so he can order that ridiculously complicated latte he likes and an everything bagel for himself, and a blueberry scone and an Earl Grey tea for her. She likes the quiet domesticity of peeling back the foil of his bagel for him so he can eat while he drives. Of having someone just know her order without having to ask or be reminded. 

Every time it makes her feel seen in a way she hasn’t in a long time. 

She’s not sure how long she sits there. The song changes multiple times. She listens to Styx, REO Speedwagon, Journey. Her mental picture changes from the inside of his SUV to his living room, and she sees him rocking out on an air guitar to “Don’t Stop Believin'” as Tanner and Penny dance along. Sees him grab her hand, pulling her up from his stiff leather couch to twirl her around the room. 

 Appendectomies are usually quick surgeries. Half an hour if everything goes perfectly. It’s been close to that long, but Mel doesn’t check the time. If she does, she’ll start to worry. And everything is fine. She trusts Garcia. She just has to be patient a little longer.  

Just as a song is fading out, she hears footsteps approaching. Her eyes blink open, and her heart stills in her chest at the sight of Julia Langdon’s approach.        

“You can join us in the waiting room, you know,” Frank’s mom says, taking a seat on the step next to her. “I promised my son I would be on my best behavior.” 

“Oh.” Mel flashes her a cautious smile as she removes her AirPods and returns them to their case. “I wasn’t… I just prefer it out here. I spent a lot of time in waiting rooms for my mom, so they make me kind of anxious…” 

“Your mother passed, right?” 

“A few years ago.” Mel wraps her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mrs. Langdon says. “You must have been so young.” 

“24.” Mel nods. “She got sick my second year of med school.” 

She can feel the other woman studying her, but she keeps her eyes on the step below, mentally counting the white flecks in the terrazzo. 

“That must have been incredibly difficult.” 

“It wasn’t easy,” Mel huffs a laugh and shrugs a little. “Mrs. Langdon, I…”   

“Please, call me Julia.”

Mel pauses, tries the name on the tip of her tongue, and shakes her head. It doesn’t feel right somehow. 

“I really hope you know that nothing happened between Frank and me until a few weeks ago,” she continues. “I don’t like seeing families torn apart. I would never have…”

“Mel, I… I can call you Mel?” 

“Please.” Mel nods, lips curled up in a small smile. 

“Mel, you know I’ve had the same kitchen table for almost 40 years?” Mrs. Langdon says, hands clasped around one of her knees. “It was a wedding present from my parents.” 

“That’s a long time…”

“Well, they don’t make furniture like they used to.” Mrs. Langdon chuckles as she picks a piece of lint off her jeans. “That’s what my husband would say. But I wouldn’t replace it. Not for anything. My boy grew up at that table. I don’t remember how it started, but from the time he was little, whenever I was making dinner, that’s where he’d be, and we’d talk. He’d spread out his coloring book, or his Pokémon cards, or his homework, and tell me about his day. About the bike he wanted for Christmas. About how he couldn’t wait to strike out the Thompson boy down the street at little league.”  

She pauses and licks her lips. 

“Most parents feel like they drift apart from their children as they grow up, but I never felt that with Frank. If he was home and I was making dinner, he was at that table we were talking. I got to hear all about school, football, his friends, the girls he was interested in... It’s where we discussed where he’d apply to college and then med school. Where he told me I was going to be a grandma. 

“Since we moved here to be closer to him and the kids, every Sunday he doesn’t work too late, he’s there at that table. Telling me about his day, funny stories about Penny and Tanner when he can’t bring them along, whatever he needs advice about. It’s where I heard your name for the first time. About two years ago. Right around when he went back to work. He told me all about this elderly patient he and his friend Mel had seen who kept calling him Blue Eyes and trying to get him to sing some Frank Sinatra song.” 

“Fly Me to the Moon.” Mel smiles and nods. “I remember her. She didn’t have a lot of time left, and she asked so many times; we looked it up in the break room so he could learn the lyrics, but I think maybe we should have just had him lip sync.” 

He’d only managed a few bars before the woman shook her head in horror and told him that was more than enough. It had been all Mel could do not to laugh. Some of the other ER staff who’d heard him hummed the tune constantly for weeks, much to Frank’s chagrin.  

“His got his tone-deafness from his father,” Mrs. Langdon replies with a soft chuckle. “When he first mentioned you, I was just glad that he had a friend at the hospital. That he had someone who didn’t think less of him after… Well, you know.”

“I was really happy he was back,” Mel says. “He was a really good teacher, and he just… listened to me. He cared. It was nice.” 

“I think it was nice for both of you.” Mrs. Langdon reaches over and pats her knee. “When your name kept coming up, that was when I started to get concerned. He’d tell me about something funny you said or about taking your sister and the kids to Fort Pitt. I could see what was happening. He and Abby were struggling, but you two… Well…” 

She pauses again, swallowing hard. 

“As a parent, you want what’s best for your child, and he was always such a good boy, a good son. He’d already been through so much. I didn’t want to see his life fall apart any further. A divorce on top of everything… You were this unseen entity that haunted my kitchen table. It was easy to blame you. It helped ease my own guilt.” 

“What?” Mel asks, brow furrowed. 

“I just keep thinking if I’d insisted harder on hiring that moving company, he wouldn’t have ever hurt his back…” 

Tears prickle at the corners of the woman’s eyes. They’re quickly batted away with the back of a well-manicured hand, but their presence sends a pang of understanding through Mel’s chest. Mel knows guilt. Understands the toll it can take on a person all too well. She’d been away at school when her mom first started experiencing symptoms, and she’d spent a long time blaming herself for not realizing something was wrong sooner. 

It’s hard to accept that some things are just inevitable. If she’d found an easy outlet for her guilt over her mom, Mel can’t say with certainty she wouldn’t have taken it. But she hopes that maybe with time Frank’s mom can see that, while his life might have taken a few detours, it’s still a good one. Hers is certainly so much better for him being in it. 

“That probably wouldn’t have changed anything,” she says, offering the woman a small smile. “He’s the kind of person who shows up for people. It’s who you raised him to be. You know he came over once at like midnight because my faucet wouldn’t stop dripping, and I couldn’t sleep.” 

“Did he actually manage to fix it?” Mrs. Langdon asks, eyebrows high on her forehead. 

The expression sends a pang through Mel’s chest. It’s the same look of bemused surprise on Frank’s face at least a hundred times.   

“Not exactly.” She bites her lip to contain her laugh at the memory of Frank emerging from under her sink, sputtering in a soaked t-shirt. “I had to call a plumber the next day. But he had to try for me. He’s a good person like that. So I think, even if you’d hired the movers, he was always going to help you. You can’t blame yourself for what happened after.” 

“I am sorry for how I spoke to you, Mel,” Mrs. Langdon says. “You must hate me” 

“No.” Mel shakes her head. “You didn’t know me, and you were worried about your son. I understand. I never really thought about how our relationship might look from the outside. What people might think… I was just really happy to have him in my life…” 

“You really love my son, don’t you?” 

Mel feels her entire body flush as her shoulders creep up to her ears. Sneaking a peek over at the woman’s face, she feels the color in her cheeks deepen as their eyes meet. They really are disconcertingly like Frank’s. It’s almost like being perceived twice over. But there’s a new sense of understanding, and just maybe acceptance, in the older woman’s gaze that makes Mel feel significantly more at ease.  

“I’ll let you tell him first.” Julia reaches over and pats Mel’s knee again, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I should check on Paul and make sure he hasn’t eaten all the Twix out of the vending machine. His doctor wants him to watch his sugat. Are you sure you’re alright out here?”   

“I’m fine.” Mel nods. “It shouldn’t be much longer.” 

Julia pushes herself up off the stairs, wincing a little as her knees straighten. 

“Well,” she says, straightening her cardigan for a moment before locking eyes with Mel. “Maybe when Frank’s fully recovered, you can join him one Sunday for dinner.” 

Mel feels her jaw drop, just a little, her throat suddenly thick with some emotion she can’t quite put her finger on. Surprise maybe. Or gratitude. Relief? Maybe it’s a mixture of the three. 

“I’d like that,” she manages to say after a moment. 

“I’ll set an extra place at the table next Sunday. If that works for you?”

“Next Sunday should be great.”  

Julia gives her one last smile, and then slips back out of the stairwell, leaving Mel once again alone with her thoughts. The quiet doesn’t feel quite so oppressive, though, so she doesn’t reach for her AirPods to smother it. She does finally pull out her phone to check the time. Frank’s been in surgery for a little under an hour. Still perfectly within the usual range. No need to panic. None at all. Maybe she could play just a couple levels of Candy Crush to help pass the time.   

“Oh good.” Yolanda Garcia’s voice echoes through the stairwell. “You’re alone.” 

Mel whips her head around, trying to locate the source of the sound, and scrambles to her feet as she spots Garcia entering the stairwell through the heavy double door Frank’s mom exited from just a few minutes before.  

“Is everything okay?” she asks, sweat suddenly prickling in the space between her shoulder blades. 

“Everything’s fine,” Garcia says. “Surgery was textbook. No complications. They’re moving him to recovery now.” 

Relief hits her like a wave, crashing against her skin and sending her staggering back against the wall. Mel has been telling herself for hours that he was going to be fine. People have appendectomies every day. But people also go in every day for routine bloodwork, or even just drive to the grocery store. She’s been on the wrong side of both already.  

“Thank you,” she says, swallowing back all of the emotion that’s clawing its way up her throat. 

“They’re taking him to room 412,” Garcia replies. “I’ll stall his parents for a bit to give you two a minute. Figured you’d be the one he wants there when he wakes up.” 

Mel stares at her, brow furrowed, as she tries to come up with a response that fully expresses her gratitude and none of her surprise.  

“What?” Garcia asks. “Believe it or not, I did not sell my soul to the devil for an enchanted scalpel or whatever tall tale gets spread about me around the ED. I do have a heart, and I didn’t even have to witness that man lose his shit on his mom to know how gone Langdon is on you. I already had a very embarrassing series of texts from him when you went on that date with the paramedic six or so months ago.” 

Can I see those? The question is on the tip of Mel’s tongue, but she bites it back. Later. She’ll ask to see those texts later. Frank should wake up soon, and she doesn’t want him to be alone when he does. 

“Thank you,” she says. “For everything.” 

“You’re welcome,” Garcia replies, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Now get in there, Goldilocks. I can only keep Mama and Papa Bear away for so long.” 

Mel nods and scurries off toward the surgical recovery rooms. Frank’s is a little down the hall, just past the nurses’ station. When she spots him through the glass door, her relief is so strong it’s like she’s a marionette that’s just had its strings cut. Only her grip on the door handle keeps her upright. She takes a deep, steadying breath before carefully pushing it open and slipping inside. 

The room is quiet, save for the soft whir of the air conditioning and the steady beep of the heartrate monitor. She has to fight the urge to tiptoe as she makes her way to the bed. Somehow she both desperately wants Frank to wake up and also doesn’t want to disturb him when he looks so peaceful, his forehead unlined and jaw a little slack. Those little strands of hair that never quite stay in place have fallen across his forehead, and she smooths them back. 

There’s a chair in the corner of the room, and she pulls it as close to the bed as possible so that she can rest one arm along the bedrail and take his hand in hers with the other. Resting her chin on her wrist, her eyes trace over his features. Not to memorize him. She already knows him by heart. But to look for the little telltale signs she’s catalogued that he’s about to wake up. The furrowing of his brow. The flex of his jaw. The quirk of his eyebrow. 

It can’t be more than a few minutes before his fingers shift in her grasp. Mel straightens, her heart suddenly pounding inside her chest. She squeezes his hand gently and rises to her feet so that she can one again gently comb back those little strands of hair that constantly fall onto his forehead. 

Frank’s eyes blink open slowly, a hazy smile spreading across his face. 

“Hey, baby,” he says, voice soft and raspy with sleep. 

“Hi,” Mel replies as she continues to run her fingers through his hair. “How are you feeling?” 

“You’re so pretty, Mel. Have I told you how pretty you are you?” 

“You have.” She nods, biting back a grin. “How’s your pain? Scale of 1 to 10.” 

“Have I told you I love you yet?” Frank asks, eyes narrowed. 

Mel’s brain seems to go offline at that. She can’t think. She can’t move. Her jaw drops a little, but she can’t get the muscles to work to close her mouth. 

“No,” she manages to say after a long moment. “No, you haven’t said that yet.” 

“Well, I do. Mel, I…” 

“Is he awake?” Julia asks, poking her head in through the door, her husband close on her heels. 

“He’s awake.” Mel nods and squeezes Frank’s hand before rising to her feet. “I should get back to work. But I’ll come see you again once my shift is over, okay?” 

He opens his mouth to say something, and closes it again as he squeezes her hand in return, fingers clinging to gets until the last possible moment before she lips from his grasp. 

“We’ll probably be gone before you get back,” Julia says, claiming the seat Mel has just vacated. “But it was nice meeting you Mel. I’m looking forward to seeing you at Sunday dinner.” 

Frank and his father share identical looks of bewilderment as they study the two women. Mel think Frank’s mom must be amazing at poker, because her face gives absolutely none of their conversation in the stairwell away. 

“It was nice meeting you too.” Mel nods, first to Frank’s mom and then his dad. “Both of you. I’ll see you later.” 

Then she slips from the room and back down the hall toward the elevators. 

Mel practically floats through the rest of her shift. Neither the chaos of the ED, nor her colleagues sidelong glances at the abrupt change in her mood, can’t touch her. She’s too happy. Making peace with Frank’s mom alone would have been enough to buoy her spirits. But hearing him say ‘I love you’ has her insides all bubbly. She’s not surprised by Frank’s declaration. He’s shown her that he loves her dozens of ways over the last month. But there’s something about hearing the words aloud. Even if he was still half asleep and under the influence of general anesthesia. 

Normally she doesn’t mind sticking around for a bit after her shift ends, but this time she flags down the first R1 to step foot in the ED, eager to hand off her patients and get upstairs She doesn’t even bother changing back into her jeans. She just stuffs them into her backpack so that she can make best use of what little time is left of visiting hours. 40 minutes or so will be better than nothing. Then she crouches down to punch in Frank’s combination in his locker as well, grabbing his clothes, backpack, and the spare sweatshirt he keeps folded up in the bottom. 

They haven’t cleared out drawers in their dressers for the other or anything in their respective homes yet, so she knows he’s got a pair of sweatpants and some basic toiletries in his bag for the nights he stays over at her place. He’ll probably appreciate having something to wear other than the hospital gown. She double-checks, just to be sure, and breathes a little sigh of relief when her fingers curl around soft gray cotton in the depths of his bag. 

The surgical ward is so much quieter than the ED. Even the hallway lights are lower than in the always bright and bustling emergency department. It’s early enough to be nearly as noisy, though. The air hums with the noise of a dozen or more TVs all set to different channels as she makes her way toward Frank’s room. Mel can pick out the squeak of sneakers against a basketball court. The clicks of the eponymous Wheel of Fortune. A sledgehammer busting through a wall on a home improvement show. The artificially bright, canned laughter of a sitcom. She smiles and nods at the nurses as she passes the desk, and then her heart skips a beat in anticipation as she spots room 412. The curtain’s been pulled over the plate-glass wall, so she can’t see him, but she feels his presence in the faint electric current that passes over her skin whenever he’s near.   

“Knock, knock,” Mel says as she opens the door. “I brought your bag for you. Thought you might want your phone charge and your AirPods. ” 

“Any chance you smuggled in a cheeseburger for me in there?” Frank asks. 

“No, but I can get you an orange Gatorade from the vending machine,” she offers, dropping both his bag and her own in the chair pulled up next to his bed and turning back to the door. “Or I can ask the nurses for another jello cup if you’re still hungry.” 

“Don’t go.” He reaches out and catches her hand, gently tugging her closer. “Hi, baby.” 

“Hi,” she says, glancing briefly over her shoulder to kiss him first on the forehead and then again softly on his upturned lips. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I let Yolanda Garcia scoop out my appendix with a rusty spoon,” Frank quips, chuckling at her alarmed expression. “Nah, it’s not so bad. A little uncomfortable. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Mel squeezes the hand still holding hers and perches gingerly on the edge of the bed by his legs, careful not to jostle his incision site.  

“If you’re sure,” she says. “We can probably up your dose of ibuprofen at least if the pain gets too bad.” 

“Not necessary,” he replies. “I’m better now that you’re here anyway.” 

I love you. There those words are again. Right there on the tip of her tongue. She probably could say them now. Although he’d still been so groggy from the anesthesia, she’s not sure he even remembers his earlier declaration. 

“Are your parents gone?” she asks instead, looking around for signs of their impending return. 

“They left a little while ago,” Frank says. “This might be some lingering confusion from the anesthesia talking, but I swear my mom said she invited you to Sunday dinner…?” 

“She did.” Mel has to bite back a smile at his bewildered expression. “I think we understand each other a little better now.” 

“Yeah?” 

His eyes search her face like he thinks he’ll uncover more clues about her conversation with his mom. But she doesn’t think it’s her place to tell him about the guilt his mother carries over his addiction. That’s a discussion for mother and son to have later.  

“I brought you a change of clothes, too,” Mel reaches for his bag and pulls it into her lap. 

“Thank god,” Frank groans, tossing back the blankets from around his legs. “I’ve been dying to get out of this hospital gown. My ass is for your eyes only.” 

She flushes and ducks her head, trying not to visibly shudder as a little shiver of awareness zings down her spine as she pulls his clothes out of the bag. Even in a hospital gown, just hours post-surgery, he’s still one of the most handsome men she’s ever seen. Or maybe even especially in the hospital gown… The little blue squares scattered over the white fabric do kind of make his eyes pop. 

“Do you need any help?” she asks, frowning as he takes his first few steps toward the small bathroom. 

“You really can’t keep your hands off me, huh?” Frank quips, reaching out for the bundle of fabric in her lap as he rounds the bed, and grimacing a little as he straightens his back. “I’ve got it.”  

“Are you sure you’re not in too much pain?” Mel replies. 

“Just stiff from lying around all day,” he replies. “Be right back.” 

She busies herself while he changes in the room’s tiny bathroom by liberating his phone charger from the depths of his bag and plugging it into the outlet nearest the bed. The cord’s long enough to easily reach the bed, so she plugs his phone in for him as well. Then she throws away the empty jello cup off his tray, and is just retaking her seat when he emerges in his sweats and Pittsburgh Pirates hoodie. 

Mel feels her heart swell with affection as she takes him in, looking warm and a little rumpled and wholly and delightfully hers. Minus one pesky little appendix. Finally hers after 500+ days of waiting, of scarcely even letting herself hope. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Frank says, stopping in front of her and tucking a curled finger under her chin to tip her face up toward his. 

Then he leans down and presses his lips to hers in the softest and yet also most thorough kiss of Mel’s life. Her fingers fist in the fabric of his sweatshirt as his hand smooths over her braid before giving it a gentle tug so that she’ll angle her head just so. When she complies, Frank slides his hands over her shoulders, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over her trapezius muscles, willing them to surrender even just a little of tension that’s been building there over the course of the day.

“You were amazing today,” he says as he pulls back, hands moving up to cup her face. 

“I didn’t really do…” Mel sputters, shaking her head. 

“You did.” He kisses her forehead as his thumbs stroke her cheeks. “You probably deserve a nomination for sainthood just for putting up with my mom. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.” 

His hands leave her face to wrap around her shoulders, and Mel’s thighs immediately part to accommodate the width of his hips, wanting him as close as possible as she buries her face in the worn fabric of his hoodie. Her nervous system has been flooding her bloodstream with cortisol all day, but in this moment, as Frank’s hands stroke her spine and knead away the tension at the base of her neck, as he presses his lips to the crown of her head, she knows perfect peace. 

“I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be comforting you,” Mel mumbles a few moments later. “You’re the one who had surgery today.” 

“Trust me,” Frank says. “You are.”

“You should be lying down resting,” she replies, although she doesn’t let go of her grip on his sweatshirt. 

“I will in a minute.” 

His fingers slide up under the base of her braid. The scrape of his blunt nails against her scalp has Mel practically purring into his chest. 

“You know, we got interrupted earlier.” Frank leans down to murmur into her ear. “But I hope you know it wasn’t just the anesthesia talking. I meant what I said.”    

“That…” Mel swallows hard. “That you love me?” 

The final words come out as little more than a squeak, and she keeps her face hidden in his chest. 

“It’s okay if you’re not ready to say it back yet…” he says, hand stroking her back. 

“No.” She pulls back, shaking her head emphatically. 

The move knocks her glasses a little askew, and Frank reaches up to straighten them for her. 

“No, I…” she begins again and then swallows hard. “I love you too…” 

There may have been more she wanted to say, but the words spill from her mind as his mouth once again finds hers.  

Mel never understood kissing. She’d always thought it was pleasant enough, if a little wet. But it was nothing like the images the authors of her favorite historical romance novels painted of trembling knees and heaving bosoms. She’d always thought she’d just never quite grasped the choreography of it all, how tongues and lips and hands were all supposed to move at once. Not until Frank at least. 

Now, she gets it. Loves it. Loves the heat of his mouth, the stroke of his tongue. Loves the gentle pressure of his palms curling around her ribcage, and the way his long fingers play her vertebrae like the keys of a piano. Loves the way he smiles into her mouth at every gasp or soft sigh he’s able to elicit from her burning lungs. 

Or maybe it’s just that she loves him. Loves his jokes, and the way his eyes always slide to catch hers to make sure she gets them. Loves how kind he is to her sister, and how he’s watched Elf with them 15 times in the last 8 months without complaint. Loves the way he always seems to reach for her in his sleep, and waking up with his body curled around hers, knees tucked in tight behind her thighs. Loves his unabashed enthusiasm for every new hobby she wants to try, donning roller skates and aprons and 17th-century attire without batting an eye. The list is endless. 

As he presses closer, Mel’s thighs involuntarily tighten around his hips, causing him to break their kiss and emit a soft hiss. 

“I’m so sorry,” she gasps, eyes flickering between his and the waistband of his sweats. “Your incision…” 

“Is fine,” he says, attempting to recapture her lips with his. 

“You should be in bed,” Mel replies, sliding off the bed and pulling back the covers. “You’re supposed to be resting.”  

For a moment, she thinks he’ll protest, but he shakes his head a little ruefully before settling back down on the mattress and letting her fuss over him and the blankets. Once he’s settled, she glances over at the clock on the wall. 7:42. She’s got 18 minutes left with him before she has to go home. 

Her apartment has never felt emptier.  

“Can I at least hold you until it’s time for you to go?” he asks, eyes wide and pleading. 

Mel bites her lower lip. She wants that. But it’s probably not the best idea… 

“Please, baby?” 

Either word would have weakened her resolve, but the combination of the two crumbles it to dust. She nods, and Frank’s resulting grin as he shifts on the bed to make room for her is like sunshine on her skin. Settling onto her side, her head automatically settles into its favorite spot on his chest as he folds an arm around her. He slides his fingers beneath her t-shirt to trace abstract patterns along her lower back, and she sighs in contentment as his lips graze her forehead, the steady beat of his heart just barely audible through the thick fabric of his hoodie. 

A wave of exhaustion washes over Mel as the tide of adrenaline and cortisol that’s flooded her bloodstream all day finally starts to ebb. It feels a little selfish, him being the one to comfort her when his day has been equally terrible. And he’s probably in more pain than he’s letting on. But letting him hold her feels so good. Too good. It makes her eyelids heavy, and she lets them flutter closed as she inhales a deep lungful of his woodsy masculine scent. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Frank murmurs, stubble scratchy against her forehead. “Time to wake up.” 

“I’m awake,” Mel replies and yawns. 

“I’d believe you more if your eyes were open.” 

She blinks once and then twice, her eyes struggling to focus in the dim light.

“Sorry.” She yawns. “How long was I out?” 

“About fifteen minutes,” he replies. “I should let you get home and eat dinner.” 

Mel groans and tightens her grip on him, suddenly remembering there’s no food in her apartment. Nothing she can easily throw together, at least. She could have something delivered, but she wasn’t joking when she told Trinity that the fees at Becca’s facility had just gone up, and she doesn’t really want to pay $30 for a pizza she’ll only eat a quarter of or a veggie burger with soggy french fries. Maybe she can stop at the store and get something? She could pick him up some popsicles…

“What’s that face for?” Frank asks, trailing his fingers up and down her spine. 

“Just thinking about what I’m gonna eat for dinner,” Mel groans. 

“I made that chicken stuff you like the other night while you were out with Becca,” he says. “There’s leftovers in my fridge.”

Her stomach growls at the thought, making her blush. She does love that recipe, partially because it’s delicious. But also because she’d happened upon it scrolling on social media while she and Frank were scarfing down their lunches in the break room, and he’d surprised her a few days later by buying all the ingredients so they could try it out. It’s the first recipe they ever made together. 

“I’ll still have to drive home,” she replies, shaking her head. “Or I could leave your car there and Uber…” 

“No way.” Frank’s arm tightens around her, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Not that late at night. Take my car. Or just stay the night.” 

“By myself?” 

She’s been in his apartment alone plenty of times, making use of his abundance of streaming services while doing her laundry on her days off. But never for more than a few hours. It’s not an unappealing offer, though. She likes Frank’s apartment. It’s a newer building, where nothing breaks, unlike her own. And he has a much nicer, newer mattress than hers, and very soft sheets. Sheets that will smell like him. It’s funny, but sometimes it seems like they both prefer to be at the other’s place over their own. Maybe one day they’ll get a place together, and have the best of both worlds. 

“I mean, I’d go with you,” he quips. “But I don’t think you'll let me leave AMA.” 

“Absolutely not,” Mel says, slowly sitting up. “Are you sure?” 

“Positive. Don’t forget to grab my car keys.”

“I won’t.” She leans forward and presses her lips to his for a quick kiss. “I love you.” 

Frank’s smile is so wide and genuine, she has to kiss him again. Has to taste that happiness, to feel it in the press of his fingertips against her skin. 

“I love you too,” he says after they break apart. “Let me know when you’re home safe, okay?” 

“Will do.” 

Every fiber of her being wants her to reach out and touch him again, but if she does, she’ll never leave. She’ll go home to his apartment, heat up the leftover she knows he saved specifically for her, shower, and then crawl into his bed. Where she’ll fall asleep wrapped, not in his arms, but at least in his love. All in all, not a bad day.