Chapter Text
It was dark, at first. Is this– am I dying? Am I already dead? Her eyes took a few hard blinks to adjust and then—
She was there again. The crowd running, the screams being silenced by deafening bangs, the blood laying sickeningly on the tarmac. She felt her feet move beneath her in a way she hadn’t felt before. She was running, through the onslaught of people, slipping under bleachers and over barricades.
BANG
She felt it in her thigh, the unyielding pain of what had to be a fatal injury. She stopped momentarily, ripping the belt off of a lesser fortunate man on the ground and securing a makeshift tourniquet—She should have felt something akin to guilt for taking it, but there was medically no way he’d get back up from a shot to the head.
She began running again, this time the stadium felt endless. She looked down to avoid tripping; an ankle sprain would only be more of a liability. Every time she looked up, however, she appeared to be the same distance from the exit.
BANG
Pain exploded from her back and through her chest, creeping up her throat along with bile. She couldn't breathe. She kept running, hoping to pass out where someone could get her to safety.
BANG
More pain shot through her leg, if the first shot hadn't disabled her, then this one definitely did. She looked up again, and the image in front of her eyes caused her breath to catch—To be fair though, that could have been the pneumothorax.
The crowd was gone. She was alone in the stadium. The air crackled and bubbled in her lungs, breaths becoming shallower and shallower. Just as she laid down to let death take her away to whatever place it deemed she deserved; a figure approached her.
Within one blink of her teary eyes, he was above her. He lifted the gun and—
—
She awoke in the hospital bed with a gasp. Her eyes were full of tears and her face was streaked as well. She also found that her body was slightly cold and clammy. She scanned the room, still disoriented from the nightmare—or was it more of a flashback? She’s not exactly sure. Frank was gone. Had he left to get something? Had he gone home? Did he regret kissing her? Hot tears began pouring from her eyes again. So many thoughts piled up in her head, so she tried soothing herself by sitting up and curling her knees up to chest—well knee (singular) due to the fact that she would probably scream if she tried moving the other one. She pressed her forehead into her patella, trying to ground herself as sobs shook her body.
She was so focused on calming herself down that she didn’t notice the curtain opening or the figure that approached her bed.
“You’re awa— Mel sweetheart, what's wrong?” He moved towards her bedside with haste. Her head shot up and she let out another choked sob, roughly swiping at her face to rid it of the continuous tears.
“’m s–sor–sorry” She choked out, unable to get a proper breath out due to the pain in her lungs and the shuddering sobs. “Did’n me–ean t–to kiss y–you, an’ no now you ha– hate m–me.”
“Melly, you didn't do anything wrong. If anything, it was just a little slip.” He softly ran his hands through her hair, “You were pretty doped up on pain meds.”
“I’m still s–sorry…” She muttered softly, letting herself be pulled toward his chest.
“Nothing to be sorry about sweetheart,” He pressed a kiss to her crown, “I just got word that you’ve only got five more days in here before you can come home. How's that sound?”
“Really?” She lifts her head up, a small twinkle fixing itself in her eye.
—
6 Days Later…
“You hungry, Melly?” Frank’s voice carried from the kitchen to the small living room, where Mel rested; leg propped up on an adjacent ottoman.
“Mmmm,” She pondered for a moment, still not used to being cared for and fussed over. She was usually the one making sure Becca ate and whatnot. It was sort of nice being able to lay back for once, but that didn't stop her from telling Frank that he didn't have to do everything for her. “Yeah, I don’t really care what we have either.”
“Does spaghetti sound good? I’ll make sure to pick out all the tomato chunks for you.” The fondness in Frank’s voice could probably kill a diabetic person.
They had been adjusting to living with one another, Becca was staying at the centre for the time being so Mel could use her allotted healing time for its intended purpose. The couch was soft on her body. Her chest hurt less and less each day. She could put more weight on her leg and had decided to ditch one of her crutches—much to Frank’s dismay. She went to therapy to try to handle the survivor’s guilt she faced day and night. It doesn't go away, her therapist had said, but it does get a hell of a lot easier.
Navigating their new relationship was difficult with Mel’s treatment plan, but they still had plenty of at-home dates, soft kisses in the kitchen, tiring physio sessions, and movie marathons. It was domestic, it was comfortable, it was… Safe. Mel still had the occasional nightmare, but with Frank by her side 24/7, they sort of fizzled out.
She had planned to come back to the Pitt next month, Frank would be going back two weeks before her—as she would most likely be able to care for herself by then. Still, she felt useless and incompetent just being stuck at home. She loved the ED, even if it clearly didn't love her back.
She finally felt sort of comfortable with her life, no longer stressing herself out about being alone and sad. She was happy.
Frank came in with two plates of spaghetti and garlic bread, setting them gently on the coffee table.
“What are we watching today, angel?” He sat down right next to her, and she almost immediately leaned into his warmth.
“Hmmm, Yellowjackets?” She asked, looking to him for his opinion.
“Are you sure? It’s kind of scary…” He was looking to her for her thoughts as well. He was probably right to be worried, there were some pretty intense scenes and, well, guns. He just didn't want her to fall back into that place again.
“You’re right,” She grabbed his unoccupied hand and revelled in the warmth of his thumb stroking the back of her hand.
“Elf?”
“Absolutely not, Frank. I will hobble out of here all on my own.”
“10 Things I Hate About You?”
“Perfect.”
Mel leaned forward to grab her food, finding it had cooled down enough to start eating.
She was happy. She was safe. She was with the man she loved.
It was perfect.