Chapter Text
The tattoo parlor sign swung slightly in the October wind. It looked relatively unassuming, though; just black lettering on white-painted shiplap identifying it as THE ROYAL INK, and a drawing of a crowned skull with a pen sticking out of its mouth. The door was also painted white, making it look far less frightening than other tattoo parlors Mel had seen.
“What do you think, Melatonin?” Trinity asked, her cheeks a little pink from marching down the two blocks from the bar to get there. Victoria and Dennis were behind her, almost caught up. Of course, it was Trinity’s idea to come here, after a long day shift had bled into an evening dinner with friends.
Mel shrugged.
“It looks friendly enough. But are you sure–”
“Yes!” Trinity interrupted. “You don’t have to get one if you don’t want to, but I think it’d be a fun way to commemorate our blossoming friendship. All of us,” she said louder, to catch the ears of their other friends.
Dennis and Victoria looked less convinced. Mel considered her options, how comfortable she felt. She’d gotten a tattoo once before, when she was eighteen and in a bit of a rebellious phase, so the process wasn’t unfamiliar to her. And it might be fun, like Trinity said. So Mel nodded.
“Just a small one,” she amended, seeing the joy on Trinity’s face.
“Of course!” Trinity called out as she opened the door, the sign on the window letting them know that walk-ins were available.
Mel didn’t know exactly what to expect when she walked inside, but the sight of hanging vines crawling up the walls and around ceiling beams certainly wasn’t it. The walls were white, with splashes of color here and there that gave the place a homey feeling. Somewhere in the distance, behind the curtain that separated the lobby from the tattoo artists’ workspace, she could hear the faint buzz of a tattoo machine.
There wasn’t anyone at the front counter, but a voice called for them, telling them that they’d be there in a minute . Trinity immediately went to the small bookshelf next to the counter, picking up one of the black leather bound books. The front read “Wren’s Flash Book” in light cursive. Dennis and Victoria gathered behind her, oohing and ahhing at some of the drawings inside. Mel didn’t want to crowd, so she reached over for another, opening the book to reveal a title page in typewriter font, identifying this as “Frank’s” in crawling writing. All around it were little doodles of skeletons and swords. Mel nervously flipped the page, prepared to see maybe some flaming skulls or american traditionalist art, but instead, she found a series of flowers, each with a name scrawled under them. Viola odorata . Convallaria majalis . Gladiolus . As she turned the pages, the designs became more and more elaborate, but each were more beautiful than the last. The flowers turned into butterflies, and then into birds. Always with their latin name scrawled underneath for identification.
“What are you thinking?” Trinity asked, jutting her chin towards the book. Her own book was open to a picture of a cat in a window looking up at a crescent moon. Very Trinity. Mel flipped a couple of pages backward, to one that she had mentally bookmarked. The name underneath had been instantly recognizable: Chrysanthemum . There were a couple of different ones, in different colors, and so Mel pointed to the red one on the right corner.
“It’s my birth flower. And my sister’s. And my mom’s.” They had all been born within the first two weeks of November. Every year, they had held a triple birthday, to save on cake costs. That first year after their mom died, Mel hadn’t even wanted to celebrate, but Becca had insisted on getting a cake and putting in three candles, like always. It had hurt blowing them out.
“Pretty,” Victoria complemented. “I like the color. But where are you going to get it?”
Mel hadn’t considered that part.
“Well, my ankle would be nice, if I didn’t already have one there,” she explained.
Trinity gasped in revelation.
“You should get it on your ribs! Like right there,” Trinity poked at Mel’s ribcage, just under her right breast. On instinct, Mel concaved herself to get away from it. “That’d be so cool.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Mel replied, trying to recover some grace. “Don’t those hurt?”
“Don’t all of them hurt?” Dennis replied, looking a little pale at the thought. “You’re literally getting stabbed hundreds of times by a tiny needle.”
“Oh please, like we don’t do that every day,” Trinity responded. “Okay, yeah, it might hurt, but it’d look super cool, and a certain somebody might find it pretty hot,” she sang-songed the last part of her sentence, instantly triggering a rush of blood into Mel’s cheeks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered, looking down at the floor. Mel’s feelings for the senior resident known as Dr. Frank Langdon weren’t well-known except for Trinity, and now Victoria and Dennis. She hadn’t meant to start crushing on him, but they had hit it off so well that first day, and when he came back, it was like second nature to just step in beside him. Everyone else had treated him like a pariah, but Mel couldn’t do that. And then, somewhere along the way, they had morphed from just co-workers to friends, sharing breaks and occasionally asking each other favors. When Frank and his wife had gotten divorced, she was the first person he’d told, and when Mel had missed the bus one morning, he had been the person she called. It was just… friendly. Except for the feeling that sat low in Mel’s chest and threatened to kill her every time he looked at her with those blue eyes, those strands of hair falling in his face as they worked together on a STEMI or talked over sandwiches.
Victoria giggled a little, breaking Mel’s concentration.
“I do. Mel and Langdon, sitting in a tree–” she started, but before she could continue, the curtain drew back, revealing a woman in a black tank top with tattoos running up and down her arms and shoulders. Her hair was dyed black and red, and she’d stuck a pencil through her bun to keep her hair up. Beside her, Mel could feel Trinity freeze, and smirked.
“Hey!” The artist greeted, stepping up to the counter. “How are you guys doing today?”
No one said anything for a moment, not even Trinity, who usually handled these sorts of things, so Mel cleared her throat.
“Um, we were interested in seeing if we could get on the waitlist? For tattoos?” Mel added, then immediately felt stupid. It’s not like they also offered skydiving or something.
Wren smiled, and then looked at the party.
“All of you?”
Dennis and Victoria quickly shook their heads, stepping back.
“Nope, just those two,” Dennis said, pointing awkwardly at Trinity, who still hadn’t moved, and Mel.
“Great! I’ve just finished up with a client, and my night guy just came in, so we should be able to take you two very shortly. What were you thinking about getting?”
Trinity, it seemed, was recovering, because she pointed to the picture she had decided on.
“That’s one of mine!” the artist, who must have been Wren, exclaimed. “I can totally do that for you. Where were you thinking?”
Trinity short-circuited for a second. “Uhhh, on my back. My shoulder.”
“Great! Here’s some paperwork,” Wren continued, pulling out two clipboards and passing them over. “And whenever you’re ready, you can just come on back. Frank’s not really a ‘front doors’ person, so Mel, whenever you’re ready, why don’t you head on back for your consult.”
Mel nodded, head already bent to fill out the paperwork. It was fairly simple, and after flashing their IDs and promising to not hold THE ROYAL INK liable if they didn’t take care of their tattoos, it was time to descend into the deep. Dennis and Victoria promised to wait in the front, and Wren pointed to Frank’s workspace, which was blocked by a privacy curtain, before directing Trinity to her own workstation in another room.
It was almost second-nature, to call out before opening the curtain.
“Hello! May I come in?”
There was no answer for a moment, and then the curtain ripped back to reveal…
“Dr. Langdon?”
But it was indeed Dr. Langdon. His scrubs had been exchanged for a black tank top like Wren had been wearing and black joggers, but his face was still the same, his hair still perfectly styled in the way that made Mel’s heart skip a beat.
“What are you doing here?” Frank asked, but it wasn’t rude. More confused.
“I, uh,” Mel stuttered, looking down at her hands, which were still clutched onto the book. Frank’s book . Even as she connected the dots, she recognized his handwriting, the way the k trailed off. She’d seen him sign his name countless times on AMAs and CT orders. “We, um, I wanted to get a tattoo. I had no idea–” she started, but Frank held up a hand to stop her.
“It’s okay. It’s just… no one really knows I’m working here. I just didn’t expect to see you here, is all.” He backed away, back into his workspace, which allowed Mel the chance to look around. It looked… very Frank. Chaotic, but in an organized way. There was a picture of his kids, one that Mel had seen before on his phone, but it was now printed out and hung just above his desk. Instead of papers with x-ray scans or other medical paperwork, his desk was covered in different drawings, some anatomical, some similar to the ones that Mel had seen in his book.
“What are you thinking of getting?” Frank asked as he settled into his rolling chair, seemingly having shifted back to working mode. He gestured to a chair facing him, which Mel sank into, opening the book back to the page.
“Um, I really liked this one,” she said, pointing to the red chrysanthemum. Frank nodded, looking over it briefly before turning towards his desk, shifting some papers around, until he found a size sheet with a more basic drawing version of the same flower.
“Okay. Where did you want to get it?”
Right. She hadn’t ever actually figured that one out. But in her head she could hear Trinity’s voice, Victoria’s giggle.
“I was thinking on my ribs.” She carefully lifted her shirt to reveal the spot where Trinity had poked her earlier, and cupped her hand to roughly circle the right side of her torso. “Right there-ish.” Mel refused to look at him as she did so, ready for him to say no. Ready to get out of there and run.
For a moment Frank said nothing, making Mel’s anxiety spike. But then, in a whisper so soft she almost missed it: “Okay.”
“Okay?” Mel asked, looking up. His eyes were wide, and they were still focused on the area she had displayed. He nodded, and then cleared his throat. And then nodded again.
“Do you want to see these sizes? So you know how big–” he stopped, and then handed her the paper, being careful not to let their fingers brush. “There’s a mirror on the wall right there.”
Indeed there was, hanging on the only real wall. It was a full length mirror, and Mel stood, spreading the paper over her torso so that she could see. Frank stood up too, watching as she shifted the paper between a couple of different sizes.
“I think this one,” she said, landing on the third smallest size. Just large enough to let all of the details shine through, but not so large that it would go past the area she had chosen. Their eyes caught in the mirror, and Mel forgot how to breathe.
“S-Sounds good,” Frank said, wincing as his voice cracked a little. He stepped away, breaking their eye contact. “Give me a few minutes to set up. You won’t be able to wear your shirt,” he said, as if he just realized that. “Do you want something to keep you covered?”
Mel considered her options, and then shook her head.
“I trust you,” she said. And she did mean that. She may have a giant crush on him, but Frank being interested in her? Not a chance. Not when she’d seen the pictures of Abby, how absolutely devastatingly beautiful she was. And Mel? Mel was Mel.
Frank didn’t say anything after that, just moved around his workspace, getting the bed prepped, pulling out the ink bottles, the fresh needles.
Mel wanted to ask questions, but didn’t know what the protocol was here. Would Frank be chatty, like he was at work? Well, his other work. How had he even started working here?
“Alright. You can, um, lay down, there.”
Mel climbed onto the bed, hearing the paper crinkle. It really was like being back in the ED, but this time, she was a patient.
Before she laid down, she carefully took the hem of her shirt and lifted it over her head, leaving her only in a lacy bralette that she had totally forgotten she was even wearing. Before she could think about it anymore, she lowered herself onto the bed, lifting her arm so that it wouldn’t get in his way.
“Is this good?” she asked, her voice sounding miles away.
Frank had been staring at the ground, but now he had to look, and Mel tried not to shiver as she felt his eyes trace over her body, up to her face.
“Do–,” he started. Then stopped. Then started again. “Do I have permission to touch?”
Mel’s heart was doing flips.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Of course.”
His hands were warm and dry as he reached for her torso, shifting it slightly, so that her hip was slightly raised.
“If you need a pillow, let me know.” Mel couldn’t speak, so she just made a noise of acknowledgement. From the way she was laying, she could barely see him out of her periphery, but she could feel his fingers on her skin, the way they ghosted over her hip and the side of her chest, careful not to brush against the cup of her bralette.
“This might be a little cold,” he warned before rubbing some ointment on the place where she had chosen. Once there was nothing else to do but begin the actual process, Frank paused for a moment.
“Are you ready?”
Mel nodded. Then licked her lips to speak.
“Ready,” she replied.
The tattoo machine buzzed to life.