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It is Frank Langdon's first week back in the ED. The first week back since the 10 months he spent in rehab, and his first week being forced to work in triage. He's worked hard to come back. Worked harder to try to make amends.
He can't help but glare at Robby's back for a second, thinking over the ordered exile. He considers going up to him again and begging him to reconsider before he decides to spare his last bit of dignity.
While Frank doesn't particularly mind working with whatever peculiar case has landed someone in the hospital, he can't help but miss the emergency part of it all.
Being constantly wired, he'd found after so many years in medical settings that saving lives was one of the few things that kept his hands steady.
Scrubbing hand sanitizer into his skin, he's careful so as not to break one of the many bracelets both Tanner and Penny made him. Ever since the divorce, he couldn't spare anything of the kids'. They were all he had other than his job, which let's face it, wasn't going too well at the moment.
One of the few things left that brought him happiness was his kids' presences, though he'd never admit how lonely he'd gotten.
It didn't help that the short weekends he got with them slipped through his fingers like sand. He could give Penny a million piggyback rides and Tanner thousands of legos only to find them stuck in his own feet-- but all of it would never be enough. So he clung on to everything they made him. Whether it was the bracelets decorating his wrists or the drawings cluttering his fridge.
He steps into room 12, smiling at the middle aged man sitting on the bed in front of him.
"Hello I'm Doctor Langdon and I'll be treating you today. What brings you to the ER?"
The man introduces himself and shares the symptoms that landed him in the beautiful hell that was this ED. For Frank it tends to all blur together, but he nods his head and fills out a chart for blood work nonetheless.
You click the door to room 12 open and let it shut behind you. It's your sixth month on the job and since then you've practically lived in PTMC. Sure, being a nurse wasn't always easy, but you felt it paid off in some way or another. Like the cheap saying goes, you were making a difference.
"I can take the order."
You smile tightly at both of them and turn to Langdon, a face you fail to recognize. He moves his arm to greet you and his pen drops to the floor, the ballpoint clicking softly.
You kneel down to pick it up without much thought, your head coming up too quick and close to the table.
Before he can think otherwise, he puts his hand on the corner edge, protecting you from making contact.
Maybe its instinct from having 2 clumsy kids. Maybe its more than that. Though if someone had asked right now, he'd insist it was the former.
You can't help but let out a startled laugh, "Thanks."
"Yeah, no problem."
He nods, handing you the lab order. You take it from his hands and click the door shut behind you, ending the awkward interaction.
He watches you leave, resisting the curious urge to follow.
· · ─ ·♡· ─ · ·
You step outside into the warm air, expecting some sort of relief only to be slightly suffocated by the July humidity. You sigh, leaning against the wall beside you. Despite the heat, even a moment of freedom from the ED was welcomed.
Frank turns, putting his phone away to get ready to step back inside. That is, until he notices you. He isn't quite sure of your name, nor anything else about you other than the fact you're a nurse.
"You're new here, right?" He asks, stepping closer to you.
"I've been here for 6 months"
He nods before introducing himself. A quick expression of recognition passes on your face before you can suppress it and he pauses, trying to read what you're thinking.
You're not privy to rumors, and you certainly don't go searching for them. However, you'd be lying if you said you hadn't heard of him around the ED. Recovering drug addict, temperamental, Frank Langdon.
Trinity being one of your first "friends," you'd heard of his incidents. But looking at the man before you, they seemed hard to believe.
Still, he can see hes been made by the look on your face.
"Also known as the junkie that was castaway at rehab all this time." He scoffs.
He's learned to tear himself down before anyone else can. Yet as he recalls how uncomfortable everyone gets when he mentions rehab, he wishes he kept his mouth shut.
Your gaze softens before you speak, "I'm really glad you got the help you needed."
You can tell he seems almost taken aback at your comment. He's not the only one that knows how to read people. You smile gently before leaving him alone with his thoughts once more. Only now his want to follow you is charged by more than curiosity.
· · ─ ·♡· ─ · ·
After meeting, it wasn't long till you'd spend more time at his, cooking each other different meals and talking over cheap wine.
In that time, you'd both grown closer. You had filled a space in his life he refused to believe was empty in the first place. But God, was he grateful.
So it's no surprise that his chest fills with worry as he watches you from the doorway of the break room, observing your slumped figure against the table. Hair covers your face, but he can tell you're barely keeping your eyes open.
"Hey, you alright?" He pulls out a chair beside you and puts his hand on your elbow. Looking up at him, he can tell your exhausted.
"I've been a little under the weather these past few days. I figured it'd blow over if I just got some sleep, but they're doing construction all around my place. I can't catch a break," You laugh dryly.
He pauses.
"Shifts about to end in an hour, I'll meet you then. Take it easy for now."
You begin to protest before he cuts you off, "Doctors orders"
· · ─ ·♡· ─ · ·
You can't quite remember how you ended up at Frank's apartment. It was mostly empty other than the children's toys scattering the floor and the plain furniture. He guides you gently, letting you lean on him for support. He'd truly underestimated how tired and weak you were. He sets you down on his bed, insisting you rest despite your objections.
He leaves the room shortly to get you water and you finish taking off your shoes before you begin to feel uneasy. Stumbling into his bathroom, you force the toilet seat up and heave. Kneeling there, the cold diamond shaped tile digs into your skin and makes you shiver. What a pretty tile, you think.
Frank rushes back and sits with you, holding your hair while running his hand up and down your back.
"You're okay." He whispers over and over again till you've emptied your stomach.
You rest your head in the crook of his shoulder, and he pulls you closer. In that second, he swears his heartbeat syncs with yours, that if someone placed a stethoscope on both of your chests they'd match.
You lean into him, trying to calm down. Once you have, he leaves to get you a change of clothes, placing them on the counter before shutting the door to give you privacy.
After you change, you brush your teeth using the toothbrush he anointed you after your first of many nights at his apartment.
You hadn't planned on getting this close to him. It had just worked out that way. To the world Frank was arrogant, but to you he was nothing but gentle. Always there for you, always patient.
You remembered the first time you walked into the very apartment you stood in now. He cooked you just slightly burnt yet still delicious pasta and you joked with him, how the little gnocchi was an analogy to himself. Rough on the outside, but still so soft. You remembered clear as day when he laughed and shook his head at you, making fun of you for the corny metaphor.
Spitting into the sink and rinsing your mouth, you hear him lightly knock at the door.
You open it, and he smiles softly at you. In all of your sick glory, you still radiate beauty. Months ago, right when he met you, he was recovering from the lowest point in his life. There had been a time he went 10 months without a single text from anyone he thought was close to him. Now, he'd go barely 10 minutes without a text from you (outside of the ED, of course).
In some strange way, you had become one of the most important people in his life.
He takes your hand in his, grounding himself with your touch. He loosely intertwines your fingers.
"Let's get some rest, yeah?"
You nod and climb into your side of his bed while he does the same. Before long, you curl into him.
Tomorrow, he'd call you both off from work, taking the day to care for the stubborn cold you contracted.
But for now, he strokes your messy hair, one of the many things he knows calms you. He has the fleeting realization that if you'd ask him to, he'd continue till his hand went numb. Anything to soothe you. Maybe it was the doctor in him, determined to help anyone he could. Maybe it was more than that.
If someone had asked right now, he'd admit it was the latter.