Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

During one of the shifts Mel worked at the VA, a group training therapy dogs had brought the animals in to visit the patients. She fondly remembered a black Labrador puppy with bright blue eyes, about a year old, according to the trainer. The dog was everywhere all at once, sniffing at and playfully licking everything it could reach, tail wagging like it might take off any second.
Mel had initially been tense and anxious around the excitable puppy, as she found its boundless energy a bit overwhelming. But then the trainer had her sit on the floor, where, tired from all the excitement, the dog had curled up between her legs, letting out a soft sigh as she scratched its soft little ears. For the first time that day, Mel let herself breathe, feeling a quiet peace settle over her.
It quickly became one of her fondest memories of working in the VA — one of her happiest memories of residency, until the day she started at PTMC ER, fondly known as The PItt.  The day she met the replacement puppy in her brain, Dr. Frank Langdon.

***

Mel slammed her locker closed with a loud clang that made her flinch a bit in response as the sound echoed through the locker room. As she mentally reviewed the long, hellish shift they'd all just gone through, she briefly debated taking Dr Mohan, Samira, her brain supplied, up on her offer of a beer in the park across the street.  However, Becca would already be beside herself with worry at how late she already was picking her up. 

Mel guiltily walked towards the ambulance bay, she really couldn't handle the chaos that was slowly building back up in the waiting room right now.  Before she could make it to the sliding doors, everyone in the room went still at the commotion coming from outside. The room seemed to go completely silent at Dr. Robby's shouted "FUCK YOU!" right before he stormed back in, black clouds forming across his expression. Mel scurried out of his way, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.  Well, she thought to herself, whatever that had been about couldn't be good, for Dr. Robby or the person with whom he'd lost his temper. 

***

Mel watched Becca slurp noodles with a small, pleased smile. They'd gotten lucky, finding an old-fashioned late night diner that thankfully had spaghetti on their specials board. While Mel was glad she was getting a better paycheck than the pittance she received from federal government through the VA, she still couldn't exactly afford fancy Italian.   She wasn't even sure those places were still open past 10 p.m. on a Friday night. It had been years since she'd gone to dinner with anyone but her sister, and Pittsburgh was still so new to them, she still had to rely on Google suggestions within walking distance of the hospital, Becca's new day center, or her apartment complex.

They finished their meal, although Mel had been picking at her own salad, not terribly hungry after such an emotionally draining day of chaos, gore, and stupid anti-vax mothers. She felt a small shudder at the thought of her poor measles patient. So much unnecessary suffering. She crossed her fingers under the table and sent a silent prayer to whatever deity was listening that that poor young man would survive the night.

"Mel? Melly, are you listening? Where are you?" Becca giggled as she flapped a hand in Mel's direction, waving in front of her face to snap her out of it.

"Oh, sorry Becca, I was woolgathering. What was the last thing you said?"

"I asked if you found a boyfriend today. You need someone to hug. Like I hug my teddy?"

"Well, I do have a teddy of my own, you know!"

"That's not the same!" Becca insisted as Mel paid their tab at the old fashioned register next to a currently empty pie showcase. She'd try to remember to come before her shift Monday morning to scope out the various sweets.  The residents' lounge could use some brightening up after tonight. 

"No, I suppose it isn't the same, but I just started this job. I'm sure I'll make friends eventually, just like you will. How was school?"

Becca was sensitive to anything that felt like being treated childishly. She was quick to remind all and sundry that she was "twenty-eight years old! I'm not a baby!"   Becca hated the thought that she was effectively going to an adult daycare, so Mel was careful to refer to the day program as the equivalent of attending college classes, like she'd done. She had told Becca the first day she'd dropped her off,
"You put me through school, now I'm returning the favor."  Becca had been satisfied with that explanation. 

"A few people seem nice. Will we be here a long time, Mel? I need a long time to make a best friend."

Mel pulled a frozen pepperoni pizza out of the frozen bunker of the small corner store they'd stopped at. Thank goodness for 24 hour stores, especially in a post-Covid world, Mel thought to herself. Out loud, she replied,

"We will be! Remember I still have two more years before I have to take the big, scary doctor test, and I think I'll like this hospital. Do you think you'll like this school?"

Becca didn't answer right away, just smiled at her as they made their way slowly down the sidewalk towards their apartment building. Once they'd entered their code and made their way to the door, while Mel was entering the second entrance code, Becca finally replied,

"I think we should watch Elf now." Melissa couldn't help the rueful chuckle that escaped.

***

Abby woke slowly Saturday morning, early enough that Millie was, thankfully, still sacked out in her crib. She knew, eventually, they would have to convert it into the toddler bed but Millie was already a bit of an escape artist and notorious for getting into things. Her head ached from the emotional upheaval and bad sleep from the night before. 

She'd already been worried about Frank, and of course his other ER colleagues, when she'd seen the news of the Pitt Fest shooting on their 20 inch television, a lucky find in a local pawn shop.  She knew Frank would be coming home very late, so bedtime was, again, up to her. She hefted Millie onto her hip, who'd been babbling at her feet to her stuffed gorilla, also ironically named Frank, at her feet as she watched the evening news. Abby set Millie and "Fank" in the crib as she made her way back across the living room to Tanner's room. She found him already in bed, paging through The Very Hungry Catterpillar, and sat down on the foot of the bed and listened to him "read" her the story from memory. By the time he was finished, he was owlishly blinking at her, unable to hold back his yawns. She would have laughed if it wasn't so adorable. She pulled his blanket up to his chin and kissed his cheek, just to melt as he mumbled, "'Night, Mommy."

She tiptoed back across the house to her and Frank's room to find the crib empty. Heaving a large sigh, she checked the bathroom, knowing how much Millie liked  to splash in the small potty they'd bought with the intention of beginning training.  She wasn't there. Abby took a deep breath, pushing her nerves down, telling herself the baby couldn't have gone far, when she heard a tiny giggle. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, she found her girl in a pile of dirty scrubs in the floor of her closet, the plastic hamper upturned over her head.
"Mama! Mama! I Daddy! Ew stinky!" Millie giggled as she kicked a black scrub top with her chubby toes.

Abby righted the hamper and set it back in its rightful place, smiling as she swung the baby up onto her hip again. "Yes, Daddy's work clothes stink. That's why we don't play in them." Abby debated giving Millie another bath, then shrugged off.  She'd be muddy by morning, anyway, and that sounded like a Frank problem.

"Oh! ok!" Millie clapped and grinned in agreement, her small white teeth flashing. "Where Daddy? Daddy night night?"

"Daddy had to work a little late tonight, but he'll be here to make you breakfast, 'kay?" Abby replied as she set her daughter in the crib again. Millie had barely nodded and agreed before she slumped over and fell asleep immediately.  She'd always been an easy child, and almost as soon as she'd been weaned from breastfeeding, she'd slept through the night without fail.

Abby couldn't stand the thought of any part of the house being untidy, it was one of the traits that she and Frank shared, an almost unnatural obsession with everything being just right or they couldn't sleep. Their house was simply too small for big messes, they'd both explained to Tanner after stepping on various toys. After she got all the dirty laundry back in the hamper, she noticed that Frank had forgotten to put his cherished running shoes back into their box. She gathered them and pulled the box down and that's when she'd discovered them, a sandwich sized Ziploc bag containing a handful of pills.

She couldn't exactly say she was surprised.  When they'd helped his parent load up to move to their retirement home in Florida, he'd slipped a disc helping her dad move a heavy chest of drawers that should have taken four people instead of two.  Frank had been taking pain killers, and was supposed to have weaned down to just a mild muscle relaxer to sleep.  Apparently, that wasn't what happened. She wondered where these pills had come from, as they obviously weren't his prescription.  They were very conscientious about keeping prescription meds locked away in a cabinet in the kitchen out of the reach of small hands or mouths.

She very slowly set the bag on the floor, grabbed the shoes, put them back in their box, put it back on the shelf, then picked the bag back up. She wasn't entirely sure they were narcotics. But, if not, why hide them?

She set the bag on her night table and continued getting ready for bed, remembering all of the late night mood swings and morning apologies. The clinically detached nursing side of her informed her she was in denial, that he'd been showing symptoms for months. The tears started slipping down her cheeks as she brushed her hair out. She changed into a pair of loose pajama pants and pulled on one of Frank's old hoodies from their undergrad days and got into bed, staring blankly at an article in one of Frank's medical journals that he'd said she would enjoy, and let the sound of the baby's steady breathing wash over her. 

Abby couldn't seem to focus on anything except that damn bag. They looked so innocuous, just blue capsules.  They could easily be Tylenol that Frank forgot to put in his pocket when he put his shoes on. 

She suddenly remembered that on one of last weeks shifts, one of her nurses, Carley, had found some random pills in one of the ICU beds. They assumed a patient had left them behind, but they weren't marked, and they needed to know if that patient would need them back or if they needed to be disposed of. Carley had shown Abby an app that identified most meds. It wasn't as reliable as a knowledgeable pharmacist, but Abby didn't want to call anyone this late, and she didn't want rumors to start flying either. Sometimes she swore the hospital rumor mill could rival a high school's. 

She left the magazine open on the bed and reached for her phone, finger sliding past the wallpaper of Frank at the zoo, in front of the Gorilla cage, holding both of his children
She found the app on the store, incongruously named Pill Finder and downloaded it. She opened it, gave it camera permission, and scanned the blue pills.

Moment of truth. 

***

Frank let himself into his house as quietly as he could, it was very late. Much later than he'd intended to get home. He'd driven around their neighborhood for almost an hour, trying to figure out what he was going to say to Abby, how much he would tell her. Even if they hadn't just had a major incident and a shift from Hell, it wasn't unusual for him to come in late enough for the kids and Abby to already be in bed. Even though she worked the night shift and had a hard time shifting her circadian rhythm on her days off,  she maintained the kids settled better when "Mommy is going night night too!"

 
He stopped in Tanner's room briefly, pulling the small coverlet back over his son, where he'd flipped over in his sleep and tossed it to the floor. Kissing him on the forehead with a muttered "night, son. Love you," When he only got a slight sigh in response, he smiled softly and backed slowly out of the room, making sure the nightlight was still plugged in and glowing. 

As he made his way to the room he shared with his wife, he was surprised to see the soft amber light from one of the bedside lamps. He hovered in the doorway, not sure what to say to the beautiful woman sitting up in their shared bed, reading a medical journal, or at least pretending to.  His brow furrowed at the glint of almost dried tear tracks on her cheeks, the pile of tissues on their shared quilt, and her tense demeanor. Frank's brain immediately went into diagnosis mode.  Was something wrong with her, was something wrong with the baby? 

His gaze moved across the room towards the crib where their almost two year old still slept, something catching his eye in his quick observation.  Something out of place, because he knew exactly where it was supposed to be:  hidden in a shoe box high in the back of their shared closet, out of reach of small fingers. A sandwich bag full of blue capsules.

Before he could speak, Abby held a hand up, stopping him.  She swallowed deeply, then put the magazine down on her night table, next to the baggie and turned to face him full on. Her damp lashes were clumped together and her nose was red, raw from repeated rubbing with the tissues.

"You know I'll have to take the kids to my parents in the morning. I'll use the MCI as an excuse for you, so we don't have to tell them anything other than you're exhausted."

Frank took a deep breath, and sat on his side of the bed, turning so he had one leg between them and facing her, the other braced on the ground.  She hated when he came to bed without showering his day off first, but this was important.  He needed her to understand.

"I know what I'm doing. They're so I can get off the damn Oxy."

"Then you should have gone back to the ortho doctor, Frank! Told him what was going on. You tell me every day about OD cases. Do you want to become one?!" His strong, usually stoic Abby had begun to cry again. He leaned forward and tried to take her face in his hands. She batted him away angrily, and turned her face away, staring intently at either her lamp, or possibly a spot on the wall.  Anywhere but at him, which Frank desperately needed to fix.  Another tear slipped from her chin and onto his old hoodie.  She never wore that indoors unless she needed comfort.

"I'm handling it, baby! I swear, I'm ok! I never go to work under the influence and you know I'd never risk my children's safety!" Frank tried, desperate to get through to her. The detached, clinical part of his brain, the doctor part, as he sometimes fondly referred to it, told him he was spiraling; most likely withdrawing. He needed another dose of the Librium to calm himself. 

"No, Frank, I don't know. I just thought I did."

Frank froze in place, not knowing how to fix it.  He could always come up with a diagnosis, apparently except when it came to dealing with his own problems.

“Baby, I swear. I would never do that to you, or the kids."

“I know what you think you wouldn’t do, Frank,” she replied quietly, voice trembling with the effort to not yell at him. Millie had always been a hard sleeper, but the sound of Mommy shouting would bring Tanner tearing across the house.  “But I also have to believe what I see. You're hiding pills. You're lying to yourself and you're gaslighting me without meaning to.”

He dropped his gaze to the quilt, fidgeting with a frayed edge.  He desperately wanted to just take a shower and come to bed, but he was positive now that he wasn't welcome there at the moment.
“I’m not going to take the kids away forever,” she sniffled “But I am taking them. Because right now, I’m not sure I can trust you, and that kills me."

Frank nodded miserably in response and stood up, unsure of his next move.  Abby solved his dilemma for him, like she usually did.  She gathered her tissues and dropped them in a waste basket under her night stand and scooted further down into the bed, burrowing under the quilt and further into his hoodie.   Before she reached up to click off her lamp, she muttered.

"Go take a shower, Frank.  You smell like the hospital."

A/N PS:  I really hope you are enjoying reading!  I currently have the bones of the next chapter placed, just needs some tweaking. Kudos and comments are always appreciated! 

Chapter Text

Friday Night

Frank rolled over again, and found his nose three inches from the back of his couch. He'd removed the back cushions in an attempt to make it wider, but he couldn't magically make the sofa long enough to accommodate his long legs. He mentally pictured a daddy long leg spider he'd seen in the kitchen window that morning, all gangly limbs. He wondered if spiders ever had back pain, after all they shot silk from their asses. His lower back twinged, again, as he rolled over, again, feeling suffocated. He sat up, placing his socked feet on the carpet, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. 

In, two three four. Out, two three four.

The box breathing exercises weren't really helping, and he hadn't really expected them to. Nothing was going to help him through this, and he was well aware of it. Hell, at the moment he'd even take a marijauna gummy.  Maybe not, he thought as his brain filled with images of the sleeping boy on the gurney. 

He knew there was no way to get past Abby to get to the bathroom to the bag he'd taped to the inside of the toilet tank, provided she hadn't found that one already. There was a third baggie in the old teapot inside the locked glass showcase that he could access. He groaned aloud. Here he was, needing a fix, even though, logically, he knew better. Junkie.  The word floated through his brain like a curse.  He was a trained medical professional.  He could get through this.

His life was falling apart.  His wife, his beatiful, take-no-shit wife, was about to take his gorgeous kids and leave his stupid ass. All the high-end bags in the world wouldn't fix his marriage, or his back, or get his job back. He groaned again and reached around behind him to dig his knuckles into his lower back.  God, he was a fuck up, who wanted to be fucked up.  His head shot up at a small sniffle.

"Daddy? I had a bad dream. Can I sleep on the couch with you?" 

Tanner stood in the middle of the living room floor in his triceratops onesie, one little fist rubbing at his left eye and the other wound around his well-loved teddy bear.
Frank swallowed down the lump in his throat and threw his arms wide, back be damned, and they both drifted off, Tanner using his teddy as a pillow against Frank's abdomen.

***

The next morning, As Tanner scarfed down the chocolate chip pancakes he'd found at the table after waking up back in his own bed, Frank and Abby both sipped their coffee in tense silence. Neither had felt comfortable sitting at the table, pretending that they were the picture of peaceful domesticity.  Frank's back was still aching from the night before and he had a pounding headache.  He wanted desperately to chug his coffee and possibly a Red Bull as a chaser, then take a long, hot shower.

"It's just a big misunderstanding.  Last night was just..S-H-I-T," Frank spelled out with a glance at his toddler, who was cheerfully picking up cheerios with one hand and squeezing bits of pancake into her mouth with the other, "all the way around." Millie had a knack for repeating the very word neither parent wanted her to in public.

"Right. I'm sure it was hell, but the shooting wasn't until around 7. Explain why I got this text at 6?"

Abby unlocked her phone and showed him a text from Dana from the evening before, about a pharmacy audit. Well, that wasn't good.

 
"I swear, Abby, it was once. Months ago, and I've dealt with it. I just needed a..."

"Fix? You sound like an addict, Frank," Abby snapped in reply, frowning as she poured the dregs of her coffee down the sink and rinsed the mug out. She placed it carefully in the sink, then turned toward him, arms crossed. 

"I'm not an addict, goddamit!" Frank hissed angrily as he slammed his coffee cup down onto the cabinet, breaking the handle and splashing the lukewarm fluid onto his pajama pants. As an extra insult, his back chose that moment to cramp up, making him lean forward, hissing in pain.

"Come on, kiddos, it's time to get changed and head over to grandma's. Daddy needs to go get some air."

As Abby followed Tanner into his room to find his favorite dinosaur tee shirt, she heard the front door slam so hard the entire house rattled. She flinched, then reminded herself to breathe.

In, two three four.  Out, two three four. 

Abby started looking for the blue shirt with the brontasaurus on it, Tanner's favorite.

***

Abby got Tanner dressed and distracted by telling him to pick a few toys to take with them.  Her parents lived in a small town to the east named Mill Creek, population roughly 350, and it would take a few hours to get to their ranch.  Her hope was both kids would stay distracted enough between toys and tablets that she could get her swirling thoughts straight.  She sat down at the table with a legal pad and a Bic with it's cap long lost, tapping it against her mouth for a minute before starting to write. 

Abby signed the note and set the pen down on the table next to it. She'd leave it here, there was no way Frank would miss it when he came back in to, hopefully, get some rest. She'd sent Tanner out with his dad's keys, and he hadn't come back in, but she'd heard the Jeep's ignition start. It took every ounce of her willpower to not open the front door and shout at Frank. After all, Tanner was constantly begging to ride in the front seat, "like a big boy!" And God only knew when she'd be comfortable with leaving the children alone with Frank again. She reread her letter, deciding that it was just supportive enough but got her message across loud and clear: No drugs, or no family.

She picked Millie up from her high chair, where she'd been sleepily slobbering on her fist, still full of Cheerios.

"Let's get you changed, stinky kid, and then mommy's gonna pack her bag." 

***

Frank regretted slamming the door as soon as he was on the other side. His back hurt. His head was still throbbing behind his eye sockets. And, to add insult to injury, his stomach decided this was the perfect moment to remind him that while he'd cooked and plated his childrens' breakfast, he hadn't eaten anything. 

He shuffled to the Jeep parked in the driveway that he'd been driving since his high school graduation.  It had served him well. He was meticulous about oil changes and tune-ups, because there was no way they could afford another car payment. Especially if he lost...

He cut that line of thinking off quickly as he got into the driver's seat, thinking maybe a drive to the nearest coffee shop for an iced latte and muffin would help clear his head and satisfy his stomach. As he reached for the keys he always kept in his front pocket, he realized foggily that he was still wearing his pajama pants, splattered with coffee stains. He grabbed the steering wheel with both hands, laid his forehead against it, and screamed into the void until his throat was raw. 

Frank saw his elderly neighbor in his peripheral vision, giving him an curious look over the low brick wall that separated their driveways. He raised a hand in greeting slightly with a weak smile, thankful he'd rolled the windows up when he'd parked in case of rain.

The passenger door suddenly opened with slight squeak, and Tanner bounced into the passenger seat, fully dressed for the day in his favorite green dinosaur tee, blue jeans and the light up sneakers he'd begged for his previous birthday. Tanner was growing so fast, Frank was surprised they still fit after 3 months.

In a solemn mimicry of his father, Tanner reached into his pocket and handed over the keys, then grinned.

"Mommy said you might need these, and to move your A-S-S. Well, she said the word but it's a naughty word so I spelled it. But, why's that a bad word? Grandpa says it's just another word for donkey."
Frank couldn't help but smile softly at his exuberant son.

 
"Yes, donkeys are called asses, but your mom is using it in place of your butt. Close the door and put on your seatbelt."

Tanner squealed in reply as he hurried to follow Frank's directions. He rarely got to ride in "Daddys truck" as legally, he still needed a booster and to be in the back seat. Frank was only moving to the curb, though, so he didn't see the harm in making his son happy. After all, it might be a while before he saw that smile again.

 
Frank slowly backed out of the driveway and parallel parked on the street, then turned the ignition off. He turned to his son, still smiling softly at the wide grin and big, blue eyes so like his own. His kid was going to heartbreaker. Frank was pretty sure his heart was already shattering if the ache in his chest was any indication.

"Don't get out, I'm gonna come around to you, okay?"

Tanner nodded as he unclipped his seatbelt and scooted forward on the bench seat with a small sigh. Frank also sighed as he crossed in front of the Jeep, checking quickly for oncoming vehicles, and opened the passenger side door. He knew he was dragging this out, he could see Abby standing by the hatchback, scrolling on her phone and tapping her foot impatiently.  He swing Tanner onto his hip, eliciting a sharp protest from his lower back. Once they reached the grass, he set Tanner down and watched  his son run to the car and climb into his booster seat. Frank shut the Jeep's doors and made his way slowly across the lawn towards Abby's truck, watching her intently, but she refused to look up from her phone and meet his gaze. He bent down and kissed his daughter's curly brown hair.  She was already asleep, a line of drool running down her cheek.  He gently swiped it away with his finger.

"Sleep well, princess. You two be good for Mommy, and tell your grandparents hello for me?" Tanner nodded solemnly, proud to have a big boy message to deliver. As he stood and shut the door, Abby finally looked up, her face blank, expression unreadable.

"Go eat something then take a shower, Frank. I'll text you when we get there." 

With that, she dropped the leashed puppy and a bag of kibble into the passenger seat, got into the driver's seat and started backing out of the driveway.  As he watched his family slowly disappear down the street, he held up a hand and whispered,

"I love you too."

***

Frank went back inside, already dreading the silence that would greet him. The house wasn’t much, just a three bed rental on Franklin Street tucked between older homes with high brick walls between the lawns, like they were trying to sheild the families inside from nosy neighbors.

Abby had fallen in love with the place at first sight, and laughed hysterically when she'd read the street sign, although his first name was actually Francis.  When he'd eventually told her that, one one of the first phone calls he'd made to her once he got settled in his almost barren dorm room at NYU during medical school, she'd just giggled.  As they were saying their goodbyes, she'd tacked on "Good night.  Love you, Franklin," and the nickname had stuck.

Inside, the place still smelled faintly of soggy Cheerios and chocolate chips. Frank took a few minutes to straighten up the kitchen, scraping food off into the kitchen trash and and loading the last of the breakfsast plates into the dishwasher before starting it.  He wiped off Millie's high chair tray and slid it back onto the seat. That's when he saw the legal pad sitting on the small dining table they'd both studiously avoided that morning.

He sat down slowly, his lower back aching in protest, and picked up the pad.  Abby's neat and loopy penmanship greeted him. He felt his throat go tight with emotion as he read the salutation, she'd written him so many letters while they were separated by his schooling and her job that started that way. Would this be the last?

Dear Franklin,

I love you and always will. But I love our children more, and I know you do too, and there are things they shouldn't be exposed to. 
After all, isn't the first line "Do no harm"?

You have a problem, whether  or not you want to admit it. When you're ready, I will be right by your side on the way to sobriety.

But, only you can start that journey.

Let me know when and what you decide, I'll keep my phone on and text you when we get there.

With all my love,
Abby

Frank read through it twice, his chest tightening with every line. His breath came in shallow pulls. He barely registered the wetness on his cheeks, not even bothering to wipe away the tears and snot that followed.

Instead, he stood and peeled his sweaty shirt off, stumbling towards the bathroom, tossing it in the hamper as he made his way through his bedroom, coffee stained pajama pants following.  He found some comfortable sweats and made his way to the bathroom like an automaton. The hot shower scalded him back to himself just enough to realize his hands were shaking.

 
Sleep, I just need a nap. Long night last night, he thought numbly to himself as he pulled on his sweats and collapsed onto his bed, on top of the quilt Abby's grandmother had given them as a wedding gift.

He woke up with a juddering start four hours later, his head throbbing, eyes burning. He dug his palms into his eye sockets, then sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.  He stumbled to the kitchen, and the silence in his house hit him like a brick wall.  

He picked his phone up, which he'd left face down on the counter that morning, hope springing eternal that he had a reply from Robby, or maybe Dana, or from Abby.  

There was only one notification, Frank leaned against the kitchen counter and slid his thumb across the screen to open it, heart thudding loudly in the silence.

Abby:  Got here safely. I hope you read my letter. Please get some help.

Frank debated whether to reply, or even send a thumbs up emoji. He found that for the first time in his adult life, he had no comeback.  No smarmy comment was going to get him out of this.  If he purged himself of the benzos in his system, his life could start to look normal again. 

He opened up the VRBO app on his phone and found a single room near the hospital, the kind of place usually rented out in two week blocks to med students at PTMC for a rotation. The perfect place to get away from... Well, whatever he was trying to get away from. 

He finally replied.

Frank:  Sorry about the late response, I fell asleep.  I feel like death warmed over.  Gonna book a room if you and the kids want to come back.

The three dots appeared immediately, to Frank's surprise.

Abby:  I went ahead and took a week of vacation time, was gonna lose it anyway.  You know what to do Francis.

Frank's chest ached as he simultaneously scowled at the reply.  Abby had pulled out the big guns. She only used his government name when she meant business.  He knew what Robby's options were, but he was still unsure what was actually going to happen. He was supossed to have a shift today, but they'd been told to take the day off, alternates would be called in. He had a shift tomorrow, he guessed he'd find out then. 

He threw his toiletries and a set of scrubs into his duffel bag and headed to his temporary lodgings, locking the front door on the way out.

Frank drove to the townhouse he'd booked on a quiet, tree lined street near the hospital, but comfortably far enough from his own house to not run into Abby or his kids. He parked on the street, as requested, and got out, grabbing his duffel bag and grocery sack from the corner store, where he'd stopped for some crackers and red Gatorade, from the passenger seat. He pushed the door shut with his hip, making sure his Jeep was locked up. 

It was a nice enough room, with a queen sized bed, a chest of drawers with a mirror and a 50" flat screen mounted to the wall. There was an en-suite with an old fashioned claw tub and shower head. It was clean and quiet, the perfect setting for tapering off the Librium, utilizing the few pills he'd brought with him. He'd taken one before leaving, so he was currently pretty calm and his back wasn't giving him too many issues, so he laid across the bed and turned the television on. 

There were several different streaming services on offer along with YouTube and local channels. He surfed the locals until he settled on reruns of old game shows. Frank had always liked trivia shows, having spent many afternoons after school with his grandmother watching Jeopardy and the $64,000 pyramid.

He tossed the remote onto the bedside table, and kicked his shoes off, not really caring where they landed. He pulled his phone from his front pocket, checking for messages.  Nothing. 
Frank dropped his phone on the bed and rubbed hard at his eyes with the palms of hands.  Healing hands, his mother had called them once. Dr Robby still hadn't replied to any of his texts, nor called him back. Neither had Dana. Frank knew it made him seem desperate,  even crazy, but he had to explain. Make things right. He pulled up his text string to Robby and started typing. 

Can we talk? We both said things last night, and I'm sorry, man.  I just want to explain.

Frank sent the text, watching the two check marks appear for sent and received. He waited for a few more minutes, but nothing. He put his phone face down on the table next to the remote and stood, needing to take a leak.

As he finished, Frank felt a surge of fatigue wash over him. His "doctor brain" helpfully supplied that his Benzo dose was wearing off. Frank stripped down to his boxers, folding his jeans and shirt neatly and laying them on top of the dresser. He could unpack his duffel later, he supposed. It wasn't as if anyone was going to snoop. 

Frank pulled the red Gatorade and Tylenol from his grocery bag, swallowing two of the pills and chasing them with half the bottle, then setting it next to his phone. He slid into the bed, the soft, aged mattress giving way to his body weight. He pulled the colorful handmade quilt up to his chin and squeezed his eyes shut. 

As soon as he closed his eyes, all he saw was Abby. Her blinding smile, her bright blonde hair falling in ringlets down her back, her bright brown eyes, sparking with laughter at something he said. Frank, already half asleep, moaned her name out loud and his hand made it's way to his groin, palming himself through his boxers. 

Frank reached through the modesty flap of his shorts and wrapped his hand firmly around his shaft, then started to pump, slowly.  His brain continued to provide him with memories of their previous nights. In his dream, Frank was in his own bed, Abby spooned next to him. He reached around her hip, idly drawing doodles with his fingers on her abdomen. 

In reality, Franks hand now kept a steady rhythm and his hips had begun to buck a bit. With every pull, he twisted a bit and rubbed a thumb over the head of his dick, using his pre-come as lubricant. 

His brow furrowed as his dream shifted. He was now at the hospital, in the residents' lounge, catching a cat nap on the on-call sofa. He'd locked the door, or at least he thought he had, so he'd have a few minutes of quiet and stress relief as he rubbed one out. As he came, Dr King - Mel, as she insisted on being called - gasped out loud, owl eyed and blushing, from the break room door.

Frank came with a loud moan, effectively waking himself up from his nap.

 
What the hell, Langdon?

Frank sat up suddenly, come cooling on his hand and stomach. He wiped his hand on his shorts then shimmied out of them. Now he was firmly awake, sweaty, and sticky. He dropped his dirty boxers on the floor next to his duffel bag and pulled his 3-in-1 body wash out of it.

Thirty minutes of scalding hot shower later, Frank again sat on the bed, this time with his back braced against the headboard. The cool wood felt good against his lower back, which was a nice reprieve after the heat from the shower. He took another swig of his Gatorade and flipped channels a few times.

Frank was having a hard time shutting his brain off, a perpetual side effect of his undiagnosed ADHD, he was sure. He was still mulling over his dreams, although he'd never put a lot of stock into dreams. He'd been told in medical school during a lesson on sleep dynamics that dreams were just your brain flushing out the day.

In that case, dreaming of Abby was par for the course, especially after such an upheaval of a morning. Dr. King, however, was a bit more of a surprise. Maybe she'd just shown up because he'd more or less taken her under his wing. Maybe there was something deeper his subconscious was trying to get across to him. Maybe he was just a man and she was an pretty woman. Frank scrubbed at his eyes again. He had enough on his plate trying to save both his family and his job. Developing an attraction for another woman, for his mentee, shouldn't even be on his radar. 

Franks stomach rumbled in protest. The last thing he'd eaten had been Tanner's leftover pancakes that morning as he cleaned the kitchen, and his body was currently informing him of its displeasure at lack of caffeine and calories.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered out loud as he poked his tummy and picked up his phone again and opened the DoorDash app.