Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Frank grunts as he heaves the last box of his parents' stuff onto the curb and shutters the back of the moving truck.

One more box. Only one more.

He has an irrational need to prove he can do it without paying for movers, and what could’ve been done in a couple of hours has taken the entirety of his morning.

His parents helped as much as they could before their knees gave out, and are now resting on the living room couch, the only piece of furniture in its correct spot. Frank takes a second to catch his breath, exhaustion slowly creeping in from the physical labor of the last several hours.

The glow of the June afternoon sun beats down on him, and for a moment, he wishes he had worn his sunglasses, if only to catch even the dullest glimpse of the sparkling rays. He usually brings them along for his morning run to catch the sunrise but forgot to bring them with him today.

Only the sticky mist of heat motivates him to finish moving the box sooner. 

He bends down to pick up the last box from the curb, “Dishware,” written across the top in metallic Sharpie. Gravity bears down on it as he heaves it up, the tattered cardboard slipping from his firm grip. It begins to drop at an awkward angle, and Frank twists suddenly to catch it before it hits the pavement.

“Fuck!” he yells. He lets the box fall to the ground, but he’s a split second too late.

The damage is already done.

Pain grips the base of his spine up to his shoulder blades, and it feels as if he’s been struck by lightning, branches crackling and rippling along the surface of his back.

Shit.

He brings his hand to his back and slowly, gingerly turns away from the house to sit on the curb.

The box lies next to him tauntingly, and Frank’s curiosity is piqued. He rips open the box.

It’s about what he expects from a box labeled “Dishware”: Vintage china plates handed down by his grandparents, air-dry clay mugs he crafted as a child, and a myriad of thrifted sterling silver pieces stares back at him, shattered and bent from the fall. Some of it is still intact, at least.

His parents are passed out on the couch, too deep in sleep to have heard him yell. He takes a moment to collect himself, and after a few shuddering breaths, tries again.

One. More. Box.

He pushes through the pain, tension coiling under his skin and prickling the dark hair at the base of his neck, ready to strike at any moment.

Once he safely delivers the box to the front door, he digs the tips of his fingers into his forehead in frustration, leaving a red imprint that quickly fades away.

Frank is stubborn—he knows that. He refused to hire movers, even at the behest of his parents, Abby, Robby, and you.

But now he thinks he should’ve listened to you back at the nurse’s station two days ago.

But what’s done is done, so Frank ignores the twinge in his back, clinging to the hope that it’ll heal with a good night’s rest and over-the-counter medicine.

Tyche watches the man from afar in her perch on the mountainside. She spins her wheel, the weight of the oiled teak wood solid against the smoothness of her palms.

The spokes of the wheel clunk, upward and downward, upward and downward—until it lands.

Misfortune.

“So you’re taking the day off Friday?” you ask, only partially paying attention to Frank when he responds.

It’s 9 a.m., and you’re currently at the nurse’s station, typing away, charting a patient from Chairs who came in with a UTI. You’re filling in for McKay today, who’s away at a court hearing.

It’s a nice change of pace for once. Chairs patients typically come in for small cuts, burns, or an upset stomach—they’re easy to treat and send away.

He nods, even though you aren’t looking. “Yeah, I have to help my parents move into their new place.” Frank leans over you, silently watching you work while his hands are stuffed deep within the pockets of his scrubs.

“That’s sweet of you to do, Frank. Are you hiring movers?” The keyboard clacks under your short but freshly manicured nails, a pretty color that complements your skin tone, even under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“Nah, I can do it on my own.” You glance up at him with a raised eyebrow, shaking your head slightly.

“You’re sure? You make a lot more than I do.” He doesn’t—not by much, at least. “And I would hire movers.” Your eyes are facing the screen again, determined to try and finish your charting as quickly as possible.

At any second, you’ll have to drop what you're doing to help the next poor soul EMTs roll in through the emergency doors. And with McKay absent today, you’re already stretching yourself thin.

You know it’s futile. You’ll never get ahead of your paperwork, but you sure try your hardest.

“What, you don’t think I can do it? I’m more than capable, you know.” He smirks.

You can see Frank staring at you from the corner of your eye, arms now crossed over his chest, trying to grab your full attention.

You avoid indulging him at all costs.

“I’m not saying that, but what if you injure yourself? And think of the time you’ll save. I mean, wouldn’t you rather spend the day with your family?” Frank’s eyes quickly catch yours, and then he looks down at the floor in apparent regret.

You sigh and give him a pointed look. “What’d you do this time?” The corners of your lips can’t help but quirk up at his guilty face.

“Nothing!” You squint your eyes at him, hoping it’ll get the message across—I know you did something, now spill.

“Okay, okay.” Frank scrunches his shoulders and raises his hands in the air in defeat. “I might’ve already paid for an upcoming camping trip with the kids for their summer break—without asking Abby first.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Frank quickly interjects, “And I already told the kids. She’s pretty pissed at me right now. Helping my parents move will give us some space.”

You wait a few seconds before responding in case he has more to say. He doesn’t.

“You know, I think Abby would appreciate these gestures more if they maybe weren’t surprises? Ugh, men. So clueless.” You roll your eyes but start to smile, conveying that you're only joking. Slightly.

“Everyone likes surprises. I do—my kids definitely do. And they fucking love me!” Frank scoffs as he leans against the counter with a hand on his hip, looking offended.

“Well, Abby doesn’t.” You quickly glance at Frank and see him with his mouth hanging open like you just punched him in the gut. “Like surprises, I mean. She doesn’t like surprises.”

Frank steamrolls past your clarification. “I suggested she stay home while I go with the kids so she won’t have to take time off from work. Let her relax without us. But that seemed to only upset her further—... Ah, I'm not sure what I should do. Do you think it’s too late to cancel? I’ve already bought—” Frank stops mid-ramble when he notices you looking down at your phone.

You don’t usually let him drone on for so long without having something smart to say back. He crouches down to meet you at eye level. Only now does he notice how disappointed you look.

“Hey, you okay?”

It’s been over a year since you transferred from Northwestern Memorial in Chicago to Pittsburgh, and now you’re in your second—almost third—year as a resident. You moved to be closer to friends and family, or so you tell yourself.

You don’t really have the luxury of time. The Pitt is like a time vacuum. A few minutes here is equal to a few hours out there in the real world. And thus, all you really have in terms of a social life are texts here and there, FaceTimes and phone calls, and plans that always fall through.

The Pitt is single-minded and unflinching. Its only purpose is to swallow all those who dare explore—or more often, stumble into it—whole. But being trapped by its temporal force field means that the well of new and exciting learning experiences never seems to run dry, at least.

Trapped as you may be, you do love your job. Most of the time. You have always been drawn to emergency medicine, even from as early as high school, volunteering as an EMT at your local fire and rescue.

And maybe this is why you and Frank clicked upon meeting each other on your first day. He likely saw in you what he sees in himself: a ball of wound-up energy, a plug looking for its outlet—that outlet being emergency medicine. Overall, a chaotic mess.

Though Frank does have a tendency to alienate those around him with his overconfidence, razor-sharp wit, and poorly timed bluntness, his rough edges seem to be softened, only very minutely, around you.

“Hey.” Frank waves in your face, pulling you back to the conversation. “Is there something wrong?”

“Ah, it’s nothing.” Frank gives you an expectant stare, still crouching to talk to you face-to-face. You blink back at him like a deer in headlights, pinned, unable to draw yourself from his ardent gaze.

“Well, it’s just—I wasn’t able to secure a ticket to Pittfest. I just got an email.” You shove your phone in Frank’s face to show him.

“I was on the waitlist, but I guess the tickets are sold out now.” Frank raises his eyebrows in apparent surprise.

“You—you’re going to that?”

A light chuckle, mostly to yourself. “Well, I've been here for a year now, and I thought it’d be fun. My boyfriend and I were planning to go together. Enjoy ourselves. I didn’t get to go last year because I only just got to town. I just—... I didn’t realize tickets were sold six months in advance, so I missed out.”

“Why didn’t Ron get you a ticket?”

“His name is Ryan.”

“Same thi—”

“—And we only got together three months ago, remember? He probably wouldn’t have been able to secure one for me anyway.” You push against Frank’s shoulder as if to nudge his memory.

Frank stands at full height again. “Sorry to hear that, sunshine. Still, it’s in three months. Maybe you can—?”

Just then, EMTs burst through the doors of the ED entrance.

“Patient, aged forty-six, male, name is Nathanial Smith. Complained of chest pain and dizziness. Pain started thirty minutes ago while at work. Passed out on the scene. Pulse 105, BP 90 over 40.”

Frank turns to you, and you’re already getting out of your chair. Guess charting will have to wait.

The memory of the conversation with you two days ago only momentarily distracts Frank from the ache in his back.

It’s late. The day slipped by him, just as suddenly as the fated box did hours ago.

After helping his parents set up their bed frame, they’re now getting ready to sleep, and he leaves without saying goodbye. He’ll be back again in a few days, in case they need more help unpacking and organizing, but it's dark out now, and he still has an hour’s drive ahead of him.

He calls Abby to tell her he won’t be home for dinner.

Frank's back throbs, the pain getting worse. He definitely should’ve listened to you and hired those movers.

He smiles gravely to himself. Guess he won’t be taking the kids camping after all. Maybe Abby’ll be happier at this turn of events.

Frank’s alarm blares beside him, vibrating the glass of water atop the bedside table. 

He’s drawn from a humdrum dream, the black-and-white images already slipping from his mind. He quickly swats the alarm so as not to wake Abby, who is tossing and turning next to him in bed.

4 a.m. She’s probably in the middle of a nightmare—one he’s playing the starring role in.

Frank gently pushes the hair from her face and shifts her body so he can wrap his arms around her midsection, hoping to calm her down. It works. Her body stills, but her face shows signs of distress. Her eyebrows are scrunched, and her lips are pursed.

He slowly lets her go, pecking the tip of her nose, and gets out from under the covers to get ready for his shift. Only once the heat of his body leaves the mattress does her face relax, and her shoulders droop.

Last night did not go as planned. Abby really didn’t take the news of Frank’s back injury too well.

“I told you, more than once, hire some help. Your parents did too! Why didn’t you just listen?”

Abby is on the verge of tears, standing in front of Frank while he’s sitting on the couch, elbows laid over his knees with his hands held as if in prayer before his face. 

Even his physicality is irritating her. He seems too indifferent about this.

She spots the empty beer bottles lined up on the floor to the right of the couch, as if Frank tried to hide them from her.

“It wasn’t necessary, Abby. I made it through most of the day without anything happening. It was just that last box that messed me up.” He pauses.

“Really, don’t worry about it. I’m going to get checked out at primary care first thing tomorrow. They’ll prescribe me some pain meds, and I’ll be on my merry way.” Another pause.

Frank interlocks his fingers behind his head as if his body is steeling itself for what he's about to say.

“Hey, at least we won’t be going camping anymore! Just what you wanted, right?” The sharp edge to his voice rings around the room, and from the look on Abby’s face, she just got nicked.

Frank winces at himself for his harsh tone, already regretting what he said. He should be better than this—he’s an adult, for Christ’s sake.

He’s already a great father, at least in his eyes, but he should be a better husband. He should love her. He does love her. But… more than this. Enough to convince himself that their marriage isn’t just to keep up appearances and maintain the status quo. He just… can’t find it in himself to.

Frank’s last remark doesn’t go over well. Abby is visibly frustrated.

Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her foot taps against the hardwood floor at a tedious pace. Tears fully form in the ducts of her eyes, dropping in sync with the pitter-patter of her foot. An ugly combination of pity, sorrow, guilt, and anger simmers just below the surface of her skin.

“Are you really bringing that up? Now?” Her voice is clipped and measured so as not to wake the kids. But slowly, with each word, the pitch of her voice lifts, sound reverberating around the otherwise quiet of the living room.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” A deep sigh escapes Frank. “Just forget it.”

He lifts himself from the couch and takes a few steps to gather Abby in his arms, bumping his knee into the corner of the coffee table in the process.

Like the pairing of a salty cheese with a ripened, near-rotting fruit, the numbing alcohol and momentary pain in his knee are delectable in combination and distract him from his aching back.

“Look,” Frank gently tilts Abby’s chin back so she’s looking up at him. “I’ve had a long day, and I need to get in early tomorrow. Can we just… spend tonight happy and forget this happened?” 

He bends down to kiss Abby, but she turns her head, pushing her hand against Frank’s chest and stepping back at arm’s length.

“No, Frank. We need to talk about this. Your impulsive decisions. Your refusal to listen. Getting yourself hurt. I’m going to look like the bad guy in front of our kids tomorrow when I have to tell them that Daddy’s too hurt to take them camping while you’re away at work. All day.”

Her voice breaks, but she takes a few deep breaths, fans her eyes, and continues.

“We just don’t feel like a team lately. What does Dr. Robby always say? That being in the Pitt is like playing a team sport? Well, how about our team? Huh? You. Are. Never. Home. You avoid confrontations like this and let things build up instead, and I just—”

She cuts herself off just as she starts shouting. 

Both Frank and Abby look to the stairwell, worried that the kids may have woken up. They brace themselves for the possibility that they’ll come down to check what’s going on. Their boys have always been very brave and very curious.

Abby never wants the kids to have to worry about Mom and Dad, which Frank loves and respects about her. He, too, would do anything to protect his sons—which is why the constant fights over the past few months have taken their toll on both Abby and Frank. It’s only a matter of time until they catch them in the middle of a fight.

But what’s the solution here? What can you do when two college sweethearts have drifted so far apart that they can’t even recognize each other anymore?

The conversation ends there at the risk of waking the boys up, Abby too emotionally spent to continue. She gives Frank one last pitiful look before making her way upstairs, slamming the door to their bedroom. 

Frank grabs another beer from the fridge, chews on another aspirin, and waits until she is long asleep before following her up the stairs.

No wonder she’s been tossing and turning all night.

After taking a quick shower and getting dressed, Frank cracks open the door to his sons’ shared room, peeking in to make sure they’re asleep. 

He tiptoes in, giving Tanner and Theo a quick kiss on the cheek, adjusting their blankets that had fallen away overnight so they’re warm. Whispers of “I love you” are directed into their ears, and Frank can only hope that they’ll hear him through the thick fog of sleep. 

Hopefully they’re having better dreams than he did.

Frank leaves for his shift an hour earlier than usual. Now in the driver’s seat of his car, he takes a deep breath in. He knows he fucked up with Abby. But today is a new day, and he has lives to save, so he pushes last night’s conversation into the deep recesses of his mind and backs out of the driveway, hitting play on the EM: RAP podcast.

Frank walks out of Primary Care and heads to the ED locker rooms to put away his backpack. 

It took no more than twenty minutes for Dr. Hagan to set him up with prescription painkillers, muscle relaxers, and a printed set of instructions. He’s grateful Hagan usually comes in early for his shift.

Frank undoes the cap of the orange vial, popping two pills. He swallows them down with a harsh gulp. He already feels much better.

6:25 a.m. Thirty-five more minutes until the start of both of your shifts and handoffs from the night crew. On a typical day, Frank arrives no earlier than fifteen minutes before the start of his shift for a smooth handoff, but he’s already here. 

He might as well wait for you.

He walks toward the cafeteria. You usually meet up with Frank for a quick coffee—a Red Bull for him—before rounds.

Frank knows you get in around 6:30 a.m., perpetually worried about being late, so you arrive earlier than everyone else. He tilts his head up at the clock at the far end of the cafeteria wall. You should be coming in through the double doors at any second.

You walk through the doors with your phone in hand, laughing at a dumb TikTok you’ve already forgotten the tagline to. A sign you need coffee, fast. 

You look up at your surroundings before you bump into something, or someone, and see Frank already sitting at a table. You tilt your head at him but smile, slightly confused. You’re usually here before him.

“Hey, Langdon, what’re you doing here so early? I’m usually the one waiting for you.” You put your phone into the pocket of your fleece jacket as you sit on the opposite side of him.

“Oh, so we’re on a last-name basis now?” Frank teases, but he can’t help the uncomfortable, gutted feeling in the pit of his stomach at your use of his last name.

You rub your hands over your face in an attempt to wake yourself up. 

“Shit, sorry. Garcia called me out yesterday for using her first name when I asked about a procedure. I blame you for this—she probably doesn’t love me hanging out with a certain E.R. Ken.” You wink and point at Frank with your forefinger.

“I got in the habit of sticking to last names all last shift, and even now—though I think she was joking… hopefully. Anyway, Frank,” you emphasize the “k,” making an exaggerated crackling sound, “are you going to tell me why you’re here so early?” 

He shrugs his shoulders. You give him a curious look, waiting for a response. Frank gives an exaggerated sigh, hanging his head on his arms that are crossed on top of the table.

You can feel the table slightly shake from the fidgeting of his legs underneath. His body language reads like a child who’s embarrassed because he got an answer wrong in front of the class.

“I fucked up my back pretty bad yesterday. Had to see Dr. Hagan.” Frank's voice is muffled against his arms, but you make out what he says.

You bring your palm to your chest, heart rate speeding up.

“Oh, Frank.” A beat. “Are you okay?”

Still muffled: “No, but I will be.” A second passes, and he looks into your eyes, his head resting sideways against his forearm, face slightly flushed from the lack of air. 

He looks almost boyish, cute, even. You quickly blink away the intrusive thought.

The reluctance for what he’s about to say is evident on his face. He looks as if he’s eaten an entire bag of sour candy.

“You were right. I should’ve hired the movers—please don’t gloat. I already feel like shit. My boys were really excited about the trip too…”

He lifts his head and arms from the table to rest his hands inside his pockets, but you grab his elbow quickly to stop him.

He glances at your face, then earnestly looks at your hand gently cupping his elbow. You put your hand back on your side of the table, interlocking your fingers.

“Hey, I’m sorry that happened to you. I’m glad you’ll be okay. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, but thanks. I'll be fine. Promise.”

Frank gives a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, but you don’t press any further. You give him a wan smile back.

“Good.” A second, then you follow up with, “Ready?”

Frank only nods in response.

You both walk in step to the café, ready to order, before meeting Dr. Robby for rounds.

You’re at the end of your shift, grabbing the purse from your locker, checking to make sure everything you need is inside it. You double-check. Then triple-check, for good measure.

You’re exhausted—both physically and mentally. But today was one of the better days. None of your patients died. You learned a few new techniques from Robby and Collins. Mohan complimented your scrubs. There was free lunch in the lounge and, goddamnit, time to actually eat it. 

Overall, a pretty good day.

You make your way to the bathroom before heading out, a routine you force on yourself. There have been many times you waited to use it until you got home but sometimes found yourself too tired and just went to bed. Let’s just say you’ve had a few close calls.

Suddenly, your phone vibrates, and you trill your lips at the sight of the caller ID. You know you have to answer. You’ve been avoiding him long enough. You stare up at the ceiling, dragging sterile hospital air into your lungs, preparing yourself for the phone call. 

“Hey, Ryan, what’s up?” You lean against the wall next to the bathroom door.

“Have you decided yet?” Ryan gets right to the heart of the topic, too unbothered to give a “How are you?” or a “How was work?”

Thanks, babe.

“I’m still thinking about it.” You fidget with the strap of your purse, pulling on a loose thread.

“What more is there to think about? Do you want to move in with me or not? Really a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ babe. My roommate is moving out soon, and I could really use help with the rent.”

The sound of gunfire and explosions reaches your ear, and you know he’s on Fortnite. Is he streaming right now? You’re surprised he even has a large enough following to pay half his rent, let alone food and utilities.

“I just think it's too soon.” You pause. You don’t want to offend him, but it’s true. “We've only been dating for a few months,” you now whisper, not wanting to bring attention to yourself as your day shift colleagues pass by, leaving.

“I don’t want to rush things. Plus, I really like my apartment. It's walking distance to work, my neighbors are quiet, and it’s something I can actually afford.”

Dr. Abbot walks by in the opposite direction as your colleagues, most likely coming back from the rooftop, and gives you a slight nod. But from the look on his face, you can tell he’s confused as to why you haven’t left yet. You politely smile and wave back, feeling mortified, temperature rising in your cheeks.

He’s your unrealistic age-gap work crush, and he sees you standing outside the bathroom on the phone past duty like an idiot. You cringe at the embarrassment, quickly heading into the bathroom to avoid humiliating yourself further.

You needed to use it before you forgot anyway. Hopefully, you can end the conversation before anyone comes in.

“Aren't you always saying you feel lonely? Move in with me, babe. I know being in that apartment all by yourself isn’t doing you any good.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m not that lonely. I have you, obviously, and I still keep in touch with my family and friends.” You stop before the excuses sound any sadder.

“But that’s beside the point. I’m just not ready to move in yet, okay?”

You’re not ready to admit to yourself that moving in isn’t the problem—moving in with him is. If you opened that can of worms right now, you’d spiral.

Ryan’s safe. He’s what you know. Being a local, born and raised, he’s introduced you to so many parts of the city you now adore. God, even the food places you know now are because of him.

You’re not sure if you can let him go. He’s a giant, walking red flag, but he’s the closest connection you have in a new life, in a new city you’d otherwise be lost in.

Even though it’s been over a year since you got to Pittsburgh, you still feel like you're adjusting. And Ryan helps you not face it alone.

You’re tethered.

“Okay, babe, I don't want to pressure you. But I do need an answer so I know to post an ad for another roommate.”

This was so very typical of you—waiting until the last second to make a decision. But you made it. “I’m sorry, Ryan, but go ahead and post the ad. No hard feelings?”

More explosions, more gunfire, and Ryan shouts into your ear. Your mouth draws into a thin line as you move the phone away from your ear.

A few seconds pass. “No, not at all, babe. I’m sure I’ll find a roommate in time. ’Sides, my doctor girlfriend could spot me in case I don’t, eh?” Ryan quickly changes the subject before you have the chance to object.

“—Anyway, were you able to get off the waitlist for Pittfest? I heard they sent out the last purchase invites the other day.”

You sigh. “No, actually, I was going to tell you that I didn’t get on the waitlist in time. Looks like I can't go.”

“Bummer. Ah, well, I guess you can just hang out at work that day. You know, they say if you love your job, you never really work a day in your life? Sucks you can't go, though—it would’ve been your first time, and it’s suuuuuper awesome. Maybe next year!”

Ryan dragging out the word super feels super vindictive. As if he wants to punish you for not moving in with him. He already knows you can’t go—why is he rubbing it in your face? 

Damn , now you really wish you could go just so he couldn’t have fun without you.

“Anyway, see you tomorrow, babe?” Ryan asks.

You have a day off tomorrow and made date plans with Ryan—a simple brunch and an afternoon movie. That you planned and are going to pay for. Again. And like the time before last. Yep . “Yeah, I’m excited to see—”

“—Yeah. Me too, babe. Peace!” Ryan hangs up the phone before you can even say bye.

You let a breath fall from your lips, one you didn’t even realize you were holding. As poorly as that phone call went, you managed to turn down his proposal of moving in, at least.

Your nerves settle after finishing that phone call, and you take a few seconds to handle your business in the bathroom. Meanwhile, your mind flits back to when you first met Ryan several months ago.

You met him at a local bar not more than a ten-minute walk from your apartment, hoping to make some friends at a weekly trivia night. Surprise, surprise —Ryan wasn't there for trivia.

Instead, he was one of many rowdy customers who wouldn’t take no for an answer when he got one look at you and said he wanted to take you home.

A very dangerous move at the time, but you couldn’t help yourself. You gave in and let him take you home.

He gave you attention. Companionship. A not-so-mind-blowing orgasm—but those are rare commodities nowadays, apparently.

He made you feel… wanted, albeit in a creepy, objectifying way.

Something you craved after a difficult breakup with your ex, when you realized long-distance wouldn’t work after your move from Chicago to Pittsburgh.

You wash your hands, smooth out the wrinkles in your scrubs, and walk out of the bathroom.

Not more than ten steps from the hospital exit, you hear Frank call your name from behind you.

“Hey.” Frank jogs up to you, trying to catch you before you leave the building.

“Hey—I was just heading out. Want to walk out together?” You point to the exit behind you with your thumb and the tilt of your head.

“No, I can’t. I still have a few charts I need to finish up.” Frank looks a bit disheveled, and you can’t help but notice. Only you ever notice him.

It looks like he’s run his fingers through the top of his head one too many times. You resist the urge to run your hands through his hair to comb it a little.

You were pretty busy with your own patients today, but you overheard that he lost more than one—an atypical occurrence for Frank.

His bedside manner could use some work, yes, but he always puts his patients’ health as his first and foremost priority.

But sometimes, patients die. And, as Robby says, you have to find a balance. You still struggle with that yourself.

But it looks like something else is bugging him. Something in addition to the back injury he told you about this morning.

It’s very possible he may have had yet another fight with Abby.

You’re painfully aware of the friction in his home life, and as supportive a friend as you want to be, sometimes you wish you weren’t privy to such details. You have enough of your own issues to work through with Ryan, on top of being there for Frank.

But… it’s only fair. You don’t know how many times Frank cheered you up on an otherwise bad day, gently guided you during a tough case, or was just there—a silent but present force for you to lean on.

That’s what friends do, right?

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“Well, you know the rabies patient I had today?”

“Yeah?”

“He mentioned that his sister’s getting married the week of Pittfest and can’t go anymore—so I bought his ticket off him. I just sent you an email with the digital ticket attached.”

Frank not-so-subtly bounces on the balls of his feet, hands in pockets, anticipating your reaction.

“Oh my God, Frank! Y-you really didn’t have to do that for me. I swear I’ll pay you back as soon as possible!”

You start to jump up and down like a little kid at the candy shop.

“That’s really not necessary. I know how much you want to go. Please don’t send me any money—I’ll just send it back.”

Frank breaks out in a smile, your joy too bright even for his stoic facade.

You look at him with all the platonic love and affection you can muster.

“I just told Ryan that I couldn’t go. You're such a lifesaver! And here I thought you were making fun of me for wanting to go to Pittfest!”

You can’t help but feel a little stupid for being so giddy, but this has been the one thing you’ve been looking forward to for a while. You were crushed when you got that email the other day.

Ha! There goes your fun time without me, Ryan! you think to yourself.

“Yeah. I was. I still think the whole thing is ridiculous. But every Pittsburgher should go at least once, right?”

You start to tear up at his sweet gesture and jump into him, giving him an abrupt hug, which is very much out of your physical comfort zone with Frank.

But you don’t care. If he won’t let you pay him back for the ticket, you’ll just have to show your appreciation another way.

Your arms are wrapped around Frank’s waist, while he awkwardly stands with his hands at his sides. But, after a second, he wraps his arms around your shoulders, caging you in.

Frank traces the wedding band on his ring finger with his thumb, digging it deep into his skin in quiet contemplation.

He slyly tilts his nose against the side of your neck, breathing in the scent of your perfume and sweat—fighting his baser instincts to lick the ambrosial smell off you. 

This is dangerous. You’re dangerous , he thinks. You’re sin . But he was never a religious or repentant man.

You’re sin. But you’re also swathed in the light of your own halo, and it’s almost blinding. Sin and sunshine wrapped in one, and he can't help but try and reach for you every, every time.

You start to let go, and Frank lets go just a hair’s breadth after you, already wishing he hadn’t.

You smile up at him, still in close proximity, whispering a soft “Thank you.” His breath catches, just the tiniest bit, at your sincerity.

Frank steps back from you, willing himself to put distance between the two of you, but before turning to leave, he quips, “Sure thing, sunshine.”

You stare at his back as he walks toward the nurse’s station for a few seconds before finally heading out the hospital exit.

Tyche’s wheel of fate has turned yet again for a man with wings made of wax and molting feathers, chasing Helios’ blazing rays.

Only with a fortunate turn of the wheel will his wings be made real. Otherwise, he will fall.

But it is not yet time for another spin.

The warm air heats the tips of your fingers and ears as you walk back home to your apartment. It’s only five minutes from the hospital, but you can’t help the uneasy feeling you get walking alone in the dark. Luckily, Dana bought you pepper spray for your birthday—one that you keep handy on a carabiner along with your apartment key.

Dr. Abbot also kindly gifted you a trauma medical kit, just in case.

Typical perk of working in a hospital with one of the most over-prepared people you know. You keep it in your purse in the unlikely event you ever need it in the field.

After an uneventful walk home, you drag your feet into the entryway of your apartment, kicking off your shoes. You wager you still have about an hour of consciousness left, so you quickly change into your pajamas, scarf down some leftovers, and cozy up under your covers, picking up the book from your nightstand—one you’ve read the first chapter of more times than you can count.

What feels like an eternity later, you give up on the book once again and decide to head to sleep, but your mind wanders to Frank and what he told you early this morning, and what he didn't say, but was written all over his face.

Worry eats away at you like a mole tunneling through the muck.

You’ve never seen Frank in such… anguish. And it isn’t just the back injury.

Abby and Frank are circling the drain, pushing against the merciless eddy, trying to circumvent the inevitable runoff of water.

But you really have no place or say in it—in their relationship. And you don’t want one. So, even if it’s only a pipe dream, you hope they can weather the storm, for both their sakes.

You’re dreaming, but you don’t know it. Or maybe you do, but you pretend not to, so your brain doesn’t end it just as it’s getting good.

You’re on your back, legs spread on top of a wide set of shoulders, his warm breath fanning your soft, wet cunt. Fingers grip your upper thighs, almost bruising, but you welcome the pain.

He kisses your clit. Soft. Reverent. Like you’re a higher power, and this is his offering to you. You suck in a breath when he envelops your clit with the plush of his lips, tongue poking out to lick in and out of your hole—giving it something to clench on.

When he’s had his fill of your juices, he replaces his tongue with his fingers. One at first, then, as you adjust, two, and then a third. He takes his time with you, slowly fucking you on his fingers, soaking in your ragged moans. 

He lightly blows on your neglected clit, teasing you. You writhe in annoyance, needy and desperate to come.

He stares up at you, like you hung the moon and stars in the sky—in an otherwise dark, empty, vast night.

“It’s okay, baby, I'll get you there.” A kiss to your inner thigh. “Don’t worry.”

He continues to fuck your cunt with his coarse fingers and brings his thumb to the hood of your clit, gently rubbing, applying the slightest bit of pressure. His other hand is more subdued, content to spread his fingers and grip the soft bits of your lower belly, anchoring you in place, forcing you to take what he gives you.

As your whines grow louder, the strokes on your clit speed up in tandem with his thick digits pilfering the wetness leaking from your slick hole. You come on his fingers, and he groans at the feel of you wrapping around him, pulsing—showing him just how much he affects you.

You can’t make out his face in the dark, but he’s wrecked, chin drenched and fingers down to his wrists covered in your come.

He gives your sensitive clit one last tender kiss, silently thanking you for coming on his fingers.

After you come down, he whispers, “You’re so good to me. My fucking gorgeous girl. So pretty. My sunshine.”

That makes you shoot up in bed like someone doused you with ice water. You shiver, goosebumps forming over your body, teetering on the edge of pleasure.

That wasn’t Ryan.

Your bleary eyes confirm that it’s 11 a.m.

You feel groggy, skin sticky with sweat—made worse under the heavy comforter. You’re horny and confused. Sweaty and reeling from oversleeping.

You slip your fingers between your legs at the thought of Frank, guilt swallowing you whole, but you finish quickly, already pent up from the dream. You pretend the name that escapes your lips is Ryan—perhaps in a different language.

After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling in post-orgasmic bliss, sorrow grips you as you walk to the shower, unwilling to wash away the fog shrouding your disillusionment.

With a sprinkle of dread, you force yourself to get ready for your date later this afternoon with Ryan.

You try to convince yourself this was a one-time thing, as if you can control your subconscious into forgetting how right Frank felt. Even if only in a dream.

Chapter Text

DAY OF PITTFEST—Three Months Later

7 a.m.

It's the start of your shift, and Robby’s gathered everyone at the nurse’s station. 

You inspect the beds of your nails, manicure chipping off, distracted. You shouldn’t be working today, but Robby begged you to stay for at least the first half of the shift—something about wanting you to help with new recruits on their first day. 

You begrudgingly agreed, although it was hard to say no to Robby’s sad, tired eyes. 

You’ll be leaving the hospital at approximately 1 p.m., around the time Ryan will be here to pick you up to head to the festival.

Frank is on the opposite side of the nurse’s station, standing next to Collins, laughing at something she said. 

He doesn’t catch your eye. 

You miss those peaceful, early morning caffeine meetups more than you’d like to admit. What was once a sacred ritual in your morning work routine is now nothing more than a faded memory that stings when you find yourself alone in the cafeteria. 

When you first asked him why he stopped showing up a little over two months ago, Frank simply shrugged and said, “The boys have been taking up a lot of my mornings recently—there’s no time, sunshine. Sorry, but I think I need to cut down on the caffeine anyway.” 

Which is definitely not the case. He still chugs Red Bull like the caffeine is sourced from the fountain of youth. 

What hurts isn’t the lame excuse he made, but rather, the way in which he so casually brushed you off. That’s what stung. You thought you were closer than that.

But you got over it. It’s not like you don’t see him almost every hour of your shift when you're scheduled on the same days. Even though you can feel the distance.

You have an inkling to the reason why he’s been withdrawn, but it’s so far-fetched you hate yourself for even considering it. And, really, you have no proof—just an inexplicable hunch.

And you’re partially to blame for the gap between you two. 

Ever since that dream, you've been too scared to get any closer to Frank. You’ve always been one to go for what you want, but when that something is a married man—while you’re still in a committed relationship, no less—it’s a slippery slope you don't have the traction to traverse.

You shove the lingering thoughts from your mind as Samira stands next to you, greeting you with a warm smile. Meanwhile, Robby is center stage in the nurse’s station, going over handovers and door-to-balloon times while waiting for all the newcomers to gather. 

“Hey, how’re you doing this morning?” Samira asks as she nudges your shoulder lightly. 

You’ve always been friendly, but have gotten especially close over the past few months, seeing as you both are now R3s, have a very strong and very professional admiration for Dr. Abbot, and Frank’s been… busy. 

Oh, and you both are cripplingly isolated and have an unhealthy obsession with your job.

“Hey, Samira. I’m doing alright. How’re things with you?”

“Oh, good. You know how it is.”

“I do.” You give her an understanding smile. “To be honest, I really don’t want to be here today, but it'll be nice to meet some new faces.”

“Oh yeah, today’s Pittfest, right? You’re going with Ryan?”

“Yeah… I’ll be leaving around 1 p.m. But until then—”

“—Alright folks, we have some new faces here today.” Robby rubs his hands together and gestures to a group of four people standing on the other side of the nurse’s station, near where Frank and Collins are currently standing. “Go ahead and introduce yourselves.” 

You turn from Samira, watching the group.

Javadi, Whitaker, Santos, King. Javadi, Whitaker, Santos, King. 

M3, M4, R1, R2. M3, M4, R1, R2.

You repeat the list of names and hierarchy in your head so you don’t forget. But you most likely will anyway.

Robby also introduces some of the ED staff. “Okay, this is Dana—she’s our charge nurse and one of the most important people you’ll have the pleasure of meeting on the floor today. Make sure to do as she says.” Dana raises her hand in acknowledgement. 

Robby then points to Frank and Collins. “These two are your senior residents. You report to them, and they report to me, got it?” The group of four bob their heads in understanding.

While the rest of the gathered day shift crew disperses, Frank, Collins, and McKay go to show the newcomers around.

Samira is off to see some of the stragglers from the night shift, while you stay back at the nurse’s station with Dana, Perlah, and Princess, watching the board for the first patient you’ll be seeing today.

“Hey, kid. What d’you think about the new guys?” Dana asks you, her back turned as she looks down at her notepad.

“Eh, they look like a mixed bag of nervous, excited, and overconfident. But so were we when we all started.” You chuckle lightly. “I have somewhat high hopes for them.”

“Yeah, yeah—there you go, Sunny. Your positivity is ab-so-lutely blinding. Get away from here. I can feel the temperature rising.” Dana throws a lopsided smile in your direction, teasing. 

You smile back at her, amused. “Thanks, Dana. I guess I’ll see some patients now.”

Some thirty minutes pass, and you handle a few in-and-out cases before heading over to South 15, to the room where the parents of a young boy have come in because their son, Tyler, won’t wake up. 

You’re a few feet from the entrance when you’re stopped short by Dr.— wait, what was her name again?

“Hi, Dr.—… Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met yet—I’m Dr. King. But please, call me Mel.” You shake her outstretched hand and smile back at her.

“Hi, Mel. Please, call me by my first name.” You pull the retractable badge clipped to the lip of your pocket to show her your name. “Or, you can call me Sunny.”

“Sunny?” 

“It’s a nickname that stuck on my first day here.” You shake your head, grinning shyly at the memory. “I’ll tell you the story later. But first, would you like to join me? I’m going to take a look at Tyler here in South 15.”

Mel nods, smiling, and follows you to Tyler's room. 

As much as you don’t want to be in the Pitt today, you do enjoy the opportunity to teach new, eager doctors. In another ten months, you’ll be an R4 and your responsibilities as a mentor will only grow. 

You take a quick glance back at Mel as you hold the door open for her. You hope at least one of the four newcomers has the strength to survive falling into the Pitt.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Jones,” you greet Tyler’s parents warmly and introduce yourself. “I’m just going to take a quick look at Tyler to see what we can see, okay? This is Dr. King, and she’ll also be assisting with your son’s case.” 

Mel waves at the parents as she approaches, but they’re too wrapped up in worry to reciprocate the action. She quickly puts her hand down by her side.

You take a seat on the stool beside the bed and check Tyler’s pulse and breathing, then gently inspect his body for injuries. Even with your poking and prodding, he doesn’t stir. Mel takes Tyler’s history with a few guided questions for the parents in the meantime.

“Dr. King?” you say, drawing Mel from her questions. “Oxygen is normal, with good pulse readings and blood pressure. No visible signs of infection or injury.” 

She nods in response and goes to enter Tyler’s history and initial notes into the computer.

You stand to address the parents. “Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Jones—can I call you Drew and Amanda?” They both nod. 

“We’re going to run some tests to try to get a better understanding of what’s going on with Tyler. I assure you we’re working as diligently as possible.” 

They continue to nod, then move to sit on opposite sides of their son, each of them holding one of Tyler’s hands.

Once you both step outside the room, you say, “Mel, please run tests for blood and urine and check for metabolic abnormalities. We’re looking for possible signs of PKU and galactosemia. Run a toxicology report as well.” 

You take a quick glance at Tyler through the clear panels of the room. “Just in case.”

Near the end of the hour, Mel comes up to you with Tyler’s lab results at the nurse’s station.

“I have most of the labs for Tyler. Everything looks one hundred percent normal. Blood count and electrolyte levels are normal. No diabetes or—” 

You interrupt her before she has a chance to finish. “—Got it. Let’s go talk to the parents again. Give me just a second to finish these discharge instructions.” 

A few clacks of the keyboard and clicks of the mouse later, you rise from your seat, looking up at Mel. You notice she’s twirling the end of her braid around her fingers as she waits for you, a somewhat wounded look on her face. 

“Hey, Mel. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. You get so used to being pulled in all directions here. You have to make time for yourself whenever you can. You’ll learn to grow some pretty thick skin. Trust me.” 

You give her a soft smile, then pull your stethoscope over the scruff of your neck. “Okay, let’s go.”

Mel is already in the room when Frank comes up to you. 

“Hey, did you figure out what’s going on with Tyler?” Frank peers into the room over the top of your head.

“No, not yet. I’m going to talk to the parents again and re-examine him. Not all of his labs are back yet, so there’s something we might’ve missed.”

“Good. Let me know if he wakes up.” Frank pats your shoulder but doesn’t let go, his fingers smoothing a loose thread on your top. The warmth of his hand seeps in where he's touching you. 

He looks like he’s about to say something, but EMTs rush in with another patient and he jogs away.

You take a deep breath before walking into the room. 

8 a.m.

“Hi again, Drew and Amanda. I’m sure Dr. King informed you that Tyler’s blood and urine labs came back clean. I’m going to re-examine him to see if there’s something we missed.” 

Drew nods as he holds Amanda in his arms, both of them tucked into the corner of the room.

“Do you know if Tyler happened to eat anything last night, by chance? Anything that might have caused some sort of reaction?” Mel asks.

At her question, you open Tyler’s mouth before his parents can respond and see a blue piece of gelatin stuck on his lower molars.

“Okay, Mom and Dad. It looks like there’s some gelatinous substance on the surface of one of Tyler’s molars. Is it possible he might’ve eaten something dangerous?” 

You wait with bated breath, expecting the words that come out of Drew’s mouth next.

“Oh my God. Shit! Danny! He—he brought some pot gummies when he visited.” 

At that, Amanda rips herself from Drew's arms, now standing a few feet away from him. 

She glares at him. If looks could kill, he’d be gone. At least he’d already be in a hospital.

Mel asks, clarifying, “Danny?”

“He’s my stupid brother. Fuck, I—I thought I had those tucked away somewhere he couldn’t get to them.”

“You gave OUR son pot gummies? You fucking idiot!” Amanda slowly stomps toward Drew, backing him into the wall.

You quickly move from beside Tyler, stepping directly between them, holding your gloved palms up in a placating manner in front of her.

“Hey, hey, Amanda, I understand your frustration, but please try to settle down. We need to confirm that the cannabis is what’s causing the issue.”

“Is—is Tyler going to be okay?” Her voice quivers, and tears fill her eyes.

“We’ll know more when we get the toxicology report back, okay?” You move closer to Amanda, trying to calm her down. 

You really don’t want security brought in during the first couple of hours of your shift. 

“Dr. King, please call the lab and see if the report is back.”

Mel goes to the far end of the room, near the exit, to make the call while you continue to stand between the Joneses.

Frank pops in to check on Tyler’s status. Meanwhile, Drew’s stupefied look sets Amanda off, her anger returning with a vengeance. She berates Drew, pointing her finger at him from over your shoulder. 

The control of the situation is slowly slipping from your grip.

“Hey, Mel, what’s Tyler’s status? I just finished up with my degloving patient. And what’s with the shouting?”

“Oh, Dr. Langdon, yes, uh, the toxicology report came back positive for cannabis.” 

Mel turns to you, still standing between Amanda and Drew. You catch the look on her face and instinctively know what the results are—she doesn’t have to say a thing.

“She’s trying to calm things down. But it doesn’t look like it’s working.”

“Shit. Okay, let Sunny know the results are back, and I’ll ask Kiara and security to step in here.” Frank turns to walk back out of the room, but Mel stops him.

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll do that. Um—who’s Kiara?”

“She’s the ED social worker. I’ll be right back. We’ll need to handle this delicate—” 

Frank stops in the middle of his sentence, eyes widening ever so slightly as he watches what unfolds.

Amanda pushes you to the side, leaving nothing between her and her primary target, Drew, aka “Dad of the Year.” 

You fall on your ass with a breathy “oof,” as if your lungs were punctured with a bar dart, deflating and slowly leaking air. 

The linoleum floor greets your scrub-clad bottom, dull pain shooting through your tailbone. You wince, but you’re okay. 

Physically.

Mel turns around at Frank’s stunned silence. She sees you on the floor, and yelps, “Dr.—!” 

She dives under Amanda’s outstretched arms, that are currently jabbing her husband’s chest, reaching for you.

“Jesus, what’s going on in here?” Robby bursts into the room and steps in front of Amanda and Drew when he sees you on the floor, Mel’s left arm wrapped around your shoulder, right hand clutching yours. 

Drew is holding his palms out in front of him, creating space between himself and ever-so-persistent Amanda. He looks between you on the floor, Amanda, and Robby, breaking out in a sweat at the intensifying situation. 

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to have you escorted out by security. You just assaulted one of our doctors, do you understand?” Robby keeps a lid on his temper, but he’s impatient. It’s already been a long day.

“No, no, I am NOT leaving Tyler.” 

“Dr. Robby, it’s fine. I’m fine, please. Let’s just all settle down,” you say, picking yourself up off the floor, Mel letting you go. You offer her your hand in the process. 

“Dr. King, great line of questioning earlier. I wouldn’t have thought to check the oral cavity if it weren’t for you. I can handle this from here.” You reassure her and gently nudge her toward the exit, getting the sense that she’s feeling a bit overwhelmed by the drama.

Robby stands with his arms crossed against his chest, pinning you with an intense look. “Are you sure? You can be honest. We don’t take threats against our staff lightly.” 

“Yes, I’m fine. It was just a light shove. What can I say? I slipped.” You shrug your shoulders but side-eye Amanda. She’s a lot stronger than she looks.

“Dr. Robby, I can handle this.” You give him a slight but confident nod. He trusts you. And as both he and Mel leave the room, Frank seems to snap out of his shock.

He steps around Amanda and Drew to stand next to you, then glances down at you as if to silently ask, Are you okay?

“Amanda, please, step outside. Or Drew—... it really doesn’t matter. But one of you needs to be in the room with Tyler while the other talks to our social worker.”

They both snap their heads at you. 

“What? Social worker?” Amanda and Drew ask at the same time. You would laugh at the irony if your patience weren’t already wearing thin.

Frank chimes in, picking up on your growing fatigue. “It’s standard procedure in cases where drug use in minors is involved. We will bring security in here and have you arrested if you don’t cooperate. You’re lucky Tyler’s doctor here has been so patient with you two.” His tone cuts like steel, but it’s honest.

Your face heats at his commanding, protective reply. 

“Understand that we just want what’s best for Tyler,” you say.

Drew puts his outstretched palms atop Amanda’s shoulders and lightly shakes her. 

“Amanda, look at me, please. I’ll talk to the social worker. Stay here with Tyler.” Drew offers, embarrassed by the scene they caused. 

Amanda lets out a long exhale, nodding. She looks defeated as she takes a seat next to Tyler.

She looks up at you and only offers a simple, “Sorry,” by way of an apology.

You give her a thin-lipped smile and a curt nod back, lightly patting her shoulder as you leave the room with Drew, Frank following close behind. You know that’s as good of an apology as you’ll get and decide to let Mel handle closing the case. 

All that’s left is to wait for Tyler to wake up once the effects of the cannabis wear off. 

You instruct Drew to wait for Kiara just outside the room before excusing yourself. 

Frank doesn’t even get the chance to stop you as he watches you scurry off, disappearing when you turn the corner toward the hallway restrooms. 

Deciding to give you your space, he walks to the nurse’s station with his hands on his hips, blowing air up toward the ceiling. 

What the fuck was that? Why was he just… frozen? Instead of stepping in to protect his junior resident, he let you get hurt. Even if it was only a “light shove.” 

Yeah, right , Frank thinks, scoffing to himself.

He knows you have a tendency to downplay things. But, thinking to his back injury three months ago, so does he. 

The two of you—two peas in a pod. 

Frank reaches the nurse’s station and takes a second to stretch his arms out across the counter, head dipping below his shoulders. 

“Langdon, you alright?” He lifts his head at the sound of Dana’s voice.

“Yeah, just, uh… some family drama in South 14. Sunny got pushed to the floor by an emotional wreck that goes by the name of Amanda Jones.”

“Christ, is she okay? Things just keep getting worse and worse, don’t they?” Dana looks up at Frank as she hovers over the computer, typing something on the keyboard.

“Yeah. She’s fine. Just another day, am I right?” 

Frank desperately wants to change the subject, so he does. “Hey, did you know that I am now the proud owner of a nine-week-old Goldendoodle?”

“What? Really? Abby approved of this?” Dana tilts her head at Frank in genuine surprise.

“Well, no, but Tanner said he would take care of it.”

“He’s four. Almost four.”

“It’ll teach him some responsibility! Don’t worry about Abby. She’ll learn to love it. Heck, I’m barely home, but the thing is already growing on me.”

“Does he have a name?” Dana straightens her back from being crouched over the computer, crushing the mint lodged between her teeth.

“She. And I’m letting Tanner and Theo come up with one. Her name is Puppy, for now.”

Dana starts to laugh at Frank, giving him an incredulous look while Perlah hustles over to the nurse’s station. 

“Dr. Langdon, Whitaker is performing CPR on the gallstone patient. He’s in asystole. We already gave him two rounds of epi.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there—sorry, Dana, we’ll have to continue this later.” Frank rubs his face, psyching himself up for what’s to come. He needs another Red Bull.

“Do we?” Dana chirps back.

“Is it only me you're mean to?” Frank frowns and scrunches his eyebrows, squinting at her.

“Only you.” When Dana turns to see Frank still staring at her, she exclaims, “Well, don’t just stand there, move! Go save a life!” She shoos him away from the nurse’s station.

9 a.m.

“How many minutes has it been since his last epi?” Frank asks, leaning against the doorframe of Mr. Milton’s room.

“Uh… uh—three minutes ago.” Whitaker heaves, kneeling atop Mr. Milton’s bed, performing chest compressions. 

Mr. Milton’s ribs crack under the steady weight of Whitaker’s palms pressing against his heart. At least the med student knows how to perform CPR.

“Okay. One more round of epi in two minutes, a set of compressions, and then you’ll have to call it if nothing. Call me if there’s a resurrection.” Frank nods to Perlah, trusting her to keep track of the time.

His spidey senses are tingling—and they tell him that all signs point to Bennet Milton not making it back to the mortal realm. Whitaker can try all he wants to revive him, but it’ll be fruitless. This will be a good learning moment for him, though. 

You can’t save everyone. 

Frank can’t cure death, but he can go looking for you. 

It’s been about ten minutes since you ran off to the bathroom. You weren’t one to take even a moment for yourself—when you really should—when you have patients to see. He knows he’ll most likely find you already in the throes of another case.

His suspicion is confirmed when he spots you. Your foot is only just over the edge of the doorway to a patient's room, leaving, when Frank calls your name. He quickly steps up to you, and corners you against the door, trapping you before you run off again. 

You won’t escape him.

“You ran off earlier before I could say anything. Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” You adamantly shake your head and wave your hand to convince him. “I’m over it already. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve fallen in the Pitt,” you say with a wink.

Frank rolls his eyes at you. “I know Tyler’s case didn’t go so smoothly, but you really handled yourself back there. Great job.” 

He rubs the nape of his neck, a bit embarrassed. “Even I was a little shocked when Amanda pushed you, but you just picked yourself up and got right back to it. I can’t say I would’ve had your patience if it were me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s probably why I have better patient satisfaction scores than you do.” You throw him a playful smirk. 

Good. You’re still making jokes—still smiling at him, he thinks.

“Ha-ha. Very funny. But really, I’m sorry that happened, and—well, if you’d like to talk about it, I’m here. Or you can talk to Kiara too, I guess.”

You look at him in surprise, as if seeing him for the first time in a while. And it’s true—he’s been a pretty absent friend recently and he can’t help but feel guilty about it. 

But he has his own reasons for distancing himself from you—ninety-nine percent of the reason being so he doesn’t get caught stealing patient medication.

You have eyes like a hawk. 

Frank recalls the time the emergency eye wash station malfunctioned as you were unfortunately walking by, blasting you with cold water. 

Your pert nipples were slightly visible through your bra and the thin material of your top. He thought he got away with—what he assumed was—a brisk glance, but that was disproven when you later asked, in a teasing and sultry tone, Did you like the view?

You cackled in his face after, clearly joshing, but to this day his eyes nearly roll back into his head at the memory of your voice and your top clinging to your form.

Frank couldn’t bring himself to look at you for longer than a few seconds for several weeks after that—the shame he felt after he secretly jerked himself off into the toilet—too devastating and too fresh on his mind, reminded of it by your piercing eyes that always seem to search for his.

He called Abby to confirm she still loved him—to check that she wasn’t somehow aware of what he did.

So, is it selfish of him to pull back from you so he doesn’t get caught stealing? Yes. But he can’t help but also want to keep you at a distance to keep you from entangling yourself in his spun web of lies.

But that other one percent? It’s because… he’s afraid. Afraid that he’ll disappoint you. Afraid that when he inevitably falls out of the sky and crash-lands, you’ll be the person he runs to. Not Abby. 

And he’s a pretty fast runner.

He can’t reconcile the fact that he’s already cheated on her. Emotionally. But he hasn’t crossed the physical finish line, and Frank holds onto that like it means something.

But what’s the point in training for marathons if you aren't going to cross the finish line? And better yet… would you be there in the crowd to cheer him on?

You draw Frank from his guilt-tinged musing. 

“Wow, thanks, Frank. I always forget what a great mentor you are when you choose to be,” you shoot back sarcastically. 

“Really, though, I’m good. And you’ll always be the first person to hear me bitch about things going wrong. I promise.” You chuckle and smile kindly at him, offering your pinkie, and his heart soars like it’s grown wings.

Frank thinks about the pinkie promise he made to his boys, pledging he and Mom wouldn’t be getting rid of Puppy, under any circumstances. 

Fingers crossed you’re better at keeping promises than he is. If he can’t get Abby her Birkin, the boys can kiss goodbye to her.

Just as Frank locks his pinkie around yours, Perlah interrupts you both, presumably to give a not-so-positive update on Mr. Milton.

“Here we fucking go,” Frank mutters underneath his breath.

“So, for the new people, we like to take a moment in our very busy schedules to talk about cases when we lose a patient: what went right, and what we could’ve done better.” 

Robby has gathered all the residents and newcomers in Mr. Milton’s room to talk about what happened. 

“Whitaker. This was your patient. Do you want to chime in here?” Robby asks, trying, but failing, to catch his eye.

You glance over and notice Whitaker is visibly shaken. Pale. Paler than usual, at least. His eyes are downcast, and the roots of his hair look like they’ve been pulled in frustration, anger, and guilt.

“What went right? Um, I identified his gallstones. But that wasn’t what caused his abdominal pain. It was an unstable angioma. As for what we—what I could’ve done better, um—set him up with a cardiac monitor. We would’ve caught the arrest right away.”

“Sure, but it’s just not possible to set up every patient with a heart monitor. We don’t have the equipment, and we can't just pick and choose who gets what unless there’s an obvious reason.” 

Robby’s an expert at this. He’s so good at looking at cases through an objective lens. But that comes at the high cost of losing so many patients. You don’t envy him.

“He had a HEART score of 3, meaning he had a low risk of experiencing a MACE. Anyone want to tell me what that means?”

Samira chimes in. “Standard practice is to discharge the patient with outpatient follow-up within seven to thirty days.” 

Robby gives a small bow to her, hands in pockets. “That’s right, Dr. Mohan. Whitaker, listen to me.” He pauses to make sure Whitaker is looking at him before he continues. 

“We did everything by the book. You did everything you could. Alright?” Whitaker nods, but you can tell Robby’s words don’t reach him.

“Now, since he was your patient, do you want to say a few words about Bennet Milton before we take a moment of silence?”

You remember once being in Whitaker’s shoes. But you were luckier than him. You didn’t lose a patient on your first day. 

It was the second.

Whitaker tries to recall details about Mr. Milton he can share with the group, while you’re standing with your hands held behind your back. 

Frank stands beside you, bouncing his leg. His hands are interlocked behind his head, and he’s staring up at the ceiling, sweat dripping along his forehead and easily visible under the harsh lights. 

Oh, fuck. 

Is he… ?

You calm your racing heart before jumping to the worst possible conclusion. But this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him like this in the past several weeks. 

Off-kilter, anxious, sweaty, frenetic—way more than usual, at least. You’ve brushed it off before, but your suspicion grows as Frank’s behavior becomes more erratic. This is beyond a far-fetched idea or hunch now. 

You nudge his side as a friendly reminder that he should try to be still—at the very least, if not fully engaged—during this moment of silence. 

Frank looks at you for a quick second, as if he doesn’t understand why, but gently puts his arms at his sides anyway. 

After the brief moment of silence, you pat Whitaker’s back in solidarity, then go back to your patients. 

Business as usual. 

The Goddess of Fortune idles by her wheel, listless. 

She peers down at the man as he licks the calamus of the molten feathers, welding them together with the balmy wax. A smattering of dust settles within the tuft of feathers—from crushed tablets he took to ease the pain of the last attempt.

This first iteration of wings is better than the last.

He assembles the wings, grinning from ear to ear, as if he has already reached the sun. 

Chapter Text

10 a.m.

You’re leaving the security office and heading to the nurse’s station after having placed your bet on the ambulance thieves.

Fingers crossed that they’re stupid college kids and are caught in-zone. You could really use the money for a nice vacation. 

Alone. 

Without Ryan.

From across the security office, you see Myrna whispering, most likely clandestine nothings, into poor Mateo’s ear. They’re tucked against the wall, avoiding the rush of an incoming patient—and you start to jog over to the gurney, but it looks like Frank and Santos have this one covered. 

You make your way over to Myrna and Mateo instead. 

“You know, I normally like my men older—a lot older. But you’re pretty. You want to give little ole me a chance? Maybe get rid of these handcuffs?” Myrna winks at Mateo and lifts her wrist, the cuff clanking against the steel arm of her wheelchair.

“Hm, well, maybe I prefer the handcuffs on?” Mateo winks back, flirtatiously.

“Oh, you’re a smooth talker, aren’t you? C’mon, take these off, and I’ll show you a good time.”

You step in before the rattle of Myrna’s chain and her snaky charm hypnotize Mateo into giving her what she wants. It’s doubtful he would actually free her, but it’s happened before. What ensued then is not something you want to rehash.

“Hey, Myrna, let’s leave Mateo alone now, alright? I’m sure he’s very busy.” You glance at him, and he gives you a thankful smile back.

“Oh, you guys are no fun.” Myrna wheels off in a hurry, mumbling something about fruitcake.

He chuckles. “Thanks, you might’ve just saved me. I’ve been trying to shake her all morning.”

“No problem. She tends to latch on when she wants something. How’re things?”

“It’s going okay. I have one patient in the ER who’s been a pain in the ass, but I’m keeping an eye on him.”

“Sorry to hear that. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” 

He nods, then turns to leave, but you stop him with an abrupt question.

“Before you go, I have a quick question. I noticed how the new med student has been following you around all day… Javadi, was it? Is there something there?” You give him a knowing look, a grin playing on your lips.

Mateo smirks and shakes his head, looking down at the floor. He rubs the back of his neck, bashful. “You noticed? Nah—she just has first-day nerves. I’m trying to be nice—help her ease into the chaos, you know?” 

After a second, Mateo meets your gaze and follows up with, “She reminds me a little of you, actually.”

“Oh! Well… I hope that’s a good thing.”

“Yeah. It is.” Mateo gives you a small smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Your eyebrows shoot up at his coyness, and your thoughts go into overdrive. You hope you’re just getting your wires crossed, because if you’re not, what you say next could be absolutely mortifying.

“Mateo… Do you—... How do I say this—?”

“—I used to have a little crush on you. Really, it’s no big deal. I’m over it now. But what I’m trying to say is that you and Javadi are both a little naive—innocent, in a way. It’s cute.”

Your mind is reeling from Mateo’s confession, but you forge ahead. Innocent?  

“W-What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, I’m not the only one who’s had—or has—a crush on you. And you’re blind to it. And really, who can blame us? I feel like you’ve always brought light to the Pitt. And that’s saying something.” Mateo gives you a serious look, and you’re too afraid to ask him who else he’s talking about. 

Yet, your heart flutters at the possibility it might be… 

No, stop, you think to yourself.

You hang your mouth open in shock, but Mateo knocks his fist lightly against your chin to close it. “Don’t let what I said get to your head. You know what my rule is, anyway.”

He points behind him with his thumb. “I’m going to go… I need to get back to Javadi and McKay.” He winks and throws the peace sign up at you, heading to the blood draw station. “See ya!”

You’re stock-still against the wall and watching Mateo leave when in the corner of your eye, you see Frank and Santos stepping out of the room of the patient from earlier. 

His agitation rolls off him in waves, and he quickly retreats from Santos, pissed. He looks in your direction and follows your line of sight toward Mateo. 

Once Mateo is out of sight, you fully turn to Frank, but he’s already left. 

What happened in there?

You draw your gaze toward Santos, who’s now at the nurse’s station, but Mateo’s confession still rattles around in your mind. You take a moment to reflect. 

Maybe he’s… right?

Maybe you've been blind to the fact that you have people in your life who cherish you for you—even if they’re all coworkers. People who value your presence. Samira, Dana, Robby, Mateo. 

Frank.

Maybe you’re not as alone as Ryan—and you—think you are. Maybe, just maybe, you can finally untether yourself from him. 

But not just yet. You don’t want to ruin Pittfest with a breakup, after all.

You now walk, with a pep in your step, a few feet toward the nurse’s station to talk to Santos, who’s leaning over the counter, palms cupping the back of her neck.

You figure now would be a good time to introduce yourself—and be nosy. 

She looks just as displeased—if not more—as Frank did stepping out of the patient room. Her shoulders are tense, and she’s chewing her bottom lip.

“Hey, Santos, right? How’s your first day been so far?” You lean against the station counter, with your elbow propped. Santos now crosses her arms, facing you.

“Oh, hey. Yeah, it’s been pretty good so far.” She shakes her head. “Sorry, you are…?”

You offer your name. 

“Cool. Looking forward to working with you. Well… I have to get back to work. Talk later?” Santos gives you a quick smile, ready to turn around and take her leave.

She doesn’t seem too keen on talking to you—leaving your curiosity unsatisfied. So you just come right out and ask, “Did something happen in there with Dr. Langdon?”

Santos looks taken aback. “Um, no, no, it’s just… I ordered a BiPAP for Wendell Stone, the patient who came in earlier. He had a small pneumothorax from a speaker that fell on him at Pittfest. And I—uh, I did it without senior resident approval.”

You feel terrible for thinking it, but you’re glad you weren’t already at Pittfest. You would not be happy if you had to perform life-saving procedures off the clock.

“Oh, yikes… Well, I’m sure it was a good learning experience, at least.” You give her a reassuring look, but it doesn’t do much to lift her spirits. Santos looks down at her shoes as if she’d rather do that than talk to you.

“And it seems like the patient is doing okay,” you continue as you look into Stone’s room.

He’s stable, so what’s the issue?

“Yeah, well, Dr. Langdon had it taken care of with the pigtail catheter… without my assistance. Dr. Garcia was pretty understanding about my mistake, though.” She pauses, sighing. “I’m here to learn, after all, and, uh, Dr. Langdon really took his frustration out on me.”

You scrunch your eyebrows in concern at her explanation. Just how harsh was he?

Your face quickly shifts from one of worry to gentle reassurance as you give Santos a small smile and a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t let him get to you. He can be… pretty tough on people. Especially people he hasn’t warmed up to yet. But, next time, you need to run things by the senior residents or attending first. Don’t see it as a rejection of your skill—it’s just the way things work.”

“Yeah, well, I should get going—but thanks for the advice. I’ll keep it in mind.” She gives you a tight smile and nods, then walks away from you with her hands in her pockets.

“Oh. Okay, no problem. Good luck!” She’s too far away now to have heard you.

Now probably wasn’t the best time to talk to her after all. 

You’ve seen your fair share of overachieving and overconfident med students and interns, and Santos does seem to fit in among that category. You understand an individual like that can be frustrating for anybody—especially someone as busy as a senior resident or attending.

But she’s seemingly smart and eager to learn and improve—that’s really all you can ask for from new doctors. 

As much as you’d like to give Frank the benefit of the doubt, his behavior toward her is unfair and uncalled for. Just from Santos’ body language alone you can tell things went poorly in there.

You wonder if his hostility toward her is due to her mistake—and yes, maybe a little hubris—or if it has anything to do with what’s becoming too hard to ignore. 

The side of Frank he shows only to you has already been slowly crumbling—was this anger toward Santos a one-time thing? How are his other relationships faring? If you asked him whether he’s been using while at work, would he tell you the truth? Most importantly… is he okay?

You stop your inward spiral with a shake of your head. You need to find time to talk to him. No point in getting in your head about something you can’t do anything about right now. 

But the concern still chips away at you, little by little. And you’re left wondering how many pieces you have left to give before it’s too late to glue yourself back together.

You brush off the awkward conversation with Santos to finish some charting, taking a look at the time. 

Only three more hours until your half shift is over.

11 a.m.

Frank briefly glances up and sees you walking toward him and Jake at the nurse’s station with your phone in hand, texting, an annoyed look on your face. Only when you look up from your phone does your frown drop, your mouth opening slightly in surprise.

You see Jake spinning on one of the chairs while Frank continues to watch him in amazement.

He’s attempting to beat his record of eighty spins—most likely making himself dizzy and throwing up in the process—not unlike last time. The projectile vomit landed all over the station as he was on spin number eighty. Even so, 

He. Did. Not. Stop. 

The kid’s insane.

Collins was pretty upset when she had to clean the puke from her shoes, but Frank found it hilarious.

You rush over, elated to see Jake. Frank was excited to see him too and was just as surprised as you when he popped in a little over twenty minutes ago. It’s been a few weeks since he last visited the Pitt.

“Jake! What’re you doing here?” you ask, putting your phone into your pocket. Frank can’t help but wonder who you were texting. Ralph?  

Frank knows that only someone as stupid as your boyfriend could bring a frown to your face and dim your bright smile. He internally rolls his eyes at the thought. 

“Hey, it’s so good to see you!” Jake stands up out of the chair, a bit too fast, and stumbles before throwing his arms around your shoulders in a side hug.

“Woah there, be careful! We don’t want you knocking yourself to the ground.” You return his warm hug. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Jake?” 

“I’m actually here to pick up a Pittfest ticket from Robby. He said I could have his.” Jake lets go of you, sitting back on the chair.

“Oh, no way! I’m going later too. I guess I’ll see you there?” 

Frank almost forgot that he bought you a ticket. Has it really been that long since you’ve yapped in his ear about going? 

He frowns slightly. He’s not used to being so out of the loop when it comes to you. Frank finds solace in the fact that, technically, he’s the reason why you’re so excited, at least.

“Nice! We should definitely meet up at some point. You’ll be able to meet my girlfriend, Leah—that’s who Robby’s ticket is for.”

You’re surprised. “Girlfriend? Aren’t you, like, twelve?”

Jake tilts his head and gives you a deadpan look. Both Jake and Frank blurt out, “Seventeen.” 

You chuckle, flitting your eyes quickly to Frank. So far—only four hours into your shift—today has been the most you’ve engaged with him in the past three months. 

What’s so different about today? 

“Congrats, kid. I hope you treat her well.” You point at him, eyes squinted, before giving him a gentle pat on the back and breaking out in a wide grin. “Well, hey, don’t stop on my account. What number spin were you on?” 

“Actually, you have perfect timing, ‘cause I just hit eighty-one spins when you came over. Beat my record by one.” Jake whirls around, facing Frank and pointing at him. “Hey, Langdon, it’s your turn.”

He shrugs. “Sure, I’ll give it a shot, but I can’t promise I’ll beat your score.” As stupid as it may be, he’ll gladly accept this opportunity to try and impress you with his chair-spinning skills.

Forty-seven spins later, and Frank is about ready to pass out. You stand by the side of the chair, laughing with Jake, bent over and clutching your stomach. 

So much for impressing you.

“Fuck… I give up. I think I’m about to puke. How the hell did you get to eighty?”

“‘Cause I’m young and still in shape.” 

Frank chuckles at Jake’s playful jab.

“You wanna try?” Jake asks you, almost pushing you to sit on the chair as Frank slowly gets up.

“Oh no, no. I’m good. I have to check in on Tyler and a few other patients.” 

“C’mon, just try. It won’t take more than a few minutes. Please? For me?” Jake pleads, using his best puppy dog eyes. 

“Okay, but fair warning—I’m pretty competitive.”

No more than twenty spins on the chair later, you give up. “God, I can’t anymore. You win, Jake. I humbly take third place.” You bow to him with a flourish of your hand while still on the chair.

“More like last place,” Frank corrects you, and Jake laughs as you give him the finger. 

Frank stands behind you with his arms crossed over his chest, ready to catch you before you hit the ground from dizziness—wishing he could’ve done so earlier today. 

Maybe it’s dramatic to try so hard to “protect” you from something as simple as falling, but you’ve done it before. And not only today. He won’t turn down the opportunity to touch you if given the chance. The thought is innocent and noble enough, right? He’s only trying to make up for his mistake earlier.

You attempt to stand but tip over, on your way to falling on your ass for the second time today—but Frank is right there at your back before you can hit the ground. 

“Shit… sorry. Christ, I’m as clumsy as ever today, aren’t I?” Your laugh dies in your throat when you look up, head pressed against Frank’s chest, and see him looking down at you with a quirk of his lips. You shrink under his gaze, frozen against him.

He feels a wicked sense of pride in getting this demure reaction out of you with his proximity. 

His arms are hooked under your shoulders, and his hands are wrapped around the front of your belly, hugging you from behind. Your top has lifted a tad in the shuffle, and the pads of his fingers are digging just slightly under the elastic of your bottoms, inching close to the lining of your underwear.

You cough, embarrassed, and pull yourself off him. Frank sees you looking at Jake, hoping he didn’t catch the moment. 

Luckily for you, Jake appears to be texting someone. Most likely Robby, who should be coming over in a few minutes to give him his ticket. 

Robby finally arrives at the nurse’s station, and you and Frank leave to let them talk. As you and Frank walk past Jake, Frank quickly slips a condom into his palm behind his back, avoiding Robby’s eyes. But you catch sight of it.

“Oh my God, is Jake having sex?” you whisper to Frank as you walk side by side to the water fountain.

Just as you both are out of earshot, he says, “Yeah, but what’s the big deal? He’s seventeen. I would’ve just handed him the condom right in front of Robby, but I figured I’d save him from an interrogation and a sex-ed lesson.”

“I know it’s not a big deal, but I just think of him as a little brother, so it feels a bit weird.” You glance back at Jake, who’s laughing at something Robby said.

“It’s adorable how close you guys are, despite how long you’ve known each other. You’re good with him.”

“Well, it’s easy to get along with a teenager when they aren’t yours.” You shrug but smile. 

Frank tilts his head at you, pausing for a few seconds, but then can’t help but blurt out, “Have you and Raymond thought about kids?”

You’re taken aback by the question and too used to Frank getting Ryan’s name wrong to bother correcting him. “Uh—wow. I guess we’ve never talked about this before, huh? Maybe?” You shake your head. “Not right now, at least. I’m far too busy and in debt.” You laugh shyly. This is not something you expected to talk about—at least not with him.

“As for having kids… with Ryan? I mean, I don’t even want to move in with the guy. That definitely won’t be happening.” You idly tap your shoe against the linoleum floor, eyes downcast. Frank doesn’t need to know that you plan on breaking up with him after Pittfest. That doesn’t concern him.

Frank lets out a little breath, relieved. It’s sick and twisted, but he’s glad to know that you aren’t happy with anyone who isn’t him—even if it’s just a lie he tells himself.

But someday he knows you’ll find someone who truly makes you happy. Someone you deserve. So, for now, even if it pains him, he’s okay that you’re with Ryan. Because it means you won’t look any further than what’s already in front of you.

When Frank doesn’t respond, you follow up with, “You already have two kids—do you think you and Abby would want any more?” You look up at Frank, more comfortable with eye contact now that you’ve shifted the attention to him.

“My kids are everything. They’re a handful… but I love them. I don’t want them to ever feel like they aren’t enough—but I might want more in the future. Maybe a girl.” Frank twists the excess string at the end of the bracelet Tanner made for him, with “Dad” written across the colorful beads.

“Your kids are very lucky to have—” 

“—But Abby… well, you know. Things aren’t so great between us right now. Don’t think throwing another baby into the mix will help things. The puppy addition was bad enough.”

You do know, but you don’t want to think about it—about why your heart rate picks up when he tells you that they’re still having trouble. So you bulldoze past the first part of his statement. “You got a puppy? This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

“Yeah—only recently. I told Dana and Collins earlier, but… I guess it has been a little while since we’ve had a heart-to-heart. You should’ve been the first to know. I’m sorry.”

You wave your hands in front of you and shake your head. “Oh, no, don’t worry about it. I’m glad to know now, though; I expect to meet them at some point.” You give Frank a small smile.

That’s not the reaction he expected from you. Or more like—the reaction he wants from you. He wants you to be more upset that he kept something from you, even as small as getting a new pet. It’s irrational—he knows. But it would mean that you miss talking to him and being in his presence just as much as he does.

God, does he miss you. Even as you stand right in front of him.

He wonders if you’d even flinch if he told you his secret. Deep down, maybe a little part of him does want you to know. He tells himself he could handle your disappointment, because he’d gladly soak up any of your attention—good or bad.

“If you want… you can meet her and join us on one of our morning runs. My marathon is coming up—it’d be good to have someone to keep me accountable. Someone human, I mean.”

“Uh… I’m not a marathon runner by any means.” You’ve never spent time together outside of work—not that time outside of it exists, but still. The thought makes you uncomfortable. Why doesn’t he ask…? 

You realize he doesn’t have anyone else to ask.

“Well, the offer’s on the table,” Frank says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Okay. Thanks.” You nod, then go to take a sip of water from the fountain, ending the conversation.

Frank watches you sip for a few seconds, then walks away.

This was your chance to talk to him, to ask him if your suspicions are true. But the moment didn’t feel right. Or maybe you didn’t want to break up what felt like a reminder of your intimate conversations all those months ago in the cafeteria.

So you decide to wait until it’s time to leave for Pittfest to confront him so you can run away after and avoid him until at least tomorrow.

12 p.m.

Frank is peering into Ahmad’s office at the Post-it notes that are littering the whiteboard with everyone’s bets as Dana walks up to him.

“Langdon. The ambulance thieves are en route. They got two boys who crashed into a tree, apparently. Trauma 2 is being prepped now. ETA is in ten minutes,” Dana says with a dry voice, tapping her pen against a clipboard.

He turns around to face her. “Got it. They better be meth-heads because Abby needs a Birkin.”

She blinks back at him. “A Birkin, for what?” 

“For impulsively buying a puppy. That’s the agreement we settled on to keep it. Otherwise, the boys will be crushed. What else can I do?”

“Any more impulsive decisions and you’ll be out on the curb.”

“Well, when I’m an attending, I’ll be able to afford it. What’s a little more debt?” 

Dana rolls her eyes with a small smile and turns to leave, but Frank asks, “Can you see if sunny’s free? I think she’d like to work this case.”

“Is that the truth, or do you just want to work together?”

“It’s been a little while since we’ve shared the same trauma room. I trust her to handle cases on her own, but Robby’s been asking me to be a good senior resident and give equal love and attention to everyone.” Frank leans against the security room window, refusing to meet Dana’s eyes and hoping that she doesn’t catch the longing in them.

“Uh-huh. Sure. I’ll see if she’s free.”

You get a page from Dana, letting you know that the ambulance thieves’ ETA is in approximately five minutes, and Frank wants you to assist.

You’re a bit surprised, as Frank never intentionally shares a case with you. At least, not recently. Of course, it’s impossible for him to completely avoid you due to the nature of your work, but he leaves you independent for the most part.

Which is fine. You’re an R3 and a very capable doctor. Still, it’s nice to be sharing a room again after so long. You’ve missed him—as a friend. It’s a simple, uncomplicated, normal feeling to miss a friend. 

As you head toward the ED entrance, the EMTs stroll in with the two patients.

“Patients of the stolen ambulance tree crash here. This one doesn’t require any emergency treatment. Zac Dawson, age twenty-one, was the restrained passenger and ambulatory on scene. Good vitals, with small lacerations to the anterior thigh from glass, but otherwise no injuries.”

Frank nods, looking down at Zac. “Thanks. Alright, you okay, Zac?” he asks, doing a quick check for possible hidden injuries.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. Where’s Miles? He’s my pledge.” Zac whips his head around from within his wheelchair, looking for him. 

You reach the entrance and stand next to Frank as EMTs roll in another young man, presumably Miles, who’s in more critical condition. 

“Miles Hernandez, eighteen, and the unrestrained driver of the stolen ambulance. Injuries on his right chest and left leg. Sat 91, Tachy 120s. BP 105 over 70.”

You bend down to meet Zac at eye level. “Okay, Zac, we need to take care of Miles, but someone here will find a room for you. You’ll need to speak to the police in the meantime. You can visit Miles as soon as we stabilize him.” You give Zac a quick nod before rushing to Trauma 2 with Frank and Robby following close behind.

“Posterior hip dislocation and depressed clavicle. It’s compressing his trachea. Set up for intubation—we need ketamine and Roc, with four milligrams of morphine,” Frank shouts from the head of the gurney, peering over Miles as he inspects his injury.

You’re standing at the foot of the gurney, adjacent to Robby and Jesse, who are positioned on either side of Miles.

Jesse instructs, “Let’s stabilize the leg. Ready? One, two, three, and lift.” Together, you lift Miles from the gurney onto the operating table with minimal effort.

“Langdon, get on the airway,” Robby says.

Frank waves you over. “Come over here; you’re gonna do this. Chlorhexidine swab and ten of lido with epi. Forceps.”

As Frank steps back from Miles, you replace him, and he hands you the syringe. 

“Okay, Miles, your collarbone is pushing against your windpipe. We’re going to pull it up, and this will help you breathe. This is a local anesthetic. It’s going to pinch and burn for a second.” 

Miles stares at you with wide eyes, nodding, and you inject the anesthetic. He clenches his teeth and strains his body to bear the pain, but only for a few seconds. Frank hands you the forceps once the anesthetic is fully injected.

Robby instructs from behind you while standing next to Frank. “All right, you’re gonna go as deep as you can to grip the clavicle. You’ll need to use all the strength you have.” 

You quickly nod with your back turned and take a breath.

“Miles, this is going to be pretty painful. Are you ready?” You pinch the towel clip around both sides of his collarbone as he nods. 

With all the strength you have, you begin to pull up, but the bone doesn’t give. “S-Shit, I need a little bit of help!” 

Frank steps in and wraps his hands around yours, pulling gently but with enough force to lift the collarbone.

“Motherfucker!” Miles yells—a very good sign.

“Sats are up. Nice work,” Jesse says, with a thumbs-up.

You exhale, relieved, and chuckle lightly—Frank letting go of his hands from yours a split second too late. Disappointment sours your relief when you take a second to think: you weren’t able to do it. Not on your own. 

But what matters is that the patient is stable.

“Okay, looks like you both got this. I need to check on Nick Bradley’s parents.” Robby leaves with a wave of his hand, leaving just you, Jesse, and Frank.

“Okay, Miles. Great job. Dr. Garcia is going to be coming down to take a look at your leg. But we reduced what’s called a sternoclavicular dislocation—that’s your dislocated collarbone—so you should be able to breathe better now. 

“T-Thank you. For your help. All of you.” 

“We’re just doing our jobs,” you say with a soft smile. “Depending on what Dr. Garcia determines regarding your leg, you may have to be admitted to the hospital for surgery, but otherwise you’ll be alright. You’re in good hands.”

Frank chimes in, “Sorry, dude. But I have just got to ask… why steal the ambulance? You know you’re going to prison now.”

You whip your head toward Frank, glaring at him, but otherwise lean into Miles to hear his quiet response. He already asked—might as well hear what Miles has to say. 

“That’s just what new pledges do. I just wanted to fit in with my fraternity, and—... I’m fucked, aren’t I?”

“You can still turn your life around, Miles. What’s important now is that you recover—everything else can wait.” You give him a soft smile and pat his hand. “Zac is waiting in another room for you. When Dr. Garcia is done, I'll have someone send him over—and we’ve already contacted your parents. They should be here soon.”

Miles just gives you a nod and a tight-lipped smile back. You discard your gloves in the bin, say your thanks to Jesse, and leave the room with Frank trailing behind.

Frank steps in front of you before you walk off toward your next patient. 

“Hey, you did good in there. The kid’ll be alright. He’s going to prison—but at least he’ll live.”

You scratch lightly at your upper arm. “Thanks… but I didn’t really do anything. I ended up needing your help—which I forgot to say, thank you, by the way.” You sigh, looking down and moving your hand to your hip. “Pulling up the clavicle is a lot harder than it looks.”

“No, you did the right thing. You asked for help when you needed it. I’ve worked with people before who would rather let the patient suffer just because they’re too prideful to ask for help. The ED requires teamwork, and you just embodied that.”

You’re taken aback, but Frank’s gaze forces you to maintain eye contact. “I—thank you. You’re right.”

“Aren’t I always?” he jokes, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning toward you. 

You raise your eyebrow at him. “Nope. Just this once. Anyway… I need to see at least one more patient before 1 p.m. Mohan told me Robby was pretty strict with her about that earlier today.”

“Alright, well, if we don’t get the chance to talk again before you leave today… Have fun and stay safe.”

“I will. And—well, actually, I do need to talk to you about something before I go. But I’ll find you near the end of my shift. I’d rather we talk then.” You pray he doesn’t press for more. You’re just not ready yet.

Now Frank is the one raising his eyebrow at you. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah—it’s…” You wave your hand. “We’ll just talk later, okay? I really need to get to another patient. See you!” You break out into a sprint to get away from Frank, while he stares at your back, dumbfounded.

Frank’s heart stutters. What does she want to talk to me about?

It’s nearly the end of the hour when you pass by the ambulance bay and see Mel on her phone through the clear doors. 

You decide to check in on her and say your goodbyes before heading out to meet Ryan. Over the course of only a few hours, you’ve built a good rapport with her, at least compared to the other three newcomers. 

Whitaker is still, understandably, upset by Mr. Milton’s death and has been withdrawn, while Dr. Garcia has taken Santos under her wing and worked with her for most of the day in emergency surgeries. And today’s been a record day for surgical cases.

As for Javadi, she’s too busy flirting with Mateo to pay any attention to you. You don’t mind, though. If there’s anyone Mateo should bend his rule for, it should be for the girl who he can’t seem to stop smiling around.

As you walk out, you hear the tail end of Mel’s conversation.

“You have to find somebody to kiss.”

“You’re right. I do,” Mel says, laughing at the voice.

“Yeah,” the voice giggles back.

“I have to get on that right away.” Mel laughs again. “Okay, Becca, I’ve got to head back in, but I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay! Bye, Mel!” Becca says and hangs up the call.

“Hey, Mel.” 

She quickly turns to face you, surprised to see you right behind her. 

“Oh—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you, but I’m heading out soon and saw you out here, so I wanted to say bye.”

“Oh. No—it’s okay. I was just wrapping up a phone call with my sister. You’re leaving?” Mel asks, putting her phone back into her pocket.

“Yeah, I’m leaving early because I’m going to Pittfest. You mentioned you have a sister?”

Mel nods adamantly. “Oh, yeah, she and I are very close. It’s the first time we’ve been separated for this long, so I’m just checking in on her.” 

“That’s really sweet, Mel. I’m sure she appreciates you checking in.” You pause for a second, then say, “Well, I’ll leave you to it. You’ve done a great job today, by the way. We’re lucky to have you.”

Mel smiles, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Really?”

You smile softly back at her. “Of course. And don’t tell the others, but you’re my favorite newbie to come in today.” You wink at her, then turn away to leave.

“Wait!” You turn back around. “Um, are you going to tell me how you got your nickname?” 

“Oh! Yeah, sorry, I forgot. I think I have some time.” You take a quick look at the time on your phone. It’s five minutes until 1 p.m.

Ryan won’t be happy if you make him wait. 

Oh well.

“So, it’s near the end of my shift after my first day in the Pitt, and I’m still an intern.” You start, thinking back to the memory.

After the tiring first day you had, you went out to the ambulance bay to take a quick breather, just like Mel is doing right now. 

The summer sun was still out, but it’s slowly setting in the west. Your body’s sore, not because you weren’t used to ER life, but because you’d gotten lost that day more times than you could count. You definitely got your steps in, at least.

It ended up taking you another month to get comfortable finding your way around. 

You took a quick glance up at the sun, shielding your eyes from the harshest rays, when you suddenly started to feel dizzy. 

A second later, you were on the ground, barely conscious. You recall being just alert enough to know you weren’t seriously injured. 

After what felt like another hour—but was really only a few minutes—you were ready to pick yourself up. 

But instead, you just continued to lie on the rough concrete—not yet ready to leave. After all, it was the first time you’ve had a chance to be off your feet all day. 

You’d let yourself be sacrificed to the mosquitoes gnawing on your arms and face since you knew that someone—EMTs or another doctor—would come out and find you eventually.

A few back-aching minutes later, Dr. Langdon walked out into the bay, a Red Bull in tow, the clacks of his phone’s keyboard signaling that he was sending someone a text.

He looked up from his phone and saw you on the concrete, hands laid over your stomach—laid pretty and perfectly straight and still—like you were being displayed in a casket.

Frank would’ve laughed, but he had already seen more death that day than he cared to.

“Hey, intern, what’re you, dead? Why’re you out here on the ground? It’s the end of your shift. Go home.” 

You slowly stood, but once you were at full height, you started to feel wobbly again. Frank quickly put his Red Bull down and stretched his arms out in front of him to steady you.

“Jesus, did something happen? Did you fall out here?” Frank couldn’t help but notice the dark circles underneath your eyes and your frazzled look. Even still, you had a slight grin playing on your lips at the hilarity of it all.

“Oh, ha—yeah, I fell. But I’m fine. Just… dehydrated, I think. I wanted to look at the sun for a minute, and next thing I know, I’m on the ground. I didn’t hit my head or anything, though.” You dusted off your scrubs and stood with your hands on your hips, a wide smile adorning your face. 

Frank looked at you like you were insane—which, you probably still are—but lowered his arms back to his side. 

He gave you a worried look. “Okay… uh—let’s get you inside and set up with an IV. You need to take better care of yourself. This is only your first day here.” He motioned for you to follow him back inside.

Following him, you said, “I know. Sorry. I have a tendency to forget to take care of myself sometimes. Especially with the stress of a new job in a new place. But I’ll get better.” You gave Frank a reassuring smile.

You realize you still have a tendency to forget to take care of yourself, but you don’t tell Mel that.

Frank gave you an incredulous look but chuckled. “I hope so, sunshine. Maybe next time don’t look right at the sun. I think I have an extra pair of sunglasses you can have.”

After finishing the story, you look back at Mel, whose eyes are locked in on yours as if it was narrated by Morgan Freeman. 

“So Dr. Langdon gave you the nickname then? Is it sunny or sunshine?”

“Well—it’s sunny. Eventually the story got spread around, and the name just stuck. Dr. Langdon does call me sunshine sometimes, but it’s… well, that’s just his way of teasing me. I guess. It’s more… embarrassing.”

More intimate . But you don’t say that to Mel either.

“Anyway, I was pretty humiliated about the whole thing for a while, but now I only laugh about it. And sunny isn’t as bad of a nickname as Slow Mo.”

“Slow Mo?” 

“Oh—uh, I probably shouldn’t have said anything.” You sigh. “Dr. Mohan’s nickname is Slow Mo. But don’t tell her I told you that! It’s just… mean. Really, she’s an excellent doctor who takes great care of her patients. I look up to her, even though we’re both R3s.” 

“No, I—I would never.” Mel earnestly shakes her head, and you automatically believe her.

“Good. Well… that’s the story.” You look at the time again. One more minute until you can clock out. Hopefully Ryan won’t be too pissed. “I really should get going now, though. See you tomorrow, Mel?”

“Yes! Thank you for telling me. You’ve also been a really great mentor today, and well—... I just hope we can be friends.”

“Mel, we’re already friends.” You wink at her, and she abruptly puts her hand up for a high-five. You return it with a grin and turn toward the entrance to head to the locker rooms.

But first, find Frank.

Chapter Text

1 p.m.

Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach when you spot Frank standing at the nurse’s station talking to Robby. If he wasn’t there, then you could’ve waited to have this conversation tomorrow. 

Or the day after.

He catches your eye from afar, and you gesture as you walk toward him, pointing to the E.D. exit and mouthing, Can we talk?

It’s best to have this discussion in private and away from prying eyes.

He gives you a nod and a thumbs up, then resumes his conversation with Robby until you catch up to him.

You’re only a few feet from the station when Santos cuts you off.  

She’s blowing air from her mouth and shaking her leg against the floor as she stands in front of you, figuring out just how exactly to tell you what she saw earlier today.

“Santos, hey. I need to speak with Dr. Langdon.” You point to where he’s standing. “My shift is over, and I’m running a bit late. Is it something urgent?”

“Yeah, uh—would you mind taking a second in the on-call room? It’s best to talk about this in private. I’ll make it quick.” Santos tilts her head to the nearest room, then walks ahead of you, expecting you to follow her.

“Discuss… what? If it’s something serious, it’s best to bring it up with Robby,” you say, trailing behind her. You didn’t expect to be speaking to her again so soon after your uncomfortable conversation earlier.

Only when Santos holds the door open for you and shuts it behind her does she start speaking. 

You furrow your brows and look at her in concern, crossing your arms over your chest. “Santos. What’s going on?”

She hesitates before speaking. “I—I want to talk to you because I know you’re close with Dr. Langdon. And I think you might already have your own suspicions about him. I picked up on your curiosity during our little talk earlier. Am I wrong?”

So much for subtlety.

“What suspicions?” Your heart rate picks up, already guessing what she's about to say.

“He’s stealing patient medication. Using it while at work for reasons… I’m not sure of. But I know what I saw.”

“...What did you see, exactly? You can be honest, Santos.” You nod. “I trust you.”

Santos looks to the ground and shakes her head before responding. “There was a faulty vial of lorazepam that was glued shut and wouldn’t open. Then half of Louis’ pills turned up missing when he came back. That… and he’s been sweaty, agitated. Hostile. Especially toward me for noticing it.”

You heave a sigh. This is not good. “I—I’ve had my suspicions he’s been abusing medication. A few months back he... had a pretty bad back injury. But I wasn’t sure if he was getting pills prescribed at Urgent Care or had another way to access them. I guess… by stealing them he wouldn’t get any other staff involved.” 

 Just the patients.

“Why haven’t you said anything?” Santos asks, looking straight at you with a critical look on her face.

“There was nothing for me to accuse him of besides my own gut feelings. I sure as hell haven’t seen him stealing—ever. Actually… I was planning on confronting him about this before you came up to me. I wanted to hear if my suspicions were true—directly from him.” You chew on your lip and hold your head in your hands for a quick second, thinking. “This is such a mess. I—I don’t know what to do.” 

You do know what you need to do. You have to report this to Robby. It’s not something you're happy about, however.

“We need to tell Robby. I’ll do it. I just wanted to let you know first—so whatever happens next doesn't come as a surprise.”

“No. I’ll tell him. Thank you for coming to me and trusting me with this. I know it probably wasn't easy to speak up—especially on your first day—but you did the right thing.” You try to give her a reassuring smile, but it falters.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do it together, at least?” 

“It’s alright, Santos. I got this. I really do have to get going soon. Let me find Robby.”

“Okay.” She nods in acknowledgement, then leaves the room, not before throwing “good luck” over her shoulder.

Santos was able to suss out what you’ve failed to see over the past three months within a half-shift. Maybe you could’ve seen it sooner if things were different. 

But you suppose that that’s the reason why he’s been just out of reach: he would rather struggle alone than get anyone else involved. Whether it’s due to pride, self-service, self-sacrifice, or some combination of all three—well… take your pick. 

You’re not sure what emotional mixture you’ve ingested. Sadness, grief, fear—and a dash of anger—pool in the chasm of your stomach, the taste rancid on your tongue.

He should’ve reached out to someone for help. He should’ve reached out to you for help. Instead, he pushes you away, then makes you feel like a pinball when he reaches out for connection.

You take a second to sit on the couch before working up the nerve to talk to Robby. Last you saw, they were both by the station, chatting. Frank’s probably wondering where you are by now.

So is Ryan. 

It’s a quarter past what was supposed to be the end of your shift, and you still have one more conversation to have. Ryan will just have to wait a little more.

You text Frank, shooting off a quick message:

Sorry, something came up. I need to talk to Robby, but then I have to go. Otherwise, Ryan will kill me. We’ll talk another time.

Frank texts you back almost immediately.

Okay. Is everything alright?

You don’t respond.

You could ask him for the truth. Right now. Text him. Call him over the phone or hunt him down again. But you can’t risk getting yourself and Santos into trouble for not going directly to Robby first. She trusts you to do this. It’s the right thing to do. 

Being high at work is one thing, but stealing patient medication? It’s a totally different story. 

And what, just because you ask him, that means he’ll tell you anything?

You’re doing what’s best for him , you try to convince yourself. 

Finally leaving the on-call room, you spot Robby just as he’s coming out of the STEMI patient’s room. You wave him down before he can run off to another case.

“Robby—”

“—Weren’t you supposed to have left already? Go enjoy Pittfest. Have some fun.”

“I know. But I need to talk to you about something… sensitive first. Can we go somewhere a little more secluded?” You exhale a short breath. You’ve had enough sneaking around for the day.

Robby gives you a tired, concerned look but gives in. “Okay. Follow me.”

You follow Robby to a quiet hallway, away from the noise of the E.R.

“What’s going on, Dr.—?”

You swivel your head up and down the hallway before interrupting just in case anyone might be listening. “—Dr. Langdon has been self-medicating with patient medication stolen from the E.R. It doesn’t look good for Frank, Robby.”

Robby runs his hands over his face as you look down at your phone to check the time.

The last five minutes were spent convincing him that what Santos told you isn’t a lie and that you believe her. More than that—you know it’s true. He took some convincing—figures, given Frank is his best and brightest—but Robby acquiesced. 

Frank is stealing and using patient medication.

“What’re you going to do, Robby?” you ask, after he’s finally put his hands back inside his pockets.

“Thank you for coming to me with this. But what happens from here on isn’t your concern. Though, I think you know what has to happen now.”

You nod, and tears pool in your eyes, but they don’t fall. There isn’t anything else you could’ve done, right? “Alright, then. I’m going to go now… I’ll—I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Robby pats your shoulder before you turn to leave for the locker rooms. “Say hi to Jake for me and stay safe, okay? Don’t let this ruin your mood.”

You give him a sad look. “Thanks. I’ll try.”

Frank catches you speed walking toward the exit—feeling lucky to see you before you leave.

When you first brought up needing to talk to him, he was confused, but he brushed it off as something inconsequential. Then, when you sent him the text saying you couldn’t talk until another time, he was even more confused.

And he doesn’t want to brush this off while he still has you in his sight.

You turn to him as he calls your name, jogging up to you by the E.D. exit. Frank notices you have a pained look—arms hugged to your chest, a furrow between your brows creasing the delicate skin there, and the corners of your lips turn down once you’re face-to-face with him.

Did I do something? he thinks.

“Hey, I thought you left already. Did you talk to Robby?”

“Frank, oh, uh, yeah. I did. But… I—I really have to go now. Ryan’s waiting for me. We’ll talk another time, okay?” The strap of your purse slips down your arm, and Frank reaches over to adjust it for you—afterward keeping his warm but firm hand on your shoulder to stop you from bolting.

“What’s going on? You’re acting weird.”

“N-nothing. Um… actually, all I really wanted to tell you is thank you for the Pittfest ticket you got me a while back. And… thank you for today. I missed being close to you. There just hasn’t been enough time to tell you.”

You throw your arms around Frank in an abrupt hug. You need to get out of here, fast. 

It’s a lame attempt, but this is the only way you can think to catch him off guard to avoid further questions. Also… this may very well be the last time you see him in a while. 

Frank’s shocked. Too shocked to respond quickly enough before you put your arms back to your sides—missing his moment. You’ve missed him, too.

He notices a few teardrops landed on his scrub top.

“Are—are you okay, sunshine? You sure there isn’t something else you want to talk about?” Frank cradles the side of your face, making you look up and into his eyes.

You cover his hand with yours, giving him a defeated smile and shaking your head. 

“I’m sorry I’m in such a rush. But that was all. I have to go now.” 

You quickly leave the building.

“What took you so fucking long? I’ve been sitting here with the AC blasting for over thirty minutes. Are you going to reimburse me for gas?” Ryan taps on the steering wheel, obviously very irritated.

“Ryan, please. Not right now. I’m here, aren’t I? Can you start driving?”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But you owe me thirty minutes of time I'll never get back waiting for your sweet ass.”

You roll your eyes and look out the window at the PTMC entrance. 

After tonight. After tonight, you’ll break up with him. And after tonight the only other man who can fill the gaping—but let’s be honest, small—hole in your heart will be gone.

And there’s no way he won’t figure out it was because of you.

2 p.m.

Frank doesn’t know what to think. 

Was “thank you” really all you wanted to say to him? Why make it such a big deal? Why run off like that afterward? 

Maybe it’s his fault. Maybe his touches and longing glances have been too much, too soon.

He ignores the pang of guilt as he steps out of Willie Alexander’s room after inserting his temporary pacemaker.

Meanwhile, Robby’s been popping his head into different patient rooms, looking for someone—but as Frank steps out, he finds who he’s looking for.

Frank looks up and sees him. “Robby. Did you know that Willie was a member of the Freedom House Ambulance Service?” He points his thumb into the room. “Apparently, he was also a good friend of Adamson. I think you should talk to him.”

Robby’s brows raise. “Wow. That’s great. I’ll make sure to stop by. But first… we need to talk. Walk with—”

Bosco and a few other medics suddenly rush in with a patient—a young child. “Amber Phillips. Age six. Was found by the grandmother at the bottom of the pool with unknown downtime. She’s in asystole.”

Before Frank can react, Robby cuts him off. “I don’t want you on this. I’ll get Collins. See your other patients, and we’ll save the discussion for later.” 

“Uh—okay. Fine,” Frank says, dumbfounded. 

What does everyone need to talk to him about all of a sudden? And why doesn’t Robby want him on the case?

Robby leaves the room of Amber after telling her parents the devastating news. Her potassium levels were just way too high.

He takes a deep breath and exhales, then looks for Frank—again. Hopefully there’ll be no more distractions. 

But now Frank is the one walking up to Robby. “Hey. Did… Did you get her back?” 

Robby shakes his head no. “Cardiac arrest and a potassium level of 12.2. There was no coming back from that.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, Robby. Man—... kids are always the hardest.” Frank says, playing with the string on his bracelet. 

“They are,” Robby replies, resigned. “Are you going to be okay? We still need to talk.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need to make a quick phone call, and I’ll be back.” Frank points to his phone, then walks toward the end of a quiet hallway.

Robby lets him have this moment before everything falls apart.

Frank doesn’t usually let cases get to him. But every now and then, his emotion slips through the fortified crack in his chest. It happens whenever he has one too many patient deaths—and especially when the patient is a kid.

He does the only thing he can think to do to salve the ache. He calls Abby. 

It takes a few rings before she finally picks up. 

“Frank? Why are you calling? I’m busy right now.”

“I need to talk to the boys.”

“I just got back from picking them up from preschool, and Theo’s asleep. Not a good time, Frank.”

“Can you... can you just put Tanner on the phone for a second? I just want to hear his voice.

Abby sighs. “Fine. Just a second.” The phone crackles with her movement as she hands the phone over to Tanner. He greets Frank with a warm “Hi, Daddy” and asks him if he’d like to hear him recite a new song he learned in preschool.

“There's my guy. How you doing, buddy? I would love to hear your... your song.”

A few painstaking minutes of song later, and Frank can hear the shuffling of the phone again.

“Mommy, I wasn’t finished!” Tanner whines, his voice far away now.

“Shhh. It’s okay. You can sing your song later, okay? Daddy has to go back to work now.”

“Abby, it’s fine—”

She cuts him off. “—Time’s up, Frank. See you at home. Love you. Bye.” Her voice cuts out, ending the conversation there.

Frank hangs his head after putting his phone back into his pocket. That could’ve gone better. He probably should've given her some context for his call… but work should stay at work. Not at home.

It’s better that way.

He heads back out to the nurse’s station and waves down Robby.

“Hey. I’m ready to talk now.”

“Okay. Let’s go,” Robby says, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Open the fucking locker, or I’ll have Ahmad come in and force it open!” Robby yells, pounding his fist against the locker. Frank is taken aback by his intensity—the echo of his yell bouncing off the walls—but luckily the locker rooms are empty.

At least, save for Princess, who quickly sees herself out after Robby’s outburst.

This is it , Frank thinks. I got caught. Might as well get it over with.

He slowly enters his code into the keypad—as if waiting for Robby to change his mind—and the locker clicks open.

Robby pushes him back to fully inspect his inventory. 

There it is. The missing stash of Louis’ Librium pills. 

He takes the baggie and stuffs it into his pocket, then grabs Frank’s backpack and shoves it into his chest. 

“Get the fuck out. Get the fuck out, or I’ll have you escorted out. I don’t want to see you again.” Robby’s face is red—anger and disappointment washing over him like a strong tide. 

“Robby—Robby, this isn’t what it looks like, okay? I’m not… high. I’m not. Remember when I was helping my parents move? When you and Sunny told me to get movers? I injured my back, and Dr. Hagan prescribed me some pain meds and relaxers. The benzos are just to wean myself off.”

“I don’t need to hear your excuses, Frank. I need you to leave. Now.”

“Please, Robby. I—I need this. I can’t leave. I’m not a drug addict. Could I do what I do here every day if I was?”

“Apparently, you can. And I let you.” Robby’s eyes are glossy with a mountain range of emotions. Frank’s never seen him look at anyone this way. He’s really fucked up. Bad. 

“Go! I won’t ask again.” Robby pushes Frank toward the hallway exit, and his belongings nearly topple over from the pile in his hands.

Frank knows he’s not changing Robby’s mind, but he has just one more question. 

“Just answer me this. Please. Who told you? Was it Santos? Or was it…” Frank can’t even bring himself to say your name, but Robby’s sad, crestfallen expression only confirms his worst fears. 

Frank nods, then turns for the exit, Robby watching his back as he goes.

Now your behavior from earlier makes more sense.

Tyche awakes from her ennui slumber, registering the change in the atmosphere. Her palms burn and itch. The wind whistles and slams into the mountainside, caressing the wooden fibers of her wheel. Soft chanting rattles in her mind.

Spin. Spin. Spin. 

She shakes her head to clear the tenacious noise. It’s time.

Tyche clambers out of her berth and to her wheel. She spins it with practiced ease, and it lands.

Fortune.

3 p.m.

Frank is still sitting in his car, parked in the hospital garage. He’s called Robby dozens of times and even went as far as to text Dana to tell him to pick up his phone. No such luck.

They’re icing him out. It’s over. Everyone probably knows by now. He can say goodbye to that fellowship.

He takes a deep breath. 

Calm down.  

Robby isn’t one to shy away from bending the rules. He’ll make an exception for Frank. He has to. Otherwise, he’s not sure what he’ll do. Without medicine, he’ll have nothing. He wasn’t lying to Robby. He needs to be in there.

For his kids. For himself.

For his fantasies of you.

He ignores the ache in his gut at your betrayal and ignores the guilt eating away at him at your spilled tears when you left earlier. He ignores how much he liked seeing you cry for him—even if for all the wrong reasons. 

Why isn’t he more upset with you? You might've cost him everything . 

But right now, all that matters to him is getting Robby on the phone to win him over—to make him understand. He’s not a drug addict. The benzos just help wean him off the opiates. Make the stress of the job a little easier. Make the pain of going home to a broken marriage just a little duller. 

He pulls at the ends of his hair and repeatedly knocks his head on the steering wheel after his next dozen phone calls don't go through. 

Going home isn’t an option, not right now. Abby should be spared from the truth. Even if only for just a few more hours. 

Frank lifts his head from the wheel. Robby isn’t answering, but maybe it’s worth giving your cell a try? He’s not even sure what he would say—if anything at all. This situation calls for more than a conversation over the phone, and you’re probably having the time of your life at Pittfest.

Or, that's how he knows you’d try to appear. But he knows you’re probably wracked with guilt at telling Robby, just as he is for you having to be the one to out him.

He calls you. It’s best to get everything out in the open now. He doesn’t want to speculate about what exactly you know or found out.

Deep down, he always knew it would come to this—him getting caught. And now that it's happened, he’s not resentful about it. In denial, anxious, desperately and obsessively trying to claw his way back, yes, but he’s more concerned about how you see him now. 

It’s time to find out if the attention he wants so much from you is the good or bad kind. It’s probably too early to talk to you about this. But he’s always had bad impulse control.

Chuckling dryly to himself, he puts his phone to his ear after hitting “call” on your contact name.

Sunshine.

The line rings for a few seconds, and you pick up. Or, that’s what Frank thinks, until an irritating voice greets his ears.

“Yo. This is Ryan. Who’s this?” 

Frank can barely hear the sound of his own voice over the loud music and chatter in the background as he asks for you. “Can you put me on the phone with her? I’m her coworker.”

“No can do, bro. She’s in the john right now. Why do you think you’re talking to me?” Ryan asks.

No more than a handful of words exchanged with him, and Frank wants to hang up already. But he pushes through. “Can you let her know I called? I need to discuss something with her. It’s urgent.”

“Sure, man. That all?”

“That’s all—”

“—Hey, wait. She’s coming out now. Let me pass you to her.”

Frank hears your voice, and his ears perk up. But his hopes of talking to you are dashed when he hears your clipped words.

“Ryan, why are you answering my calls? Give me that.” A few seconds of just the festival racket pass, and then you hang up on him. Hesitation after seeing it was him, maybe?

Fear? Anger?

He isn’t too sure. But he calls again to try and get an answer either way. You don’t pick up. So he tries. Again and again and again and again.

His next call is the last because you’ve turned off your phone, and it goes straight to voicemail. 

Frank throws his head back into his seat. For fuck’s sake. What does he do now?

He decides to give dialing a break. You’re obviously not ready to speak with him, and as much as he would like to—he won’t try to force it. He can’t anyway.

Not unless he pulls up and sneaks into the festival to find you. But that’d be insane. Right? 

No, he needs to stay here in case Robby finally calls him back. 

He tries to calm his racing heart. Losing his grip won’t do him any good, so he turns on the EM: RAP podcast—to an episode he’s already listened to—and closes his eyes, trying to relax.

You’re conflicted. You should’ve picked up the phone and talked to Frank, but now’s not the time. 

You’re at Pittfest.

It’s something you’ve been wanting to go to for a while now, and the experience is crumbling before you. Because you hate who you’re here with, hate that Frank is the one who got you the ticket, and hate that even so, you’re upset, sad, and confused that he’s the only thing on your mind right now.

Ryan comes up to you with a lemonade and funnel cake to share. You think maybe you should’ve just done the difficult thing and broken up with him and come to this alone. It’s something you’re used to. Being alone. But it’s too late now.

“C’mon. Let’s sit for a while. The next set won’t be starting for another twenty minutes.” He cocks his head to a seating area not too far away.

“Okay,” you say, dejectedly. You carry the lemonade in one hand and hold onto his with the other.

Chapter Text

4 p.m. 

The set of the band you and Ryan both happen to like (shocking, really) finishes when you notice Jake and his girlfriend standing not too far away within the dispersing crowd. 

You crane your neck around a passerby to get a better look, just in case you’re mistaken.

Nope. That’s the back of Jake’s head and Leah, alright.

You were wondering when you would happen upon them. It’s been a few hours since you and Ryan got here, and it’s the first you’ve seen of the young couple. 

Pittfest is hectic this year, even more so than from the stories you’ve heard of last year’s festivities, but you didn’t figure it would be this difficult to happen upon them.

You were proven wrong, but no matter. You make your way to them, only barely missing the goodbye slap on your ass Ryan gives you as he heads elsewhere to meet up with some of his friends. 

Leah points to you from over Jake’s shoulder, and he turns around to see you smiling and waving your hand in greeting.

Your sneakers crunch the sharply cut grass of the open field as you step up to them. “Hey, Jake! Glad I caught you before you ran off.”

“Hey! You’re here!” He wraps an arm around Leah and brings her closer to you so he can formally introduce her. “This is my girlfriend, Leah. The one I mentioned earlier?”

She looks up into Jake’s eyes with a ghost of a smile playing on her lips and a blush rising on her cheeks. “You mentioned me?”

Ah, young love.

You offer your hand and shake hers gently. “Hi, Leah. It’s so good to meet you.”

“Likewise!” She drops her hand and squints her eyes at you for a beat. “Um—” she shakes her head, “—Sorry, who are you? I can’t remember…”

Jake gapes down at her, as if he’s surprised she doesn’t know who you are. “Leah… didn’t I tell you about…?” He scratches his head in confusion. “I’m sure I did…” he says, with guilt laced in his tone. He gives you a sheepish look, but you’re not offended.

“It’s okay, Jake.” You simply chuckle and tell her your name and position at PTMC. “I haven’t been around all that long compared to some of the other names you’re probably familiar with, so it might’ve slipped your mind.”

You finish making introductions, and then all three of you decide to check out some of the other attractions on site.

This is good. Things are good.

You’ve had some time to settle your heart and mind over the devastatingly—and probably unhealthy for your ears—loud music and haven’t even had a passing thought about Frank over the last hour. 

Of course you haven’t. How could you? Thinking about how he called you because Robby kicked him out to the curb isn’t nice. It isn’t easy. Not that you know with absolute certainty that’s why he called—as Ryan didn’t say much when you pressed him about their short conversation—but it’s safe to assume. 

And you also assume he called you specifically because he figured you ratted him out. Robby wouldn’t admit that to him, you’re sure, but Frank has a way of reading you. And you weren’t subtle when leaving the Pitt earlier today. Obviously.

Jake raises a brow at you when you heave a sigh as you cross the now empty field. You wave him off and say it’s nothing.

You can’t concern yourself with Frank and his situation—not right now. Maybe not ever again. What’s done is done. Robby said so himself. You’re here with Ryan, Jake, and Leah, and you should really focus on enjoying your time. 

That’s what you tell yourself as you look ahead to the line of vendors selling overpriced food, drink, and Pittfest merchandise, at least. 

Not too far from the field where the performer’s stage is are the tables you and Ryan sat at earlier while waiting for the set. A little ways across those tables, and where you’re headed to now, are the multitudes of vendors waiting for gullible young people like yourself to spend your money. 

You will, of course.

“I’m hungry, guys. Why don’t we get a bunch of things to share? I’ve never had fried pickles before,” Jake says with a point to a crowded stand. “We can walk around and check out some of the other things after.”

You shrug your shoulders and give him and Leah a small smile. “Sure.”

Listening to the E.M. RAP podcast one too many times on repeat—and with his eyes closed—turns out to be one of Frank’s many downfalls. Robby clearly isn’t answering him, you aren’t either, he’s not ready to go home yet, and he’s quickly crashing from the emotional and physical high of today. The podcast, which is quite boring to him now, is just icing on the “go to sleep” cake. 

He shuts off his car and takes a bite.

He’ll be in a better headspace to figure out his next move. Just… after a quick nap.

Splotches of inky black and white… nothing circle around the torn edges of Frank’s vision. He’s dreaming. The dreams are always this way. Colorless. Sometimes the black mixes with the white and there’s gray, but that’s as varied as it gets.

Nothing turns into something, and his sons appear on the horizon of the slowly forming reality. Color returns—a welcome rarity. It’s muted, weighed down by the perils of his waking life. But then you appear, right alongside them, ratcheting up the saturation far beyond what can even be perceived by human eyes. 

If he were awake and knew any better—based on the way his heart races and sweat beads along his forehead—he would feel guilt. Guilt that it isn’t the one he promised his life to—the mother of his children—standing by them. But all his dream self does is smile.

The pages of his vision flip so fast that whatever’s in between the lines may as well be blank. But, as the last page approaches, the book closes. He can’t see what awaits him at the end. 

It’s either written or yet to be written. Either way, he’ll just have to experience it himself.

5 p.m.

It isn’t long before you’re back to sitting down at the picnic tables with Jake, Leah, and Ryan, who returned after his friends ditched him. Or, as he claimed, they had to leave early because of an emergency. You peer over a crowd of people and see some familiar faces—some of Ryan’s friends that have been over a few times while you were in his apartment being ignored.

Looks like the emergency is at a ball toss setup. Your lips quirk up in evil delight; they, too, find his company less than desirable.

The four of you are taking a little break before the next performance, resting your weary feet. Ryan makes casual conversation with Jake and Leah, amping up the little charm he does have to seem cool to… high schoolers .

For the most part you’re silent, only making the occasional comment and forcing a few laughs. It’s been an odd, very odd, tiring day. You wouldn’t mind calling it quits and retiring for the evening, but you remember Robby’s advice and attempt to uplift your spirits with some more of the food you bought earlier.

The table is littered with a few odds and ends consisting of merchandise and zany food orders, and you pick at some of the options. You’re taking a bite out of a piece of grilled, steak-seasoned watermelon when Jake speaks up from across from you.

“Where’s Langdon? I for sure thought he’d be here with you.”

You almost choke on a piece of charred seed, and Ryan pats your back. “F-Frank? Why would he be here? And with me ?”

Ryan leans over and whispers into your ear. “Isn’t that the dude who called earlier?”

Jake shrugs. “I dunno. You guys are like, really close, aren’t you? Like, really, really—” 

Leah takes a quick sip of her and Jake’s shared soda before cutting him off. “—Didn’t you tell me he’s married though?”

Ryan looks out the corner of his eye at you with a perplexed expression, but you ignore him.

You know hearing about your closeness with Frank is something of news to Ryan. He never cares to hear about your work, so why mention any of your coworkers, let alone Frank? Would he care if you told him how you’ve grown feelings for him? You suppose it’s about time you’ve finally admitted it to yourself, but definitely not to your boyfriend. 

You wouldn't be surprised if Ryan had a mean possessiveness beneath his seemingly nonchalant façade. He heckled you until you gave in and slept with him, after all.

You would blame Jake for bringing Frank up, but he’s a kid, and you know it’s unfair to blame him when, really, you’ve been too stubborn and afraid to let Ryan go when you should’ve a long time ago.

Your time with him will be coming to an end soon anyway. 

You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You’re not as afraid to be without the anchor you’ve grown comfortable with as you once were. Ryan’s… repulsive. And you know how easy being with someone you actually cherish could be. 

You’ll find someone else eventually. Preferably someone who isn’t taken. You would be lying to yourself if you said that doubt and sadness didn’t bubble up in your gut at the thought of having anyone else besides Frank, but, alas, things just can’t work out that way.

“Um, we are close.” Definitely not anymore, but no, there's no point in bringing that up now. “But, uh, you’re right.” You nod to Leah and chuckle a bit awkwardly. “If he did decide to come to Pitffest, it would've been with his family. Not me.”

Ryan’s brows furrow, and he looks like he’s about to say something when suddenly a cracking , popping noise splits the air. You whip your head over your shoulder to get a closer look in the direction of the sound.

Something tells you it’s not standard Pittfest ruckus.

In the near distance, you see someone. A man dressed in dark garb with his face hidden beneath a fabric mask and sunglasses. He’s holding a rifle. Using the rifle. 

Oh. That's where the noises are coming from.

You and everyone at the table give each other a panicked look, while screams start to gather and spill over the entire venue. 

Fuck.

You momentarily lapse. Your mind travels a mile a minute while your body’s still frozen against the bench you’re sitting on. But a blood-curdling scream melts through the ice, and you react. You grab Ryan’s wrist and tell Jake to get ahold of Leah.

You’ll need to run. The man isn’t too far away from the picnic table, and he’s headed your way.

Frank is pulled from the depths of his dream and gasps awake. He’s groggy, sweaty, breathing harder than is normal, but he takes a few deep breaths and recalibrates. He's well-rested now, at least.

Immediately, he’s checking his phone for the time and to see if you or Robby have gotten back to him. A concerning alert is the only notification that appears before him.

* ACTIVE SHOOTER AT PITTFEST. CURRENTLY UNKNOWN NUMBER OF VICTIMS. LIVE UPDATES TO FOLLOW.*

As if on cue, he can hear the sirens of a few police cars just outside the lot go off in response to the news. He blinks rapidly and shakes his head.

No. No, no, no. This isn’t supposed to happen.

You’re there. You’re at fucking Pittfest. He sent you there. Jake and Leah are there too. Just the thought of any one of you getting hurt… his breaths pick up again, and he chokes on his saliva.

Why today of all days? Is this some kind of curse? Is he cursed? 

He doesn’t have time to ponder. He needs to take action. Do something. He shouldn’t freak out, because he can’t even imagine what he would do if you got hurt or…  

He hops out of his car, starts pacing around the empty lot, and chews on his thumb while trying yours and Jake’s cell again. It’s most likely a waste of time, but a valuable use of it if either of you happen to pick up.

Instead of a response from either of you, a string of text chimes rings against his ear. He looks down at his phone to see several from Abby.

Hey, do you know what’s happening? I’m sure you do. It’s fucking terrible!

I’m guessing you’ll be overwhelmed and won’t be home until late.

Stay safe. Save some lives. We love you! 

Frank sees the texts, but they don’t process in his front of mind. He has to get ahold of you and Jake.

He alternates his phone calls between you two, but still, neither of you are responding.

“ Fuuuck ,” Frank curses under his breath, feeling useless. What’s a phone call going to do if you’re already bleeding out?

He knows what he has to do. He has to go back to work. The only way he’ll know you’re okay is if he’s back in the Pitt. He has to go back. 

He doesn’t care what Robby might say. PTMC will most likely be taking the brunt of the shooting victims, and they’ll be overwhelmed. He’ll need him. 

Frank rushes out of the parking lot back to the hospital.

6 p.m.

You four don’t make it far. 

You’re back in the area where the band performed earlier, in the large field of grass, surrounded by other Pittfest goers who were pelted by the shooter’s bullets. You’re on your knees, putting pressure on Leah’s chest; she's out cold, bleeding out, and bleeding out fast. 

In your hasty attempt to outspeed a gun, Jake and Leah lagged a bit behind you and Ryan. He pulled her along as quickly as he could, but she could barely run without tripping on her feet. Once you got to the field, she was hit. 

When you heard Jake’s scream, you stopped in your tracks and turned right back around, crying out and asking if either of them got shot. 

Ryan continued to run in the opposite direction, citing, “It’s every man for himself.” Though lucky for him, the shooter disappeared soon after hitting Leah, as if she was one of his intended and final targets.

You assume he’s gone, anyway. The cannonade has died down, and now all you hear are screams, sobs, and sirens of incoming emergency services. The shooter ran off and escaped somewhere once he accomplished what he had to do and is now the police’s problem. At least no one else will get hurt—anymore than they already are. 

It doesn’t make the situation at hand any less terrible, though.

You look up from your bloodied hands to Jake, who sits right beside you. He also got shot in the calf, but he’ll be okay.

Leah is in a more dire situation.

He’s crying as you hold your hands tight to her chest, and you almost reach over to console him, but you shouldn’t focus on him if you want her to live. You turn your attention back to her and watch your hands, shaking your head at your inner voice telling you you’re not fit for this.

You’re not Dr. Abbot. He should be here. He’s a goddamn combat medic. You’re just an R3, someone who’s very comfortable in her capabilities, but only when she has a hospital at her disposal. 

There’s only so much you can do for Leah here.

No amount of pressure is going to keep her from bleeding out. Blood leaks from the gaps where your palms press against her chest, and you wonder if she’s going to die right in front of you. 

Time slows to a stop. This doesn’t feel real, like you aren’t in your body right now. Like this is some nightmare, and you’ll wake up and pinch yourself to make sure you’re awake. Why? Aren’t you used to death? Maybe so, but not under these circumstances.

You snap out of your trance when Jake shakes your shoulder. 

“Please! Do something! She’s getting worse!” he cries out.

Right. Leah. She needs you. No time for self-deprecation or dissociating.

Now that you think of Dr. Abbot, didn’t he…? You suddenly remember.

Your purse. Where’s your purse? You tossed it aside somewhere not too far away after hitting the ground to tend to Leah’s wounds. Wide eyes scan the grass and spot it only a few feet from where you are. 

There it is.

“Jake. Jake !” you yell, grabbing his attention. His eyes meet yours, and tears splash to the ground as his body shakes.

“I need you to get my purse over there, okay? It’s going to help Leah.”

He nods, momentarily stopping his sobbing, and grabs your purse. He has to shift his weight to his healthy leg and nearly crawl to get to it.

Meanwhile, you rip into Leah’s shirt, baring her chest. You don’t care to preserve her modesty. You need to save her. For Jake’s sake. For Robby’s sake. For your sanity.

When Jake hands you your purse, you unzip it and hitch your breath at the sight of the medkit. Thank God you’ve always kept it there. Thank God for Dr. Abbot for giving it to you. 

You rip into it, looking for the chest seal that should be in there. 

“Thank fuck,” you breathe out as you pull it from the kit. 

You also grab some gauze to wipe Leah’s wound and clear it of the thickening blood. Glancing at her face, you notice her complexion paling at a concerning rate. Your fingers work as quickly as possible, but the gauze will only soak up so much. All you can do is pray that the seal will adhere to her skin anyway. 

You peel the adhesive layer off and stick the seal to her chest. It holds, and you and Jake collectively breathe a sigh of relief. This is all you can do for now, but it’s given her some time.

“Jake,” he glances up from his girlfriend to you, “I need you to stay here with Leah. If the blood overflows, peel the tab back and wipe as much of it as you can with the gauze, then reseal it. I need to see if I can help anyone else. Hopefully ambulances will be here soon.” Jake nods, and you lean over to give him a quick shoulder hug. 

“We’ve given her a chance. Stay positive. That’s what she would want. If I don’t come back, don’t wait for me and get on the first ambulance you can. And watch your leg.”

You wait until Jake gives you an affirmative “okay” before getting up from the bloodied ground. 

Grabbing what’s left of what’s inside the medkit, you make way to others. Only once your back is turned from Jake do you let tears spring from your eyes.

Frank sneaks his way back into the Pitt. It isn’t difficult. As furious as Robby is at him, it appears that he was kind enough to keep things under wraps and from spinning rumors out of control. 

No one seems to know he was suspended. He can pretend things are still normal for a little while.

If he can just avoid Robby until patients start coming in, he’ll let him stay. Even if he doesn’t want him to. 

It’s not long after he hides in an on-call room during Robby and Abbot’s M.C.I rundown that patients start coming in. Chaos ensues, and he blends in with his colleagues around him.

He immediately rushes to the entrance to greet incoming patients. When you come in, he’ll be here. Even if he has to drop what he’s doing with another patient to make sure you’re okay, he will. 

He crosses his fingers and hopes you’re in an ambulance right now. Safe, maybe rattled, and healthy.  

As far as your involvement in his suspension is concerned, he’s over it. He couldn’t give less of a fuck. Not that he ever really did. All he wanted to know was how you felt about him now that you know he’s been keeping something as big as his… “ addiction” from you.

He prays to see you again soon enough to hash that out. For now, he has patients to tend to.

Frank is working on a patient when Robby comes right up to him. He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead—just barely avoiding getting blood on it—and quickly glances at a nearby clock. At least he got nearly an hour in before he noticed him. 

“Easy peasy, I'm in. Bag her up,” he says to Perlah. She nods as she attaches an ambu bag to the women, squeezing it with a measured pace.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Robby asks directly in his ear, exasperation and barely restrained anger in his tone. 

“I'm saving lives,” Frank volleys back.

“You should not be here.”

Frank lets Perlah and another nurse wheel the patient to the yellow zone and steps back to look at Robby directly. “None of these people should be here. And you know why I have to be. I can’t leave until I know she’s okay.”

Robby’s face softens when he realizes he’s referring to you, smoothing out the harsh lines on his forehead. “Frank. You can wait like everyone else in the waiting room. You know we’ll take care of her. She’s one of our own. Have you tried calling?”

“Oh, come on, Robby. Of fucking course I have.” He doesn’t mean to snap, but is now really the time to get on his case? What is he not getting? “Would you wait out there, knowing Jake is coming in at any second?”

Robby doesn’t respond, maybe doesn’t know how to, so Frank speaks for him. “Go. I've got this. Trust me.” 

His face sours, but he makes no argument. “Oh, we're a little late for that. You’re lucky we need you right now. And she’ll need you.”

With that, Robby leaves in a hurry and returns to Abbot’s side.

Frank doesn’t know how many patients he’s seen. Too many—none of which have been you. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. 

Where the fuck are you? Is it possible you got sent to Presby? What if you left Pittfest early and just didn’t answer your phone? 

He realizes maybe he was a bit hasty in his train of thought earlier. The bodies are piling up, but it’s still been less than two hours since he’s heard the news. Surely he’s already seen the worst of things. Maybe you weren't even hurt and just went home after it all happened. Is he freaking out too much? God, he doesn’t know what’s an appropriate reaction here.

Not since it’s you.

How is he supposed to pretend he’s fine? If there was time, and if Robby was in a better mood with him, he’d ask him how the fuck he isn’t spiraling. 

Frank just barely manages to keep a level head while stabilizing his umpteenth patient of the evening, putting all his effort into the task at hand. “I need Xeroform, cut 4x4s, and Elastoplast tape,” he says to a nurse.

“You're here!”

He recognizes that voice. It’s that of his favorite newbie from today. 7 a.m. feels so far ago now.

He looks up and across the room to see Mel and Whitaker only a few feet away.

“In the flesh. What do you got?” He tries to voice it in an energized and positive way to reassure them, but it’s more taxing than he hoped for.

Mel and Whitaker go on to describe their patient’s status. A fierce battle between an automobile and a pedestrian—where the automobile obviously won—resulted in a tib-fib fracture and an occult liver laceration.

“Leg is low priority right now. If she stabilizes with blood, she can wait an hour for the O.R.,” Frank says with a shout as more medics rush in with screaming patients.

“And if not?” Whitaker asks.

“Front of the line, baby.”

“Whitaker, I'll be right back once this unit's in,” Mel says. He nods in affirmation and heads back to the yellow zone.

Frank finishes up with his patient, and they get whisked away. He walks over to Mel just as she’s almost done delivering the unit of blood to the women.

“Hey Mel, have you seen sunny by chance? Has she come through at all?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I’ve been on the lookout for her, but I’ve been in the yellow zone the whole time. I—we’re all really worried, but I’m positive she’ll be okay.”

Frank sighs, and his lips press into a thin line. “I wish I had your confidence. I said the same thing, but that was before I saw how bad things were.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Langdon. I’m not sure what else to say besides to have faith.” Mel gives him a weak smile, and he feels somewhat comforted by it. 

“Thanks. Keep up the good work. I’ll be… somewhere else where someone needs me.” 

Frank nods to Mel and spins around, making his way back and rounding the corner of the nurse’s station to see if there are other red zone patients that need assistance. He halts when he sees Dana.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

She glances up at him like she’s surprised to hear his voice. “Ran out of laryngoscopes. No time to autoclave.”

Frank crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh, man.”

“Almost out of chest tubes, too. More coming from Presby. We're running very low on O-neg.”

He blows out a puff of air. “Perfect storm.”

“Yeah.” 

“Look… uh, have you seen Jake or—”

“—No, sorry, kid.” She thins her lips and shrugs. “No sign of ‘em yet. But there’s still more coming in. They’ll probably be in the next wave.”

He figured it’d be worth a try. Dana would probably know more than anyone who’s been through here already.

He breathes through his nose, then makes to address the barrage of texts he sent her earlier asking for Robby—because he knows she’s probably wondering what happened—but then he overhears someone that catches his attention.

Frank’s eyes zip back to where Mel is near the entrance and talking to Mateo. He quickly excuses himself from Dana and rushes over to get closer.

“He just got dropped by paramedics, and he’s stable. A twisted ankle due to a bad fall running from the shooter. Let’s take him to the yellow zone,” Mel says. 

Before either Mel or Mateo can wheel him away, the man says, “My girlfriend. Where is she? Is she here yet? She works here—she’s a doctor. And, by the way, I wasn’t running away . I was actually trying to stop the shooter—” 

Mel interrupts with wide eyes as Mateo scoffs. “—Who’s your girlfriend, sir? Please… just answer the question.” She leans down to talk to him. 

Frank’s sure he heard that voice mere hours ago. Is that…?

His heart stops when he hears your name coming from—who he can now confirm—is Ryan. And restarts when he sees Jake and Leah being brought in.

You’re not with them.

Chapter Text

7 p.m.

Frank speeds past Ryan, Mel, and Mateo to Leah’s gurney, calling for Robby—who’s currently walking back to central from the rooftop with a resupply of blood and is accompanied by Whitaker and Javadi.

“Robby! It’s Jake and Leah!” he shouts over his shoulder as he keeps an eye on her.

She’s lost a lot of blood. She’s got a chest seal on her, though.

He glances back at him when he doesn’t hear a response and sees Robby—as Frank would expect—in complete shock, almost dropping the transport container before handing it to Whitaker.

The two shouted names grab attention not just from Robby but from around the room as well. All Pitt staff eyes fall to Jake and Leah for a quick second before returning them to their patients.

Ryan cranes his head and looks behind him to also get a view of them, seemingly recognizing their names. Frank assumes you and Ryan met up with Jake and Leah at the festival at some point, which explains why he seems so devastated to see her in the state she’s in.

If it weren’t at the expense of Leah, Frank would be happy to see him on the verge of throwing up.

Actually… he is. A little.

Jealousy and anger prickle along the surface of Frank’s skin, though he recognizes how problematic it is at this moment. Now’s not the time to puff out his chest.

But he can’t help himself. He despises Ryan. For being such a shit boyfriend to you and for being at Pittfest with you—instead of him—just to abandon you when things got hairy.

If it were Frank… he would have stuck by your side until the very end.

Mel and Mateo do Frank the favor of wheeling Ryan out of the way of Leah’s gurney, forcing him out of his head and bringing him back to reality.

Dana comes up to Robby’s side once he’s at central and looks at him with worry. Whitaker and Javadi make themselves scarce but first hand out the blood bags to those in need. The gurney is then brought by Frank, Jake, and paramedics right in front of the station.

Jake asks—while wincing from his leg pain—and as the paramedics take their leave, “Robby, is she going to be okay? That—that thing on her chest. Did it help?”

He then rattles off your name, explaining how you helped Leah in the field by applying the chest seal, to which Dana, Robby, and Frank—as well as Mohan, who has now come over—react with quickly exchanged glances.

Leah is completely surrounded by the five of them, and Frank thinks he can hear Dr. Abbot in the background shouting that she doesn’t need all their hands.

True.

But still, Frank sticks around and asks Jake as he stands beside him—because he has to—if you’re okay. “Is she?” he insists, cutting off Mohan, who was likely about to ask the same thing.

Jake stammers, shaking his head furiously as if trying to recall and forget the events altogether. “I—I think so? She went off to help other people after helping Leah. I think… the shooter was already gone by then.”

Mohan chokes back what Frank assumes to be a relieved sob, while Dana and Robby breathe a sigh of relief.

Robby exhales, “That’s good, Jake. That’s good to hear. Means she’ll probably be back here in an ambulance with the last of the injured.”

“Yeah, it’s good to hear—I’m fucking worried about that kid,” Dana retorts with a shake of her head, “But let’s focus on Leah right now, alright?” She reaches a hand from her opposite side of the gurney to clasp Jake’s. “We’ll do everything in our power to help her.”

Unlike Mohan, who expresses her gratitude for the hopeful news with teary eyes, Frank does so by sucking his lower lip into his mouth to hide the small smile being drawn out of him. You stayed back. To help. That must be it—or else you’d be here.

As your senior resident, he’s proud of you for stepping into your doctor’s shoes during a moment of crisis—even if you weren’t expecting it. As someone who knows you quite well, he’s also stupid to think you’d do anything but try to help as many people as you can rather than get the fuck out of there.

Thanks to you, Leah has a shot at surviving her injuries.

She’s pale, barely clinging on, but she’s not dead yet. Not from what Frank can tell as Robby checks her pulse and breathes yet another sigh of relief.

Robby nods to Dana, then sets up an I.V.

“Robby… what’s going to happen to her?” Jake whispers, exhaustion now seeping through him.

He tells Jake with those cow eyes, “Dana’s right—we’re going to do the best we can. But you can’t stay with her. There’s no room, and we need to focus. You need to get your leg checked, so please—” he then looks to Frank, who looks back at him with an understanding.

Robby doesn’t want him here. He’s still upset with him.

He orders Frank, tone as harsh as steel, “Langdon. Take care of Jake’s leg. After that, I don’t want you with any more patients. Just wait with Jake until his mom gets here, got it?”

Frank nods, disappointed, slightly irritated, but also somewhat relieved to be able to get some time alone with Jake and catch his breath. He’ll have his chance to make his case with Robby later. Once all this… mess has passed.

“I got him, Robby,” he turns to Jake and gently pushes him back from the gurney, “C’mon. Let them do what they need to do, alright?”

After Frank gets Jake in a wheelchair, they both make their way to an empty gurney in the hallway, while Robby, Mohan, and Dana get to work on treating Leah. With the new supply of blood that got flown over, they should be able to replace what she’s lost, and because of the chest seal you placed on her, it wasn’t as much as it could’ve been.

“Hey, Donny. Come help me with this.”

Frank, with the help of a passing Donahue, tears away part of Jake’s tattered camo pants to examine his leg wound. He leans over and up close to where it appears the bullet grazed him.

“Looks superficial,” Frank tells Jake, with a thin-lipped smile. “This could’ve been a lot worse. You were lucky.”

Frank realizes his poor choice in words when Jake furrows his brows and opens his mouth to object, but before he can say anything, Donahue speaks up.

“Might’ve been fragments from a ricochet off the ground,” Donahue explains to Frank as he inspects Jake’s wound, then looks to him, “Lost a lot of blood, but you’re gonna be okay, bro.”

Jake, with irritation, says, “It’s not bad; just put me back in the wheelchair. I want to be with Leah.”

Frank shakes his head and blows away the hair that falls into his face. “No can do. You need to stay in bed with your leg up so you don’t bleed out,” to Donahue adds, “thanks. I got it from here.”

He nods in response, then says to Jake, “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be… around. Somewhere.” After a quick pat on Jake’s shoulder, he scurries off.

Frank stands at full height again, locking his fingers over his elbows. “Jake, what happened? How…” he trills his lips before continuing, not really sure how to approach his question. “What happened at Pittfest? How’d you guys get—”

Jake interrupts him, raising his hands in defeat, “I—I don’t know. Is now really the time to be asking me this? It literally just happened. All I can think about is Leah.”

Frank briefly squeezes his eyes shut, chiding himself for even asking. “You’re right. I just… never mind. My bad.”

Would hearing what happened change things for him? It’s not as if he could’ve prevented the shooting somehow. He could’ve prevented you from going if he didn’t give you that ticket, but then maybe Leah would be dead. Others he knows you helped might be too.

Still, he feels fucking guilty that he’s the reason why you went to Pittfest in the first place. And that’s coming from the man who got caught stealing drugs and is thinking about you more than his wife.

Fuck.

Abby. 

His wife. 

The wife he hasn’t even bothered texting back because he’s too busy working where he shouldn’t and waiting for you to come back to him.

What’s he going to do after all of this is said and done? Go home? Share the same bed with her and keep pretending he wants to? Hell, if he tells her the truth of what happened earlier today, he might not even have a bed to share with her anymore.

If their phone call earlier is anything to go by… their marriage is on its last legs. And if it wasn’t clear to Frank before (it was), it sure as shit is now: he needs you.

He doesn’t need you and Abby.

Christ… he’s a piece of shit husband. But… he knew this. Has known it since he first met you out in the ambulance bay, with you knocked on your ass, while he was in the middle of a fight over text with Abby, and he thought, “you’re pretty.”

Frank clears his throat (and tries to clear his mind) and reassures Jake, “Robby’s taking care of Leah. You know that. Let him do his job.”

When all Jake does is give him a blank stare back, Frank huffs and says, “Right. Well, just give me a sec and I’ll get that wound cleaned and bandaged. Your mom’s on her way—she’ll be here soon.”

Jake pulls his phone from out of his pocket with a grunt. “She’s been blowing me up, but I haven’t texted her back yet. Should probably let her know I’m alright.” After a few seconds, he looks up from his phone and at Frank. “I—I’m sorry, man. I’ve only been thinking of myself. I know you’re messed up about Sunny, but I’m sure she’s okay.”

Frank knocks his head back in surprise. “I mean, she’s my coworker, dude. We’re all pretty worried about her.” 

“Okay, whatever you say, man. I’m not judging.” 

He gives Jake an awkward grin (that’s really just a thin press of his lips), then says, “I’ll be back,” and makes to get some supplies for his leg.

Is it obvious that he likes you? Even to Jake?

Frank needs to work on keeping things close to the chest.

8 p.m.

Once Jake’s leg wound is dealt with, Frank entrusts him to stay in bed and wait until his mom arrives–leaving him to go back into the fray against Robby’s orders and his own better judgement.

Unless you’re coming in within the next minute, Frank thinks it’s best he makes himself useful instead of bouncing on the balls of his feet doing nothing.

Robby won’t stop him.

Frank checks in with Dr. Abbot first, asking him, “You need anything?”

Dr. Abbot then directs him to South 15, where Ellis and Mateo are—and he immediately regrets not sitting pretty with Jake when he sees Santos come into the room at the exact same time.

He was an asshole to her earlier today. He gets that. Robby’s lecture to him about stepping up as a senior resident certainly made that clear. But he’d be lying if he said she didn’t grate his nerves and give him reason to be said asshole.

It’s day one. She didn’t make a great impression on him—personality-wise. She’s a troublemaker.

(Frank refuses to see how he and Santos might even be similar in that regard. It’s a can of worms he’s not willing to open right now.)

Santos makes a sour, surprised face and scoffs as she looks up at him. “Dr. Langdon. You’re here. I thought you left early.”

He in turn crosses his arms over his chest and furrows his brows. Weird. Frank wasn’t by any means expecting a warm greeting from her, but it almost sounds as if she knows why he “left early” in the first place.

“Yeah. I came back.”

“I thought…” she shakes her head, “you know what? Never mind.”

Frank provokes her, encourages her to continue her train of thought. “No, say what you need to say. I’m curious.”

She squints her eyes and chews on her lower lip, accepting his challenge. “I didn’t think you’d be able to come back after what you did.”

He doesn’t need to ask her to clarify what she means—he knows full well what she’s referring to. He already suspected it was Santos who told Robby about the pills. But then again… it was you. Wasn't it? 

So what's going on here?

“You told Robby?” he asks, perplexed.

“I told Sunny. She told Robby,” she shrugs her shoulders and huffs, “it didn’t take much to convince her.”

Frank grimaces at her involvement in his business—and especially in getting you involved—but ultimately lets it go and decides to give her the teensiest bit of grace. He’d rather cut her out of the equation and focus on you. You and Robby. The only two people his lies should concern at this point.

He wonders how you reacted to Santos’ revelation about him. But he’s not interested enough to ask her. Not when he’ll know soon enough whether you can look him in the eye again. He takes it she wouldn’t want him to ask either.

Frank digs his fingers into his temples and sighs, this conversation taking a lot out of him at the moment. “Let’s just get to work, Santos. I’m not here to get on your case about what happened. As you’re more than aware, I have shit to deal with, and I’m trying to focus on what’s next. Let’s just… forget about it.”

Santos’ expression reads as stunned. She obviously wasn’t expecting any sort of resolution between them—not that this is one. But it’s as good as it’ll get for right now.

“O-okay. Yeah. That’s fine with me.”

Ellis, seemingly done waiting for Frank and Santos to finish their conversation, calls for them from further inside the room. “Are you guys done back there? Hello? He doesn't look so hot.”

That draws both Frank’s and Santos’ attention to the patient. 

The kid patient. Who looks very, very blue.

They both step up to Ellis and Mateo by the patient bed, and she asks Santos to give her the differential diagnosis for cyanosis—the condition giving the kid his bluish tint.

“—What else, Dr. Santos?”

“Hemoglobinopathies?”

“Excellent,” Ellis praises.

Mateo then lifts up a vial of blood to the three of them. “Blood is chocolate brown.”

“Santos?”

“Methemoglobinemia?”

“Bingo. Put him on BiPAP.”

“Send off a blood gas. Order methylene blue,” Frank offers.

Ellis to Santos again, “Etiology?”

Santos begins to list some possible causes for the kid’s cyanosis:  “Drugs, toxins—”

But then Frank cuts her off. “Smart money is poppers, amyl nitrates, and partied a little too hard at Pittfest.”

He’s still a little peeved he didn’t win the ambulance thief bet from earlier (nice one, Collins), but it doesn’t stop him from putting up his best bet here. With the condition identified and the differential diagnoses narrowed down, it seems like this case is wrapped up, and he can move on to the next.

“Alright, you guys have it handled,” he says. 

While leaving the room, he overhears Ellis whispering to Santos if they have “beef,” which makes him huff a quiet laugh. 

He suspects it’ll be a long while before he and Santos are on “friendly” terms, but he’s more than okay with where things stand now.

He’s only one foot over the room’s threshold when Dana blocks him from going any further.

“Langdon, got a sec?” she tips her head to the side and raises her brows in emphasis, “she’s here.”

Frank immediately jumps into action, body tense and mind alert. All Dana needs to do is point in your direction, and he’ll bolt. 

It’s about fucking time. 

“Where is she? Is she okay? Did you tell her I’m here?”

Dana nods while giving Frank an incredulous laugh. “Yeah, kid. She’s fine. But she’s upstairs—talking to the boyfriend. She knows you’re here, though. She’ll find you.”

His face crumples, his shoulders slump. Right. 

It’d make sense for you to see your boyfriend before Frank. Who, as far as you’re concerned, has been a shitty friend and is someone who’s been lying to you about his drug… problem.

Addiction. He’s an addict.

No, the description still seems… wrong to him—it’s like a puzzle piece being forced into a spot where it doesn’t fit. Calling himself an addict… doesn’t complement the image he has of himself–though he knows he’s flawed in other ways. 

He can stop himself from getting high any time he wants to. He’ll have to now since he’s been found out. But it’s a good feeling. Better to keep that to himself than share that with Robby, though.  

Regardless of how you currently feel about him, Dana said you’ll find him when you’re ready. And in the meanwhile, he can at least try to get his job back.

“Okay, thanks, Dana. You know if Robby’s free?”

“Robby’s out in the ambulance bay. Told him to take a break.”

Frank nods adamantly. Barring any sudden incomings, it’s the perfect opportunity to make his plea without interruptions. “Alright. I’m gonna see if I can catch him out there.” He makes a break for it, stretches out his leg, and plants one foot in front of the other, but Dana holds him back with an outstretched palm against his chest.

“Hey. Leah’s stable, by the way. She’s in the O.R. now, but we think she’ll make it.”

Frank tilts his head as he blinks back his momentary confusion. “Uh, that’s great, Dana. But… sorry, I don’t mean to be a dick, but–”

“–You are one anyway?” Dana asks with a roll of her eyes.

“No. It’s great that Leah’s stable. But I need to talk to Robby before he gets swept up in something else.”

Dana tsks at him but pulls her hand back to point her thumb in Robby’s direction. “Go on then.”

Frank starts to untie his gown as he scoots past her, saying a simple “thanks” as goodbye.

You stayed on the festival grounds for as long as possible, helping out where you could. 

All critical victims have been ushered to PTMC over the past hour, with the rest being sent over to Presby. And so finally, you hop onto the back of the last remaining ambulance with a few stragglers and hitch a ride back to PTMC.

The whole ride there, you check yourself for injuries you know you don’t have. 

You survived. Unscathed. 

You’ll need therapy—lots of it—in the coming days and months, but you’re grateful things turned out the way they did. Solely for you.

You can’t say the same for the others you, the paramedics, or your colleagues back at PTMC couldn’t save.

As you’re dropped off by the ambulance bay and make your way through the E.D. entrance, you notice most of what was probably a hectic scene has died down. 

Blood dries on the floor in footprint-shaped coats, doctors and nurses mill about as if nothing’s happened, and what you’re sure would’ve been a loud, tense environment is now quieted down solely to the beeps and hums of machines you’ve gotten so used to.

That’s not to say there aren’t still active cases going on around you, but things are definitely in a more manageable state now than they would’ve been a few hours ago.

And it seems like that is mostly in part due to the help of your day shift colleagues you see hanging around. They must’ve stayed past their shift to assist when the news broke out about the shooting.

You walk up to a group of familiar faces as they stand huddled by the central station counter and greet them with a tired “hello.”

McKay notices you first and, with wide eyes, pulls you into the middle of the circle by the wrist–suddenly making you feel like the center of attention.

Dana, McKay, and Mel suddenly shoot off questions with worried yet relieved faces. Because they don’t have patients to tend to or would rather not go home, you suppose.

“Fucking hell, Sunny. Are you okay?”

“We’ve been calling you. Why didn’t you pick up?”

“What happened out there?”

It’s all a little too much to take in at once. But to ease their worries, you explain what you can of the ordeal—how you couldn’t respond to phone calls as your phone was lost somewhere in the field, how you helped who you could with the limited supplies you had, how numb you became to the scene after being there for so long—all while the beginning of a migraine starts to make itself known. 

Your eyes and head hurt. You’re bone-tired and on the verge of collapse. You can barely register you've said all you can and the group’s questions have been answered and turned into condolences.

“Hey, what you did out there, kiddo?” Dana starts, “Was amazing. You know that, right?”

You chuckle, but the humor doesn’t reach your eyes. All you want to do is head back home—once you’ve checked in on Jake and Leah.

And Ryan. Ryan. If he’s here. 

Though, would he be? You would think it’d be appropriate to ask if he–for some reason–got hurt and ended up here, but he chose his own fate when he decided to run away and leave you three behind.

You’re sure he’s fine.

And if he is here, you can break up with him. It may be a cruel thing to do at such a time, but you want to get rid of the dead weight that’s been weighing you down with haste. 

A somewhat morbid thought for a day filled with so much death, but if you don’t do so soon… when will you?

You wave a hand, shake your head to dismiss her praise. “No, it wasn’t. It’s you guys that’re amazing. You stayed to help when your shift was already over, while I left early to go to this stupid thing.”

“Hey, stop that. You don’t realize how many people you’ve given a chance by being there, do you?” McKay says. “We got people here who mentioned someone was able to help them before EMTs got to them. That was you.”

Mel nods in agreement. “It was very brave of you, Sunny. And you shouldn’t feel bad you weren’t here. We’re just glad you’re okay.” She gives you an abrupt hug, and you return it with fervor.

“Thanks, Mel,” you whisper into her shoulder.

You feel yourself melt into her, exhaustion and grief in combination with the group’s kindness making you nearly burst into tears again. 

Sighing, you break the hug while taking and holding the hand she offers. 

It’s the second time in less than twenty-four hours she’s comforted you like this, and you think it has to be some sort of new record for what’s been the worst day of your life.

“I’m glad to be okay too. I just… couldn’t go back home, you know? I had to help. Anyway…” you brace yourself for their response as you ask, “how’s Jake? Leah? They’re here… right?”

McKay answers, “Leah just got up to surgery. She lost a lot of blood but is stable. Jake went home with his mom after being cleared to go.”

“More like forced home,” Dana snorts and clicks her tongue, “he didn’t want to leave the hospital unless it was with Leah. Had to threaten him with security to get him out of here.”

Your lips curl up into a soft smile, happy to hear the good news. 

There’s no doubt in your mind that if Leah had happened to succumb to her injuries, Robby would blame himself for offering up his ticket to her and leading her to her death.

What about Frank? Frank got you your ticket too. Did he feel just as worried? Or, for that matter, does he? He doesn’t know you’re back here, let alone alive.

You think about how he is, if he went home and explained the benzos and his dismissal to Abby. Or if he got too caught up in the news and instead worried himself sick with thoughts of you and Jake. 

You snap yourself out of your distraction when Dana arches a brow after too long a silence. 

“That’s a relief,” you finally respond. “I know tonight’s been tough on, well, everyone, and not everyone could’ve been saved, but… at least those two are okay.”

“Yeah. At least, right?” Dana agrees. “I gotta get going—wrap some things up. But I’ll let who I can know you’re okay, kid. You’ll want to see Robby and Langdon, by the way. Everyone was worried about you—but those two wanted to see you when you got here especially.”

That startles you–makes your heart jump into your throat. “D-Dr. Langdon is here?” your voice pitches up high and against your will.

Mel nods. “He left work earlier for an emergency but came back. We ended up needing him, so it all worked out.”

You know exactly what that “emergency” really was. 

It’s in character for Frank to come back to the hospital even though Robby banished him. You just weren’t expecting to see him again–not as soon as tonight, that’s for sure. 

Are you ready to face him? You should be, right? It wouldn’t be worse than what you faced earlier today. Nothing could be.

“He’s in the middle of something right now, though. Patient with cyanosis," Dana says. She then grabs your other hand that’s not currently held in Mel’s and pats the back of it. “Get some rest after you make your visits, okay?”

Dana gives you a warm look, lets your hand go, and then turns to leave. But before she’s even made it a few steps around the corner of the station, she turns right back around to say–as if she almost forgot–“Oh and Ryan? Your boyfriend? He’s upstairs in one of the beds. Been giving the nurses hell too. Go see him first.”

Again, that startles you. “What? Is—is he okay? I thought… well, I thought he got away safe.”

Dana chuckles and shouts her response as she walks away with her back turned to you, “Yeah. A real hero you have there. With a twisted ankle!”

Twisted ankle? He must’ve taken a bad fall.

You shout back, “Thanks, Dana! I’ll go see him!” and she tosses up a thumb before disappearing. 

McKay also makes her leave, but not before patting you on your shoulder and whispering, “You can do better than Ryan. Trust me. I know,” earning a small chuckle out of you.

Now you’re left by your lonesome at the station with no one but Mel to keep you company. You let go of her hand and run your fingers over the sides of your face in preparation for your visit to Ryan.

“I guess I should go now. So… Ryan’s upstairs?” you ask Mel.

She hums in affirmation. “Do you want me to show you to his room? I treated him when he came in earlier and know where he is.”

“Oh, you don’t have to if you—”

“—It’d be no problem! I can tell you about how the rest of the shift went after you left. You know… the good parts.”

You laugh–bright and genuine–for the first time since… you don’t even remember when. “Okay, Mel. Only the good parts, right?”

She nods, and you both make your way to the elevator. In your periphery, you notice her eyes traveling down the length of your body before returning ahead. “Um… would you want to get changed first, actually? Do you have spare clothes in your locker?”

You thought about getting out of your soiled blouse and skirt but decided against it. You don’t want to stay here any longer than you have to.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I’ll be going home as soon as I can and change there. These clothes are done for, though.”

She chuckles, “Yeah. Okay then. So… do you want to hear about how I helped deliver a baby?”

9 p.m.

“Thanks for coming up here with me, Mel. But I’d like to speak with him alone, if you don’t mind?”

“Oh, yeah. No problem. I have some patients I still need to follow up on, so… I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” you give her a small smile in gratitude, “I’ll see you later, Mel.”

You watch her head back in the direction of the elevator before opening the door to Ryan’s room.

As soon as you step inside, he looks up from and drops his phone onto the bed, shock written across his face. 

“Y-you’re here! Gosh, babe. I—I was so worried about you! I’ve been waiting—”

You hold out a hand to stop him. You’re not in the mood to hear him say… anything, really. “I heard you twisted your ankle running away.”

“Babe. The nurses—goddamnit. They’re all a bunch of liars. What I was trying to do was call for help when—”

“—Cut the crap. I know you weren’t calling for help. You ran. Just admit it.”

“Well…” he shrugs and slaps his hands against his gown-covered thighs, “doesn’t matter anyway. We’re both here—safe and sound. So let’s not argue, ‘kay?”

Steam billows from your nose and ears. You don't even know what to say to him. The least he could do is ask you why there’s blood all over you. Or why you’re back so late and didn’t reach out to him. Or if you’re okay after all the shit you went through. 

If you had your phone right about now, you're sure you’d have exactly zero missed calls from him.

But no, it’s wrong to be upset with him, because he’s the one with a sprained ankle, isn’t he?

“Also… apparently I’ll need surgery, and, uh, I’ll be in the hospital for another two days. Are you scheduled? If so, you can keep me company,” he says with wiggling brows and a lilt in his voice. “And maybe be my ride home because my roommate is a dick.”

You laugh then–which Ryan cluelessly joins in on–but maniacally from how ridiculous he’s being. Jesus. No wonder why you were so quick in deciding to break up with this guy. 

Being single is better than being with someone like him.

After your laughs die down and you wipe the stray tears from your eyes, “Ryan. I’m breaking up with you.” You sigh and immediately feel that his weight’s been lifted off your chest. Breathing feels easier.

Ryan responds by shooting up in bed, and all you can think is how much you want to be back home in yours.

“What? You’re kidding, right?”

“No. I’m not kidding.”

“But, I’m—I’m hurt!”

You raise a brow and cross your arms over your chest. “So?”

“Sooo,” he drags, “this is such a shitty thing to do, babe!”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on there being a shooting at Pittfest.”

“Y-you can't just… leave me!” he gestures wildly with his arms, as if that’ll convince you to do otherwise. “I need you! I’m going to be on crutches for several weeks. I can’t rely on my roommate for shit. And you want to leave me?”

You scoff. “Wow. That’s why you want me around? Fuck you, Ryan. I hope your surgery and recovery go well, but this is the last you’re seeing of me.”

You turn to leave, but Ryan makes you stop in your tracks.

“Is it that Frank guy?”

“What?”

“That’s who you're leaving me for, right?” His expression suddenly darkens, and he snarls, like some mangy dog who’s just been kicked. “I fucking knew something was up. Have you been fucking cheating on me?”

Honestly? Maybe somewhat. Your heart never belonged to Ryan in the first place, but you could’ve done him the courtesy of letting him know that before it sought out another.

But the last page has turned, and it’d be pointless to flip back.

“I’m breaking up with you because you're a shitty boyfriend. Simple as that. I was hoping to have one decent, final day with you, but I guess even that wasn’t meant to be. A sign, don’t you think?" 

You stop by the exit of the room, back turned to him and not even sparing him a glance as you gift him the parting word: 

“Goodbye.”

You shut his door closed and find gratification in hearing the ensuing childish wails.

It’s time you find Robby and Frank.

It takes you all of a second to work out that the two people you’re looking for are most likely outside in the ambulance bay. 

After seeing Samira once she’s finished working on a patient with Dr. Abbot, you make your way there.

You slowly approach the bay doors and overhear Robby yelling “Fuck you!” to whom you presume is Frank. 

He quickly pushes past you as he rushes back inside, just barely missing you, but stops and turns around. You watch as the doors close on your chance to talk to Frank–but only momentarily. 

You know Robby wanted to see you before you both left for the evening. 

This shouldn’t take too long.

Robby sighs your name and–uncharacteristically–gathers you in his arms. You clear your throat lightly into his chest, somewhat uncomfortable given he’s your boss and not really one to show physical affection. 

He lets you go and holds his arms out to clutch your shoulders—leaning down to meet you at eye level. “You’re here. Thank fucking God you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I’m… I’m here. Dana said you wanted to see me?”

“Of course I did. You’re my resident. I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if I didn’t know you made it back safely.”

He lets go of your shoulders and stuffs his hands inside the pockets of his zip-up, returning to full height. “I also wanted to thank you for what you did out there. For Jake, Leah, other patients, and their families. For me.” 

An exhausted, cynical, “oho” type of chuckle breathes through his lips. “You save me from a world of pain, Sunny.”

Not so.

The anniversary of Adamanson’s death is today, and though you weren’t even out of med school at the time, you know how much his passing affected Robby. 

He’s had plenty of pain.

“I was just doing my job. I-I couldn’t save everyone.”

Robby gives you a weak smile, says, “You did what you could. And it was more than enough. Go home. You need to rest. I’ll be heading out myself but want to give a little speech first. I think we all need it.”

You nod in understanding. “I will. I just wanted to see Dr. Langdon before I did. I… um,” you look back through the bay door window, then to Robby, “I assume he tried to convince you to change your mind about—?”

“—Sure did,” Robby sighs. “How did I not see it? I can’t help but think if I noticed sooner…”

“Dr. Robby, don’t blame yourself for what he did. Frank did wrong by you, wrong for himself. I think what’s best is that he gets the help he needs. That should be the focus.”

Robby rocks on his heels. “Yeah. If he doesn’t, he’s never stepping foot in here again. But it doesn’t seem like he’s ready to accept any,” he breathes through his nose, looks to the ground before up at you, “I can’t see things clearly. I’m clearly too fucking upset with him. Maybe you can…”

You fill in the gap left by his trailing silence, “If Frank wants help, he’s the one who’s got to go for it. But maybe I can push him in the right direction.”

Robby gives you his thanks once again, you say your goodbyes, and then you watch him walk away before finally heading out the bay doors.

Frank’s back is turned to you when you step outside. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, kicking the dirt off his shoe. It’s obvious by his physicality alone that his conversation with Robby went south.

You step up to him and poke him in the back. He simply turns his head over his shoulder to look at you. 

“Hey.”

“Hi…?” 

He’s being quite casual given your circumstances with each other, though you doubt he would actually get into a verbal match with you like you unreasonably feared.

“I wanted to check on you earlier, but I was talking to Robby, and Dana told me you were busy with your boyfriend.” Frank turns around to fully face you, eyeing your form. “I’m glad you’re okay. You look terrible, though.”

You snort, “No shit,” then gesture a hand over the length of your body. “I still got blood all over me. I’m a walking health hazard.”

A moment passes, then another; you teeter on your feet, wring your hands while avoiding his eyes. Frank gives you a weak smile. 

“This is kind of… awkward. Isn’t it?” he starts.

“Um. Yeah. I—I don’t really know what to say. You don’t seem too happy to see me, though.”

A hand escapes his pocket and is gestured wildly toward the street. “Are you fucking kidding? Of course I am. It’s just… agh. Talking to Robby went badly and—” 

Frank takes a second—looks as if he’s debating something; his eyes flicker over your facial features, brows pull together, fingers twitch in mid-air.

He pulls you into his arms in a rush. Your hands find purchase against his firm chest while his settle low on your hips. You have a sinking feeling about this—especially given your affection for him—but you don’t push him away. 

Today’s been hell on earth. This is justified, right? You’ve hugged before.

But then… he breathes in your scent–very obviously–nosing your neck and then the side of your head. His fingers squeeze the soft flesh of your hips and splay dangerously low. You try to pull back, but he keeps you in his arms. 

This is not a casual hug between friends.

“Frank, I-I’m disgusting. Why are you holding me like this?”

“I was so worried I’d never see you again. Touch you again. Let me do this.” 

A simple explanation made complicated considering you can feel his wedding band dig into the cotton of your skirt. The damn thing is loose on his finger, though. It’s always been. Always one point, wave, or flick from being flung off into space.

Is he really not going to address what you did?

You think maybe he’s going to pretend nothing happened, but then—

“I’ll start, I guess,” he inhales another deep breath, then exhales against the shell of your ear. “I know you told Robby about the benzos.” 

You freeze up in his arms, thinking he’s lured you into a trap. He’s mad. He hates you. You knew it. Knew he would know it was you who told Robby and resent you for it. But your worries are assuaged when he says, in a voice so small you can barely hear it even though he’s right at your ear, “And I’m sorry. For hiding them from you and pushing you away these past few months. I’ve been a shitty friend.”

He loosens his arms just enough—enabling you to clutch the crooks of them—so you can respond while looking up at him.

You weren’t expecting such an easy apology. 

“You’re not mad at me?”

“I could never be mad at you. This mess is all my fault in the first place. And if it wasn't you… Santos would’ve said something.”

“Oh.” Guess they had time to talk. “She told you?”

His brows raise quickly in the affirmative. “Yeah.”

You clear your throat and swallow down your nerves. It’s now or never, isn’t it? “Frank, why… why didn’t you just tell me you were going through this? I could’ve helped you. Or helped you get help. Heck, you could’ve gone to Robby, and he would’ve figured something out.”

He shrugs and looks up from you at something in the faraway street. “I didn’t want help. The benzos made me feel better. Helped me at work too.”

“But now…?”

He sighs, then returns his gaze to you. “But now… if I want to keep my job, then I have to do as Robby says and go to rehab. So… yeah. I guess I do want help.”

Frank’s being awfully pragmatic; he doesn’t necessarily seem… ashamed of his actions, but, at least, he’s aware enough to know he fucked up, and there’s only one way forward if he wants to continue working here.

“Robby said you said the opposite. I was ready to convince you myself.”

Frank’s fingers flex, tightening and loosening on your hips. “I didn't actually say I don’t want help. Instead I said some… other things, and he got upset.”

“You do have a tendency to say things that make people mad.”

“I’m sure Robby won’t let me forget it.”

“No. He’s definitely going to make you grovel. But he’s kind enough to give you a second chance. The program won’t be easy. But everyone here will support you. Your family will.”

“Shit, I haven’t even told Abby yet. Not looking forward to that conversation.”

You reach a hand out to tamp down some of his strays. “Just take things one step at a time, okay?”

He reluctantly lets go of your hip to pull your hand away from his hair, clutching it by the wrist. “Enough about me. Are you okay? Today was the worst day of my life, but I wasn’t at the scene of a shooting. You don’t know how guilty I feel that you were there because of me.”

“Oh, not just thinking of yourself, are you?” 

He levels a serious gaze at you, and you gulp. Not the time to quip. Be human, you remind yourself. But is it not human to want to bury your emotions and cover them up with lightheartedness?

“You seem surprisingly adjusted for someone who just survived a shooting.”

You try not to devolve into a fit of tears. It’d hurt, considering you don’t have any left to give. “I’m not. I’m just exhausted and too burnt out to feel anything right now. Don’t worry. I’m not not affected by what happened today.”

He hums in acknowledgement, picking up on your signal that you’re not looking to have a lengthy chat about your trauma. 

The corner of his lip twitches. “Guess we both have some healing to do, huh?” 

Time that shouldn’t exist in an ambulance bay prone to sudden emergencies passes. His eyes soften, and his fingers smooth over the soft skin of your inner wrist as you take in each other's silence. 

“Why didn’t you let me talk to you on the phone earlier? Were you that upset with me—with what I did? And after the shooting broke out… you still didn’t pick up—even though you were okay.”

“I was confused. Hurt that you didn’t come to me before it was too late. I wasn’t ready to talk to you—especially over the phone and with Ryan nearby—either. And later… I lost my phone anyway. I would’ve picked up to tell you I was alright. I’m not a monster.”

He huffs a dry laugh that morphs into a small frown, “Again. I’m sorry. For making my problems your own and sending you to that shitshow. You’re really too kind to me.”

“It’s okay. Also, Pittfest wasn’t your fault.”

You don’t say anything else, but your silence is more than enough for him because he quickly moves on and tries to lighten the mood.

“Can’t believe you lost your phone. Just to make my life harder, huh?”

“Wasn’t on purpose,” you pout.

The movement seems to capitalize on all of Frank’s attention. His eyes flick from yours down to your lips, while his hand—the single one settled on your hip—trails up to gently rub its thumb against your jutting lower lip.

He whispers your name—while staring at his thumb brushing and ever so slightly pushing into your mouth—and you look at him with owlish eyes. This is not good. While you can chalk things up so far as innocent (barely), he looks to you as if he’s now going to—

Frank moves his hand to cradle your cheek and leans down to ghost his lips over yours, asking for permission to capture them as your breaths mingle. A second of hesitation–and he makes the decision for you. Your lips meet his, and as you yelp into his mouth, your wrist is tugged closer to his chest, keeping your instinct to pull away under lock and key. His touch is somewhat unpolished, persistent, desperate—as if he’s trying to convince you this isn’t wrong. 

It is, but you submit to him as he moves his hands to your waist to carefully push you back until you hit brick wall.

Frank nips at your lip, you open your mouth to let his tongue collapse into yours, and you almost laugh at how easy this feels. Easy with him.

The red and white glow of the emergency sign and nearby street lamps bathe you in what could be called anything but romantic lighting. But fitting.

Frank is nothing if not impulsive and wanting to do things his way.

The brick behind you scratches lightly against your back. Frank is by no means small; he dwarfs you in height, and you feel as though you have no other choice but to let him drag his tongue across your teeth and mix your saliva with his.

Your arms wrap around his neck while his knee presses ever so deliciously against your center. Moans flood your mouth, as do his, the both of you enjoying this moment beyond what is salvageable to your conscience.

You feel yourself–because it’s easier to pretend you’re not in control of your own body–grind into his knee and him smiling against your lips as your skirt billows out to reveal your slickened underwear.

It’s too easy for him to get you like this. Out of sorts with the simplest of touches and nearly wrecked with anything more.

Frank’s curious; he knows so little about your preferences, and you suspect that is the reason why his hands explore the expanse of your body–wherever they can reach–so he can memorize your reactions. 

He pinches your sides, snakes a hand between you to palm a breast, and smoothes circles into your lower stomach after lifting the hem of your blouse.

All the while, your skin is burning hot and cooled by the wedding band skimming over anywhere exposed.

He settles on cupping your ass to help you hump his knee. It presses even harder against you still to provide your clit with much-needed friction and pressure.

Your moans become whimpers as the speed of your ruts against him quickens, and desperate, pathetic as you are for him, your clit throbs, your hole clenches around nothing as you come undone. Frank grips your chin then, finally breaking the kiss to watch you as you come for him. 

“There you go, doing so good, baby. Just let go.”

Your face heats as you mewl his name, embarrassment for how easily he made you fall apart lighting a fire inside you.

(And fuck, does he enjoy seeing you like this: beneath him, a smart, capable, pretty, so, so pretty girl coming for him. It should make him feel worse than it does–making anyone other than Abby feel like this—but it doesn’t. He’d pick you over her in a hundred lifetimes.)

Your eyes flutter open as your breathing returns to normal. Your underwear is damp, clinging to you, and is a reminder of what you both just did.

He leaves no room for you to forget him–pulling you into another kiss. You only barely manage to cut it short and draw back, Frank chasing after your lips as you do. Your palms press against his chest as you watch the string of saliva connecting your lips break.

“Why’d you stop?” he whispers, lips ruddy and swollen. “I wasn’t done.”

You’re unable to form a coherent response, for now content to heave lungfuls of air in hopes it’ll rush to your brain. 

What now? You’ve crossed the line. And while you’re cursing yourself for it, Frank is sucking bruises into your neck and dipping his fingers beneath the waistband of your skirt.

Your hands grab hold of his to stop him. “F-Frank… please.”

That seems to quell his insistence, maybe make him realize where you both are and how quick he’s moving.

He lays his forehead against your shoulder, lowers his leg from in-between yours, whispers, “You’ve become a real thorn in my side, sunshine.” You start to mutter something–you don’t even know what–back, but Frank interrupts you. “I’m leaving her. Or… she’ll be leaving me after I tell her the truth. I dunno. It’s obviously not meant to be for us.”

Your insides melt and your stomach churns. This is still… immoral. Even if you like hearing that he and Abby will possibly be no longer.

“Frank. You’re still with her. You-you shouldn't have kissed me.”

He bites a mark into the crook of your neck and kisses it better when you moan lightly. “I did more than that—and I don’t care,” he lifts his head from your shoulder, “Do you not want me to touch you? Is it because of Ryan? Because I think you should–”

Ryan. Oh god. He doesn’t even know you broke up with him. It makes it all the worse.

“—I—I actually broke up with him. That’s why I didn’t see you right away.”

“Oh,” the smile that etches across his face makes your heart flutter, “so what’s the problem?”

You gape at him. He’s fucking ridiculous. 

“The problem is I don’t think we should be doing this right now. As you said, we both have some healing to do. And… you’re still married, Frank. With kids. Please,” you shake your head and push against his chest even harder, “just think about this.”

“I’ve thought about it. For a very, very long time.” He grabs your hands and interlocks them with his.

“Frank…”

“Just—Just one more kiss. I get it, okay? You’re right. I need to cut things off with Abby cleanly and… focus on recovery. But… just one more.”

He kisses you yet again—gently places your hands by the sides of your head on the wall and holds them there, plastering you so he can do as he pleases. And you let him–yet again. The kiss is sweeter this time. 

Less devouring and more devastating. 

Devastating too is the way he presses his body into yours and gives you a feel of the length heavy and insistent between his legs and trapped within his bottoms. 

Neglected as it may be, all he wants to do is meld his lips with yours. He’s teasing you, perhaps. Or… simply making you aware of what’s yours.

He can’t help himself from sneakily pecking your lips a few more times after you’ve parted or subtly rubbing his erection against you a little more.

One more. Just one more kiss.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, gathering you in his arms again to squeeze you once one kiss has turned into three, “I’ve wanted to do this for so fucking long. I think… I think I love you.”

If Frank weren’t supporting you in his arms, you’d be falling face-first into the concrete.

“You… think?” you squeak—both from the force of his hug and how shaken you are from his confession.

He laughs, lets you go to cradle your face in his huge palms, and says, “I think… it’d be too soon to say ‘I love you,’ so I’m saying I think I do.”

Your fingers wrap around his wrists. Despite what you say, “You’re insane, Frank! Y-you can’t just say stuff like that!” you don’t pull him away.

“I think we’ve established that I am, sweetheart.”

Another new nickname. 

You think he notices how your breath hitches and your pupils dilate at the sound of it, because he teases, “You like that? Baby, sweetheart, sunshine—I have more nicknames I can try out if you want.”

“Frank,” you warn. “Stop.”

He lets your face go, raises his palms in defeat, says, “Okay. Sorry. Sticking with sunshine… and stepping back now,” and gives you some space so you’re no longer pinned against the wall.

Jesus. How did you get into this mess? 

Maybe he notices your distress, because he reassures, “Hey. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out, alright? But not today.”

“Not for a while, you mean.”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “No. I’m gonna be dealing with a lot. And as much as I would like to get into something with you–”

“–I get it. No, that’s good, Frank. I can’t jump into anything right now, either.”

“So…” he laughs derisively, “what now?”

There’s so much left unsaid. Too much. 

Is he going to tell Abby about you in addition to the drugs? You think he should—regardless if he’s leaving her. 

Is he leaving her? You hate having put yourself in such a position to want that. But… you’ve always been drawn to each other. You are as the sun shining down upon him, and Frank is as the plant turning toward you.

Inevitable.

Though so many emotional currents have washed over the both of you today that you worry that what you two just shared isn’t real. 

You haven’t even had time to process what’s happened today—your life flashing before your eyes and your newfound singleness.

You’ll need to learn how to navigate life without having Ryan as a crutch before even thinking of jumping into a relationship with Frank. 

And he’ll be in rehab. Nothing can happen until he’s done with his treatment.

But… somehow, despite the unknown seemingly ahead, you feel confident that things will figure themselves out.

“Frank.”

“Hm?”

You shift on your feet, tell yourself what you told him earlier: Just take things one step at a time. 

“Um. What’s now is… I would like to go home. Would you mind dropping me off? I don’t want to walk back this late at night.”

He smiles at you. Bright. As if you’re all he needs to energize and tell himself he’ll make it out on the other side despite the trials ahead. 

“Sure thing, sunshine.”

Tyche rests on the floor of her wheel–hanging fire by her post, though there is naught for her to do.

Fortune was spun. Icarus has reached the sun. He and Helios can revel in their shared love for many halcyon eons. 

Though, in some nebulous time thereafter, his wings will fall to pieces. Only through toil in their preservation can they withstand time.