Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nothing worse than being stuck in a rut. Especially when everyone else around you was up to their eyeballs in excitement. Frank bounced his foot erratically staring at the blank word document. He had absolutely nothing to write about. Garcia’s dark eyes met his through their respective open doors. Glimmer with smug glee. Yeah yeah she had a flashy story to write about: good for her.

He wasn’t bitter.

Robby eyeballed him. Frank started typing.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

It was pithy. Though perhaps not the most substantive thing he'd ever written.

He was never very good at this bit. The waiting for the next story. His ADHD brain needing that dopamine hit. The thrill of the chase.

‘Fuck meeeeeee.’ He spun around in his chair. Dana, one of the managing editors strode past, pausing only briefly at his outburst. (She ran the newsroom like a military operation. One perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. Yoyo shot him a middle finger behind her. Frank tried to smile charmingly. Dana scoffed at him. If she was charmed she’d never let him know.

His phone rang out. Not his cell, his desk phone. That was unusual. No one ever phoned that. Unless...

They didn’t want to be tracked.

Hm.

Adrenaline flashed through him. The swoop of excitement in his gut. After almost 10 years, he knew when his instincts were right. This felt like something. Something big.

Frank stretched his neck. Taking a moment to steady himself. Nothing chased off someone not wanting to be identified like over eagerness. Too much too fast and a source would bolt.

He had to be a calm steady therapist.

‘Langdon.’

The caller didn’t answer straight away. Their breath was shaky. And fast. ‘Frank Langdon. Please take your time.’ Frank stood up, as quietly as he could. Closing the door, closing out the rest of the office.

A young man’s voice trembled. ‘Mr Langdon- I don’t.’ He sounded scared. Really scared. ‘I really don’t know what to do.’

‘It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything. If you want to talk I’m here. Just take as long as you need.’

Frank sat back down at his desk. Slowly picking up a pen, ready to listen.

‘I don’t even know where to begin.’ The young man laughed hollowly.

Frank nodded. This he understood too well. The start. He learned back in his chair. ‘I always find the beginning is the hardest thing. The first step to honesty. Takes a lot to cross that line. But it’s the most important part of any story. Of any truth. I learned that a long time ago. But I learn it time and again with every story I tell. Some lessons are repeat.’

‘There’s this instagrammer, influencer by the name of Abby Rose – you know at Enduring Rose?’ The name was familiar. He quickly pulled it up on his phone. Overly stylised. Pretty red head with a broad smile. Hm. The paper had done a few interviews with her. Something about surviving cancer or something?

Frank hm’d. ‘Vaguely. You think she’s faking it?’

The kids voice shook. ‘My name is Dennis Whitaker. I’m a med student and I took a job with her last semester. Something’s off.’

Dennis quickly walked him through everything. Abby was a new coming Wellness It Girl. Not only surviving with stage four but living, thriving, being everything and more. How he’d bought in from the beginning. Sometimes despite all the odds medical miracles did happen. Frank raised his eyebrows. Catholic upbringing tended to make him very sceptical. Lapsed straight into atheism. But he’d seen enough to know that the unexpected did happen. But this wasn’t it. Stage four brain cancer.

That wasn’t miraculous.

The things she said. The things she did. Whitaker had been hired as a favour and to add scientific backing to Abby’s statements. But he’d noticed fairly quickly that her story didn’t line up.

Simply put: she was too well.

‘I need you to keep my name out it. I... don’t have anywhere to go.’ Frank felt something in his chest crack. This poor kid was really terrified.

‘Sorry?’

Whitaker seemed to be barely containing himself. A whimper. ‘I have nowhere to live. She lets me stay in the space over her garage. If...’

Shit. ‘Of course I would never release your name without your consent. You have my line whenever you want to reach out to me. Everyone here takes confidentiality seriously. If you want to arrange a time to call that’s fine but I’m very flexible.’ This kid really was on the knifes edges of spook. Any false move and he’d bolt.

Frank quickly laid out his expected hours in the office. ‘Look I know you want to stay off the radar for now. So if you want to go by a set alias I can make sure reception only puts you through to me.’ This kid was a rabbit, Frank had to steady him. Make sure he had a place to go.

‘Peter Buxtun.’ The name was also familiar to Frank. But he wasn’t going to give this kid any rope to bolt.

‘Okay Peter. I’ll keep my lines open. I'm here anytime.’

Whitakers- Buxton's voice had loosened since the start of their conversation. ‘Thank you so much Mr. Langdon.’ The relief of confession. Unburdening himself. Frank was glad that the kid seemed to feel better. That reaction meant he was more likely to get back in touch. 

‘Frank please, thanks Dr Buxton.’

The line went dead. Frank stood, placing both his hands on his head. Bouncing up and down on his heels. He touched his tongue to the air. Staring at his walls of framed photos, his degrees, favourite articles: not his. He had an ego but he wasn't a narcissist. But not really seeing it. First things first. Protect the source. Frank ducked out into the corridor. Ignoring Yoyo. Phone calls, tv’s and the click of keyboards. The song of the newsroom.

Frank fluffed up his hair. Puffing up a little, not obnoxiously just enough to look carelessly charming. ‘Hi Kiara!’ The worlds most efficient Administrative Assistant glanced up at his roguish grin. Her dark eyes narrowed in knowing reluctance.

Frank aimed for cute. Kiara’s laugh was airy and bright. She knew his playbook. Humoured him. ‘What have you got Langdon?’

‘Oh you know me so well. New source. Practically ready to rabbit already. So I need him on the DL and reassured. And you do it better than anyone else.’ Okay he was laying it on thick. But Frank always had an instinct for who to keep on side. If Kiara had an inclination for journalism she would have blown them all out of the water. Her easy and gentle presence bringing down walls faster than anyone he’d ever seen.

Kiara nodded at his words. ‘Big story?’ Frank leaned over the counter, keeping his voice down. Not that anyone would violate the basic tenancy but he needed to keep it down.

‘Yeah it feels like it. Anyway all calls from Peter Buxton, keep him steady.’ Kiara frowned at the name. Recognition.

Her lips quirked up. ‘That’s an interesting choice of alias. Their choice?’ Frank nodded, he still couldn’t place the name. ‘Tuskegee.’ Gloria mused quietly, impressed.

‘Oooooo.’ Frank dropped his head forward, huffing out a laugh. Dennis was smart and knew his history. Frank liked him even more now. His choice of alias. The whistleblower of the Tuskegee Syphillis Study. A man who stood up for medical ethics and his patient. A legacy. On learning about the deeply horrific experimentation on black men. He risked everything and went to the Associated Press. Frank had actually written an article about the study during his undergrad. Medical abuse had always been a fascination for him.

He had been pre med for while. But he’d found a natural talent for writing. Fallen in love and in obsession. The one addiction he didn't need to kick.

‘One of my first articles was about the study. I like this kid.’

Gloria winked up at him. ‘Good luck. You gonna brief Robby?’ They both turned their heads to their grouchy editor in chief. Standing in the centre of the bullpen. He was talking to someone from accounting? And pissed off by the looks of this. Budget cuts. As always: bullshit about algorithms and clickbait. Even from this distance Frank could see the tension in every inch of him. Frank pulled an exagerated wince at Gloria. ‘Ahhhhh I think I wanna keep my bits in place. Get some research done. See if it is really something. And not my brain scrambling for a new story. Inventing a new story.’

Gloria lifted her coffee cup in a mock salute. ‘Heaven forbid the world is denied any future little Langdons.’

‘Heaven-forfend.’

Frank spotted Robby quickly weaving through the desk. He was gonna rabbit himself. Frank quickly ducked and sprinted back to his office.

Breath a little tight as he barrelled into Yoyo’s doorway. ‘Robby’s been talking to money.’ Yoyo’s typical self proclaimed bitch mask cracked. Well splintered. Garcia never cracked. But her eyes widened just enough. Most would miss it. But she’d been his best friend/sparring partner since they’d worked on their school paper together.

‘Look busy got it.’ Her nod was grateful. But her eyebrow quirked up at him. ‘You won’t be looking busy. Something, something.’

‘Something!’ Frank winked, clicking at her with a finger gun. ‘So game on.’

Frank fire up his trusty laptop and extension screen.

Abby Rose. @Enduring_Rose.

Google alone had an almost intimidating list of hits. Some from his own paper.

Brave Woman’s Independent Road to Recovery.

Abby Rose – An Enduring Testament to Wellness.

Living Well – A Rose’s blooming against all odd.

‘Why my terminal diagnosis saved my life!’

Frank cracked open a red bull, reading through some of the articles. Robby paused at his door. Pushing his glasses to the top of his head. His brown eyes still brimming with intensity. ‘You onto to something Langdon?’

‘You know me always working.’ Robby’s eyes narrowed a little, nostrils flaring at the slightly evasive answer. Unable to call him out just yet. Frank gave him a thumbs up and opened up instagram.

@Enduring_Rose

Writer. Business Woman. Warrier. Fighting cancer my way.

#wellness #cancer #askquestions

The posts were stylised and perfect. Too perfect. Frank felt off just browsing through it. But she looked picture perfect. Perfect hair, skin, nails, figure. Everything just perfect perfect perfect. Not a flaw to be had. He remembered vaguely her coming under attack during the pandemic. Spreading misinformation repeatedly. Under the guise of “having an open conversation”. Her defence to dangerous misinformation had basically amounted to her blaming everything on the cancer. Oh woe is me.

It wasn’t overt any more. But there were undertones about medical industry conspiracy's. Anti vaccine coded comments. Just enough that it made Frank’s lips curl.

Clear that the only lesson she had taken was to mask her best practice scepticism better. Explore your options. Doctors don’t know everything. Everybody lies. Money is the root of all evil. She had found the answers "they" didn't want you to know.

The comments were fawning. Abby Rose was on a pedestal no one would dare knock. The innate innocence of the cancer survivor. The more he looked the more uneasy he felt.

If you are facing a terminal diagnosis like I did. Come talk to me. There is always hope.

Frank sat back in his chair. Picking up his fidget magnetic balls. People asking for help with their own diagnosis. Their spouses, parents.... kids. Abby gently advising them. But always with that imbedded thread of fear mongering in the best practice. The type that ensnared people so efficiently.

How many people had she guided off track?

How many had suffered.

His own moral objections to her antics were not the question at hand here. As he’d explained to Peter. The beginning was the important part.

Her origin story.

Frank pulled all the publicity and media pieces about her. Piecing together her history as best he could. It was a prolific amount of media coverage. No actual documented medical records of doctor to back her story but she told her tale again and again.

Right before the pandemic, Abby had started experiencing symptoms. It had started small like these things always did.

At first it was just little things. Headaches, nausea. Increasingly weakness and just overall degradation of my abilities. I dismissed it. Stress and life. I took shortcuts when it came to my health. Junk food, drinking just not taking care of myself. I changed. Friends, family commenting that I seemed... different. Not like myself. I was forgetting things. Things that mattered. But I didn’t want to admit that there was something wrong.

Because you always know when something is wrong. Your body always tells you. You just have to be willing to listen. And I was doing everything in my power to be deaf to it. Even when I struggled to remember my name. Then... I had a seizure at work.

The next week is both a blur of emotional wreckage and seared into my memory. So clear that it’s like I could be sitting in that room. The blood tests, stick of the needle in my arm. Overly professional looks on the medical team faces. The hushed whispers. Claustrophobia of the MRI.

It’s weird what you remember. I remember the office where I got my diagnosis. There were 6 degrees or qualification parchments on the wall. An assortment of pompous awards. Nothing showing any warmth or life. It looked like how the hospital smelled. Sterile. Empty of meaning.

My doctors voice, so cold so clinical as he told me my world was ending.

‘Ms Rose. You have cancer. Grade four brain cancer. At most you have six months.’ He didn’t care that my life was over. My dreams of success, love, family as dead as I was going to be. I was just another patient. Another number. Money to be made.

A few weeks later, after starting chemo and radiation the whole world stopped with me. Pandemic. I had to shut myself off from everyone. For fear I would die all the sooner. All I have is my phone. I was strolling through instagram. Rolling through the waves of nausea. Lying on the ice cold floor next to the toilet. Hair being left in my wake.

I found a video about the power of food. The basic elements of life. It got me thinking. I had ignored what I was consuming for so long. What if I could take matters into my own hands? And I did. I spent the next year digging far past the dry unimaginative science. Opting out of standard treatment. My whole oncology team freaked out. The lead doctor even called me personally to scream at me for throwing my life away. But I knew what was right for me.

My body was telling me what it needed to not just survive 2 to 5 years. But to live and thrive far beyond that.

And here I am. Almost 6 years later and I stand strong.

This was the main thread of her origin. Her evolution. It sounded wrong. Off. Her account of the news being broken. It was just weird. Not any medical professional he’d ever encountered. Sure some could be dicks but this wasn’t how anyone broke bad news. The detail about her doctor calling to scream at her? Frank just didn’t buy any of it.

But he knew for a fact that he couldn’t build a story off of his gut instinct alone. He was going to need help. A lot of help.

From someone who was actually a medical professional. A Doctor.

But who to ask.

Frank’s previous go to was currently on sabbatical. A much needed one. His only other regular contacts were his own medical team. Spinal and his recovery support network. He needed someone new. Someone who understood the online world and the wellness industry.

Frank rolled his neck, turning to stare out the window. It was late. The sun long set. He stared back at his screens. One browser with an alarming amount of tables. His trusty legal pad documenting the Abby Rose timeline. Scattered and extensive. The office was mostly empty. Garcia still at her desk. Her face lit up by her own screens. He stood up and gently stretched out his back. Complaining at his hyperfocus. Old injury flaring up at his crouching.

Was Dana still around? She had been a nurse once upon a time. Leaving after one too many patients had attacked her. Her want to help people forced to change. She had become a writer in her own right. Writing, speaking about the lack of protections of healthcare staff. Now she encouraged her team to help people on a wider scale. Stop people from slipping through the cracks through words. But she still had friends working in many of the Pittsburgh hospitals. Maybe she’d be able to advise. Her niche was healthcare after all.

Garcia, not removing her eyes from her screen just gave him the finger again. Her free hand continued typing at break neck speed. The light making her high cheekbones all the sharper. Shen stepped into pace with Frank. Comically large coffee in hand.

‘You’re workin late.’ Frank grinned at their unflappable photojournalist. The absolute definition of chill. Frank envied his ability to stay grounded in the most insane of situations.

‘Yeah got a lead...’

Shen narrowed his eyes at him, a small smirk playing about his lips. ‘And you got stuck in. Something big?’

‘Lost track of time. You know how it goes. I think so. I need to check in with The General. I need an expert.’

Shen pulled towards the photo suite, pausing at the door. ‘Something medical. Interesting.’ Frank laughed as he shook his head.

‘Something like that.’ Shen waved him off, disappearing into the brightest room. Digital photography: ultimate screen time. Frank craned his neck. Dana worked as hard as any of them. But unlike most of the team, she actually had a life. A husband and kids at home. So she kept more sane hours than any of the rest of them.

Hence why she had a life to go home to.

But she was still here. Her office lights were still on. Door adjare and one of the paper’s podcasts playing. Frank tapped on her door. Dana’s blue eyes felt like an X-Ray over the top of her glasses. He shot her his usual boyish grin. It was late so she didn’t try to hide her fondness for his antics.

‘What do you want kid?’ Her thick accent lilting. She gestured at the chair on the other side of her desk. Watching curiously as she shut her notebook. Frank hmm’d trying to parse his words. ‘You’re on to something. You’ve got that look.’ The clear blue of her eyes growing brighter again. ‘That look that spells trouble. Do I need to get legal?’ Dana cut him off before he could answer. ‘Sorry. It’s you Frank. When do I need to get legal?’

That wasn’t an unfair assessment. Frank was tied with Robby for needing the most legal referrals. He let out a noise that tried to be nonchalant. But was a little too high pitched to fully pull it off. Dana rolled her eyes with a sigh. ‘What are you looking for?’

Frank twisted his face trying to parse his words carefully. ‘Got a tip. But I need a medical opinion. Figured you’d know the person to ask.’

Dana leaned forward, adjusting her glasses. ‘Close the door.’ As the door shut gently, Dana switched off the podcast. ‘Give me the broad strokes. What are you looking for? Institutional, medications, systemic...?’

Frank ruffled his hair. Scrambling to come up with the words. Robby would be quick. Dana having a shut door was the red flag to Robbys bull. ‘I need to know the likelihood of a diseases progression. Claims of the miraculous.’

Dana’s face tensed, the expression of an experience nurse. ‘Let me guess, cured themselves. Pesky medicine.’ Dana dug through her handy list of contacts. Pausing over the M’s. Her eyes narrowed at him. Her hm reminded him of his mother. When she was scheming. Typically there was a set up on the other end of it. He didn’t think Dana was the type to set him up. At least he hoped not. Dana flicked backwards. Landing on the K’s.

Dana pulled out a business card. Rick cream stock with a flash of silver. ‘I think I know someone. She should work well with you.’ She made to hand over the card. But she snatched it back before he could take it. ‘I know you forget you’re a good man. Sometimes. But this one-’ Dana smiled fondly at the card. Whoever this Doctor was Dana liked them. A lot. ‘She is remarkable. And unique. Treat her well and with respect. Or I’ll have your ass.’

Robby banged into the room just as Frank took the card. They both stared up at him with fake innocent faces. ‘Need I remind you who the Editor in Chief is?’ Dana groaned. Frank pointed at her. Robby glared at him for a second. Then burst out laughing.

Frank nodded his thanks at Dana and left the office. Robby trailing behind. ‘What’s going on Langdon?’ Frank spun round to face his boss.

He wanted to brief Robby when he had a firm grasp on this story. If it was a story he could run. Robby liked a plan. ‘It’s first day. I need an expert, Dana has the best.’ Robby knew him as well as anyone. They played poker. He knew when Frank was hiding a good hand.

‘This is going to be a legal thing again isn’t it?’

Frank held up both his hands. ‘I’m really trying not make it a thing. I’m going to be careful. Trust me.’ Robby rubbed his temple tiredly.

With a deep sigh Robby turned and headed back to his office. ‘Please do. You’re my best journalist. I’d hate to have to fire you.’

Frank spun the card through his fingers. ‘Only your best journo?’

‘Fuck you.’

Frank chuckled at the reaction. Robby stalking off with his hands braced on his head. Typical Robby. He focused down on the card. It was high quality. Simple but elegant. A stethoscope down one side and a tiny cartoon crown by the name. Cute.

Mel King MD.

[email protected]

@DrMelKing – Instagram.

He knew that name. That handle. Frank fire up insta on his phone. Yeah, he followed her on there. She was fairly active in promoting ethical science and medicine. Fighting misinformation with a gentle hand. He liked her stuff. Dr King. Dana was right. She was a little unique. Very factual and direct. Self described as neurodivergent, proudly so.

Frank had to admit that he may have a little interest in her beyond her expertise on insta. She was pretty. Blonde hair, doe eyes behind large glasses. Her voice pleasantly low with an even prettier smile.

Was Dana trying to set him up?

Nah.

He settled back at his desk. Drafting up a direct message on his instagram.

Hi Dr King.

Apologies for the random DM. Dana Evans gave me your information – so not a random creep. At least I hope not. I am investigative journalist (Dana is one of my editors FYI) and I am starting research into a new story.

I have received a tip that there is something amiss with a fairly well know influencer. Who happens to have stage four brain cancer. I have only been digging around for a little while but something doesn’t feel right.

However, even though I was pre med for a while. I’m no Doctor so I am hoping to pick your brain a little. Maybe confirm that I’m not completely nuts.

Please find attached my contact information below. Or tell me to fuck off. No harm no foul.

Thanks

Frank.

(BTW really enjoy your instagram. Your last post about ADHD really spoke to me. You do great work. :) )

He read it a couple of times. It felt friendly and professional. He hoped to god it didn’t scream creep sliding into her DMs. Frank bounced in his chair. Obsessively reading over it again and again.

He needed help. If Dana thought Dr King was a good fit. Well then, there was no better consultant.

He hit send. And promptly panicked about it. Two ticks appeared alarmingly fast. Wait she followed him? Frank clicked back on her page. Yeah she did. A delighted little thrill danced through his nerve endings. He was a little too happy about that little factoid. He hoped her following him meant that she liked his stuff. Otherwise his ship was sunk before it set sail.

A reply came quickly. Her reply was what he’d expected. Polite, direct and entirely genuine.

Hello Mr Langdon.

Thank you for your message. I am glad that Dana thinks enough of me to refer you to me. Please tell her I say hello. First and foremost, I cannot and *will not* make any diagnosis over the internet or without assessing the patient myself.

However I can take a look at what you’ve gathered so far and give you insights into how likely the presented case if accurate to the expected disease progression. Without seeing the patient myself it will only be speculative. However, I do know that cases of people faking all kinds of diseases are common. Increasingly so online.

You can email me at [email protected] with what you have or contact me on 919-555-8247 if you wish to speak by phone.

Thank you

Mel King

(Also thank you for liking my page. I thoroughly enjoy your work as well. In particular your piece last year about reckless over prescription of addictive substances. It was very brave of you to be so honest about your recovery story. )

Frank grinned. That little thrill burned a little bright at the praise of his work. An intelligent and attractive doctor complementing him? Yeah he was a little into it. He quickly saved her number into his work cell. Another message popped in.

Also don’t worry you certainly don’t meet the creep DM criteria I have established. Though this is subject to change.

Frank burst out laughing.

Smart, beautiful, a little weird and funny?

Oh he had to be careful. Or Dana was going to murder him.

Chapter Text

When he was growing up he had dreamed of being a doctor. Helping people saving lives. But he'd found his own path to making a difference and feeding his dopamine hunting needs. All without possibly risking someone else's life. In investigative journalism he pretty much only ran the risk of endangering himself. By being a Robby quote of "a giant legal liability of a pain in the ass". Yes he had it on a t-shirt. Frank had switched out of pre med to journalism two years in. So he had some foundations in the sciences and biology. As he’d said to Dr King he was no Doctor. But not a complete slouch. The more he read and researched. The more he felt he was onto something. Abby Rose’s story just didn’t add up.

Even though he couldn’t access Rose’s medical records he’d gone looking in her history for any documented proof. Compared it to other people on social media who used is as a platform to talk about their own illnesses. They didn’t. Most people had tangential proof of their diagnoses. A scan with their name. Doctor’s names, clinics, specific medications. Gaps in their posting. Their stories weren't perfectly scripted to get a reaction. They were simply accounts of their lives.

Abby didn’t have that. There were photos outside medical clinics. Alternative and evidence based. But never inside. Abby was never in a ward or in the garb of terminally ill patients. Again she never looked sick.The only specific treatments were that of the unproven sort. Gerson therapy. Coffee enemas. Frank learned the hard way to be careful when he was googling. During his morning coffee was far from ideal. Vitamin D treatments. (Had she really bared her asshole to the sun? Patreon only.) High dose vitamin IVs. “Clean” eating. Random fasts and fad diets. Apple fucking cider vinegar.

Year 6 with grade four brain cancer.

Her presence included talking about fellow sufferers. Beaming selfies with “FUCK CANCER” t-shirts. Young and old. Kids. Sometimes she’d equivocate her cancer to theirs. But then he’d check the other person. Different types.

And none of them looked like her. They were skeletal thin. Either no hair or with perfectly made up wigs. There was a look that people had when they had cancer. A certain awareness of themselves, their mortality and what they had to face. Abby's eyes were devoid of that. Her hazel eyes lacked anything.... real.

Frank had a folder of screenshots. A companion word document mapping each image to Abby’s story. Mel King was as detailed focused as they came. So he was tracking things as best he could. Not his typical organisational technique. Which was... random. In a generous use of the word.

Hey Dr K,

I think it’s safe to say I am stuck down the rabbit hole. My algorithm is so completely off kilter. I mean... goop ads? The candles? Did you know they actually have an anti vampire spray? Is she high? I mean she has to be right? Some turbo charged rich person shit. 

Just tracking her claims of people with similar/same tumours as hers. See attached folder and word document. Pretty obvious they don’t line up. Or her tumour has split personality disorder. Your thoughts on the likelihood of that?

Never thought I’d be getting this much use out of my paltry two years of med school. My mother will be so proud. But still so disappointed. Nothing new there.

No rush on getting back to me. I know your hours are weird this month. How was call? See anything cool?

Frank.

(Vegan food makes me so fucking sad. And hungry for actual food.)

His stomach swooped as he hit send. The feeling growing in tensity with every communication with Dr. King. Almost like he was 15 again. Dying for a response from a cute girl. Frank shook if off as best he could. Checking his phone for any messages. Nothing. Buxton hadn’t gotten back to him since that first call. Frank tried not to worry about. One thing at a time.

Pointless really. One of the central pillars taught to him was protect your sources. Not just from exposure but more importantly from the emotional weight of talking to the press. Guide them, help them, be their support but not their friend. If Buxton wasn’t contacting him, Frank couldn’t help him. Poor kid.

King had replied. Frank caught sight of his reflection in his second monitor. A dopey smile. Her reply was brief. He tried to shake off the smile. Rule two: don’t fall for a source. Okay, technically Dr King wasn’t a source but he felt the rule was applicable.

Mr Langdon,

I agree with your assessment. Ms Rose seems unwilling to classify her type of malignancy. Which by itself it extremely atypical. Most patient in my experience are specific when they discuss their diagnosis. Helps them find fellow patients. Gives them power in a situation beyond any control. I found several posts about the cancer allegedly spread. But none of it makes any sense. Unless she is truly the most unlikely oncology patient around. I am asking a few specialists for confirmation. Certainly is suspicious.

As for your algorithm mutation. I am sorry to say but I do believe that may be a terminal case. Goop is very very difficult to surgically remove. Don’t look at the candles. Or the eggs. Lest you want to bleach your brain.

Well I think your mother should be very proud. You are making use of those years very skilfully. At least I think so. Work was fine. No worse than usual. To me, weird is relative. In the eye of the beholder. I was working during Anthrocon last year. It alters your view on weird.

Would it be possible for us to meet in the near future? I think some of this needs to be discussed in person. Please don’t feel obligated. But I really would like to sit down with you if that's amenable to you.

Mel

(As for vegan food. In theory a good idea, but in reality... I need cheese. And rare steak.)

He blinked at his screen. She wanted to meet him in person? (Also cheese and steak. He loved her already.)

‘Why the fuck do you look like you stuck your tongue in an outlet?’ Garcia grinned ominously leaning over his screens. Frank quickly deactivated his screens. Yes they were all professionals. Professional Snoops. There was a reason his online handle was Frank (Nosy) Langdon.

Frank shot her an unimpressed look. ‘I was drunk.’ Garcia smirked. ‘And you dared me.’ She plonked herself down on the edge of his desk. Arms crossing, face morphing into her investigative face.

Her voice was smug, gleeful. Irritating. ‘You forget I know you better than anyone. Are you violating the source rule?’ Don't fuck your source. It will fuck your source.

‘No!’ The protest was an instant giveaway. Too loud, too fast, the denial flag flying. Frank screwed up his face, cursing himself. Garcia threw her head back and laugh. Leaning back and slamming his office door shut. ‘She’s not a source!’ Well he might as well fess up. Her foot kicked against his chair.

Frank scratched his scalp. Instantly Garcia looked satisfied. ‘She’s a consultant for my new story.’ Yoyo tilted her head at him. A curious look on her face.

‘So she’s smarter than you. Typical.’ Frank batted her leg away. But didn’t argue. She was right. Annoyingly and completely correct as per usual. All his previous partners, men, women or proclaimed whatever, leaned quick. She leaned over this matte black desk. All up in his space. ‘So you’re not in denial. Freely admitted to it.’

Not in so many words.

Her face turned thoughtful. It was late. Once again both of them getting caught up in the early days of the chase. Frank eyeballed Garcia as she took down her hard out of her slick ponytail. He could count on two hands the number of times she did. And he lived with her for that brutal rookie year.

She pulled back, Frank followed. ‘You okay?’ Yoyo dismissed him with an airy hand. If it was serious she'd let him know.

‘So you haven’t met IRL yet? Socials?’ Distracting him and herself. Poorly. Frank let her. He wasn’t in the mood to go digging around in her mercurial moods.

He stretched his back out in the chair. ‘She wants to meet me here. Just got the ask.’ She jumped up with a devious grin.

‘Shit is getting serious.’ With that she bounced out of his office. He flicked his screen back on. Rereading the email. Grinning at her sly jokes. He quickly fired off his hours for the next week. He’d be available for her any time.

Oh Frank Langdon you are so fucked.

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2pm Friday: The Pitt Reception.

The time agreed from that email exchange. It is not the reason why he dressed up slightly nicer. He did have a good wardrobe for press events, impressing sources etc. So a nice pair of jeans paired with a waistcoat and blazer. Matching tie and pocket square. Gloria wolf whistled as he marched in. Casual but nice casual. But he worked with eagle eyed sharks. 

Her rich brown eyes a little darker than usual as she assessed him. Frank presented her with her special order coffee. Yes he was kissing her ass. He had Dana’s order and a bearclaw. Thanks, gratitude and bribery. His usual threefer. ‘Someone’s looking sharp.’

Frank winked cheekily at her. ‘Only for you darling.’ Gloria giggled at his ridiculousness.

She held up her hand at him. Gold glinting in the early morning light.  ‘I’m spoken for Frank.’ Frank sighed melodramatically placing a hand over his sternum.

He pretended to fight back tears. His voice choking up. ‘Breaking my heart Gloria.’

She just rolled her eyes. ‘What do you need?’

Frank pulled back with a light laugh. Robby rushed in behind them. Grunting a possible hello. Dana hot on his heels. ‘I have a consultant coming in this afternoon. 2pm. Dr Mel King. If you could scream for me when she arrives. I’d be most obliged.’ Gloria sipped at her coffee. Face warming up as she registered it was her favourite. Win for Langdon. 'But don't actually scream, please?'

With a final wave he made to his office. Dropping off his much nicer shoulder bag. The one he rarely used. His multicoloured backpack looking a little worse for wear. So he’d chosen his messenger bag. Nothing to be read into there. Yoyo did a double take as she spied him. Face turning scornful as she took in his entire outfit. Frank shrugged off his blazer, before heading over to Dana’s office. Ignoring the click of Yoyo's phone. The group chat would be on fire.

‘Morning Boss!’ Robby glared at him from his desk. Frank loved making a show of calling Dana boss when Robby was in ear shot. The way he froze was just so amusing. Dana who had yet to take her seat just raised an eyebrow. ‘Thought you’d like to know that Dr King is coming in this afternoon. You were right, as you always are-’ He bowed with hand flourish. ‘-She is brilliant.’ Dana face almost split in two in her smile.

‘You have no idea kid.’ Frank stayed in her office doorway. Dana sat on the edge of her desk. Journalist face sliding into place. Assessing him. ‘Less than a week to a meet. Her idea?’ Frank nodded not sure what Dana was looking for. ‘Good job kid. She likes you. Don’t fuck it up.’ He struggled to clamp down on the praise and the idea that Mel might like him. 

Frank held up both his hands in surrender. ‘I sincerely hope not to. I have booked conference room B for 2 if you want to say hi.’

Frank ducked his head and turned out of the office. He was half way down to his office when Dana’s shout rang out. ‘I’M CHANGING IT TO ROOM C.’ Several heads spun between Dana and Frank. Shen actually snapped a photo of Franks face. There was the Christmas card for the office party. ‘TRUST ME B WILL ONLY PISS HER OFF.’

Frank opened his mouth to ask but opted against it. Dana wasn’t called The General for nothing. Whatever she said, went.

Frank checked his phone 8am. 6 hours to go. Would it be pathetic to DM her saying he was looking forward to it? There was already a notification on his phone.

Mel King.

Hi Langdon! Just confirming our meeting later today. I do feel the need to warn you.... I have copious notes.

Mel

Frank quickly fire back he was looking forward to meeting her. Conference room booked and ready to go. He’d check with Dana what her coffee and lunch orders tended to be. Determined to make a good impression.

But The General being the exemplary leader that she was already had it sorted for him. Order placed and charged to him. Frank didn’t even bother wondering how Dana had his company card. She was the best for a reason.

There an inline chat from her as well.

Also forgot to mention: Looking good. Nice to see you using something other than that rainbow monstrosity. Very mature.

He settled in and starting scoping through his emails. There had been a brief update with Buxton and Frank had suggested a dummy email account for him to communicate through. Kid was still an anxious mess. A justifiable anxious mess. For all her online dogooding there was a clear ruthlessness to her actions. People were granted special favour and then axed. Excised from her life. Like would do a tumour. Peter had been skittish. Didn’t want to get into details. But Frank could sense that Abby had ways of figuring out peoples weaknesses and using them to her best advantage.

Rumours of a soon to be launched cookery book were swirling. He hadn’t been able to get much. But he wasn’t the social media or food desk. Maybe he should check in with the Octopi. Pitt Gossip Central. Always in the know with their many tentacles. Powerful people. Frank checked his reflection in the window. Thank god he had dressed up today. Carefully adjusting his hair so it fell directly into his eyes.

With a pep in his step he headed towards the social and living section of the office. Celebrity gossip, the latest trends and fad. Overwhelming for Frank. But Perlah and Princess made it their bitch. They saw him coming. Eyeing him up. Seeing the outfit, and the hair.

‘Pretty boy!’ Princess’s smile was dark. Oh she’d eat him alive if given the chance. And didn't have a husband. Perlah was less wanting but still impressed.

Frank laid on the charm real thick. ‘Princess, Perlah.’ 

Perlah sat down before he could ask. ‘What are you looking for?’

Frank started to protest. Princess shot something over her shoulder is Tagalog. Perlah laughed and threw something back. ‘Thank you?’ He offered, completely clueless. He only knew swears as of yet in Tagalog. But when they were bantering like this. Starting at him like that. Yeah he was being insulted. Viciously. He didn’t care. They were too fun to get annoyed with. 

Princess fixed his tie and then flicked his nose. ‘You coming over before 9am with your hair all cute like that.... You want something.’

Frank crossed his arms. ‘Well deduced. I am looking for confirmation of a cook book being launched. I don’t have the right connections. But you two ladies, you know all the right people. I don’t need anything more than a yes or no. Abby Rose?’ Both women exchanged a look. Frank was not exactly known for being up in wellness or woo. Yes he was a marathon runner and took care of himself. But it was normal stuff. Not social media darlings.

Both women leaned against each other. Faces matched in journalistic scepticism. ‘Your new story?’

‘Something like that.’ Princess nodded and headed towards her desk. Perlah’s face was unreadable. ‘I don’t need major details. Just any proof one way or the other. Checking how solid some of my sources are.’ It was a very thin cover. But neither of them would push it. He’d get them lunch as a thanks. Even as Princess wolf whistled as he walked away.

Frank checked his watched again. Still over 5 hours.

As per his interactions with Mel and Dana Frank opted to organise as best he could. His usual organisation style was organic. Went with the flow. Mel felt like she was a little more linier. Frank tended to group with what piqued his interest most. And that changed day to day.

ADHD organised chaos.

Receipt for his lunch order. Middle Eastern. With iced chai lattes. She was fast. Board room switch confirmed. No one worked more efficiently than The General. Frank grabbed the stack of papers, articles and journals he’d already printed. Massive paper cut risk but he always enjoyed paper.

Board room C was the smallest of the 3 boardrooms. Frank tended to spread out so he usually picked one of the larger ones. However C had the actual windows. Not the creepy fakes ones that had been installed last year. Which hummed. He was actually a little annoyed with himself for not figuring it out sooner.

He arranged the files in his more logical themed order. From the beginning to now. Checking to see if the sockets all worked. He foresaw a lot of screen time in his future. One article caught his eye.

Enduring against all impossible odds.

An article published by a friend of Abby's. Discussing her worsening and spreading cancer. Brain cancer rarely spread like that. And she was claiming it was in her uterus? The friend had quoted directly from the post.

I try to keep things as positive and forward looking as I can. But tonight I can’t be that. My journey changes and evolves every day. Some good some bad. Today during a routine check up I got further disappointing news. I have been diagnosed with two more cancers. One secondary to my brain cancer was found in my uterus... A primary in my liver.

As you all know, my Enduring Elite, this isn’t what I hoped. But here we are. Just have to keep going. But please don’t grieve for me. I have already faced worse. I refuse to let this win. I refuse to let something I can’t see or feel get me down.

Frank examined the words. She had a way with words. He’d give her that. Enough pathos and inspiration to draw someone in. Who wouldn’t root for a woman up against all the odds. But it wasn’t sincere. Frank trusted his gut enough that he didn’t think he was being unfair.

Robby stood in the doorway. Frank had been so engrossed in the piece that he’d missed his appearance. Notes scattered in the edges. Hopefully they made sense later. Frank straightened up. Robby trying not to examine the mountains of papers on the desk. Frank appreciated the effort. He was the nosiest of them all. Hence his title.

‘I hear you have a Dana referral coming in?’ He raised his eyebrows, starting at the sheet in his hand. Robby as a boss was not subtle.

Frank tucked the article back into the stack it came from. Last years. ‘Yeah. I need someone to help me find the thread to pull in all of this. Dr. King can.’ Robby crossed his arms. Brow knotting in thought.

‘Doctor? A healthcare story?’ Robby sighed and rubbed at his left eye. A habit he had when trying to restrain himself. Frank didn’t reply. ‘Just try not to get sued. Please. Accounting are already up my ass.’

Robby walked off before Frank could respond. Probably just as well. Frank had no idea how to couch any of this. Something about liars on the interest. Ew no that was fucking horrendous. Robby would never let it go. It was the internet. Still the new wild wild west. 

Caffeine boost was needed. Red bull would do the trick. Frank locked the conference room behind him. He knew that no one would try and steal the story. But this one could turn into wet dynamite at any second. The paper could be up against a mob if he wasn’t careful. Perhaps asking Perlah and Princess for any scoops was a risky move. A little drizzle. Frank frowned as he grabbed his needed hit.

‘Pretty boy.’ Shen who had been sitting at a table turned at the same time as Frank. Princess rolled her eyes. ‘Egos: the pair of you.’

‘You’re the one who called us pretty?’ Shen leaned back in his chair. Frank spying a chat open on tinder on his phone. Princess growled at the unflappable photographer.

‘Not you asshole.’ She turned to Frank who was frozen with the red bull held limply in his hand. ‘You owe me. BIG.’ Her eyes swivelled to Shen. Narrowing dangerously at him. Without a word she pointed outside.

Shen let out a noise of protest. ‘You two could go to his office-’ Frank melodramatically slashed across his neck. Princess glared. Shen quickly bolted from the room.

‘At least you have some sense.’ Princess watched Shen run down the corridor. ‘Anyway back to you.’ She sat down on the table nearest Frank. Bracing on her hands.

‘The pretty boy.’ He preened a little. Princess might be married but he’d take a complement where he could get one. Typically she was tossing insults at him. Princess kicked his shin. Frank winced. She had serious strength.

‘Enough. Not only did I confirm that rumour of yours. A source of mine is getting me an advanced copy. Should be here before the meet.’ Princess networked like no one else. Always had someone somewhere.

Frank hugged and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Oh Princess, marry me!’ Princess shoved him back.

‘I’m a happily married woman. Besides... you never get dressed up like this for me. Why have a Princess when you can woo a King?’

Oh fuck.

Princess held up her index finger to her lips. ‘Don’t worry I’ll keep your secret.’ Until she could leverage it for her own personal amusement. To her credit Princess wouldn’t make a spectacle out of it. Just enough to get him to be her bitch.

3 hours to go.

Shit.

It was unnerving really how anxious he was getting the closer it came to 2. He’d never been this jittery before. Felt similar to the first time he went digging into his first big story. Interviewing the first source. But Dr. King wasn’t a source. She was a consultant. An expert. Someone he liked. What if this connection was only online? He looked forward to her DMs and emails. She was detail orientated with a different take on things. Self deprecating and literal. Like Dana said, unique.

His phone rang. Gloria. ‘Hey Gloria what’s the story-ia?’ Frank was long known for his dork jokes. So she just ignored his cheesy greeting. A consummate professional. But there was a sparkle of something in her eyes.

Gloria’s voice was light and controlled. Filled with knowing humour. ‘Your two o’clock is here.’ His stomach dropped 7 floors to the basement. He cleared his throat as he stood up. Why were his palms sweating so much? He quickly whipped them off on his dark jeans. No doubt the observant Doctor would see it. Crap. He pulled the blazer on, taking a steadying breath.

Garica was on the phone. Luckily. Because if she wasn’t she’d be tailing after him looking for any information. For blackmail and torment. Gloria pointed him out to the waiting room. Dana was facing him and hugging a slim blonde woman. Dana pointed a finger at him. Both warning him and directing her companion. Frank did his best to look cool and composed. And not showing any of the anxious teenage mess he was feeling like.

Dr King turned to face him. His stomach swooped yet again. Her long blonde hair flipping as she moved. She was dressed in a neat but stylish suit. Dark purple matching blazer and slacks and a her own waistcoat. But without a shirt. So ample cleavage was displayed well. Long slim fingers tucked her hair behind her ear. A broad earnest smile bloomed on her face.

Those dark brown eyes lighter in the reality of day light.

‘Mr. Langdon? Hi Mel King.’ As if she’d be anyone else. Her voice was so deep. Unlike any woman’s voice he’d heard before. No wonder she did well on instagram. He’d listen to her talk about anything. Phonebook or the latest rules from corporate. Anything at all.

She extended a hand to him. Polite as ever. Dana was watching him with that knowing Mom look he hated. ‘Treat her well Langdon. Or I’ll have your job.’ Frank reflexively stuck his tongue out at her. Dana snorted and left them to it. Patting Dr King on the shoulder as she left. Frank winced as he turned back to Mel. Her hand was cool but strong as he shook it.

‘I swear I’m not a complete idiot. Despite-’ He gestured from his face to Dana’s retreating back. ‘-what you just saw.’ Dr King frowned at him, adjusting her glasses with her free hand. Trying to figure out if he was serious. ‘Anyway a pleasure to meet you in person. Frank Langdon.’

The handshake felt like it stretched on a little long. Too long perhaps. Dr King pulled back, her cheeks a little rosy. Her head turned to one of the photographs on the wall. ‘Is that you?’

Frank stood a little closer to her, looking at the photo in question. Taken during the pandemic. It was one of the few images that Frank was front and centre of. He had his mask on. Backpack covered in pro science, vaccine and protect healthcare worker badges. An anti masker was getting up in Franks face. Shen really was talented. Pulling things out of still images one never expected. The angry hate in the man yelling at Frank. Ugly in its fury. The flash of blue in Frank’s eyes. Determined.

Frank crossed his arms and examined it. ‘Yeah one of the few. I was doing a story on the origins of the anti mask movement. Fucking idiots.’ He winced internally. King had maintained her politeness in all her correspondence with him. Not one slip in all the back and forth. He hadn’t quite figured out if she was a consummate professional or just didn’t like swearing.

She hmm’d next to him. ‘Ignorant idiots the entire fucking lot of them.’ Frank grinned at her. Her little smile was adorable.

‘Ready to get started Dr. K?’ He gestured into the office. Her face betrayed a little confusion at the nickname. Like she never had one before. He always had been quick at reading people. Something told him she wasn’t used to people liking her from jump. The surprise, the little tremor of her hand as she brightened up. Shock. Quick to mask her wariness. Fear. Frank had to set her at ease. More importantly he wanted to.

Her hands twisted. At first blush it looked painful. But with his own experiences he knew it probably her means of stimming. ‘Of course Mr Langdon.’ Oh no he couldn’t have that. Rapport: he needed it, more than he’d wanted before. But he tried not to think about that. Much.

‘Frank please. Mr Langdon... sounds too not cool.’ She frowned a little at him. Like she wasn’t sure what he meant. ‘Joke. Though my father is not at cool so also accurate?’ His voice lilted up in his dwindling confidence. Aiming for a joke and promptly landing in the truth. Her head tilted at him. A flash of white as she chewed on her lip. Frank struggled to compartmentalise his impulses enveloping that gesture.

‘Mel.’ He nodded. A couple of people looked up curiously as they passed by. Frank was relieved that he’d taken the time to sort his growing collection of articles and posts. He waited in the doorway. Giving her a little time to examine what he’d done. How he arranged things. Felt weirdly intimate. Like it was a gateway into the fragmented chaos that was his brain. Princess’s whistle was piercing. Mel flinched.

Crap. ‘Sorry. But it’ll be worth it. Promise.’ Mel looked a little concerned at his overly charming grin. Holding his annotated article in her hands. ‘Just hang on.’ Her face twitched. Screaming where exactly would I go? Princess was barely containing herself. Respectfully trying to not gawk at his consultant. Her entire body angling to get the scoop. Journalism wasn’t just a job but how people operated.

Frank shook his head slowly. His very best impression of Robby. Princess huffed sarcastically. ‘You owe me Ken. A lot.’ The parcel she handed him was heavy. Weighty like all good books should be. Even covered he could tell it was pricey. Heft always carried it. ‘I’ll love you forever doll face.’ With a cheesy, overly flirty wink he headed back to the conference room.

‘Promises promises.’ Her giggle was bright. Frank didn’t retort. He pressed the book to his chest, both arms shielding it. Just waiting in the doorway again. Mel was fully absorbed in his presented work. His piles being added to with bright sparks of colour. Her extensive notes. He assumed that she couldn’t carry them all in her neat backpack. So how much had she left at home? Guilt grabbed at him suddenly. This was his job. Research and hours running down leads were how he earned his keep. Mel? She actually had a job. Saving lives helping people. And she'd invested what looked like a serious amount of effort to help him? Once again he wondered: just who was Mel King?

‘I have a surprise.’ Mel started a little. Her glasses slipping down her nose as her head whipped up. Those wide eyes looking all the wider as she stared up at him. Frank was doing his best to not notice that she had taken off her blazer. The angle of her leaning over the table coupled with his height.

It was taking all his skill to not stare at her chest. He was a professional god damn it. Her eyes landed on the parcel in his eyes. One thick eyebrow shooting upwards. ‘Wait... how?’

‘A magician never reveals his secrets.’ He handed over the heavy parcel before sitting down. Mel held it carefully in her hands. Something told him she was always careful.

‘But you’re not a magician.’ He opened his mouth but something stopped him. The slightly twitched over mouth. She was trying to hide a smile.

‘Fine I talked to the social desk. You’re not letting me have any fun.’ He sat down on her side of the table heavily. Mock pouting at him. Mel straightened. Unable to stop the smile on her face this time.

‘For now.’ Frank didn't think he was supposed to hear that little aside. So he pretended to get side tracked by her notes. She gently placed the parcel down and unwrapped it. Not a single tear to the paper. Frank would have just gone to town on it. Curious to see how she operated. Neat, tidy, careful is as careful does.

The cookbook was the expected heavy tome. Mel flipped through it. Pictures bright and rich. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that the food did make him salivate a little. But again Abby’s bright happy face just didn’t fit. It was too full. Too unaffected by her affliction. Her eyebrows and eyelashes thick. More than that: none of it felt genuine. Mel’s face mirrored his distrust. She sped through the introduction. Eyes zipping back and forth. Her face growing darker with each word she read. Frank didn’t like that. Mel King was meant to be bright like the sun. Not stormy like an oncoming hurricane.

Her jaw tensed as she placed the book down on the table. Her hands recoiling from it like it was physically repulsive. A sensory nightmare. Doctor King filled in Mel’s skin as he watched her settle down. Still warm and approachable but with a backbone of steel.

Mel adjusted her glasses with one hand and opened her laptop with the other. ‘Shall we get started?’

Frank Langdon was so far out of his league. Mel King was in a category all her own. And much like this story: he was obsessed already.

‘Game on.’