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Without (Doc Roe), we wouldn't be alive. Roe was the best medic we ever had. He was born to be a medic. You could always depend on him. You hollered "Medic!" and he was right there, come hell or high water. He knew what he was doing. He was compassionate, took care of you mentally, physically, every way.
- Bill Guarnere in Brothers in Battle, Best of Friends
summary: after sharing a night with jack abbot in a motel, both of you heartbroken and searching for something you can’t name, you start on the night shift at PTMC, and the real world isn’t the same as your heartbreak motel.
warnings: mentions of car accidents, cancer and spouse death (no main characters), blood, hospitals, not handling grief and trauma well, survivors guilt, suicidal ideation but nothing outright, mention of a panic attack, Jack is honestly a little selfish all throughout and can’t figure out what he wants lol. age gap is written but reader’s actual age isn’t specified, grammar mistakes most likely.
author’s note: I say this a lot but this might actually, seriously be my favorite fic i've written so far! i thought of so many different way to end this but ended up here, and I think i like it?? idk. i hope you love it though! xoxo
main masterlist | dividers by @strangergraphics
scenes from the motel are in italics.
Your shoes were too tight.
You were about to start possibly the most important night of your life and your stupid shoes were too tight.
You groaned as you walked through the doors of the ED, eyelids already feeling heavy and blisters forming at your anklesand your first hour hadn’t even started yet.
It was your first night shift as a senior resident at PTMC, brand new to Pittsburgh, accompanied by too many ghosts you can’t seem to outrun no matter how hard you try. You jumped from state to state for two years, never able to shake off the heavy chains that seemed to keep you shackled, pulling you further and further down into your imaginary casket six feet under. But it was something about Pittsburgh, something about the city and the mess and the deep, deep grime made you feel less alone, like maybe you weren’t as crazy and roughed up as you thought you were.
Or maybe it was just the handsome, silver haired man you met at your cheap motel on the outskirts of town that convinced you to stay here.
At least for a little bit.
You hadn’t given Michael Robinavitch a definite answer. You told him you’d try it. They needed residents, and honestly you needed a job. You told him you’d give it a shot for one night, already weary of having to work through the night.
Maybe that’s what you needed though.
Darkness seemed to follow you wherever you went, maybe it was time to let it stay, to try to thrive in it.
You promised Dr. Robinavitch you’d give it a shot, so there you were.
Staring into your new locker, eyes fixated on the various crumbs and discarded protein bar wrappers thrown in it. You shoved your bag on top of it. Little bit of crumbs never hurt anybody.
A throat cleared behind you.
“You the new senior resident I’m supposed to find?”
That voice.
You knew that voice.
“Are you gonna get something or you just gonna keep starin’?”
A gruff voice came from behind you and you tensed. You should’ve expected creepy guys with the motel choice that you made.
But you turned and tried to hide your jaw drop as you took in the man now standing in front of you, freckled arms crossed and a smirk pulling at his lips. Age pulled at his face but he was really handsome, the dingey light from the vending machine somehow working in his favor.
“I’d like to not waste my $2, thank you very much.” You quipped, a playful edge in your tone.
His eyebrows shot up, “$2?! Ignore me, take your time.”
You shut your locker and spun around, eyes wide, because there was just no way.
Jack’s eyebrows raised, just like they did just a few nights ago when you looked at him for the first time.
“You-“
You raised a finger, “You?!”
Jack looked you up and down, taking in the fact that you were there, standing in front of him.
The walls around you seemed to close in as you stood and stared at each other, eyes darting in different directions while you took one another’s presence in, wondering how the hell you both seemed to play fate to end up working in the same hospital. When two nights ago, only a mere 48 hours, you had spent a night together in your motel room, bearing your bodies and souls to one another between uncomfortable sheets and sour skittles from the vending machines. You were realizing now, as you looked at him, that he was a doctor through and through, and you weren’t sure how you didn’t catch it that night. The two of you talked about everything under the sun except what you did for work. Jack didn’t want to talk about his job and neither did you, considering at that moment you didn’t even have one.
Jack cleared his throat, working through the discomfort that was settling there as his heart raced, his palms becoming slick with sweat as he clutched onto the sticky note that had your name scrawled on it.
He figured the name was a coincidence.
He wondered too, as he stood there in that suffocating hallway, how he didn’t pick up on the fact that you were a doctor. It was all right there, laid out before both of you and you were both too wrapped up in your own words and ghosts to take a closer look at each other.
“I, uh- I’ll show you-“ He took in a deep inhale, very obviously trying to gather up the mess of feelings congregating in his chest because you weren’t supposed to be here, and if he was going to get through this shift, he had to get it together.
“I’ll show you around.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and gave you a curt nod, motioning you to follow him as he spun on his heel, walking much too quickly towards the nurse’s station, ignoring the warnings his prosthetic gave him through sharp pains digging into his skin.
You stood for a moment, unable to get your limbs to move as Jack made a beeline in the other direction, leaving you alone in the hallway, speechless.
Just two nights ago he was cradling your face in his hands like you were something precious, something to lose, and now he’s very obviously trying, and failing, to pretend like he’s never met you.
“What are you doing in a place like this?” He asked you, both of you crammed into dirty plastic chairs that were thrown between your motel rooms, sharing a bag of sour skittles. The only sound around you being the buzzing of the swinging lightbulb hanging above you as mosquitoes and moths knocked themselves into the bulb, desperately attracted to the light.
Maybe you could both learn a lesson or two from the moths.
You sighed, pointing your gaze to him, surprised to find that his was already fixed on you. His eyes were deep, heavy, something in them told you that you could trust him. To let go, to tell him you were running and scared, that this felt like your only option.
“Running.”
Jack nodded like he understood, not just a reaction to your words, but a real, deep understanding.
Like he was running too.
He poured some of the sour skittles into his hand before giving you the bag. He shook them in his hand before popping one in his mouth. You smiled at the action, such a classic middle-aged man move, so deeply human. Something about it created such a deep fondness for him, right there outside that rundown motel.
Something about it made you ask if he wanted to come inside your room.
And something about your sad eyes and the sour sugar on the corner of your mouth made him say yes.
You shook your head, snapping back into reality as you scurried off after your new attending, following him like a scared puppy.
Jack introduced you to the night crew, gesturing his arm out to you as you walked up, trying to hide his face as he noticed you were a lot further back than he thought you were.
“She’s our newest senior resident, so besides showing her where things are, treat her like she is not new. Give her the same respect you give to the doctors you’ve worked under for years, understood?”
Jack motioned for you to follow him, and pathetically, you did just that.
“This is Parker Ellis, your fellow senior resident. Get acquainted, let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”
Before Jack could walk away, you grabbed his arm.
“I didn’t catch your name.”
If that’s the game he wanted to play, then fine.
Jack stared at you and pulled his arm away like your touch burned.
And honestly, it did.
His wedding ring shone in the light as his hand moved, and for just a second you felt a surge of guilt for being so petty.
“Abott. Doctor Abbot.”
You feigned a smile, toothy and completely out of place.
“Thank you, Doctor Abbot.”
Ellis’ eyebrow shot up as Jack walked away, the interaction leaving her completely stunned.
Jack was tough and hardcore. All work and business but she had never seen him look at somebody, much less a colleague, like that before. Like the mere presence of them was pulsing icy hot fire through his veins.
You stood before her, posture perfect and shoulders back, ready to hear whatever she had to say but all she wanted to do was ask.
“Do you two… know each other?”
You made a face, lips turning down in a sort of frown as you shook your head.
“Nope.”
Tears marred your cheeks as you laid horizontally on your springy mattress, Jack laying beside you with his head at your feet.
You had slipped into this position easily, only a few minutes after asking him if he wanted to continue your conversation in your room.
You originally had other ideas for what to do in your bed, but Jack had asked what you were running from and no one had ever really taken the time to show interest in you like that. So far, of all the men you’d met in your state hopping, he’s actually the first one to really look at you.
You choked on your breath and Jack stayed silent, simply wrapping an arm around your leg, his palm resting on your shin.
A quiet sign of “don’t rush. I’m here.”
He waited a couple minutes before he spoke.
“I’m running too. Got my own ghosts after me.”
You stilled for a moment, letting silence envelope the both of you as you stared at the ceiling, studying the cracks in the surface of the yellowing paint as you wondered what either of you did wrong to end up in a place like this.
But Jack was looking at you, his back resting against the headboard, his hand still resting on your shin, your skin divided by the material of your sweatpants.
He couldn’t help but think you were so beautiful as you stared up at the ceiling, eyes red and lips puffy, chest heavy as it moved up and down. Heart achingly stunning in a place like this.
An angel he wasn’t meant to find.
He leaned forward, moving so he was laying the same way as you, propping himself up on his elbows as he brought a hand up to hold the side of your jaw, his own jaw clenched as his eyes found yours, looking at you as if you held his future.
He leaned forward then, connecting his lips to yours and it didn’t take you long to reciprocate his motion, carding your fingers through his hair as you gripped onto him, holding him so tightly in place as if he’d run when you loosened your grip.
He pulled away, just for a moment.
“Felt like that’s what you needed.”
Jack was reeling.
The first person he confided in, really confided in, since losing his wife and he took comfort in the fact that you were in a bubble. A safe bubble outside of the Pitt, somewhere he knew he could go and you’d be there waiting for him, not a lick of judgement etched in your features because you were just as messed up as he was, and now here you were, crash landing into his ED, limping like your feet weren’t yours and he cursed himself because it made his heart hurt that you were doing that, that something was hurting and he couldn’t fix it.
He didn’t want to panic at your presence. He wished he could’ve smiled and welcomed you and maybe even pulled you into a hug because you were there but he didn’t know what to do when you turned around in that hallway and he saw your face.
Your face.
But he didn’t do any of that, your presence was so suffocating, almost too much air in his lungs, that he panicked. He had left the motel the next afternoon before you woke up, slipping out of your room and into his room to gather his belongings and throw them in his truck, peeling out of the parking lot with panic bubbling in his chest.
What kind of husband was he?
Allowing that to happen on the anniversary of his wife’s death?
It wasn’t your fault, and deep down, he knew there wasn’t anything for him to be at fault for, either. But the thought of it felt like betrayal, felt like he was leaving his wife behind to be forgotten, like he was holding her memory like a piece of plastic instead of something sacred.
You were a breath of fresh air after breathing in the stale stench of grief for so long, a grief he had grown accustomed to festering in, and now your newness and unspoken promises of something beautiful were so unfamiliar to him that all he knew how to do was retreat back into the darkness.
He watched you from across the ED, arms crossed and jaw set tight as you nodded along to what Ellis was saying to you, looking at the clipboard she was presenting, furrowing your eyebrows in understanding.
He hadn’t noticed he was being watched until Robby’s voice cut through his thoughts behind him.
“You meet the new senior resident?”
Jack furrowed his eyebrows as he turned to face his friend.
Before he could ask, Robby was responding, “I’m here to meet her.”
Jack nodded. “She’s fine.”
Robby looked at his friend, studying the tension of his shoulders and the way his jaw was flexing over and over, how he was constantly readjusting his hands. Putting them in his pockets, crossing them over his chest, interlocking them behind his back.
He’d known and worked beside Jack for years, not only as a coworker but as a friend, and this was not normal behavior for him.
This was the kind of behavior that raised an eyebrow from the people closest to him.
Something was up.
But one thing Robby didn’t exactly have in that moment, was time.
Your eyes flitted up from Parker’s clipboard, meeting Jack’s for a fraction of a second and Jack shook his head as he tore his eyes away from you to the floor, praying his all too observant friend next to him wouldn’t notice.
But oh boy, did Robby notice.
“My husband, he uh-“
The word husband made Jack ache. As you sipped cups of lukewarm, black coffee, him situated in the chair and you on your bed, he knew exactly where this was going. You didn’t wear a ring, but to be honest, Jack wasn’t wearing his either.
He took it off the moment he saw you, face illuminated by the soft glow of the vending machine. A vision in sweatpants.
The absence of it made his stomach hurt, but maybe not in a bad way.
He wondered where you kept yours.
“He died.” The words came out strangled as your face twisted, putting so much effort in to stop yourself from crying, nodding your head up and down like you were convincing yourself the words you were saying were real. “It was my fault.” You gasped, breathing suddenly becoming strenuous as if there was glass lodged into your chest.
Jack set his coffee down on the floor, slowly making his way over to sit next to you on the bed, one hand coming up to rest on your back.
He didn’t say anything, he waited. Waited and waited as silent tears rolled down your cheeks.
“I crashed the car. I crashed the car and he’s the one that had to suffer for it.”
Jack closed his eyes as you brought your knees up to your chest, burying your face into them and wrapping your arms around your legs, no longer strong enough to put up the fight of keeping your head up.
Jack still didn’t speak as he gathered you into his arms, chin resting on the top of your head while he rocked you back and forth.
A woman he didn’t know, in a scrappy motel outside of Pittsburgh, and he was holding you like the two of you had been in love for years.
“It should’ve been me!”
Your words pierced thorns through his heart but he continued to stay quiet.
He didn’t try to convince you it wasn’t your fault, he didn’t try to comfort you with shushes or soft whispers. He just held you through it, arms locked around you, securing you in to wordlessly tell you he wasn’t going to leave you there alone.
At least not tonight.
“You what?”
Jack raked his hand through his hair, the gold band on his finger suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
Robby had pulled Jack up to the roof the second his breathing sputtered, grabbing him by the neck of his scrubs like a scruffed kitten.
“I didn’t know she was going to be our newest senior resident.” His voice was low, hands gripping onto the guard rail until his knuckles turned white.
Robby laughed and Jack’s chest burned, heat creeping into his cheeks.
“You’re getting back out there, Abbot. Nothing to have a panic attack about.”
He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand that this wasn’t just sleeping with someone, he had basically handed you his heart, bloody, broken and barely beating after only one night of knowing each other. One night of revealing every crack and hidden corner in your heartbreaks.
On the night of the 10 year anniversary of his wife’s death, he was shown that falling in love, again, was possible.
“But it’s not that, is it?”
Robby’s voice turned serious as he watched his friend all but curl into himself like a scared animal on the roof of PTMC. Robby couldn’t count on two hands the number of times him and Jack had talked each other off of the ledge on that roof. But in all honesty, they were never truly on the ledge, not really. Mostly just needed to hear something real, something to remind them that there was life growing outside of the building they were standing on.
And with all of those times combined, Robby’s never seen him like this.
Never seen him truly scared.
Spooked to the bone.
This was more than just a one night stand.
“It was on the anniversary of her death.”
Robby cursed under his breath at Jack’s confession. This was a big one too, 10 years. Jack had mentioned going away for the night, not being able to stand being alone in his house, but he never mentioned meeting someone while he was out.
Someone who was changing everything.
Robby paused for a beat, letting the only sounds be the traffic in the streets below them.
“Jack, I think she would be…” He sucked in a breath, willing away his own tears as he looked at the defeated demeanor of his friend. His friend he had known for far too long, his friend whose wife died in his ER while he watched through the window. His friend whose late wife was a friend to him too.
Jack wasn’t the only one who talked Robby off the ledge.
“Don’t.” His voice cracked, he knew what Robby was about to say. One syllable carried the weight of “please don’t make this better.”
“Overjoyed.”
Jack let his head fall into his hands, elbows digging into the harsh metal.
“You have to let it go, brother. This will kill you if you let it.”
Jack didn’t have to say it for Robby to know, to read it on his posture, that maybe he wants to let it. And that’s why he was up here, shaking like a leaf with tears left unshed, cries of anguish locked deep in his chest.
Because he knew, the second he looked at you with that sour candy clinging to the corners of your lips, that you weren’t going to let it.
“I don’t wanna talk about my job.”
Jack’s eyes screwed shut when you asked what he did for work, shaking his head as he sat on the edge of your bed, hands gripping the sheets.
He just told you about his wife, who died in a noisy ER, years ago, with the light off while he held her hand and whispered words of comfort to her. Assured her she could let go, stop fighting.
You had said something similar to your husband as his head laid in your lap, nearly unrecognizable while you waited for the ambulance.
You’d only been married for a year.
Jack had been married for 8.
As you sat there, his shirtless back facing you, studying the freckles on his back like they were star constellations, you realized the amount of time didn’t make much of a difference.
The grief was still impossible.
You understood, probably more than anyone, that Jack didn’t want to talk about his job. Because, god, you really didn’t want to talk about yours either. The death and suffering that marred your life, hung over you because of what you did for work, seeping into every area of your life as you were barely even being able to step foot into an ED and do your damn job for the past two years because each one has the same smell, the same smell that nauseated you the day you lost your husband.
You really, really didn’t want to talk about your job.
“We’re both a little roughed up, aren’t we?”
You spoke, picking at the undone material of the duvet cover.
Jack huffed out a laugh.
“Just heartbroken, honey.”
You let a smile pull at your lips while your cheek rested on your knee.
“Heartbreak hotel.” You teased, referencing the Elvis Presley song, halfway poking fun at his age.
“Last I checked, this was a motel.”
“Alright, Heartbreak Motel then.”
Jack’s arm brushed past yours and it took everything in you not to lose it.
You thought the two of you held something more meaningful than this. More than just a one night stand where you pretend not to know each other when you bumped into one another in public. More than hiding the fact that you knew each other from your now shared colleagues. More than just an empty passing glance and arms brushing in the hall.
“If you have something you want to say, Dr. Abbot, say it.”
He had already walked past you, your backs turned towards each other as you both froze in an empty-ish corner of the Pitt.
You didn’t care who heard you, you felt humiliated. You spilled your guts out to this man, your metaphorical blood splattered out on the floors and walls of your motel room, broken and desperate to be held and seen and known, and he was brushing past you like it never happened. The embarrassment was white hot and it seeped through your skin in beads of sweat and a heart that was beating all too fast.
“There’s nothing to say.”
You whipped around.
“Nothing to say, are you serious?”
His back was still facing you, hands secured inside of his pockets.
His shoulders made the material of his scrub top stretch, pulling the fabric in the middle of his shoulder blades and you couldn’t help but remember how your finger had mindlessly traced them not too long ago.
He rolled his neck before turning around in your direction, his eyes now connecting with yours.
God, that face.
Devastatingly beautiful.
Tragic.
You had so many things you wanted to say but your thoughts seemed to melt away like a piece of paper submerged into water.
“What is it you would want me to say?”
His chest ache as he looked at you, looking somehow even more beautiful than he remembered. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure he would ever see you again. He knew you’d be staying at the motel until further notice, and he’d whispered promises of coming back and seeing you as you fell asleep, clinging onto him like a teddy bear you couldn’t sleep without.
Like a safe space.
You wouldn’t sleep until he promised.
He ignored the ache.
You were supposed to stay there, in your heartbreak motel. You weren’t supposed to spill into the other areas of his life because that meant he would fall in love with you and that meant you suddenly became something he could lose.
Your shoulders fell as you realized this was one sided.
Realized you had been used.
He was on an emotional spiral that night, buried in grief and heartbreak and looking for a temporary fix, and you were collateral.
“I misread the situation. My apologies.”
As you said it, you knew you were anything but apologetic. You turned to walk away but a hand wrapped around your arm and pulled you into the nearby stairwell.
Jack’s chest heaved as the door behind you slammed, his fingers still wrapped tightly around your forearm.
“Jack-“
“Don’t talk.”
Your back was against the wall, and he closed his body in against yours, so close your noses were practically touching.
“You can’t just do this.”
“Do what?”
He inched closer and you lost feeling in your legs, long forgetting about the stabbing pain in your feet from your too tight shoes.
He hovered over you, lips brushing so feather-light against yours you wondered if he was actually this close or if you were making things up in the stairwell at your new job because it was 2 in the morning.
His lips were suddenly on yours and you were breathless, hands immediately coming up to dig into his hair as he moved against you, hands gripped onto the sides of your waist, softly squeezing the skin there.
“No!”
You pushed him off of you, wiping your lips as if the lingering feeling of his on yours was something physical.
“Don’t do that!”
Jack shook his head.
“This is the real world, okay?!” His voice boomed, bouncing off the walls, surging through the empty halls of the stairwell. He had been a ticking time bomb all day with you around and he knew it was only a matter of time before he lost his control.
You tried to take a step back but you were already against the wall.
“This isn’t some stupid, made up heartbreak hotel-“
“Motel.”
Jack sucked in a breath, a frown so deep etched into his face you wondered if one day it would just become permanent. He was annoyed.
“My point is, this is real life. Whatever happened that night can’t be happening here.”
“Then why did you kiss me?”
Jack groaned, running a hand over his face.
“Just, stay out of my way, please.”
You didn’t miss the way his voice broke as he spoke the last word.
He left you alone in the stairwell.
Feeling just as vulnerable and cut open as you did when you woke up alone in your motel room, not so much as a note or a left-behind sock as proof of the night before.
Only with the remembrance of his lips on yours and the hope that maybe he’d come back.
Jack wasn’t doing well. He was sloppy, unfocused, shaky. 3 things that weren’t in the usual vocabulary for people describing Dr. Jack Abbot.
You being here in his ED, standing in the same room that his wife died in 10 years ago, was so overwhelming and terrifying that he couldn’t stand it.
His hands clutched the countertop of the nurse’s station as he watched you.
What was he supposed to do? Run away from these feelings just for the sake of honoring his late wife? Was this honor or was it self-inflicted torture? Having something so beautiful at the edge of his fingertips yet denying himself the pleasure of grabbing you with both hands.
Was it honorable to live the rest of his life in voluntary misery or was it just stupid?
He realized the answer didn’t matter; he already ruined it.
“I’ve been so convinced that I can outrun ghosts, but they’re faster than me.”
You were back outside now, sharing a cigarette, the irony lost on both of you since neither of you knew the other was a doctor.
Jack took a drag of the cigarette as he thought on your words before handing it back to you.
“I think we have some say in our ghosts.”
He finally answered after minutes of silence.
You furrowed your brows, blowing out smoke, handing the cigarette back to him, your fingers brushing each other.
“Like what?”
“Like if we choose to let them stay.”
You challenged him, “You said you have ghosts of your own.”
Jack smiled, genuine and true, “I let mine stay.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know how to kick them out.”
You left the hospital at sunrise, after a grueling night shift, feet bleeding through your socks and heart wounded, and told Dr. Robby you’d stay.
His face was painted with surprise at your decision, not doing well to hide it.
“Really?”
He saw how the night went for you, how Jack gave you the cold shoulder and the hurt feelings that etched across your futures and hung at the edge of your lips. How you limped around in your shoes that were very obviously too tight for your feet.
“Can I ask why?”
“I can’t keep running from ghosts.”
Jack stood at the hub, filling out last minute charts and signing where an attending’s signature was needed. Sleep pulled at him as his hands moved slowly across each sheet of paper, barely even holding the pen in place.
“She decided to stay, Jack.”
He closed his eyes, those being the very last words he expected to come out of Robby’s mouth after he’d walked you to the parking lot.
“That so?”
He tried to seem disinterested, despite the conversation he’d had with him up on the roof, he was panicked and backtracking.
“Something about how she can’t keep running from ghosts?”
Jack let his pen fall onto the paper.
“I don’t want you to be another ghost.”
You admitted into the dark, trying to ignore the crack in your chest at the smallest bit of sunlight that was beginning to peek through the curtains, as you held onto Jack, your cheeks still sticky with tears while your head laid on his bare chest, the sound of his heart beat booming in your ears.
“I won’t be.” He kissed the top of your head.
Don’t make promises you can’t keep, he scolded himself in his head but he couldn’t help it. You were so sad and so tired and he couldn’t take this away from you, he couldn’t take it away from himself.
“You’ll come back?”
“Yeah. I’ll come back.”
Jack stood at your motel door, still in his scrubs, looking just about as weighed down as you knew he felt.
His ring was missing from his finger.
Guilt nearly swallowed him whole as he looked at you. Deep bags pulled at your pretty eyes and you shifted your weight back and forth between your feet, obviously uncomfortable.
He had been so caught up in himself and his own tragedy that he hadn't really taken a moment to think about you and how all of this was playing out from your point of view.
The sadness that lived in his chest, lived in yours too.
You were scared.
Scared of letting someone in and creating the risk of losing them. Creating something beautiful and fragile that carried meaning because all you could think about if you let Jack in was his face laying in your lap, bloody and bruised.
Lifeless.
“You came back.”
“I came back.”
You stood there in silence for a second, just taking in each other in, the air around you feeling significantly softer than it did when you first came across each other in the hallway at PTMC. The air was sweeter, eyes were softer. This was the promise of another chance, that if you chose to fall in love again you could break down walls and begin to look out for another person besides yourselves.
“Sometimes.”
Jack was the first to break the silence.
“Sometimes I feel like the weight of my grief is going to crush me.”
You waited, something in the edge of his tone told you he wasn’t done yet.
“And sometimes I feel like letting it would be easier than continuing to try.”
His confession knocked the air out of you.
“And now I’ve met you and,”
He sucked in a sharp breath, tears swelling at the waterline of his hazel eyes.
“And you make me want to try.”
You choked on something bubbling up in your throat, a cry or something worse.
He had a hand on his heart, as if it was physically breaking in his chest.
“I can’t run anymore, Jack.” You admitted after his confession, you realized your hand was still clutching the doorknob.
“I’m not gonna let you.”
He stepped forward, shaky hands sliding onto the sides of your face, his eyes desperately searching yours for any sort of answer that he wasn’t too late.
You sighed as you leaned into his touch, and Jack’s heart melted when you pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand, impossibly gentle and cautious.
“I’ll fight like hell if you stay.”
Your eyes fluttered shut in his hold, your hands finally coming up to grip onto his wrists, head dropping forward to rest on his chest.
“You scare me. I saw you in my ED and I panicked.”
His dimly lit angel, not meant to be seen by the harsh fluorescent of the Pitt.
“We both reek of heartbreak and ghosts. The smell is actually kinda…”
You were making a joke. “Alright, I was hoping you’d let me shower here.” Jack admitted, an edge of humor in his voice, knowing he probably didn’t smell like sunshine and roses after his 12 hour shift.
You pulled away from him, face serious as he continued to cradle your face in his hands.
“Seriously, Jack. What are we going to do with each other?”
Jack shrugged, a sparkle in his eye as he looked at you because that sentence just solidified something. It solidified that you knew too how hard this was going to be, that you were also ready to fight through the ghosts and the heartbreak, that you were ready for the impossible patience it was going to take for both of you to love each other through grief.
“Maybe we could start with a bag of sour skittles and getting some band-aids on those wounded feet of yours?”
Summary- You were best friends with Frank Langdon all throughout med school, and sometime thereafter, before you took up residency in New York City. Many years and mistakes later, you return to PTMC. What could go wrong?
Contains- kissing, discussions of frank's addiction, patients with addiction, show typical cases, cases involving children
A/N- divider from @wispyxfae!
Your heart beats in your ears, the nostalgic flourescence of PTMC's lights hum overhead as you enter the E.R. It's only 8:00 a.m., but the hospital is already buzzing with activity, like it's never slowed down. If you remember correctly, it probably hasn't.
Your heart beats in your ears, the nostalgic fluorescence of PTMC's lights hum overhead as you enter the E.R. It's only 8:00 a.m., but the hospital is already buzzing with activity, like it's never slowed down. If you remember correctly, it probably hasn't.
Dana greets you with a big squeeze, fondness in her tone as she shows you around, updating you on the slight differences that have shifted your former workplace in the past five years.
The work starts immediately, just as you expected. You hop on to various cases, introducing yourself to the new doctors and interns, while reuniting with some of your superiors who were there when you were just a intern.
The thought of your intern days makes your heart race, the thought of seeing a certain doctor nearly stopping you in your tracks. You absolutely loved your time as a intern doctor at PTMC, and part of that had to do with a certain doctor.
You haven't seen Frank Langdon in years He was your best friends for years, and you haven't seen him since you left to begin your pediatric residency in New York. The unknown is what shakes you, a shiver unzipping down your spine at all you'd missed.
You know he got married, a fact you've spent five years grappling with, though you had no right to. You know he has two kids, a fact he proudly boasts on his social media- the 'daddy' friendship bracelet made your insides turn.
It hurts your heart to think that your friendship has been numbed down to such niceties- birthday texts and likes on Instagram now taking place of the late night talks you shared in your internship, laughing late into the night over bowls of cheap Chinese food.
You're older now, though. Different. He is too.
Thankfully, you don't get much time to dwell on it as a family makes its way through the front doors. You jump into action immediately, clocking the distressed children, no older than 2 and 5, dragging their despondent mom into the E.R.
You get onto the older child's level, crouching down in your pink scrubs. You give him a kind smile and a wave, your eyes trying to convey as much safety as possible.
"Hi!" You chirp softly, giving them your name. "What's your name?"
"Joanie," she sniffles, eyes wide and glossy. Your heart breaks a little.
"Hi Joanie, that's a beautiful name," you say, and she smiles through her tears.
"What do we have here?" You freeze at the familiar voice creeping up behind you, unable to turn around to face Frank, moving the mom into a gurney.
You stand up, eyes locking with him in a time stopping moment. His blue eyes are a gut punch, all the work you thought you did in moving on completely undone with one glimmer. Your heart races, pumping against your ribcage so hard it's almost painful.
He raises his brow, that same attitude ever present. You can't help but smile softly, spurring his own. You put in more effort than you deem necessary to pull yourself out of a Langdon-smile induced haze, blinking sharply and turning your gaze back to Joanie.
"This is Joanie, she brought her mom and her little brother in. It's looking like Mom isn't feeling well, right?" You ask her gently, and she nods shyly.
Your heart aches for her scared expression, and you crouch down again, holding out a tentative hand. She accepts it, squeezing hard.
"Hi Joanie," Frank says, kneeling on one leg to look at her in the eye. "I'm Dr. Langdon, I'm gonna take good care of your mom, okay?" He sounds assured, confident in that Langdon way you know all too well.
She nods, curling into you slightly. His smile softens at the sight, sweet, round eyes finding yours. They're shining with pride, though you can't seem to accept that it has anything to really do with you.
It takes a moment for you to process the scene unfolding before you. You and Langdon, working together again, crowded around this poor child. You can't help but think about what passersby might think, that she's your child, that Langdon's yours, that you're a family.
God, it's only been one hour into your first day back and you're already delusional, using a literal traumatized child to feed Langdon induced delusions.
You turn your attention back to the girl, giving her all you have so you have nothing left for Frank.
"Let's let Dr. Langdon help your mom, okay?" You ask, and she nods. "I'm going to take you and your brother into another room to make sure you guys are okay. Is that alright?"
She's hesitant, you can see it in her sad eyes as they flit to her near unconscious mom wriggling around on the gurney that Langdon has taken charge of. He's checking her pulse, her BP, making sure her eyes are reactive. Soon, he's rolling her away, maneuvering through the crowded E.R.
Joanie tries to follow, but you stop her with a gentle clutch to her shoulders.
"Sweet girl, I know it's scary, but you have to let Dr. Langdon check on your mom all by himself. You can do it," you reassure her, wiping away a stray tear with your thumb.
"I'm scared," she blubbers, and you squeeze her shoulder lightly.
"I know, sweetie. It's so scary, but you did so good. I'm going to be by your guys' side the whole time, okay?" You say, turning your attention to the brother now, too. His little thumb is tucked into his mouth, a small blanket with an attached rabbit tucked into his neck.
"What's your brother's name?" You ask Joanie, a sweet smile on your face.
"Theo," she says, voice still shaky.
"Hi Theo," you say, smiling at him. Your arm is still wrapped around Joanie, and you reach your arm out for him now, too. "I'm here to help you guys, okay?" He nods slightly. "I have a really cool room to show you guys," you say, voice enticing enough to get their attention.
"Cool?" Theo babbles out, and your heart wrings out like a wet rag.
"Yeah!" You smile. "There's all these pictures of cool animals, just like your bunny!"
His gaze snaps down to the stuffie in his arms, reaching out to take your hand soon after. You lead them both to the pedes room, shutting the door. Now that you're alone in a quiet room, the weight of the situation sinks on you like an elephant.
You take in these poor kids, shaking, dirty, and terrified. You smile despite your aching chest. This is the job you signed up for, you can't break down on the first day.
You snap on some gloves, rolling towards them on your stool. You ask for permission to begin your check up, scanning for any signs of abuse or injury.
Thankfully, there's no broken bones or immediate injuries. You do, however, find bruises littering both of their chests, necks, and arms. You force yourself to blink away tears, pressing down lightly on a bruise to see how they react.
Joanie flinches and hisses, and you mutter out a, "I'm sorry, sweet girl. You're doing great."
"Do you promise?" She asks, tears streaming relentlessly down her cheeks. You nod, rubbing your thumb on her hand.
There's a knock at the door soon after, and you can see the outline of Langdon's frame through the little window. Your heart catches at the sight, one you thought you'd never see again.
You pop the door open slightly, sticking your head out with a forced smile plastered on your face. It's still hard to see him after all this time. You take him in, the more prominent frown lines, the creases by his eyes, his mouth. His chin dimple hasn't changed, and that makes your heart swell a little.
"Hi," you breathe into the thick, tense air.
"Hi," he says back, just as breathless. You look at each other a moment, heart skipping a beat under his weighted gaze.
After a moment, his breath catches in his throat, eyes reverting back to the chart in his hand. He lifts a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, a nervous tick you remember from med school. You let yourself smile at the familiar gesture.
"Mom has tested positive for multiple drugs. We're getting social work down now. How are the kids?" He asks, his voice hushed.
Your eyes fall shut in disappointment, your heart sinking at the thought of these kids being subjected to such things.
"They're okay. No prominent injuries, but there are multiple bruises on both of them. Wrist, neck, and chest mainly," you tell him.
You watch him shift at this news, avoiding eye contact in an unusual way, his hand reaching back up to the nape of his neck. Your lips twist downward lightly, brows knitting together in concern.
"You okay?" You ask him, willing yourself to sound the least bit casual.
"Yeah," he nods, "yeah, 'm fine." He turns to walk away before you can ask anything else.
You shrug, shutting the door and turning back to the kids.
"Can we go see Mommy now?" Joanie asks, trembling slightly.
You smile at her. "Of course we can."
Kiara is already there when you arrive, a child holding each hand. Joanie is brave, running toward her mom's bed and clinging herself there. Theo chooses to stay by you, his little fist gripping your scrubs. You place a gentle hand on his head, and you see Langdon follow the movement from the corner of your eye.
She begins to ask the kids questions, probing Joanie for more information on her mom's addiction. Your eyes flit to Langdon's as she begins to describe what her mom does at home- erratic mood swings, violent tendencies, sleeping too much.
You watch Langdon fiddle with his plastic gloves, a pinch and release, pinch and release. Confusion pricks at your gut again, this unfamiliar behavior from him oddly surprising. You know it shouldn't be. You'd abandoned your friendship, and by extension, him. when you left. You had no intention of seeing him again. This very well could be behavior he picked up while you were not there.
However, there's a small part of you saying that's not the case. There's something more happening, you just don't know what.
You stay with Theo, holding on to him as Kiara finishes her standard set of questions. Once she's done, you and Langdon are both dismissed to go help other patients. You can't help but notice the speed with which he snaps off his gloves, his left ring finger noticeably bare.
Your eyes widen at the sight, heart dropping into your stomach as you watch him stalk off, his speed unusually fast, even in an E.R.
You give Theo's hand a squeeze, along with Joanie. You let them know you'll be here all day in case they need you, but that Kiara is going to take good care of them. Kiara nods at you, and you take off in Langdon's direction.
You just barely catch his slim frame slip through the door to pedes. You couldn't stop yourself from making your way there if you tried. Your palms sweat as you step closer and closer, your feet moving before your brain can talk yourself out of it.
You only stop when you reach the door, fist lifted in a knock that you can't quite seem to complete. You jump when the door swings open, gasping as Frank's head pokes out in the same way yours did earlier. You've always been mirrors of each other.
"I could see you in the hallway. What do you want?" He asks, and it's blunt. Not mean, but straightforward in the way that Frank can be.
"I just wanted to check on you. That case seemed to bother you," you say, trying not to push his boundaries.
His eyes find the floor, scuffing his shoes against the linoleum tile. He stays silent, but moves out of the way, allowing you inside.
You squeeze your way in, pressing your back against the door to shut it. It's silent for a while, comfortable and loaded at the same time- if that's possible.
Looking at Frank, it's like no time has passed. He paces, the same way he would when at risk of failing a class or exam, plowing ten fingers through his dark hair as he breathes heavily.
Your heart clutches at his obvious anxiety, each rapid beat against your ribs like a bat to a ball.
"What's wrong, Frank?" You whisper, and he finally stops.
He faces you, eyes glossy.
"I'm a recovering addict," he murmurs, and your mouth falls open.
Time stops in that moment, your ears ring and your stomach burns with white hot anxiety. Frank? An addict? You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Though, you suppose the vice grip of addiction wrings out unsuspecting people all the time.
"Frank-" you start, but he holds a hand up, stopping you. He still can't look you in the eye.
"It's been a year and a half since I got out of rehab. I was in there for an addiction to benzos. I was stealing from patients, making horrible decisions, and put my career and life at risk," the confession spills from his lips, breaking your heart.
You can't believe you weren't here for him, weren't able to be a system of support for him. Your guilt is nearly suffocating, wrapping its ghostly hands around your neck and squeezing, tighter and tighter.
"I'm sorry," you choke, unsure of what else to say.
"Really?" He asks. "That's all you got?"
You nod. "I-I guess."
"You guess," he smiles sardonically to the floor. "You were my best friend- you-"
"I'm sorry," you cut him off, holding your own hand up now, "best friend? Frank, I think we both know it was more than that."
"Was it?" He asks, voice growing a bit louder.
Your heart pounds in your chest, anxiety and nerve bubbling in your stomach like bad stew.
"Yes," you breathe, barely able to look at him.
He scoffs maliciously, rolling his eyes at your response. Guilt splits open your gut, all of your once repressed Frank-related emotions spilling out like garbage on an open road.
"That's really rich, actually. Are we remembering that night differently?" He asks, tone agitated, eyes wild.
"Frank-" you blubber, the situation wildly spiraling out of your control. "We were just kids, I had no idea what I'd wanted."
It was a feeble thing to say, and you know it. Frank knows it too, another sarcastic laugh slicing through the room.
"Really? It seems to me like you wanted to go to New York and not tell me. It seems to me like you wanted a different experience that had nothing to do with me. It seems to me like you wanted to outrun something you were scared of," his accusations are pointed, harsh, but not false.
"I wasn't afraid of anything!" You exclaim, the false defense spilling from your lips before you can stop it.
"Really?" He asks, disbelief coloring his near erratic tone. "So you weren't afraid to ditch me and our six year friendship? You weren't afraid to deny the invitation to my wedding? You weren't afraid to tell me you loved me back? That was easy for you, is that what you're telling me? You weren't afraid of any of it?"
His questions hang in the air, a spider spinning a vicious web of destruction. Tears prick your eyes like pin needles, sharp and stinging. You think back to that night, two weeks before you left.
You and Frank had just finished your internships, popping open a bottle of cheap champagne in your dingy apartment to celebrate. You took a sip, looking at your best friend, heart beating a mile a minute.
The sight of him was enough to render you speechless, to turn your knees into jelly. You loved him, you knew this. The fact rested heavy on your chest, neighboring the offer to complete a pediatric residency at New York Presbyterian. These two things were at constant battle in your head, your heart.
Your skin heated as he leaned closer to you, his bleary eyes sleepy, smiley, and so happy. It broke your heart. You had to break the news to him somehow.
"Frank, there's something I have to tell you," you started, sitting up to face him head on.
"Wait," he said, stopping you. "Me too. Let me go first."
Your eyes went wide, heart anchoring the bottom of your stomach. You had no choice to let him go, unable to form words to stop him.
"Ever since we sat next to each other on that first day of med school, I knew you were different. I knew that you were special. I was right. You are the smartest, prettiest, funniest person I know. I like you, and I have a feeling you feel the same way about me. What's say we give it a try? Take this to the next level?" He asked, and your mouth went dry.
Your lips parted, panic seeping through every inch of your body. Tears instantly sprung to your eyes, your sunken heart breaking clean in two.
"Frank-" You started, but he stopped you again.
"I know it's kind of crazy, I mean, you're my best friend, but I think if we were more than that, we'd be unstoppable. What do you think?" He said, chest heaving up and down.
Silence had hung over you like a wet blanket, heavy and uncomfortable. You were unable to think of what to say, how to respond. So you didn't.
You remember the way his face had changed, the confidence in his eye slowly faded to a sad, conceded gaze that still haunts you to this day.
"Say something," he breathed, desperate. You squeezed your eyes shut, the last in tact pieces of your heart giving up.
"I was offered a pediatric residency at New York Presbyterian. I'm going to take it," you whispered, his eyes darted up to yours immediately.
"What?" He said, chest heaving even heavier now. "When were you going to tell me this?"
"Soon," you'd said, tears streaking your cheeks. You'd meant it, though you knew how shitty it sounded.
"Soon?" He repeated, incredulous. "How soon is soon? When do they want you to start?"
"In three weeks," you murmured as shame crept up your spine. He threw his hands up in frustration, and it felt like your heart had been bruised.
"I didn't want to hurt you, Frank. I didn't know how to tell you, but it's such a good opportunity," you blubbered, fully crying at that point. "They have the best pediatric program in the country, you know that, Frank!"
You knew your attempts to reason with him were feeble, unnecessary. The damage had been done. There was no going back.
He'd sighed in defeat, his eyes boring into his shoes that scuffed against your hardwood. He shook his head, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.
Panic had rushed through you then, you remember it to this day, your entire world walking out on you.
"Frank!" You exclaimed, but he just opened the door and slammed it behind him without another word.
"Langdon," you say now, a hand on your hip, "you were the one that walked out on me, if you can remember. You were the one that refused to talk things out with me."
"Well, God forbid I needed time to heal from my best friend shattering my heart!" He throws his hands up in exasperation, and he looks so much like he did that fateful night you almost cry.
"How did we end up back here?" You whisper, your life feeling cynically cyclical now.
"I don't know, but maybe we should just leave each other alone," he suggests, and you snap your teary eyes up to meet his.
His hands are covering his face, and you realize this is the first time you're seeing him today without gloves. Abby divorced him. Your lips fall open, and you have to quell the swelling of hope in your chest. You know that's an inappropriate reaction to such information, but you can't help it. You love him. You think maybe you always have.
"You really think so?" You ask, a single tear spilling over your lash line. His face contorts, just for a moment, and you think he might still love you too.
But then he nods, agreeing.
"Yeah, I mean, look at us. We can't even be in the same room as each other without getting into it like this. I think that we should keep things strictly professional," he says, eyes boring into yours, though they're hesitant, unsure.
"Professional," you echo, and he nods again.
You jump at a knock on the door, Dana's muffled voice filtering through the room.
"We good in here? I got a baby that needs a check up," she says, and you wipe the tear off your cheek, spinning on your heel to open the door.
"We're fine!" You chirp, a fake smile plastered on your face. "Just wrapping up our most recent patient. Here you go!" You stride past her, hoping your false confidence is blinding enough to rob her of any suspicion.
Of course it doesn't, you know Dana, and she knows you. Specifically, she knows you and Langdon. Together.
-
The past few weeks avoiding Langdon have been strainful at best. Thankfully, you enjoy your work, sinking your teeth in almost too deep some days. Today is one of those days, one that seems to drag on for hours on end, You hunch over your rolling desk in pedes, scribbling furiously on a note pad, documenting each detail of your last case.
Three children involved in an accident including a hot stove and a boiling pot. You cringe as you jot down the details, reaching for the slender can of your energy drink. It's power is futile at this point, you're so tired that it doesn't make a difference.
You rub your eyes, afraid that if you keep them closed too long, you'll fall asleep where you sit. The click of the door opening jerks you back to life, flinching as your eyes readjust to the beating overhead lights.
Langdon walks in, frantic and searching. He freezes when he sees you though, and you're both slack jawed and stupid. You can't keep your eyes off him, and every moment he stares back helps you breathe a little easier.
"Why are you still here?" He bites out. It's gruff, but there's a hint of concern. Some things never change.
"I got caught up with a case. Took a lot out of me. Kiara's got them now, and I hate to say that I'm relieved," you reply sheepishly.
You're so tired, you can't seem to care about restricting yourself in front of him. It's Langdon, for Christ's sake.
"You need to stop doing that," he says, rummaging through the cabinets and drawers. "You're going to burn yourself out."
"Yeah, I think I'll be fine…" you trail off, brows furrowed.
You get off your stool, your back sore from your horrible posture. Your back arches in a stretch, a soft squeak popping from your mouth at the feeling.
Langdon pauses again, eyes on you. You see his gaze flit from your face to the sliver of skin on your tummy, exposed from your scrubs riding up. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip before returning to your eyes.
"What are you looking for?" You ask, clearing your throat. It slices through the tension only for a moment, your heart racing the second it's quiet again.
"An extra pulse ox," he remarks, opening and closing with abandon. "We have a patient out there who is having an allergic reaction."
"A patient? A child?" You ask, and he doesn't answer. That's a yes.
"Let me help you," you say, maneuvering around him to find what he needs.
You try to ignore his breath on your neck as you wiggle your way between him and the counter, his fingers brushing yours as you hand it to him. God, you're no better than a teenager.
"No, Dana's on it," he says, accepting the supply and immediately darting for the door. "Go home," he says, eyes narrowed, and then he's gone again.
You stare at the now shut door, slack jawed and bleary eyed. The tangy fizz of your energy drink slides down your throat as you slam your notebook closed, making your way back into the E.R. to assist Langdon.
His pointed gaze stuns your heart, blue eyes piercing through you like a sword. You watch his lips roll inward, his flat expression saying more than words could. Go home, rest, take care of yourself.
It makes you feel sick.
"Hi!" You chirp to the family waiting for you. Your eyelids are heavy, and you're pushing through sheer, bone crushing exhaustion just for the thrill of being in Langdon's vicinity. The adrenaline alone is enough to keep you afloat.
You introduce yourself to the weeping mother, cupping her trembling hands with a grace and ease that leaves Langdon staring. You feel his eyes burning through you, and a sharp wave of de ja vu overtakes you. You've always been able to feel it, him.
You're up close with him now, and for the first time since you've been back, you really see him. The passing of time etches itself in the lines of his face,. in the deep, dark discoloration under his eyes, the tired droop weighing down his long lashes.
His lips twitches upward, a telltale sign that he's on his brink. Guilt swirls in your stomach, you were gone. He was in rehab, and you were gone. This fact lives in a timeline you thought would never exist five, ten years ago. Your heart squeezes in your chest at all you'd missed.
Your head snaps up at the squeak of footsteps approaching. A stumbling man makes his way through the E. R., bumbling his way to the frazzled woman to your right.
"Oh, God," you hear her groan, and you instinctively step between him and her.
"Hello, Sir," you say, a bit cold. "Can I help you?"
"This…" he slurs, eyes crossing, "'s my kid. Needa make sure she's okay."
You hear the mom scoff behind you, poking her head out from behind you.
"Your kid? Your kid?" She says, fire lacing her voice. "The only reason she's even here is because of you! Because you were too drunk to realize she'd gotten into the peanuts!"
Your stomach drops, a gutting plummet like you're on a roller coaster. Your eyes flit over to Langdon, who's training his gaze on the tile below him. Your heart sinks at the purse of his lips, his telltale sign of holding back tears.
"Hey!" The man shouts, attempting to move you out of the way. If it were anybody else, you'd feel threatened, but this man is so drunk, he can barely move your arm out of the way. "She's my kid just as much as yours, dammit!"
A large hand wraps around his shoulder, Langdon maneuvering him out of the way with ease.
"Listen," Langdon says, calm and collected, but stern all the same. "You stay away from this woman and child, before I get security to remove you. Hell, I'll do it myself if I have to. And you definitely, definitely don't want to be putting your hands on the doctors that are trying to help you."
He punctuates this with a shove, sending the man to the family room. His manhandling makes your heart flutter, butterflies unleashing within you at his initiative.
You turn back towards the mom, who's hands are still shaky, tears spilling over her lash line. You give her your kindest smile, her instant relaxation like an antidote for your nerves.
"I'm sorry about that," she blubbers, and you shake your head.
"Not at all, ma'am," you respond, just as Kiara approaches.
You smile and give her a quick debrief, and she takes the mom to meet with the dad in the family room.
Langdon returns soon after, his gait tough, his gaze harsh. He snaps on some gloves as he checks on the girl, now unconscious, but healthy. He runs some vitals, checks her pulse, then throws himself in the chair next to her bed.
You watch him, sliding the curtain shut before sitting next to him. You sit there in silence for a moment, watching his leg bounce up and down, up and down. You take another moment to watch him, how he snaps the rubber band on his wrist, his excessive blinks towards the ceiling.
You place a gentle hand on his knee, slowing his anxious bouncing. He turns to look at it, his whole body going completely still at the gesture. You see the color drain from his face, his lips rolling in on themselves.
He stands suddenly, swinging open the curtain and returning into the hectic space of the E.R. You also stand soon after, but are glued to your spot. You watch him make his way back to pedes, your heart pounding in your ears at the sight. Something's wrong, maybe you shouldn't have touched him, maybe you'd crossed a line.
You spot Samira at one of the charting stations, and ask her to cover for you while you're gone. You barely wait for an answer as you follow Langdon's previous steps, walking into pedes without even knocking on the door.
You stop in the doorway when you see him curled in on himself, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Your heart feels like there's a nail in it, each cry pounding it in deeper with a hammer.
You let the door shut behind you, the click of the latch alerting him to your presence. He snaps his head up, and his piercing blue eyes freezing you in place against the door.
"It could've been me," he blubbers, wiping his eyes with the heel of his palms. "That dad- he- his daughter almost died because he was drunk. That could've been me, it could've been my- oh my God," he crumples again, curling into himself, tugging on his hair until it stands straight up.
You don't say anything, just make your way over to the wall where he sits, sliding down the wall next to him. You don't touch him this time, instead wait for him to come to you.
"I was stealing meds from patients," he confesses, and your heart drops.
You close your eyes, guilt coiling itself around your throat like a snake. A tear slips down your cheek, and you wipe it away with your fingertips.
"Frank…" you whisper, and he lets out another cry.
"I was in rehab for ten months. Abby left before I came back. I only see the kids on the weekends," he admits, his head coming up from between his knees.
"I'm so sorry I wasn't there, Frank," you say, and he just shakes his head.
"I would've just let you down," he says, defeated. "I let everybody down. You're better off without me in your life."
His words break your heart, the final nail in your coffin.
"Frank, that's just not true. You're my oldest friend, and I should've never left. I'm so sorry I couldn't be there. I'm never going to judge you, you know that, right?" You say, and now his hand finds yours.
Your heart stops, electricity zapping from his touch up your arm, lighting your whole body on fire. He squeezes. Your heart kicks into gear, nearly flying in your chest.
The past fifteen years flash through your mind- meeting him at med school, your internship at PTMC, you leaving, his marriage, it all led you back here anyways.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, a sad laugh blubbering out. "I think- there's just been so many cases of parents with addictions lately, I guess it got to me. I don't know."
The room falls silent then, the storm clouds of what was just said hanging over you, dark and low. Your heart starts to race as you register his proximity. You haven't been this close to Frank Langdon in years. Your thigh is touching his, and it makes you want to explode.
"It's okay, you know I understand," you say, keeping your eyes straight forward. If you look at him, you'll do something you might regret.
"It's been a lot," he says, swallowing down the emotions. "Coming back, having to face all of this again. Sometimes I still don't think I'll ever be ready for it."
"I know what you mean. I saw some horrific things out in New York," you admit, and you feel his eyes on you. "Children, babies with nowhere to go, no one to take them, teenagers who were abandoned at the most vulnerable point in their lives. This job takes a lot from you, and sometimes it can get on top of you. Don't let that weigh you down now, though. You'll never heal that way."
You finish by finally, finally looking at him. His face is water in the desert, the dawn after the dark. You smile, a sad one that doesn't quite reach your eyes. Your heart is being tugged every which way, guilt and shame and love. The feelings wrap around your organs like ghosts, pulling you back into the past.
"Thank you," he murmurs. "You have no idea what that means to me."
"Of course, Frank. I mean, gosh, it's you. I don't think I could ever get over you," you say, freezing up at the subtle admission.
You stare at him, embarrassment creeping up your neck like a bad rash. You press your back into the wall again, burying your head in your knees.
"Frank," you say, forehead resting against your legs. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
He cuts you off with a swift tug of your arm, pulling you out from yourself and into him. He palms your face, both of his big hands nearly wrapping all the way around you. He looks deep into your eyes and smiles.
"I thought I'd never get to hear you say that," he says, before crashing his lips into yours.
They're soft, desperate and wanting, just as you'd imagined for fifteen years. He nearly swallows you whole, his big hand tilting your jaw for best access. You grant it to him easily, your head falling slightly backwards to better reach his lips.
He pulls back slightly to readjust his head, and this time, you meet his lips in your own desperation. Kissing him feels like the most natural thing you'd ever done, your heart beating rapidly in your chest at his gentle touch.
Your hand reaches up to palm his chest, fingers lightly gripping the fabric of his scrubs. A soft groan leaves his lips at that, pressing himself into you further.
He presses another quick kiss into your lips, then another, then another. You chase him again for one more, finally pulling back for some air. Your chests heave as you take each other in, and Frank's never looked more beautiful. Cheeks flushed, hair mussed, eyes wide.
"I love you," he breathes, "I think I always have."
Your heart is pounding in your ears, and you have to put a hand on your chest to make sure you heard him right.
"I love you too," you say, eyes wide and blinking. "Those years apart were some of the hardest of my life," the words spill rapidly out of your mouth, your own tears finally finding their way to your eyes. "I'm sorry I left, I'm sorry I wasn't there. Can I be there for you now?" You plead. "Will you let me be there for you now?"
He kisses you again, this time soft and gentle.
"I thought you'd never ask," he says, nipping along your jawline.
Your eyes close, butterflies erupting in your stomach as you grip his forearm. It's not until you roll your hips does what you're doing dawn on you. You gasp, scooting yourself away from him just slightly. His hands don't leave your face.
"What? What is it, baby?" He asks, eyes scanning up and down, looking for any way he might have hurt you.
"Frank," you breathe out, a light laugh lilting with it. "Nothing's wrong, honey. I just-" you bite your lip, embarrassment burning your cheeks. "If we keep going, I'm going to want to fuck you. I don't want to do that in a room with cartoon animals on the walls," you say, nuzzling your cheek into his hand, flashing him your prettiest eyes.
"God," he chokes out, shaking his head in disbelief. "I love you," he presses one more kiss to your lips before helping you up.
"Go home," he says, leading you out the door by your shoulders. "I'll have Samira take over the kid with the peanut allergy. But first I'm going to walk you to the lockers to make sure you're not going to lie and stay."
You roll your eyes, but happily walk with him to the lockers. You press him up against the door once you're inside, hands gripping his waist in a way that has him whimpering against your lips.
"God, what do you do to me?" He breathes out, forehead pressed against yours, breathing heavy.
"I just love you," you say, pecking him once more.
"Hold on," he says, pushing past you to go to his own locker.
You whip your head around, brows knitting together as he fishes through his own locker. He slips a small key off its chain, handing it to you.
"Get your stuff, come stay at mine," he says, a sheepish smile coloring his face.
"What?" You breathe out. "You can't possibly mean that."
"Oh, yes. Yes I really do mean that," he says, nodding and dead serious. "I want to see you when I get home from work. I don't care if you're asleep, which you should be very soon, I just want you there."
He saunters over to you, and you can't help but grab his shoulders once more, kissing him like you'll never see him again.
The door bumping against your hip pulls you away from Langdon, as Samira sticks her head into the locker room.
"Oh God," she rolls her eyes, "come on Langdon, your patient just woke up. Stop making out in the locker room."
His face reddens as he follows her out, turning around to mouth 'see you at home'.
You smile, butterflies swarming your stomach. You could get used to hearing that.
