Title: The Ultimate Upgrade
Paring: Dr. Frank Langdon x Dr. Melissa King x Attorney Reader
As a sharp associate attorney, Y/N has spent her career winning in court while suffering absolute disasters in her love life—from high school dropouts and jobless "visionaries" to full-grown men living in their mothers' basements. She’s finally raised her standards, but love is the last thing on her mind on a busy weeknight drive home.
When a reckless hit-and-run leaves her vehicle wrecked and her head spinning, Y/N ends up in the Emergency Department to rule out a concussion. Enter Dr. Frank Langdon and Dr. Melissa King—two brilliant, gorgeous trauma physicians who are absolute masters of their craft... until they walk into Y/N's room.
Flustered, stuttering, and completely captivated, the two doctors turn into a charming mess in front of her. For Y/N, a routine hospital visit suddenly becomes a very dynamic—and unexpected—turning point in her romantic life.
The quiet of your office hit you like a wave the moment the heavy oak door clicked shut behind you.
After hours under the harsh fluorescent lights of the courtroom—defending every point, dodging objections, and enduring the steady, relentless tap of the court reporter’s machine—the absolute silence of your space felt almost surreal. You tossed your briefcase onto the desk with a dull thud, not bothering to organize the messy stack of legal pads and highlighted evidence files spilling out of it.
Dropping into your desk chair, you let out a long, heavy exhale and leaned back, letting the lingering adrenaline of the hearing finally begin to fade.
Then, the soft buzz of your phone echoed across the quiet room.
You picked it up, the bright glow of the screen illuminating your face as you swiped it open. Sitting right at the top of your lock screen was a fresh notification—one you definitely weren't expecting so soon after stepping out of the courtroom.
You stared at the glowing screen, blinked, and read the text again just to make sure the adrenaline from the hearing wasn't making you hallucinate.
"Hey y/n, I'm just gonna be real with you. You're a bit too high maintenance for me, and I honestly don't think I can keep up. Best of luck with everything!"
A high-pitched, incredulous laugh escaped your lips, echoing in the quiet office.
Two nights ago, you’d spent two hours at a mediocre Italian restaurant listening to him explain the intricacies of crypto trading while you politely nodded, paid for your half of the bill, and got a text that night asking if you made it home safe. Apparently, having a career, clear boundaries, and not laughing at his terrible jokes meant you were "too much to handle."
You leaned back in your leather chair, tossing the phone onto the desk. It landed right next to a three-inch thick binder of legal precedents you’d just used to completely shred an opposing counsel's argument in court.
If knowing your worth and holding people to a basic standard made you "high maintenance," then fine—he was probably right. He definitely couldn't keep up.
Your thumb hovered over the keyboard as you debated how to respond.
You let out one last exhausted breath, flipped your phone face-down on the desk, and decided that was enough for one day. Whatever his deal was, you didn't have the bandwidth to process it right now. Your brain was entirely fried from hours of legal warfare in court, and arguing with a guy who thought basic self-respect was "high maintenance" was a total waste of energy.
Packing up your briefcase, you slipped on your coat, shut off the office lights, and locked the door behind you.
As you walked out to your car, the evening air offered a brief reset, but the frustration lingering beneath your fatigue didn't fade quite so easily. Getting back into the dating scene had felt like a good idea a few months ago, but so far, it felt like a continuous loop of disappointment. It wasn't even about finding "the one"—it was the fact that almost every guy you went out with seemed entirely out of their depth.
You weren't asking for the world. You just wanted someone who had their life together, could hold an actual conversation, and didn't get intimidated the second they realized you were a competent professional with high standards. But time after time, you kept running into men who either felt threatened by your success or expected you to shrink yourself just to fit into their low-effort lives.
Settling into the driver's seat, you rested your hands on the steering wheel for a moment before turning the key.
You were tired, you were done for the day, and right now, the only date that sounded remotely appealing was a long shower, takeout, and complete silence.
The sudden, violent CRUNCH of metal tearing into metal slammed you forward against your seatbelt, the sharp, metallic impact rattling through your entire body. Your phone sent an automatic collision alert pinging through the car speakers, and for a split second, the world narrowed down to the sound of your own gasping breath and the smell of hot exhaust.
Hands shaking, you checked your rear-view mirror just in time to see the battered front bumper of a dark sedan backed up off your tail end.
Before you could even unbuckle your seatbelt to step out, the tires of the dark sedan shrieked against the pavement. The driver cut the wheel hard, blew right through the red light, and tore off down the avenue, disappearing into the evening traffic.
Right outside the courthouse.
Adrenaline surged through you, instantly burning off the last lingering bits of fatigue from your day. You threw the car into park, hit the hazard lights, and grabbed your phone, your mind shifting back into sharp, hyper-focused survival mode as you unbuckled yourself to inspect the damage and call it in.
Unbuckling your seatbelt, you pushed the car door open, but as soon as your feet hit the pavement, the world tilted sharply on its axis.
A sudden wave of dizziness hit you like a physical weight. Your knees felt weak, and a dull, throbbing ache began to blossom at the base of your skull—whiplash, or maybe a mild concussion from the impact. You had to brace one hand against the roof of your car just to stay upright, taking deep, steadying breaths to keep the nausea at bay.
Realizing there was no way you were driving anywhere, you fumbled with your phone, your fingers slightly trembling as you dialed 911 and pressed the speaker button.
"911, what's your emergency?" the dispatcher's calm voice came through the speaker.
"I... I was just rear-ended in a hit-and-run right outside the courthouse on 9th Street," you said, forcing your voice to stay steady as you used your free hand to massage your temples. "The other driver sped off through the red light. I'm experiencing some pretty bad dizziness and head pain."
"Stay right where you are, ma'am, and keep your hazard lights on," the dispatcher instructed efficiently. "I'm dispatching an officer and an ambulance to your location right now. Can you tell me if you're bleeding or if you lost consciousness?"
"No bleeding, no blackout... just really lightheaded," you murmured, leaning heavily against the side of your car.
First a terrible text from a terrible date, then a hit-and-run, and now a potential concussion. As you listened to the distant sound of approaching sirens, you couldn't help but wonder if today was officially trying to set a record for your worst day this year.
The bright overhead fluorescent lights of the Emergency Department flickered past as the paramedics wheeled your gurney through the automatic double doors into the pit. The sharp hospital smell of antiseptic hit you immediately, mixing with the low hum of heart monitors and busy chatter.
"What do we have?" a deep, steady voice called out, stepping up alongside your gurney.
Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch immediately caught your eye—sharp, focused eyes, dark hair slightly tousled, and an effortlessly calm aura that stood out in the middle of the ER chaos. He looked every bit of a tired doctor, but there was a grounded warmth to him as he matched the gurney's pace.
"20s female, restrained driver in a low-to-medium speed rear-end collision, hit-and-run," the lead paramedic called out as they navigated into a bay. "Occurred right outside the courthouse. Patient reports immediate onset of dizziness and neck/head soreness. No loss of consciousness, vitals are stable—BP 128/82, heart rate 88, pulse ox 98% on room air."
"Got it. On three—one, two, three," Robby counted smoothly, helping the team transfer you onto the hospital bed.
Once you were settled, he stepped closer, holding a penlight and giving you a warm, reassuring smile that somehow instantly lowered your spiking anxiety.
"Hey there," Robby said softly, his voice surprisingly gentle compared to the chaotic environment around you. "I'm Dr. Robinavitch—everyone calls me Robby. Sounds like you had a pretty terrible end to your workday."
He pulled up a stool, sitting right next to your bed so he was at eye level.
"I'm going to run through a quick exam to make sure everything's okay, alright?" Robby clicked his penlight. "First, just look right at my nose for me. Follow the tip of my pen with your eyes only—don't move your head."
As his fingers lightly tapped against your wrist to check your pulse, his eyes were entirely focused on you, checking your pupils and reading your reaction to the light with effortless efficiency.
"Pupils are equal, round, and responsive," he noted softly before dimming the light and setting it aside. He gently reached up, his cool, steady fingers lightly pressing along the back of your neck and shoulders. "Tell me if any of this stings or feels sharp."
"Good news is, your neck feels intact and your pupils are reacting great," Robby said, easing his hands away and offering a warm, reassuring smile. "Everything points to mild whiplash and a minor concussion, but I want to be 100% sure, especially with that dizziness."
He checked the chart on his tablet, his eyes scanning down the page before looking back up at you.
"I'm actually being called into a trauma room down the hall for an incoming emergency, so I have to step away for a little bit," he explained, his tone apologetic. "But I'm handing you off to two of our best residents. They’re going to step in, run through the rest of the neurological checks, and order a quick head scan just to play it safe."
He patted the edge of the gurney gently. "Hang tight, alright? You're in really good hands."
With a quick, reassuring nod, Robby turned and headed briskly down the hallway, leaving you alone in the busy pit for a brief moment as you waited for the next pair of doctors to arrive.
A faint, weary smile touched your lips as Robby walked away. Staring up at the white acoustic tiles of the trauma bay ceiling—punctuated by the harsh grid of fluorescent lights—you let out a quiet, heavy sigh.
Pittsburgh Trauma Center. Definitely not where you thought you’d end up when you put on your suit this morning.
Your mind began tracing back through the absurd cascade of events over the past twelve hours. You had gone into court ready to fight, survived hours of high-stakes legal warfare, stepped out exhausted only to get dumped by text from a guy who thought basic competence was "high maintenance," and then—to top off the trifecta—got slammed into by a hit-and-run driver before you even left the block.
Talk about a streak of bad luck.
You chuckled softly to yourself, though the subtle movement made your head throb just enough to remind you to lie still. How did a completely ordinary, frustrating Thursday manage to spiral into an ER visit?
Just as you were pondering whether the universe had a dark sense of humor, the curtain pulling back drew your attention away from the ceiling tiles.
The curtain pulled back to reveal two young doctors in scrubs, charts in hand, stepping into the bay with the fast-paced momentum of a busy ER shift.
"Hey there, I'm Dr. Langdon, and this is—"
Dr. Frank Langdon froze mid-sentence, his eyes dropping to your face. Right beside him, Dr. Melissa King paused mid-step, her eyes widening slightly as she took you in.
For a brief, hilariously awkward second, both residents stopped dead in their tracks, entirely catching their breath. Despite the hospital gown, messy hair, and the faint shadow of a bad day written across your face, there was something undeniable about you—and neither of them was doing a particularly subtle job of hiding their reaction.
Frank cleared his throat, blinking fast as he snapped back into professional mode, a flustered smile tugging at his lips. "Uh—hi. I'm Frank. Dr. Langdon."
"And I'm Dr. King—Melissa," Melissa chimed in quickly, stepping up to the opposite side of your gurney with a bright, warm smile, her eyes lingering on you for a second longer than strictly necessary. "Dr. Robinavitch passed your chart off to us. He said you had a bit of a run-in outside the courthouse?"
Frank stepped closer, pulling up his tablet with a smirk that was half-nervous, half-charming. "Yeah, Robby mentioned a hit-and-run, but he definitely forgot to mention our patient looks like she belongs in a movie poster, not the trauma pit."
Melissa gave Frank a brief, playfully warning look before turning her full attention back to you, her voice turning soft and attentive. "Ignore him, he has no filter. But seriously, how are you feeling right now, Y/N? Still pretty dizzy?"
You looked back and forth between the two of them—Melissa, with her striking, warm eyes and effortless charm mixed with a little awkwardness, and Frank, with his sharp jawline and mischievous smile. Despite the thudding ache in your skull, you couldn't help but feel a tiny bit dazed by just how ridiculously good-looking the pair of residents taking care of you were.
A sharp pulse of pain radiated behind your temples, making you wince slightly.
"My head really hurts, Dr. King," you admitted, resting your head back against the thin hospital pillow.
"Please, call me Mel," Melissa said gently. Her expression softened with genuine concern, and she took a half-step closer to the bed, resting a light, soothing hand on the side of your bed.
A small, genuine smile tugged at your lips despite the pain. "Well... Mel... my head is thumping really, really bad."
Frank’s flirtatious smirk instantly vanished, replaced by a focused, protective urgency. "Let's get ahead of that right away," he said, moving quickly toward the wall monitor. "I'm going to order a dose of IV pain medication and an anti-nausea drip to take the edge off while we wait on the head CT."
Mel kept her attention entirely on you, gently leaning down so her voice stayed low and calm amid the loud ER environment. "Hang in there, Y/N. We're going to take really good care of you, I promise."
Frank stepped into the bay carrying a small cup with a few pills and a water cup, while Mel followed right behind him, carefully adjusting the IV drip setup next to your bed.
"Alright, Y/N," Frank said, offering you a warm, reassuring smile as he handed you the medication. "This will help manage that thudding headache and keep the nausea at bay while we wait for your head CT results to come back from radiology."
You swallowed the pills with a quick sip of water, sink deeper into the pillow, and looked up at Frank with a soft, tired smile.
"Thank you, Dr. Langdon," you said softly, before pausing with a slightly hopeful look. "Is there any chance I could get something to eat? I didn't get a chance to eat a single thing today while I was stuck at the courthouse."
Frank was about to answer when Mel paused, looking up from your chart with a raised eyebrow and a sudden spark of curiosity in her eyes.
"Wait, the courthouse?" Mel asked, stepping closer to the side of your gurney and resting her forearm on the side rail, looking down at you with a fascinated smile. "Are you a lawyer?"
A subtle, proud smile touched your lips despite the lingering throb in your head.
"I'm a prosecutor," you said, your voice carrying a quiet confidence that immediately caught both of their attention.
Mel’s eyes widened with genuine interest. "A prosecutor? Wow," she said, grabbing a nearby rolling stool and wheeling it right up to the side of your bed. She sat down, crossing her legs and leaning in with her elbows resting on her knees, completely captivated. "What's that like? Putting bad guys away and running a courtroom all day?"
Frank didn't waste a second either. He slid around to the other side of your gurney, leaning his hip against the metal rail and resting his arms across his chest. He looked down at you with a slow, admiring smile, entirely content to just stand there and listen.
"Yeah, I have to admit, that's pretty impressive," Frank chimed in softly, his eyes fixed on yours. "Definitely explains why you were carrying around legal binders heavy enough to break a windshield."
Mel tossed a quick, amused glance up at Frank before turning her warm gaze back to you, listening intently as you began to talk, the chaotic rush of the ER completely fading into the background for a moment.
Frank and Mel stepped out through the curtain, checking the overhead display board as they walked side by side down the bustling hallway toward the radiology unit.
"So," Frank started, a quiet smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he tapped the chart against his thigh. "A prosecutor. Smart, sharp, and entirely out of everyone's league."
Mel let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she pushed open the heavy double doors leading into the scanning suite corridor. "You were barely keeping it together in there, Dr.Langdon. I saw you leaning on that bed rail like you were auditioning for a medical drama."
"Hey, I was being an attentive physician," Frank said, raising his hands in mock defense before giving a low chuckle. "Can you blame me? She gets rear-ended, ends up in an ER, and still manages to sit there looking incredible while casually explaining trial strategy."
"I know," Mel admitted softly, a warm smile lingering on her lips as she pulled up Y/N’s imaging order on the wall screen. "She’s really amazing. And after the absolute nightmare of a day she’s had, she deserves the absolute best care we can give her."
Frank leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms with a thoughtful nod. "Agreed. Let's get these CT scans done fast so we can get her something actual to eat—and maybe a decent reason to laugh before her shift ends."
Frank and Mel returned to the bay carrying a fresh printout of your imaging, both of them wearing relieved smiles as they stepped up to opposite sides of your gurney.
"Great news," Mel said, tapping the display screen to show you the clear images of your brain scan. "Your CT came back completely clear. No swelling, no bleeding, no structural damage whatsoever. You just have a moderate concussion and a bit of whiplash."
Frank nodded, leaning comfortably against the rail. "Because of the dizziness and the impact, though, we want to keep you overnight for observation just to be 100% safe. We'll get you up to a private room, get you some actual food, and let you get a good night's rest."
You looked between the two of them, feeling the IV pain meds finally kicking in, smoothing out the sharp edges of your headache and leaving you feeling a little relaxed—and a little bolder than usual.
A subtle, playful smirk touched your lips as you leaned back against your pillow.
"Overnight, huh?" you asked softly, tilting your head as your eyes drifted from Mel to Frank. "Tell me... will my pretty and handsome doctors be coming up to check on me, or do I have to settle for the night shift?"
The effect was instantaneous.
Frank’s confident posture completely evaporated. His jaw dropped slightly, a bright, unmistakable flush creeping up his neck as he cleared his throat, suddenly finding his clipboard very interesting. "I—uh—well, we—" he stammered, fumbling over his words as he tried to regain his composure.
Right across from him, Mel choked back a quiet gasp, her cheeks instantly flushing a deep pink. She let out a breathless, nervous laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she looked down at you, totally flustered. "We—um, yeah! I mean, our shift isn't over yet, so... we'll definitely be stopping by. A lot. To... check your vitals. Strictly professional vitals."
Frank shot Mel a quick, desperate look before turning back to you with a sheepish, crooked grin. "What Dr. King means to say is... you couldn't keep us away if you tried, Counselor."
Your smirk deepened into a slow, satisfied smile as you watched them completely lose their footing.
"Good," you said softly, your voice dropping just a fraction, steady and deliberate. "I don't want you guys going anywhere."
Frank actually dropped his pen.
He scrambled to catch it mid-air, fumbling it against his clipboard before finally trapping it against his chest. The red flush on his neck had now fully overtaken his ears. "Uh—right. Copy that. Not... not going anywhere," he managed to say, his voice an octave higher than usual.
Mel wasn't doing much better. She was gripping the edge of the rolling tray table like it was the only thing keeping her anchored to the floor, her face burning beautifully bright pink.
"Okay! Great! We will... we'll get transport down here to move you upstairs," Mel squeaked out, flashing you a blindingly bright, flustered smile. "Just—stay right there! Not that you could go anywhere. Because you’re a patient. In a bed."
Frank cleared his throat loudly, grabbing the edge of the curtain. "Yep. Upstairs. We're on it."
The two of them practically bumped into each other as they backed out of the bay. You caught one last glimpse of Frank awkwardly gesturing for Mel to go first, both of them whispering furiously to each other before the curtain fully closed, leaving you alone with a quiet, triumphant laugh echoing in the bay.
For the first time all day, your headache didn't feel quite so bad.
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