Non-displaced
Pairing: Frank Langdon x f!reader
Summary: a car accident. an er bay. and the moment you realize loving someone means letting them worry.
Warnings: Mentions of injuries related to a car accident (nothing too graphic).
Notes: established relationship.
word count: 1,343
a/n: Inspired by my recent very real car accident (how fun) however, instead of Frank I had my lovely roommate to put me back together 😭
You laid in the hospital bed in the ER bay, staring up at the ceiling and cursing yourself for the entire situation. It wasn’t your fault, at least that’s what the police told you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that if you had been a tad more attentive, you wouldn’t be here.
You prayed that Frank wouldn’t find out. Not yet. You loved that man dearly, but you knew when it came to any issues involving you, he tended to panic. He had taught you every safety precaution in the book, especially when it came to driving. He always talked about how many car accident injuries came through the ER every day. And here you were, one of them.
Your collarbone ached like hell, and the blood on your forehead began to seep through the gauze a nurse had applied earlier. The accident happened so quickly, you hadn’t even been able to wrap your ahead around what happened before someone pulled you out of the car and you were suddenly on your way to PTMC.
Please, please let it be any other doctor. He’ll worry too much. He always does. I don’t want to be a distraction.
A couple minutes later, the curtain was pulled open and thank God.
“Whitaker!” you forced brightness into your voice, though it came out thin, a little shaky.
Dennis spoke your name cautiously before clearing his throat.
“Car accident, huh?” he said calmly.
“Yeah, someone ran a red,” you affirmed.
He nodded.
“Sorry to hear that, we’ll get you fixed up,” he raised his brow, “do you want me to get Langdon?”
Your eyes widened, “no!- no, sorry, I just…he’ll freak out.”
Whitaker understood. You knew he would, he worked with Frank everyday, he knew his character. However, it seemed that neither your wishes nor his would matter, because as Whitaker began to slip on gloves to start the exam, Langdon snuck in behind him. He was quiet at first. You didn’t even notice him as your eyes flicked back to the ceiling and your thoughts began to swirl.
Then you heard his voice. Frank saying your name in the most devastating tone.
Your eyes immediately found his.
For a second, you didn’t move.
The room felt smaller. Too quiet.
Your breathing hadn’t felt like too much of an issue until this moment.
“Frank, I—” The words died in your throat.
“Whitaker, you can go,” Frank asserted, his tone low and commanding.
Whitaker looked like a deer caught in headlights, his eyes silently asking for your approval. You gave him a nod, and he turned to leave.
This left you alone with your handsome boyfriend, who stood rigid at the foot of the bed, dark eyes frantic as they traced every visible injury, his expression torn between wanting to strangle you and wrap you in bubble wrap for the rest of your life.
“Hi,” you greeted. Your voice was weaker than you had hoped.
“You didn’t call me,” he breathed, clearly upset.
“You were busy and I’m okay.”
He shook his head immediately.
“No, you’re not. And this is important,” his voice cracked with frustration. “Things like this are fucking important.”
You saw the mix of emotions wash over his face. His brow scrunched as he lifted his hand to his forehead, trying to find the words, his voice low when he finally spoke again.
“You’re hurt…and I’m a doctor”
You ignored his statement. Though technically as your boyfriend he shouldn’t be treating you at all, you knew emotions and technicality weren’t always the best combination.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you muttered, jaw tightening.
“That’s the problem,” he snapped, “You never let me!”
You flinched slightly when he yelled which in turn made your chest ache and eyes squint.
You watched the immediate regret wash over his face.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he muttered moving closer to the hospital bed.
He paused for a moment, eyes on yours again but this time appearing softer. You tried to analyze his expression as he collected his thoughts.
He reached out a placed his hand around your wrist.
“God, I’m not mad. I just can’t stand to see you hurt.” His expression was unbearably defeated.
Frank got to work shortly after that, changing the gauze on your forehead, apologizing and whispering endearments every time you winced. The way your heart swelled from every soft you’re doing great and good girl made the pain in your body feel like an afterthought.
He listened to your breathing intently and, with a sigh, said, “seems like a slight pneumothorax.”
Then came your chest, where he palpated carefully until he reached one spot on your collarbone and you yelped.
“Holy fuck.”
He removed his hands immediately.
“May have a fracture. Can you lift your right arm above your head?”
You tried. You really did, but pain shot through you, white hot and unforgiving, and your arm dropped back to the mattress.
“My poor girl,” he sighed, placing a soft kiss to your temple.
“Okay. You’re going to need some X-rays and I’ll order a chest CT just to be safe.”
You nodded, unsure of what to say. You didn’t think anything you could add would be the right thing. All that came out was, “I’m sorry.”
“No,” he shook his head, “shit, no, don’t be.”
“I’m sorry I snapped, I was scared, when I saw your name on our charts earlier, I fucking lost it.”
His gaze lingered on the bruising from the seatbelt that began to creep across your chest and up your neck. He stared at the bruising like it was evidence of a crime he hadn’t been there to stop and you realized then that this was what scared him most. Not the injuries. The minutes he hadn’t been able to protect you.
A couple seconds later he shifted reaching to grab some pain killers.
“Here take these, they will take the edge off,” he spoke placing the pills in your hand.
You took them and exhaled, “my car is pretty fucked”
“Well I don’t care about the car,” he admitted, “I care that you’re breathing.”
Before you could respond, a nurse peeked in, letting you know radiology was ready. Frank squeezed your hand once more before stepping back, slipping effortlessly into doctor mode.
“I’ll be right here when you’re done,” he promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”
As they wheeled you down the hall, pain meds beginning to dull the sharp edges, you realized something important. That all along it had been your fear of imposing on to other people that kept you swallowing your pain on your own. However, watching Frank unravel to show that you mattered demonstrated that by keeping others in the dark you were only hurting them.
You hadn’t imposed on him by getting hurt.
You hadn’t burdened him by needing care.
You had simply been loved.
And when Frank met you outside radiology, eyes tired but unwavering, you knew he wasn’t angry. He was just grateful he hadn’t lost you.
So it turned out you weren’t as invincible as you had hoped and your collarbone was in fact fractured. You were quick to be fitted with a sling to stabilize the break.
“Non-displaced fracture,” he said. “Which is good. Painful as hell, but good.”
You huffed weakly. “Love that for me.”
He smirked lightly, “listen to me, okay?”
You nodded meeting his gaze. “Sling stays on all the time, six to eight weeks. You can take it off briefly if you’re seated and stable, but no lifting, no reaching, no trying to be brave.”
Your jaw was on the floor.
“This sounds like a nightmare”
“You’ll get through it” he affirmed with steady eye contact, his hand resting against your jaw.
He continued, “but this means you will need help, meaning you will be staying with me. It’s about time you lived with me anyway”
You didn’t think your jaw could drop any further but it did.
You cleared your throat, “so this is a medical recommendation?”
“Doctor’s orders”
