[morgaseus]

Navigation

Masterlist

Fanfic recommendations

[artistformerlyknownasbutttrumpet]

i was training a young person at work, and she referred to sexual assault as "SA" out loud, and i immediately was like, "no, it's sexual assault, call it what it is," bc idgaf if the algorithm overlords have taught y'all that you should fear direct language, how tf do any of you expect to ever address real issues with any amount of seriousness if you can't even say the words? imagine an advocate looking a sexual assault survivor in the eyes and asking "did he grape you?" it's absolutely fucking absurd, but these young interns and new hires are coming into an environment where we deal with survivors of all different kinds of abuse, and they're coming with the mindset that the words are as bad as the actions, and that makes them shitty at the job and look juvenile af

i HATE self-censorship for a lot of reasons, but being in crisis work makes it even more frustrating. who are you censoring for? like i am being so fr, WHO are you censoring for? have you even thought it through? people who have been raped know that they have been raped. if someone attempts suicide or is grieving someone who did, saying "sewer slide" isn't going to protect them from any of the feelings. a murder victim's family isn't going to feel better bc you said "unalived" instead of murdered. if anything, it's just extremely invalidating and othering. it's saying "what happened to you is so bad that i won't even say the word," which is NOT trauma-informed care. you are not protecting survivors/victims when you self-censor. the ONLY things you protect when you self-censor are the puritanical ideologies that are being encouraged by rich fascists who want your money and obedience

say the fucking words, guys. just say the goddamn words before i go insane!!!

[symptomsofdeceit]

update:

update - Symptoms of Deceit by strawberry squid

Hello everyone, I hope you are all doing well, and I apologize for being absent for so long. For quite a while work had gotten really busy,

text from update for those who don’t want to click on the link:

Hello everyone, I hope you are all doing well, and I apologize for being absent for so long. For quite a while work had gotten really busy, as we were short staffed and I was working up to 100+ hours on the really intense weeks. After that I had gotten involved with some other fun things and struggled to get back into working on this project.

I will be putting this project on an official hiatus. What I am uploading now is an updated version of the demo, including a more clear introduction and Johnsoni sprites + scenes, along with a little additional content for Nalis, including the ability to visit and explore his bedroom and some shirtless Nalis action. I figured putting at least some of what I have finished up would be better than doing nothing.

For those that enjoy spoilers or extremely unfinished work, you are welcome to browse my script or the images folder to get some previews of what’s coming later. There is quite a bit of extra content for Nalis’s route there that I couldn’t finish in time for this. Please keep in mind that it is all subject to change or further edits. I’m a little sad that I didn’t have time to finish all of that, since it also includes a working rhythm minigame and laser tag minigame that were fun to mess with, along with some other things I was excited about but haven't had time to polish fully.

∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞ ♡ ∞

For now I will be shifting my focus to another project. Last year I was one of the beta testers for YKMET: Strade, and I met some really incredible + talented people there that I’ve become very close with and cherish. I’ve joined some of them with plans of us making a game similar to the BTD / TPOF / YKMET type of games together. I’m really excited!! We’ll each be working on one character / route, with mine involving a blue-ringed octopus guy :)

I don’t expect there to be much crossover between people who enjoy Symptoms of Deceit and people who will enjoy that game. Although my character will still fit into the yandere category, the overall themes and genre of that game will be much more intense & fall into the horroreroge genre. It definitely won’t be for everyone. I'd really ONLY recommend it if you enjoy games like BTD / TPOF / YKMET.

My plan is to return to working on SoD after we are finished with that game, which we will be releasing all at once in a complete state (no demo). I am very excited to return to Symptoms of Deceit with the experience and skills I'll develop during that project! My goal will probably be to release two final SoD updates then, one with Nalis's completed paths and endings, and one with Thaumo's completed paths and ending. I will probably edit and improve on the early demo portion more then too.

Thank you so, so much to everyone who has supported me and been patient with me. It really means more to me than I can put into words.

[yanderenightmare]

10.Kinktober PUNISHMENT

♡ TW: noncon/dubcon, yandere, captive reader, threats

♡ GN reader

For the first time ever, he’d been careless when he got home.

Tired after work, not paying attention. But you’d noticed. You’d been waiting for it, after all… for the moment he’d slip up and let you strike. 

Your pulse spiked and drowned out all other noise, letting you focus, but still… 

You jumped the gun.

You should have been more patient, should have waited until he was farther away, but waiting was dangerous—a double-edged sword—as it risked his coming closer as well. And so you pounced—sprang up from the couch you’d been rotting in and ran for it.

You’d only barely made it out of the door for a quick taste of freedom before you’d been grabbed and pulled back.

And now you were here. Back in the bedroom, in the dark, under lock and key. 

He stands with his back to you after closing the door—shoulders hunched, muscles strained—you can see the deep outlines even in the shadow. He seemed larger than usual—a beast—and yet he was so deadly quiet that, if you closed your eyes, you could pretend you were alone.

When he finally turns around, you’re immediate instinct is to make yourself smaller, and so you sit down, sinking into the bed like you’re ashamed, head down as he walks over—both of you breathing carefully through your nose.

He stops right before you—still silent, no harsh words of admonishment, no cruel names, no threats, no warnings, no nothing, as if waiting for it was part of the torture. Still, you catch his arms flexing—skin greyish in the soft moonlight, bright against the black of his tattoos.

You imagine his hand around your neck, but despite your throat closing shut, the question burning in your head still manages to come through, “Are you gonna hurt me?”

His face is jaded when you dare lift your head to look up at him, eyes half-mast, lips in a straight line—no obvious anger, but you feel it still, lingering just beneath the surface, burning you when his hand ascends to cup your chin, despite it being gentle, just like his words, “Have I ever hurt you?”

You swallow a tremble, thinking about it and realizing that, despite the situation, despite being kidnapped and held hostage and taken against your will in the bed beneath you, he hasn’t actually ever laid a bruising hand on you. “M-no.” But still…

“Then what makes you think I will?” he asks, giving you pause again.

“I–” your eyes are shifty, but not from guilt. “I don’t know.” 

It’s a quick answer—the type you give when you just don’t understand the question. After all, isn’t it natural to expect punishment when you’ve done something you’re not supposed to do? Not that you agree that freedom is something you aren’t allowed to strive for, but you’re not the one in charge of the situation, and seeing things from his perspective, it would only make sense for him to hold you accountable for breaking the rules, wouldn’t it?

“Is it ‘cause you think you deserve it?”

Goosebumps spring out across your skin at that. “What?” Sometimes you swear it’s as though he’s inside your head.

“For trying to leave me, that is,” he continues, steeled eyes never once blinking or looking away from yours, watching them swell and gloss over, soon to spill, but not yet—still too apprehensive to allow tears to distract you. 

He can’t blame you. You really fucked up this time—he’s glad you seem to understand that too.

“You want me to punish you for it—so that you can feel better about it, right? You want me to punish you so that I might forgive you, and we can leave it behind us. Hm?” His other hand joins the former, both now holding each side of your face. Head bowed, just a short distance away, murmuring softly while smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks. “That’ what you want?”

Your fingers dig into the sheets, gripping them tightly, shaking your head in his hold. “No-no, that’s not–”

“Then why?” he cuts you off, still just as suavely.

It’s unnerving. Typically, he isn’t this calm—or he is, but not like this, not like he’s containing something. 

You’d have liked to say something more clever, something that might spare you whatever this mood of his is, but given it’s your first time, you’re not sure what that would even be. And so you leave it up to him, spilling the truth, and nothing but, “Because I’m scared.”

His thumbs don’t stop their petting, big and gritty against the soft belly of your cheeks. “I’m not doing anything, am I?”

It’s a strange declaration. No, he’s not doing anything too far out of the ordinary, though—let’s not forget “You won’t let me leave…” You almost regret stating it, despite it being obvious, as if your act from earlier wasn’t a dead giveaway. “I-I want to leave.”

You don’t say it with much gusto. In fact, it only barely makes it out through your lips. Still, you can tell he heard you from the ever-so slight tug on his lips, turning the straight line into a grim one. 

You feel it in his hands too, how they stiffen, thumbs stilling.

“I gotta say… it really sounds like you want me to hurt you,” he counterclaims, tone cold and flat, as though he didn’t just threaten you, but rather, as though he was feeling fed up with having to explain something really simple to someone who should already be well aware. “You sure that’s what you want?”

“Wha-no—” You try shaking your head again, but it doesn’t amount to much before he cuts you off again, this time by leaning in closer, less than a foot away.

“No?” His breath hits hot and steady upon your face. You squeeze your eyes shut when he gets too close, tears finally escaping their pools. “Then tell me again. What is it you want?”

“To stay—” you blurt out with a shiver, voice wet as you croak, “I want to stay–”

“Yeah?” he persists, lips ghosting yours, eyes eagerly awaiting yours to open again.

“Yes…” You sniffle, so pretty when looking up at him like that, aware of and accepting your place.

“Good. Glad we can both agree,” he hums, finally letting a smile cross his face as he guides your head back and sets his knee down next to your thigh, sinking into the mattress, caging you as he climbs, continuing, “You see, I don’t want to hurt you either. As long as you don’t make me, we can both continue doing what we want. Right?”

“Right...” you agree weakly, shuffling further in under his direction.

“That’s right. Good.” He lets go of your face, then reaches for the hem of his shirt, bunching it in his grip before pulling it up and off over his head, tossing it aside and revealing rows of strength determined to make you feel small. 

“So then…” He fishes your legs up from beneath him, positioning himself between them so that they lie atop his lap, spread open by his torso. Hands on your hips, readying a grip around your panties as he leans in close.

“How about you show me how badly you wanna stay.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Deku, Shoto, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso, Overhaul, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Iwaizumi, Sakusa ♡ CSM – Aki, Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Rin, Sae ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ WB – Suo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

♡ Credits: @kinktober-2025

[skyamajor]

Made ID cards/portraits for my fanfic’s love interests! (High School Yandere x F! Reader on Quotev, AO3, and Wattpad.)

Synopsis: You’re a burnout gap year student who failed to get into med school despite everyone praising you as smart. Your entrance exam tanked, and parents grow more strict. Lots of pressure has you snap, and you download an app called Kindred to vent. The system matches you with six strangers. They’ll either make things better or worse. (Slow burn with lots of family conflict before the romance comes into play.)

Art by me! (skyAmajor, SkylerAFK)

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

One Foot on the Floor Masterlist

mdni

mer!Shanks x fem!reader

Quasi-modern setting

Sea folk loved nothing so much as a good story. Tales worth beaching themselves to hear. Yarns worth growing legs to chase. Shanks fought for his territory, and as he transitions into a new standing among his own kind, he finds something worth pausing for in Foosha Village.

Content warnings: undiagnosed mental health conditions, dysfunctional creative tendencies, dissociating, violence, magical hypnotism, drowning

Part One

Part Two

[thefriendlypigeon]

❤️💙💛GRACEFUL💛💙❤️

⭐[my social media links]

[doveypearls]

ETERNAL SUNSHINE

series masterlist // ex-husband!ryland grace x astronaut!reader

series summary: after an unusually long coma, you wake aboard the hail mary with little memory of your life on earth. as you, grace, and rocky race to save your planets from extinction, your memories (and your feelings for ryland) begin to unravel.

M = mature (18+) | S = suggestive | F = fluff | A = angst | R = romantic | P = platonic

>> return to TOP MENU

want to join the tag list? fill out this form.

chapter index:

prologue: come hell or heaven, i won't move [A] - ryland grace wakes to find that only one of his crew mates has survived. the problem? they're still in a coma. (1.1k)

COMING SOON... chapter one: i forgive it all (as it comes back to me) [AR] - after your extended coma, group bedtimes become the new normal. in the past, you reunite with your ex. (0.0k)

bonus content:

the official playlist (spotify)

[bowtiepasta]

“grace lonely, question?”

rocky’s voice rings through the lab in little chords, muffled by the difference in atmospheres. grace doesn’t answer at first, busy starfishing across the floor of the observation room, arms and legs thrown wide against the plating with his eyes shut hard enough to ache behind the lids.

he’s learned recently that rocky has absolutely no concept of personal space.

which explains a lot, in hindsight.

the first time grace had made the mistake of lying down alone in here, he’d woken to a slab of xenonite pressed directly against his face—rocky on the other side. entire body flattened eagerly to the partition, all five limbs splayed out while he peered down with obvious fascination. a lot like he’s doing right now.

“question?” he repeats, a thankful sidestep from “grace dead, question?”

grace sighs. “yeah, buddy. i’m lonely.”

a few notes of musical concern. rocky shifts closer, body tilting. “other human still sleeping.”

grace pushes himself upright with a groan and reaches for a photo velcroed onto the panels among many others. the corners are worn soft from handling.

when he woke up on the ship, before he remembered the mission to save earth or even his own damn name, it had been his rope to reality:

the nose-burn smell of dry erase markers. standing shoulder to shoulder in fluorescent classroom lighting while thirty kids shouted over each other in the aftermath of a failed experiment. your laugh.

those had been the first memories he got back.

home.

rocky’s voice pokes a hole into his little daydream. “grace holding picture again.”

“yeah,” he swallows.

“human in picture important.”

his thumb brushes over your face. “very.”

the alien’s carapace clicks, not entirely unlike a tut. “human sleep long time. grace sadness increase.”

“wow. real subtle.”

“i learn tact.”

“nope,” grace chuckles despite himself, tucking the photo in his shirt pocket. the corner catches briefly against the fabric before slipping out of sight, right over his heart. “long ways to go, bud.”

the ship hums steadily around him as he limps down the corridor, the pain growing familiar. almost comforting. he winces all the way to the lab.

too many hours awake. too little food. too many hours bent over consoles, too many months in a body never meant to survive this long in deep space alone.

rocky chirps up suddenly.

“♪♫ ♩!”

“hmm?”

an excited trill. “new word for grace!”

“oh, good. terrifying.”

“want thing near,” the alien continues expectantly. “thing not near.” another thoughtful click, “pain because empty where thing should be.”

“grace has this for sleeping human.” rocky adds.

for a second, he can only stare back.

“yeah,” he swallows. “yeah, that’s the one.”

by the time he reaches the laptop, the ache in his leg barely registers. the cursor blinks back at him.

rocky nods his supposed head. “new word?”

“new word,” grace confirms.

his fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment before typing it into the growing shared dictionary between human and eridian.

longing. I

[dearkeery]

rein me in | f. langdon (ii)

summary: Frank Langdon’s back in Pittsburgh ten months post-rehab, post-divorce, and post-moving into a one bedroom apartment with no wife, no kids, and more baggage. The pressure and anxiety coupled with his chronic back pain all happening on the eve of the fourth of July nearly causes him to relapse. A thing he knows could ultimately cost him his medical license and whatever semblance of a life he still had. Considering the magnitude of what he’s got to lose, he wills every strength he has left to resist the urge brought by his crippling addiction, one mocktail at a time.

alt. On top of dealing with colleagues on the day he is set to return to work, Frank Langdon has to inevitably face the aftermath of sleeping with Michael Robinavitch’s sister.

pairing: divorced frank langdon x fem!doc / robinavitch!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI. sexual and suggestive themes, fluff, angst, semi canon-compliant 2.1, 80% reader/frank pov, 20% robby pov, platonic jack abbot x reader, YN referenced several times, divorced!mc, mentions of alcohol, addiction, drugs, rehab, therapy, blood and trauma, Robby’s su*cidal tendencies and references to it, medical inaccuracies bc i’m not a doctor (pls dont sue me)

word count: 12.6k (and i still have more to say); part one

note: GIRL what a mess this was. It’s perfect. I love it. do read my footnote, if you have time? love yall. thank u for reading part one!

Jack Abbot was never one to call you. 

When he does, sure enough it’s almost always about one person. And there wasn’t a time he called bearing good news. 

The phone calls started a month after the Pitt Fest shootings. You’ve seen what terrible thing had happened that day on the news. Kids flying out for the festival with nary a clue they’d never return home.

It came once, then twice, sporadically just as it became a routine. Jack calls minutes before the clock strikes seven in the evening—right when he’d just clocked in for a shift. And sometimes, when it gets bad enough, he calls one more time right before Robby leaves. Always worried, voice nearly frantic.

He’s not well, YN. 

That’s what Abbot had told you the first time you picked up the phone. Since then he’d often begun calls in a way that seemed to send you a clear warning. 

SOS. While you still can. 

You tried reaching out to him, but rare are the times he ever replied with substance. Always okay. Says he’s fine. But never the ugly awful truth that he was worlds away from being one.

Michael, you know you can always call me.

He left that on read. 

You still made your presence known as you check on him whenever you get the chance. On the occasion that you do call and he answers, you know he had only told you what you needed to hear. Something short and vague for you not to worry. Something just enough to keep you at bay. 

I’m okay. It’s me. You’ve got nothing to worry about. 

His words say one thing but the tone of his voice always betrays him. 

Since then, you’ve relied on Jack to keep you in the loop with respect to your brother and his proclivities. 

Robby hasn’t been the same ever since Dr. Adamson’s death. Even if he’d deny it, you know he’d never fully move on from the day he’d lost him. Jack knows that too. But truth be told, this time, there’s a possibility that your brother might fall through the cracks. Highly likely in his own volition. 

Despite Jack keeping an eye on him, he knows he couldn’t do it 24/7. Not when he also has his own demons to fight off. Jack thought that if he isn’t around to stop Robby on the day it ever happens, he needs someone he knows could handle him. Perhaps better than the night shift attending ever could. 

You’re fully aware of how complicated it was to transfer from one hospital to another in the second year of residency. Not to mention how huge of a factor it was that said transfer also required you to move states and uproot your life to start from scratch, almost entirely from square one. You have a lot to consider and little to no time to do so. But alas, in less than a year, you were able to get yourself a decent apartment and a car that’s within your pay grade. Two commitments that’s just enough to solidify the fact that you have turned your back away from the life you had in New York in pursuit of whatever’s left of it in Pittsburgh. 

With Robby’s mother gone and your father’s passing, you’re the only one Robby has left. You were the only person he could truly call his family. He’d long given up on relationships, putting his sole focus on work. Without you around to keep him in check, he felt free to neglect himself. Taking advantage of the fact that you were siblings torn apart by responsibility and quite frankly his emotional unavailability. 

Through the years you’ve spent studying in New York, he’s made it a point to keep his distance. He sends gifts on holidays and calls when he has to, like when you passed the New York Bar, and when you’ve finally graduated from med school. The two of you seemed close despite the two decade-age gap. Sometimes, when you do need it, he’s not so bad as to fill in your father’s shoes. But more importantly, in his own way, Robby did a fairly good job at being your brother. Too bad the only thing that seems to still tie you with him was the very thing that might actually take him. Emergency Medicine.

So, despite holding two licenses in New York, you’ve made the life-altering decision of returning home. Putting the other half of your career on hold so that you could put your sole focus on the other.

You have little to no idea what’s to happen by the time you set foot in the Steel City. Robby’s likely to push you away once he comes to know of your return. He could try. After all, he’s rarely ever bested the better Robinavitch even when he does.  

You stared at two emails glaring at you in bold. 

──────────────────────────── ⌦ Primary ──────────────────────────── ❏ Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center — Welcome to PTMC, Dr. YN Robinavitch! We are pleased to announce that you … Jul 03 ──────────────────────────── ❏ Pennsylvania Bar Attorney Admission — Re: Ineligibility for Reciprocity. Greetings, Ms. YN Robinavitch. We regret … Jul 03 ────────────────────────────

Funtastic. 

What a cruel way to say, Hey, I know you’ve spread yourself thin for the last 10 fucking years, got yourself through med school while working, started internship at the best teaching hospital in NYC, but your brother is unwell. Drop everything. Be a good sister. Or else. 

You understand leaving was what you had to do. You didn’t blame Jack nor resent Robby for it. But does that mean you’re not allowed to grieve? 

Leaving New York was more than just leaving a piece of yourself. It was incomparable. You wanted to leave Pittsburgh because deep down you know the city wasn’t for you. Robby was the one who refused to leave. Pittsburgh was ingrained deep within him as much as New York had been in yourself even before you moved there. 

You love yourself and your ambitions. But the thought of losing your brother at a time you know can still be remedied, surpassed all the aforementioned. 

New York will always be there, waiting. You can even practice law remotely, should you have the time. Although, you highly doubt it. Anyway, it’s not like you’ve practiced law regularly since you got your medical license. That’s a fact you knew would cost you once you moved to Pittsburgh. 

Your familial obligations require you to be here, now. When you still have the time. When your grief is still conveniently caused by some menial aspect of your life and not by the actual loss of a life.

“Let me know when you’re ready.” 

Your eyes were torn away from your phone at the voice of the bartender. He leaves you a laminated menu, implying that you might have been sitting at his bar without a drink longer than he prefers to stay in business. 

You clear your throat as you take said menu in your hands. Wide array of alcohol and beverage on the front, a limited list of foods at the back. 

They had your usual drink, but despite being in a bar you seemed repulsed by the thought of alcohol in your system. If it weren’t for those two dreaded emails, you wouldn’t even be considering going out. But you knew better not to cage yourself in an empty apartment when you’re in a state where you couldn’t think straight. 

Jack was the one who had suggested the speakeasy bar you’ve walked into moments earlier. He said it was a place he used to frequent with Robby and a friend. Quiet and remote. Nothing ever happens except for the obvious reason people find themselves there. With the little familiarity you have left of the city, you listened and took his word for it. 

Said bar was at least a fifteen-minute drive from your place and the thought of drinking your woes away made you decide driving wasn’t ideal. Drinking was not appealing but nonetheless still a possibility. Thankfully, ride hailing options in Pittsburgh were much more convenient than they were in New York. 

Your eyes catch the bartender walking past you and towards the man seated several chairs away from yours. He handed him a drink that looked a lot like white rum and lime. 

Safe. Decent. 

“On the house. You look like you could use a break.” The bartender had said. Casual yet earnest. To the point the man looked at him as though he’d instantly break. 

For a second, you don’t tear your eyes off him and observe. 

Notwithstanding the hesitation written all over his face, he accepts the glass but doesn’t drink. Instead of taking a sip, he stares at it with hands folded together as though a rather pressing decision has yet to be made. 

Attempting to decipher the expression written on his face was quite challenging. 

Was it disappointment? Despair?  Perhaps, grief?

When he sighs upon catching himself fidgeting, the demeanor hits you. It was exactly how an accused sat before the jury. Guilt-ridden and miles away from the courtroom despite being physically restrained. 

“Ready to order?” 

Good lord. This guy is beginning to get on your nerves. Does he think you’re going to sit for an hour without placing an order? Why the rush? 

You take a deep breath to move past such irksome behavior. Your gaze catches the glint of his nameplate and inadvertently—his name. Rob. 

Figures. 

“I’ll have whatever he’s having.” You hand the menu back just as you return your attention onto your phone. 

Out of the corner of your eye you catch the stranger’s head snap towards where you were seated. You don’t react right away. Four years spent practicing law has made you keen on noticing things upon its face. Strangers. Flaws. Character. You know full well he’d look away even before you turn your head in an effort to keep himself from being caught red-handed. 

By the time Rob slides the cold glass on the table, you decide to speak.

“I hope you don’t mind a copy cat.” 

It takes a few seconds for him to realize that you were initiating a conversation. 

“Please, be my guest. Just don’t want any credit if you happen to hate it.” 

You turn to him and ask, “And if I don’t?” 

“Credit goes to Rob.” He said flatly. 

Ah. He’s aloof. Clearly he doesn’t want to be bothered. 

Absent-mindedly, you reach for your phone, scrolling through your socials to burn some time. The life of your colleagues in New York remained the same as you left it. You can’t help but grin at the thought of yourself having the luxury of time alone with your phone, burning minutes on Instagram. Your shift at New York-Presbyterian has always been at its peak at this time of night, it would’ve been a sin—crime for you to be burning Columbia’s precious time tending to your algorithm. 

When your thumb glides down your lock screen, a notification from Jack catches your attention. 

J. Abbot  A heads up won’t hurt for tomorrow. It’s always good to know everyone in advance. 

With it was an attachment, you opened simply out of muscle memory. A bunch of faceless names, their fields and titles. Only one stood out of the rest. So much so, you nearly reached for your drink.

Dr. Michael Robinavitch, MD.  Chief-Attending Physician, Emergency Department 

You type a reply, fingers dancing on the keyboard only to end up sending a single-worded message.

Thanks. 

Your thumb carelessly slid upwards, exiting the file you’ve barely skimmed. Tonight was about escaping. The file will still be there in the morning. And so will  Jack Abbot and the rest of Pittsburgh. 

By the time your phone lands onto the wooden surface, there’s not much left to be done but drink. 

You inspect the glass sitting across from you. Classic mojito, for sure. The mint swimming amidst the ice can attest to that. You’d rather have coffee. Perhaps, you shouldn’t have let a stranger influence what seemed to be the last drink you’ll have worrying about no one else but yourself. 

As you thought of said stranger, you try stealing a glimpse of him at the edge of your vision. He was still staring at his drink as if to be utterly repulsed by its existence. Or rather—of himself. 

You observe him from a distance as he continues to contemplate whether to drink or do anything else but that.

“It can’t be that good.” You blurt out. 

He laughs. Empty and foolishly. 

Still, he doesn’t drink. 

So, you do. 

By the time the flavor hit your tastebuds, you understood where his reluctance was coming from. Virgin Mojito. You’re baffled as to how you could’ve possibly missed it. 

“Sorry. Could’ve been better if it had a kick, no?” 

Turns out the man wasn’t as aloof as one would’ve been to make himself scarce.

“I didn’t think it would be as virgin as a virgin could get.” 

“Hey, you were the copycat.” He puts up his hands in defense coupled with a smirk. The way his face lit up was incomparable to the man you first saw the minute you sat on your corner. 

“Right.” You nod, “No alcohol. Got it.” 

You avoid his gaze before whatever expression you had on your face gives away what’s in your head. You should’ve recognized that kind of reluctance. After all, it was obvious that he’s trying to keep his cool—to appear normal despite the subtle insecurity that’s making him small. 

To your relief, your phone buzzes as if to save you from your own curiosity.

Not quite.

M. Robinavitch is calling. 

You let it go to voicemail. 

Tonight was about yourself.

Tomorrow will be about everything else. 

“Do you want some company?”

𓂃𓂁𓂃

It took all your strength to leave Frank’s apartment. Eight hours spent with him still didn’t seem too long a time for you to want to leave. Despite wanting to stay to watch him sleep, you knew you had to go home eventually. Unlike him, you cannot afford yourself the grace of running away from what you’ve already chosen. 

You were only able to get a hold of your phone by the time you left your apartment for work. Jack had left a message yet again as he frequently has letting you know he’d stick around longer than he’s needed to after his shift. That way he can ensure he’ll be around if he ever needs to diffuse family drama. 

You grinned at that. 

You first met Jack when you visited during the Holidays some time over five years ago. He was at least several years younger than your brother. Even then, he was far more level-headed than Michael (even when he tries). Jack had issues of his own, but he’s never let himself bleed because of it. You figured it must’ve been with help of therapy. 

You wished your brother was able to do the same. Maybe that’s the reason you were thankful Abbot was around, regardless. 

Mere seconds after you tossed your phone over to the passenger seat it rang. 

M. Robinavitch calling…

Your heart starts pounding at the sight of Robby’s caller ID. 

He’d also called last night at the bar. Which is bizarre considering he rarely ever called you. You were the one who always called first. He’s hardly ever reached out to you except when it mattered. When he knew that calling was necessary than a mere familial obligation. 

What could possibly be the reason he’s calling? 

It was an hour and a half before seven in the morning and you couldn’t believe the first person you’d be talking to is Robby. 

“Hello.” You greet him, unsure of how to mask the alarm in your tone at the risk of yours and Abbot’s covert operation brought to light before it’s realized to fruition. “Who’s this?”

You can feel him shaking his head at the other end of the line just as he chuckles. 

“Hey, that’s mean.”

You roll your eyes. 

“After dodging my calls, you deserve it. You’re lucky I still have your number.” 

“I know, I know. I tried calling yesterday; wasn’t able to reach you.” He explains. “Anyway, sorry. I knew it was a bad time. You were probably working.” 

You weren't. 

“Alright.” You look over your rear-view mirror. Some cars have begun to pull out. “To what do I owe this miraculous phone call? Feels like I own your ass for not pressing decline.” 

“Savor this moment, why don’t you?” He beams, voice hollow and distant despite being masked with glee. Even through devices, you can see right through him. “Are you just coming off your shift?”  

“Yes.” You lie through gritted teeth. “Just parked at my complex. Would’ve been at the door if you hadn’t called, I hope you know.” 

“Alright, fine. I won’t hold you for long—just wanted to say I’ll be in New York in a couple of days.” He informs you. “I’m going on a three-month sabbatical.”

“You? This phone call is turning out to be nothing short of a miracle, Michael Robinavitch. You know, you can tell me you got fired, right?” You feign surprise, hoping you were able to pull it off. 

“That I prefer, to be honest.” Robby lets out a fat laugh, apparently amused upon the fast wit of his sister. If only he’d been more honest, he’d probably told you how he missed sharing a banter with you too. He continues on, “—unfortunately, they don’t want to get rid of me just yet. So, I’m leaving. Well, hopefully not for long.”

Good god, why is he laughing so much? 

“And I take that has something to do with you being in New York?” 

“Yes.” He confirms. “I was wondering if we could… spend some time together. Visit The Met, then afterwards—the Mets.” 

You feel an uncomfortable twist and turn in your guts. The man you were talking to doesn’t sound like your brother but at all. This guy was asking you to see the Mets, for crying out loud. He hasn’t seen a baseball game in years since your father’s passing, let alone wander about museums while listening to audio-commentary on the Arts. It was rather enough to make you worry, you nearly hurled your guts out due to the looming anxiety. 

Perhaps, it was a good thing that you were no longer in New York. The thought of having to deal with Robby in less than an hour was now a relief as opposed to it being the task you’ve dreaded the most less than 24 hours ago. This was better. 

Moving back to Pittsburgh was better. 

Had it been the more complicated route—Robby visiting you in Manhattan just to see the city like some tourist who’s likely to never return, you know it’d be too late. By then, you’ve already lost him. 

Robby had to call your name to pull you back to your senses. 

“Sorry.” You quickly utter as you mask your dissociation with the presumption that you might have been just tired. You use it against him. “Today was a long shift. I’m quite lucky I got myself home.” 

“Take care, alright?” He earnestly says, just as he projects, “You have no one but yourself.” 

You sigh. That wasn’t true. 

“I have you.” 

When it takes a while for him to answer, you call him once more. Please. You almost prayed for him to be alright.

“Mike, I do have you, right?” 

“‘Course. Just say when and I’m there.” He says in a flat tone, telling you whatever you needed to hear just like he always did. But like the many times he’s done in the past, he speaks yet again so as to keep you from saying a word contrary to what he had already said. “Listen—I gotta go. I still have a hospital to run. I’ll see you Tuesday next week, how does that sound?” 

You answer with a tight-lipped smile, “Sublime.”

𓂃𓂁𓂃

Robby had a three-pronged approach for his fourth of July shift. Work. Duke. Leave. He only needed to survive 12 hours of the day courtesy of Gloria. Twelve hours on a fucking holiday—which is arguably just another normal shift for Robby. As soon as he hits Hour Twelve he’ll be out the door, never to return. That was the plan notwithstanding the circumstances that were to unfold over the day. He had places to be and people to see. He cannot afford to stay past 7:30 PM. 

It was all fairly simple until Jack Abbot’s meddling.

Jack fucking Abbot. The last person he wanted to see for each time he set foot at the hospital. But that’s never going to happen—not even if he drops dead an hour before Abbot’s shift ends. 

Hm. That would be interesting. 

Abbot has had the night shift all to himself up until last year when Dr. Shen became his co-attending. Unlike him, Robby hasn’t shared the driver’s seat in years following Dr. Adamson’s death. He couldn’t—wouldn’t. In fact, he doesn’t even want to have somebody else running his ED alongside him. If it comes to Gloria having to point a gun at him to make him decide, there’d be only one person he’d think would be fit for the job. 

At least Robby thought he’d be.

Turns out, time and fate had other plans. 

Gloria had mentioned that he was to have a replacement. She couldn’t let Robby off the hook that easily considering his heir-apparent and “would-be” proxy had been, for lack of a better term, compromised. In fact, so compromised he had to repeat an entire year of residency with the added privilege of getting to pee in cups before and after shifts. 

So for Gloria’s peace of mind, she’d sought to have an attending to stand in Robby’s shoes while he’s out somewhere in Mt. I-Wanna-Smash-My-Head-In. She’d told her it was someone from the VA. Female. Around the same age as him. 

Robby couldn’t be more thrilled—sarcasm, implied. He’d gladly take a bullet for Gloria (or anyone at this point) if that’s what it takes for her to let him leave. Of course, he would say yes. But as far as his ED is concerned and despite the knowledge of his “replacement” coming in, he’s not about to share his ship with anyone else anytime soon.

So perhaps, if Robby had wanted to see things with just a tad of optimism, Jack Abbot first thing in the morning wouldn’t be as bad as he’d make it out to be.

He had just taken off his helmet by the time he saw the night shift attending. Abbot was waiting for him by the Ambulance Bay, already with two cups of coffee held in each hand. 

Jack has never brought him coffee, at least one that he hadn’t paid for out of protest. 

Red flag. 

“In charge of coffee runs now? Isn’t that below your pay grade?” Robby kids the second he accepts the warm cup Abbot had handed him. 

“Come on, you’re leaving.” He shrugs, a smug smile coming loose. “I’m playing nice.” 

Robby prefaces, “Tell me, how bad is it in there?” 

The two attending physicians quickly fall in sync with the preliminaries. Jack began filling in Robby with the few major cases he’d be passing on to the day shift. Most of them are just waiting to be sent up to the OR; awaiting concurrence from Garcia. The rest of central was running on cruise control. Abbot hopes they’ve made it somehow manageable given that it would be Robby's last day before his much awaited sabbatical. 

Abbot’s shift hasn’t been as bad as the night prior to the PittFest shootings. Nothing as tragic as that day in September has stricken the hospital since. Jack was glad he’s not about to end his shift contemplating his entire existence at the rooftop. But had he been asked which was better between then and having to break Robby the news of his sister’s return, Jack would’ve opted the idea of falling head first onto the pavement than having to deal with two bickering Robbies so close to the end of his shift. 

“I have to tell you one other thing.” 

Robby nods as he takes a sip, “Ok, shoot.”

“You have an R2 coming in, transferring from Presby.” Abbot eases his way in, intentionally dropping which Presby was concerned as if to test the waters.

“Why? I thought Presby’s the one poaching our residents?” Robby sneers, answering with sarcasm. Abbot only looks at him exasperatedly, refraining himself from further elaborating. 

An extra set of hands on the team wouldn’t be so bad of an idea. After all, the department was still undeniably understaffed if Robby were to consider his own standards. 

“Should I be worried about you handing them over to my shift? Are they not good enough for you?” 

Abbot grins at that, “Oh, they’re exceptional so I’ve been told.” 

Robby raises a brow. Jack wasn’t the type to snatch residents without his concurrence. Samira could attest to that. She’d been on Abbot’s list since last year yet she still hasn’t left. Surely, Abbot would have told him if he’d wanted this resident for himself. 

He shakes his head, slightly irked that Abbot is being purposely vague. He doesn’t need to decipher a riddle first thing in the morning.

“Okay,” Robby cedes, “Tell me about your R2.”

Jack clears his throat before he begins laying the predicate. 

“JD-MD. PGY-2, EM. Coming in from NYC. Columbia. Top of her class—”

Abbot can tell by the look on Robby’s face how, when, and what word it took for the gears inside Robby’s head to stop turning. There’s a look of astonishment beaming off his face for a moment, fleeting away just as fast as Robby’s piercing brown eyes land back on Abbot’s. He’s grinning, incredulously. Still, the night shift attending manages to finish.

“—had to transfer for personal reasons. Family care.”

Abbot’s recitation was met with derision. Robby scoffs, his hand running its way through what’s left of his hair. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking with me right now.” 

“I’m not.”

“You told her?” 

“Not on purpose. She called, wanting to see if things were okay ‘round here—said you haven’t been answering any of her messages. So, I might have mentioned it in passing.” Abbot shrugs, he squints as he speaks; a tell-tale sign that he’s lying. 

Robby had no qualms about his sister finding out about the sabbatical. Knowing the fact was one thing. Knowing why was another. By the tone of Abbot’s voice, Robby could easily decipher he’d tacitly told her more than what his own brother did with their own phone calls. 

He couldn’t believe it. He was just talking to her this morning. Could she have been in Pittsburgh by then? Worse, had she been home since last night? 

Insofar as family were concerned, Robby knew he still had the weekend to mull over what he’s supposed to tell her. Framing whatever statement he’d tell her carefully so as to leave her with knowledge limited to what’s on the surface. The chances of his success were slim, but at least he had a shot at winning. 

Now, Abbot had stolen that from him. 

She’s going to be here in a few minutes before the clock strikes seven. Not only that she’d be here as his resident. Robby would be forced to deal with her not only as his sister but as his student as well. It’d be like tempting Robby with one foot out the door only to lure him back in and prevent him from running away forever.  

Jesus Christ, it turns out his three-pronged approach had melted long before he got the chance to clock in.

“Oh, brother, am I glad you’re almost off the clock.” Robby scorns. “—I won’t accept her.” 

Abbot doesn’t take it to heart. Instead, he counters, holding his ground. “Are you even authorized to do that?”

“I don’t care. I’ll throw her off to your shift.” After all, you’ve been told she was exceptional. Robby willed enough strength to bite his tongue. 

“Too late. Gloria’s ok-ed it. HR concurred. Papers already went through.” 

Abbot wasn’t wasting any more of their respective precious time. 

Robby wanted to leave. Abbot wanted him alive. 

Robby didn’t leave him much of a choice. 

“Of course, she did.” Apparently, Gloria was never on his side. Robby laughs, mocking his misery. “This is ridiculous. I don’t need a babysitter, goddamn it.” 

Abbot’s gaze softens, understanding where the frustration was coming from. But ten months have gone since the PittFest Shootings. He’d only gotten worse ever since Adamson’s death. He did what he had to do. 

“I’m just looking out for you.”

Robby lashes out, “Well, I didn’t ask you to!” 

Abbot sighs, just as he catches a familiar figure walking towards where they stood.

He cocks his head over Robby’s shoulder, “Tell that to her.” 

𓂃𓂁𓂃

Just as Jack had instructed, you found him and Robby in what seemed like a heated conversation in the Ambulance Bay. The tense air dissipated the second you came in, bag slung over your shoulders quite effortlessly. 

“Hello, brother.” 

Robby still had his back against you when you announced yourself. Abbot nodded in acknowledgement. It doesn’t take long for Robby’s shoulders to drop. He sighs out loud, turning to face the inevitable. You. 

As you meet the resigned look on Robby’s face, a brilliant grin breaks. “Miss me?”

“You’re such a pain.” Robby grunts but doesn’t take a beat to pull you in an embrace. 

You hug him back, sparing Jack a warm smile as he stands a foot behind. 

“I learned from the best.”

“God, you still suck at lying.” Robby gives you a tight squeeze just before he lets you go. “I thought we already had a plan? Tuesday? The Met?”

A mischievous smirk is hung on the corner of your lips. 

“Well, what can I say? I’ve made plans of my own.” 

It takes several seconds for him to acquiesce. 

“Fine—Fine.” He surrenders, pouring his attention to you and the night shift attending. “Jack will show you the ropes. In the meantime, I have some Chief-Attending matters to tend to. I’ll find you for the hand-over.”

Robby retreats at a pace that seemed like he was eager to leave you rather than tend to whatever excuse he’d spared for his own benefit. You sigh. At least, the hard part’s over. 

“That went well, don’t you think?” Jack expressed the second Robby’s out of earshot. 

“If he’s still leaving at the end of this shift, I’d say not well enough.”

You met with Jack as soon as you finished changing into your scrubs. 

There have been a few notable differences PTMC had with NYP. The abysmal patient-doctor ratio easily claimed the number one spot. The lack of a proper locker room for the staff was a close second. The hallways were cramped and it was bizarre to be seeing beds placed alongside literal walls. Despite its stellar reputation, PTMC’s ED was nothing compared to Presby’s. 

To say the least, seeing the frustrating state of the Emergency Department, you understand why Robby couldn’t bear to ever leave such place.

“What do you think?” Jack inquires as he watches you take in the coming and goings of the night shift. “A bit much?” 

You turn his way, shaking your head despite thinking the contrary. “—Enough.”

Something in Abbot eases. It was as if hearing you say “enough” had alleviated some of the guilt he felt for bringing you back to the city.

He hands you your hospital badge so as to make the transfer official, “Fresh off the oven.” 

With Jack’s help and having Gloria on board with your transfer, getting your license to continue your residency in Pittsburgh came with privileges you’re beyond grateful for. Not that you went to the extent of avoiding the entire process, but at the very least—you were able to expedite it. 

You stared at your badge, thumb hovering over the hospital’s logo. There it was, your name printed in bold just above the huge block print of the word Doctor. Nothing could be more official than that. 

“Thank you.” You look at Jack with an earnest smile. 

He smiles in turn, “Come on, let’s find Robby.”

True enough, you found Robby at Central nearly swallowed by people circling around him in the nurse’s station. He notices you and Jack by the time you’ve joined the group standing by his right side. 

Jack stood awfully close to a girl you assume to be just about your age. She had her badge attached to her chest pocket. 

Dr. Samira Mohan, M.D. 

Goodness gracious, Abbot. 

She could certainly do better.

“Come,” Robby calls your name, motioning for you to come forward and stand beside him. 

Robby doesn’t say anything else, not even as to brief you of what’s about to happen. Nevertheless, you maintain a good distance from him just as you scan the small crowd. 

There’s a subtle wave of chatter flowing in and out of Robby’s bubble. You’ve noticed people stifling a yawn, some slurping their morning coffee like there’s no tomorrow. Of course, you weren’t spared from the brief and unassuming glances most people you’ve yet to formally meet had managed to make. 

Handovers at Presby looked a lot like PTMC’s so it didn’t come as a surprise. Night shift and day shift walked rounds in micro-groups whilst assigning cases like it was auction night in Sotheby’s. 

“Nervous?” Whispered a woman inside the Nurse’s Station. She had short ghostly blonde hair that was pulled back into a low bun with some strands hanging loose, framing her face. You guess she’s at least three years older than Robby. And quite frankly, someone that could give your poor brother’s stubborn stubborn head a pretty good shake. 

“A little.” You find yourself admitting. 

You see what seemed like a proud grin breaking from her lips when she said, “You’ll be great. I know it.” 

You manage to covertly extend your hand towards her so as to introduce yourself, just by your first name. She’s about to know who you were anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to have somebody who knew you as you even just for a little while. 

“Dana Evans.” She takes your hand, “Welcome to the Pitt.”

The Pitt. That has Michael Robinavitch written all over.

“Everyone, gather around—make some room, take space. We’re about to have our briefing.” Heads turn towards Robby the second his voice enveloped the place. Words flowing out of him with ease. Commanding. Efficient. Effective—“Langdon, get your ass over here. No one’s gonna wait any longer.”

You try peeking through the select few rushing in to get into the circle. Most of them were nurses. Women. You make a mental note to introduce yourself to them properly once you have the time. 

You wonder whose name it was that Robby had just called with spite. After all, you can recognize that tone from a mile away. You’re sure he wasn’t even trying to hide it. 

Robby makes the mistake of moving, and that’s when you see him. 

Perhaps you didn’t have to wonder for long. 

Frank. It can’t be. 

He stood several feet away from where you were standing, completely and utterly unaware of your existence. The very same existence you’re now desperately trying to conceal as you shrink yourself oh-so miserably behind your own brother. 

Your eyes dart straight at him, using most of the time you have left to take him in. It’d only be mere seconds before Robby has to inevitably albeit unknowingly brand you as the boss’ sister.

He had that certain look on his face. The kind that silently announces his presence in the room so effortlessly. The very one that he’s clueless as to having. He’d parted his hair off-center just as a lone strand came loose to fashion his forehead. Frank Langdon just stood there—amidst all the others that were about to know who you were. 

God. He’s about to know who you were. 

The second you sensed that he was going to look your way you turned your gaze elsewhere. Please don’t hate me. You wished onto the void, hoping he’d somehow hear your plea.

Robby speaks just as said hope dissipates.

“First of all, I’d like you to meet Dr. YN Robinavitch, she’d be joining our ship for the rest of her residency.” 

You stood beside Robby, sparing a smile to whomever finds your eyes. You knew the prejudice that might come considering who your brother was in this hospital, but there’s not much left to do other than swallow the guilt of nepotism and forget about everything else. 

You are Robby’s sister. You can’t afford to lose sight of the exact reason for your return. 

“Yes, as in Robby—Robinavitch. No, she’s not his wife nor is she his daughter.” You look over your shoulder to catch Abbot’s teasing grin at your brother. 

You might as well have let the floor swallow you whole. 

“Dr. Abbot’s correct. She is neither my wife nor my daughter, god forbid. But yes, she is family.” Michael reiterates, this time letting the inconvertible fact come directly from him. 

“It’s nice to know Javadi isn’t the only one inclined to join the family business ‘round here.” The resident standing nearby Dr. Mohan chimed in with a mischievous grin sitting on her lips. Her eyes that seemed to calculate your every move the second Robby had called for you to stand by his side had been long gone. Instead, it’s now been replaced by some other kind of glint that makes you—somehow, wary. 

“So… she’s your?” Another resident had asked. A blonde that had her hair fashioned in a neat and practical braid.

Robby simply answers, “Sister.”

“—Fuck me.” 

You already did. 

All heads shot his way. Yours as well as Robby’s included. 

Robby’s gaze danced between you and Frank, waiting for either of you to come forward and say something. 

“You two know each other?” 

“No, we just met.”

With a straight face you categorically deny, eyes darting at Robby just before it lands onto the man whose bed you just slept in. By now, one would think Frank Langdon has learned his lesson. 

“Isn’t that right,” You hope he still thinks you’re a bad liar. “—Dr. Langdon?” 

The stern expression on his face remained. Neither the way he looked at you nor the way he carried himself wavered. His facade was intact, but his eyes say otherwise. He’s looking at you indifferently—in a brand new way that makes your heart sink. 

He reaches for your hand as you try to discern what that meant, but Frank seemed far away even when he was painfully within your reach. 

He concurs, voice flat and cold as if to play the part he didn’t choose. 

“Yeah, no—just today.”  

𓂃𓂁𓂃

Langdon hated throwing up. 

The few memories he had of himself nearly head-deep into the toilet was back in college. Alternating Fridays and every waking day of Spring Break. He remembered throwing up in rehab when his withdrawals were at its peak, when his body refused to take in the good kind of drug that’s supposed to get him cleaned. He rarely had enough time to get to the toilet. A nurse simply had a pot ready each time, conveniently. The feeling, the smell, and the mess that came with it. He hated everything about it. 

The second he felt the familiar and uncomfortable twist in his gut, the very kind that announces the imminent forceful expulsion that ought to follow, Langdon sped off to the nearest restroom as soon as hand-off was over. 

This particular time however, he gagged, hurled and felt as though his eyes were about to pop-off his head but nothing came out of his system. It was as if his insides had decided to abandon him when it was the only thing that seemed to will his entire body. The only thing he felt like he had control over was to puke. He can’t even manage to do that. 

He cannot believe it. 

She’s Robby’s sister. 

Worse, he just fucked Robby’s sister. 

He might as well drown himself in said toilet. It’d be highly unsanitary, sure. But at least, he wouldn’t have to deal with everything outside the comforting walls of the restroom. 

Sister. The fact screams inside his head as though it had been put there against its consent.

Christ, Frank. What were you thinking?

Very clearly, he wasn’t. At least not in the way she did the second she caught sight of his hospital badge. No, we just met. She was quick on her feet when she said it. Frank didn’t even have the chance to think it over or what his response could’ve been when Robby had asked if they knew each other. 

He remembers how her face looked when she said it. She looked as though she’d never seen him at all. In fact, he wasn’t even close to a ghost enough to haunt her. She just stared blankly at Langdon with indifferent eyes—the very same eyes that made him want more. 

The thought alone makes him want to vomit.

He opens the faucet to splash water on his face—and hopefully, knock some sense into himself.

“Dr. Langdon.” Frank mocked the way she’d said his name as he looked at his reflection. It was as if she hadn’t been moaning Frank’s name in his very own bed the night prior. 

He shakes the thought away. 

He’s skeptical as to why she pretended not to know him. Considering the events of last night, why would she do such a thing? Did she think he’d complicate things? Maybe she’d thought how bad it would be for her to be associated with him. 

Or was it even about him? 

Robby would’ve been a good enough reason for her to lie—an obvious one at best. And knowing where he currently stood with Robby, Langdon should be thanking her for inadvertently giving him an out considering the stakes involved and the high probability of an outcome against his favor. 

Could that be what she wanted him to do? Does she want him to forget about everything that happened less than 12 hours ago? Was last night merely casual for her? 

It hadn't even occurred to him that he didn’t know her full name—much less, how he didn’t ask for it. Even then, he wasn’t entirely at fault. She didn’t bother to ask for his name either. How can such a trivial aspect of every logical thing from last night slip both of their minds? If last night hadn’t been about Langdon escaping, then how could he have missed something of such significance?  

He skims through the events of last night like he was charting. He learned this method a counselor had suggested. She’d been sober for 12 years, still holding her license to practice medicine. She’d suggested for Langdon to recall events for the purpose of record-keeping. Not to relive the past but to help forgive himself and hopefully move forward. 

She’d mentioned that she had a brother and that she was the youngest. She was born and raised in Pittsburgh but hadn’t been in the city for quite some time she didn’t felt like revealing. When he asked her as to why she was at the bar, she’d answered—“I went there to distract myself.”

Frank went to the bar in order to escape. She went there as a distraction. It must’ve been sheer dumb luck that they’d found each other. 

Frank steps away from the sink. It can’t be. 

God can’t keep fucking with him like this. Otherwise, it’s just too cruel. 

Why tempt him with a life filled with options? Why make him feel as though he had more? He was content with having to live with himself and the consequences of the years that preceded the last ten months of his awful little life. Jesus. He’d been better off alone. Why would fate make him believe he’d actually be allowed more? 

Frank woke up today thinking he’d found someone that would be of significance. 

Life-altering kind of significant. 

Turns out, he’d only been a mere distraction for her. If that were the truth, he wishes—badly hopes everything she’d told him wasn’t just an attempt for her to pass the time. For her to burn through the hours because she dreaded what awaits her as soon as the sun was up. He wishes that she meant every word, every touch, and every kiss she’d given Frank. 

Hour One hasn’t begun for Langdon, how come he feels as though he’d already lost?

He stares at his reflection one last time. He still looked like he’d just been shot. He has to pull his shit together by the time he’s out the door. 

Today is about being back. All he has to do is focus. Do the work exactly how he’d envisioned the second he got out of the rehabilitation center. Everything else is background noise, for as long as he stays with himself—for himself. 

She’d only met him today. 

He will act like it. 

𓂃𓂁𓂃

Frank has been avoiding you since the hand-off. 

Worse, so does your brother. 

Robby had shunned Frank away to triage together with a nurse practitioner named Donnie. Donnie Donahue who was kind enough to show you where the breakroom was as he helped himself to the bagel spread brought by another attending physician. Highly likely Robby’s proxy, considering the character of those you’ve already known. 

As for the better Robinavitch, it’s safe to say that you’ve been shunned to the sidelines by your very own brother. Robby had thrown the responsibility of your integration off to the man he thinks is actually responsible for everything that concerned you. 

“Jack—Dr. Abbot, where do you need me?” 

You inquire, matching the pace of his strides. He’d just gone out of a room from South when you caught sight of him. Fortunately, it’s easier to find people who are not actively doing their best at avoiding you.

“Uh—, where’s Robby?” He looks around, trying to see the day shift attending for himself. 

“Everywhere except anywhere I am. Apparently.” 

He tutted, “Expected. No worries. You’re in luck, Replacement-Robby just came in.”

“Replacement-what?” 

Abbot leads the way towards the station, where a couple of MS were being handed out unnecessary huge patient passports whilst Whitaker had a dummy in a wheelchair towed behind them. 

“Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi, I’d like to introduce Dr. Robinavitch, one of your R2s, starting today.” Jack’s voice cuts through the huddle, managing to acknowledge Whitaker and the medical students with undeniable ease. 

There’s a subtle knowing-expression on her face at the mention of your name.  

“Robinavitch?” 

“Sister.” 

Her brow quirks as the fact lands to confirm what she must’ve already been thinking. 

“Ah. Pleased to meet you, Dr.—?”

“Dr. YN Robinavitch.”

Once formalities were out of the way, Abbot eases on his exit. 

“I’ll let you two get acquainted. I can’t wait to get out of this place.” He lets his exhaustion bleed out of his mind. He turns to you, suddenly aware he’d willingly taken on a liability for the sake of his best friend. “You don’t mind, do you?” 

You decline profusely, “No—not at all. You’ve done enough. Thank you.” 

Al-Hashimi wasted no time pulling you onto Trauma 1. 

“Alright. Ready for your first case?” 

“Starving.” 

In fact, so starving you were in a gown before your attending. 

The second the doors to Trauma 1 swung open, you find one of the two people who’ve been avoiding you all morning. He’s stunned as though the mere sight of you rendered him incapable of escaping.

“Dr. Garcia, I’d like you to meet Dr. Robinavitch. She’ll be joining you today.”  

Garcia cocks her head your way, “And here I am thinking having one Robby’s too much before 10AM.”

“‘Could always use one more to get on your nerves.” He finally spoke, still avoiding your gaze. He then proceeds to provide a run-down of the guy lying on the table with an open chest cavity. Mostly for your benefit than anyone already present as soon as the patient got in. “Penetrating trauma to the chest, massive hemothorax, couldn’t locate the source.” 

“Bad morning.” You comment as you take the space beside Dr. Garcia. 

By the look discernible on her face, Robbie knows there’s a smirk lying underneath her mask. Too bad you couldn’t see it for yourself. 

“Proximal hilum is under the sternum.” You say as soon as you get your hands into the patient. “—along with most of the right ventricle.”

The two attendings stood side by side as they watched their residents get to work. There has to be better exposure. You know it, Robby knows it. You just need his word. 

Al-Hashimi beats him to it. “Convert to a clamshell.”

Do as you’re told, so they say. 

Immediately, you ask Perlah for the trauma shears in order to make room for Whitaker who’s about to squeeze on the patient’s heart. 

“Right ventricle looks good.” Robby comments.  

The numbers on the EKG pulsate as soon as your hands come in contact with the hilum. There’s a rapid flow of blood pooling around your hands, Whitaker panics. 

“Massive hemorrhage from the hilum.” You announce. “Hilar injury looks very proximal—could be pulmonary artery and vein.” 

“Clamps.” Baran orders. 

Robby forces his hand. “Dr. Robinavitch knows what she’s doing.”

“No good.” 

“Four units in.”

Garcia’s lack of enthusiasm prompts Al-Hashimi to override Robby’s orders. “I’m stepping in. Gloves—”

He doesn’t let her. “Dr. Garcia is a stellar surgeon and Dr. Robinavitch is a promising resident. I’m sure they can manage.” 

The bickering hovers in your ears as if it was happening beyond the doors of the trauma room. Your hands are still submerged in the pool of warm blood. You’re lucky the patient isn’t going to shock at such a point. 

Something has to be done. But none of the adults in the room seemed to have a clue as to how to deal with what you have in your hands. Quite literally, so to speak. You rummage through your brain, skimming through memories of thousands of medical journals you’ve read and what seemed like a hundred of procedures you’ve observed your fellow doctors in Columbia performed within seconds. 

Finally, it clicks—“Hilar flip.”

All heads shot up at you, varying from looks of amusement, skepticism, and pure disbelief.

“A what?” Al-Hashimi’s voice cuts through the air like a knife. 

Risky. Bold. A total gamble. 

At least not for anyone in the room, but for a resident like yourself. Al-Hashimi’s almost impressed you had the nerve to suggest it. 

“I watched an attending do it at the NYP.”

You find Robby’s eyes on you as you said it. It must’ve been the first time he looked at you ever since the handover. He wouldn’t deny it. He was at a loss for words. He was seeing your work first hand and he’s in awe of it.

When it takes them another second to concur, you give them a nudge. “I just need to rotate the lung 180 degrees and it’ll stop the bleeding. Guaranteed.”

“That could possibly work.”

Al-Hashimi looks at both Robbies incredulously as she dissents, “Or he’ll die when she rips the entire lung off the hilum.” 

You assert, “Not if we do it gently.” 

“That’s too much of a risk to take.” 

“Got any ideas?” Robby counters, “—Dr. Robinavitch, proceed.”

As soon as you hear an attending’s concurrence, you and Garcia get to work. The room stays still as you dig your hands further into the cavity. 

Robby utters a series of “Gentle—gently. Slow and steady—very slowly,” but he’s miles away from where you were standing. At least, it felt that way as you embraced the lung with both palms on one side whilst Garcia met you through the other. You feel the weight of the lung in your hands that it has made your decision feel so real you’re beginning to think the idea was ridiculous. You scan for a leak as soon as the twist has been done. Garcia let go of her hold on the lung mere seconds before you followed.

Whitaker glanced at the monitor over everyone’s heads. “Blood loss is going down.”

“Dry as the dessert ‘round here.” Garcia sighs with relief. 

Robby gives her a nod. “That’s a good sign.” 

The flip worked.

Unfortunately, you know the job is far from being done. 

“How’s the heart, Dr. Whitaker?” Your look at Dennis whose demeanor answered in the negative.

“Dull. Empty.” He manages to say as he continues to squeeze onto the aorta.

“Continue with the transfusions—and cardiac massage, Whitaker.” Robby orders from one end of the room to the other, speaking to his residents and the assisting nurses simultaneously. “—Talk to me. How’s the heart now?”

“Better than we started. Blood is filling in now.” Whitaker breathes, and so does everyone else beside him. Including yourself.

“Hold compressions.” 

Whitaker lets go of the heart and you see it. V-fib.

“Resume compressions.” Perlah gathers the paddles from the rack. “Paddles ready.”

“Charge to—?”

“Fifty.” Robby and Al-Hashimi says in unison. 

The paddles are handed onto Whitaker just as fast as he got them into the heart. 

“Charge—”

“—Clear.”

You waste no time and peek into the cavity. Normal sinus.

You breathe. Finally.  

“Strong carotid.” You tell both of the attendings. One immediately takes off her gloves, and the other admires you for a second longer than he needed to. Almost as if he wasn’t looking at a resident but his little sister. 

“Good call.” He says over his shoulder just as he pushes his weight to the door to disappear from your sight, hopefully until noon. 

“Saline lap pads, OR’s ready for us.” Garcia takes command as everyone scatters into different parts of the room prepping the patient for transfer. 

“Hell of a save, Robinavitch.” She tells you, taking off her mask for you to finally see that smirk. “I knew I’d like you better than your brother.”

𓂃𓂁𓂃

Dana Evans is a life saver. Both of patients and of lost residents—well, resident. Seeing as you’re the only one who’s yet to find her place amidst the chaos of the Pitt. 

“Did Abbot leave you alone to fend off this pack of wolves?” was the first question Dana asked when she saw you wandering about South trying to find yourself a group you could possibly join for hand-offs. 

Unfortunately, Al-Hashimi had formed a group led by Whitaker, taking with him two out of three MS in the ED and most of the night shift had gone home by the time you got out of T1, so maybe Dana’s right. Abbot has left you completely and utterly alone to fend off your brother’s attack dogs.

You haven’t had this much trouble getting yourself acquainted with new people. But it seemed as though today wouldn’t go as smoothly as you'd planned. It hasn’t occurred to you why that is. Yet.

“It’s your name tag, kid.” 

“My what?”

“Robinavitch.” 

“What about it?”

Dana stops in her track, “You really want me to spell it out for ya?”

Your shoulders dropped as you met her gaze. Of course, that was the problem. Robby had announced to everyone who you were. Purposefully at that considering how you know he really didn’t have to. But even if you were related in some other way besides being siblings, the name Robinavitch has already marked you so long as you roam the halls of Robby’s ED. 

How you could have missed that, you’ll never know. 

“I didn’t think it would be an issue.”

“Oh, it’s not. At least not in the way you’re thinking.” She reassured you. “They just don’t wanna mess with Robby is all.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at such a notion. 

“Michael wouldn’t even want to mess with me.”

She grins upon hearing Robby’s first name. She hasn’t heard that name since Dr. Adamson had passed. He’d been the only one to call him Michael. Refusing to call him Robby and insisting that he’d only be Michael insofar as he was concerned. Dr. Adamson simply saw your brother outside of the ‘Robby’ everyone in the ED came to know. Now that he’s gone, it was as if he’d taken Michael along with him. With you around, Dana felt like Michael was coming back.

Almost.

“So I’ve heard.” She jests, ”I haven’t seen much of him today because of you—so, thank you.” 

You chuckle. “My brother is that bad, huh?” 

Dana doesn’t say a thing but zip her mouth, feigning ignorance. 

“I’m going to leave you with your fellow R2, that okay?” 

“There’s another R2?” There’s a brilliant smile on your face instantly. “Oh, please do! That’d be great.”

“Thought you’d like the idea. Come on, she’s over here.” Dana proceeds to walk a step ahead of you, making her way towards the charting area with such sole purpose. 

You see two residents whose eyes were peeled as they looked onto their respective monitors. The blonde one from earlier was directly at your line of sight. Mel was it? You remember Abbot had called her when he was hoping to have a word with Samira alone.

Mel seemed nice—or is in fact, nice. You get a good feeling from her. You tend to lean towards your better judgment. More often than not, you’re right about these things anyway.

That is until Dana speaks again. 

“Dr. Santos, I’d like you to meet Dr.—”

“Robinavitch.” She said as soon as she saw you. A smug smirk is pronounced on her lips as though she’d been looking forward to meeting the other Robinavitch formally. “I already know.”

Formal, that is, if she had only let Dana finish that sentence. 

“I’m pleased to meet you, Dr. Santos.” You give her a tight-lipped smile. Not exactly true, but nonetheless polite.

You remember her shooting daggers at you as you stood by Robby’s side during the handover and the immediate switch of said eyes the moment she learned you were her mentor’s sister. It was rather enough for you to know she wouldn’t be someone you’d grow fond of. 

You’d like for her to prove you wrong. It’s still early to make a sweeping conclusion. Besides, other than your stubborn boss, you’re here to work not to make friends—and certainly not to make liking co-workers your ultimate purpose.

“I’m quite pleased to meet you as well, Robbie.” She says in an unnatural tone—almost as if it was a subtle way to mock you. The same green eyes that seemed like they were about to skin you alive are now looking at you as though they’ve known you all their life. 

Intense. A bit odd. But certainly nothing you can’t handle on your own. 

What was it she just called you? Robby? 

You’re beginning to lose hope that your fourth of July would be as fun as Abbot had advertised. 

After two successful cases with you, Mel, and Javadi, Santos had run off to the nine year old patient up North with Dr. Mckay. Thereby leaving you with Al-Hashimi who’s been breathing down everyone’s necks upon the use of Generative A. I. in the workplace. 

“How are you guys handling this A. I. thingy?” Victoria inquires exasperatedly amidst the pains of proof-reading. 

“A. I. thingy?”

“Uh-huh.” 

“I think it saves time. Quite efficient.” You keep your eyes on the screen as you continue working on the chart of your T1 patient. You answered on impulse but with precision, exactly how cold-calls in law school have trained their Columbia-borne lawyers. Simply out of muscle memory. “But I also think it’s highly unreliable. A risk. A potential malpractice lawsuit for Al-Hashimi.”

“What?” 

It hadn’t even occurred to you that you’d just belittled and practically called your attending’s program a liability waiting to blow up everyone's faces, not until both Mel and Victoria had reacted. You catch yourself. You hate not being able to turn off that side of your brain.

“You think Dr. Al’s gonna get sued for this?” Victoria leans in closer, almost whispering. 

“I— I didn’t say that.” 

Mel agrees with you, “She only said a ‘potential’ malpractice lawsuit.”

“How is that any different? If it’s failing now, sure enough some vindictive patient will sue, right?” 

You notice Mel’s eyes begin to wander in deep thought as she pieced an acceptable answer. 

“If… I— I don’t know. I’m not sure.” For some reason she couldn’t. She turns to you with expectant eyes, “Dr. Robbie?”

Oh, you want to hate Santos for making that one stuck.

“She’s not going to get sued.” You clarify. 

You need to leave it at that, Robinavitch. 

“But at the rate this ‘two-percentage window for errors' is going, I’d say she’s got a lot of fate for a program that’s designed to inevitably fail.”

Jesus. You hate yourself so much.

Javadi returns to her chart with a snicker. “I think Mel has found a lawyer.” 

Panic rises to your throat in an instant. You haven’t told anyone about that.

“A what?” 

Mel doesn’t hear another word besides the one Javadi had said last. 

“Are you also a lawyer?” 

Shit. You don’t want to lie to her. You’ve already managed to screw up two relationships in the first hour of your shift, you couldn’t manage to lose a potential friendship with Mel King. 

“No, no. No, I’m not a lawyer.” 

At least not in Pennsylvania. 

There’s some truth in what you’d just told her.

Mel’s shoulders drop. She didn't say a word after that and resumed to work on her own charts. 

“Did I say something wrong?” You can’t help but ask Javadi.

She repudiated. 

“You didn’t. She’s just… It’s not my place to tell.” Her voice softens into one that’s enough to stay between your own conversation—away from Mel’s ears. “I think it’s best for you to ask her about it.”

𓂃𓂁𓂃

Langdon has failed to accomplish two things on his first day back to work. 

Win back Robby’s affection. 

And ignore Robby’s sister.

Two mutually exclusive relationships that would fuck with his head, ten months into his sobriety. Relationships? How delusional can he be?

Thankfully, Robby’s cruelty against him had turned out to be profitable. For his time and for his peace of mind. If it hadn’t been for Robby putting him in exile, he wouldn’t have lasted an hour at ignoring her. Being in Central with everyone else was already taxing to think about for the last ten months, let alone actually live it. It’s safe to say Frank surviving the ED with her in the mix would be an unprecedented feat. 

“Robby finally found his match.”

Langdon’s self-loathing was put to a halt by the musings of a newly minted NP. 

“Jesse said they were bumping heads in T1 so hard, he’s thankful Robby’s sister was in there with them.” Donnie narrates the events of the first trauma patient of the day. 

“His sister?” Langdon feigns ignorance—but certainly not his interest. 

Donnie hums. “Apparently she’d suggested a Hilar flip. Did it in front of both attendings and Garcia. Al-Hashimi would’ve reprimanded her if it hadn't been the technique that actually worked.”

A sly smirk forms, one that he immediately quashes as soon as he’d realized it was there.

“Reprimand? For what—saving the patient’s life?” 

“She’s still an R2.” Donnie reminds him. 

“Wouldn’t make much of a difference to me.” 

“Huh. And this is coming from the chief-resident who rode an intern so hard for not presenting a case to her senior?” Donnie grins. “You’ve changed, man.” 

“Going to be pretty bland now, I’m afraid.” 

“Still. Sucks, we didn't see it ourselves. Jesse was having the time of his life.” Donnie adds, “What’d you think of her anyway?”

“Who? Al-Hashimi?” 

“No. Robby’s sister. What was her name again?”

Frank tells Donnie her name a little too fast for somebody who should’ve been ignorant.

“That’s the one.” 

Thankfully, Donnie didn’t catch that. 

What would he say to him anyway? The events of last night or how she managed to single-handedly turn Langdon’s world upside down in a matter of a simple lie? Donnie would be having a better morning than Jesse if he’d come to know that. 

So instead, he tells him, “Too soon to tell. Haven’t been around Central, as you can see.”

“I’m not sure you’re going to like her.” Donnie presumed. 

Quite disputable. 

“Really? How can you tell?” 

Donnie shrugs as he pushes the door to triage, “Garcia does.”

“And that matters because?” 

“Come on, man. You and Robby have consistently butt heads with her over the years. Now, she has her very own Robinavitch on her corner.”

Oh, Frank would beg to disagree.

“Long time no see, Mr. Cloverfield.”

𓂃𓂁𓂃

You have gotten a hang of things by Hour Four. 

You were in South when Mel had scurried off to central alongside Javadi for Robby’s trauma patient. You weren’t paged, not that it was ever a surprise after all, the only attending who’s been giving you a fair shot was Al-Hashimi. 

To say the least, even with Robby’s prejudice towards his poor sister, you’ve managed to keep your hands full and yourself quite useful. 

You were on your way to the restroom when Princess had called, saying there wasn’t a resident around in triage. Robby would be livid if he ever comes close as to hearing about the 20-patient pile up still waiting to be seen as per Lupe’s latest directive.

You looked at the Patient Passport placed unassumingly by the medicine rack. 

Louie Cloverfield. His present record concerned primarily of a tooth-ache, nothing more nothing less. A bit odd for somebody who looked as though he’s been having a hard time breathing. 

“Good morning, Mr. Cloverfield. I’m Dr. YN Robinavitch. How may I care for you today?” 

You brace for inevitable, “Are you related to Dr. Robby?” but it doesn’t come. Good for you. 

“Oh—Hello, Doctor. Got a bit of a bad tooth-ache here.” He smiles amidst the discernible grimace that came with it. “Other than that, I’m peachy.”

“You mind if I take a look?” You asked politely. 

You watch him ease into opening his mouth, waiting for your gloved-hands to do most of the heavy-lifting. The infection budding from the root of his tooth is apparent from the moment you manage to lift his lip down, hoping for better sight-access. There was already a pus build-up. It’s safe to say Louie has been living through the pain for quite some time.

“How long have you been dealing with this sucker, Mr. Cloverfield?” 

“A while.” He dismisses the way you referred to him so formally. “Please, Doc—just call me Louie.” 

You sigh. “Then it got bad last night. Am I right, Louie?” 

He breathes, “Right on the money.”

“Well, there’s an infection on the root I think we can manage draining before we can refer you to one of our in-house dentists.” 

It takes a beat for him to nod. You figured it was probably due to his breathing. 

“Ever have a hard time breathing these days?” 

He nods. “Been walking more than I used to. Trying to get in shape.”

“That’s good. I’ve been catching up on my steps too.” You say with a smile. “But I think we need to check just to be sure. Who knows? Maybe we can work you up for the next marathon.”

Louie laughs, letting you do the job. 

You did the standard procedure and checked more than his breathing. The immediate results were abnormal—most of which indicating that the tooth-ache wasn’t the only thing bothering your patient. 

“Can you lift up your shirt for me?” 

Louie obliges without much hesitation. 

You gently prod onto his stomach, finding the same as hard as a rock. 

“Your belly’s stiff. Has it always been this hard?” 

He shrugs. “Dunno. I was thinking I can wait another week.” 

“Before coming back?” 

“I come when it becomes bothersome.” 

“Louie.” You sigh. “Okay, I’ll look at your chart.”

You pull down his shirt and walk towards the monitor. There’s a comprehensive medical history under Louie Cloverfield’s record. Most of which were librium prescriptions you assumed to have been given for his alcohol withdrawal, helping his liver recover. You were right for checking what he’s been hiding beneath his shirt. 

Turns out, he’s among the Pitt’s frequent flyers. 

“I’ve been here many times before—I never saw you, Doctor.”

You continue reading his past assessments as you answered, “Oh, it’s my first day actually. Moved here from New York.” 

“Mind if I ask why?” 

You answered simply, “I thought somebody could use some of my help.”

“Patients?” 

In a way. 

“For sure.” 

He empathized, “I bet it was hard. Leaving.”

“A little. But it doesn’t matter. I only have myself. I didn’t have much to leave behind that city anyway.”

You lie. Always a good good liar. 

“Hm. I know that.” He says with a knowing look on his face. “Don’t have anyone but myself, either.” 

You turn the tables, “Mind if I ask how come?”

“Once had a wife, Rhonda” Louie inhales, just as he speaks through his laboured breathing. “We got a baby too.” 

“Yeah?” You look at him, sparing an earnest smile.

“Uh-huh. They left some time ago.” 

“Do you think they’ll ever come back?” 

“I don’t think so." He takes another breath. “But I’ll find them… Soon enough.”

He’s quiet for a beat. It has been a while since he felt like talking. 

“I love that for you, Louie.” You say with candor, “You deserve to be with your family.” 

“And you deserve to be with yours, too. Dr. Robinavitch.”

You could only manage to give him a tight-lipped smile. It was like you took the softest yet cruelest punch to the gut anyone has ever managed to pull all your life.

Louie grins, “Hah. Thought I missed that, didn't you?”

You fail to stifle a laugh. “Guess, I’m not as slick as I thought I’d be by now.”

“Daughter?” 

“Sister, actually.” You clarify, “But thank you for not thinking I was his wife.” 

Louie Cloverfield puts up his left hand, wiggling his ring finger. “No ring.”

“Man, you’ve got fast eyes.”

𓂃𓂁𓂃

Hour Four for Langdon has taken a turn for the worse. Expected but nonetheless dreadful. Definitely not the kind of worse he used to look forward to back when he could barely keep his hands still with the help of his pills. 

Lupe had pulled him and Donnie out of triage, dragging them into the waiting area because someone had just left a fucking baby in a hospital restroom. 

“Who would leave a perfectly good baby?” Dana had said the moment she was made aware of the situation. The word spread around quickly—almost as fast as Robby came to know Langdon was lurking around his ER. 

“You’re supposed to be in triage.” He’d snarked the second Langdon attempted to talk to him. Robby’s reception to his return was abysmal, he might as well have turned in his resignation letter. Frank thinkd Robby would’ve probably preferred that. 

It’s been quite a revelation to see that most of his co-workers weren’t a fan of the idea that an actual infant was temporarily housed in the ED’s pediatrics room. It’s always been a dark place not often used for its actual purpose. Frank’s glad he had ten minutes to spare to look after Baby Jane Doe. And perhaps, at least five more trying to look for you. 

With sweat undeniably forming on his temple, he returned to triage catching his breath. 

“Hey, man. I’m sorry. Somebody left a baby—”

“Baby?”

The sound of your voice ought to make him stop. 

“Dr. Robinvitch.” 

He wanted to say your name.

“Dr. Langdon.” 

You wanted to say Frank.

“They left a baby?” 

Louie brings the two of you back to the ER. 

“Yeah. About a month old… I think.” He says pulling out a chair for himself in front of his patient.

He’s got half a mind to process what just happened. He thought you were somewhere in Central overseeing Whitaker and his team. He wasn’t expecting you to be out here alone with him. 

Your mind, however, was elsewhere—on the poor child left alone in Pedes. You probe, “How old exactly?”

If the baby had exceeded the period for Safe-Haven drop-off, it’s child abandonment. Unmistakable.

It was as if Frank had read your mind. “Looks like she’s well over 28 days.” 

“Poor thing.” Louie manages to speak through the pain. 

“Who’s with the baby now?” 

“Al-Hashimi, Samira and—Robby. You can see if they need a hand over there.” 

You quickly caught on with his tone. It was the same one Robby had unknowingly used each time he succeeded in evading you. You get it. You wouldn’t want to work with someone you slept with last night and had the nerve to deny your entire existence the morning after either. 

“I can stay.” 

You notice his shoulders tense. Good. 

He’s had a fair amount of time choosing to avoid you. He can soldier through this one too.

“Picking up where we left off, you’ve been having a hard time breathing?”

Louie nods. “Dr. Robinavitch and I had that bit covered.” 

“Louie has visited the ED three times in the last six months.” You inform him. “I didn’t think it was possible, until I saw his record.”

Langdon nods, evidently conflicted as to how he’d work a case with you. 

“Louie here has a bit of a habit.” He speaks to Louie, hoping you got the hint that it was more for your benefit.  

“It’s your fault.” Louie chided, alternating glances between his two doctors, this time to talk to you, “He wasn't around to set me straight.”

You only smile in turn, refraining from saying anything, finding the need to observe and listen rather than getting a word in their conversation. 

“Well, I bet they fixed you right up with a goodie bag filled with six of your friends?” Frank jests. 

“No… Robby would never let that happen.” Louie tells him, “But they did fix me so I can get my own, know what I mean?”

You see a familiar twitch on Frank’s lips. Enough to make you loathe yourself for causing him to never look your way. 

“With you man, I always know what you mean.”

“I’d have a room ready for you, Louie.” You tell him softly. 

“Oh, I’d love that.” He agrees, “Will you still be my doctor in there?” 

You assure him, “Of course, I will be.”

Frank acknowledges his patient one last time just as he stands to move onto the next patient lying two beds ahead. He neither looked your way nor talked you through the standard procedure of Louie’s transfer. He didn’t wait for you to say a word. He just left and got back to work. He wasn’t just acting as if you hadn’t just slept in his house—as if you hadn’t just slept with him before coming in to work. He was acting as though he didn’t know you at all. 

It wasn’t that Frank was being purposely unkind. It was him honoring a decision you’ve made for him. 

Something inside you sinks as you feel your chest tighten. 

You never meant for one lie to get this far. 

“Frank.” You try reaching out. “Could we—talk… about hand-offs?”

He pulls out a seat just as he greets his new patient. 

“I’ll be wheeling in Louie after this.” He tells you, voice flat and disengaged. “Will that be all, Dr. Robinavitch?” 

He doesn’t give you the chance to avoid his gaze nor to explain.

You have only met him today. 

He’s acting exactly like it.

note: i'm afraid we're going to have a part 3 🫠 i'm so sorry yall. the entire part two exceeds tumblr's 1k text block and i couldn't work my way around it. i'm considering ao3 for this one honestly. if you're all still interested with this pairing, safe to say i have more parts for you!reblogs and comments are highly appreciated i would love a chat with yall ◡̈ ᥫ᭡

[dearkeery]

rein me in | f. langdon

summary: Frank Langdon’s back in Pittsburgh ten months post-rehab, post-divorce, and post-moving into a one bedroom apartment with no wife, no kids, and more baggage. The pressure and anxiety coupled with his chronic back pain all happening on the eve of the fourth of July nearly causes him to relapse. A thing he knows could ultimately cost him his medical license and whatever semblance of a life he still had. Considering the magnitude of what he’s got to lose, he wills every strength he has left to resist the urge brought by his crippling addiction, one mocktail at a time.

alt. Frank distracts himself with a one-night stand aka the best sex of his life the night before he’s set to return to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, with no other than Michael Robinavitch’s sister.

pairing: divorced frank langdon x fem!doc / robinavitch!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI. sexual and suggestive themes, fluff, angst (if u squint ig), semi canon-compliant, frank langdon pov (reader pov is told via third person), YN referenced only once, divorced!mc, mentions of alcohol, addiction, drugs, rehab and relapse/drug-seeking behavior (to err on the side of caution), mentions of divorce, therapy, and NA meetings. reader is the same age-range as frank, maybe a year (or two) younger than him. to save yall from the mental gymnastics of technicalities and accuracy, i pictured reader is robby’s half sister from his father’s side, probably had her when he remarried after robby’s mother passed. so yay half!sibs <3

word count: 12.4k; part two

note: oh well, down the langdon rabbit hole i go. the first fic i wrote for this blog and for the pitt! (teehee im excited) listen, i did the best research i can with respect to how addiction is being treated in the US, so pls pls pls bear with me. i made sure this was written without romanticizing langdon’s addiction or even addiction in general. i just want our malpractice prince to catch a break!

Sleep, his only companion for the last ten months, has eluded him. 

It was the eve of the fourth of July, the night before Frank Langdon is set to return to work. Yet here he was, wide awake and barely half a shell of the man he used to be when he left for rehab. 

He’d hoped to be fast asleep two hours ago, thinking he’d get at least eight hours to himself before he has to face the inevitable. But, just like how the events of the past ten months have unfolded, he should’ve known he’s likely lost even the most mundane of privileges life has to offer.

He laid on his bed nearly drowning in perspiration, completely devoid of sleep just because his back decided to be against it. He’d tried soothing circles on the middle of his back, tried home remedies his therapist had suggested, hell he’s trying to sleep the pain away for god’s sake. To no avail, lying on his back felt as if he was being lit on fire. 

Langdon stares at the ceiling for a good minute once he’s able to control his breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He continues to do the mind numbing cycle of inhaling and exhaling just to keep himself out of the dangers of his mind. 

He does his usual calculation in his head. It had been ten months since he’s gotten help, since he’s gotten sober, since he’s gotten cleaned. Ten months of hard work since he was forced to get his shit together at the risk of losing the only thing he still had to hold on to: Emergency Medicine.

Benzodiazepines have already cost Langdon his life, his marriage and his wife. If he hadn’t gotten cleaned the minute he got into rehab, Langdon knows he’d likely have lost his children, too. 

Over the first two months being out of rehab, Langdon felt as if he’d been allowed to finally breathe. He was doing great—better than anyone had expected. Like pretty much everything else he’d accomplished, Langdon aced flushing the drugs out of his system. He’s certain he’d graduate top of the class had valedictorians been a thing at the rehabilitation center. 

Robby had told him he only needed thirty days. The same having been corroborated by Gloria and the Medical Board. Somehow, he still had an ounce of arrogance left coursing his veins that’s why he did six whole months. Six months of feeling like a prisoner surviving off of whatever bland food was scheduled for the day. Six months of practicing his 12 steps, studying every material than he ever did in med school. Six whole months of just being alone with himself, he thought he’d never get through it.  

Much to his surprise, (and Santos’ if only she’d known) Langdon had every love and support a recovering addict would need both in and out of that rehab facility. Family. Friends. He had little to no reason to be thinking what he’s thinking right now. 

When the surge of pain hits the lower oblique of his back, Langdon forces himself to picture Abby’s face telling him to come home despite being divorced. You don’t have to leave, Frank. That’s what she had told him when he decided to move out, luggages and a few boxes towed with him in his car. 

Considering his lack of a job at the time and his savings taking the brunt of not having a steady income, logic dictates for Langdon to stay and abuse more of the kindness of his ex-wife. After all, therapy and his remaining rehab commitments came at a pretty hefty price; his insurance would be laying paper thin flat if Gloria hadn’t let him return to work. Regardless, it’s safe to say Langdon has had enough of the word abuse. He knows full well not to subject Abby to any more of it. 

So, despite the ex-spouses signing their divorce papers away on amicable terms over a month after Langdon had returned home, he finally decided it was time for him to give Abby the space she ultimately deserved. 

The ache is like lightning jolting down his spine as soon as he sits up. 

“Jesus fucking christ.” 

He curses under his breath. Beads of sweat fashion his temple just as he feels the familiar sting in the corner of his eyes caused by his own bodily fluid. Now this would’ve been a good time to swallow some pills. 

Frank Langdon is in pain and alone in a low-lit bedroom with nothing but his darkest thoughts to accompany him. He needs to get his mind on something—anything that will keep him from wanting to seek what he knows he cannot have even if it means the pain he’s feeling goes away. 

Why? 

He also happens to know that that is simply not the truth. He has long accepted the fact that he’d turned to stealing drugs from his patients just to provide for the need Dr. Hagan had long denied him. Yes, doing the unimaginable could alleviate the pain for mere hours but it would also simultaneously make things much worse for Langdon than it already was. It won’t do him any good. He knows it.

He’s been ten months sober, ten months clean. Sure enough he could think of some harmless alternative. 

Once he’s gotten himself into some of the last decent clothing he still had before he has to do laundry, Langdon is out the door and into the cold Pittsburgh Friday night, walking with purpose. 

Purpose, that is, some speakeasy five blocks from his place. The very one he used to frequent before his abstinence to alcohol and quite literally all other things he could substitute his addiction with. So tonight, he’ll help himself to the liberalities he once enjoyed without having to fall through the cracks. After all, it’s the eve of Independence Day. He deserves to extend himself some grace without the added expense of actively choosing to lose his medical license and go to jail. 

“What can I do you for?” asked a bartender he wasn’t familiar with. It’s been a while since he set foot inside this place; it wouldn't be unusual to see a new face.  

Langdon catches the name on his nameplate by the time he sat down one of the barstools. Rob. 

Great. Just what he needed. 

He chooses the remote area of the bar, the one that’s least noticeable, where he feels he could be alone amidst the familiar noise of the select few who’s with him on this fateful Friday night.  

Across from him sat several bottles of what used to be Langdon’s roster for his drink of choice. Tequila back when he was in med school, malt whisky on nights Robby and Jack tagged along, and the ice cold beer that always went together with pills running down his throat. 

Oh, what he’d give to feel that burn again; the good kind of burn that makes him forget the one that’s actually making him suffer. He finds the need to caress his back momentarily just before he sits down. Still, Frank Langdon knew better. Stubbornly so. 

That’s why instead of naming alcohol brands that once took comfort swirling on his tongue, he says, “I’m in recovery. Do you have anything non-alcoholic?”

It doesn’t take a beat for Rob to nod in acknowledgement, seemingly trained exactly for this kind of situation. Perhaps, Langdon isn’t the first recovering addict who stumbled upon the very last place one should be ordering a non-alcoholic beverage. 

Rob gives him a thin list of options. Soda, juice, and Pittsburgh’s finest drink of choice—water. 

“I can make you a mocktail, if you’d like.” He suggests. 

“So long as it doesn’t have a single drop of alcohol in it, absolutely. Whatever’s easiest to make will do.” I just need to quench my thirst, he doesn’t say. 

Langdon doesn’t realize he’s staring at the ghost of where his wedding band used to rest in between his fingers by the time Rob had returned for his much awaited drink. 

“On the house. You look like you could use a break.” Rob tells him earnestly with a tight-lipped smile, and Langdon swears he almost wanted a hug. 

He isn’t used to this kind of treatment; being on the receiving end of everyone’s pity. God, he used to be the Frank Langdon, valedictorian of Yale MD class of 2021, heir apparent to his mentor as an Attending Physician at PTMC, and a stellar candidate for the ED Medical Education Fellowship. But no, the ugly truth is that he stopped being all those things long before Robby found out about the drugs, long before Abby got a whiff of his addiction. 

Because now? Now his identity—his entire being—is subsumed to nothing else but his addiction. It didn’t matter how good he was in med school, didn’t matter that he’d been a good husband and a father. It didn’t matter that he was a doctor and that he was fucking good at his job; at saving lives. That’s something that irked him for quite some time now. It was as if he’d gotten a giant tattoo on his forehead that associated him with benzodiazepines and addiction for the rest of his life. 

All the years it took him to build a name for himself were rendered moot and inconsequential just because he happened to have helped himself to a measly type of drug he could’ve easily gotten with a prescription in hand. 

Langdon doesn’t do anything about it because whose fault was it? He had no one to blame but himself. So maybe, had Rob known of the truth, he should’ve made Langdon pay because it’s sure as hell he doesn’t deserve that break. 

“I’ll have whatever he’s having.” 

That sentence seemed to have brought Langdon back to reality. 

Rob nods as he pays one look at Langdon whose interest had been piqued amidst his stoic disguise. He’s never one to be a trendsetter, that’s for sure. Who could’ve possibly wanted the same thing he did?

It doesn’t take a while for her drink to arrive. Virgin Mojito. Exactly like Langdon’s.

“I hope you don’t mind a copy cat.” She tells him, voice disinterested just like Langdon’s has been for the entire time he’d spent sitting by the bar. 

“Please, be my guest.” Langdon shakes his head in his sheer attempt at cordiality. “Just… don’t want any credit if you happen to hate it.”

“And if I don’t?” 

“Credit goes to Rob.”

She mouths a discernible “Ah.” and returns to her phone. 

He notices her scroll briefly just before she ends up typing for a beat. Maybe a long and well-thought message to a boyfriend? Or maybe to an ex-boyfriend still hung up on the breakup? Langdon speculates, finally having something remotely more fun to do than tend to his own wounds. Boyfriend? Why should that be the first thing to come to mind? He reprimands himself for being so dense. 

He sees her put the phone down the table with what seemed like a sigh of retreat. Langdon tears his eyes off her before he gets caught. He copes with the silence and seeks comfort in running his thumb on the rim of the glass. The mocktail was indeed a mockery of what Langdon actually had his eyes on. But to say the least, it was enough. He may have been playing make believe but it still did its job. 

“It can’t be that good.” She takes Langdon’s eyes away from nearly boring holes through the glass he was holding. It was only then that he’d realized what she meant. Skepticism coupled with the veil of sarcasm. 

Langdon’s gaze was piercing through the glass as if mere sight alone could turn water into wine. Great, now he wants to be Jesus Christ.

That gets a laugh out of him. The very first one he knows he didn’t make just to fill awkward silences that has always sneaked its way in the conversation whenever someone asks, Are you okay? How are you holding up? 

This was usually the time he’d come up with something smug to say. Something like don’t deny what you haven’t tried or something else entirely obnoxious and arrogant that carries with it the same effect of some other nice thing he could’ve said instead. He knows how to play his hand. That’s how he got Abby to marry him in the first place. 

Although now, he doesn’t think of any. He couldn’t even muster a smug smirk. Langdon was close to being beaten to a pulp by punches no man ever threw his way. Jesus, this is depressing. 

A grimace is discernible on her face by the time she takes her first sip. 

“Sorry.” Langdon finds the need to apologize. “Could’ve been better if it had a kick, no?” 

“I didn’t think it would be as virgin as a virgin could get.”  She remarks at the thought of being in a bar drinking a beverage that seemed to contain the least alcohol percentage in it. Worse, none at all.

“Hey, you were the copycat.” Langdon puts up his hands feigning defense, smiling genuinely for the first time in the last few hours of the third of July. 

“Right. No alcohol. Got it.” 

The quiet shared between two strangers at the bar goes in sync with the noise of tonight’s crowd, caging them in a bubble growing all the more pronounced as they get shunned away in the corner; the very one that only existed the minute they sat in their respective seats. 

Her phone buzzed, tearing her attention away from the man sitting several seats adjacent from hers. He sees her take one glance at the caller ID before letting it go to voicemail. She doesn’t want to talk to whoever’s been bothering her through that phone. At least that’s what it seemed. 

Despite her obvious woes, Langdon doesn’t pry. He’s always hated gossip even though he adored Princess and Perlah at work. He knows he’d be the talk of the town the second he enters the emergency doors. That was just one of the many things he didn’t look forward to about tomorrow. He returns his attention to his drink. Beads of condensation have long descended to the coaster as if to tell him that it’d been dying to be noticed; dying for him to drink.

He takes what was only his third sip of it.  

She pulls Langdon’s attention back to her when she asks, “Do you want some company?” 

It wasn’t that Langdon hadn’t thought about asking her if she wanted his company. He just happened to know better not to add another layer to his night. He was out because he wanted a pseudo-drug that could potentially trick his (still very aware) brain into thinking he’s getting the substance it thinks he needs.  

He should probably decline. 

I’m sorry. I’m just about to head out. Maybe next time. 

I’m sorry. I’m going through a divorce, I don’t think that would be a good idea. 

I’m sorry. I’m married. I have a wife, my kids are at home, and I still have a very stable job I need to get to first thing in the morning. 

With the many things weighing over his head, it couldn’t possibly be the best thing to allow this stranger to pick up more than his unusual drink of choice. 

Tonight was about liberalities; grace. Take it with both hands, Frank. 

Langdon exhales. 

“Sure.” 

He nods his head, motioning for her to transfer to the seat next to him. He sees her wide smile beaming from ear to ear the minute he concedes. 

The two of them share a shy chuckle the second she takes the seat, placing her drink right next to Langdon’s that was barely half empty. 

She extends her hand for a cordial hand shake, all smiles as she tells Langdon her name. 

Huh. Pretty. It suits her. He thinks to himself, shying away from noticing she didn’t just have a pretty name but that she’s beautiful up close, too. 

Stop. 

It doesn’t take a beat for him to accept, hands enveloping one another’s as if it wasn’t the first time. He tells her his name in turn, “Frank.”

“It really isn’t that bad, Frank.” She comments, taking the glass close to her mouth for another sip. She cringes as the sweet liquid overpowers her tastebuds, but nonetheless lies through gritted teeth, “See?” 

Frank absent mindedly mirrors her as he takes a sip off his own glass, soda and lime tasting better than it did last.

“You’re a bad liar. Has anyone ever told you that?” 

She counters with a hung smirk, “Oh, my brother would beg to disagree.” 

“Really? How many?” He finds the need to inquire. 

“Just the one.” She gives him an answer with nary a second guess. “Wouldn’t want another, to be honest. He’s already quite the handful.” 

That prompts the image of his daughter, Penny, saying the same thing about Tanner to come to Langdon’s mind. Once the same settles, he’s sure to feel that familiar warmth graze his chest for a short while. 

She glances at him as she stirs her drink. “What about you? Got any siblings? Or is your being an only child the reason you’re all alone on the eve of the fourth of July?” 

“Got a sister, just the one.” He borrows her words and that causes her to roll her eyes. 

“She a bad liar too?” She inquires. 

“No, she lies for a living.” He tells her, shining light on the fact that the better Langdon was kicking ass somewhere on the West Coast practicing California law. 

“Oh, she’s a lawyer then?” 

He nods approvingly, “You catch on quick, I like that.” 

Somewhere around mocktail no. 3, Langdon had completely forgotten about the pain in his back. What started as an excruciating pain that nearly caused him to reach for the next best thing he could substitute for a drug, mellowed to the kind that’s bearable for someone who’s been sober for ten months. 

Somewhere around mocktail no. 3, the drink Rob makes became more palatable. It wasn’t as sweet as the virgin mojito nor as bland as the virgin cuba libre that followed. This third drink just happened to taste better and it definitely made Langdon forget he still had to go home. 

Somewhere around mocktail no. 3 and the stories shared between strangers who’ve become a little less foreign to one another, Langdon realizes that perhaps it was a good idea he’d also been divorced. 

Over the course of three drinks Langdon had learned more about her. Her family, how she’s the youngest but her older brother has always regarded her to have the most wisdom in the family. She was born and raised in Pittsburgh but hasn’t been in the city in so long until she had to come back for some reason Langdon didn’t want to pry on. She doesn’t talk about it anyway, stopping mid-sentence when her monologue became a bit more personal for a stranger’s ear. She doesn’t tell him what she does for a living, so he doesn’t ask. He made it a point to never ask, completely content with learning whatever she allows. 

Langdon does make it known that he was divorced—that he was a father of two and once had a wife. He wasn’t planning to, originally, but somehow the truth just came out of him. “I’d just gotten divorced.” He’d told her, just as he follows up with the fact that, “I’m also a recovering drug-addict.”

His words should’ve landed on the table like a death sentence. Langdon had expected it to be so. He’d expected the kind of silence he’s gotten used to receiving for each time he reveals he’s someone ill, someone who needed help, someone whose mind was too weak he had to lean on fucking pills just to function in society. He expected her to leave, maybe thank him for her new-found aversion to virgin mojito just before she slid away her seat and headed for the door; gone and out of Langdon’s sight in under a minute. 

Only it’s 10:00 PM, and she’s still here. 

He couldn’t believe it. 

“You sure you want to stick around?”

He sees her raise a brow, “What made you ask that?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe the company of a known-addict has suddenly made things uncomfortable—a bit much for Friday night.” 

“Recovering addict.” She corrects him. She pushes past what he’d just told her, making it known whatever insecurities he’s holding out on his sleeves weren’t something out of the ordinary. 

“Would you take offense if I told you I kinda got the feeling you were in recovery the second I took my first sip?” 

Langdon doesn’t. “No, I’m pretty text-book. The signs would’ve been obvious after one drink, let alone three.”

She nods, acknowledging the notion but not necessarily agreeing with it. 

“Can I ask you something personal?” 

Langdon takes a sip, “Shoot.”

“If you’re in recovery, wouldn’t this be the last place you’d want to be in?” 

He doesn’t deny that, so he answers with a shrug. 

“I was having a hard time alone, at home. This was the next best thing.” 

“What? Alcohol?” 

He shakes his head profusely. 

“God, no. I did think of it for a hot minute, but I always knew I shouldn’t—wouldn't. Just needed to be somewhere familiar. Guess I wanted to see if something did change after six months of rehab.” He sighs, “I figured if I don’t, despite being in a place you’re allowed to, then maybe I changed.”

Her gaze softens, but Langdon misses it.

“That’s a big test to give yourself, don’t you think?” 

He scoffs a laugh. 

“Yeah, I guess. Could use a challenge once in a while.”

If only Langdon had told her about med school and the Pitt, maybe she’d understand where this side of him was coming from. He’s always been a competitive man. Competitive to a fault that he finds joy in beating his own records just to see if he was really worth the sweat.

She checks in on him, “You sure you’re okay with us being here?”

Absent-mindedly, devoid of any reason as to why, Langdon nudges his glass away from him. 

He gives her a tight-lipped smile. 

It’s late, he should probably head home. 

“I could use a little walk.” 

It doesn’t take long for Langdon to take care of the bill. After all, he’s been meaning to thank Rob for his generosity and for making the exact same drink he asked him for the lady who’s now walking out of the bar alongside him. 

“Where’d you want to go?” She asks once they’re out the door. 

Langdon thinks for a moment. He still doesn’t want to go home. So instead, he asks, “Where are you parked?” mindful of her convenience above all else, because unlike him, Langdon kind of got the feeling she was ready to end the night here. 

He misses that bit though. She wasn’t. 

He sees her nose scrunch just before she shyly admits, “By the street in front of my apartment.”

Langdon had to bite the insides of his cheek to refrain himself from smiling. He knows it was bad. He hasn’t smiled this much in over ten months post-rehab. 

She turns the tables, “You?” 

“I walked.” He reveals, pointing south. “I’m that way. My place is about five blocks from here.”

With relief beaming from her face, she grins. 

“Good. I’m that way too.”

“Really?” 

“Really.” She discloses, “You know PTMC?” 

Langdon was sure his heart almost fell out of his chest. 

He wishes she hadn’t picked up on the sudden change in his demeanor, so he masks it with a nod. It’d be too bizarre for him to deny such an obvious landmark. Besides, the Pitt was the sole reason why he chose to live at his complex in the first place. He just hopes she didn’t live that close to the north side of the city for them to cross paths at a time he’s wearing his scrubs.

They begin walking towards home. At least, that’s what they’re headed insofar as Langdon’s version of things were concerned. 

Their conversations come in bursts, faltering into a comfortable quietude just so anecdotes and trivias could shock it back to life; to one that’s warm—familiar. Langdon doesn’t find the need to keep up because she matches his pace for some reason. He tries not to make any jokes, at least the ones that used to make him sound like an asshole, but she laughs still even when he wasn’t trying. 

When another wave of silence settles in between them, she breaks it with something with a little more weight. 

“Truth is, I was more surprised to learn about your divorce. I wouldn’t have pegged you to be a divorcé.” She comments, “No offense.” 

“At 34? None taken,” Langdon breathes out a chuckle as he thinks of the fact that his marriage with Abby spiked American divorce rates to a whole other percent. Maybe he should’ve taken offense, but hey, some couples call it quits one week into marriage. At the very least, he’s thankful he got to have two wonderful kids out of his. 

He briefly paused as if to make a silent decision. Should he let her in? Or should he keep up with this facade he couldn’t understand how it came into being? He is being truthful. But why doesn’t it feel like it? 

Once his mouth falls agape to continue, he opens the metaphorical doors wide, hoping she’d walk in. 

“I thought the divorce would break me—that it’d be the one that sends me to the other side.” 

She does. 

“It wasn’t?”

What did? Langdon hopes she’d never ask otherwise he would have a hard time explaining that part of the story. He didn’t think he’d have it in him to tell her the awful truth. That he wasn’t just a drug-addict. He was a doctor that stole drugs from the people he was supposed to cure. That’s just glossing over the fact that he’d committed a fucking felony at the risk of losing innocent lives. That alone made him sick to his stomach, his old-buddy Benzos wouldn’t even compensate for the gut wrenching pain he’s feeling. 

Fuck, maybe he isn’t being truthful. 

When silence is the only thing that follows, Langdon sees the green light. 

He shakes his head, just as he spills some truth he was ready to confess.

“The divorce was the best thing I gave Abby.” Apart from the kids. But he likes to give his ex-wife the sole credit for that.

She hums, signalling for him to continue. 

“I tried to keep the drugs under control. I always took ‘em in my car, never at home. Not when she’s around, especially not around the kids. But the amazing and clever woman that she is, she picked up on the new habits and routine I apparently exhibited three months into my addiction. She didn’t say anything at first, said she wanted me to come clean on my terms, but I never did.” He pauses, reflecting on the past. “A lot of women would’ve taken the kids and left, but Abby stayed. She never missed a day visiting me at rehab. Letting me know all is well with the kids and at home. She never let me go in blind as opposed to how I did her over the last years of our marriage.” 

“You’ve mentioned she didn’t say anything at first?” 

She’s listening intently. 

Langdon confirms, “Yeah, at first. I was actually the one who figured out she knew. The day I went home to start my sabbatical I found a stash of rehab pamphlets in Pennsylvania. She even had a few from California, tucked deep in her closet. I figured she told my sister, I don’t know. I still don’t have the courage to ask either of them. Seeing the pamphlets didn’t just strike a nerve. It broke something in me I still couldn’t place—still couldn’t name,” He sighs upon recollection, “I realized I got the better end of the deal with our marriage. She, on the other hand, got all the worse of it. Once I saw my addiction consumed her in ways I never thought it would, it hit me; finally knocked some sense into me. The gun to our five-year marriage has been loaded for quite a while even before everything took a turn for the worse. I knew she wouldn’t have the heart to pull the trigger, that’s why I did. I was a dead weight she’s stubbornly held on to for as long as she could. I may have abused pills, but I will never abuse her.”

It was only after she’d let the silence sit longer for more than a beat that Langdon had realized he must’ve shared too much. He doesn’t say another word after that in spite of him wanting to defend himself. 

I promise I’m not all that bad. He wanted to tell her, but he knew he’d be lying. Perhaps, it’s better this way. It’d be better to scare her off—for Langdon to deal all his cards for her to decide if she wants to call his bluff. 

They walk a few more steps in silence, their pace falling in sync with one another’s. That’s when Langdon decides to reroute, turning away from home to buy himself more time. 

Liberalities and grace. 

He’s reaching for it with one hand. 

Finally, she speaks. 

“Is it weird that I feel proud of you?” 

That stops Langdon in his tracks. 

“What?” His voice comes out incredulous, that perhaps she was the one who’s actually lost her mind. 

“I just think you rob yourself of the credit you deserve.” She follows, shrugging as she adds, “I’ve been around people who didn’t deal with their stuff. People who pretended it wasn’t there. Believe me, it’s worse than your mocktails.” 

Langdon finds himself nodding slowly. Unsure if she meant to say it, thinking it must’ve come from a personal place—a slip of the tongue she didn’t realize she’d made.

“I hope you’re not reading into my reactions too much.”

“Am I that obvious?” He breathes out a cautious laugh. 

She hums in agreement. 

“You look like the gears in your head are spinning like crazy and you’re having a hard time keeping up with it.”

He’d been caught. 

“Alright then,” He prefaces, “What do you think of me now?” 

“Jury’s still out.” She shrugs with a grin, but tells him nothing but the truth. “Although, I do know it’s nothing short of the good impression you’ve made three mocktails ago.”

Langdon doesn’t say that he’s thankful. This reaction to him feels new despite it being so normal—so humane. He’d gotten used to looks of sympathy that more often than not seemed empty, like it was just a knee-jerk response people tend to make when they actually feel uncomfortable having to hear about the fact that he was struggling. 

Nevertheless, he does nod; acknowledging the sentiment. 

He candidly said, “You didn’t have to do that, by the way.” 

“What? Drink mocktails?” She’s fast to catch what he meant. 

Langdon hums, “Thank you, though. Appreciate it.” 

“I didn’t drink mocktails because of you—well yes, a little you, but it’s more than that, just so you know.” She tells him, letting Langdon breathe. He felt guilty thinking she stuck herself managing a recovering drug-addict when she could’ve had the fun she wanted for the night. 

“I was never a big drinker anyway. On occasion, yes.” She admits, “But between you and tonight, I didn’t think liquor would be a good idea.” 

Me? What about me and tonight? 

“If that’s the case, why were you at the bar?” 

“Unlike you brave soldier, I went there to distract myself.” She begins, “I… kinda have a big day tomorrow. Not that big anyway, but it’s significant.” She gestured with her hands as she talked as if to not make a big deal out of it, tucking more of her personal stuff beyond Langdon’s reach. 

Needless to say, he still makes a point to ask, “Life-altering kind of significant?” 

“Maybe? Honestly, I don’t know. I’m gonna find out tomorrow,” She shrugs, “Also… I was already contemplating getting out the door the minute I sat by the bar, then, I saw you looking like me—not necessarily lost, but stuck in a place you didn’t really want to be in.  That’s why I decided to stay.”

Oh. 

Langdon didn’t know what to say after that. 

Liberalities, grace, and his back pain. Those were the things that made Langdon step out of his apartment when he knew he should’ve been in bed resting for what awaits him tomorrow. He’d been hoping to find something—anything he could put his mind to so long as it meant not having to hold more of its weight. 

The pain, the guilt, the misery. Langdon has never had the time to be here in the now, because back then, the drugs were just in his car. He knew he could be elsewhere just after a few pills. The pain, the guilt, the misery. All of it, all of him—just gone. 

So, how is he supposed to deal with finding someone?

He remembers the first of his many tri-weekly NA meetings, courtesy of Robby’s “Second Chance.” Dating and Relationships in Recovery. That was the topic of discussion at the time. Someone, (whose name he’s had trouble remembering) had shared their experience in dating not too long after rehab. It’s not prohibited, but I can tell you from experience that it’s not a good idea. 

At the time, Langdon was still admittedly 20% in denial of having—needing to go to such meetings that he didn’t bother to ask why. He knows why. He’s a medically-trained professional, for pete’s sake. The obvious cross-addiction tagline dating and sex post-rehab no longer needed to be captioned for him to get what that meant. Still, he didn’t think much of it because he knew he wouldn’t have to. With his marriage being over, getting involved with someone new wasn’t even on the table, so much so that it barely made it there. 

Until now. 

He’d been sober for ten months, two months short of the minimum period recommended before recovering drug addicts could be romantically involved. He knew of the risks he’d inadvertently taken the second he got out of his apartment. If he’s about to deal with its consequences, then so be it. 

Does that mean he has to drag her down along with him?

He wouldn’t. Langdon has got to get a hold of himself. 

Pull away, Frank. 

The noise polluting his head makes him want to walk aimlessly, anchoring his feet to the ground as the pain of walking begins to graze through the soles of his shoes, boring into his skin and into the most vulnerable part of his body. 

His silence has become deafening that it took him to make four more turns before he realized a focal point in this exceptional eve of their nation’s birthday. 

You’re a bad liar. Has anyone ever told you that?

Langdon hadn’t met her brother, but perhaps he should’ve taken his (almost) word for it. He’d have to thank him some time, he knows it. 

My brother would beg to disagree. 

The image of her hung smirk was vivid in Langdon’s mind when she said it.  Hell, it was clearer than the Pittsburgh night sky, even he wouldn’t deny. The amount of walking he just did was at least twice as much as he'd made on his way to the bar, his back would’ve been killing him by now, but it’s not. (He thinks that it’s not.) 

That was all it took for him to finally catch on to what actually might be happening all throughout the stretch of their five-block walk. Talk about being counterproductive all you want, but he’d actually choose another detour than walk up his apartment alone. 

Shut it down. Put a stop to this. 

Pull away. Pull away. 

“You sure we’re close? I feel like we’ve been going in circles.” He inquires, feigning ignorance despite the fact that he’s made this turn thrice without her noticing. 

“Yeah, I’m this way.” She answers quite confidently, perhaps way too easy, just as she leads the way turning on a street Langdon knew like the back of his hand. His street. 

He sees the stop sign that was repaired just last week, the convenience store out on the corner he frequented for when he buys the kids snacks and candies for weekend visits. Langdon briefly checks his phone just to see if he’d missed anything since he did last. Bedtime reminder. It had been an hour since they left the bar. 

There’s a subtle frown building in between his brows, so he lets her walk a step ahead of him, just to see where her feet will take the both of them. His curiosity grows and grows with every step she makes, this time leading—no longer being guided by Langdon for the past hundred blocks. 

How long could she keep this up? 

When such steps do lead him to his apartment building, Langdon stops in his tracks, causing her to look over her shoulders, realizing that he was falling behind. 

“What?” With brows quirked and suspicious eyes, she inspects. “The night isn’t getting any younger, Frank.” 

Langdon looks up to his window, black-out curtains drawn just like how he left it. His movement causes her to do the same. 

He spills it, “This is me,” cocking his head towards the sliding doors of his apartment building. 

The intonation in his voice must’ve sent her the message Langdon had unknowingly given. 

“You said you were ‘round here?” He asks, not that there was still a point in prolonging this prelude. 

She’s been caught. 

She doesn’t back down. She wasn’t used to being caught in a lie. 

With a straight face, she answers in the affirmative. 

“Yes.” 

Lie.

Langdon comments, “You’re not as good a liar as you think you are.” 

The heel of her boot scrapes on the cold pavement as she takes a few steps towards Frank. The night is silent and they’re the only people standing on the sidewalk lit by a row of street lights. He still doesn’t realize, given that this wasn’t how he’d pictured spending his last night on pseudo-sabbatical, but Friday night had just taken a huge turn in his favor. 

“Fine,” She sighs, surrendering. “You got me.”

A grin tears at the corner of his lips once she retreats. 

Oh, this is wrong. 

“You could’ve just told me.” 

“Tell you what exactly?” 

Langdon shrugs, “That you didn’t want to leave the bar yet.” 

“Oh, I was ready to leave after the virgin cuba libre.” She says candidly, taking yet another step to close the gap in between them, “I just wasn’t ready to go home. Didn’t really want to.”

“Hence, the detour.” He meant to ask but the statement lands with finality, like it was definite.

“Uh-huh.” She nods, “Exactly.” 

Langdon makes the mistake of gazing upon her once she’s up close that he had to rest his hands on his hips to steady himself, placing them there as the circumstance suddenly became too real. 

He couldn’t fathom where to begin. His mind has already come up with the worst scenarios. Plural, yes. The closer he gets to the door of his apartment, the more reckless he thinks he’s being. If there was one thing ten months alone with himself has taught him, it’s the cruel truth that anything that’s got to do with him could easily mean a lot worse than what meets the eye. This night was no exception to that. 

For a second there, he struggles to find his words. 

So he reiterates, “You still could’ve told me.”

“If I did, would you have said yes?” 

Now that’s a tricky one. 

He answers with the truth, driving her point home. 

“Probably not.”

Langdon sees her mind slip through her expression as if to tell on her. It seemed as though what he’d just said was the exact response she’d been expecting. 

“I knew you wouldn't.” She said with confidence.

What does she want from him anyway? Could it be the same thing Langdon is refusing to acknowledge he’s thinking? If it was, Langdon isn’t quite sure he’s prepared to hear it. 

“I’m not sure what’s happening here.” Langdon confesses just as he lets out a sigh, “Even if I was, I don’t think I should be doing anything about it.” 

It’s true. He definitely shouldn’t. 

“I’m enjoying your company, Frank. That doesn’t require you to do anything.” She calmly states, tutting as she adds, “But hey, if you’d rather I left—” 

Langdon cuts her mid-sentence, answering a little too fast.

“No, please. I’m having a good time, too. With you.”

Uh-oh. 

He has to pull away. Still. 

She calls him out, “You’re overthinking this.”

“I…” He remains conflicted. “I don’t want to make a mistake. I feel like I’m not allowed—”

“To what? Be a normal person that needs other people and social interaction?” 

She has a point. 

Langdon avoids it. 

“That doesn’t matter. You know what I am.”

He earns a scoff from her just as she steps back. 

“A what? Drug-addict?” She says it as if she was the one supposed to take offense by what had been implied. “You are in recovery, Frank. Why do you say it like you’re some social pariah who deserves to be shunned away? To be allowed what?—nothing else besides therapy and rehab?” 

Langdon understands where she’s coming from, but he’s still finding it hard to believe he could be allowed the liberality of choosing. 

So, instead he says, “I’m just being careful.”

She nods in acknowledgement, but nonetheless reminds him, “You are more than your illness, Frank. You are more than your addiction.” She takes a step closer. “Life happens because you are it. Don’t make your addiction dictate how you’re supposed to live. Don’t treat it like it’s punishment for something that’s beyond your control.”

He disagrees with her, because it is a punishment. 

“I can control it.” Just like I controlled the substance I’d taken, the patients I’d stolen it from, the time, the place, and the drink I’d have it with. 

She doesn’t know how deep this pain goes for Langdon. He doesn’t want her to. Not when it’s beginning to make him believe he could really be allowed something more. 

“That’s because you choose to do better. And you’ve continued to do so for ten months.” She unknowingly pulls him out of the pit—his own pit. “You are responsible for your own sobriety. Yes, the support system should be accounted for, but all of your progress still happened because you made it so. You’ve got to allow yourself to live, Frank.” 

Langdon pauses and chooses to reflect. Was she right all along?

He’d been told by his therapist that it’s better to sit with the pain than seek some alternative to escape it. And tonight has been about him escaping. The decision of him leaving his apartment caused everything that followed to transpire. He could’ve chosen to sleep the pain away or busied himself with some other kind of remedy. But no, ten months post-rehab and here he was, thinking he’d gotten a lot better at sitting with his pain when he’s just been avoiding it one method at a time. 

He couldn’t think of a word to utter. The guilt has caught up with him. The very kind that creeps into his mind mere seconds before he downs a few pills of Benzodiazepines. Could it be true? Could she just be another method used to substitute the pain he so badly wants to escape? 

Langdon hopes he’s wrong. 

So, he begins to catalogue the entire night in his head. 

Backpain. Mocktails. Her. 

Has he been in pain the entire time he was with her? To an extent, yes. The pain was there, but it’s become bearable with her around. Is that a bad thing? Had Langdon been alone the entire night, would he be able to sit with such pain? Would he be able to ride it out like he’s used to? 

The relief he’d felt the second she sat beside him should’ve been enough for him to have gone home. Instead, he chose to bask in it—lean more of his weight towards it. Not to keep him distracted, but to be in the moment—to stay connected. With her or with himself? 

The walk shouldn’t have been much help either. Walking should’ve made his pain go all the way to the nines; up to the point where he could no longer stand. Instead, he chose to reroute four more times just to be with her longer than he needed to—longer for him to realize she was doing the same thing too. 

Frank, are you still in pain? 

God, this was not a good time to hate himself for dissociating at that NA meeting. He could’ve learned a thing or two on Dating and Sex in Recovery. Maybe then, he wouldn’t feel like shit for being so incapable of choosing. 

When it takes another beat for Langdon to speak his mind, she lets him in on hers. 

“I wanted to spend more time with you, Frank. I didn’t want to go home.” She declares, “Isn’t that beyond your control?”

Now she’s actively choosing this. 

She’s choosing Frank. 

Pull me in.

“How…” Langdon tries to piece out a coherent thought, “Why do you have so much faith in me?” 

She shrugs, “I just do.” 

He finds it incredible. 

“But we barely know each other.” 

“I’m trying not to give up on people as fast as I used to.” She tells him with candor, perhaps had she been more honest, she’d tell Frank why she’s back in Pittsburgh too.

“You do that a lot with strangers?” 

“Not really,” she refutes, “you’re an outlier.” 

Oh, Langdon wants to think he got lucky. 

“You can tell me what’s on your mind.” She isn’t asking nor is she commanding him to. She’s merely offering a hand to help him hold some of the weight of his indecision.  

“I don’t want to start this the wrong way.“ 

He finally says it. 

“And the wrong way being?” 

“Using tonight as an escape—for me not to feel.” He worries. “I don’t want this to be just another distraction.”

She nods, finding the notion fair and called for. 

“Do you think I’ve only been a distraction?” 

“I hope not.” He answers despite the obvious uncertainty. 

“Do you think I will be?” 

“I’m not sure.” Langdon clarifies, “But I’m ill. No longer on edge, but still ill. Who’s to say I won’t treat this as an alternative?”

He said it again. This. 

She knows he meant her.

This time, he sees her pull back. She’s weighing things now. The liability—the gravity of the situation involving the stranger she just met several hours ago. 

Langdon is prepared for her to want to leave. He’d been prepared long before they left the bar. In fact, a part of him wants her to leave; to keep her safe—away from all of this. That way he wouldn’t have to deal with the feeling as though he was in two places at once. Torn between self-reliance and self-control; incapacitated by his mind while it simultaneously keeps him afloat. 

Maybe I should go. Langdon knows it’s what she’s about to say next. 

He couldn’t be more wrong.

“Has there been a time tonight where you weren’t being truthful?” 

“No… no, of course not.” Langdon answers immediately, despite keeping the uglier ones beneath the surface. “I’ve only ever told you the truth about myself.”

Well, some of it.

He catches himself. He remembers the day Robby caught the drugs stashed in his locker. Robby had asked him if he’d been helping himself to some meds from the ED. He neither answered with a definitive yes nor a resounding no. He deflected as soon as he’d been caught red handed, choosing his flight response because he wasn’t in his own head. 

Now, he’s confronted by a question with the same tenor and he chooses to answer with the truth, regardless of how little. He hasn’t been this present in years. He no longer recognizes this pattern.

She doesn’t say a thing but nods, as if to make do with whatever Frank allows. 

“Alright,” She gives him a tight-lipped smile, “Why don’t I make you a deal?”

Langdon hums, letting her continue. 

“Anything that happens from here on out, you’ll be in control.”

“What?” Langdon thinks he misheard her. Anything. Is she being serious?

“Well, except for first degree felonies, of course. I’d want some hand on that.”

He calls her name. Unlike her, he’s being serious about this.

She exhales, easing on the jokes. “What I’m saying is, if you want me to leave, I’ll leave. If you let me stay, I’ll stay. I’ll do whichever way you’re comfortable with.”

“I’m not really comfortable making your decisions for you.” Langdon remains cautious. 

“Let’s just say, this is me allowing you to choose, Frank.” 

The way she says his name causes his guts to turn quite unexplainably, Langdon had to contain his own breathing. 

“What’s it gonna be?” 

A beat passes before he lands on an answer. 

“It’s getting late.” He says, seeing her shoulders drop instantly, just as he says, “We should probably head inside.”

Liberalities and grace. 

Langdon is beginning to think he’s allowed the same.

𓂃𓂁𓂃

Quiet settles the moment Langdon closes the door to his apartment. 

It wasn’t much, given the fact that it had only been three months since he moved in. He knew that. But seeing her take in the four corners of the world he so badly wanted to escape hours ago, makes him realize how bare it actually must have looked for someone—well, someone other than him, to say the least. 

There were no longer boxes lying around because he’d gotten through it all in just a month. He didn’t really have a lot to unpack. The things he brought with him were just the few things he could really call his own. Things that were neither Abby’s nor the children’s. He left home with only the stuff he still had from med school, boxes from his childhood that his ex-wife somehow saved from their annual christmas donations, and of course, a few Penguins and Steelers merch he knows Abby would get rid of the second he gets out the door. 

Langdon didn’t have much to himself other than a few plates, cutlery, and a bed he can call his own. The apartment may not have felt exactly like how his previous home did back when he had Abby to do all the decorating, but it was a start. A reminder that he had structure in his little life. Somehow.

“Drink? I have—” He cut himself mid-sentence as the realization hit him. He doesn’t have anything much to offer her as well so he settles with the next best thing. “—water.”

“Water works.” A tight-lipped smile grows thin across her lips; polite and unassuming. 

He wishes she didn’t expect him to have anything else other than what he’s allowed. After all, she was in a recovering addict’s home. It wouldn’t bode well for Langdon to have her see a beverage far remote than the one that’s been distilled and filtered. 

Langdon headed towards the kitchen, hyperaware of the fact that he wasn’t alone in his apartment. It took all his might to restrain himself from looking over his shoulder just to see what she’s up to. Observing, nosing around, or just standing still. Maybe she sneaked out and left, changed her mind at the last minute. Which, arguably, also works in Langdon’s favor now that he thinks about it. 

Only she’s still there when he does look back. 

He buys himself more time to think things through. What’s to happen now that they’re much more alone than they were a few hours ago? 

He wonders if she’s doubting everything that's been said out on the street. He wonders if it was still a good idea to get on with it. He hasn’t really been with anyone since the divorce. It just wasn’t something he had his mind on. But alas, fate has an odd way of taking a spin at things. And he knows he tempted it the minute he headed out the door for the first time on the eve of Independence day. 

The time it took to fill up the glass didn’t help Langdon to land on a sensible conclusion. The only thing he knows now is that she’s still standing exactly where he left her last. 

“Why don’t you take a seat?” He motions for her to follow. 

Before she does, she points onto one of the few picture frames he had on display by the accent table. “Your family?” 

It was a family photo taken on the Holiday of 2024 at the new house his parents bought for their retirement. Tanner was three and Penny had only turned a year old. Abby had just gotten promoted which came in handy for Langdon who was only in his third year of residency, still paying off student loans, tightening his belt up to the point of hurting himself. Let’s just say we know what happened after that. 

He hums, affirming the question with nary a word. 

He hands her the glass, which she takes with both hands. One hand just below Frank’s while the other brush atop his finger the moment she takes said glass away from his grasp. 

Langdon feels a familiar pull in his guts. It was only then that he realized it was the first time that they’d actually touched. It’s different from how he felt when their hands were just hovering around the air sitting in between them on their walk. 

He remembers feeling this way the first time he liked a girl back in middle school, when he felt it on his third date with Abby, and when she told him she was pregnant with their first child, Tanner. He tries to make sense of the feeling, folding metaphorical dog-ears in his mind to make sure he’s not searching for some kind of high he’d end up chasing. 

“Thanks.” She takes a sip the second she has it, not because she was that thirsty but because she just had to find something else to do other than stand so foreign in Frank’s home. 

Finally, she took a seat on his couch, while he backed into the kitchen counter. For a minute, Langdon just stood there, several feet away from her, waiting—wracking his brain of what’s supposed to come next. 

“You’re doing it again.” She blurts out. 

Langdon straightens his back. 

“Doing what?” 

“Thinking too much.” 

“Sorry.” He shyly apologized, “Can’t help it.” 

A beat passes before she speaks again. 

“I meant what I said earlier, I hope you know.” 

Langdon tilts his head, urging her to continue. 

“That you’re allowed to choose, and that you’re in control of tonight.”

The statement just floats and doesn’t land definitively. It was more of an invitation than a command. A hand reaching out rather than one pulling with control. This time, for Frank, it did feel like he had a choice. 

“Remember what I told you as to why I went to the bar?” 

She hums. 

“You said you were having a hard time.” 

The quiet is steady, different from the silence he’s used to when he knows he’s doing things for the sole purpose of taking. It wasn’t the kind of silence that sits with him seconds before he takes his pills. But, nevertheless this quiet was familiar. It wasn’t entirely new in the sense that Langdon felt as though he was rediscovering it. He’d recognized the stillness because it was the quiet that enveloped his brain minutes before his final Pathology exam. It was the quiet that rested within him as he watched Abby walk down the aisle. The kind of quiet that allows him to sit with himself. To feel. To be with his mind. Reminding him that there was once a time when quiet felt like this—before chaos and noise were the only things his mind could crave.

Langdon folds his arms to his chest, feeling more vulnerable than he’s ever been the entire night. 

“I don’t want you to be the next best thing.”

You. Her shoulders tense up as she heard it. It was brief and subtle, but just enough for Langdon to catch it. 

“I’m not going to be the next best thing.” 

She doesn’t say it as though it was some kind of assurance, like it was an attempt for her to convince him. She said it with clarity as if it wasn’t just a statement but a fact. Not a substitute, but just Frank’s reality. 

Langdon has to make a decision. Everything he’d told her should’ve already caused her to leave. But after three mocktails and what seemed like the longest walk he’d made in his life, she’s still here. 

She reaches out. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind.” 

He sighs, surrendering. 

“I’m thinking… how it’d be like to kiss you.”

Everything moved at a pace much slower than the kind he was accustomed to. He’d been so used to jumping from one end to another. Always moving, always away. But now, as she stood an inch before him, Langdon felt like staying. 

Her touch feels electric as her hand brushes against his skin. 

“You’re allowed to have me, Frank.” She affirms beyond a shadow of a doubt. “Whatever you decide, I’m here.”

Frank nods, with his eyes shut. She doesn’t say another word, merely content with using the warmth of her body to help ground him, stabilize him. This feeling isn’t new to Langdon, but it has been a while since he’d allowed himself to be within such a short (and almost inexistent) distance of something more than just what requires his survival. 

With a dragged tone in his voice, he speaks at a lower register. 

“I’m going to kiss you.”

A subtle grin spreads along her lips, but Langdon finds it inadequate. 

“I need to hear you say yes.” He declares, just as the heat of his breath lingers in the thin space parting their lips from one another’s. 

She takes a moment to say yes, pulling Frank closer by his forearms; the movement neither fueled by urgency nor rush. 

“You may kiss me.”

Langdon feared he’d be overwhelmed by the time he kissed her. He was afraid of encountering the chase; the moment that usually takes him out of himself. Had it been that way by the time his lips met hers, Frank knew it’d only be a matter of time for him to make her the next best thing. 

But, when he did kiss her, it was nothing like he expected. 

Her lips were soft and tasted like flavored-chapstick. He liked how her shoulders tensed up by the time his lips touched hers despite her awareness of what’s about to happen. It’s quite flattering for Frank to know he had that effect on her, no matter how little. 

The kiss didn’t feel rushed, nor did it feel inauthentic. Frank’s feet seemed anchored to the ground not by some force he couldn’t place because it was greater than his being. No, it wasn’t like that at all. He didn’t feel himself soar off his apartment floor, not even by an inch. 

All that he knew was that he’s anchored to the ground, here with her, because he simply chooses to be. No escaping, just complete and absolute surrender to what awaits him.

Once he pulls away, he checks in on her. 

“You okay?”

She nods fervently, as she gasps for air, forgetting that Langdon preferred expressed rather than implied consent. 

“Never better.” She bites her lip to stop herself from smiling like an idiot. “You?”

“Okay, too.” 

For the first time, Langdon didn’t want to feel better. For the first time, he was okay at being completely content with the normalcy of living life the way he’s supposed to. This time, he isn’t just aware—he knows he wasn’t aiming for better. For him, it was enough to be able to stand in this moment and meet her exactly where she was. 

Langdon leans in again, this time pulling her closer as humanly possible that the only thing parting them from one another were the fabric of their own clothes. 

By the time their tangling feet manage to get them on the bed, Langdon was sure he could kiss her all night even if that’s the only thing she’d allow him. He finds himself planting kisses on the side of her lips, down to her jaw, just as he tends to the skin exposed between her neck and clavicle. 

She gasps, the sensation beginning to cloud her better judgment. Before it turns into a blur, she pulls away, this time to check on Frank. 

Liberalities and grace. 

“You sure about this?”

Surrender, Frank Langdon.

“I am.”

Frank’s hands found comfort beneath the fabric of her shirt, enjoying the confirmation of what his touch seemed to do to her. She shifts towards wherever they travel, aching to have more of him all whilst he tries to keep up with her. 

Pride causes warmth to spread along his chest as he takes in how she looked beneath him. 

“We’ve got time, sweetheart.” He manages to say amidst their teeth clashing in between kisses. 

He feels her break a smirk. 

“I know.”

Langdon snakes an arm underneath her to pull her closer to the headboard, away from the edge of the bed. He’s more than aware of the risk he’d taken just by how sheer force could trigger the pain he’d been trying to get away from all night. When he feels it, he lets it stay there, putting a pin on his aching obliques if that meant sharing tonight with her. 

He coaxes out a giggle from her when he catches her off-guard with such fluid motion. Frank’s hand travels to her nape, secured in place, while the other supports the small of her back. He lays her on the bed with gentle ease, considering the actual effort it took for him to make it. He pulls away, pulling his shirt above his head whilst she does the same. 

Frank hovers on top of her as he dives in for yet another kiss. He gently cages her face with a hand large enough to cover her jaw and jugular. He presses on the vein with just enough pressure while he tends on the sensitive skin near her earlobe, earning a moan from her. 

He’d never wanted anyone this much. 

Langdon hasn’t been with a woman other than his ex-wife for more than a decade. He’d never even thought, let alone dreamt of it. He was so sure Abby was the love of his life. But this—her, he knows it isn’t something primal. It isn’t something he’d seek just to get through the night. Which seems so confusing as the fact that they were mere strangers who’ve only met per chance stands as an undisputed fact. How could he feel such an unexplainable connection with someone he knew for less than a day? If only he had a second to spare and ponder, maybe he can think of an answer as to why.

It doesn’t take long before they’re all over each other once more. This time, skin to skin against Frank’s cold white sheets with nary a sense of urgency nor necessity to rush things. 

For Frank, it felt as though he was falling into something more than just a structure he’s yet to fully comprehend. For her, there was nothing else she’d rather put her mind to but the guy whose last name she was yet to know. 

𓂃𓂁𓂃

“Hey… wake up, Frank.” she calls him softly, earning a tiresome groan off him. “Listen, I need to get to work but I hope to see you some other time, maybe?” 

Langdon opens his eyes at that. 

“It’s barely five in the morning. You can stay, I can take you.”

She chuckles, “You do realize the only thing I’m wearing is the last of your good shirts?” 

He murmurs, throwing a hand over her middle in an effort to stop her from leaving. 

“Come on… I left my number on the pad. Call me later?” 

Langdon reaches for her hand, their fingers instantly melting in an intertwine. Despite his obvious opposition to her leaving, he nods. “Dinner. Tonight. After work.” 

He knows she’s smiling despite his eyes being shut.

“Are you asking me or are you telling me?” 

“Telling.” Langdon declares with finality, causing a familiar warmth spread across her cheeks. She fails to stifle a beaming grin when he follows up and says, “I’ll call.”

She finds herself caressing Langdon’s arm with her free hand, drawing idle circles on his skin as if to soothe an answer out of him in her favor.  

“Only if you promise to let me go.” 

That makes him chuckle. He finally opens his eyes to gaze upon her, hair still disheveled from the events of last night. 

He no longer protests. 

“Alright, come on.” 

Before Langdon could pull himself off bed, she stops him with a hand resting firmly on his biceps, “No need to walk me out. Just sleep some more, mkay?” 

Just because he still feels the weight of sleep in his eyes, Langdon acquiesces, “Okay.”

Well, not quite.

“Frank, let go already!” She laughs the minute Langdon pulls her back to bed with his hand that seemed to have been glued shut with hers. 

“You haven’t answered.” He coos, hoping she’d agree to what he has sort of asked her seconds ago. 

He sees her grinning, “Yes. Dinner, tonight, after work.”

That confirmation finally made Langdon let go, tucking his hand instead underneath the pillow to get at least half an hour of sleep before he inevitably had to wake up for today’s shift. 

𓂃𓂁𓂃

Langdon only had her to thank for the extra two hours of sleep he was able to get before he inevitably had to leave his bed for work. He’s grateful because if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be able to endure the mind-numbing and tedious HR clearance procedure waiting for him the second he steps through the PTMC doors. 

He wasn’t worried about all the administrative matters he was subjected to in compliance with Gloria’s direct orders, nor about having to pee in a cup for the first time at his place of work. Hell, he wasn’t even worried about the pungent smell that covered the entire waiting area by the time Lupe had told him to sit down and wait for his clearance and recommendation letter. 

The tedious standard procedure for returning drug-addict employees in recovery wasn’t the one that caused the gnawing pressure bubbling in his guts. Rather, it was the man entering through the same doors he did just short of an hour ago, with his backpack slung over his shoulder, walking right past him despite the knowledge of his much awaited return. 

Lupe’s voice cuts through the all-too familiar chaos of the ER. 

“Frank?” 

He’s been called to return. It doesn’t matter if it’s temporary or that he’s been called as a substitute to some other physician away from work. He’s here now. The possibility of him coming back was a shot in the dark he’d only dream of back in rehab, back when his mind allows him to think of anything else other than needing to soldier through the pains of withdrawal. He did that without much assurance as to whether he’d ever be allowed back. Ten months, he’d spent days enduring physical and mental torture. Ten months clouded with doubt and uncertainty. Ten months, he’s here now. 

“Langdon?” 

Inhale. 

“Frank?”

Exhale. 

The third time Lupe calls his name, Langdon finally musters enough courage to walk up to the reception. 

With a nod, she slips an envelope towards Langdon, “You should be good to go now, hon.”

“Thanks, Lupe.” 

“Of course.”

He cowers beneath the shade of his Pittsburgh Penguins cap as he glances on to the envelope he’s now holding. It was the clearance letter from HR and the Physician’s Health Program. 

───────────────────────────

PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL — ADDRESSEE ONLY

Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center Human Relations, Head Office TO: Dr. Frank Langdon, MD

IMPORTANT HEALTH CARE INFORMATION ENCLOSED

───────────────────────────

There must’ve been a look that sneaked on his face prompting Lupe to say, “Hey, go get ‘em.”

Langdon doesn’t need to read too much into that. Whatever his exterior might’ve looked, it couldn’t be any worse than what he's been dealing with inside. Regardless, he gives her a tight-lipped smile, grateful to know he wasn’t alienated by the first co-worker he met since, well… you know.

His hand was already pushing the door ajar when an all too familiar labored voice caught his attention. 

“Hey, Doc.”

Louie Cloverfield aka the patient whose prescription Langdon had successfully tampered with several times before the day Robby finally caught him red-handed. 

Despite his guilt, Frank manages to look at him.

“It’s been a while.”

Like he always does for the other times he’d been in and out of the ER, Louie grins, chuckling in spite of the pain he’s feeling. 

“I got a bad toothache today.” He informs Langdon.

A warm grin breaks, welcoming. “We’ll take care of that, Louie.”

Langdon’s first walk into the bull-pen was supposed to be just like the hundred times that came before it: the golden boy strutting into Central still tying the laces of his scrubs, already asking Dana for a cool case despite the clock barely ticking past 7:00 AM. 

Only, it wasn’t. 

He’s used to arriving at work feeling like he was coming home. The out flow of patients left by the night shift, the chaos of the morning in central juxtaposed to the morning outside of the building, never still—never quiet. Langdon is used to feeling as though he was being embraced as he charged into the belly of the beast, into the jungle he was free to be wild in; where he got to move, jump, fly, and think about nothing else but himself. 

He isn’t used to coming home to this. Seeing people old and new, running in different directions with purpose. Some towards the staff lounge to make coffee, some to stop and gossip. These were just some of the things he missed when he came to work high even before noon. It doesn’t look like a jungle. It doesn’t feel exciting. 

For the first time, Langdon sees the Pitt in a different light. Sober light.    

He still doesn’t know if that is a good thing. Maybe he’ll figure it out today. 

Robby’s voice is all that he could hear by the time he’s done changing into his scrubs. 

“Everyone, gather around—make some room, take space. We’re about to have our briefing.” He announces, voice commanding as he remembers. “Langdon, get your ass over here. No one’s gonna wait any longer.”

That ought to make him move. 

Robby’s eyes didn’t land on him when he managed to stand alongside Whitaker and some tall kid he figured to be someone new. 

MS? Intern? Could be either. 

He sees Jack Abbot standing unusually close to Mohan, who in turn had Mel stuck beside her like a magnet. Out by the corner was Santos, side-eyeing his existence. Javadi comes up to Whitaker, who’s an MD now by the way, still with a white mocha latte in hand she wasn’t able to finish. 

Langdon takes one last sweep over the huddle, just before his eyes land onto Robby. 

Onto her. 

What—“First of all, I’d like you to meet Dr. YN Robinavitch, she’d be joining our ship for the rest of her residency.” Robby begins, motioning towards her as she stands tall beside him despite their obvious height difference. 

Audible gasps followed such a declaration. Heads snapping on the side, murmuring, sizing the new kid in town. Probably thinking, Nice. Another nepo hire. 

Frank thinks he’s about to pass out. 

It doesn’t take a beat for Abbot to chime in. With a smirk he reveals, “Yes, as in Robby—Robinavitch. No, she’s not his wife nor is she his daughter.”

Langdon could only decipher what seemed like Robby throwing daggers at the night-shift attendant by the time he finishes the statement. 

Robby clears his throat, taking control. 

“Dr. Abbot’s correct. She is neither my wife nor my daughter, god forbid. But yes, she is family.”

Family. 

Oh my fucking god.

“It’s nice to know Javadi isn’t the only one inclined to join the family business ‘round here.” Santos managed to slide a snide comment but the ringing in Langdon’s ear had already grown louder for him to register anything else other than his own heart beating its way out of his chest, he thinks he’s about to have a STEMI. 

Mel hits the final nail on Langdon’s coffin once she asks a follow up question. 

“So… she’s your?” 

Robby seals Langdon’s fate with just a word.

“Sister.” 

“Fuck me.” 

Langdon hisses under his breath, unaware that his mouth moved faster than his brain could process new waves of information. 

Robby exchanges glances between her and Langdon, his tone laced with curiosity but doesn’t seem to suspect a thing. 

“You two know each other?” 

“No, we just met. Isn’t that right,” she pauses to look at Frank’s hospital badge, “Dr. Langdon?” 

She was rather quick to decline, dismissing the notion before it sat too long in the air. Had there been the slightest hint of panic rising in her throat, her brother Robby would be the last person to catch it. 

Fuck me. Langdon successfully thinks to himself. 

“Yeah, no—just today.” He concurred as he aimed for a handshake.  

She kept up with his gaze that’s long been pinned on her, bearing with it what seemed like hundreds of questions piled on Frank’s magnificent brain. She watched his throat move just as her eyes fell captive for his mouth, the very same mouth that he’s proven to be just as capable as the hand she was about to hold.

The warmth of Langdon’s hand wraps around hers as she accepts what was merely a formality being offered.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Robinavitch.” 

A smug smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, just as she says—“The pleasure is mine, Dr. Langdon.”

note: anyone up for a part two? (cos i am) next part will be reader’s pov. reblogs and comments are highly appreciated i would love a chat with yall ◡̈ ᥫ᭡

[miley1442111]

Imagine Robby and/or Dana clocking that reader is pregnant because of how hover-y Langdon is being around her and which patients she sees and such 😭🖤

dr.worrywart- f.langdon

summary: frank is not an openly affection man. what happens when that changes? the entire ER falls into the role of detective. robby and dana figure it out, of course.

pairing: frank langdon x fem! doctor! reader (probs late twenties/ early thrities)

warnings: litch nothing it's all just fluff and everyone in the Pitt being nosy as fuck

a/n: thanks for requesting, i LOVEEE this idea you're a genius! banners from my good friend @no-144444 !

Part two -> dr. worrywart returns

Langdon is hovering. That’s the first thing Princess notices. He’s always been the type to leave you to your work, mostly because you’d chew him out if he even dared step inside one of your trauma rooms, you’d see it as an offence. He had accepted that since your first days of med school together, he knew his place. You were Barbie, and he was Ken, just there. You two barely saw each other while on shift other than a few quick glances and waves or the occasional break room chat. Both of you were workaholics, and you both liked to go at it alone, so this was strange. You two walked in, and Frank had his arm around your waist. Regular-you would’ve hit his arm away. You just shrugged him off once you got to your station. She stared at you and you shrugged. 

“He’s being clingy, I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” you shrugged, dropping your bag down. It was a partial-lie. You knew why he was being clingy, you were fucking pregnant. You did, in fact, not know what was wrong with him though. He was always a strange man. He stood beside you, looking at the board as he tried to cherry-pick, gaining a glare from Dana. He pretended he didn’t hear you two.

She chuckled. “He’s obsessed with you. It’s annoying to watch,” she shook her head. “Remind me again why you married him?” He sent her the middle finger behind your back. He lingered despite the fact that he had a case to work on, one he deemed interesting enough for him. His hands landed on your hips and he pushed his front against your back, acting like he was part of the conversation. 

You rolled your eyes and pretended to think about the answer for a second. “I was in med school and needed someone to fuck so I could release the rest of my energy?” you joked and he rolled his eyes with a scoff. “What?” you looked back, smiling. “You should take it as a compliment, you’re so sexually talented, I’ve stayed with you all this time!” you sent him a bright smile and kissed his cheek as he rolled his eyes and removed himself from you. He walked off to his patient, mumbling something about ‘drive me crazy’, as Princess laughed at him. 

“He’s hovering today,” she shook her head. “You’re not concussed again or something, right?” she questioned, referencing the time you got a concussion on shift and he wouldn’t leave you alone. It was the day everyone found out that you and Langdon didn’t actually hate each other, and that you actually shared the last name. You’d gone by your maiden name in your first year, mostly because you hadn’t bothered to legally change your name after the wedding for a long time (med school kept you busy), and also to avoid the awkward explanation. 

You laughed. “No concussion yet, but the day is still young,” you smiled before walking off to your first case. 

Princess shook her head. Something was up. 

Mateo stared at Frank as he stared out the window. “You good?” he questioned. Everyone had been a bit nicer to Frank since he joined back to the Pitt after his rehab stint and sabbatical, so he didn’t go straight to teasing. Everyone knew it was difficult for him, and they understood that sometimes he might be a bit more snappy, or a bit dazed. They did their best to accommodate because, even if he was an asshole, he was an integral part of the Pitt, and people loved how happy he made you. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, biting his lip and he didn’t take his eyes off whatever he was staring at. Mateo sucked in a breath. 

“Dude,” he cleared his throat. Frank finally pulled his eyes away from whatever he was so entranced by. He faced Mateo. “You good?” He asked again, a hand on his shoulder. 

He nodded slowly, then quicker. “Yeah, yeah,” he shook his head, like he was shaking off whatever was in his head. “Yeah I’m good. Just tired. Forget how hard these shifts are sometimes.” He chuckled semi-convincingly. Mateo just nodded, filling it into the back of his mind if Robby ever asks him about Langdon and how he thinks he's doing. 

Frank left the room, pulling his stethoscope around his neck as he left. “He’s being weird,” Mateo shook his head. “Makes me nervous.” 

Trinity let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. “Right? Super weird, he didn’t even chew me out for making a joke about his hair today.” She stared at the spot he’d last been like he’d just disappeared into thin air. Mel looked between the two of them, it being an unnaturally slow (she knew she was jinxing herself by even thinking it) day, meaning both her and Santos were on a case together. 

“I think he’s being normal,” she shrugged, confused by their reactions to him. “He’s just… getting his bearings. It’s his first week back and his first day was the 4th, and that was terrible. He’ll be back to normal in a few days.” She offered them her signature smile, and got nothing but shaking heads in return. She frowned. 

“He’s being strange,” Mateo repeated. He walked up to the window, searching for him. “I mean, look, he’s filling up Y/n’s bottle for her. That’s weird.” 

“Why would that be weird?” Trinity and Mel asked at the same time. 

Mateo’s jaw dropped. “You haven’t heard of the bottle incident of 2022?” he scoffed. They both shook their heads. He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, so back then, none of us knew they were together, and all they used to do was bicker, which we all now know is their foreplay, which is gross,” he made a face, then continued on. “And one day, it got so bad, Y/n spilled Frank’s bottle all over him when he’d asked her to refill it, in front of Gloria and a patient. Ever since they’ve literally been banned from touching each other’s bottles. It always ends badly,” he looked out the window again to see him hand you the freshly refilled bottle, with a quick kiss to the cheek. 

Mateo knew he had to consult Princess’s sheet. 

Trinity stared at Frank in the breakroom. He was looking at something on his phone, but he was covering it with his other hand, like he didn’t want people to see. She raised an eyebrow, and kicked him in the leg (softly). “Watching porn at work?” she joked, Frank quickly turning off his phone and sending her his signature glare. “Come on, I’m kidding,” She smiled. “It’s good to have you back.” 

He nodded, rolling his eyes. “Weirdly, it’s good to be back,” he agreed. He looked down. “Look, I was a dick to you before-” “aw thanks-” “Not finished. You can still be a pain in the ass, but you’re a good doctor. You’re talented. I was… well I was fucked up before, and I’m sorry I treated you the way I did. It wasn’t cool.” He finally met her eyes, an awkward sense of accountability filling the air. She blinked at him. 

“Thank you for apologising,” she said tentatively. “That’s really… adult of you, I guess.” She chuckled to try and diffuse the awkwardness of the moment. Maybe Dr.Abbot was right about her needing to switch to nights? Day shift was too personal for her. 

“Yeah well, I have to become one at some point,” he huffed before walking out, and she stared as he left, her jaw dropped to the floor. Had Frank Langdon just made a self-depricating joke? ER Ken, ‘the chin’, handsome squidward (okay maybe she came up with two of those), had actually admitted to having flaws. She watched as he swung by your workstation, a granola bar in hand, pressing it into your palm as he kissed the top of your head. 

She was adding it to Princess’s list.

Jesse hated it when Langdon interfered with your work, because you always let him. Langdon wasn’t the most openly affectionate husband, hell, no one had known you two were together for about a year. Neither of you had anything to prove, no PDA would change the fact that you two loved each other, and everyone knowing really just made things more complicated. 

So why the fuck was Langdon taking all the good cases and Jesse was stuck with him for half of them? It was no secret that you were Jesse’s favourite doctor, you were cool-headed, always kind to nurses, and always in a good mood somehow. He’d seen you lose it once, and it was the day Langdon’s drug problem was uncovered by Robby, and then the mass casualty after it. You’d sobbed in the breakroom with Jesse and Yolanda at your side, emotionally exhausted from the toll of the day. As the months rolled on and Langdon started his rehab journey, you still stayed positive. You were still smiling, still updating everyone and telling them he was doing well, telling them he missed them, even though they knew he didn’t. He missed you, missed being at work with you. Everyone else was just a side-character to him, you were everything. 

“What the fuck is going on? You’re taking all the good cases and leaving Y/n with the shit,” Jesse asked as he threw his gloves in the bin. “I mean, come on, she’s getting all the easy ones! I did CPR in there for 4 rotations before someone else came to help!” He scoffed as Langdon turned to him. 

“She’s tired,” Frank shrugged, dropping his own gloves into the bin as he passed Jesse. “She asked me to take ‘em, I took ‘em.”

Okay, Jesse knew that was bullshit. You always thought about yourself last, it was always the patients first. You also wouldn’t let Frank have all the fun with the difficult cases. 

Jesse stared at the sheet as he stood at the nurses station. He added it, just to be safe. 

Perlah was appalled by the sight in front of her. She had half a mind to write you both up. Frank had his hand around your waist in the breakroom, a hand sprawled over almost your entire stomach, with his head leaning on yours, just listening to whatever story Jack was recounting. She watched him. Chewing slowly against you, a thumb running back and forth over your scrubs. 

You noticed her staring and sent her a mouthed sorry and a shrug, like you had no idea what had gotten into him. Perlah decided to blame it on first week back-jitters. She just averted her eyes when he leant down and stole a quick kiss, shocking the both of you in the process. 

It was the next line on the list by noon. 

Dennis Whittaker took no pleasure in making the right call when it meant he would face the wrath of Frank Langdon. He’d made a quick save, realised something before him, and he’d ordered the correct meds before he could consult. He didn’t want to explain. He didn’t want to fight. He just wanted to calmly explain that technically, Frank had made the wrong call. 

“You alright Whitty?” You called out, Frank at your side. Whitty was something you’d started to call him a few months ago after he’d made a witty joke out of nowhere, making you laugh so hard, you’d cried. “What’s up?” You questioned. Frank’s eyes snapped to him and he took a very sharp breath. 

“Y’know Mr. Gregor?” he asked, you shook your head and turned your attention to Frank. He nodded. “Well I was going over his CT scan and I notice how close his bleed was getting to causing a seizure and I know you told me not to push Atorvastatin unless he was actually seizing, but I tried it anyway, and his BP went way down and he’s stable enough to go to theatre,” he blurted out. “Sorry, I know I should’ve told you, o-or gotten you, or-”

A smile bloomed on Frank’s face. “Good save, kid,” he smiled, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Go check on Mrs. Taylor, yeah?” 

Whittaker walked away genuinely concerned that Frank had been replaced with a different person. He added it to the list after he told Trinity about it.

It took a lot for Mel to notice something. She usually just assumed everyone was alright, and if they weren’t, they could speak up and say something about it. She knew that Frank had been a bit… antsy since coming back. He constantly looked for you once he left a patient's room. He stared all the time. He kissed you whenever you got close enough to him. You just laughed it off. Called him clingy, or a big baby. He didn’t bite back. He just smiled. He didn’t argue, just tried to kiss you again before you pushed him off, warning him about being written up. You acted like this total 180 personality change was normal. She swallowed back her surprise when Frank had started rattling off facts about pregnant women, to the pregnant woman in front of him. Obviously, every doctor and nurse here had knowledge on pregnancies, but this was overkill. Random facts about fetal anatomy and positioning. Those ‘lovey-dovey’ (as Santos had so elegantly branded it) things about mothers and babies that he would’ve called bullshit a year ago. 

She blinked when she started talking about various tracking apps he wouldn’t have known the name of a year ago. 

The patient was discharged with a smile, and Mel turned to him. “Trying to get patient satisfaction up?” She asked incredulously, completely at a loss for words.

He shrugged. “No, why?” 

She stared, mouth open and helpless, like she thought he should know what she was talking about. He just stared back. “But, you knew all that?” She chuckled, more surprised than laughing. 

“You don’t?” he asked before leaving the room, probably off to find you. 

She added it to the list after a talk with Dana.

Dana had been keeping an eye on the both of you all day. Princess had shared her strange findings on a small chart at the nurse’s station. Frank had gone to find you 18 times in 7 hours, when he could usually go the entire shift without looking for you. Dana looked it over, confused, what the fuck was he doing? 

“How’s your resident doing?” Dana asked as Robby came up beside her. Her eyes stayed on the piece of paper. It had add-ons from Mateo, Santos, Jesse, Perlah, Whittaker, even Mel was in on it. He stared at Frank from across the room, talking animately to a patient. 

He sighed. “I don’t know yet. Still wondering if we brought him back too early,” He shook his head and noticed the sheet of paper. Robby stared at the sheet for a moment, then ripped his glasses off his face. He huffed. “Fuck’s sake.” he breathed out, and she turned to him expectantly, then it dawned on her. 

“We’re going to be losing two of our best Senior residents in about 8 or 9 months for paternity leave,” She shook her head with a smile, and Robby couldn’t exactly hide his own.

Of course. 

He’d had his hands on you all day. He kept looking for you to make sure you were alright. He refilled your water without having to be asked. He gave you his protein bar. Come to think of it, he’d been taking the strenuous cases and leaving you with the easy ones. He even took Trinity off your hands so that you could take Mel and have an easier day. Robby chuckled, grabbing Frank as he passed by, his eyes set on one thing, you. 

He didn’t notice the hand reaching out and grabbing the collar of his scrubs, so he kind of tripped into stopping. “Woah!” he scoffed, his hands up in air as he balanced himself, Robby’s hand retracting. “What the fuck was that for?” 

Robby smirked as Frank turned his attention back to you, those tiny glances everyone had seen all day. “Y/n’s still going to be there in 4 seconds,” he shook his head. Frank looked at him, faking confusion. “What’s going on? How far along is she?” 

Frank’s face went blank. Dana laughed, gaining the attention of Princess and half the nursing staff. Frank cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shook his head. Frank Langdon was many things. Blunt, rude, annoying. One thing he was not, was a good liar. Dana laughed into Robby’s shoulder as a chuckle left his own lips. 

“Sure kid, just let me know so I can book off your paternity leave,” he clapped a hand on Frank’s shoulder, who quickly brushed it off, irritation surging through his body. Robby stayed smiling. “I’m happy for you two, congratulations.” 

Frank gritted his teeth, stepping in closer, his voice cutting and final. “She is not pregnant. We are not pregnant!” He practically shouted, gaining the attention of nearly the whole ER. Everyone stared, he went bright red, he cleared his throat, and he walked. 

Straight to you, of course. You laughed at him as he pushed some of his hair out of his face, following you around like a puppy. You hadn’t heard his outburst, but no doubt you’d hear about it.

“Nice catch Robby,” Dana smiled. “I wouldn’t have guessed it.” She shook her head. 

He shrugged. “He’s such a worrier the second she gets sick, we’re going to have to deal with this for months now.” 

The small group that had gathered all realised they’d have to deal with Dr. Worrywart for a whole 9 months. They quickly went back to work. 

“I think everyone’s onto us,” You chuckled as Frank came up to you for the 24th time that day. He shook his head. 

“No, I think we’re good. No one knows-”

“Everyone knows!” Both Robby and Dana cheered from behind you. Dana hugged you from behind as you laughed, Frank’s blank expression breaking into an annoyed squint. “Congratualtions,” she smiled. “You’re going to be the coolest parents.”

“I think you already fill that role,” you chuckled, taking her hand. “But thank you.” 

“Congratualtions.” Robby smiled, shaking Frank’s hand and then pulling you into a hug as Dana pulled Frank into a reluctant hug. 

They left you after a few more congratulations and you turned to Frank. “You’re totally right, no one knows,” you teased.  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, fuck off,” he couldn’t fight the bright smile on his lips.

the pitt masterlist

navigation for my blog

[se7entyrell]

another man's jeans masterlist

a frank langdon exes to roommates to lovers fic

this fic is COMPLETED.

It's been a long ten months for Frank Langdon. Rehab, endless meetings to prove he's fit for his job, and losing you.

It's his own fault. He knows that. He couldn't handle the pressure of his entire life going to shit, and combusted, destroying your life in the process. If things had gone to plan, the two of you would've been married by now. Instead, you're near strangers, and Frank doesn't know how long he can watch you date a guy that absolutely doesn't deserve you.

Until you turn up on his doorstep, with nowhere else to go after being kicked out by your ex.

And so, Frank Langdon's second chance begins.

warnings: 18+, mdni! this fic will feature medical gore, a little bit of violence, and explicit sex. more detailed warnings on each chapter individually

prologue

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

due diligence

summary: you're a highly strung lawyer, he's an emergency doctor trying to find his feet again. theoretically, your worlds should never collide. that theory holds true until a paralegal takes a tumble and you end up at the ER.

pairing: lawyer!reader (fem) x frank langdon

warnings/tags: frank being a cutie, reader being a legal badass, reader and frank lowkey have some vices in common (read between the lines here so i do not have to spoil things!), abby and kids do not exist in this universe, the pitt crew lowkey being thirsty af for the reader, ogilvie kinda being a creep, everyone lowkey just wants you ok!!! flirting, fluff, swearing, usual medical descriptions that you’d expect from the pitt!

notes: i lowkey ran away with this fic but I'm not mad about it. also...me not using a gif for a fic for the first time ever... i'm getting with the times!

likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!

Enjoy my work? Tip me! 🤍

series masterlist

masterlist

"That went better than expected."

"Don't jinx it."

You pressed the pedestrian crossing button, impatiently glancing left and right before you stepped out onto the road.

"I'm not jinxing anything! I'm just saying I think the judge might actually-"

You turned at the sound of a sharp yelp from behind you.

"Oh my god - Amy!"

She was sprawled out on the road, her stiletto lodged in between the cracks of a grate. Her ankle was twisted at an odd angle, her face contorted in pain.

"I'm fine, I'm fine-" She insisted, already trying to push herself up.

You crouched beside her, dropping your bag without a second thought. “Don’t move, you might make it worse.”

Passersby began to slow down, a few drifting closer as if to ascertain if they were going to be obligated by their conscious to offer to assist.

“I’m fine.” She repeated.

You stared at her, then at her ankle, which was already starting to swell.

“You are very much not fine.”

“Look, I can get up just- fuck!” She cursed loudly as she tried to put weight on her twisted ankle to hoist herself up.

You gripped her arm firmly, stopping her from toppling down again.

She looked up at you sheepishly.

You merely raised a brow.

“Ok." She admitted, wincing. "Maybe I’m not fine.”

“Yeah no shit.”

You glanced around, spotting a taxi rank only about a hundred metres away. You straightened, already pulling up your phone to google the nearest hospital.

“We’re taking you to the ER.”

“Wait no but what about-“

“-I’ll deal with it.”

The emergency room of PTMC was exactly how you remembered it - too bright, too busy and full of people who all seemed to be having worse days than you.

You stayed close to Amy, guiding her to a waiting chair and helping her fill out her admittance forms as her pain worsened.

“There's so much work to do, you shouldn’t be wasting your time here with me.” She muttered guiltily.

“You’re being ridiculous.” You reprimanded, although your tone was gentle. “I’ve got it sorted.”

You tried to ignore the constant buzzing of your phone in your pocket.

“Although, I think you’re banned from stilettos for a little bit.”

“But they’re Jimmy Choo.” She pouted.

You huffed a laugh despite yourself.

“Amy Saint-Clair?” A nurse called.

You glanced down at her ankle. It had nearly doubled in size since you first walked in.

“We might need a wheelchair.”

-

You followed closely as the nurse wheeled Amy through the swinging doors.

If you thought the waiting room was chaotic, the actual ER was something else entirely.

A hive of activity that somehow seemed to function as one organism - a single stream of consciousness, doctors and nurses weaving through the chaos with practiced fluidity.

“What have we got here-“ Another nurse stops, eyes dropping to Amy’s ankle.

You didn’t miss the way the nurse’s eyes widened ever so slightly as they looked up at their colleague.

“Dana, is there a room open?” The nurse called out as a blonde woman swept past them.

“Room 8’s free.” She replied without looking back.

“Great.”

In one fluid motion, the first nurse handed the wheelchair over, disappearing back to the admittance area before you could blink.

Finally, the nurse turned to you both.

“Sorry about that, today has been chaotic. I’m Perlah.”

“That’s ok, I’m Amy.”

You introduced yourself when Perlah turned to you before tacking on "concerned co-worker."

Perlah smiled. “Alright Amy let’s see what we can do for your ankle.”

Your heels hit the polished floor loudly as you hurried to keep up with Perlah, who was moving the wheelchair at an impressive pace given her size.

The sound carried.

Unbeknownst to you, heads turned. Subtle at first, then less so.

Santos let out a low whistle.

Whitaker cut her a look out of his peripheral. “Nice. Very professional.”

“What? She's hot...in my professional opinion.”

He shook his head, forcing himself to stare back at his computer.

“Who’s the hottie in room 8?” They both glanced up to see Javadi peering around her monitor.

“Who the hell says hottie?”

"What's this about a hottie?" McKay's ears piqued, causing her to divert from her route immediately.

"Pretty friend of a patient in Room 8." Jesse piped up from his desk.

"You lot are worse than teenagers." Dana roused, looking at them over the rims of her glasses.

She glanced up at the electronic board.

"We do actually need someone to go check-"

"-I'll go." Santos volunteered, already moving to jump up from her stool.

"Sit back down missy." Dana snapped. "You're way too behind on your charting."

Dana's gaze swept over the pitt, then paused.

She did a double take when she saw a flash of dark hair accompanied by a familiar slouch and forlorn expression.

"Doctor Langdon."

Frank looked up, mildly startled at the sound of his name being called.

"Just the person I wanted to see." Dana smiled as she inclining her head. "Patient for you in Room 8, looks like a nasty ankle trauma."

Frank swallowed a very obvious sigh. He'd been hoping for even just a ten minute respite from what had been an incredibly shitty shift so far.

"On it."

Everyone watched him leave. Then almost in unison, their attention snapped back to Dana.

"Dana, what the hell-" Santos began to protest.

"Save it." Dana continued typing, sliding her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

"He's moody today." She added as she glanced over her shoulder to Room 8 as Frank pulled the curtain aside.

"So?"

A small smirk twitched up onto her lips as she shrugged innocently.

"Thought it might cheer him up a bit."

-

"A doctor should be with you shortly." Perlah reassured Amy as she helped settle her onto the hospital bed.

You thanked her, your hand coming up to pat Amy's shoulder, thumb brushing absentmindedly in a soothing rhythm when you caught her grimace.

"Jake's still coming, right?" You asked, trying to pull her focus somewhere other than the pain.

"Yeah." Amy nodded, exhaling shakily. "Said he'll get here as soon as he can but traffic's a nightmare. Said something about a six car pile up on the motorway."

You both looked up as the curtain slid open.

He was tall.

That was your first thought.

Dark hair, slightly tousled like he’d run a hand through it one too many times. A stethoscope hung loose around his neck, like it belonged there rather than being placed there. And his eyes - a striking shade of blue.

Those piercing eyes flicked from you to Amy and then back to you again.

"Hopefully none of them need a trip to the ER."

His voice was warm. Grounded and steady in a way that immediately made you feel like everything was a little more under control.

"No I don’t think so, my boyfriend said it didn't look too serious." Amy chuckled awkwardly.

“Well that’s a relief. I’m Doctor Langdon by the way.” He introduced himself as he squeezed a pump of sanitizer into his hands.

“Amy.”

“Nice to meet you Amy.”

His eyes met yours again, this time holding your gaze just a touch longer.

You offered your name, hoping it sounded more casual than you felt, as you resisted the urge to stare longer than was appropriate.

Then he smiled, just slightly.

Ok, he was hot.

He took the tablet from Perlah, glancing through the intake notes.

“Now, I’ve heard we had a nasty fall on your ankle, is that right?”

“I wouldn’t say it was nasty-“

You shot her a silencing glare. “It was nasty. Her shoe got caught in a grid at a crosswalk and she practically faceplanted."

Frank nodded, attention sharpening on Amy’s ankle.

“That sounds painful.”

“Very.” Amy admitted.

“Alright, let’s take a look Amy.” He slid on a pair of gloves and crouched beside the bed.

He had barely even brushed a finger over the area when Amy let out a hiss of pain.

Frank glanced over his shoulder to Perlah.

“Push four of morphine.”

You didn’t mean to watch him so closely.

The way he moved - careful, deliberate. The way his brow pulled together just slightly as he focused. The quiet, almost automatic gentleness in the way he handled her ankle.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket again.

You ignored it.

You told yourself it was because Amy needed you, and definitely not because you were suddenly, acutely aware of the attractive doctor in front of you.

"Does this hurt?"

His voice softened as he gently rolled her ankle forward.

Amy flinched, "yeah that really hurts."

“Alright. That’s helpful. Not fun, but helpful.”

There was something about the way he said it - dry, but kind - that made Amy visibly relax despite herself.

After a moment he stood, unfolding back to his full height.

"Well Amy, we're going to need to do a CT of your ankle to see if there are any fractures."

"Do you think it's broken?" She asked anxiously.

"Unfortunately it's hard to say right now given the amount of swelling. It might just be a really bad sprain."

He turned slightly, murmuring something to Perlah, pointing at the tablet.

You watched the folds of Amy's face crease into an anxious frown. You crossed your arms as an unexpected bubble of irritation burst in you.

"You know, it’s ridiculous that there’s even a grid there. That’s where you’re supposed to walk.” You huffed to Amy. “And it’s right in the middle of the city where thousands of women in high heels walk every single day.”

Frank’s mouth twitched faintly.

He and Perlah exchanged a look.

“It is kind of silly.” Amy agreed half heartedly.

“It’s not just silly, it’s negligent." You insisted, the familiar rhythm of advocacy settling within you. “I should write to the council you know. Threaten to sue or something, because otherwise nothing will actually get done about it like usual because they're-“

You stopped yourself abruptly when you remembered where you were.

You were not at your desk angrily typing out a letter to an opposing party, you were in a hospital.

You cleared your throat.

"Sorry." You glanced sheepishly between Doctor Langdon and Perlah. "I can get...worked up sometimes."

"More like highly strung." Amy grumbled, causing you to shoot her a glare.

"What are you, a lawyer or something?" Frank asked as he slid his gloves off, a quiet thread of amusement in his voice.

You winced.

"Just a little bit, yeah."

He looked up at you again, his eyes wide. "Wait seriously?"

"She's not just a lawyer, she's a great lawyer." Amy boasted proudly.

Langdon glanced between the two of you.

"So you're-"

"-a concerned colleague." You jumped in.

"She's my boss." Amy corrected. "I'm her paralegal."

"Ok firstly, you're not my paralegal, you're a paralegal at the firm I work at. And secondly, I am not your boss - you're making me sound old."

Frank huffed a laugh at that. It slipped out of him easier than it had all day - maybe even all week.

Amy rolled her eyes fondly at you in a way that only someone in a great working relationship could.

"We were coming back from court when I tripped." She explained.

Frank nodded, but his eyes still hadn't quite left you.

"Well...boss or not, it's very nice of you to come and wait here with her. Not a lot of coworkers would do that."

"Oh." You glanced at Amy and then back at him. "Well... she always uses the correct font type and size, so I'm a little attached."

Amy snorted. "And who says romance is dead?"

That loosened another quiet chuckle out of Frank, and for a second his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than necessary.

You felt it. That small shift, like the air had changed pressure. A flicker of something as your heart skipped a beat.

Perlah smirked as she slipped out of the room.

"Ok well-" Then Frank's attention was on Amy again, as if that moment had never happened, like flipping a well worn switch. "it might take a while before your CT, so just try to relax and if your pain gets worse let a nurse know and we can increase your morphine dose."

“What’s a while mean in doctor speak?”

“Could be half an hour, could be a couple of hours. It really depends on if we get anything urgent come in. But we’ll try and get you through as fast as we can.” He reassured her.

Amy shot you a panicked look.

"Ok, thanks doc.” You answered for her as you grasped her hand and squeezed.

"No problem."

His eyes flickered to you once more before he disappeared through the curtain.

Frank pulled the curtain shut. Unable to help himself, he hovered outside as your muffled voices pierced through the thin fabric.

"You should go, seriously. I can't ask you to stay here for hours."

"I'm not leaving you here on your own."

"But there is so much work to do- ok wait pass me my laptop and I can start-"

"Amy, you're not working, you're in the hospital for christs sake. Nothing we do is that important."

Frank knew he should walk away, but he couldn't bring himself too.

"But-"

"-no buts." Your voice was gentle, but had a firm edge, one that made it clear you weren't budging. "I can do it all tonight."

"But you already have so much to do." Amy's voice grew softer as her resolve waivered.

"Exactly, so what's a couple more things to add to a never ending list?"

Frank heard Amy let out a defeated sigh. "Well at least there's one positive to all this."

"Oh yeah? what's that?"

A beat, and then-

"Doctor Langdon is hot."

He didn’t let himself hear your response.

Frank moved fast. Down the hall, around the corner, going anywhere but there.

His jaw tightened, heat creeping up the back of his neck despite himself.

Perlah made her way back to the desks clustered in the middle of the ER, the hum of monitors and overlapping conversations swelling around her again.

Princess pounced immediately.

“Javadi says there’s a gorgeous woman in Room 8.”

“There is. She’s a lawyer.”

“Oh." Princess' brows lifted. "Beauty and brains.”

“I like her, seems fiery.”

They both looked up, falling silent as Langdon walked past.

“And Langdon’s the primary?” Princess murmured in Tagalog, their eyes tracking his every movement.

“Yep, and he’s smitten.”

Frank stopped at one of the computers and swiped his ID.

He glanced over at Princess and Perlah to see them giggling. They fell silent when they noticed his gaze, before sharing a glance and bursting into another fit of involuntary laughter.

He shook his head, jaw tightening as he turned back to the screen, willing the faint heat creeping up his ears to disappear as he began typing.

"Heard you've got a stunner in Room 8."

Frank didn't bother to look up from his screen as McKay leaned across the desk, her tone far too casual to be innocent.

"Really? I can't say that I noticed."

McKay scoffed. "Sure you didn't."

She paused for a moment and then, "so... is she single?"

Frank finally looked up at her over his monitor. "I don't know." He said flatly. "I was busy treating my patient, you know - doing my job."

McKay rolled her eyes. "Why is everyone so boring today?"

He shook his head and cursed quietly under his breath.

Frank Langdon had handled a lot in this ER. He'd intubated critical patients, manually pumped hearts, stood knee-deep in chaos during mass casualty incidents without flinching.

And yet, the truth was, he was more rattled by you then anything else he'd stumbled upon in the pitt.

He'd nearly tripped over his own feet when he pulled back that curtain and saw you sitting in that chair.

You were a blur of long and graceful limbs, legs crossed neatly, posture perfect despite the chaos around you. Those sky-high heels tapping faintly against the floor, like you carried your own rhythm into the room.

Then, your eyes met his.

Your hair fell in soft, deliberate curls, framing a face that was too gorgeous to be sitting under harsh fluorescent lighting in the middle of an emergency department.

It had taken everything in him not to stare.

He was a professional, he had to remind himself. One who was lucky to even still be practicing.

Then, you'd started speaking. And that had somehow made it even worse.

You were fiery, well-articulated, confident - something that no doubt came as a result of your profession.

But there was a softness to you too, a kindness that made him slightly weak in the knees.

The way your hand had settled on Amy’s shoulder. The way your voice shifted when you spoke to her.

It had caught him off guard.

After a few minutes, he glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Dana a few feet from him, writing something out onto a chart.

"You knew."

Dana didn't even look up at first.

"Knew what?" She asked innocently.

Frank pursed his lips and kept his eyes glued to his charts as he muttered his next words. "You knew that she was gorgeous when you sent me in there."

"Really? I can't say that I noticed."

His eyes narrowed as she echoed his words back at him, a knowing smile on her lips as she shot him a wink.

He shook his head, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

Now that you were satisfied Amy was comfortable, you finally dared to look at your phone.

Three missed calls, thirty unread emails, seven teams messages and a voicemail from a very unimpressed partner.

"Go." Amy insisted, nudging your arm when she saw the look on your face. "Call whoever you have to call.”

“It’s fine-“

“You’re doing that thing where you pretend you’re not stressed but you’re actually two minutes away from having a meltdown.”

“I am not-“

“-you are.”

You sighed, your shoulders dropping just slightly as you glanced back down at your screen.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m morphined up and have endless tiktoks to scroll through. I’ll be fine.” Amy insisted.

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

“Ok…just try not to injure any other part of your body.”

“No promises.” She beamed back.

You shot her one last glare as you yanked the curtain back - and stepped straight back into the chaos.

It hit you all at once.

Voices overlapping. Monitors beeping. The constant movement like a fast flowing tidal wave.

You paused for half a second, scanning for someone who looked even remotely interruptible.

“Excuse me.” You hurried over to a young doctor with a mop of curly brown hair who was typing away frantically.

He swivelled around in his chair at the sound of your voice.

His eyes widened as he looked up at you.

“Sorry- is there somewhere I can take a phone call?” You asked as you held up your buzzing phone.

"Um-" His cheeks grew red. "Uh well you could maybe uh-"

"Ignore Ogilvie. He's new." You looked up to see the older blonde nurse from earlier.

"Work call?"

"Unfortunately."

She flashed you a sympathetic call as she jerked her thumb behind her. "Go use the ambulance bay sweetheart, just make sure you stay out of their way if one of them rolls in."

"I will, thank you." You flashed her and Ogilvie a smile before hurrying in the direction she pointed you in.

Ogilvie watched as you walked away, his mouth slightly ajar as your hips swayed in your tight skirt.

"Sweet lord have mercy." He breathed out.

You moved quickly, heels clicking sharply against the floor, cutting a clean line through the chaos.

You passed an older doctor, offering a polite, automatic smile as your eyes met his.

Robby slowed slightly, turning around to watch you as you walked past.

He blinked slowly, then glanced toward Dana, who was flipping through a stack of folders like nothing unusual had just walked past.

"Is there a lawsuit going on that I don't know about?"

"More like Ogilvie's about to get served with a restraining order if he doesn't stop gaping." Santos remarked dryly as she walked past.

Robby's stare hardened. Dana slid off her glasses, using them to point vaguely in your direction.

"She's the co-worker of the patient in Room 8, Langdon's looking after her."

"I bet he is." Ogilvie muttered.

Robby shook his head slightly as he raised his hands up in defeat.

"On second thoughts, I don't want to know."

You groaned softly, rubbing at your temples as you leaned back against the cool brick wall just outside the ER doors.

You'd successfully calmed down two partners, delegated three tasks and promised to 'circle back' and 'touch base' on something that you absolutely did not want to circle back or touch base on ever again.

And in the process, created an impossibly large to-do list for yourself.

A familiar tension headache was starting to creep up the right side of your neck, settling stubbornly at the base of your skull.

You closed your eyes briefly, exhaling through your nose.

Frank had come out to take a breather.

Robby had been on his ass the entire shift, Santos was still giving him the evil eye and his back had started that low, persistent ache that never really went away - like it was just waiting for the worst possible moment to remind him it was there.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you.

You, in his usual hiding spot, tucked just out of sight from everyone unless they actively came looking.

Now that you were standing, he could take you in properly. You'd abandoned your matching suit jacket at some point, but the rest of your outfit was still immaculate - leaving you in a tight skirt that fell just below your knee and a structured top with capped sleeves.

You looked like you'd just stepped out of an episode of Suits.

Completely out of place, and yet somehow not at all.

He cleared his throat, causing you to startle slightly as your eyes snapped open.

"Hi." You blurted out.

"Hi." He echoed.

There was a small beat where you just looked at each other.

"Sorry I um- one of the nurses said I could take a call out here. I hope that's ok."

He smiled softly. "Yeah of course." Then he nodded towards the phone still clutched in your hand.

"Everything ok?"

"Oh, yeah." You said automatically. Then, after a second - "I mean no, but it will be."

He nodded like he understood.

"Work stuff?"

You let out a dry chuckle. "Always."

His eyes moved over your face more carefully this time, catching the faint shadows beneath your eyes - half-hidden by makeup, but not invisible.

"We're in the middle of a big trial." You explained. "So it's a little hectic at the moment, client's stressed, partner's stressed, so naturally... everyone's stressed."

Frank nodded again. "Sounds..."

"Stressful?" You offered, pulling a chuckle from him.

"Yeah, stressful."

"It is." You admitted, chewing the inside of your cheek. "But I mean-" You waved towards the ER. "it's nothing like what you guys deal with in there."

Frank frowned slightly at your deflection. "Stress is still stress."

"Yeah but when I'm stressed over a typo in a court document I have to remind myself that I'm not performing heart surgery to calm myself down." You tilted your head, looking up at him. "While you guys are literally performing heart surgery."

"Alright touche." Frank raised his hands in mock surrender. "But still, sounds like you've had a big week."

"More like a big year." You huffed, the honesty slipping out before you could catch it. "But yeah, big week."

"Lot of late nights?"

Your eyes narrowed slightly. "Is that your polite way of saying I look haggard?"

Frank let out a huff of disbelief, "trust me, you are far from looking haggard."

You tried to ignore the annoying way your stomach flipped at that.

He seemed to realise what he’d said a fraction too late.

He straightened slightly, clearing his throat, one hand lifting in a vague, corrective gesture.

"I just mean-" he motioned toward you, "you look like you’re running on about three hours of sleep."

You folded your arms across your chest, leaning more into the wall. "Is that your professional medical opinion?"

"It's a guess." He shrugged his shoulders. "But I'm usually right."

Your eyes narrowed further at the slight humour in his expression. There was no chance in hell you were going to admit he was practically right on the mark.

Before you could answer, your phone buzzed again.

Langdon watched as your eyes darted down, a grimace flashing across your features as you read whatever email had just come through. Your grimace only deepened as your phone began ringing.

“I’ll let you get that.” He made to go back inside.

“No it’s fine, I’m very intentionally ignoring it.” You shoved the phone back into your pocket, as if to emphasise your point.

“He’s a partner on the other side of this matter.” You explained, shaking your head. “He thinks ringing me is somehow going to make him get his way.”

"I'm guessing that happens a lot." Frank leant his shoulder against the brick, angling his body towards you.

"People underestimating you."

You studied him for a moment, searching for any sign of insincerity or expectation of praise for acknowledging something that was quite literally the bare minimum.

You were pleasantly surprised when your fine tuned bullshit detector didn't sound alarm bells.

"It does." You acknowledged after a moment. "But it makes it more fun when I inevitably run rings around them."

Your accompanied smirk made Frank let out a genuine laugh. "I have no doubt about that."

As his laughter faded, your eyes stayed locked. You felt it again - the shift. Something you couldn't quite name, or maybe were too afraid to just yet.

Your phone buzzed entitledly again.

"Sorry-" You glanced down at the caller ID. "I do actually have to take this one."

“Partner?”

“Oh- no I’m single.”

Frank blinked. Then a smirk broke through, unguarded.

“I uh- I meant law firm partner.”

“Oh.” Your phone was still buzzing in your hand, now completely forgotten as you tried not to spiral about how embarrassing that was.

“But that’s very good to know.” Or something of that ilk is what Frank wanted to say.

"Amy should be next in line for her CT, so it shouldn't be too much longer of a wait."

Is what he said instead as he pushed off the wall.

Professional, safe, controlled.

"Thank you doctor."

"Frank." He corrected you automatically. "What I mean is- just Frank is fine, you don't have to call me doctor." He added hastily as he began to slowly back away.

Smooth.

A smirk tugged at your mouth. "Ok." You said lightly.

"Well thank you... just Frank." You teased before finally placing your phone to your ear.

The way you said his name - low, deliberate, just teasing enough - landed in his chest, in his throat, somewhere inconveniently deeper than either.

He shook his head as the sound played over and over in his head as he slipped back inside the ER.

Frank exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.

He was, to put it professionally, completely and utterly fucked.

Half an hour later, Amy was no closer to getting her CT scan.

You were back in your waiting chair beside her, posture far less composed than before, one leg bouncing slightly, still frantically glued to your phone.

And while you were trying your best to work, annoyingly all it seemed you could think about was Frank Langdon.

You exhaled sharply, dragging your focus back to the email in front of you.

The two of you looked up from your phones as the curtain slid across the railing.

And as if you'd manifested him with your thoughts, your eyes locked with Frank's blue ones.

Frank stepped inside, a coffee cup clutched in one hand, his other already reaching to pull the curtain closed behind him.

"Hey Amy, sorry for the wait. I just wanted to check to see how you were doing?"

"Oh I'm fine, just keep the morphine coming." Amy grinned.

"We can definitely do that." Frank chuckled.

He shifted his weight slightly, glancing between the two of you.

"You were next in line for CT but a trauma came in, I don't think it'll be too much longer now though."

"No problem, thanks for letting me know." Assuming the interaction was over, Amy glanced back down at her phone.

Suddenly, Frank's eyes were on you. There was the slightest pause, like he was debating something.

His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip as he extended his hand holding the coffee out towards you.

"I got you this-"

"oh-"

"-figured you might need it if you're going to have a late one."

Amy’s head snapped up so fast it was almost comical.

"You really didn't have to do that Frank." Despite your words, your mouth was already salivating at the prospect of caffeine. Your hand already reaching, your focus locked on the cup like it might disappear if you hesitated.

"Thank you."

Your fingers brushed against his as the cup changed hands.

"You're feeding my addiction you know."

Frank’s mouth lifted as he adjusted his grip on his stethoscope, buying himself a second.

"Luckily you're not my patient then."

As if suddenly remembering Amy - his patient and whole reason for being here - was in the room, his attention snapped back her.

"Sorry Amy, no liquids other than water before a CT."

Amy's eyes darted between the two of you, a knowing grin forming on her face. "Oh that's ok, don't worry about me Frank."

You shot her a warning look behind his back.

If Frank noticed, he didn't say anything. Instead he just shot you another smile.

"Alright." He said, glancing back at you one more time - quicker now, but no less intentional. "I'll check back in after your scan is done."

You pressed the cup to your lips, using it as a shield to avoid Amy's stare as he left.

"Ok. What the fuck was that?"

"What was what?" You answered innocently as you busied yourself with your phone.

"You really didn't have to do that Frank." She mocked in a low, sultry tone.

"I do not sound like that." You snapped, your eyes finally meeting hers.

"You were practically eye fucking him."

"I was not!"

A heartbeat later you added quietier, "we talked for a bit when I was outside making work calls. He told me to call him Frank."

"Oh my fucking god." She let out a cackle of disbelief. "You want him."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do. Admit it! You want to fuck the hot doctor-"

"-would you keep your voice down!" You hissed, glancing over your shoulder.

"Yes, obviously he is attractive ok?" You muttered reluctantly.

"And-" She sat up straighter in her bed. "He clearly wants you too."

"Ok no-"

"- he just bought you a coffee." She interrupted, ticking it off like evidence, "which was clearly an excuse to come and talk to you by the way, and he couldn't keep his eyes off you. What kind of doctor does that unless they're into you?"

"Really nice ones?" You meekly suggested.

She shot you a deadpan stare. "You're too smart to be saying such dumb things."

Your brow furrowed. "I don't like your tone missy."

"What are you going to do about it? I'm not your paralegal, remember? Besides why is any of this a bad thing? Honestly when was the last time you actually got laid because-"

"Alright Amy-" Perlah barged in before you could retort back. "Finally time for your CT."

"Saved by the bell." You muttered.

Perlah tried her best to fight the grin threatening to spill onto her cheeks. Neither of you had to know that she'd heard every word.

As time wore on, your stomach started to grumble, promptly reminding you that you had not eaten anything since stuffing down a muesli bar this morning on your way to court.

The idea of hospital cafeteria food was enough to turn you off the idea of eating all together.

You could hear two staff chatting outside.

"Thank god this shift is nearly over."

"I know, I'm starving."

"I really could go for an unethical donut right now, but don't tell Dana I said that."

An idea started to take shape.

You googled the number of a local pizza place that you knew was half decent and open. You pressed the phone to your ear, tapping the well worn arm of the chair impatiently as it rung.

"Hello? Hi yes- look I was just wondering- would you by any chance deliver to a hospital?"

-

Frank glanced at the clock.

Only an hour left of this seemingly never ending shift.

Despite how busy they had been, it seemed the entire emergency department had found the time to learn about your existence and more annoyingly, his apparent thing for you.

Every time he walked past someone he was greeted with a shit-eating grin and a snarky remark.

"I didn't know you liked Legally Blonde, Langdon."

"Permission to approach the bench?"

"Is your girlfriend going to sue me if I stuff this intubation up?"

He slowed as he watched his co-workers flocking towards the break room.

"What's all this?" He asked Mel.

"Oh um- someone got us pizza."

"Upstairs send another gift?"

"Nope.” Mel shook her head. "An anonymous delivery apparently."

"Anyway." She shrugged after a moment. "I'm getting a slice. I just hope they ordered Hawaiian."

Frank frowned slightly, watching as Mel joined the feeding frenzy.

Dana stopped beside him, silently handing him a receipt.

"What am I looking at?"

"The online order receipt." She smirked up at him. "You might want to cross check it with Room 8’s emergency contact."

While still waiting for Amy to come back from her scan, you had finally relented and pulled out your work laptop.

You'd kicked off your heels at some point, abandoning them beneath the chair, and were now perched awkwardly with one leg tucked under you, using Amy’s side table as a makeshift desk.

You peeked over the top of your monitor at the sound of a throat being cleared.

Frank stood tentatively at the threshold, as if he was mindful not to intrude.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"I thought you might be hungry."

You glanced down to see he was holding a slice of pizza on a paper plate, a napkin folded neatly underneath.

The way the napkin was folded so deliberately made something unfurl beneath your ribs.

"First a coffee and now pizza?" You teased as you closed your laptop halfway. "I didn't realise food delivery was in the job description of an emergency doctor."

"It's an unwritten but vital part of the job." He answered smoothly, handing it over to you.

Your fingers brushed again as you took it.

Except this time, neither of you pulled away particularly quickly.

You glanced down at the plate to see two pills placed neatly beside your pizza.

“Pain killers."

He motioned to his own neck. "You keep bunching your shoulders up around your ears, probably because your neck’s tight from sitting at a desk all day."

You tilted your head slightly.

"Which means, you more than likely have a tension headache right now.”

You stared at him for a moment.

“What are you, a doctor or something?” You teased, repeating his question to you hours earlier.

“Just a little bit, yeah.” He echoed your words right back.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, your head pounding a little too hard for you to bother to try and deny its existence.

"Well, thank you." You shot him a smile as you placed the pills on your tongue, reaching for the water beside you. As you tilted your head back you were very aware of his attentive gaze.

He took a seat on the edge of Amy's bed, leaving just enough space between you to be appropriate.

"You know." He cleared his throat again, glancing down at his hands. "Dana forced the delivery driver to give her the contact number for the order. Said she needed to make sure it wasn't a poisoning attempt or something."

You let out a real laugh at that. "A mass poisoning event? Sounds like the perfect opportunity for a class action, my firm's great at defending those."

Frank hummed, observing you take your first bite.

"You know you put your phone number down as Amy's emergency contact right? So it shows up in the system."

"I’m innocent until proven guilty."

"You didn't have to do that." Frank was unable to hide the affection in his voice.

"Do what?"

You held his gaze for a second and then broke, a smile tugging at your mouth as you finally relented and offered up an innocent shrug.

"I wanted to. You guys work hard."

You glanced back at your laptop. "I was going to come and grab some but I got stuck."

"Ignoring misogynistic partners?"

You snorted. "I wish. Putting out fires instead."

"Another late night?"

"Looks like it."

Frank hummed again, his teeth catching briefly on his lower lip as he watched you.

"I know you're worried about work and Amy." He said slowly. "But it's important to take care of yourself too."

You looked up. There it was again. The sincerity, the kindness, the softness in his voice that made your stomach flutter.

"Should I take that as official medical advice?"

"I'm just saying-" Frank emphasised. "I've seen a lot of hardworkers end up in here, I wouldn't want that to happen to you."

"Well it's a little too late for that." You remarked dryly.

You glanced up when silence followed. Your eyes widened as you realised you'd said those words out loud.

"I um- what I meant was-"

"You don't have to explain." Frank cut you off, but you were already shaking your head.

"No it's fine, I um-" You hesitated, then exhaled. "I got admitted here once during law school." You admitted quietly.

Frank stiffened.

"I was so stressed and studying so hard and getting no sleep obviously, and then next thing I know a friend of a friend is suggesting I try these pills that apparently made you focus for like twelve hours straight."

You let out a small, humourless breath as the words continued to pour out of your mouth. The weeks of sleep deprivation weakening your usual posterity.

"Of course I told myself it was safe because everyone at law school was using them so why couldn't I? And I was smart so I could control it and-"

You cut yourself off when you realised how much you had been rambling.

"Sorry." You pinched the bridge of your nose between your thumb and pointer finger as your headache pulsed, too soon for the painkillers to take effect. "I don't know why I'm telling you this." You confessed.

"I've been clean for years, so no need to report me or anything."

Your attempt at lightening the mood flatlined.

You inwardly cursed yourself, glancing down at your lap. Why did you have to open your mouth? Any chance of him being interested was going to completely fly out the window-

"Benzos." Frank murmured.

You looked up with a start. "What?"

"Benzos." He repeated, this time a little louder, his eyes meeting yours. "That was my vice."

Your face faltered. You closed your laptop lid fully, slowly, as if you might spook him if you made any sudden movements.

"Dexies."

Something deeper formed between the two of you. Recognition, understanding.

You both saw the irony then too. You were two sides of the same coin, two professionals albeit in vastly different fields - one chasing a high, the other a low.

You saw the pain in Frank’s face, unable to be concealed by a weak attempt at a smile.

Your struggle had been years ago.

His… wasn’t.

“You know-“ You began gently. “-addiction doesn’t define us.”

Frank let out a sharp chuckle, more terse then he’d intended.

You winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like an Alcoholics Anonymous brochure.”

That got a genuine but short lived smile out of him. “You don’t need to apologise. The last few months have just been…” he paused, like he was trying to choose between words.

“Shit.” Was what he finally settled on.

You nodded slowly in understanding.

“It's hard not to feel like it defines you." He continued. "Working here."

"I know that feeling." You said quietly. "Like you've failed at something. Like you were supposed to have control over this innocuous thing and couldn't handle it."

He looked at you intently.

"That you should have been able to fix it yourself, without anyone else knowing. That everyone else is judging you for it."

His eyes stayed on you.

"How do you not feel like that?" His voice was smaller this time.

"I try and remember that everyone has shit going on, even if they're good at hiding it."

You smoothed your skirt as you shifted your weight.

"I have clients - CEOs, executives - the type of people you think would have everything under control, who royally fuck up and I mean royally. It usually starts with something small. Something they think they’ve got handled. And then it spirals."

You gestured outside. "You see people at their worst here everyday. People who ignore your advice, who try to convince themselves they can take care of themselves just fine without help."

Your gaze softened. "And you save them."

You offered him a small shrug. "So yeah, addiction sucks. But it isn't going to be what people remember. Not unless you give them a reason too."

You reached out instinctively to take his hand, to offer another layer of comfort. You stopped just shy, remembering yourself in time. Instead, you patted the edge of the hospital bed awkwardly.

Frank studied you for a moment. He barely knew you, and yet, you were one of first people since coming back to make him feel like he wasn't just a problem to be fixed. Like he was wanted, seen.

Frank ran a hand through his hair, letting a few strands of hair flop forward. His eyes flickered down to see that you still hadn't moved your hand from the bed.

"You know." He began, his voice lighter this time. "You're quite persuasive when you want to be." He placed his hands by his side, fingers curling over the iron frame of the bed.

"Oh yeah?"

The edge of his pinky brushed yours.

"Yeah. You should think of making a career out of it."

Your lips curved, "I'll keep that in mind."

You could have asked further questions - you had every right to want to know. But you didn't pry further, as if you knew the wounds were still so fresh they had barely begun to scab. Like you knew he wasn't ready to rip the temporary band aid off just yet.

That restraint said more than anything else could have.

It made something in his chest tighten.

It only made him want you more.

Like always, Jack Abbott had arrived early for his shift.

He strolled through the ER, taking stock of patients and preparing himself for whatever mess the day shift had left for him to mop up.

He glanced briefly through the slightly ajar curtains of Room 8.

He came to a stop as his brain caught up with his eyes. Then slowly he took a step backwards.

He blinked a few times, letting himself process what he was seeing before turning around and walking back towards the epicentre of the chaos.

"Someone want to tell me what's going on in Room 8?"

A few heads lifted as he glanced around at his colleagues.

"Is Langdon getting sued or something?"

Javadi snorted. "He's getting something alright."

Jack looked around for someone to promptly resolve his bewilderment.

"She's the co-worker of one of his patients." Whitaker supplied.

"Yes." Robby cut in, not bothering to look up from what he was doing. "So like everyone who walks in here, she should be treated with dignity and respect."

Jack raised a brow.

"Well, whatever's going on in there-" He said, glancing back towards Room 8. "I volunteer to be next in line."

Laughter erupted. Mohan shot him a glare from across the room.

"Oh for the love of god." Robby buried his head in his hands. "Would you please stop encouraging them."

"Robby!" Dana called out. "Trauma incoming, two minutes tops."

The laughter stopped just as quickly as it had started.

-

You peaked out from behind the curtain, watching as the doctors and nurses sprung into action.

Frank had bolted the second he'd heard the word trauma.

You watched as he kitted up for the trauma room, pulling on gloves, movements quick and efficient.

He slid his glasses on, those annoyingly attractive strands of his fringe still flopping over his forehead.

It was like the Frank who had been sitting beside you minutes ago, quiet and open and real had ceased to exist. He was replaced by something precise, calm, unmoveable.

You watched him step into the trauma room without hesitation.

And something about that - the competence, the confidence, the way the chaos seemed to bend around him instead of swallowing him - it did something to you.

Looks were one thing. But this? It was enough to make you weak in the knees.

-

"Don't worry kids, the adult has arrived."

Frank stepped back as Garcia sauntered into the trauma room, Robby immediately jumping in to explain the patient's symptoms.

"I'm going to need to make an incision."

Wordlessly a scalpel was placed into her outstretched hand.

"So Langdon-" She started casually. "I've heard you've got a hot lawyer down here." She said it so nonchalantly it was like she was running a knife through butter, not a person's chest cavity.

"Jesus- OR knows about this?"

"Everyone knows about this." She corrected him.

"Must be a slow news day." He grumbled as he went to check the patient's vitals.

"She bought us all pizza." Mohan unhelpfully added.

Garcia glanced up. "Really?"

"Really." Mohan confirmed.

Garcia's brow lifted slightly as she worked.

"So this woman is hot, smart and buys your co-workers food seemingly out of the goodness of her own heart?"

McKay let out a snort.

"Better find a way not to screw this one up Langdon."

"Trust me, I'm working on it." He mumbled under his breath.

Across the room, Robby noticed it.

There was something different in Langdon. He moved like he was more sure of himself, less in his head.

That dark, heavy layer that he'd been carrying since he'd returned was not gone completely, but it was like something had finally cut through it, even just a little.

Robby’s expression didn’t change, but he watched him for a second longer than necessary.

He was still so angry at him, the sting of the betrayal of his adopted prodigy still fresh. But he couldn't ignore the flicker of something in him. It was brief, gone as quickly as it came, but still identifiable.

Relief.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Amy and Perlah trundled back into the room from her journey upstairs.

Frank wasn’t far behind.

"It’s just a bad sprain." He confirmed. "Painful - but nothing we can’t manage."

Amy let out a dramatic sigh of relief.

“We’ll put you in a moon boot and give you some crutches." He added before crouching down at the foot of her bed.

You tried to focus back on your phone, but your attention kept drifting.

To the way he worked. The quiet focus. The gentle way he handled her ankle, explaining everything as he went.

And occasionally, to the way his eyes flicked up to you.

From somewhere just outside the curtain, voices filtered through.

"Have you seen the lawyer yet?"

"Yeah she's really pretty."

"I know. Langdon's whipped. He's doing that thing."

"What thing?"

"The soft voice."

"He always has a soft voice."

"No - this is softer."

Your cheeks burned.

Frank very intentionally ignored them.

"This is amazing." Amy whispered.

"Please stop." You whispered back.

"Ok!" Frank jumped up with just a touch too much enthusiasm to be natural.

"You should be all good to go. You’ll have to keep weight off it for at least a week.”

“So no Jimmy Choos?”

“Definitely no Jimmy Choos.”

Amy pouted out her lower lip.

“I’d be happy to look after them for you.”

Amy cut you a side eye. “You have enough pairs of shoes to supply a small village.”

Frank smirked to himself at your bickering. Your eyes met briefly, training on one another long enough for Amy and Perlah to exchange a look.

"Um actually I think I need to go to the bathroom before I go." Amy announced loudly. "Perlah, do you think you could help me?"

"Of course."

"It might take a while." Amy held up one of her crutches. "You know, being impaired and everything."

"So plenty of time to talk." Perlah piped up.

You watched them go, both of them barely containing their giggles as they slipped out through the curtain.

Silence fell, thicker this time.

"Well, that was subtle." Frank remarked once the two of you were alone.

You let out a breathless laugh.

"Very."

Another pause.

It felt different now. Quieter. Like something was waiting to be said.

The two of you eyed eachother for a moment, as if daring to see who would break the silence first.

"So-" Frank relented first. "I um- I finish my shift in about ten minutes and I know you're busy but-" He paused, his cheeks tinging pink as he tried to phrase his words eloquently.

"I was wondering if maybe you'd like to go have dinner? There's a decent Japanese place just around the corner."

You couldn't fight the way your mouth instantly curved upwards.

"I thought doctors couldn't date their patients."

"We can't." He said quickly. "But you're not my patient. I even checked the hospital's guidelines just to be sure."

Your brow quirked up. "Did you now?"

"I did. Section 14, paragraph 5 provides the definition of patient - in case you wanted to do your own due diligence."

You laughed as if he might not be serious.

You didn't need to know that ten minutes ago he had been frantically flicking through the guidelines on his phone. Checking once, twice and then a third time just to be safe.

He was still on shaky ground here, he didn't want to do anything to rock the boat further. But there'd been a part of him that would have been willing to risk it regardless, to listen to the voice shouting at him that you were worth it.

"So technically ok but maybe just morally grey then?" You teased.

Langdon shrugged. "Maybe, but isn't that the area where you lawyers love to operate in?"

You snorted. "Wow. You know, if you ever decide you need a career change, you should consider the law Doctor Langdon."

"Something tells me the law is better off in your hands."

Your smile widened.

"So-" He said after a heartbeat, a little softer this time. "Is that a-"

"-it's a yes."

You surprised yourself at how quickly you answered.

There was a time not that long ago where you would have hesitated.

You hadn't dated in a long time, you were too busy with work, telling yourself that you weren't going to waste your limited spare time with mediocre men - which Pittsburgh seemed to supply in abundance.

But now, standing in front of Frank, you felt all of those worries fade away into the background.

Relief flickered across his face, quick but unmistakable.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Frank smiled - warm, a little shy, genuine.

"Ok, cool."

"I'll wait outside with Amy, her boyfriend should be here soon - finally."

"Sounds good, I won't be too long."

You moved to gather your things, slipping your laptop away, but paused as you reached for your bag.

"Everyone's going to be staring at me out there, aren't they?"

"...probably."

"And it's not because they want free legal advice?"

Frank chuckled. "I'm afraid not."

You nodded slowly as you digested that information.

Then, your mouth curved into a small smile.

“Well-“ You slipped your heels back on, straightening to your full height.

"Better give them something worth looking at then."

Frank let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head, not even bothering trying to look away as you walked past him.

As the faint click of your heels echoed once more down the hallway, something settled in his chest. He felt more grounded, more sure of his place here.

And for the first time since walking back in through the doors to the pitt, Frank Langdon felt truly glad to be back.

As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍

[bellatrixlestrangeswhore]

❤️❤️❤️

[flowersforbucky]

you’re a bad idea (but a real good time)

frank langdon x reader ~ word count: 10.6k+

it wasn’t supposed to be anything more than sex. you barely even liked each other as friends. frank uses you, and you use him. but somewhere along the way, the lines got blurred.

warnings/tags: mdni, smut and implied smut, themes of addiction and recovery, emotional constipation from reader, vague references to prior relationships and trauma, coworkers with benefits to lovers, some angst and some fluff, oblivious idiots in love, frank is divorced, reader has a niece, takes place sometime after season 2, pov switches, reader is afab, resident reader, no use of y/n

author’s note: i needed to torture frank langdon, just a little bit, but i promise it’s a happy ending. also as always shoutout to my girl @fru1t4fr0gs for letting me virtually yap her ear off about this

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Frank’s therapist had cautioned him about replacing one addiction with another.

He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. He’s never been a smoker, but if he were, would that really be worse than being addicted to benzos? It’s not like American Spirits or cotton candy flavored vapes would drive him to steal from his job.

Yeah, yeah. Cancer. Lung cancer, esophageal cancer, all the cancers. Gum disease and tooth decay. He is still a doctor, even if it took him a long time to start feeling like one again. He knows the risks. And that is exactly why he hasn’t tried filling the void with nicotine.

He works out just enough to be able to say that he does and it not be a complete lie, but he’s never understood how people can get addicted to exercising. He understands the science behind it, but every time he steps on a treadmill, it just feels like an opportunity to think too much about every mistake he’s made in the last few years.

Video games have never really been his thing. He’s still paying off his stint in rehab, so betting and gambling are off the table. Alcohol, of course, is out of the question for obvious reasons.

When he hit one hundred days of sobriety, he really thought he was in the fucking clear. He let himself breathe a little for the first time in a long time, thinking he had finally learned his lesson.

Never did it cross his mind that he could become addicted to a person. Least of all one that he isn’t even supposed to like.

Least of all you.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

“This is a really fucking bad idea.”

Frank grunts, bottoming out as he fills you so full of him that it takes your breath away.

He stills, looking down at you in the glow of your living room television. His hands were on you the second your apartment door clicked shut - the two of you didn’t even make it down the hallway to your bedroom before you were pulling him onto the couch by the collar of his scrubs, his lips chasing yours with a degree of desperation that you might have found laughable if it weren’t for the fact that you had to bite back a moan the second that his tongue slipped between your lips.

He huffs a half breathless laugh. “We can stop if you want to, but I’m already inside you, so it’s a little late to realize this is a bad idea.”

You wiggle your hips, grinding down where his body meets yours. His eyes roll shut at the sensation, his muscles tensing beneath where your fingers grip his biceps.

“Didn’t say that I wanna stop,” you breathe. “Just said this is a bad idea. It’s called an observation.”

Frank snorts, retaliating by hiking one of your legs over his hip to deepen the angle. You hiss, your walls clenching around him. “You didn’t seem to think it was a bad idea when you were drenching my face a few seconds ago.”

You aren’t surprised in the least that his argumentative nature carries over into sex, but the dirty mouth on him does take you by surprise.

“So, what?” You hum, part challenge and part genuine curiosity. “You don’t think this is a bad idea?”

He shakes his head. He snakes a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your folds. “It’s definitely a bad idea. I’m just finding it really hard to give a shit right now.”

You whimper at it all - the rough timbre of his voice, the the soft pad of his thumb brushing over your clit, the way he somehow still smells like musk and allspice even after working a full twelve hours in the emergency department and how his kiss-swollen lips glisten from his time spent between your thighs.

Come morning, you’ll regret this. Twelve hours from now, when you can’t concentrate on a routine intubation because you’re having flashbacks of pretty cerulean eyes peeking up at you as he brought you to climax with only his tongue, you’ll regret this. When you can’t take two steps tomorrow without the ache between your thighs reminding you where he’d been, you’ll regret this.

Probably should’ve thought about that before deciding that the best way to cope with stress of an exceptionally shitty day was by kissing him in the empty parking garage and inviting him back to your place, but you’ll deal with the aftermath of that when he’s no longer buried half a foot inside you.

You take his chin in your hand, stilling his face in front of yours. “Just so we are clear, this is a one time thing.”

Frank looks like he’s fighting the urge to laugh, a familiar, cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know you’re the one who kissed me and practically ripped my clothes off, right?”

Your hands ghost over the planes of his shoulders and up his neck before settling at the base of his skull where your fingers thread through the short locks of his hair. “Don’t let it get to your head. You were the closest conventionally attractive man I could find after that shitshow of a shift. Don’t confuse convenience with desire.”

He cocks a brow. “What I’m hearing is that you think I’m attractive.”

You roll your eyes, pulling your hands away from his hair and playfully shoving his shoulders. You don’t bother denying it, though. He is attractive. Annoyingly, irritatingly, frustratingly attractive.

“I’m serious. One time, Langdon.”

He doesn’t verbally respond right away. Instead, he leans down, closing the space between your lips and his. You taste yourself on him, sweet and salty with a hint of the gum he had been chewing when you first kissed him in the parking garage. It’s slower than the first time, and the second, and the third, making heat bloom where he’s hard inside you.

He pulls back just enough to murmur the words against your lips.

“One time.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Two months ago, Frank Langdon kissed you and swore that he was only going to fuck you one time.

Two months ago, he lied through his teeth.

The good news is that you’re as big of a liar as he is.

Because one time turned to two, and two to three, and now the Pittsburgh winter has turned to spring and he’s forgotten all about that broken promise.

He knew before the words had fully left his lips that they were bullshit. How could he mean them when your kiss tasted like watermelon lip gloss and being bare inside you made him feel the best he’s felt since he got sober?

But still, he tried. For a whopping seven days, he tried his hardest.

One week. That’s all it took for him to feel like he was going to lose his fucking mind if he didn’t touch and taste you again.

Then, in a moment of weakness - the kids were at Abby’s, he’d spent his day off cleaning his entire apartment in an attempt to keep himself busy, he’d already gone to an NA meeting earlier that afternoon, and he couldn’t get this one specific sound you had made when he nipped at the column of your throat out of his head - he did something he’s never done before.

He texted you.

Are you off work yet?

Short and vague, but you’re far from being dumb. He was confident that you could read between the lines without him having to spell it out for you.

Much to his relief, you replied before he could overthink the simple text message.

Keeping track of my work schedule now?

He scoffed to himself, smirking down at his phone. As if you haven’t worked the same set schedule the entire time he’s known you. At least, that was his excuse for knowing you’d be leaving work at approximately that time.

You replied fast. I take it that you are off?

He stared down at the screen as you typed, grateful that technology doesn’t allow you to see him waiting for your response in real time.

Leaving now. But if you’re about to say what I think you’re going to say, then you should know that I have been both puked and peed on today.

That should have deterred him, but it didn’t. In fact, it only further encouraged him, because you didn’t immediately tell him to fuck off like he halfway expected you to.

I happen to have a shower.

Then, before you can type a rebuttal, he sends a second text with his address.

You didn’t even reply, but twenty-three minutes later you knocked on his front door.

(It goes without saying that yes, you insisted on showering, and yes, he insisted on joining you, and yes, he ate you out until your legs turned to jelly and he had to help hold you up).

After both of you were thoroughly spent, he expected you to say something similar to the first time - when he had you pinned to your couch, balls deep inside you, and you told him that it would be a one time thing. He expected you to insist that what just happened would not be happening again, that it was a mistake for you to come over, and that he should lose your number entirely.

So it took him by surprise when you got out of his bed, put your clothes back on, and said, “it goes without saying that this stays between us, right? If this is going to be a thing, the last thing I want is Perlah and Princess spreading it all over the hospital.”

“Please,” Frank had scoffed, pulling his own t-shirt over his head. “Like I want the entire emergency department making a bunch of ridiculous bets about us. Trust me, this stays between us.”

And that was that. There was no further discussion of what exactly this is, but Frank knows.

He knows what it is, and he knows what it isn’t. For two months now, you’ve been on the same page. He comes to your place, or occasionally, you’ll go to his. One time, you even rode him in the backseat of his dad mobile, as you had referred to the midsize SUV.

But work is off limits. You have made that abundantly clear by acting indifferent to his existence anytime a coworker or patient is within ten feet of you, which happens to be damn near always. When the two of you are at work, he pretends like he doesn’t know that you clench around him every time he tells you how well you’re taking him or where your birthmark is located.

As soon as he walks out of those hospital doors, though, all the pretending comes to a stop.

It most often happens after long shifts, when one or both of you needs to decompress and not think of whatever horrors had been witnessed that day. But every now and then, like that day you and Frank both broke the initial agreement of this being a one time thing, he’ll find himself alone with thoughts of you that are a little too loud and unrelenting.

So instead of only thinking about the way your breathy, fucked out voice sounds saying his name when you’re on the verge of coming apart, he calls and hopes that you answer.

And, for some reason that Frank refuses to let himself dwell on, you always do. He knows that there will inevitably come a day that you don’t.

But he doesn’t let himself dwell on that, either.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

“Meet me in the empty on-call room in fifteen minutes.”

The words are murmured low enough for only him to hear. He glances up from his charting, utter disbelief on his face. He opens his mouth to question you, but you’re already walking away.

You’re weak. Spineless as a damn jellyfish, really.

And it’s all Frank Langdon’s fault.

If he didn’t kiss you like you’re the air he needs to breathe, go down on you like you’re the last thing he’s ever going to taste, and fuck you like he’s trying to ruin all other men for you, then it wouldn’t be so embarrassingly easy for you to go back on your word.

But here you are. Going back on your word. Again.

The first time it happened - when he texted you his address a little over two months ago and you wasted no time driving to his apartment even after telling him and yourself that you would not be hooking up with him again - you forgave yourself. You allowed yourself the small comfort of knowing it was him that reached out. It was him who caved first, even if you had thought about doing so every day since you first slept together.

But this time? Telling him to meet you in an empty on-call room in the middle of the day at work? Where any of your coworkers could potentially catch you? This boundary being crossed is all on you.

You must have a competence kink. That’s the only logical explanation for why you’re willing to let this happen right here, right now.

Your watch reads 2:17. He’s two minutes late.

Two more minutes. If he isn’t here in two minutes, then you’re leaving this room and forgetting that you ever even considered doing this.

The door creaks open and he slips in with only twenty seconds to spare.

“Wasn’t sure if you were actually going to come,” you hum from where you’re perched on the edge of the mattress.

Frank locks the door behind him. He still looks as confused as he did when you first told him to meet you here, but there’s now a hint of amusement on his features, too.

“Sorry,” he huffs a laugh, slowly walking towards you with his hands shoved in his scrub pockets. “I came as quickly as I could. My patient in Central 14 pulled up WebMD on his phone to try to argue about his diagnosis so I got a little tied up with that.”

You snort. “Don’t you love when they do that?”

“So…” he drawls, eyes glancing around the small room, empty save for the two of you. He comes to a stop directly in front of where you sit on the bed. “You gonna tell me what we’re doing in here right now?”

You look up at him from beneath your lashes. “What do you think?” Then, before he can answer, your hands go to the waistband of his pants. You don’t look away from his face, blue eyes dilating and pretty lips parted in surprise.

“Seriously?” He breathes, looking around the room again as if there’s anyone around to catch you in the act. “Here?”

You shrug, tugging his pants down just enough to expose the soft patch of dark curls below the waistband. “What can I say? Watching you perform that closed cervical reduction really did something to me.”

He blushes. Even with the curtains closed and only a small bedside table lamp illuminating the room, you can see pink bloom across the apples of his cheeks.

“That’s all it takes to make you stop avoiding me like the plague while we’re here?” He scoffs low. “A closed cervical reduction?”

You hum a laugh. “Sorry, does it hurt your feelings that I don’t spend my shifts fawning over you like every early-to-mid twenties female that walks into this place?”

Frank chuckles lowly. “Not quite.” He cups your face in his hands, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as he leans down far enough that his lips hover just above yours. “You might not fawn over me, but you’re the one who got me alone just so you can give me head.”

Under normal circumstances, you’d keep going until you get the last word. But right now, you have a list of patients who need tending to and a boss who has already been on your ass about patient satisfaction scores today.

And as much as it physically pains you to admit, he isn’t wrong.

“Mm-hm,” you hum in agreement. “I did. Now are you going to let me or not?”

With your fingers still hooked into the waistband of his pants and boxers, you pause. It’s not like he’s ever said no to receiving head from you before - and the unmistakable bulge behind the fabric of his scrubs would normally be enough of an answer - but he is just now finding his way back into Robby’s good graces, so the risks here may outweigh the reward.

He exhales a shaky laugh, his nose brushing against yours as he nods slightly. “If I ever say no to that, page neurology, because something is very wrong with me.”

You roll your eyes, pretending you aren’t slightly charmed by the dorky remark. “Sit down, then.”

The two of you trade places. He lowers himself onto the edge of the mattress, and with help from you, his scrubs and boxers fall to a puddle at his feet. You spread his thighs gently with your palms, nestling yourself between them. You take his hard length in your hand, giving a few languid strokes as you look up at him.

“I mean it, you know,” you murmur, voice uncharacteristically earnest. For a moment, you drop the sarcastic facade. “The closed cervical reduction was very impressive. You were incredible.”

He swallows thickly, his cock twitching in your hand as he stares down at you in the dim lighting. Despite the truth to your words, you expect him to brush the compliment off with a cocky grin and smartass retort that undercuts the rare instance of genuinity between you.

Instead, he leans forward without a word, takes your face in his hands, and crushes his lips against yours. He tilts your head slightly, sweeping his tongue across your bottom lip to encourage you to open up for him. You can’t help but lose yourself in the effortless familiarity of his kiss that you’ve grown to crave more than you ever thought possible.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t release the careful hold on your face. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. “Means a lot coming from you.”

For one impossibly long second, the two of you stare at each other until the sincerity of the moment starts to feel suffocating.

And because you don’t know what the hell you’re supposed to do with that, you swallow it down and do what you came here for.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Frank sees you before he finishes parking his car next to the ball fields.

At first, he thinks he’s seeing things. It must be someone who looks like you - someone with the same hair color and skin tone as you, who just so happens to be roughly the same height - because it couldn’t possibly actually be you.

Why the hell would you be at a Pee Wee soccer game bright and early on a Saturday morning?

He knows exactly why he’s here - it’s one of Penny’s last games of the season and between a pain in the ass custody arrangement and an even bigger pain in the ass work schedule, Frank has only been able to attend a few of his daughter’s soccer games this spring season. He would have missed today’s game, too, if Robby hadn’t agreed to him switching a couple shifts around and Abby hadn’t been willing to let him take Penny for the day during her week with the kids.

You don’t have children, though. He’s sure enough of that. There’s no way you wouldn’t have said something about having a kid at some point during your time spent together these last few months. He’s been over to your place enough times to have noticed toys scattered around the living room or sippy cups in the sink or tiny clothes left lying on the bathroom floor.

But as Penny sprints ahead to join the rest of her teammates and Frank crosses the field to where all of the player’s families sit in lawn chairs, he realizes that his eyes are not playing tricks on him.

Even from behind, he knows it’s you. He’s spent enough collective hours memorizing the curves of your body to recognize you anywhere - even wearing something so different than what he normally sees you in: scrubs or nothing.

He comes to a stop a couple feet behind you to take you in. It’s an unseasonably warm day, with temperatures already in the mid 70s before nine o’clock in the morning, and you’re dressed to match the weather. His gaze trails from your polished toes that peek out of your sandals and up the expanse of your legs before settling on the sun-kissed skin of your shoulders.

You’ve yet to notice his presence as you wave to a kid in the distance as all of the players start to take their positions on the field. “Good luck, Holly!”

He smirks, his eyes darting back and forth between you and the little girl with curly pigtails.

“Who’s Holly?”

You jump as if you had been electrocuted, your head snapping to look in his direction. He can’t see your eyes well because of your sunglasses, but he can clearly picture the look of surprise on your face.

“Jesus, Frank. What are you doing here?”

He snorts, coming to stand beside you, as he brushes off the fact that you called him Frank instead of Langdon. “My daughter is playing. What are you doing here?”

“My niece is playing.”

He looks back out to the field - your niece, Holly, you had called her - is standing right beside Penny. They’re wearing matching jerseys. Same team.

“Huh. I didn’t know that you have a niece.”

Now it’s your turn to snort. You cross your arms over your chest with a shrug. “We don’t exactly spend very much time talking about our personal lives, do we?” You glance around, seemingly looking for something - or someone. “Where’s Abby?”

“Oh,” Frank clears his throat, sliding his hands into the pockets of his pants just so he has something to do with them. “It’s Abby’s week with the kids, but she let me take Penny for the day. She’s uh…she’s not here. She’s spending some quality time with Tanner today.”

You nod, your posture relaxing slightly. He isn’t sure if he’s just imagining things, but he can’t help but think you look a little relieved to hear that his ex wife isn’t here.

Not that he’d blame you for not wanting to see the ex wife of the man you’ve been casually fucking on a regular basis for months now. He definitely wouldn’t want that, either, and feels extremely relieved himself that Abby isn’t here to witness this interaction.

“That was very nice of her,” you say after a beat of silence with a small smile. “I’m sure Penny is happy that you’re here with her.”

Frank glances around now. You had been standing alone when he approached you, and you don’t seem to be here with anyone else. “So, is Holly your sister’s…or brother’s…kid?”

He mentally curses how fucking awkward he sounds. He knows what the most intimate parts of you taste like, knows what you sound like when you come for a third time in a row because of him, but he doesn’t know how to ask you a straight forward question about your personal life.

But he wants to. He shouldn’t, but he does. He wants to know if you have siblings, and how many, and if you have other nieces or possibly nephews. He wants to learn things about you because he asks and you answer or because you volunteer the information freely.

He wants to know what you do after a hard day at work, when you aren’t doing him after a hard day at work. He wants to know things because you want him to know things. Not just the shit that he observes at work (like how you take your coffee) or during the ten minutes that he lays in your bed after finishing inside you (like that you have a white noise machine that is basically always on).

“She’s my brother’s,” you answer, looking away from him to watch as Holly, Penny, and a few other girls all sprint after the soccer ball. For a second, he thinks you’re going to leave it at that, but then you continue. “He and Holly’s mom are going through a pretty nasty breakup. He only has Holly on weekends right now, and he works a lot, so…I’m just trying to help him out a little.”

“Ah,” Frank hums, surprised by the answer for more reasons than one. “Yeah, that’s tough. I know firsthand how…messy that kind of thing can get.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a sigh. “It sucks. But it’s probably for the best. They weren’t good together. I’m just hoping they can learn to co-parent for Holly’s sake.” You pause, eyes cutting back to him. “Seems like you and Abby do a pretty decent job with that.”

He has to refrain from laughing at that. He exhales slowly through his nose, gaze drifting back to the field. There’s a lot he could say in response to that - about lawyers and custody hearings and the same arguments that he doesn’t know if he and Abby will ever stop having - but if he starts then he might not stop, and he highly doubts you care to hear all of that. You’re here to watch your niece play soccer. Not listen to your fuck buddy trauma dump about his divorce.

“We try,” he settles on instead. “It’s still a work in progress, but we’re figuring it out.” Then, so you don’t feel pressured to respond in any particular way, he glances down at the lawn chair that he brought, still folded and tucked between his arm and side. “You uh - you want to sit? I brought a chair.”

He unfolds the chair, not giving you the opportunity to object as he takes a seat on the still slightly dewy grass right next to the chair.

The rest of the game continues with the two of you sitting side by side, watching the girls in an unfamiliar but not uncomfortable kind of companionship. He cheers for Holly, and you cheer for his daughter just as much.

You even introduce herself to her when Penny runs over to where Frank sits for a sip of water. As his coworker, of course. Because that’s what you are, even if the relationship title rubs him the wrong way for reasons he won’t let him think about for long enough to have to be honest with himself.

Still. It’s nice. Much different than how time with you is normally spent - working together to save someone from a pulmonary embolism, or naked between bedsheets - but this doesn’t feel wrong. It’s unexpected but pleasant, Frank thinks.

He tries not to think about how you feel about it, instead focusing on Penny chasing and kicking the soccer ball (sometimes in the wrong direction, but she’s four, so it’s cute).

When the final whistle blows, the swarm of four and five year olds erupts into excited shrieks. Penny and Holly spot the two of you at the same time and sprint over - Penny with her white tube socks stained green with grass and Holly with hair falling out of her pigtails.

Holly reaches you first, practically launching herself into your lap. “We won! We won! Did you see how far the ball went when I kicked it?”

“Of course I did,” you answer cheerfully. “You were amazing. I’m so proud of you. You did so great too, Penny.”

Before he has a chance to recover from the way the softness in your voice made his chest tighten, Penny starts jumping up and down, chanting daddy, daddy, daddy.

“Daddy, can Holly go with us to get ice cream?”

Oh. That’s right. He had promised his daughter ice cream after the game.

“Uh—” Frank hesitates, just for a second, glancing over at you. With your sunglasses now resting on the top of your head, he can see your wide, slightly panicked eyes. “We…we don’t know if Holly and her aunt already have plans, sweetie,” he says gently, not wanting to disappoint her but also giving you the out that he’s almost certain you’ll take.

But Holly is already looking up at you with pleading eyes. “Please, please, please can we go get ice cream?”

You let out a small laugh, eyes darting between Holly and Frank. He offers a small smile of his own, shrugging as if to say the ball’s in your court.

“Why not?” You sigh. “Sure. Ice cream sounds good to me.”

Frank might not show it in the same way that the girls do - with wild cheers and shrieks of laughter - but he’s just as pleased that you said yes.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

More and more often, you find yourself wishing that you met Frank Langdon when you were younger.

Not because you wish you met him before he got married or before he had children or before he fell into addiction. None of that deters you, actually.

Maybe it should. It probably should. But it doesn’t.

No, you wish you met him when you were still an optimist. When you still welcomed love with open arms and wore your heart on your sleeve and believed that everyone you met had as good of intentions as you do.

You wish you met him before your past tainted the mere idea of relationships and romance and trust.

You know it’s irrational. Things are the way that they are for a reason. If you had met him in med school, you probably would’ve thought he’s such a douche that you never would have even entertained the idea of kissing him.

But sometimes you still can’t help but wonder…

If you had met him at a different time, would there be more days like today? Early morning sunshine and soccer games and ice cream instead of late night booty calls that turn into mornings where you still wake up all alone, breathing in the scent he leaves behind on your pillow?

It’s fun to imagine that things could be different.

Then you remember the hurt and the heartbreak that comes with loving, and you shut those thoughts down. Back to sporadic, unplanned hook-ups and the illusion of control that they give you.

You suppose you can still allow yourself to sniff the scent of him that lingers after he leaves your bed, though.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

There’s a gradual shift in your and Frank’s dynamic over the weeks following Holly and Penny’s soccer game and the subsequent ice cream date that somehow ended in you and Frank sharing a chocolate soft serve.

It’s so subtle that at first, the changes don’t register as out of the ordinary.

You’re a little more reluctant to put your clothes back on and leave his place after sex. You stop ignoring each other at work, even exchanging jokes at the nurse’s station. He compliments you openly when you do something impressive with a case, not caring who might overhear the praise. When it’s his day off, you’ll randomly text him to tell him about something crazy that he missed at work. He starts opening up more - about his recovery, about his divorce, about his children. Not all at once. Just little pieces of his life bit by bit that you weren’t privy to before.

And you open up to him, too. Without realizing it. Without even meaning to.

It slips out by accident. You can’t even recall exactly what you’d been talking about at the time, but you tell him that he’s the first person you’ve slept with since your ex.

Your ex that you broke up with nearly two years ago.

He’d looked surprised when you revealed that. But he didn’t laugh, or say anything to tease you. He just turned to lie on his side, propped his head in his hand, looked down at you lying beside him, and asked you the same question that you’ve asked yourself on more than one question but have never answered.

“Why me, then? If you waited that long to…be with someone again. What made you kiss me in the parking garage that night?”

You stare up at him for a moment before answering, your fingers teasing his chest hair. “I’m not really sure,” you answer honestly. “Maybe I thought you were having as shitty of a day as I was, and that you looked like you needed someone as badly as I did. Maybe I thought it would be a good thing for both of us.” You pause. “Or maybe I just thought you looked like you’d be good in bed.”

He exhales a shaky laugh. One hand rests on your hip, fingers drawing lazy circles across your skin. It’s too dark to tell with only the moonlight from your open curtains illuminating the room, but if you had to guess, you would say that he’s blushing. It takes practically nothing to make him blush, a fact that you often take full advantage of because you think he looks pretty when he blushes.

“And were you right?”

“About which part?” You murmur, your hand stilling against his chest.

He gives a half shrug, hesitating just long enough for you to know exactly what he’s asking without him saying it. “The part about me being good in bed,” he says instead, with no trace of his normal humor in his voice.

“Frank.” You cup his face in your hand, swallowing down the answer to the question he won’t ask. “You know you are.”

It wasn’t a lie. He’s more than good. He’s the best you’ve ever had, and that’s exactly why you’re blind to the most damning way the lines begin to blur.

What started as stress relief, as a coping mechanism for a shit day, turned into something that started to feel less like an escape from reality and more like something that feels terrifyingly like love.

Just coworkers with benefits turned friends with benefits don’t stare into each other’s eyes during sex like they’re trying to see into each other’s souls. They don’t touch you, hold you, and kiss you like you’re their lifeline. Like you’re the air they need to breathe.

They definitely don’t call you baby when they’re telling you to come for them.

But then Frank goes and does just that.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Frank’s hips slam into yours, repeatedly hitting that sweet spot deep inside you that makes you croon his name against the sweat-slicked skin of his throat.

You weren’t supposed to come over tonight. He had come to your place last night, and the two of you have never hooked up two nights in a row before.

You’ve also never hooked up when his children are sleeping in their bedrooms just down the hallway.

But he called you, right as you were leaving the hospital, and told you that he wants to see you. That he misses you. He even said please in a low, sleepy voice that made heat bloom down your spine.

And you pictured him - skin flushed and dewy from his shower and dark gray sweats hanging low on his hips - and then next thing you knew, you were driving the route to his apartment that has become as familiar as the route to your own.

He noticed you were tired as soon as you walked in. Laid you down in his bed, undressed you, and kissed down your body until stopping between your thighs, where he spent even more time than he usually does - so much time, in fact, that your legs were shaking around his head when you pulled him up to you by the tops of his arms and all but begged him to fuck you.

And he did. Is.

Sounds of flesh on flesh and his bed frame creaking fill the room as your nails scrape down the skin of his back and his teeth dig into the meat of your shoulder, the familiar fiery coil in your core dangerously close to snapping again.

“Frank,” you breathe, voice unrecognizable. “Fuck, I’m close. I need - I’m gonna—”

He gently shushes your incoherent babbling, slanting his lips over yours with a sloppy, open mouth kiss that makes you cry into his mouth.

“I know,” he grunts low and breathless when he pulls away. Skilled, slender fingers find the swollen bundle between your folds, coaxing you to climax. “I can feel it. Squeezing me so fuckin’ tight. You’re so close, just let go for me, baby.”

The foreign pet name falls from his lips so effortlessly that it sends you over the edge - warms you from head to toe, white-hot pleasure coursing through you as he fucks you through your orgasm and his own.

Baby, baby, baby.

You barely register the fact that he pulls out and collapses beside you on his mattress, his thigh brushing against yours.

Every nerve in your body vibrates with the typical post-coital blend of oxytocin and serotonin but the bliss is background noise to the word he’d murmured so pretty against your skin.

It flashes in your mind like a neon sign. Baby.

Suddenly, everything leading up to this moment begins to play like a highlight reel.

The touches that linger for a split-second too long, the random texts throughout the day, the just because kisses that don’t necessarily lead to sex, your favorite vending machine snack randomly appearing on your desk at work when you’re having a hard day, how you know his go-to take-out order by heart, baby, baby, baby—

You bolt upright, cutting Frank off in the middle of a sentence that you hadn’t registered a single syllable of. You throw your legs over the side of the bed, reaching down to pick your underwear and scrubs up off the floor.

“Uh—” He lets out a soft, confused laugh. “You okay?”

You pull your shirt over your head, unable to bring yourself to look at him. “Yeah,” you say, your voice unnaturally high. “It’s just late. I’ve got work in the morning, so I should get going.”

“O…kay,” he draws the word out, obviously unconvinced. “You sure that’s all it is?”

You jump up, yanking your pants into place. “Yep. Just tired.”

He’s silent for a moment, as if trying to gauge the sudden shift in your demeanor. Then, he clears his throat. “I mean, if you’re tired, you can sleep here. Probably shouldn’t drive—”

“What the hell are we doing, Frank?”

He pushes himself up on one elbow, eyebrows knitting together. “What are we doing?” He repeats. “Same thing we’ve been doing for the last few months, I thought.”

You’re shaking your head before he can finish the sentence.

“It’s not the same. It’s not the same and you know it.”

He sits up straighter, blue eyes boring into you like he’s trying to read your mind. It feels like an eternity before he speaks again, and when he does, his voice is low and restrained. “Where is this coming from?”

You make a vague, exasperated gesture with your hands. “It’s coming from…all of it. You call two nights in a row and I come running. People at work are starting to talk because we barely even try to hide it. Your kids are sleeping right down the hall and you’re offering to let me spend the night—”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupts gently. He exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “Okay. You’re right,” he admits. “Things aren’t exactly the same. Haven’t been for a while now.” He pauses, the intensity of his stare keeping you glued to the spot where you stand next to his bed. “I just don’t see why that’s a bad thing.”

Your chest constricts at the way he doesn’t try to argue. Doesn’t get defensive, just wants to understand.

“Because it was never supposed to be…this.” Your gaze drops to the floor. “It was supposed to be casual. No strings attached. No feelings. But now?” You look back up to find him still staring at you, jaw clenched. You mentally will your voice to stay level, but emotion still slips through. “Cuddling all night then having breakfast with your children in the morning? Calling me baby like I’m yours? That’s not casual, Frank. That’s—”

He cuts you off with an incredulous laugh. “That’s what this is about?” He pushes the covers off of him, grabbing his underwear as he jumps out of bed to yank them on. “Me calling you baby?”

You’re silent as he walks over to you, stopping when his still bare chest is just inches from yours. He looks at you, unblinking, as he waits for you to answer.

You stare up at him, offering a small shrug. “Tell me it didn’t mean anything. Tell me it just slipped out and meant nothing and I’ll let this go.”

He lets out a breathy, humorless laugh and shakes his head. “I’m not going to lie so you can stay in your comfort zone,” he says, voice dangerously low. “It wasn’t just a slip. I called you baby because that’s what you are to me. I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear, but at least be honest with yourself about why it upsets you.”

His words hit you square in the chest, knocking the air from your lungs and causing you to take a small, involuntary step back. “And why exactly do you think it upsets me?”

He leans in slightly, his eyes darkening. “Let me ask you this. Are you really that pissed off that I called you baby? Or are you upset that me calling you baby made you come harder than I’ve ever felt you come?”

You laugh at that. Cackle, really. Louder than you probably should at this hour when his children are sleeping with only walls in between you.

“Wow,” you exhale. “Okay.” You nod. “You’re a dick, and I am leaving.”

You don’t wait for a response before you’re grabbing your tennis shoes and bag off of his floor, not even bothering to put the shoes on your feet before storming out of the bedroom and making a beeline for the front door.

You’re aware of footsteps trailing after you, of Frank calling your name in a desperate whisper-shout, but you don’t stop. You aren’t thinking, you aren’t processing what just transpired, you just want to go back to your place, scream into a pillow, and hope that when you wake up in the morning, your heart is no longer doing gymnastics in your fucking ribcage.

“Please,” he breathes, his hand blanketing yours over the doorknob when you go to turn it. “Hear me out for just a second, okay?”

You don’t look up. His palm feels like wildfire against your skin and your brain is screaming at you to yank your hand away but you’re frozen in place.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he starts, voice a notch above a whisper. “If you want to leave, you can leave. But I can’t let you walk out of here thinking that this is still just sex to me. It was at first. I don’t know exactly when that changed for me, but it did. And I think it did for you, too.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. All of the words that you know you should probably say pile up in your throat.

I can’t be what you want me to be. I don’t know how.

I’m scared of hurting you. I’m scared of getting hurt.

It’s easier for me to shut down than to admit how I really feel.

I don’t remember how to let someone in. I wish I could.

For you, I wish I could.

You swallow them all down.

But you don’t tell him he’s wrong, either.

“I’ll see you at work, Frank.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Though the cravings have yet to subside, Frank is now a month sober from the exact thing his therapist had warned him about in the earliest days of his recovery.

Unlike when he got clean from benzos, this specific brand of newfound sobriety isn’t his choice. It’s yours.

He would never choose this for himself.

But still, he has surprised himself. Hasn’t reached out, no matter how much he has wanted to. Hasn’t texted you, no matter how many drafts he’s typed and deleted. Hasn’t called, even though it has killed him inside to watch your name get lower and lower in his call history. He’s given you space at work and has only talked to you when it pertains directly to a case.

He’s hated every fucking second of it, but he can officially say that he is thirty days clean. If the past thirty days have taught him anything, though, it’s this: he’d happily fall back into old habits, if only you’d give him the chance.

Because it isn’t the sex that he misses most. The sex doesn’t even crack the top ten things he thinks about when he’s trying to fall asleep at night.

It’s the way you’d occasionally forget a hair clip or chapstick on his bedside table and he’d find little pieces of you when you weren’t around and smile. It’s the way he’d get a text from you when he least expected it. It’s the way you’d ask about his children, and make a point to celebrate his recovery milestones even when he didn’t.

And now he’s here, thirty days without you, and one thing has become abundantly clear to him: he didn’t fall back into addiction, he fell in love.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

The news comes on a random Tuesday.

Temple University Hospital. Philadelphia. An internal medicine based fellowship you had impulsively applied for the night after you slept with Frank for the last time.

You had already made peace with the fact you weren’t going to get it. Didn’t think you even stood a chance, really, and you were okay with that. You had already been offered a pediatrics fellowship here in Pittsburgh, anyway.

Then the email appears in your inbox on a random Tuesday morning while you’re at work.

Suddenly, you have what most doctors approaching the end of their residencies don’t have: options.

And because you can’t talk to the one person you most (selfishly) want to talk to about it all, you talk to Cassie, instead.

“Wait. Temple?” She exclaims. “As in Philadelphia? I didn’t even know you had applied! What happened to pediatrics here in Pittsburgh?”

You sigh, taking a seat on the concrete curb in the ambulance bay. “It was really last minute. I didn’t say anything because I really didn’t think I’d get it. And as for the peds fellowship…” You shrug. “I don’t know what I’ll do now.”

“Oh my god,” she laughs, sitting down beside you. “That’s amazing. Do you know how hard it is to get into that program? They’re crazy selective.”

You force a smile. “I know.”

Cassie’s smile falters into concern. “Why does it seem like you aren’t thrilled about this?”

“I am,” you answer way too quickly, hugging your knees. “I’m just…surprised, that’s all. It’s big news.”

She stares at you as if you’re a patient who’s lying to her about how much pain they’re in. “You sure that’s all?”

Before you can bullshit a response, the automatic doors to the hospital slide open, and the very reason that you find it impossible to jump for joy right now steps outside.

He’s saying something to an EMS worker, completely oblivious to you watching him from across the bay, but the mere sight of him makes your heartbeat stutter and palms go clammy.

“I’m sure,” you force out, your eyes still glued to Frank. “It’s just…”

“Just…?” Cassie prompts, then follows your gaze. A few seconds of heavy silence pass between you before the pieces click into place. “Oh.”

You nod slowly, your throat tightening. “Yeah. Oh.”

She clicks her tongue. “So that’s why you submitted a last minute application for a fellowship in Philly.”

You can’t deny it. Not when you know she’s right. Not when you’re staring right at him with every feeling you’ve been trying to bury since the very first time you kissed him bubbling to the surface.

“I really fucked things up, Cass.”

You finally look away from him, your eyes burning with the threat of all of the unshed tears that you’ve refused to let spill for the last month.

“Between you and Langdon?” She asks gently.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I completely shut down the second things started to get real. He told me how he felt and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that I feel the same. I just ran like I always do and…”

“And now you’re thinking about running to Philadelphia.”

Again, you can’t even deny it. Not in any way that would be halfway convincing.

“Temple would be a great opportunity,” you mumble instead, looking down at your shoe.

Cassie purses her lips. “It would be,” she agrees. “But moving five hours away isn’t going to magically erase your feelings. You have great opportunities here, too. And I don’t just mean peds.”

She nods in Frank’s direction. You glance back over to where he still stands chatting with the EMS worker. At the same moment, he looks up and his blue eyes meet yours.

You exhale, hoping that he doesn’t have a hidden talent for reading lips. “I don’t know if he even wants to talk to me at this point.”

She snorts. “Please. If the way he’s been moping around like a dejected puppy for the last month means anything, then you have nothing to worry about.” She pauses. “Look, if you really want to go to Philly, then I’ll help you pack. But if you’re gonna go, go for the right reasons. Not because facing your feelings scares you more than the thought of moving three hundred miles away.”

You hate that she’s right. But not as much as you hate the fact that you know she’s right, and still might take the easy way out, anyway.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

What hurts Frank more than anything is that he doesn’t hear the news directly from you.

He isn’t supposed to hear it at all, actually. He only finds out because he happens to be standing a few feet away at the nurse’s station, and Victoria’s voice carries.

“I heard about your fellowship offer from Temple,” Victoria practically sings. “That’s amazing. I’m so happy for you. Internal medicine, right?”

Frank doesn’t even look up from his tablet at first. He isn’t sure who Victoria is talking to, but he has no reason to believe it’s you. You didn’t apply to any fellowships in internal medicine. You’ve always been interested in going into emergency pediatrics—

“Oh—” Your nervous laugh causes Frank’s eyes to shoot up. Your back is to him, so he can’t see your facial expression. “Yeah, thanks,” you tell Victoria, your voice an octave higher than it typically is.

He doesn’t register the rest of the conversation because of a shrill ringing in his ears that makes him bolt to the restroom.

It’s been one month since his last legitimate conversation with you, and now you’re moving to Philadelphia? For a fellowship in internal medicine, which you’ve never expressed interest in during all the years you’ve worked together or months you slept together?

And you didn’t even tell him yourself. He heard it from Victoria talking so loudly that patients in fucking triage probably heard the news.

Not that you owe him anything. Of course you don’t have to run your life decisions by him. He was just blindsided is all.

Blindsided, and more devastated than he probably has any right to be.

He wishes he could be as happy for you as Victoria is. But no matter how much Frank works on himself, no matter how much time he spends in therapy or how many self-help books he reads, he’s always been a selfish man when he’s in love.

But you aren’t his to be selfish over. He knows this. He’s painfully aware of it every time he sees you at work and every time he feels your absence when he’s alone at night.

So when he sees you walking to your car in the parking garage after work that night, he tries to do the right thing even though it feels wrong.

“So, Philly?”

You come to a halt beside your car, slowly turning around to face him. You purse your lips in the way that Frank knows that you normally do when you’re nervous, adjusting your bag over your shoulder.

“You heard about that, huh?”

Frank stops a couple feet away from you, one hand on the strap of his backpack and one crammed in his pants pocket. “Yeah, Javadi doesn’t exactly whisper.”

“Ah,” you breathe. Then, with a small laugh, “No, I suppose she doesn’t.”

An awkward beat of silence passes between you as it dawns on Frank that this is damn near exactly where he stood months ago when you first kissed him. The realization makes his gaze flash to your lips.

God, what the hell is he doing?

He clears his throat and starts to take a step back. “Well, I just wanted to say congratulations. Temple will be really lucky to have you—”

“I haven’t decided anything yet,” you interject quickly, the words nearly running together. “I just found out yesterday so I…I don’t really know what I’m going to do yet.”

Frank hopes that his face doesn’t show the sudden relief he feels to hear of your indecision.

“But I’m sorry you found out that way,” you add in a smaller voice, not meeting his eye. “I was going to tell you, once I made a decision.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says softly. “You don’t owe me anything. I just want you to be happy. Even if it’s not here.” He pauses and adds the words that taste like bile when they leave his mouth. “Even if it’s not with me.”

But goddamn, do I wish it was, he thinks.

A storm of different emotions flicker across your face in the span of about two seconds. For one of them, Frank thinks you might step toward him.

But it’s just wishful thinking, or maybe the shitty parking garage lighting.

“Thank you, Frank.”

Anything else he could possibly say would be solely for his own benefit, so he nods.

And he doesn’t want to risk ruining the moment, knowing there’s a chance that he may not have many more with you.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

The words on the screens in front of you bleed together.

The email you received yesterday morning from Temple University Hospital is open on your laptop screen. The iPad in your hands displays UPMC Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh’s website.

You’ve scanned and scrolled as if the answer you’re searching for will appear in bold letters across one of the screens, but since you got home from work a few hours ago, the only decision you’ve succeeded in making is chamomile over peppermint tea.

You thought taking a hot shower might help you clear your mind. All that resulted in was remembering all of the times that you ended up at Frank’s or he ended up at yours after work and you’d shower together, washing off the long day with your hands and lips on each other the entire time.

After cutting your shower short, you figured eating something other than a protein bar would help you gain at least a little mental clarity - but then you opened your fridge to see leftover takeout from the Italian place down the road that you know Frank likes, and completely lost your appetite.

The following hours weren’t much different.

Put on body lotion - remembered how much Frank loved the smell of it. Turned on music - the first fucking song that played on shuffle was by an artist that Frank introduced you to. Searched through a pile of laundry for a cardigan - found a t-shirt Frank accidentally left at your place over a month ago that you can’t bring yourself to give back to him.

He’s still everywhere. It’s been a month and he’s still occupying spaces that he hasn’t been in weeks. In your apartment and in your brain and in your heart.

And to top it all off, the words that he had said to you in the parking garage tonight won’t stop replaying in your head.

I just want you to be happy. Even if it’s not here. Even if it’s not with me.

But what if it is? What if it is here? What if it is with him?

You sigh, rubbing your eyes, but it does little to improve the quality of the words on the screens in front of you. Maybe, if you put on your reading glasses, everything will become clear to—

Your hand freezes on a piece of paper in your bedside table drawer as you’re searching for your glasses.

A bright blue, wrinkled sticky note. You don’t even have to flip it over to remember what it says but you do, anyway.

Stop overthinking. You made the right call. You always do.

Also, stop scowling.

Frank’s handwriting. He’d scribbled the words, crumpled the paper up, and flicked it at you across your desks while charting after a particularly brutal trauma that he knew you were beating yourself up over.

It had been the first thing to make you smile that whole day. It was a reminder that you desperately needed at that moment. And it was from Frank. Of course you kept it.

And now here it is. At the exact moment you so desperately need that reminder once again.

Stop overthinking.

So that’s exactly what you do. You stop overthinking, and do what you should have done a long time ago.

He’s probably already asleep, but you put on your shoes.

There’s a voice in the back of your mind telling you that you’re probably too late, but you grab your car keys and make the short drive to his place.

And there’s a tight ball of anxiety in the pit of your stomach that begs you to turn around, but you raise your hand and knock on his front door.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Frank is convinced that he must be dreaming.

He didn’t actually hear a knock and open his front door to you standing outside at midnight.

There’s no way this isn’t his subconscious playing some cruel joke on him. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve appeared in his dreams, but it is by far the most realistic he’s had. He can feel the chill of the night wind as it blows the familiar scent of your body lotion in his direction and it is all so, so lifelike.

It doesn’t register that he is very much awake and you are very much here until you speak.

“Shit.”

It’s the first word out of your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” you huff. “Are the kids here right now? I hope I didn’t wake them up. I didn’t really think this through. I just got in my car and drove here before I could chicken out because I’m tired of chickening out and—”

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, stepping over the threshold of his doorway. He almost reaches out and touches you, but stops himself at the last second.

You’re here. You’re actually fucking here right now. It’s the middle of the night and you’re in your pajamas and slippers and he has no idea what you’re talking about, but you’re here.

“What’s going on?” He asks gently, unable to keep obvious concern from his tone. “It’s…after midnight. Is everything okay?”

You nod. “Everything is fine. I’m sorry to freak you out. I just…I told you that I was going to tell you whenever I came to a decision.”

Frank stares at you, his mouth slightly agape. You did say that…approximately five hours ago.

The shock and the hope he had initially felt upon realizing that you’re standing on his front porch is quickly replaced with dread at what you might say next.

He swallows, his voice rough. “So…you made a decision, then? About Philadelphia?”

Another nod, followed by a smile that he can’t quite read. “Philly sounds great. I mean…the Eagles, the Liberty Bell…cheesesteaks.” Your shoulders lift in a small shrug. “And the internal medicine program at Temple would be a really great opportunity.”

Frank drops your gaze, bracing for what surely comes next.

“But Philadelphia does not have the guy that I love.”

His eyes shoot back up. You’re staring at him, eyes wide and closer to tears than he thinks he’s ever seen from you. Before he can speak, you take a step closer and he forgets how to breathe.

“It doesn’t have you.”

Frank knows it defies all science and logic, but he swears the entire city freezes around you two right then and there.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt before his brain has a chance to catch up. “Frank, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have walked out on you like I did. I shouldn’t have shut you out, I shouldn’t have taken this long to get my head out of my ass—”

“Hey—” he tries gently, but you’re on a roll now.

“—and I should have told you that you were right. It wasn’t just sex to me, either. I don’t think it ever really was. And I get it if I’m too late. I get it if you can’t give me another chance. But I’m not going anywhere, I’m done running away from what I feel, and if I have to prove every day that I love—”

That’s it. He won’t listen to another word.

Not that he doesn’t love the sound of them coming from your lips because goddamn, he does. Every word, every apology, every promise you’re willing to give, Frank will take.

But he can’t just stand here and watch the way your hands are starting to shake and listen to your voice begin to tremble when every part of him that has missed you for the last month screams at him to pull you close, so that’s exactly what he does.

It only takes a fraction of a second for you to process that his lips are moving against yours.

Your hands fly to his hair, his own dropping from your face to your waist to pull you flush against him. You gasp into his mouth, a pretty noise that Frank is happy to swallow down. It takes no time at all for the kiss to turn fervent, a clash of tongue and teeth that makes him grateful that it’s the dead of night and all of his neighbors are asleep.

“—you,” you finish when you reluctantly break apart, your breath warm against his lips. “I love you.”

The three words are everything he’s been waiting to hear since the first night you kissed him. He just didn’t know it at the time.

“I love you, too, baby,” he murmurs low. A smirk forms on his kiss-swollen lips. “It is okay that I call you that now, right?”

You let out a sound that is half laugh, half sob at the words. You grab his face in your hands and pull him down again for one more kiss, this one shorter but just as sweet.

“Please,” you sigh, smiling up at him. “Because you weren’t wrong about the effect it has on me.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

thank you so much for reading. if you comment/reblog i love you forever n ever 💗💗💗

[erimyya]

Masterlist

Within the Sun’s Embrace

Summary: You’re a survivor within this madness call scenarios. A madness where you’re force to clear the various scenarios made to entertain the higher beings. Running and fighting against monsters and humans alike. The scenarios twisted and tested your morality in the name of writing a grandiose story. However despite the madness wilting away your sanity and fueling your hatred toward it, a certain constellation had been there from the beginning. Watching over you, lending you a helping hand without asking much in return.

Pairing: Constellation!Phainon/Khaslana x f!reader

Tags: Modern au, orv au, alternative universe(cannon-diversion), slow-burn, blood and violence, cursing, murder, suggestive, explicit content, questionable morality.

Chapters:

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6]

[zeka-maki]

ʚɞ All this running around, tryin' to cover my shadow ʚɞ

⚘ Pairings: Elio x Reader

⚘ Summery: Years after years, you've chased after a man who was nothing a shadow— a figure formed in the words of the Stellaron Hunters. Empty trails, false hopes and in the end, you'd been led to this sinkhole of filthy money and work disguised as a café. All to meet him— Elio, of the Stellaron Hunters. What you thought would be an interrogation, turned out to be an invitation to the end.

⚘ Tags: SFW, long fic, written before anything is known about him, Galaxy Ranger!Reader, themes of mind games and justice, kinda criminal x detective trope, Elio's words are ambiguous, possible one sided pining, romantic (?) tension, he's lowk a freak

⚘ A/N: did i have to sneak in sprinkles of Ashveil? Yes. Uhhh hopefully that is Elio pls i want this to be Elio, uhhhh back to Ashveil

The café wore luxury like a mask. By daylight, it glittered—crystal glasses chiming softly, velvet drapes drawn just enough to let in curated sunlight, laughter exchanged between people who never spoke plainly. But midnight stripped it bare. The performances ended. The illusions thinned. What remained was a place where wealth whispered to power, where names were traded in low voices and no one lingered longer than necessary.

Tonight, even that life had been erased. There was no staff members in sight, no patrons. No sound but the distant hum of the city beyond the tall windows. It felt less like a café and more like a stage, cleared for a single scene.

You stepped inside anyway. Each footfall echoed too clearly against polished floors, your senses sharpening out of habit—years of pursuit carved into instinct. Every rumor, every intercepted transmission, every carefully unraveled lie tied back to the Stellaron Hunters had led you here.

To him.

And just as expected, Elio was already waiting. He sat by the window, one arm resting loosely against the table, the faint glow of the city outlining his silhouette. There was no tension in him, no sign of urgency or caution. If anything, he looked… composed. As though this moment had long since been decided, and he had merely arrived on time.

He didn’t turn when you approached. You assumed he didn’t need to. “…You’re later than expected,” he said, his voice quiet but precise, cutting cleanly through the silence.

You slowed for half a second—just enough to register the weight of it—before continuing forward, your gaze fixed on him.

“Don’t act like you didn’t plan this,” you replied, your tone steady, though your hand remained close to your weapon. “You knew I’d be here.”

A brief pause followed. Then, finally, he turned his head. His eyes met yours, the quiet intensity almost takes you off guard. There was no surprise in them. No calculation you could read. But a calm, unsettling awareness— as if he had already seen you standing there, already heard those exact words.

“…Yes,” he answered simply.

You stopped across from him, the table a thin, meaningless barrier. “You cleared the place out,” you continued, your voice lowering slightly as you took in the emptiness around you. “No staff, no witnesses. What— afraid someone might hear something they shouldn’t?”

“Not afraid,” he said, his tone even, almost absent of emotion as his gaze drifted briefly toward the darkened room. “Unnecessary.”

The word lingered. Unnecessary. As if the world itself had been trimmed down to only what mattered, to only this moment.

To you.

You didn’t sit, not yet. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of an 'arranged meeting' he so hoped for. You didn't want to calmly negotiate with a criminal who left bloodstains with each step he took.

This was not what the Galaxy Rangers taught you.

“Enough of this,” you said, your patience thinning as years of frustration pressed at the edges of your restraint. “I want answers.”

There was the faintest shift in his posture—subtle, but deliberate, like a piece on a board being acknowledged rather than moved.

“To what extent?” he asked, tilting his head just slightly, his voice carrying a quiet curiosity that felt… wrong.

Your jaw tightened. Slight impatience began to flare up within you— perhaps this was what you inherited from La Mancha, this restlessness at the lack of answers. (Ashveil sneak ik)

“The Stellaron Hunters,” you began, each word measured. “Their operations. Their goals. The damage they leave behind.” Your gaze sharpened. “The Aeons. And the Astral Express—what role they play in whatever you’re orchestrating.”

For a moment, silence loomed over and he said nothing. Then, a soft hum escaped him, thoughtful, almost idle.

“Mm.” Not an answer, not even an attempt at one.

You stepped closer, the tension in your shoulders tightening. “Don’t do that,” you said, your voice cutting through the quiet.

“Do what?” he asked, his gaze returning to you, unbothered.

“Act like you’re thinking about it,” you snapped. “You already know what you’re going to say.”

A pause. You can almost catch a glimpse of the smile that graced his lips for a faint moment. “…Correct.”

The admission came easily. Too easily for someone who's escaped from your grasp for so long. Silence stretched between you, heavy with everything unsaid.

“Sit.” An abrupt command, this time laced with finality. The word was soft, but there was no room for refusal in it.

Your eyes flickered to the chair across from him. Every instinct resisted. Every lesson told you to remain standing, to keep control, to never lower yourself in front of someone like him.

And yet, you pulled the chair back and sat. Up close, he was worse. Not imposing, not threatening in any obvious way but the underlying intent in every word he spoke told you more than he wanted to let you know.

This certainty in his voice— as if nothing you could do here would change anything. Like this entire conversation had already happened somewhere beyond your reach—and you were only now catching up to it.

“You’ve been following me for a long time,” he said, his voice quieter now, more focused.

You let out a short breath, almost scoffing as you leaned back slightly. “You mean I’ve been trying to catch you.”

“No,” he corrected gently, his gaze steady. “Following.”

The distinction settled uneasily in your chest. “You let me get this far,” you said, the realization surfacing fully now.

It was not a question but an observation. You've traveled around planets after planets, going after any traces you had received, all for this moment.

Elio's answer didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” A short answer you had a feeling you'd be hearing for a while.

Your fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table. “…Why?” you asked, your voice lower than before, edged with something sharper than anger.

He regarded you in silence, his gaze unreadable. “…I was curious,” he answered in nonchalance.

Your brows drew together. “Curious,” you repeated, disbelief threading through your tone.

“Yes,” he continued, as if the word alone was sufficient. “Most outcomes deviate minimally. Predictable variables. Predictable conclusions.” His eyes held yours, unblinking. “You were… persistent.”

“You call this curiosity?” you shot back, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve destroyed lives. Interfered with entire systems. People die because of the Stellaron Hunters.”

“I am aware,” he replied, his tone unchanged. There was no guilt present in those words, no defense. A sentence filled with so much apathy it almost disgusted you.

Your patience snapped. “Then answer me properly,” you demanded.

A longer pause this time. The air felt tighter, like something unseen had shifted between you.

“No.” The word was quiet. Final and unmovable.

Your chair scraped softly as you pushed it back, frustration breaking through. “Then what was the point of this?” you demanded, your voice rising slightly. “You sit here, wait for me, and you won’t even—”

“I didn’t bring you here for answers.” Your words cut off instantly.

Silence fell again. Now a heavy and pressing ache. Slowly, he leaned back, his posture relaxed in a way that only made your tension sharper.

“I wanted to see something,” he stated, his ocean gaze casted upon you.

Your eyes narrowed. “What?”

A brief pause. Then, he answered simply: “…You.”

The word settled between you, quieter than everything that came before it—and somehow heavier.

Your grip tightened. “That’s not funny.” Your eyes bore into his, the pupils that spoke of millions of possibilities, you knew he was leading you somewhere.

“I’m not attempting humor.” The confession is apathetic, one the universe could get around with an issue but it still fueled your restlessness.

The city lights flickered faintly behind him, casting shifting shadows across his expression. For the first time, something in his gaze felt… focused in a different way. Not detached or distant but present.

“You’ve reached a point where most would stop,” he continued, his voice lowering slightly. “Or fail.”

Your breath slowed, just a fraction.

“You didn’t.”

You exhaled sharply. “So what? You’re evaluating me now?”

“In a sense.”

You straightened, resolve hardening again. “Then here’s your evaluation,” you said coldly. “You’re a criminal. And I’m here to bring you in.”

He took a moment to look at you— truly look at you, the unnerving intensity set in his gaze now amplified a thousand times stronger. “You won’t.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “…Excuse me?”

Elio didn’t move. Nor did he reach for anything. “You won’t,” he repeated, his tone calm, certain. A conclusion you were forced to bear, not even an observation.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you said, your voice tightening.

“No,” he replied softly. “You already have.”

The words lingered, unsettling in a way you couldn’t immediately place. Then, he leaned forward. Enough that the distance between you felt intentional.

“There is a point,” he said quietly, “at which all paths converge.”

Your breath caught, barely.

“And when that point is reached… a choice is made.”

Your gaze hardened. “I’ve already made mine.”

“Not yet.”

Any slight distraction could've allowed you to miss this— the fact that Elio hesitated. It was slight and nearly imperceptible. But it was there.

“…When that moment comes,” he continued, his voice softer now, something deeper threaded beneath the certainty, “I want to know—”

He paused, his hand reaching forward— not to touch you but linger by your side. “Will you walk to the end… with me?”

The question settled into the silence like something irreversible. It was not a command disguised as a prediction. The words seemed something dangerously close to a request.

Your breath faltered for a second. You stared at him, trying to reconcile the absurdity of it—the weight of everything he was, everything he had done—with the quiet way he asked it.

You knew this was natural to him— this inevitability he bore but it wasn't to you. Not for a Galaxy Ranger who carved their own path, be it narrow.

“You’re insane,” you said finally, your voice lower now, less certain than before.

“Possibly,” he replied, without denial.

You stood, the chair scraping softly against the floor. “This ends with you in custody.”

“No.” Again, with that same certainty.

Your hand moved instinctively—but stopped. Because something felt wrong. You looked at him again. At how he hadn’t moved. Resistance failed him and he had yet to try to leave.

“…You’re not planning to escape,” you said slowly, a conclusion you had reached.

“No.” The Stellaron Hunter answered once more. His answers were certain yet they were presented in a way that would fall your composure to be faltered— you had caught that, like a wolf's keen eyes catching a trap.

“Because you don’t need to,” you realized, your voice quieter now.

“Yes.”

Silence stretched between you one last time, now you were the one to break it. “…This isn’t where it ends,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

“No,” he agreed softly. His head tilted and he stared up at you, a hint of intrigue lingering in those ocean eyes.

You knew this was all just an arrangement for the meeting— you would not receive any answers no matter how much you persisted. This meeting was for his benefits, to see you, to study you akin to a butterfly under a microscope. And as you turned, caught between duty and something far more dangerous—

His voice followed you like a quiet ghost that only spoke of the unavoidable.

“I’ll ask you again,” he stated with finality, not even sparing a glance toward you. Then, his voice shifted to something softer and a knowing smile carved itself on his lips. “…when you’re ready to answer.”

For the Prophet of Finality had earned a face he'd look back for once the Paths converged.