Pairing: Dr. Frank Langdon x nurse!reader
Warnings: angst, fall from heights, internal bleeding, medical emergencies, tension.
Summary: A rock climbing accident on your day off leaves you with life threatening injuries. What follows is a race against time at ER, an emergency surgery, and a hospital room confrontation.
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
🎀 based on this request 🎀
The thing about marrying a doctor when you’re a nurse is that you both know exactly how much the human body can endure before it snaps. The other more dangerous thing? You also know exactly how to fake being perfectly fine.
It was supposed to be a standard day off. While Frank was enduring the chaos of the day shift at the hospital, you were out with your crew. They were an adventurous bunch, one who spend a Tuesday scaling a sheer rock face because it was relaxing.
Everything was fine until it wasn't.
You fell. It wasn't a plunge from the peak, thank God, but a sheer fifteen foot drop onto hard earth and jagged rocks was more than enough.
You blacked out for a minute, the world rushing back in a blur of panicked voices and hands on your shoulders.
By the time your friends managed to scramble down to you, the adrenaline was already pumping through your veins, masking the trauma.
"I'm okay! I'm fine, seriously," you insisted, waving them off as you pushed yourself up. Your head spun, and your ribs throbbed, but you forced a laugh to quiet their terror.
Aside from some nasty scrapes and a deep ache, you looked intact.
"Don't call Frank," you ordered them strictly as you patched yourself up with the first aid kit. "He’s in the middle of his shift. I'll tell him tonight."
But you didn't.
By 8 PM, you were back home. The adrenaline had completely evaporated, leaving behind an exhaustion and sickening ache in your abdomen.
When Frank walked through the door, you offered him a weak smile from the couch, murmuring something about being tired from the hike, and told him you were going to take a hot shower to wash off the dirt.
Frank kissed the top of your head, completely unaware of the slight wince you hid against his chest. "Don't be too long, baby. I missed you," he murmured, heading to the kitchen to scrounge up some dinner.
While setting his keys on the counter, his phone buzzed.
Then it buzzed again.
It was a text from one of your friends.
Hey Frank, just checking in. Is she doing okay? She took a really nasty fall off the rock face today and knocked herself out for a second.
She swore she was fine and made us promise not to call you, but I've been feeling sick about it all night. Please tell me she's okay.
Frank’s blood turned to ice.
Knocked herself out? Fall?
His thumb smashed the call button before his brain could even process the panic. The friend answered on the first ring, sounding guilty.
"Frank, I—"
"How far did she fall?" Frank’s voice was authoritative. "Tell me exactly what happened. Now."
"About fifteen feet. Her rope snapped. She hit the ground hard, Frank. She was unconscious for at least a full minute, maybe two. But she woke up, got right up, and refused to go to the ER. She said she just had some scrapes..."
Frank didn't hear the rest. He immediately connected the dots. Blunt force trauma.
Brief loss of consciousness followed by a lucid interval.
Internal bleeding. Epidural hematoma.
"Baby?!" he roared, his voice cracking with terror.
He put the phone on his pocket and bolted down the hallway, throwing the bathroom door open. The room was thick with steam, the shower running at full blast, but you weren't under the stream.
You were collapsed against the wall. The hot water had washed away the dirt, exposing deep purple and black contusions mottling your entire right side and ribs.
Your eyes were open, but they were glossy and unfocused. The sudden drop in blood pressure from the hot water had completely betrayed your compromised body.
"Frank..." you breathed."J-Just got... dizzy..."
For a second, the fear of a husband seeing his wife bleeding and broken threatened to paralyze him. The panic was shoved into a corner of his mind; he had to save you first. He could break down later.
He was beside in an instant, turning off the shower.
"Okay, I've got you," he muttered. His fingers pressed against your carotid artery, your pulse was thready and dangerously fast.
He gently tilted your chin up, checking your pupils. One was sluggish.
"Frank," you whispered, your eyelids fluttering closed.
"Baby, hey, open your eyes, look at me," he commanded. He grabbed his phone from his pocket, dialing emergency and putting it on speaker, dropping it on the bathroom counter.
"This is Dr. Frank Langdon, I need an ambulance to my house," he barked at the dispatcher, never breaking eye contact with you. He rattled off your address, your symptoms, and his suspected diagnosis without a single tremor in his voice.
He grabbed a towel, gently wrapping it around your shivering shoulders, careful not to pressure your battered ribs. With one arm under your legs and one behind your back, he lifted you and laid you down on the cold bathroom floor.
"Keep your eyes open, baby, please." Frank pleaded, his hands cupping your face. "You stubborn, foolish woman... why didn't you tell me?"
"Tired..." you mumbled, your head rolling slightly against his palm.
"I know you are, but you have to stay awake. Let's count to 100, okay? Count with me, please."
As the distant wail of sirens finally began to echo in the night air, Frank held your face in his hands, fighting a silent battle against the dark to keep you with him.
-
Frank stayed by your side in the back of the rig, his hand gripping yours so tightly his knuckles were white.
The doors flew open, and the bright lights of the ER hit Frank’s face.
"What do we got?" one of the trauma residents called out, rushing forward with a gurney.
"Blunt force trauma from a fifteen foot fall," Frank barked as he walked alongside the gurney as they wheeled you in. "Brief LOC followed by a lucid interval. GCS is dropping, currently at a nine. Hypotensive, tachycardic, and extensive bruising to the right thoracic wall."
The trauma team immediately went to work, transferring you to the table. Seeing his own wife beneath the harsh resuscitation lights sent a visceral jolt of pure terror straight to Frank's chest.
"Hey, Langdon," Dr. Jack Abbot said, stepping into the bay and gently but firmly placing a hand on Frank's shoulder to stall him. "Frank. We’ve got her. You need to step back."
"Jack, I- I think she’s bleeding internally, her pupil is sluggish—"
"I know. I see it," Jack interrupted, his voice was calm. "Let us do our job. Be her husband, Frank. Let me be her doctor."
It took everything in Frank to take two steps backward, his chest heaving as he watched the team cut away your clothes.
The scans confirmed his worst nightmares: three fractured ribs on your right side, a minor splenic laceration that was thankfully clotting on its own, and the true threat: a brain hemorrhage.
The pressure in your skull was building, and if they didn't drain it immediately, the damage would be irreversible.
"We need to operate. Now," Jack called out, reviewing the scans on the monitor. "Call up to the OR. Tell neuro surgery we're coming up hot. I'm coming with her."
Frank was by your side again. He didn't care who was watching. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his hand gently cupping the uninjured side of your face.
"You fight, okay?" he whispered, his voice trembling, thick with tears he refused to let fall until you were safe. "You are the most stubborn person I have ever met in my life, baby. So use it now."
You couldn't speak, but your fingers gave a microscopic squeeze against his palm before the doors to the elevator slammed shut, taking you up to the operating room.
The next two hours were felt like hell. Frank sat in the surgical waiting room, staring blankly at his hands. Right now, he felt completely helpless. He kept replaying the night in his head, how you had smiled at him, how you had hidden your pain just to spare him a little stress.
If I had just looked closer, he thought, burying his face in his hands. If I hadn't been so tired, I would have seen it.
"Langdon."
He snapped his head up. Jack was walking through the double doors, he looked exhausted, but his expression was soft.
Frank stood up so fast his chair nearly flipped.
He couldn't even form the question.
"She's out," Jack said immediately, offering a reassuring nod. "The burr hole went smoothly. We evacuated the clot and relieved the pressure. The hemorrhage is completely drained, and there’s no sign of rebleeding. Her pupils are equal and reactive."
Frank let out a breath.
"The ribs are going to hurt like hell for a few weeks, and they're going to keep her sedated for the rest of the night to let her brain rest," Jack continued, clapping a hand on Frank's shoulder. "But she’s going to make a full recovery, Frank. Go see her."
The ICU room was quiet, saved for the sound of your heart monitor.
Frank sat in the armchair pulled flush against your bedside. He had your hand enveloped in both of his, pressing it against his lips. You looked peaceful now, the deathly pallor replaced by a healthier flush, sleeping off the heavy anesthesia.
He knew that when you woke up, he was going to give you the lecture of a lifetime about keeping secrets from him.
He was going to remind you exactly how dangerous head injuries were, and he was probably never going to let you go rock climbing again.
Next night, you blinked your eyes open and the lights of the ICU forced you to squint.
"Hey," a soft voice murmured.
You shifted your gaze to the side. Frank was sitting there. His clothes were wrinkled, his jaw was dark with stubble, and his eyes were bloodshot. He immediately leaned forward, kissing your forehead. "Welcome back, baby."
"Frank..." your voice was raspy.
He quickly poured a tiny sip of water from a plastic cup with a straw, holding it to your lips. "Easy. Take it slow."
As the water cleared the fog in your throat, the memories of the bathroom floor and the blinding dizziness came rushing back. You looked at him guiltily. "Why am I here?"
Frank’s expression hardened. "You have three broken ribs. And you had an acute epidural hematoma. Your brain was bleeding. They had to take you up to the OR for an emergency craniotomy to drain the clot and relieve the pressure."
Your eyes went wide. The weight of the medical diagnosis hit your nurse's brain, but then, a sudden realization struck you.
Your hand flew up toward your head, encountering a thick layer of sterile gauze wrapped around your skull.
"Oh my god," you gasped, winced immediately as the movement flared the pain in your broken ribs. "Frank. Oh my god, did they cut my hair?!"
Frank blinked, completely thrown off. Of all the reactions, this was absolutely not on his radar.
"They had to do a burr hole," you stammered, your eyes welling with tragic panic. "You have to shave the scalp to drain a hemorrhage! Frank, am I bald?!"
For a second, Frank just stared at you, utterly bewildered by how quickly you had shifted from a life threatening trauma patient to a woman mourning her haircut. Then, he let out a laugh. The sound thick with unadulterated joy that you were alive and well enough to care about your hair.
"It's not funny!" you protested weakly, pouting. "Tell me the truth!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Frank chuckled, wiping a stray tear of relief from the corner of his eye as he leaned over the bed rail, gently capturing your hand to stop you from picking at the bandages. "You're not bald, I promise. Just a little part. They were very neat, they only shaved a small strip near the incision site. The rest of your hair will cover it right up. You still look beautiful."
You let out a dramatic sigh of relief, sinking back into the pillows, though your eyes narrowed slightly. "You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"
"Doctor's honor," Frank smiled looking at you.
He leaned back in his chair and he couldn't resist a little payback for the sheer terror you had put him through. "Though... now that I think about it, they did mention they had a bit of a slip with the clippers. There might be a random bald patch right at the crown. Kind of looks like a reverse mohawk."
Your jaw dropped. The playful look on his face completely bypassed your foggy post op brain. Combined with the lingering anesthesia, the pain in your ribs, and the emotional exhaustion of the last twenty four hours, the thought of a botched hospital haircut was the final straw.
Your lower lip began to tremble. Your eyes welled up with tears. "A reverse mohawk?" you said, your voice cracking. "Frank, are you serious?"
Frank’s smile vanished in an instant. The teasing persona evaporated, replaced immediately by absolute panic as he realized his joke had completely backfired.
"Oh, baby, no, no, no," he immediately leaned over the bed and gently catched your face in his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I was joking. I swear to you, I was just joking."
"You're lying," you sniffled, a tear slipping down your cheek as you tried not to sob because it hurt your chest.
"I am a terrible liar, you know that," Frank cooed. He used his thumbs to wipe the tears from your cheeks, his heart aching at the sight of your distress. "Your hair is perfect. They didn't slip. There is no mohawk. I was just being an idiot."
He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then another to the tip of your nose, staying close so you could feel the warm comfort of his breath. He carefully combed his fingers through the intact strands of your hair that weren't covered by the gauze, showing you that it was all still there.
"See? It's all here," he murmured. "Every beautiful strand. No more jokes, I promise."
You sniffled one last time, leaning your head heavily into his palms as the panic subsided, replaced by the warm of his affection. "You're terrible," you whispered.
"I know," Frank chuckled softly, pressing his lips to your crown, completely consumed by the relief of having you safe in his arms. "But I'm your terrible husband."
it was super late at night and i was waiting on him to come to bed i think but he was playing a game — so i guess i decided to join him. we were at a desk playing a mafia like game but it looked fortnite style? that’s the best way to describe it. he was sitting kinda reclined in one of those gaming chairs that leans back and the chair was like sideways against the desk. i guess i made myself comfortable in his lap at this point 😛😛😛😛 my legs were like straddling his thighs, my hands on his chest, and my head was laying sideways on my hands. his arms were around my lower back and his hands were right above my ass so he could hold the controller. we literally just sat and talked like that for a while and i was just trying not to fall asleep on him.
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