Caregiver! Frank Langdon and Little! Mel King
A/N: Yes...I know I did Puppy Frank and Little! Mel already but...hear me out. Dada! Frank and Little! Mel?
- Mel is Frank's little sunshine, and you can't convince him otherwise.
- Frank has a dedicated shelf in his apartment that is entirely Mel's. A coloring book she likes, the specific brand of colored pencils she prefers over crayons, and a soft blanket she claimed and never gave back. It happened so gradually he didn't notice until it was already just a fact of his apartment.
- Mel regresses quietly. There's no single moment where it happens - one minute she's fine and the next she's a little smaller, a little softer, trailing behind him and hovering just inside arm's reach. Frank learned to recognize it before she did. He never makes it a thing. He just adjusts.
- Frank always asks before he touches her shoulder, steers her somewhere quieter, or puts a blanket around her. Every time, without fail, even after all this time. Mel has never once had to brace for unexpected contact. He made sure of that without ever turning it into a conversation.
- She doesn't talk much when she's little. Frank is comfortable with silence in a way that surprises people who don't know him well. Sometimes they sit together for a long time and neither of them says anything and it's genuinely the most settled either of them has felt all week.
- Frank keeps a pair of soft over-ear noise-cancelling headphones in his bag now. Not earbuds, but actual good ear defenders. He learned early on that earbuds don't work as well for Mel. He doesn't announce them; he just has them ready.
"Here."
Mel puts them on without comment.
Frank goes back to whatever he was doing.
Ten minutes later, Mel says very quietly, "Thank you."
"Yep."
- Mel loves animals with her whole entire heart when she's little. Zoo days are sacred. She wants to stay at every enclosure twice as long as the sign suggests, and Frank has never once told her it's time to move on. He just stands beside her and looks at whatever she's looking at.
"That one's looking at us."
"Yeah, it is."
"Do you think it likes us?"
Frank considers this seriously. "Probably likes you. Jury's out on me."
Mel thinks about this. "I'll put in a good word."
- She gets very fixated on small, specific things. A duck with a funny walk. A cloud that looks like something. A beetle on a leaf. Frank crouches down and looks with her. Every time.
"Look."
"I see it."
"It's doing something."
"It really is."
- Mel has one stuffed animal she is absolutely devoted to, and she has never explained why. Frank has never asked. It comes everywhere. That's just the rule.
- Outside always helps. Frank figured this out fast. Open air, room to breathe, no overhead fluorescents, no ambient noise bouncing off hospital walls. His first instinct when things get hard is always "let's go somewhere." Usually the park or the zoo. Sometimes just the back steps with a snack.
"Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"Outside."
"Why?"
"Fresh air."
Mel puts her shoes on. She's learned not to argue with fresh air and Frank.
- Frank has a playlist on his phone now labeled simply "Mel" that is nothing but soft instrumental music and one Taylor Swift album she likes. His coworkers have absolutely seen it and said nothing.
"Is that - "
"Don't."
"I'm just saying - "
"I will end this conversation."
- Mel falls asleep on car rides home without meaning to. Frank turns the music down and takes the long way back. He tells himself it's because of traffic. There is no traffic.
- Frank has shown up to a shift with a small butterfly sticker on his lanyard and said nothing about it to anyone. His colleagues have learned not to ask.
"Nice sticker."
"Thank you."
"Did Mel - "
"Have a good shift, Evans."
- She thrives on routine when she's little. Same blanket. Same snack. Same nature documentary she's already seen four times. Frank has it memorized at this point. He puts it on before she asks.
"We're watching the ocean again, aren't we?"
Mel nods, already pulling the blanket up.
"Yeah, okay."
- Hard days have a specific shape now. Quiet apartment. Headphones if she wants them. Whatever she's been fixating on that week - a puzzle or her sketchbook. Frank sits nearby and lets her decompress at her own speed. He stopped trying to talk her through things and started just staying instead. It works better.
- Frank called Mel's sister Becca once to ask what her favorite snacks were. Just to have them on hand. He told nobody about this. Becca told Mel immediately.
"You called Becca."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Frank."
"...She was very helpful."
"What did she tell you?"
"That you have strong opinions about Goldfish crackers."
Mel opens her mouth and closes it. "The pretzel ones are objectively better."
"That's what she said you'd say."
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