can you read my mind, i've been watching you [code blue]
You're not sure emergency medicine is for you. Frank Langdon is out to change that, one shift at a time.
this story is part of my universe 'code blue', which also features robby and jack stories, but each one is entirely individual, and can be read standalone
warnings: 18+ blog, mdni! not a huge amount in this one, canon medical gore, paediatric patient death, panic attack, r2!reader, we're pretending the addiction didn't happen, frank was previously married in this universe, but is now divorced and has no children, reader had leukaemia as a kid and young adult, is in remission now w/c: 11.2k
NEW YEAR’S EVE
6AM
Something about the Pittsburgh cold makes you nostalgic for home. Omaha’s even colder than Pennsylvania this time of year - you’re lucky to get above twenty degrees. After the relentless heat of summer, you’re glad for a little chill.
Of course, you’d rather the roads weren’t so icy that you didn’t even want to chance driving. You had been treated to a half-hour trudge through the snow at five-thirty this morning. Your mother would have a heart attack had she known you were wandering around downtown Pittsburgh, alone and in the dark, but you figure what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
You’re more concerned about the walk home at the end of the shift. New Year’s Eve is always a disaster - even if the night shift are more likely to get the really bad shit. You’re not sure you’ll be up for it, come day’s end.
Pushing into the ED, you shoot a nod towards Abbot. He’s always been nice to you - patient without being passive, and informative without being condescending. He has this odd way of keeping you calm during traumas - even when he’s watching you cut a hole into someone’s throat, you don’t feel like he’s judging you, or doing anything out with your best interests.
You wish you could say the same for Robby.
It’s like he’s had it out for you since day one. From your very first shift, he’s seemed utterly convinced that you’re a bad fit for emergency medicine - better suited for something calmer, like psych.
Were it not for Frank, you’re pretty sure you’d have tried to get a permanent swap to nights - Abbot and Shen you could live with.
While you and Doctor Robinavitch don’t exactly see eye to eye most of the time, you’ll never be able to fault him for pairing you up with Frank on day one. You’d heard chatter from the nurses the morning you’d arrived about him - apparently, he’d dated one of the labour and delivery nurses, before ghosting her a month in. Your hopes were less than high when Robby had announced you’d be shadowing him.
Sure, Frank’s a little arrogant. But he’s also been nothing but kind to you. He walks you through procedures, voice low as he murmurs soft instructions. His proximity is more than distracting, but you’ve found it to be effective in the long run.
You want to do well. Want Frank to be proud of you. Maybe if you can make him like you, he won’t be as susceptible to Robby’s dislike. You know they must all talk about the residents. Discuss who they think will make the cut, versus those who'll crumble under the pressure.
So far, your charm offensive seems to be working. In just a few months, you’ve developed a rapport, to the point where Frank rarely works with any of the other junior residents. You've heard rumblings about favouritism from the nurses. It must be getting him into some kind of trouble.
You head for the lockers, and change out of your thermals and into your scrubs, before heading to Central for the morning brief. A few of the other doctors are milling about, and you watch Robby take Gloria across the room to talk away from you all.
He doesn’t look happy.
That doesn’t bode well for your shift today.
When Frank walks through the door, five minutes late as usual, his eyes find you immediately. He’s already in scrubs, flashing you a smile as he deposits his bag.
“Who pissed in his cornflakes?” He asks, slipping in behind you as he watches Robby’s scowl grow with every passing second he stands with Gloria.
“Pulse has a boyfriend,” A voice cuts in from over your shoulder. You turn, coming face to face with a girl, round about your age. “He came to pick her up after the night-shift, with a bouquet of roses. Robby’s been in a shitty mood since. I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet. Resident?”
“Uh, yeah,” You reply, and offer your name.
She tells you hers, ignoring the way Frank rolls his eyes. “Everyone calls me Skipper though. EMT. The Pitt’s finest.”
“No,” Frank corrects. “Abbot calls you Skip, and you’re so desperate to get into his pants that you adopted it-”
“Fuck off, Langdon-”
“Don’t you have a job to be doing?”
She sticks her tongue out, but begins to retreat anyway. “I just dropped Myrna off - told her you’d look after her today. And I’m only going so that I don’t have to deal with Robby. Hope you and your girlfriend have a fun shift!”
As soon as she’s gone, Frank is turning to speak directly into your ear. “Ignore her. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
“I didn’t know Robby was into Pulse,” You comment, chancing a glance at your boss. His expression doesn’t look any happier.
Pulse is the Dana of the night shift. Quite where she got her nickname, you’re not sure, but she’s been good to you on the occasions your shifts have overlapped. On your first ever night-shift, she’d pressed a coffee into your hand right when you’d been about to crash.
You’ve felt a little indebted to her ever since.
“He’d never admit it, but I think he’s been into her for years. They were like that when I was a med student here.”
“Huh,” You murmur, falling silent as Robby finally makes his way over.
“Alright guys - busy day today,” He starts, clapping his hands together. “New Year’s is always rough for ERs - we can expect firework incidents, and more drunk and disorderly patients than we get at any point in the year. I want efficiency-”
A glance at Samira.
“-compassion-”
A glance at Trinity.
“-and assertiveness.”
His eyes land on you, and you fight the urge to shrink under his gaze. It’s no secret that you’re not Robby’s favourite resident. In fact, in a programme with thirteen residents at various levels, you’re not sure you even crack the top ten.
Frank’s definitely top three - potentially top one, now that Heather took an attending job in Philadelphia.
You can feel your cheeks starting to burn, embarrassment rising.
Everyone here knows you’re not cut out for emergency medicine. That you’re too weak for this specialty. Not a good enough advocate for your patients. You can almost hear his thought process.
Maybe family medicine is more your speed.
Then a hand claps down on your shoulder. You know before you even turn around that it’s Frank. “Don’t mind him,” He murmurs, as everyone disperses. Like clockwork, Frank falls into step beside you. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“He’s the Chief of Emergency Medicine,” You reply, unconvinced. “I think he knows his stuff.”
“Not in this case,” Frank insists. “This place needs empathy - which you have in spades. I bet if you asked every patient in here if they’d rather be treated by you or me, they’d choose you.”
“No they wouldn’t,” You roll your eyes.
“They would so. And who cares if you’re not assertive enough? You shouldn’t ever be alone in a scenario where that’s an issue. You know I’d coming running if you paged me, Page.” He finishes off with a grin, as you let out a sigh.
Page had been a recent development. After managing a whole shift without realising your pager was dead, and getting bawled out by Robby, Santos had taken to calling you the nickname. Unfortunately, it had spread like wildfire.
You wish Frank wouldn’t call you it. Wouldn’t see you like a failure.
Your brow furrows a little, and he frowns. “Hey, come on - I was just kidding. But the sentiment still stands. You call, I come. Okay? What are you on today?”
“Triage. You?”
“Unfortunately not. I’ve got Santos today.”
On a normal day, you’d defend Trinity. You do like her, even if she is the root of your nickname, and has moderately abrasive tendencies. But today has already gotten off to such a terrible start, that you can’t bring yourself to manage. “I should probably go, before Robby chews me out for being slow.”
7AM
“So,” You start, glancing nervously at Whitaker. “You ready to get started?”
Where you’d been hoping for some assurance from Dennis, you’re met with a stressed and nervous energy, maybe even worse than your own. “Uh, sure?”
“Great!” You force a smile, and lead him out to the waiting room. Almost immediately, you’re ambushed by a crowd. “Uh, Whitaker, could you take a Ms. Precious Abebe to room three? She just needs sutured - can I leave you to that?”
He nods, and stands at your back.
“I’ve been here for five hours-”
“There’s green stuff coming out of this wound-”
“I was told I’d be next, but someone else got to go-”
“Sorry,” You interject, trying to move past to the middle of the room. “We’ll be with you as soon as possible. We’re understaffed today, that’s why things are a little backed up.”
A lie. But people tend to be more understanding if they think that this is out of the norm. That the Pitt isn’t backed up twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
You check your iPad, glancing at the next name on the list. “Beth Garcia?”
A lady stands up across the room, away from the group that immediately approached you both. At first glance, there’s nothing obviously wrong. She’s maybe a little pale, but that’s about all you’d say. “Hi,” She smiles.
You introduce yourself and lead her to one of the consultation rooms, leaving Whitaker to grab Ms. Abebe. “What’s brought you in today?”
“I’ve had a really bad stomach-ache, for the past twelve-ish hours.”
You nod, sitting her up on the bed. “Do you mind if I have a feel?”
“Go ahead.”
You examine her abdomen, while asking some more questions.
Yes, it feels sharp and stabbing.
No, she hasn’t eaten anything.
There’s been some vomit, but no blood. No changes to stool or urine output.
Six out of ten pain.
“Alright, well, I’m going to take some bloods and do a quick ultrasound, just to rule out stones, okay? But then, until we get the results back, you’ll have to go back to the waiting room, I’m sorry. We don’t have the facilities for everyone to wait back here.”
Normally, this is where patients get mad, if they haven’t already. Nobody likes being seen, before being told you need to wait again. What they don’t seem to realise is that the people who get seen immediately are the ones you very much do not want to be.
But Beth just nods again, and gets to her feet. “No worries. I wrote the day off anyway.”
*****
“Jesus Christ, can you look a little happier to see me?” Santos rolls her eyes, snapping Frank out of his haze. “I know I’m not Page, but I’d still like to learn something today, if that’s alright with you.”
“You know, you could really learn a few things from her,” He replies, unimpressed at being caught staring. “Like basic human empathy, for starts.”
“I have empathy,” She retorts. “Just not for you, or the three tonnes of hair gel you use each day.”
Frank grabs an iPad, glancing at the board. “We’ll take chest pain in four.”
If Frank was cherry-picking for himself, or for you, Trinity would be the first to call it out. But today, it benefits her, so she keeps her mouth shut, and nods.
“Look at this ECG. Tell me what you see.”
Trinity frowns, glancing across the different leads. No obvious STEMI anywhere, or hyperkalaemia. No obvious heart block that she can see, though it’s hard to tell with P waves at the best of times. It’s not a very good tracing, but on the surface there’s nothing wrong. “Looks alright to me. Maybe a little tachycardic?”
“Look closer.”
Letting out a huff, she examines it again, before sighing. “I don’t see anything-”
“Great. Now your patient is dead. It’s bundle branch block. Left or right?”
“Bundle branch block doesn’t kill people, dumbass. Not like that.” With a guide, Santos refocuses on the ECG, frowning as she spots the telltale M shape on the V1 lead. “Right.”
“Good. And just because it won’t kill them particularly acutely, doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous. Especially if you look at this guy’s past medical. But I want you to do the history, and discharge unless there’s anything particularly worrying.”
With that, he’s gone.
Probably to try and find you. God, he’s such an annoyance.
So much for the chest pain being a good case.
8AM
When you were eleven, you were diagnosed with leukaemia for the first time. It had made for a brutal eighteen months, spent almost entirely in hospitals. You knew what the whisperings were. Neither the doctors, nor your parents, expected you to survive.
But somehow, things had started to look up, and you were in remission for your thirteenth birthday.
Everybody had told you how strong you were, how you could get through anything if you got through this. And for a while, you believed them. Believed that this was as bad as you were ever going to go through in your life.
Until your first year of undergrad when the fevers came back, the cancer following in its wake.
You’d been certain you weren’t going to survive that one.
Except, against every single odd, you pulled through, and are still here almost a decade later. Not without consequences, though. Each day brings a new fear of relapse, at the idea that you’ll never fully be out of the woods. Sure, AML is normally more common in children. But you’d been well out of the risk zone for relapse when you’d fallen ill again, so you figure the universe is just out to get you.
Where your college experience was supposed to be your first taste of freedom, of dating and living life, you’d ended up living in a house across town from campus, with your parents as your caregivers.
You love your mom and dad. You do. Truly.
Moving to Pittsburgh is the only time you’ve ever had in your life to try and discover who you are. It’s not working out too well so far, granted. But you need this, either way. Even if all the guys you’ve dated are complete douchebags, and you’re not entirely sure that orgasms exist.
Someone says your name, and you snap out of your funk. Turning, you almost collide with Robby, as he repeats it. “Got a teaching case. Come on.”
He doesn’t slow down, just angles toward the workroom where the rest of the team is gathered. It’s you, Mel and Javadi. All the younger residents and students, minus Whitaker on triage, and Trinity, who should be with Frank.
God, what you’d give to swap places with her right now.
“Patient in South Four needs an LP,” Robby says, glancing around the room. “Good teaching opportunity. I need a volunteer.”
You open your mouth.
Javadi’s voice cuts in first. “I’ll do it.”
She’s already standing, chair scraping loudly against the floor, hand halfway raised. Robby hesitates, just a beat too long, then nods.
“Alright,” He nods. “Let’s go.”
You shut your mouth again. Swallow whatever it was you were about to say. Fall into step as everyone starts moving, telling yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t need to be the one who always steps forward.
The room is small, crowded with bodies and equipment and the low, nervous energy that always comes with procedures. Robby does the talking to the patient, asking you and Mel a couple of questions, while Victoria gets ready.
You can tell she’s nervous, talking through each step like she’s reassuring herself as much as anyone else. Robby stands opposite her, arms folded, supervising. You take the spot no one else claims, leaning back against the counter, hands tucked into your pockets.
You watch.
You watch her feel down the spinous processes, hesitate, adjust. Watch the way her shoulders tense when the patient flinches, the way she bites her lip in concentration. Nothing goes disastrously wrong. Nothing goes perfectly, either. It takes longer than it should, even though that’s to be expected on your first try. She asks Robby questions she should already know the answers to. He answers them, clipped, professional, and detached.
Like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Maybe Frank’s right. This is potentially the worst mood you’ve ever seen from him. Even over Pittfest. Maybe he is actually in love with Pulse, and this boyfriend news has thrown him for a loop.
You think about what you’d feel if Frank announced tomorrow that he had a girlfriend.
Probably pretty shitty.
The thought sends a shiver through you. At the image of you, and a heartbroken Michael Robinavitch, drowning your sorrows at the local dive bar, as the two most pathetic people in the Pitt.
When it’s over, Javadi exhales, smiling, flushed with relief. She thanks the patient, starts talking about how cool it was, how she’s glad she got the chance, thanking Robby profusely.
He just nods, already peeling off his gloves. “Nice work,” He says, neutral enough to be meaningless.
You’re halfway out the door when you feel his hand brush your sleeve.
“Hey,” He mumbles, as Mel and Javadi push past. “Hang back a second.”
You stop in the hallway, the door swinging shut behind you. Robby rubs at the bridge of his nose, frustration finally breaking through.
“Javadi’s a fucking MS3,” He sighs. “She shouldn’t have been doing a lumbar puncture. It should’ve been you.”
“You asked for a volunteer!” You protest.
Robby’s expression tightens, whatever patience he’d been rationing finally running out.
“And you hesitated,” He says. Flat. “You always do lately.”
“That’s not fair,” you shoot back, heat rising fast. “So that was what… a test? You’re just trying to make me look bad now?”
He doesn’t soften. Doesn’t give you the out. “I watched you open your mouth and then stop. You let a medical student jump in front of you.”
“She volunteered,” You say. “Mel and I were both going to speak, but I don’t see you criticising her.”
“You should have fought for it,” he says, voice sharp now. “That’s the problem.”
You stare at him. “The LP went fine.”
“For her,” Robby says. “Because I was standing there ready to bail her out. Because the patient got lucky.” He exhales, irritated, and drops his voice. “You know better than that.”
Your jaw tightens. “So what do you want from me?”
“I want you to stop acting like you’re invisible,” He snaps. “You’re a resident. A good one. And you keep shrinking yourself like you don’t belong here.”
don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry
“Maybe I just don’t feel like fighting for every procedure,” You say quietly. “I thought fighting every step of the way to get here would be enough.”
“That’s not how this works,” Robby says. “You don’t get to coast because you’re tired. Everyone’s tired. You want to do well? Then step up. Because right now, you’re making my job harder.”
The words sting, and the tears threaten to prick at your periphery. You look away, down the hallway, anywhere but at him.
“I didn’t realize I was underperforming,” You grit out.
“If you were,” He replies, voice softening just slightly, “this conversation would be different.”
You get the sense that’s supposed to be some kind of praise. The smallest bone, thrown to make you feel a little better. Stop you from throwing yourself off the roof.
You nod once. Short. Controlled. “Got it.”
Robby watches you for a beat, like he’s deciding whether to say something else. Whatever he considers, he lets it go. “Just… be better about it,” he says. “I know you can be.”
You don’t trust your voice, so you don’t use it.
“I need to get back to triage,” You finally mumble, stepping away.
He doesn’t stop you.
You walk down the hall faster than necessary, pulling the list of your jobs from your pocket like it’s an excuse. Bloods to be drawn, X-rays to be checked, prescriptions to be written. Concrete things you can do right.
Patients don’t ask why you hesitate. They don’t care who speaks up first. They just want you to show up, do the work, move on.
That, at least, you can manage.
9AM
It takes half an hour for your path to cross with Frank’s again. As if sensing your discomfort at your current patient, a drunk man in his seventies, Frank starts to float across the Pitt.
Pretending he’s not paying the utmost attention to the way your back stiffens with each passing exchange.
“Need any help, Doctor?” He finally interjects, eyes darting between you both.
“We’re just fine, actually. She’s takin’ real good care of me,” The patient, Darren, grins, eyes darkening just a little at the intrusion.
You shoot Frank a look over his shoulder, one that you hope screams help me. Much to your immense relief, he catches on immediately.
Darren isn’t even sick. He’s in for some sutures after falling on his way home. Quite where he’s been all night to only be heading home at nine, you’re not sure, but you’re not in the mood to find out.
“Why don’t I get started on your left side? Get you out of here twice as fast.” Frank smiles down at him, but there’s a tick in his jaw that gives away his true feelings.
“No, it’s okay-”
“Don’t be silly!” Frank cuts Darren off, snapping the wristband of his gloves as he reaches for a suture kit.
A silence falls, tense and awkward as you both try and hurry through Darren’s stitches, doing your best to work quickly without compromising the quality of care too much. If he’s left with a little bit of a scar, you won’t be too worried.
“Any plans for after this?” Darren finally asks, eyes glued to yours, ignoring Frank’s presence entirely.
“Hm,” You murmur, pretending to give it serious thought. “Probably heading back out to triage to get the next patient in.”
“I meant after your shift,” He sighs, frustration seeping into his tone. “Like-”
“Page?” Frank interrupts. “You know, I’m sure I heard that Dana was looking for you.”
“Are you sure?” You arch an eyebrow, seeing right through his tactic.
“Positive,” Frank says easily, already stripping off his gloves. “Sounded urgent.”
Darren looks between the two of you, clearly clocking that something has shifted, then scoffs. “Guess I’ll see you around, Doc.” There’s an edge to it now, more wounded pride than anything.
“Take care,” You reply, already turning away. “Doctor Langdon is the best of the best.”
Fifteen minutes later, Frank appears again, right as you’re leaving an easy consultation. Sirens wail somewhere down the street. Hopefully nothing major. You’re not even four hours into your shift yet, and you’re already exhausted.
Frank leans against the railing, arms folded, looking almost… jealous? “Guy was… persistent,” he says at last, staring out across the Pitt instead of at you.
“That’s one word for it.” You glance sideways at him. “Thanks for stepping in.”
He shrugs. “Part of the job.”
Another pause. His foot taps against the ground, in a steady rhythm. “You get that a lot?”
You frown slightly. “Get what?”
He exhales through his nose, a quiet huff. “Creeps hitting on you.”
“Oh.” Understanding settles in. “Sometimes.”
Frank nods, like that confirms something he already suspected. “Didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”
“I had it handled,” you say gently.
“I know.” He finally looks at you then, expression unreadable. “I just-” He stops, shakes his head. “Never mind.”
You wait. He doesn’t continue.
Moment over.
After a beat, he straightens, clearing his throat. “Anyway. Dana probably does need you. Place is chaos.”
You smile faintly. “Thanks again, Frank.”
He gives you a crooked half-smile in return, slinging his stethoscope round his neck. “Anytime, Doctor.”
10AM
You hear the commotion before you see anything. On the way back from checking on Beth in the cafeteria, the noise from the waiting room bounces around the corridors, and you speed up your pace.
Inside, Whitaker is desperately trying to keep two men from attacking each other. Security is nowhere in sight. Neither is Dana.
Shit.
“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” You ask, voice raised considerably higher than your usual volume.
“This bastard keeps talking shit about my wife-”
“Your wife is an uneducated moron!” The other guy yells, and the two make to try and get at each other again.
“Whitaker, get Ahmad,” You urge, before putting a hand out to try and keep them apart.
“Don’t you dare touch me-”
The first man escalates to yelling, and you don’t have time to react to him cocking his arm.
It takes you a second to realise what’s happened. A sharp sting, the sound of skin-on-skin ricocheting across the waiting room, and suddenly your entire world is spinning. The impact is hard enough to send you stumbling as your head smacks into one of the pillars behind you.
You reach out for something, anything to keep you upright, but there’s nothing, and you land awkwardly on your arm on the waiting room floor.
A warmth floods your face - a mix of embarrassment and the blood trickling from split skin on your cheekbone. You sit up, while all the patients take a few steps back, clearing out in a two metre radius.
There’s a single moment of shocked silence, before a voice breaks out across the ER. Dana Evans, your lord and saviour.
“What the hell is going on out here?” Her hands land on your shoulders, firm and steady as she helps you to your feet. “You okay, kid?”
Arguments break out across the waiting room, while Ahmad appears in the doorway, Frank right behind him, eyes wide. He calls your name, and the tears that you’d been fighting so hard against suddenly prick at your periphery.
You don’t want him to see you like this. Weak-willed, and unable to break up a single fight.
Much to your dismay, Dana’s immediately passing you over to him, a small push in his direction while she continues to yell at the man.
“Are you alright?” Frank murmurs, eyes searching as he checks you over. When he checks your temple, there’s a little bit of blood at the crown. “Shit, sweetheart - you hit your head.”
“Yeah, no shit,” You manage, letting out a low groan as you scrunch your eyes shut. The fluorescent lights make you want to curl in a ball and try to pretend the last hour didn’t happen. Maybe you’ll get some trauma-induced amnesia and be able to forget the whole shift.
“Making jokes. That’s a good sign.” His arm is wrapped round your waist, and he ushers you towards one of the trauma rooms. Once inside, he shuts the door, and dims the lights. “What happened out there?”
The lowered intensity already makes you feel a little better. “Patient demanding to be seen straight away. Didn’t appreciate being told no.”
“You should’ve got me,” He replies, voice low as he inspects the cut, earning a hiss from you. “Sorry.”
“You can’t fight my battles, Frank.”
“Sure, but I could’ve fought that one.” He’s razor-focused, hands gentle. “Putting antiseptic on now, then I’ll cover it, okay?”
You nod, and steel yourself for the cool sting. “I’m sure that would go down well with Robby. Punching patients on my behalf.”
“I’d do it,” He insists.
“I don’t doubt that,” You mumble, offering a small smile. “Are you done yet?”
“I was going to send you for a CT-”
“Frank. I do not need a CT.”
“You hit your head!”
You scoff a little. “Barely!”
“It’s a CT or a full neuro exam. Take your pick.”
Rolling your eyes, you allow him to guide you backwards towards the pillows, until you’re horizontal. “Neuro exam, I suppose. I have too much work for a CT.”
“I’ll cover you-”
“Yeah, okay. And then Robby will hate me even more than he already does.”
Nonetheless, you comply, and allow him to flash a light into your eyes to check your pupillary responses, before checking every single reflex you have. It’s a more thorough exam than you were doing in med school. “Frank, come on. This is ridiculous,” You finally call, when he begins his series of special tests - saved only for the most serious of cases.
“Gotta cover all bases, sweetheart. Can’t have my best resident injured.”
“I am not your best resident,” You scoff, feeling heat rising to your cheeks.
He shoots you a look, before sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You are hands down my best resident, are you kidding?”
“There’s a difference between liking me as a person, and thinking I’m your best resident.”
“Okay, fine,” He concedes. “You’re my best resident, and my favourite person here. Happy?”
“Flirt,” You mumble, earning a deep laugh from the man beside you.
“Only for you, honey-” He’s cut off by his pager beeping, letting out a heavy sigh as he glances down. “Duty calls. Sit in here for fifteen, and only go back to work if you’re feeling a hundred percent. Anything less, and I want you to call me. Alright?”
You roll your eyes, but Frank’s expression is deadly serious. “I could still order a CT-”
“Fine, fine! I’ll call you if I feel the slightest bit dizzy.”
“Good girl.”
You have to pretend that his words don’t make you feel light-headed as he leaves the room. Frank is absolutely off-limits. He’s one of your superiors, and getting involved with him could fuck up your entire working experience.
He’s also been married before, and you can’t imagine him going for an inexperienced resident who’s spent a sizeable chunk of her life in hospital.
You’ll just have to get over this little crush.
11AM
You forget all about Beth until she’s wheeled into North Seven, looking considerably worse than the last time you saw her. Frowning, you’re immediately checking the labs. Bloods are normal, other than a mildly elevated white cell count, and there’s no fever. It’s odd. Normally people with kidney stones are doubled over in pain.
Aside from the newly developed vomiting, she still insists she’s fine.
Finally, you call Frank in. He’s the only one you feel alright with admitting uncertainty to.
You don’t realize how tense you are until he shows up and quietly leans against the counter beside you, glancing down at the charts in your hands. Beth lies in the bed looking smaller than before, curled slightly on her side. There’s an sick bowl near her hand now. She keeps apologizing for it. You keep insisting it’s the least gross thing you’ve seen all day.
You turn back to the computer, jaw tight.
“Ultrasound’s clean,” You say, more to yourself than to Frank. “No hydronephrosis. No obvious stones.”
Frank gives a small nod. “Okay. What are you thinking?”
“That should make me feel better,” You continue, scrolling. “But it doesn’t.”
You flip through the vitals again. Still afebrile. Heart rate a little fast, but nothing dramatic. Labs next, mostly reassuring, except for the white cell count.
You glance back at Beth. She’s not restless. Not writhing. Just pale and tired, and probably sick of this hospital.
“She’s vomiting,” You say slowly. “And she wasn’t yesterday.”
Frank shifts, but lets you keep going.
“And she looks worse. Not better.” You pull up the urinalysis again, your eyes slowing this time, forcing yourself not to skim.
Blood.
White cells.
Nitrites.
Your chest tightens.
“It’s not showing up,” you murmur. “Maybe the stone is tiny, but it’s infected. Which is why I didn’t see it on the ultrasound.”
Frank turns his head toward you.
“An obstructed infection isn’t always obvious,” You continue, the words coming faster now as the picture sharpens. “No obvious findings if the blockage’s intermittent or higher up. Ultrasound can miss it. We need to send her for a CT, and get urology down here now. I think she has pyelonephritis.”
Orders spill out of you. IV fluids. Broad-spectrum antibiotics. Urology, urgent. Frank follows them all diligently, a look that you can’t quite place in his eyes.
When you step into Beth’s room again, she looks at your face and immediately knows something has changed.
“Is something wrong?” she asks quietly.
“We think you might be sicker than you look,” You murmur, gentler than you feel. “There’s an infection in your kidney, and we need to take care of it properly. So we’re going to send you for a CT right away, and then get surgery down to have a chat, okay?”
She nods, trusting, even as they start preparing her for transfer. “Thank you.”
You offer her as warm a smile as you can muster. “Don’t mention it.”
As the bed is wheeled away, Frank remains beside you, gaze trained on your form.
“You figured it out,” He says.
You stare at the doorway long after it closes. “I almost let the ultrasound talk me out of it.”
“But you listened to her,” He replies. “And to yourself. That’s what a good emergency physician does.”
You exhale, slow and shaky, then straighten your shoulders, heat blossoming through your chest.
“Anyway, I should get back to Santos, before she complains to Robby and I get yelled at. Again.”
*****
You're standing at Central doing paperwork when a hand lands on your waist, steering you towards the front door.
"What are you doing?" You frown, glancing up at Langdon. "You're supposed to have Santos today."
"Santos can take it up with Robby if she's got a problem. We've got a trauma coming in, and I need my best resident."
It's a battle to pretend that his words don't make your heart soar. Sure, he's a little bit older, and he's one of your direct superiors, but a harmless daydream never hurt anyone.
The patient is wheeled in, and Frank talks you through a cricothyroidotomy - brushing off Garcia's sneering comments.
"The kid's got it. She'll be fine."
Hands trembling a little, you focus desperately on the task at hand. Thankfully, everything goes to plan, and soon the patient is stabilised, and ready to head for surgery.
Frank is right at your back, almost enveloping you. "Good girl," He murmurs, directly into your ear, and just low enough that no one else can hear. "You'll be doing these in your sleep soon."
"I doubt it," You snort. "I could only do it because you talked me through everything."
"Guess I'll just have to make sure I'm around for them all then. Professional expertise, and all that." Finally moving away, he shoots you a wink over his shoulder.
You’re desperately trying to force yourself to focus on the task at hand. Documenting the procedure, and the treatment plan for the nurses to follow. Suddenly, your phone dings, the distinct sound of your Outlook app, and you freeze.
It can’t be today.
You were told you wouldn’t hear back for at least two weeks, and you’d only interviewed on Monday.
Ever since tensions have risen with Robby, you’ve been considering your place in medicine. More specifically, your place in the Pitt. Whether you’re really cut out for this life. Doctor Abbot had advised you against it, told you that you should stay the year and make up your mind later, but you’d still found yourself applying for a couple of residencies.
Nothing crazy.
One in Boston. One in Wilmington. One in San Diego, in case you felt like the West Coast.
You’ve only interviewed for Boston so far. The others are in the New Year.
Hands trembling, you check your emails, to be met with a resounding yes.
We’d be delighted to offer you a position on our family medicine programme, starting on the first of February next calendar year…
You’re not filled with excitement. You’d rather not move city again - finding yourself starting over, when you’ve barely managed to scratch the surface of Pittsburgh. But there is a deep rooted relief, at the idea that someone wants you, and can see value in the way you practice medicine.
“What’s that?” From nowhere, Samira appears at your back, glancing over at your phone.
“Oh! Nothing,” You say, immediately scrambling to shove your phone back in your pockets. “Just a scam email.”
“Hm.” She sounds entirely unconvinced, but doesn’t comment further. “Well, Langdon wants you in South 12. As usual.”
Her eyes gleam a little with the last sentence.
“Shut up,” You grumble.
“What? I didn’t say anything!”
“You implied, and that’s enough.”
12PM
Santos storms up to Robby near the charting computers, face flushed and eyes bright with anger. “Is this a joke?” she snaps.
Robby looks up. “What’s going on?”
She doesn’t answer, instead opting to point. Down the hall, Frank is hovering by your side. Again. His hand is inches from your waist, grin crooked as he talks you through something on the board in front of you both.
“That,” Santos says. “That’s what’s going on.”
Robby watches it happen, his mouth flattening. “He left you?”
It’s a question, but really he already knows the answer. Ever since you started working here, Frank has been afflicted with a severe case of tunnel vision. He can hardly function while you’re around. It would be endearing, if this didn’t happen every year. He fixated on a girl for a while, and then broke her heart.
Granted, the heart’s are normally broken by now, but still.
Since his divorce, Frank hasn’t been so great at holding down relationships.
“Mid-presentation,” Trinity says sharply. “Again. I was talking. He didn’t even pretend to listen, just told me to follow my gut, and ditched me for her.”
Robby exhales. “How many times today?”
“Does it matter?” Santos fires back.
She folds her arms tight. “I know Page’s a second-year. I know she’s more experienced. But I’m his intern today. I keep getting stuck with all the shitty cases, because of him.”
Robby nods slowly. “Did you say something to him?”
“What, so I can look like a needy first-year?” Santos scoffs. “No. Langdon’s never listened to a single word I’ve said. He certainly won’t start today.”
“Go grab coffee or something,” Robby says gently. “I’ll deal with it.”
Santos hesitates, then nods, jaw clenched as she walks away.
Langdon comes back a minute later, flipping through labs, clearly in a hurry, until he nearly runs into Robby.
“Oh - hey,” Frank mumbles, obviously preoccupied. “If this is about the admit in Three-”
“It’s about Santos,” Robby cuts in.
Langdon stiffens. “What about her?”
“You keep leaving her,” Robby says flatly. “You’re the senior. She’s your intern. Yet every time Page needs something, you disappear.”
“That’s not fair,” Langdon says quickly. “Page’s cases are more complicated.”
“She’s a second-year,” Robby replies. “She should be able to wait. Or handle it herself. Your intern can’t. You need to be teaching. Not favouring.”
Langdon frowns. “I’m not favouring anyone.”
Robby raises an eyebrow. “Then why does Santos feel like she doesn’t exist?”
Frank opens his mouth, closes it. His eyes flick instinctively down the hall toward you, as you help an old lady into a wheelchair.
Robby catches it. “There. That. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
“I’m just trying to help Page,” Langdon insists. “She doesn’t always speak up. You’re hard on her.”
“And Santos does?” Robby shoots back. “She’s brand new, and impulsive. She needs structure, not abandonment. Someone to work on her communication skills with her.”
“I didn’t abandon her.”
“Call it whatever you want, but she calls it favouritism.”
He bristles, eyes narrowing. “That’s not what this is.”
“Intent doesn’t matter,” Robby says, already turning toward Central. “Impact does. And right now, your intern thinks you don’t give a damn.”
Frank follows, irritation simmering. “This is being blown way out of proportion.”
“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you-” Robby starts, and Frank’s brow furrows.
“Who? Page?”
“-but you cannot ignore your teaching duties for your girlfriend.”
“She is not my-”
“Alright, not girlfriend. Friend with benefits, or whatever the kids call it these days. Hook-up, I don’t care-”
“Please don’t ever say the word hook-up again,” Frank groans.
“You’ve run enough staff members out of this hospital,” Robby warns, continuing the walk to Central to inspect the admissions list.
Frank follows, trying to fight the outrage building in his chest. “That is not true-”
“Cailey in neuro?”
“She got a fellowship at Hopkins!”
“Hm, yeah. Right after you dumped her for Madeline in geriatrics. Who you then dumped for Calista in admin. Who got shafted for Valerie in respiratory. All of whom, coincidentally, no longer work at this hospital anymore.”
“That’s not my fault!” Frank protests. “And besides, Page and I are not sleeping together.”
“It’s not not your fault. And even if you’re not fucking… it’s crystal clear you want to.”
“That’s beside the point,” He huffs, eyes darting around the Pitt to make sure you’re nowhere near. He’d rather die than let you overhear this conversation.
“Do not hurt her,” Robby says firmly, drawing Frank’s attention back to him. “She’s had a rough transition. Complicating things won’t help.”
“Yeah, no thanks to you! She thinks you hate her-”
“I don’t hate her. I just want her to do well. She has potential, but she-”
“-needs to be more assertive,” Frank parodies, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I know. She knows. It’s all you ever fucking say to her. She tried that today, and she got punched. So I’m not sure how good your advice is.”
1PM
The nurses think they’re subtle with the gossiping. They’re not, but by some miracle you don’t hear it. The comments passed between Perlah and Princess every time you and Frank interact. The knowing looks that Dana throws Robby on each staff night out, when Frank never fails to gravitate towards you as the night wears on.
They’re half-surprised that neither of you have found the betting board, shoved in one of the lounge cupboards.
Santos. $20. They’re already fucking, but it ends when he breaks her heart.
Samira. $10. They’ve been secretly dating since they met, and they’re screwing with us all.
Skipper. $30. Haven’t met Page, but she seems too good for him - they date for a while and then she leaves him for someone better looking and more successful :)
Abbot. $50. They get together before Robby gets another girlfriend
McKay. $15. He screws things up somehow
Pulse. $5. Leave them both alone!
Dana. $50. They’re pining for each other - will get together before this year is out.
*****
Your pager goes off. Paeds. Unresponsive.
You’re already moving by the time the words finish registering, feet carrying you through hallways you could navigate blind. Robby and Frank are there when you arrive, sleeves pushed up, expression solemn as Skipper reads off vitals.
They wheel her in fast, followed by an anxious father and a terrified father.
You wish you could bring them some comfort, but there’s nothing to be done. Not when their daughter’s life is on the line.
She’s small. Too small. Limbs thin to the point of fragility, chest barely moving. Someone says anorexia, says cardiac arrest, says ROSC, and your brain files it all away with brutal efficiency.
Your eyes catch on the teddy bear clutched in her hands.
As they move to transfer her, her fingers loosen. The bear slips free and hits the floor, landing on its side in the chaos. No one notices. No one can.
Something twists in your chest.
Not now.
You step in without being asked. Your voice stays even as you call out vitals, as you move where you’re needed, as your hands do exactly what they’ve been trained to do. Tubes, monitors, numbers that refuse to feel abstract when the patient looks like this. When she looks like a child who should be worrying about spelling tests, not dying.
Robby looks at you once, quick and sharp. “You with me?”
“Yes,” you say, and this time it’s true enough.
You don’t look at the bear again. You don’t think you can.
But despite everything - the compressions, the meds, the desperate coordination… she doesn’t make it.
The monitor flatlines.
Robby curses under his breath. The team goes still. An anguished cry escapes from her mother’s lips, while her father can do nothing but stare, eyes darting between the doctors, as if imploring them to do more.
There’s a sudden commotion. A bustle of people, as the parents rush out in a flurry of sobs, Robby and Kiara on their heels. Trying to find them a room for their grief, when it’s too much to be in the same room as their dead daughter.
When it’s over, when the room finally empties, when the chaos recedes, you bend and pick up the teddy bear from the floor. It’s lighter than it should be. That’s when your hands start to shake.
Just a little.
And then the tears come.
2PM
It’s like somebody’s crushing your chest, as you start to gasp for breath. The bear sits discarded in the corner, it’s eyes boring deep into your soul. You think you might die if Robby sees you like this. If anybody, other than Frank, sees it.
Short, sharp breaths aren’t enough to fill your lungs, and you can see Frank’s brow furrow as he crosses, the room. “Hey, you’re alright, I’ve got you.”
His voice is low, murmured just for you, and he pulls you in tightly. The embrace helps a little, but you can still feel tears start to trickle down your cheeks. A wave of shame washes over you.
This is what comes with the territory.
Death.
You don’t know what it is about this case that’s bothered you so much. It’s always hard… losing people, but the idea of continuing on with your shift right now makes you want to bawl.
Maybe it’s time you consider that offer from Mass General. If you switched now, you could be trained in family medicine before you hit thirty-five. A fresh start, away from a boss that hates you and a senior resident who you’re so painfully in love with that you can barely function.
Frank’s glancing outside, making sure the coast is clear, before he laces his fingers through yours, and pulls you out into the corridor, and into one of the supply closets. Face burning, you’re endlessly grateful nobody’s around to watch you fall apart like this.
“I-I-” You begin, but your voice cuts off in another sob.
“Sweetheart,” Frank mumbles, thumb catching your tears as he gives you a quick once-over. “Come on. Breathe with me. It’s okay.”
In vain, you try and follow his breathing patterns, but you’re still too worked up. “I don’t think I-I’m meant to be here,” You finally manage.
“What do you mean?”
“Here. The Pitt. Emergency medicine. I don’t know. All of the above. R-Robby was right, and I think maybe I need to think about Boston-”
“Woah,” Frank interjects. “What the hell does Boston have to do with any of this?”
Eventually, you pause, Frank’s hands settling on your forearms. His grip is tight, as if he’s scared you’re going to disappear from under him.
This had not been how you planned on breaking the news to him. Hell, you still aren’t even sure you’re going to take it. But it’s looking better and better as an option each day. “I applied for a family medicine residency at Massachusetts General - I got an offer through this morning.”
“Wha- but, why? I thought you liked the ER? Thought you were settling in?”
“Come on, Frankie. You know I’m not cut out for this-”
“Bullshit - is this about Robby this morning? Because he’s just in a shitty mood because of Pulse. Nothing else. He hasn’t been laid in a really long time, and-”
“It’s not Robby, it’s me - I mean, god, just today I’ve been hit, yelled at, and cried over a patient I’d known for fifteen minutes.”
“Yeah, and that empathy is why you’re a hell of a doctor,” Frank argues. “This ER needs you so badly, honey, and I’m so sorry you’ve been made to feel otherwise.”
When you don’t reply, he storms on.
“Don’t go to Boston. Stay here. Please.”
“I don’t know that there’s anything for me here,” You whisper, eyes shining as you meet his gaze.
“I’m here.” He’s never sounded so firm, lip between his teeth as he watches for any changes in your expression.
A silence falls between you both, chests still heaving, before he makes a sudden movement. When he kisses you, the air is sucked from your lungs for a very different reason. Hands fisting in Frank’s scrub top, it’s all you can do just to stay upright.
Initially slow, it doesn’t take long to build to tongue and teeth, your breaths coming in sharp gasps as he presses you against the counter.
“Frank,” You whimper, barely pausing as you melt into his touch. His knee slots between your thigh, anchoring you to him. His hands drop to your waist, pulling you to him as tightly as possible. He’s everywhere, and it’s somehow not enough.
It feels like a lifetime before he finally pulls back, breathing heavily as he rests his forehead against yours. “Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that for.”
“I’d actually really like to know how long you’ve wanted to do it for,” You mumble, letting out a laugh when he starts to pepper kisses across your face.
“Since about thirty minutes after you arrived on your first day.”
“Well, I think I’ve got you beat then, because I’ve wanted to do that since the second I met you.”
He kisses you once more, soft and slow as he moulds against you. “You’re incredible.”
“Shut up,” You scoff, but he’s immediately shaking his head.
“It’s true! I don’t lie.”
“You lie all the time. To Trinity, about not eating her bagel when you did, to Robby when you said you had plans and couldn’t cover, to Whitak-”
“Alright, alright, I lie a little. But not to you. Never to you.”
Someone walks past the closet, making you jump. Turns out, it’s very easy for the world to shrink down to just you and Frank. “We should uh… we should get back out there.”
“Yeah, of course,” He nods, finally taking a step back. “Should really get back to Santos.”
He makes a face, and you have to bite back a laugh. “She’s not that bad.”
“To you, maybe. She hates me.”
“And who’s fault is that?” You both make for Central, smiles dropping when you see everybody gathered around the phone.
Frank’s at your heel, a hand resting on your lower back. It appears that subtlety is not his strong suit. “What’s going on?”
Robby’s expression is grave. “A bomb just went off at the New Year’s celebration - we’re the closest, we’ll be getting most of the casualties.”
You think you might be sick.
3PM
You get fragments of details, ricocheting round the ER from various sources. At Pittsburgh’s biggest gathering for New Year’s, which usually lasts all day, there had been a bomb. Right in the middle of the city centre.
There’s no telling how many casualties you’ll have yet.
The police think it was a suicide bomber. Beyond that, there’s nothing.
Just confusion, where nobody knows exactly what’s going on.
The first wave hits like a wall.
Abbot, Shen and Ellis have all made their way in to help out. Robby’s taken triage, while Shen runs reds with you, Cassie and Samira, while Abbot floats. Frank’s on pinks with Whitaker, while the other residents spread out across the less severe cases.
You barely have time to breathe before a stretcher is pushed into your bay, Skipper’s partner rattling off details as you fall into step beside her. Early twenties. Found near the blast radius. Breathing fast, skin clammy, pupils blown wide with shock.
You take over automatically.
“Hi there,” you say, voice steady even as your heart hammers. “You’re at Pittsburgh General. I’m one of the doctors, and I need you to keep your eyes on me, okay? We’re going to treat you as best we can.”
Airway’s clear. Breathing shallow but present. Pulse fast, thready
You call for fluids. Oxygen. Get a pressure cuff on.
Eventually, she stabilises. It’s still not wonderful - she’s covered in burns that plastics are going to have a field day with, but you can send her to the surgeons to make that happen.
There’s no time to dwell on it.
The next patient is worse. Middle-aged, unresponsive, brought in with CPR already in progress. Skipper’s perched on top of his stretcher, working furiously. Jack is at her back, a hand hovering to keep her steady with each twist and turn of the gurney. Someone calls out the time down. Three minutes. Your heart constricts, but you’re already snapping gloves on, reaching for a defibrillator.
“Continue compressions,” You order, sharper than you mean to. “Let’s get pads on.”
Abbot takes over from Skipper, allowing her to get back out to the ambulance. You glance at him, in case he wants to take over, lead the case. All you get is a reassuring nod. “All yours, kid. I’m at your disposal.”
The room narrows to rhythm and timing. Pause for breaths, then compressions start again as you place each pad.
“Charging. Clear!”
You clear back, heart in your throat. The shock lands, the body jolting once before going still again.
For a split second, nothing happens.
Then… “Pulse.”
It’s faint, but it’s there.
The relief is dizzying, almost painful. You steady yourself against the bed as the room surges back into motion. Airway secured, lines placed, vitals shouted aloud. Jack claps you on the back, and you snap back to work.
This patient won’t need surgery, thankfully. Just a stay in critical care to check brain activity.
You catch Frank’s eye from across the bay; he gives you a sharp nod, pride flickering through the exhaustion while he works on an elderly man, missing a leg.
The third stretcher comes in a flurry of noise, as she crashes en route from the front door to Central.
CPR is started, with you on compressions this time.
But this feels different to the last. Something low in your gut tells you that this woman isn’t surviving.
You spend ten minutes on CPR. Longer than Robby would have liked, you’re aware. But he’s still outside directing patients, and you can’t quite bring yourself to stop.
Time of death is called, and the words sit heavy in the air. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay upright, to stay professional as the team disperses. There’s a name on the chart. Someone who came here to celebrate and didn’t get to leave.
Someone who doesn’t get to see the new year.
You step back, hands curling into fists at your sides.
Frank appears without a word. He doesn’t touch you, not here, but he doesn’t leave either. It’s fleeting. You both have endless patients to get to. But it’s grounding. “You okay?” He asks quietly.
You nod. Then shake your head. Then nod again. “There’s more coming,” You say, voice tight.
“I know,” he replies. “You’re doing great.”
You draw in a breath, square your shoulders, and turn back toward the noise.
Two saved. One lost.
4PM
The patient comes in already shouting.
Mid-thirties, male, reeking of alcohol and stinking of marijuana. He’s bleeding, a head wound and maybe a forearm, but it’s the way his eyes track the room that sets you on edge.
Fight-or-flight tipped violently toward fight.
Somehow he lands in your bay, Skipper throwing you a guilty look as she drops him off. "Sorry. I'd give him to Frank, but he's elbow deep in some guy's guts right now. Told him to get his ass over to you as soon as he was done though."
"Don't worry about it," You reply, smile tight, as you turn to the patient.
“Sir, I need you to stay on the stretcher,” You say, calm and even, hands raised just enough to be non-threatening. “We’re here to help you.”
“I don’t need help,” He snaps, trying to sit up. “I need you to get your hands off me.”
“I haven’t touched you,” You reply gently, already signaling for Ahmad with a glance. Except, the ER is so full of noise that nobody's paying any attention.
He doesn’t like that.
He swings his legs off the bed, movements sloppy but forceful.
Blood drips onto the floor, dark and slick under the harsh lights. The smell of iron hangs in the air, mixing with the weed. It's somehow worse than the burning flesh smell.
“Sir-” You start.
He shoves you.
It’s sudden enough that you don’t have time to brace. Your heel slides in the pool of blood, traction lost, and for a split second all you can see is the floor rushing up to meet you.
A hand clamps around your waist.
Strong. Steady.
Frank.
He yanks you back against him, arm locked tight around your middle as you regain your footing. Your back hits his chest, solid and real, and you gasp.
“That’s enough,” Frank says, voice low. “You do not touch her.” She is trying to help you."
Ahmad rushes in after that, hands on the patient as he makes another swing at you both. He keeps yelling, but he’s already being moved, already no longer your problem.
You'd put money on him being taken to Abbot.
There's nothing he likes more than taking down obnoxious men a few pegs.
Frank doesn’t let go right away.
“You okay?” He murmurs, pitched just for you, thumb flexing once at your side like he needs the reassurance that you’re still upright.
“Yeah,” You say, though your heart is racing hard enough to make your ears ring. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
He releases you reluctantly, eyes scanning you head to toe with barely restrained panic before he steps back. Re-thinking his movement, he presses a quick kiss to your temple before moving towards the hallway. "Can't have two concussions in one day, sweetheart. You'd think we abuse you."
“Langdon,” Robby’s voice cuts in. “You’re needed out front - take triage for a little bit.”
Frank hesitates, looking at you.
“I’m good,” You repeat, more firmly this time, offering as much of a smile as you're able.
He nods once and goes, jaw clenched tight.
You look down.
There’s blood on your shoe. Not yours.
There’s no time to spiral.
The next patient crashes minutes later. Hypotensive. Internal bleeding suspected. Everything moves fast. Walsh is at your side, as you try and figure out how to proceed.
“We’re losing her,” someone says.
"She needs a chest tube," You breathe, leaping into action before Walsh can talk you out of it.
*****
Robby finds you by the desk a few minutes later, when the lull finally begins. There are still patients being brought in regularly, but it's not as fraught anymore.
With most of the patients stabilised, everyone's allowing themselves to breathe a little easier.
“You did good today - handled the pressure well,” He says.
You glance up, surprised. “I just did what needed doing.”
He studies you for a moment, then sighs. “I was hard on you earlier. With the lumbar puncture. With… everything.” He rubs a hand over his face. “That was unfair.”
You don’t answer right away. You’re still coming down, still replaying everything in your head.
“You have real potential here. And it was just... so infuriating that you weren't making the most of that,” Robby continues. “You trusted your instincts today. That matters. And it shows that you're meant to be here.”
“Thank you,” you say quietly.
5PM
“Shit!” You curse, as the final patient of the night manages to spray blood directly across your face. Just your luck.
Frank’s at your side immediately, the way you can tell he’s been itching to be all night. With all the chaos of the last few hours, you’ve barely been able to keep track of each other. “You okay?”
“Bloody. But fine.”
Robby emerges from Central, eyes darting between you both. “I’ve got this one. Go get cleaned up. You both did good work today. Don’t want to keep you here any longer than necessary.
You flash Robby a grateful smile, hoping that this is the beginning of some kind of truce.
The exhaustion is beginning to seep into your bones, and you’re easily pliable under Frank’s arms as he guides you towards the staff lounge, currently deserted. He clicks the door shut behind you, and reaches up into the cupboards above the sink.
“Long day,” You sigh, resting against the counter, eyes fluttering closed. “And a shitty end to the New Year.”
“Saved a lot of people though,” Frank counters, positioning you so that he can clean you. His expression is focused, lip between his teeth as he dabs at your face with a cloth.
“Do I look like an extra from The Walking Dead?” You murmur, trying not to imagine how difficult it’s going to be to get the blood out of your hair. So much for a new start going into the new year.
“You’re too pretty to be on The Walking Dead,” He replies, and you roll your eyes.
“Liar.”
“It’s true!” He protests. “Close your eyes for a sec-” The cloth brushes across your eyelids, as Frank lets out a small hum. “There. That’s you.”
You offer him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, no problem.” His voice is quiet, almost contemplative, his hand still hovering near your cheek.
A sudden wave of self-consciousness rushes through you. You haven’t looked in a mirror since midday- god knows what you look like right now. “What?”
“Just thinking,” He shrugs, discarding the cloth before his other hand pushes a stray hair from your face.
“About…?” You trail off, arching an eyebrow.
“How I really don’t want you to go to Boston. How I think you’re perfect in Emergency Medicine. How much I’d like to kiss you again.”
A smile spreads across your face. It’s been the worst shift of your life, hands down, and yet you’re not sure you’ve ever been happier. “Are you just thinking about it or are you actually going to make a move?”
“Someone’s impatient,” Frank murmurs, before his hands drop to your waist and he pulls you in, kissing you deeply.
It’s softer than the first kiss - less desperate. Your hands fist his scrub top, and you sigh into his movements. There’s none of the usual early awkwardness - trying to work out the dynamic, the push and pull. It’s like you and Frank have been doing this for years.
Finally, he pulls back a little, resting his forehead against yours.
“Pity it’s not midnight,” You breathe, and he lets out a low laugh.
“We’ll just have to do it again, then.”
“Very smooth, Langdon.”
“And Boston?” There’s an air of nerves to his tone, like he’s not quite sure where he stands. Where you both stand. Together.
“You can decline the offer right now, if you want.”
The door to the office swings open, and you both leap apart as Dana sticks her head in. “Don’t mind me,” She starts. “Just need a pen.”
Once the door closes again, you worry that the moment is ruined. That today is just going to go down as an almost. Instead, Frank speaks. “Do you have plans tonight?”
You wish you could say you did. But in a new city, you haven’t quite managed the friends thing yet. Omaha to Pennsylvania is a long way, and your plans had involved a glass of wine, and a viewing of When Harry Met Sally. Lip between your teeth, you shake your head.
“Come out with me,” He urges.
“To do what?”
“Anything. I’ll pick you up at eight - we can go get drinks, catch a firework show, whatever you want.”
It’s the easiest decision of your life. “Okay, yeah,” You smile. “That sounds fun. I uh, I don’t have my car, though. Might take me a little bit to get home.”
His jaw drops a little. “You walked?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” You shrug.
“Okay, well. Change of plans. I’m going to drive you home, and then go get changed myself, and come back to pick you up.”
“You don’t have to do that,” You start, but Frank is immediately shaking his head.
“Don’t bother, sweetheart. Sweeping you off your feet does not involve a two mile walk home in the dark. I’m driving.”
6PM
Dana’s been aware of you both all day. Aside from being Charge Nurse, and her duty to keep track of the staff, she’s been paying extra special attention to you and Frank Langdon.
Even if she hadn’t walked in on you both about to jump each other, she would’ve noticed the shift. Normally after traumas, you’re withdrawn and quiet. A little aloof with everybody, even Frank.
Tonight, your demeanour is relaxed, and the smile hasn’t left your face as you follow Frank out of the hospital.
Frank isn’t much better. His body has been angled towards you, ever since you both emerged from the supply closet, and his fingers keep twitching, as if he’s suppressing the urge to reach out for you.
She has a feeling she might be collecting some money from Perlah tomorrow - the two of them have had an ongoing bet about whether Robby or Frank will get their act together first. Perlah had been firmly Team Robby, on the grounds that he’s been pining for the night-shift charge nurse for literal years, and surely he couldn’t drag this out much longer.
Dana, on the other hand, always knew that Frank had it in him.
He’s afforded the luxury of being mildly less fucked up than Robby, and he’s in very close proximity to you on almost every shift.
Knowing there’s some money coming her way from the betting pool helps too.
The eyes never lie, and the two of you have been gone for each other since day one.
She does see the irony in a very occasion for you both sprouting from a hellish shift, but she figures someone deserves to be happy tonight.
Dana’s gaze follows your figures out to Frank’s car, and she has to bite back a smile when he leans down to press a kiss to your cheek, before opening the door for you.
Maybe they’ll all get a Pitt wedding before long.
taglist #1 - @sparkles121127 @kmc1989 @hopeless-romantic-baby @yepyeahuhhuh @kdcollinsauthor @defenestracjaem @mydarlinggardenia @seitmai @insomniactiefling @teenwolfbitches28 @thecranberrypineapple @karsinner @pastelpoppies @silentlysuffering98 @atwingeofenvy @generation-zero @thatgirljayy @cannedgrapejuice @bojackbaby @fragilefable @zzsloth @tremendoushearttaco @onlyforyuto @littleone65 @trinsantosgf @rubytuesday2468 @looneylooomis @rufles @moonflower91 @sarahskywalker-amidala @sagittariussupernova @mothericraveviolence57 @homeslices @affabletimelady @pedrohoe04 @d4isyr1dleys @mydarlinggardenia @marsupialnoises @van1llanotes @legacymush @girljusttrying97 @itseightbeats @dizzybee03 @xoxabs88xox @literal-tv-menace @pascalswiftie @wildstreetrat @ladybirdbeetle7 @chiyo-juice @badassturtle13
