Neglected reader sitting at the dinner table even quieter than usual, barely giving one word responses to any questions, picking at their food with a slight edge—like they weren’t sure of its contents—and giving an awkward purse of their lips whenever anyone accidentally made eye contact with them.
Neglected reader cautiously excusing themselves to go to bed and who is let go with little fuss, though when their back turns some eyebrows furrow in either confusion, concern, or both.
Neglected amnesiac reader who shuts the door gently behind them, pumping their fist in victory after having made it through the entire dinner without knowing a single person’s name.
The dryness in your throat is the first thing your notice as your eyes slowly peel open
Where am I?
You lie in the center of a large feather mattress, the sheets too soft, too heavy against your skin. The room is unfamiliar, adorned in black and red tapestries, their patterns woven in thick velvet that swallows the light.
A fire crackles low in the hearth, its glow flickering against the stone walls, casting shadows that seem to shift when you stare too long.
Your head throbs.
Wincing, you try to sit up–
And freeze.
This isn’t your room. The realization settles slowly, as your hands grip the sheets. You look around again, searching for something– anything– familiar.
With a soft creak, the door opens.
A maester steps inside, his eyes widening the moment he sees you awake.
“My Lady, you’ve awoken,” he says, startled, moving towards you.
“Where am I?” your voice is hoarse.
“Lie back, allow me to examine you”
His hands are gentle as he presses his palm to your forehead, checking your temperature. He examines the wrapping near your temple, where a medium sized gash lies, clearly cleaned and tended to with precision.
“Your wound seems to be healing properly,” he murmurs. “Your husband is occupied in a council meeting, but we’ll send for him once it concludes.”
Husband?
You don’t get to question him further as he steps out of the room.
You swallow, your thoughts scrambling.
The last you could remember was walking through the rocky lowlands of your home in The Vale. Your siblings beside you, daring each other higher and higher along the cliffs, your boots slipping against damp stone as rain begins to fall. Your room in The Vale was simple, decorated in blues and greys, nothing like the suffocating richness of velvet and shadow that surrounds you now.
Has your family travelled for a feast? A tourney?
The word husband lingers like a bruise yet to develop to dark mauve and sickly yellow.
No, that couldn’t be right. Surely you would remember your wedding. Perhaps the maester had confused you for another lady, and in his rush, was not able to confirm your identity.
You’ll wait for this lord husband to come by and discuss the mistake at hand.
Your eyes flicker to the door. As if summoning someone, the door creaks open, almost unnoticeable.
A small boy, no older than ten and three, peaks his head through. His silver hair falls messily into his lilac eyes. As soon your eyes meet, he rushes inside with a wide grin.
“Sister!” he blurts, before slipping in.
Another smaller boy, trailing behind him. “Wait for me–” rushing towards you, he clambers onto the mattress, settling comfortably beside you.
Sister? Something must be wrong because these boys were not your brothers. Studying them closely now. The pale hair and lilac eyes. Looking eerily similar to a house of dragons. Slowly, the pieces fall together and your gaze drags around the room once more.
The red and black velvet furniture.
Gold thread woven into the heavy drapes.
The furs draped across your limbs, far beyond anything you’ve ever known.
This was no noble house of the Vale. Could not be a house of any prominent lord.
Your string of thoughts snipped as the little boy rests his head on your clavicle. The older boy rests his palm against your forehead.
“Hmmph.” He hums softly, brows knitting together in thought. “Yes indeed your fever has broken.”
A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face. “I must examine you further, sister,” he adds. “As any good maester.”
Before you can react, he turns toward the small table beside the bed, vials arranged carefully.
“A maester?” you echo.
Glancing towards you, he blushes. “Well not yet obviously, but as you know, father intends to send me to the Citadel this summer to see where my interests–”
“Who is your father?” you question.
His hand on the vials froze, turning to you slowly, “What?”
The younger boy lifts his head from where it rests against you, blinking up at your face.
Your pulse began to race, “Who is your father?” You repeated.
“That isn’t funny.” Uncertainty creeping into his voice.
“I’m not joking.”
The younger one pushes himself up fully now, no longer relaxed, his small hands gripping the fabric of your nightgown.
“Why are you talking like this?” he asks.
You open your mouth–
Wood crashes against stone with a force, making the three of you flinch.
“My wife!” a voice rings out, sharp and theatrical. “What a dreadful time I’ve spent with my uncle and grandsire–” The man’s manic smile fades as he takes in the two boys– one in your arms and the other standing beside you with a vial.
Aerion Targaryen. He stands tall in the doorway, silver hair catching the firelight, pale violet eyes sharp and burning with something volatile. There is something almost beautiful about him, in the way a blade is beautiful just before it cuts.
His expression darkens.
“You little fucking wretch. Why are you bothering my wife?” His voice seethes with venom. “Put those fucking vials down, Aemon.”
Aemon’s hands tremble as he sets the vials down with the rest.
“Get off the bed now!” he shouts towards the boy in her arms as he yanks at Aemon’s ear.
The younger boy startles, scrambling back. Your arms tighten around him, holding him close.
“Stop it!” your voice trembling. “Stop shouting at them. Leave us.”
Aerion stills, silence floods the room.
You recognize him from the many tourneys you had attended with your family. Dark banners with a three-headed red dragon snapping in the wind. Notably at the last tourney in Ashford, Prince Aerion had called for a Trial of Seven against a knight of no great standing.
The whole ordeal had unsettled you deeply.
He releases Aemon’s ear, a look almost close to remorse washes over. It vanishes quickly, replaced with something neutral and bored.
His mouth opens to speak–
“Brother,” Aemon’s voice cuts in suddenly, “I think there is something wrong with her.”
“Enough Aemon, you’re no maester yet.” Aerion scoffs, shoving him lightly aside. “Go fetch some water.”
“I’m serious,” his eyes fixed on you. “She doesn’t remember Father’s name.”
“Enough of these games wife,” Aerion turns towards you, head tilted and an unsettling grin graces his face, “you’ve been out for days and I wish to bed you.”
Heat rises to your neck and face. How could he say these words in front of his young brothers?
“Call for the maesters,” Aemon tugs the sleeve of his jacket, voice rising. “Call for Father.”
Aerion doesn’t look away from you. And in that moment you realize he doesn’t believe you.
Aemon runs out of the room, you could hear his shouts from the hallway.
~
The idea of being wed to Aerion Targaryen rattled you greatly. You could not imagine how this match had even been put into place, how your family had allowed it or how you had agreed. Your eyes flicked towards him. Witnessing his cruelty to his own kin had deeply unsettled you.
You wondered about many things. You wondered what your own relationship with him must be like. And how long you had been married for. Did you have children already? The Targaryens were known for their herds of offspring.
You must have been together long enough for his family to feel comfortable around you. Egg, who must be about seven, still rests his head on your chest.
Across the room, Aerion lounges in a chair facing the bed, one arm draped lazily over its side. His gaze is fixed, not on you, but the boy in your arms. And something close to possessiveness in his dilated pupils makes your pulse quicken.
“And can you tell me which year we are in?” the maester questions.
“I’m not sure.”
A pause.
“And who do you recognize in this room?”
“I am.. aware of everyone in the room,” you choose your words carefully, “but I had not recognized Aemon and Aegon upon their visitation earlier."
“You recognize them–”
“I know of them, but I am not familiar with them.”
“Convenient.” Aerion’s voice cuts through.
“Silence, boy.” Maekar Targaryen stands near the foot of the bed now, his presence demanding obedience.
“I’m telling the truth.” You insist.
The maester interjects, “and what do you remember of the accident?”
“I remember nothing”
A beat.
“Then what do you remember last?”
“I was with my family,” you begin slowly, “In the lowlands of the Vale. The weather had turned and began to rain so we rushed inside.”
“Then you mean to tell me you don’t remember anything from your time in King’s Landing? Our marriage?” Aerion rises slowly from his chair.
You shake your head, “No.”
“My Prince.” The Maester steps forward, “This is not uncommon.”
“Head trauma, particularly one severe enough to render a person unconscious for several days, can result in memory loss,” he explains. “It is not unusual for the mind to retain older memories while losing more recent ones.”
“And her recovery?” Maekar asks, voice firm. “Will this condition.. persist?”
“In most cases, no,” he replies. “With rest and proper care, the mind often restores itself. Memories may return gradually, triggered by familiar places and experiences.”
Aerion exhales loudly, “and if they don’t return?”
“Then we must prepare for that possibility as well, Your Grace,” he admits carefully. “But it is… unlikely.”
Maekar reaches for Aegon’s sleeping form, carefully lifting the boy from your embrace. The sudden absence of weight leaves you feeling cold.
“You’ve overstayed,” Maekar says, shifting his gaze towards Aemon.
“But-”
“Now.” Leaving no room for argument, Aemon follows his father through the threshold, pausing to look back at you.
The door shuts behind them, leaving you alone with your husband.
Husband. You could not believe this cruel, spoiled Prince was your husband.
“You’ve exhausted me with this… excursion.” His voice was flat and bored. “I expect your memories back swiftly. For now, let’s sleep.”
one of my favourite tropes : when a living weapon character with no sense of self or personality, couldn't name a favourite colour or maybe even their own birthday, is injured enough to get amnesia.
sure, they remember their new friends and their name, but beyond that is a clean slate. free from the hurts of their past and upbringing, their new friends witness small or maybe even huge glimpses into what could have been if that character was never raised the way they were.
and when their amnesia leaves, the person they were during it doesn't, and they're left with aching questions and self hatred because why can't they just be that person when they just were only hours beforehand. and even though the memory of it didn't leave, they can't find it within themselves to be that. but they'll forever be haunted by the question of what if.
bonus angst points if their new friends were way more receptive to the character when they had amnesia
well, Dennis was in my head all morning and wouldn't shut up, so instead of everything else I was supposed to do today (including responding to comments but I love them please don't stop!), I let him take over and came out of it with a brand new chapter!
good lord these idiots are exhausting, in the best way.
chapter four: to live, while we are able
Dizzy (Or the one where Frank bonks his head, has temporary amnesia, and is reasonably certain that Mel might be his girlfriend)
Rated Teen for mild cursing
Frank Langdon/Mel King
🩺 june 22nd: tropes | different first meeting
A/N: I wrote this for the #kingdonweek2026 challenge, choosing tropes as my my theme. We are fully embracing the amnesia trope today. I love feedback <3
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Frank was certain something was very wrong with him. He was on the floor of the trauma room and he could hear voices, but they were distant and entangled with the bright lights dancing across his vision. He could see Mel, she was yelling at him.
Or was she yelling at someone else? The med student, what was his name? The Tall One. Yeah that asshat. Ogilve. It came back to him like he was whispering in his own ear. Why were they in the trauma room again? Oh yeah Mel was yelling at Ogilve. Frank wouldn’t want to be on the other end of that. Who would piss Mel off? No one could piss kind, sweet Mel off. Ogilve had gone and done the impossible. He’d gotten on Mel’s bad side. Not that he blamed Mel. No, Ogilve could be a real contender for asshat of the year sometimes. Wait, why was Mel looking at him like that? Why was she bending down, touching Franks face? Oh fuck why was she shining a light in his eye?
“Fuck, Mel,” Frank wheezed. “That hurts.”
“Frank can you see my fingers?” Mel asked.
Yeah, he could see her fingers. They were petite and soft and lovely.
“Thanks,” she said softly. She tilted her head. “I was looking for a number, not a description though.”
Oh crap. He’d said that out loud hadn’t he. “Mel I don’t want to scare you but there’s definitely a guy behind you.”
The Tall One loomed just over her shoulder. What was his name again? “I’m so sorry, Dr. Langdon! I was just trying to move the lamp so I could see the patient’s wound, and you were reaching for something at the same time, and I guess I moved too quickly and got you in the forehead.”
“Frank, that’s Ogilve.” Mel pinched her eyebrows together in the way she did when she was really concerned. “Do you not recognize him?”
Princess suddenly leaned into the picture holding an ice pack. “Princess!” Frank laughed. “I missed you. How was the barbecue?”
Princess shook her head at him as she handed the pack to Mel. “It’s November, Frank. There’s no barbecue. What day do you think it is?”
“It’s July 4th!” He stated with the confidence of someone who knows they’re being messed with. “You guys are being so funny,” he said with all the sarcasm a guy who had hit his head could muster, “but I know it’s July 4th. Mel’s sister was here earlier, I got in a fight with Robby and I — I watched the fireworks with Mel.”
Mel’s squinty face got squintier, as she gingerly pressed the ice to his face. “We need to get Dr. Al-Hashimi,” she said to Princess with utmost seriousness. Princess sped away before Frank could react. Wow his head hurt.
Mel pulled his arm until he sat up tenderly. Her deft little fingers palpated his bruise gently, brushing though his long hair to check where he fell on the floor.
“You’re gonna have a nasty bump, but no sign of skull fracture.” She exhaled. “Frank, who am I? To you, I mean?”
“Mel I know who you are,” Frank huffed. “You’re my favorite R2, the nicest girl in the whole world, and my best friend.” Wait, no that wasn’t right, he had only known her for two shifts. Wait did he just call her his best friend? Why did that feel familiar, like he’d thought it before?
Mel tilted her head at him, pursing her lips in a way that was endearing. It reminded him of something, something he couldn’t quite place. She had tilted her head at him like that before.
Suddenly Frank felt adrift, like he was looking at himself from outside his body. He saw flashes, of himself, of Mel, of his friends and family. He saw his wedding ring disappear into a box in the bottom of a drawer. He saw Abby frowning at him from across the courtroom. He saw his kids, crying because it wasn’t his weekend to keep them, he saw himself crying in his car because he had to go home alone to an empty apartment. He saw Cassie sit next to him at an NA meeting.
He saw Mel. Mel, Mel, Mel. Sweet Mel laughing at a joke, crying at a movie on her couch, sneezing from tree pollen while on a walk. At a diner, holding a burger that was too big for her mouth. Smiling, at him, at Becca, at Tanner, at a patient. He saw her apartment, her living room kitchen. Her driving him to an NA meeting, him driving her to the Fort Museum. Mel trick or treating on Halloween with his kids. She was wearing a Tinker Bell costume. It hit Frank like a freight train. Do I have amnesia?
“Mel, are we dating?” Frank choked out. “Oh my god. It’s been months. It is November. Are we in love?”
At that exact moment Donnie and Al-Hashimi rushed in. Mel handed Frank the ice pack and stepped back to let them work.
“What happened? Was it a code blue?” Al-Hashimi asked in a rush.
Donnie crouched down and evaluated Frank’s pupils with a penlight. What’s the matter with everyone trying to blind a guy who just needs a little Advil and a nap?
The Tall One answered. “Um, it was me actually. I hit him with the overhead lamp. It was an accident.”
“Ogilve help me move him,” Donnie instructed. He wasn’t happy with the way my pupils reacted, Frank thought dumbly.
Ogilve grabbed Franks legs and despite Frank’s weak protests, Donnie grabbed his arms and they deposited him on a gurney. The kind they used for hallway patients. Out of the corner of his eye he made eye contact with the patient in the trauma bed. Mel was going over the patient’s case with Dr. Ellis, who was getting in a trauma gown in preparation to take over care. The patient mouthed “Are you good?” at Frank. Frank only moaned in response.
“He definitely has a concussion,” Donnie was saying as they wheeled him over to curtains. No shit Sherlock, Frank thought with mild irritation.
“Alright. We need to fill out an incident report,” Al-Hashimi was saying back to him.
Paperwork? Fuck. Frank hated paperwork. He’d kill someone if they tried to make him fill out a form right now.
“Can you stay with him, Dr. King?” Al-Hashimi was saying. “We’ll get him a CT to be safe, but we’ve got a very long list of patients who need the scan and it will be a while. He’s very comfortable with you.”
Mel. Gorgeous, cute, darling Mel. Frank had forgotten she was here. Ah yes, she had just handed over their patient to Ellis. How could he forget? His beautiful girl. His favorite girl. Oh there she was. She was saying something to Al-Hashimi, but Frank couldn’t focus on that now, her fingers were wrapped tight around the safety bar of his gurney, knuckles white and he needed her to stop that. He reached out, and gently pulled her right hand off the bar and squeezed gently.
She looked at him then, awe and surprise in her expression, before her eyebrows knit together again with concern. He wanted her to feel better. Why wasn’t she happy that he was holding her hand?
Oh right, Dr. Al-Hashimi was standing right there. Maybe they had a rule against PDA at work.
“Sorry, Mel,” Frank moaned. Where did he put that ice pack that Princess gave him?
Al-Hashimi rushed off somewhere, pulling the curtain closed behind her.
Mel kicked a stool over to his bedside and sat next to him, still holding his hand.
“It wasn’t your fault, Frank.” Mel whispered. He was grateful. It was easier on his ears. “You don’t have to be sorry.”
“Sweetheart, I just meant that I’m sorry I embarrassed you in front of Al-Hashimi. Couldn’t help it. You’re so beautiful.”
Mel turned his preferred shade of pink, and blinked at him rapidly, adjusting her glasses with her free hand, like she wasn’t sure she was seeing right.
“And you’re gorgeous,” Frank had found his ice pack. He placed it on his forehead in relief. “Since we’re stating facts.”
“Frank. You actually mean it?” Mel’s eyes were wide.
“I’ve clearly neglected to tell you, lately,” Frank was pissed at himself. How could he let his girl think he didn’t worship her body and soul? What kind of a shitty boyfriend was he? “But I promise to tell you more often from now on. Melissa King, you are the most attractive, cute, and beautiful person I’ve ever met. Your hair is so lovely. I wish you wore it down more often, but actually no I don’t. Because you wouldn’t be Mel if you stopped wearing your braid. Your eyes, oh my lord they melt me to death. Your cute button nose, I just want to eat it.”
She wrinkled her nose, and her glasses slid down just a bit.
He went on, just wanting to see her smile at him again. “I love your glasses, your sensible clothes, your addiction to the color pink. Everything about you, baby. I’m sorry I’ve been a bad boyfriend. You should know how much I adore you.”
Mel was biting her lips and turning a more curious shade of red. “I think you’re so handsome,” she admitted. “I love your floppy hair Frank, and your river blue eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”
“It’s okay sweetheart,” Frank dismissed. “I’m just happy I get to be with you. I’m a lucky man.” He reached out and ran his hand over her braid. He gave it an experimental tug, pulling her closer to him. It was softer than he imagined it would be.
Imagined. Have I never touched her hair before? Damn, I wish I didn’t have amnesia.
Before he could analyze that thought, Mel was dropping the safety rail and sitting on the edge of his bed. Yes! She’s in hugging range, he thought derangedly. He gathered her up in his arms and she put her hands on his chest as he sat back, content.
“Frank,” she complained. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”
“Trouble is my middle name you know.” He gave her a squeeze around the middle, remembering that she like tight hugs.
“No, it’s not. It’s Brandon. Which is a lovely middle name by the way,” Mel protested.
“I love you, Mel,” Frank whispered. “Glad you were here to take care of me. You’re my favorite girl.”
Frank looked at her then, dropping his ice pack as he found she was close to tears. “Aww Mel, baby, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m not remembering things too well, but I really think Ogilve didn’t mean to hurt me. I’ll be okay.”
“Frank,” Mel cried. “I love you, too.”
And then she was kissing him. And she kissed him exactly how he wanted her to. Sweetly, with passion, with tongue, with a faint taste of strawberry chapstick. How often had he smelled her applying that chapstick in his car and wondered how it would taste on her lips?
Wow he really was a lucky man. She was so squirmy in his arms, as she lay on top of him, her lower body was still curving away from him, but he could run his hands over her arms her sides, her hips. She was so wonderful, so kind and thoughtful. Her patient care was top of the department for patient satisfaction these days and he wasn’t surprised. He wondered if she gave all her patients such nice kisses.
“Darling, my darling,” he said as he parted their lips. Mel made a high pitched noise and buried her face in his neck. That was hot, he thought distantly.
“Frank.” Mel started.
Frank started to fall asleep rapidly. She was so warm against his chest and her arms had wrapped around his neck in a way that felt pleasant.
“Frank,” she whispered. “Please don’t be embarrassed when you remember everything.”
“Mmm, Mel?” Frank whispered. “Whatcha talking about ?”
“Nothing Frank,” Mel shushed. “I just want you to know that I meant everything that I said today.”
“Okay..” Frank started feeling the sensation of a warm blanket coming over him.
***
3 hours later Frank was wheeled to CT. Faster than Mel expected. He was still asleep. She had extricated herself from his grasp when he fell asleep, and promptly fell into a fitful doze herself in a chair across from him. When Jesse came to grab Frank, he had given her a good shoulder shake and she was back on her feet again.
They wheeled him to CT. Somehow, Frank slept through the bed transfer and everything. She was waiting with the tech now, for the scan to be over.
She was glad that Frank had insisted on putting her as his emergency contact last month. Yeah, it was mostly because he was worried that she didn’t have one, and he wanted to be put down as hers’. That’s what friends did for each other, he had said to to her. Friends. Best friends. That’s what they were to each other.
Mel was desperate to know if he wanted more than that, but it wasn’t a good time. Rehab, career interruption, divorce. It had all been so sudden for Frank. She was worried that if she pushed him too hard, it could undo his progress. And the cowardly part of her was afraid. Afraid he wouldn’t reciprocate her feelings. Afraid she would lose him.
And work kept her busy. Busy enough to push it out of her mind.
It helped that Mel loved being Frank’s friend: carpooling to work together, streaming episodes of their favorite shows together (the X-Files, the Gilded Age), cooking meals together. She finally felt like she had a life outside of caring for Becca and going to work. She loved his kids, and they liked her enough to coordinate Halloween outfits (she went as Tinkerbell, Frank went as Peter Pan, Tanner was Captain Hook and 5 year old Penny was the Alligator that swallowed the clock).
But then Frank got concussed. And all of these words started pouring out of him like a faucet was opened, and she didnt want it to close because she was so close to drowning in her own feelings. And had he been less clear about how he felt, maybe she would have hoped that he would forget everything that happened today entirely. But Mel was selfish. She wanted him to remember his confession of love, how he held her, their first kiss, at least. She knew she would never forget the look of awe and plain adoration in his eyes that had prompted her to kiss him. She’d never seen such naked emotion from him, except when he looked at pictures of his kids and thought no one else was watching.
The radiology tech finished, Mel helped the techs transfer him back to the transpo gurney. He started to wake up a little, so she ran her fingers through his hair to calm him. It worked like a charm and he blinked up at her curiously before sliding back into sleep. God, his eyes were like the deepest body of water and she could feel herself sinking into them each time they made eye contact.
They rolled him back to curtains where she pulled the curtain closed, turned off the overhead light and sat down to text Abby a brief update. She included an apology that Frank would miss pickup from afterschool, as she knew it was his turn today. Abby replied in seconds.
That’s awful. I hope Frank feels better soon. Take good care of him Mel. No worries about pickup, I can handle it today.
Abby was a very good co-parent, Mel thought to herself. Frank got lucky, she was eminently reasonable, extremely kind and forgiving, and she loved her kids to bits.
Frank started frowning in his sleep and Mel reached out to smooth the lines in his forehead to the left of his bruise with her thumb. It was a pretty ugly contusion. She wished they could give him something more than Advil for the pain, but his chart was clear. Frank had updated it himself to specify no pain meds for anything less than a major trauma requiring sedation. This did not count.
She was humming to herself, a song by Meg the Stallion, and combing her fingers through his floppy strands when she startled to see his eyes were wide awake and studying her. She flinched her gaze away from his piercing one.
“Mel…” Frank began, frowned and then started again. “Mel did we kiss today?”
Mel smiled. Thank god, Frank’s memory was coming back online. She was a little sad. Concussed Frank had been so lovey dovey with her.
“Yes, Frank,” Mel answered carefully. “You were confused, you thought we were dating. And you said some things that you probably didn’t mean to say, but it was lovely to hear them and, I, um. I kissed you.”
She watched his face go through so many micro expressions. Remembering, his eyes slid to the upper right, before refocusing on her, his bushy eyebrows pushing upwards in surprise. “You kissed me? This isn’t real. I must be dreaming.”
“Why do you think you’re dreaming, Frank?” Mel pushed. Now was the time to be brave. Like the Sara Bareilles song. It was now or never.
“Because you don’t think of me that way. I don’t blame you. I’m a loser.” Frank explained.
Mel pulled her hands out of his hair and covered her face with her hands. “Frank you are not a loser. If anything I am.” Cool, handsome, popular Frank was so deluded if he didn’t realize that he was the catch here. He even had a nice car now (he got it in the divorce, Abby was stacked).
“Mel, sweet—“ Frank stopped himself from calling her sweetheart again. Mel’s heart sank. She wanted to hear it again. “Mel you are such a bright light in my life. And in every life you touch. I never want to hear you say something so insane ever again.”
He grabbed for her hands, and pulled her to sit next to him in the bed. She obliged. This was feeling very similar to the order of events directly before she kissed Concussed Frank.
“If I’m not dreaming, and you did kiss me, and tell me that you love me,” Frank’s voice broke as he said it. His fingers guiding her by the wrist, he slowly brought her hands to his chest. “Why didn’t you say anything before now?”He slid one of her hands deliberately to his carotid and left his hand there, wrapped loosely around her wrist. His pulse was fluttering faster than she could ever have expected. 125 bpm, her doctor’s brain estimated.
“I was scared” Mel blurted. “ I didn’t want to lose you by scaring you away.”
“Mel,” Frank leveled her with a serious look. “You could never do anything to push me away. I’m yours.”
Mel was so tightly wound. She felt hot tears at the corner of her eyes and she blinked them away, angrily. Why couldn’t she ever react normally to emotion?
“What about if I committed a murder?” She joked to break the tension and distract him from her wiping at her eyes with the hand not on his carotid.
Distraction failed. He kept his eyes on hers as he brought his free hand to her face, removing her glasses carefully (they went into his chest pocket) and trailing through the hastily smeared tears. “I would help you hide the body,” he said darkly. It sent a shiver down her spine.
He leaned forward suddenly, and kissed her tear stained cheek. She watched him with fascination as he pulled back.
“Do you love me, Mel?” Her hand on his collarbone felt the vibration of him speaking. She felt goosebumps run down her bare arms and she nodded, not trusting her voice.
“Can you say it again, please?” He begged, his voice cracking again. His eyes bore into hers.
“I love you, Frank,” Mel fluttered her eyes shut. It was easier to be brave when he wasn’t looking at her like that, with those deep pools he called eyes.
Frank’s pulse jumped. She felt it under her fingers. “Oh!” She exclaimed, and then he captured her lips with his own, kissing her fiercely while both his hands trailed possessively down her body to grab her hips and slide her impossibly closer to him.
Frank kissed very differently from Freshly Concussed Frank. This Frank was dominant, he wasn’t sweet, he was desperate. A man searching for water in a desert, was the image that sprang to mind. He kissed with the passion of a man who had been thinking of kissing her and more for months. He plundered her mouth with his tongue, decidedly not chastely.
“How long?” She managed to ask between kisses.
He pulled back breathing hard. “I couldn’t admit it to myself at first. I wasn’t good enough for you. I’m a fuckup, Mel. You deserve better than me. I wanted to be better for you.”
“How long have you known that you wanted me?” Mel insisted. She’s had a crush on him since her very first day. But he was married back then.
He pressed his forehead to hers. “I think since we watched the fireworks together. I wanted to touch you so bad.”
Before his divorce, before they were friends. It sent a zing down her spine.
He kept going. “What you said to me that day. About needing me. About me not letting you down. I thought about that for weeks. It kept me going, even through the divorce. I was a very bad man, Mel.”
Mel was acutely aware of the power dynamics between them. He was her friend sure, but before that he was her senior resident, her teacher. She could have never known he was fighting the urge to make a move on her. He was a consummate professional and so very respectful. There was never a hint of impropriety. Well maybe, he touched her slightly more than strictly necessary. But a quick tap on the shoulder, a brief hand hand hovering over her back felt more like guidance and friendliness than anything else. And until August, he was married. Why should she read into anything between them? They were good coworkers, then good friends, then best friends.
“You wanted me,” she calculated. “For approximately 134 days. And you didn’t tell me.”
“Why? How long have you wanted me?” Frank pressed a kiss to her ear that made her shiver.
“I can’t answer that,” Mel hedged. “I plead the fifth.”
“Mel,” Frank hissed into her ear. “You have to tell me. I’m concussed.”
“Since I saw you. The first time, I mean. I noticed immediately how handsome you are. Your hair, the way it falls in your eyes. it’s so distracting,” she squeaked.
Frank cursed under his breath. “We can’t do anything about it now, but I really wish I had known how you felt. I love you, Mel. I mean, I’m kinda obsessed.” His hands were soothing up and down her back. He kissed her again, with so much longing and care. She wanted to melt into his arms. His touch was electrifying, it was safe. It was everything she wanted it to be. It was overwhelming.
She was suddenly aware of how public all this was. They weren’t even in a room, they were in curtains. Anyone could come in at anytime.
She reluctantly pulled away and sat back on her stool, a safe distance away, where she could still hold his hand. He protested, “Mel. Baby, don’t go,” but was silenced by a quick “we’re in the hospital Frank, and if you keep kissing me, we’re not going to be able to stop.”
It was fortuitous that she was so self controlled, because Dr. Al-Hashimi and Princess came in not 10 seconds later. Mel hoped she didn’t look like she had been making out with her coworker.
***
“Your scans are clear Frank,” Al-Hashimi was saying. “You’re safe to go home, as long as someone else drives you. I noted that Dr. King is listed as your emergency contact. Mel, I’m giving you the rest of the day, but you’ll need to do a double later in the week.”
Mel nodded. “I can take him. We drove in together anyways.”
“I was supposed to take you home?” Frank interjected. It was half a statement, half a question. His memory was still kinda fuzzy. Princess was fussing with the transport gurney. She shoved a fresh ice pack into his hand.
“Yes, we carpool, Frank,” Mel explained patiently.
It came back to him. Mel lived down the street from him, which made it easier when they had late night movie marathons and he didn’t want to sleep on her couch. She helped him find his bachelor pad actually, when Abby kicked him out.
So it was by design, not an accident, that they started carpooling. And it was more like Frank was her unofficial chauffeur, but that was how he preferred it.
Al-Hashimi was discussing discharge paperwork with Mel, Princess said something about limiting screen time. Frank pretended to pay attention, but really he was busy prepping his first proper date with Mel, mentally. He’d take her to feed the ducks at the local park, then they could have a picnic, he would bring her favorites, sparkling lemonade, marmalade sandwiches, some fancy cheese and cut fruit. Oh he could feed her the fruit, that would be so hot. They could kiss all they wanted on a soft blanket, really take their time. And then go back to his place after. He’d really clean it up. Rose petals on the bed or something. Would Mel like that? Maybe that was too much pressure, he could just get some roses and put them in a vase for her. Yeah he liked that idea. Pink, not red, he wanted them to match her pastel aesthetic. But maybe one red rose. Red is the color for romance after all.
Frank daydreamed all the way to the locker room to grab their stuff. On the way to the parking lot, he leaned against Mel, one hand on his fresh ice pack (Bless you, Princess) the other in Mel’s back scrub pocket. He only squeezed her ass a little. He deserved a treat okay? It had been a hard day.
Mel held him steady with an arm around his middle. Frank was still a little dizzy, although he couldn’t tell if it was from the head injury or if it was because his dream girl liked him back. Actually, she loved him back.
As she deposited him in the passenger side of his Audi and made him give over the keys he couldn’t help but smile at her.
“What?” She asked him. She was doing that thing, with her big doe eyes again.
“I’m really glad Ogilve hit me in the head.”
She sighed at him and he handed her the keys.
Mel got in the drivers seat and gave him a long level look.
“Me too.”
He laughed, and ouch that hurt his growing forehead bump, but he was happy when she leaned over the console and kissed him again. His head spun, and it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation.
A/N: Abby definitely wanted a day off from the kids for Halloween, but she joked when Mel and Frank picked the kids up to go trick or treating that her costume was Wendy in Peter Pan 2 Return to Neverland. When she’s all grown up wearing a nightgown and definitely doesn’t feel up to a trip to Neverland. Because she was wearing a nightgown and preparing for a night of drinking wine in the bath and reading romance novels.
you know how sometimes with the amnesia trope, the character (usually the antagonist) with amnesia ends up being kinder than they were before, and ends up going the main group of characters?
give me the opposite of that.
give me a previously likable character who ends up getting amnesia and gets mean because of it.
because, think about it. memory loss is scary, and disorienting. imagine losing a whole chunk of time and having nothing there to fill the gap, or even worse, losing what you could remember of your whole previous identity that the people around you are expecting you to be? you’d probably be scared and mean, too
