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“Good talk.”
Frank bites down on the words, acidic in his mouth, volleyed out into empty space only to fall into the void. Or rather, hurled at the retreating back of Robby who’s already too far down the hallway to hear him. Right.
The tips of his ears burn, and it’s no longer fear making his heart race, but anger. Hot and humiliating and alive, building in his chest and crawling up his throat, tinging the edges of his vision red. Frank doesn’t chase after him. Doesn’t indulge that anger and make a scene and follow after Robby and stick to his side until he wears him down and things go back to normal. Instead, he stays firmly planted, staring down at the remnants of his gown balled up in his closed hand, knuckles undoubtedly white under the thin layer of synthetic blue nitrile.
Slowly, he releases tension in his fist, one finger at a time, taking deep, centering inhales with each relaxing digit. His breath steadies with each drag of air.
When he pivots toward the trash can to throw away the wad of material, he expects everyone to have already cleared out. That’s usually how it goes. Always moving, always rushing toward the next sign of trouble. He used to move like that once. Decisive and kinetic and confident. Now he’s plagued with hesitation and he’s not sure if it’s caution or cowardice. Some insidious part of him worries he’ll never get that back.
But when he looks up, Mel is staring at him across the bay. Her hands untie her own gown. Nimble fingers undo the loose knot at the nape of her neck, right under her braid. The gauzy paper falls from her shoulders, and she lightly tugs it the rest of the way down her arms, careful with how she handles it. Folding instead of crumpling. Taking much more care than she normally would. Meticulous and measured, the sort of controlled action of someone trying not to spook a frightened animal. Which from anyone else would make him grit his teeth and clench his jaw in annoyance, but with her, it feels genuine. Real.
He remembers that about her. Her meticulousness. The control to his chaos. Maybe it’s odd to think about this woman he’s known for less than a day as complementary to himself. A missing puzzle piece with just the right shape to slot together. A perfect pair. But then again, he doesn’t feel alone in that thinking. Not with how easily she slots in next to him. Not with how she stays.
Mel doesn’t break eye contact once while removing her PPE, tilted head and curious eyes trained solely on him like she’s studying him, like if she stops looking at him, he’d cease to exist at all. Her cheeks start to pinken. All delightful and rosy and delicate like a porcelain doll almost — he’s staring too much. It must be the heat.
Never in his life has eye contact been so difficult, but he keeps finding his eyes shifting away from hers. Finding excuses not to face her head on. Yet each time he breaks their shared gaze, her eyes stay firmly on him. Always ready for him when he inevitably looks back.
The weight of her gaze is so different from Robby’s. Where Robby’s eyes scrutinize and hunt for uncertainty, hers are patient and receptive and encouraging. She doesn’t side-eye him, she just looks and he feels it in every part of his body, replacing the crawling feeling under his skin with something electric and buzzing and alive. Because when she looks at him, she’s really seeing him. As if he peeled away each layer of himself painstakingly and she never once shied away from what was inside of him. As cliche as that sounds. The same indescribable feeling as when she finishes his sentences, when she brushes just past his shoulder, when she entertains his stupid jokes (that he knows aren’t that funny, but make her laugh anyways like she’s charmed he attempted humor at all).
The intensity of her gaze dulls the roaring in his ears. Suddenly, it’s quiet. Well, as quiet as it could get in the middle of a crowded ER in the midst of a holiday weekend, but it really does feel like it’s just the two of them in this building. In this world, really. Just them and this weird unspoken understanding between them.
Frank’s mouth opens and shuts. Lips part once more preparing for words that simply do not come out. Of all the reactions he prepared for when he walked back into this hospital, being rendered speechless by Mel King looking at him was not high on the list. Boy, does he feel like an idiot right now.
Frank looks down and finally drops the destroyed gown in the trash, fingers nimbly snapping his gloves off before he clears his throat.
“Thanks for covering for me there—” he starts before she cuts him off.
“You’re doing great, Dr. Langdon.”
Frank stares at her dumbstruck, but utter sincerity paints her features. He blinks once and she blinks back.
“You don’t need to make me feel better, Mel,” he mumbles, eyes once more sliding away from hers in embarrassment.
Her brow deeply furrows in confusion, then smooths out again in realization. She inhales deeply and her chest puffs up with the motion. Squares her shoulders. “I’m not.” Frank scoffs at that, but she continues, conviction oozing from her tone. “I can’t imagine it’s easy to come back after ten months without feeling a little bit unsure. You are doing great.”
“I appreciate it,” his voice waivers slightly. “But that was not my finest work.”
He can still hear himself — the rising panic with every moment Robby’s silence stretched on, the half-second hesitation that turned into second thoughts. Frank knew the answers and instead of being allowed to work toward them, he’d been left hanging in the space between. Until Mel extended her hand to meet him halfway. An outstretched palm. I won’t let you fall. Not out of pity, but in support. Offering him a little boost in the same room he reassured her all those months ago.
“That was not a balanced teaching opportunity,” she replies immediately, the edge of frustration in her tone surprising him.
It’s almost comical.
All of his memories of her — all twelve hours — are so brilliantly sunny. Smiling, eager, slightly flustered in a way that was endearing rather than uncertain. Even in her lows, she never snapped or yelled. By all accounts, a beaming, haloed, slightly awkward angel. Seeing her eyebrows knit together like this, nose scrunching as she turns the moment over in her head, Frank can’t help but think she looks like an angry bunny. Thumping around in righteous indignation, but still an adorable puff of fur. Still soft, still wide-eyed. The corners of his mouth twitch upward. Huh.
“Robby should’ve asked me questions, too,” she continues. “It was unfair to needle you like that. Withholding guidance and affirmation is no way to quiz a resident, no matter what year they are. You were right to begin with. You trusted your gut, the explanation was somewhere in your brain. It’s like exercising a muscle, it takes time.”
Unfair sticks in the air uncomfortably. A strange weight in his chest lifting with the word. A name to the hurt he’s feeling, giving voice to the squirming thoughts in the back of his mind that he shoved away because he wasn’t allowed to feel like that. Maybe, he was.
“I— yeah, I guess,” he mumbles, not quite sure what to do with someone advocating for him so plainly. So fiercely. To his face no less.
Her lips downturn at his response and he wonders if she scowled like that in his absence. Perhaps at Yo-yo’s teasing, or at the gossip she didn’t listen to but clearly heard. He wonders if she would scowl like that the next time Robby rides him, if she’d back him up if he snapped or god forbid, if she’d grimace at his raised voice.
What he does know is that she’s there to catch him and he didn’t realize how nice it was to have that.
Mel studies him for a long beat, something thoughtful passing through her eyes.
“It’s not his job to shake your confidence, Dr. Langdon,” she says finally. Her emphasis of his title is not lost on him. He makes a note to himself that before the day is finished he should ask her to call him Frank. Wonders if she would or if she’d insist on the formality. Hopes she would. Wants to hear it in her voice. “So don’t let him. You’re a good doctor.”
You’re a good doctor. The words already start to loop in his brain, joining breathe and slow down in their endless cycle. There’s something so resolute in her tone, so final, that there’s no room to doubt her complete belief in the statement. In him. She’s the only person who seems to hold that unwavering faith.
He knows he will hear those words. Already imprinted in his neurological pathways in this exact way — in her voice, with her conviction — because he thinks it’s the only way he’d truly believe them. From the mouth of the person who cares enough to help him, to reassure him.
He swallows around the uncomfortable lump in his throat, letting that wash over him. Soothing over wounds reopened after ten months, still tender to the touch. A balm to his soul like she knew exactly what he needed just by looking at him. A new weight settles in his chest, this time something more pleasant. Warmer. More something.
Silence settles between them once more, devoid of the tension that’s seemed to follow Frank around the department today.
Mel looks up at the clock on the wall.
Still unable to say anything, Frank watches her face shift. Just a fraction. Crumbling for a millisecond before smoothing out into something neutral again with terrifying control. If he hadn’t been staring so intently, he’d have missed it entirely. He wants to ask what’s wrong, if time is crawling toward something specific, if she’s counting down to something, but somewhere down the hall a loud noise breaks her concentration on the time and she faces him once more. Mel shakes her head quickly.
“Want to find something else? We make a good team.”
When he nods, her grin lights up her entire face, crinkling the corners of her eyes, and Frank has the strange and sudden urge to make Mel smile in that exact way every chance he can. Just to see how her eyes slightly close in joy, just to see how her two front teeth stick out slightly, just to see how her cheeks round up when she laughs. Just to see her happy. Which is a totally normal thing to feel.
Her golden braid swings behind her as she exits the trauma bay, swishing back and forth, hypnotizing, before she spins around to see if he’s trailing after.
What more could he do but follow her?