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Monitors beeped softly inside the ED, the sound accompanied by the usual ambience one grows accustomed to after a few shifts at the pitt. Shoes squeaking against linoleum flooring, pages flicking as attendings assess, keyboards click-clacking as residents try to catch up with charting, Princess and Perlah discussing the latest gossip in a language only they (and Santos, apparently) can understand.
If Mel weren’t so busy, she might consider taking up the language, if only to feed her curiosity. How much of their chatter is really work-related? And... maybe part of it is also a desire to feed her obsessive need to know what people are thinking about her at all times.
“-So, we’ll return when your tests come back; it shouldn’t be too long,” Langdon assured their shared patient, drawing Mel back into the present. She didn’t want to tempt fate, but the ED had actually been a little quiet idle today. She’s never been superstitious, always driven by logic and science, but even Mel wouldn’t dare to risk the avalanche of patients that word seems to bring in. She hasn’t got the bravery of Doctor Shen — is it bravery, or just an outlandish ability to remain cool as a cucumber at all times?
Regardless, Mel won’t take it for granted, especially after the nightmare shift they’d had yesterday, a whole biking crew (gang? Mel isn’t sure she’s cool enough to know the right lingo) had come in, looking like the victims of a slasher flick. At least they’d been nice, surprisingly so, really.
It distantly reminded her of the criminals from Tangled, one of the movies she and Becca would sometimes watch, if her sister was feeling daring enough to pick something other than Elf. Mel was always grateful for those occasions, needing a reprieve from the way Will Ferrell’s face had started to haunt her dreams.
Still, nice or not, having close to forty bikers appearing in the ED all in the span of about half an hour, well, it had been a little tiring.
Mel chewed her lip in thought as she, like always, trailed dutifully behind Langdon. He was rambling on about something sports-related, something to do with the hockey cap their patient had been wearing. By the sounds of it, it wasn't a team that Langdon appreciated.
She hummed along to his rant, not wanting his words to go unheard because there’s nobody as familiar with the feeling of being ignored as Melissa King. Just as she found something relevant to say, her lips parting to engage, Mel was halted by a sound she’d been dreading all day.
SNAP!
Her hair tie pinged, the elastic finally breaking. Honestly, Mel should have just replaced the band before heading into work this morning. The tie had been slaving away for months, but she’d been running late, and it was so old that her hand instinctively reached for the aged elastic. Like having a favourite mug. The logic is probably flawed, but she is who she is.
Mel jumped slightly at the snap, a yelp slipping from her lips as she and Langdon reached the nurses' station. He seemed a little more startled, watching as her careful braid slowly melted into soft, golden waves. It was like a waterfall he never wanted to look away from.
She offered a sheepish, almost gummy, smile as she shrugged slightly. “Err.. my bad,” Mel attempted, her hand already reaching back to run through her tired tresses of hair, oblivious to the lovestruck paralysis that had taken control of Langdon.
His lips were parted in surprise—a more accurate description would be to say that his jaw had fallen crashed to the floor—and he was blinking rapidly as they do in Pixar movies. He seemed to have gained some colour, too. Before, he was… only a little pale, probably due to exhaustion and back pain, but now, a blossoming shade of pink had bloomed into his cheeks. It trailed like ivy down to his neck and across to his ears, leaving the man positively starstruck.
Mel, still oblivious, was chatting away to Princess, politely asking if she’d lend a new hair tie for her to use until her shift ended. Frank had half a mind to jump into action and demand that she never braid her hair again if it meant he’d get to see her hair like this more often: sunny, gleaming, downright indescribable. It curled around her shoulders, her ears poking out shyly, the slight side-part suiting her like the stars suit the sky. He was completely in awe of her.
He always was, of course, usually for her brilliant competence or remarkable intelligence, sometimes for her amusing pop culture knowledge or her cute excitement whenever history came up with a patient—the ren fair, the reenactments which they’d bonded over tremendously, but this was different. This was her in as close to her natural state as he'd ever seen her. It made him wonder what she'd look like at home, her hair down as she settled into a t-shirt too big for her.
It felt like a spiritual awakening. Like she was his God-given solace.
Frank always did have a knack for the dramatics, okay.
However, he snapped head-first out of his daze-slash-melcoma when Garcia smacked him across the back of his head. A startled curse (shriek) tumbled from his lips, Langdon rubbing his scalp like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Jesus, what the hell was that for?”
His tone, Frank thought, had definitely concealed his moment of weakness. Judging by the way Yolanda was looking at him, her arms folded and eyes narrowed, staring directly into his soul in that typical Garcia way… his attempt clearly wasn’t as successful as he’d hoped it'd be.
“Keep it in your pants, mouth-breather.”
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Despite the pain in his back, which had been surging since... Approximately 4 am, Frank Langdon isn’t one to leave a damsel—or rather, a Princess —in distress hanging. It’s nothing too straining, anyway, just a box that needs lifting onto a shelf she can’t quite reach.
Easy.
And it is. Frank’s a little weak, but at least he’s not so much of a string-bean as that Ogilvie twerp. Now that kid… Put it like this. Height isn’t everything, and Frank’ll stand by that for a long time. He does pretty well for himself, admittedly, but it’s not like he needs his height. If anything, his eyes are his most dazzling feature. He’s ER Ken, after all.
Ogilvie? Well, honestly. Usually, it seems like his height is the only thing he’s got going for him, and honestly, sometimes even that is irritating. Maybe it's not his fault, maybe the man boy is just a nuisance.
And, no, Langdon’s grudge isn't because the newbie had been ridiculously judgmental towards him after hearing all of the ‘rumours’ about Frank… But if it was, it's not a terrible reason to have a grudge. There's certainly been worse ones, and he has the patient files to prove it.
Now, the box.
Just some files that needed to be placed on a shelf in the middle of the nurses' station. When he got a moment, he headed over, Mel trotting behind like always, just the way he loves.
“Hey, Princess,” Frank greeted, spotting the box by her chair. “It’s this one? And.. you want it up here?” He asked, gesturing to the shelf behind her. Secretly, after Dana, she was one of his favourites. Without her and Perlah’s gossip, Frank often thinks they’d all be ten times more depressed.
‘More’, because you can’t become a doctor without having at least a solid 25% depression in you to begin with. Maybe it's not scientifically proven, but it definitely seems to be the case at the Pitt. Caleb can certainly attest to that.
With Princess’s affirmative nod, he carefully slipped his fingers beneath the box—only slightly heavier than he’d anticipated—and lifted it over his head. Frank was aware of the way his shirt rose when his arms stretched, but it's no big deal, really, just a little cold.
However, Mel seemed to think differently. Not that she made any moves to voice this, per se, but anyone with eyes could tell. It was pretty blatantly obvious.
Her eyes widened, her shoulders lifting slightly in wonder, hands clutched together in front of her and becoming clammy. Frank wasn’t even showing much skin, just an inch or two, but it's enough to see that despite his chronic pain, it hadn’t stopped his abdomen from being well-maintained. It's barely visible, really, but the slight indents can be seen if you look properly. And further, the soft snail trail, just prominent enough to be seen, thanks to the sliver of skin showing. Mel's eyes selfishly followed it down, observing the way it crept beneath the rest of his scrubs.
It's not that Mel's never seen a man's chest before, and really, she can't even see Langdon's chest, but what she can see is enough. It's not about how much, it's about who. There's just something so ridiculously attractive about him, even the finest details.
Mel’s only half-certain that the internally whispered “wow” had actually been internal.
A poke to her cheek and a physical twist of her head snapped her out of the ogling, and Mel’s gaze fell on a thoroughly unimpressed Samira Mohan, who had literally turned Mel’s attention away from the Greek God who mentored her. Mel was sure the girl had muttered something along the lines of "Orpheus" but it wasn't a top priority to know. Or care.
And alright, Greek God is maybe a little much, but the people yearn for hyperbole, don't they? Actually, Mel only likes it when she’s the one hyper..boly..ing, but doesn’t the situation just call for it? Anyone, maybe aside from Mohan, would agree.
Princess certainly does, if the way she thoughtfully raised her eyebrows at Langdon is any indicator.
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So, yeah. Sometimes, Frank and Mel will get a little flustered by one another, eye each other up. Hell, call them Mr and Mrs Stares a lot, the way they ogle each other. But if it's a mutual thing, then where's the harm? And if the only problem is the fact that their co-workers are slowly dying due to their slow-paced relationship developments, then so be it. A little staring never hurt anyone, did it? It's not like Mel and Frank never suffered seeing Samira and Jack, Robby and Whitaker, Santos and Garcia.
They'll ogle each other all they damn want to.