Another Man's Jeans (a Frank Langdon exes-to-roommates-to-lovers fic)

It's been a long ten months for Frank Langdon. Rehab, endless meetings to prove he's fit for his job, and losing you.

It's his own fault. He knows that. He couldn't handle the pressure of his entire life going to shit, and combusted, destroying your life in the process. If things had gone to plan, the two of you would've been married by now. Instead, you're near strangers, and Frank doesn't know how long he can watch you date a guy that absolutely doesn't deserve you.

Until you turn up on his doorstep, with nowhere else to go after being kicked out by your ex.

And so, Frank Langdon's second chance begins.

Chapter Text

NOW.

The Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre looms low in the distance as Frank Langdon steps off of the train. Aside from one brief meeting with Gloria after his discharge from rehab, it’s been nearly ten months since he’s set foot on hospital grounds.

Which means it’s also been ten months since he’s seen you.

His heart tightens at the thought, the familiar tug of shame that’s been plaguing him since September 10th, 2024. One week after Pittfest. The day he cut you out of his life, and broke both your hearts in the process.

The memory still stings - a cool burn that sneaks up on him every time his thoughts drift to you. Whoever said that time heals all wounds didn’t know shit about relationships, evidently. If anything, his thoughts of you have become near-constant, made worse by the idea of coming back to work.

For the past two months, all he’s been able to do is imagine your reunion.

Logically, he knows how it will go. At best, you’ll offer him indifference. At worst, anger and pain. He couldn’t blame you for either. It’s a pipe dream, the idea that he might get you back one day. But still, a part of him holds out hope that maybe you’ve been missing him as much as he’s missed you.

THEN.

“Don’t go,” Frank hums, trying to tighten his arms around you as you wriggle in his grasp.

“I have to, Frankie,” You reply, pressing a kiss to his cheek, somewhat surprised by the show of affection. You’ve only been on a few dates, and your initial impression of Langdon was that he was all for the sex, and not so much for the actual relationship side of things.

Having spent a year working with him and watching girl after girl trail into the ER, desperate for his attention, you’d assumed that his invitation of dinner was just preamble for the main event. Instead, he’d held your hand, and you’d shared dessert, and he’d dropped you back home with nothing more than a quick peck.

Even on date two, you’d been the one to initiate the kiss. It’s the closest you’ve ever come to seeing ER Ken nervous.

Having just had date five last night, you can feel yourselves starting to ease into whatever this new dynamic is. Gone are the early date jitters, replaced by your usual camaraderie.

Of course, it helped that the date four sex had been mind-blowing. And if you’d had any worries about the first time being a fluke, the dull ache between your legs immediately puts paid to that.

“I’ve got work. So do you, for that matter-”

Another grumble, as Frank rolls onto his front, face firmly in the pillow. “We don’t need to leave until like six-thirty.”

“You don’t need to leave until six-thirty - I have to go home and grab scrubs,” You reply, finally manage to detach yourself.

Staying over hadn’t been the plan. Not when you’ve both got a twelve hour shift today. But after four glasses of champagne, when Frank suggested you come back to his place, it had made perfect sense.

“Wear mine.”

So much for your agreement to keep things quiet for a while. “I’m not wearing your scrubs.”

“Why not?”

“Yours are black and mine are pink, for starts?”

Finally, he sits up, duvet pooling at his waist, and you have to fight the urge to clamber back into his lap, and discard your shift entirely. “Fucking paeds - who’s bright idea was it to have different colours for different departments?”

“I like the pink!” You defend, moving to grab your clothes. “But I really need to get going, if I’m going to be on time.”

“You don’t have your car, sweetheart.”

“Oh. Yeah. I uh, I was just going to get the subway - it’s only ten minutes.”

Suddenly, Frank’s wide awake, frowning deeply. “What do you mean ‘the subway’? I’ll drive you.”

Sure, it would only take Frank five minutes to get to your apartment. But a wave of self-consciousness washes over you, at the idea that this is all too-much too-soon. That you shouldn’t be treating him as a boyfriend on the first night you’ve ever properly spent together. “I really don’t mind-”

“If you think I’m letting you wander around the Pittsburgh subway at six in the morning, you’re crazy. Just give me a minute, I’ll pull on some clothes and we can go.”

You’re more than a little embarrassed by how much basic decency does it for you, but once again you start to weigh up how much you really care about your job. If it keeps you from Frank’s bed for twelve hours at a time, maybe you need to reconsider family medicine.

“You want to do something after work tonight?”

All your dates so far have been a respectable one week apart - keeping you both free from any accusations of moving too fast. Two nights in a row may not feel momentous, but you hope Frank takes it for what it is.

Your own way of telling him that you really like him.

Thankfully, he seems to catch your drift. “Two nights in a row - that’s like… boyfriend privileges.”

You nod a little. “Yeah, I guess some might argue that.”

“Would you?”

You meet his gaze, eyebrow arched. “Are you offering?”

His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it before. “Yeah. I am.”

NOW.

The worst part was that you’d defended him right to the end. You were his most vocal, and sometimes only, supporter, even after your relationship ended.

You were the reason he still had his job.

Gloria had told him as much. That meeting had been the only time since rehab that Frank had considered taking another pill. The idea that he could hurt you so much, and you’d still do everything in your power to protect him was like a stab to the chest.

He’d thought about reaching out. Not in person, he wouldn’t do that to you. Maybe just a letter - trying desperately to explain the apparent madness behind his actions.

Eventually, it became the only way for him to find any kind of peace. Pouring his heart out across endless pages, scrawl so illegible he doesn’t think anyone would be able to decipher them.

Currently, he’d guess that there are about thirty shoved in the back of his closet. He never did pluck up the courage to send you any.

As he approaches the front door, Frank tries to calm his nerves. You’re never in the ER first thing in the morning, always opting for a paeds ward round, unless there are any emergencies. At earliest, he can expect to see you float down at about ten.

Robby’s waiting for him just inside, eyes solemn. Their relationship hasn’t recovered since the incident, just another casualty in the great fall of Frank Langdon. He can’t help but wonder if they’ll ever get past co-workers again.

Robby doesn’t trust easily. Frank doesn’t like his chances of earning it a second time.

“Good to see you, Doctor Langdon.” That’s all the greeting he gets, before turning and heading into the ER, leaving Frank to scramble and catch up. “I want you on triage with Dana this morning. And remember the conditions of your return - you need signed off by someone R4 or higher every half-day, lunch and end-of-shift. That means me, Abbot, Shen, Mohan, or… well, you know-”

Frank does know. In his leave of absence, you’ve bridged the gap in your careers, created by the virtue of him being eighteen months older, and a year ahead at medical school.

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Dana can sign you off for the mid-day ones, but I need a physician to clear you at the end of each day.”

"Got it."

Even Whitaker has more freedom than Frank these days.

Triage is by no means Frank’s favourite way to spend a morning, but there’s one very solid benefit. He’s not going to run into you.

Now that he’s back in scrubs, getting to work, he realises just how unprepared he is for this reunion. How unprepared he is to see your face again. It's something he's been thinking about for months. Almost since the day he left.

Now that it's here, he's terrified.

Everyone’s treating him like he’s made of glass - like one wrong look will shatter his sobriety.

Some have kept a cool distance - Santos and Robby.

Others have tried to be nice - Mel and Dana, but he can tell they’re still not entirely comfortable. He supposes it'll come with time. The only person who’s acting like nothing has changed is Cassie.

She’d pulled him aside in the break room, voice low as she told him that she was there for him if he needed to talk. That she knew what addiction was like, and how to get out on the other side of it.

Frank had to bite back a few tears, voice thick as he thanked her.

THEN.

He’s on you as soon as the door is closed. Boxes still covering the floor, you almost trip at the impact, fingers digging into his sides just to stay upright. “Frank- there’s stuff everywhere,” You breathe, pulling back just enough to get the words out before he’s kissing you again. “We need to unpack.”

“Gotta christen the new place first, babe. That’s like, rule number one.”

You let out a laugh, as your back hits the wall. “Since when?”

“Since always. Start as you mean to go on, and all that.”

Your journey to the bed is entirely graceless, filled with stumbles and giggles as Frank tries to manoeuvre you with as little interruption as possible. Clothes scatter across the floor, like some kind of constellation to commemorate your first night as a pair. A true, proper, undeniable pair.

The kind where you’re no longer simply each other’s plus one - instead, you’re a unit, to which both names are now scrawled across invitations.

Reduced to teenagers, the kisses turn sloppy, as Frank begins to make his way downwards. He can barely hide his smirk - and for good reason.

In your entire twenty-eight years of existence, Frank Langdon is the only person who has ever made you come with just his tongue. Throughout medical school, all you were treated to were a few half-hearted laps, before the boxers came off, and they were pushing in.

That’s not his style. As he’s announced on various occasions, Frank could spend all night between your legs, and feel just as satisfied as you do.

It’s almost an art form. Fixed precision, where he knows exactly how to move to bring you to the edge.

“My beautiful girl,” He murmurs, chin resting on your lower stomach as he glances up at you. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Frankie- oh, fuck-” You’re cut off by his sudden movement, licking a stripe through your folds.

Trying to maintain some semblance of control, you stay propped on your elbows, back arching a little.

There’s no easing you into things. No build-up. It’s just Frank and his mouth, and your clit.

It’s funny. No one at work had any expectations of him being in any way attentive. When Cassie had found out you were seeing each other, she’d simply winced. “Good luck with that one, kid.”

The only ones who get it are your friends from college. He’s always the picture of charm around them, well aware that one day they’ll make up your close council if he ever fucks up. You’re both hoping it never comes to that, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the little bit of jealousy that comes with his charisma.

“You’re so lucky. The guy I’m seeing won’t even go down on me.”

“He’s taking you to Los Angeles? Oh my god.”

“I can’t believe you found a man who cooks and cleans.”

The first orgasm comes quickly - as soon as he adds the second finger, you’re seeing stars. He’s about to dive in again, as soon as your legs stop trembling, before you reach down to tilt his chin up towards you, shaking your head. “Need you now.”

“Y-yeah, okay,” He nods, almost tripping over himself to make his way back up the bed. He leans down to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his tongue. “Shit, baby. You’re so pretty.”

NOW.

Each patient brings Frank closer to the inevitable. He’s already heard your name mentioned today - he knows you’re in the building somewhere.

The suspense is killing him.

It’s not until he’s heading for the afternoon ward round - Robby’s very concise summary of everyone admitted, and the highest priority cases for the afternoon - that he bumps into you.

Quite literally, he’s turning a corner, and walks face first into a pink-scrubbed figure.

Apologies are muttered as you both separate, before your eyes cast over his figure, and your jaw drops. It's almost imperceptible, but the shock is clear.

“Doctor Langdon,” You breathe, grip tightening on the iPad in your hands. Frank doesn’t miss the movement, nor has he ever hated his own surname more. You say the word like it’s the name of a patient you just met. Somebody you’ll know for a few hours, before parting ways and never seeing each other again. Not like it belongs to the man you once loved.

If things had gone to plan, it would have been your name too.

THEN.

“You want to change your name? Really?”

Frank can’t help the warmth that surges through him as he watches you smile at him across the table. He’s not sure he’ll ever get tired of that kind of happiness directed at him.

“I mean, yeah. If that’s okay-”

“Of course it’s okay,” He scoffs. “I’d love for you to be Mrs Langdon - I just never wanted to bring it up, you know? It’s such a personal decision.”

“Might complicate things a little in the ER,” You murmur.

“Don’t worry about it,” He dismisses. “They’ll get over it. Or we can just be Langdon One and Langdon Two.”

“I get to be Langdon One, I’m assuming,” You tease.

“Shouldn’t the person who’s had the title the longest get to be number one?” You roll your eyes, offering him a quick kick under the table. He feigns injury, reaching down to rub at his ankle. “You can’t just bully me into submission, babe. It’s not going to work.”

“How about withholding sex?”

“Let’s not be hasty, honey. Langdon Two works just fine.”

NOW.

Now, you’re near strangers, and Frank Langdon wishes desperately that he could rewind the past ten months.

He’s not sure that there’s anything in the world he wouldn’t do, just to get you to stop looking at him like that. All he can do is murmur your name, voice barely more than a whisper.

“I uh, I didn’t know you were back today.”

He assumed that would’ve been public knowledge. That once Dana or Mel found out, the news would’ve been plastered across the ER. Maybe people just don’t like mentioning him to you anymore.

“First day,” He manages, more than a little awkward. “How have you been?”

“Fine, I guess.”

It’s the only thing you can say. Either alternative is bad.

“Yeah, I’ve been great! Life really took an upturn after you called our wedding off three months before it was meant to happen.”

“I’ve actually been terrible and it’s all your fault.”

Neither of them fill him with joy, so he can live with ‘fine’.

“Good, yeah. That’s good. I’m glad. You look good.” Definitely too many ‘good’s for one phrase, but Frank’s head is spinning. You look good in the way that you always look beautiful to him - you could be wearing a trash bag and you’d still put the most famous supermodels to shame in his eyes. But there’s a deep and heavy tiredness hanging over you like a storm cloud.

You look sad.

And it’s all because of him.

“So do you,” You reply weakly. “How’s your first shift been?”

“Alright,” He nods, scratching the back of his neck. “Triage, so not the most exciting - but that’s probably for the best.”

A quiet falls, stifling and unpleasant. You still look like you’re about to cry, and Langdon can’t think of a single thing to say that could make it better.

“We should probably get to the ward round,” You finally manage, barely pausing before you start walking. It only takes a minute to get over to Central, where everyone is gathering, but it feels like it stretches to an hour.

He doesn’t miss the looks you both get as you approach.

THEN.

“Frankie, come on, we’re going to be late,” You urge, arm wrapping round Frank’s bicep as you try and pull him out of the hotel room. You’re in Philadelphia for his parents’ anniversary party, and your usually punctual boyfriend has seemingly lost all concept of time today. “Your mom’ll kill you.”

“She won’t, promise,” Frank insists, smoothing down his jacket, before turning to you. “You look stunning, sweetheart.”

He’s been a little off all weekend, and you have no idea what’s going on. Maybe it’s just the fact that this is the first time you’ll be meeting his extended family - you were nervous when he met yours. Despite your gripes, you smile, and allow him to draw you in for a kiss. “You don’t look so bad yourself - now let’s get going.”

He slips his hand into yours, and leads you downstairs, before hailing an Uber. If you’d been focusing on the journey, instead of the way Frank’s drawing light patterns onto your thigh, you might have noticed the car making several turns that definitely aren’t on the way to the venue you're expecting.

Instead, entirely engrossed in conversation, you don’t realise where you are until you’re stepping out of the car. Across the river from the main city, you and Frank make a point to come here every time you’re in town. It has the best views, and is always quiet.

“Why are we-” You cut off as strings swell through the air - your eyes land on a string quartet, set up just by the waterfront. “Frank?”

“Just walk with me, honey, okay?”

Confusion flooding through your veins, you slip your arm through his, and let him walk you along the path.

It’s a nice night. Nicer than it should be for this time of year. Pinks and purples streak across the sky, while the sun sets over Pennsylvania. Deep down, you put the pieces together pretty quickly, but it takes a little for your brain to catch up.

“I have a confession to make,” Frank says, slowing to a stop. “My parents aren’t having an anniversary party.”

You let out a small laugh, tears pricking in your periphery already. “I figured.”

“But you’re a hard girl to surprise, y’know that? Too smart for your own good.” He’s holding both your hands, forehead resting against yours as he speaks. “You’re my favourite person in the whole world. I think I’ve been in love with you since the minute I saw you.”

The tears are streaming freely, your grip tightening on his hands.

“Would’ve proposed after six months, if I thought you’d be up for it - figure two years is probably a better number,” He murmurs, before sinking down to one knee, your name escaping from his lips in a whisper. “Will you marry me?”

The sob erupts before the sentence is even fully out of his mouth. The ring box is barely open before you’re nodding, pulling him in tightly for a hug as he gets back to his feet. “Of course I’ll marry you, Frankie.”

“That’s good, because I practically had to take out a mortgage for this ring,” He teases, and you finally pause for long enough to get a good look at it. You’ve never mentioned what you’d like for an engagement ring, but Frank’s managed to eclipse all expectations.

He slips it onto your finger and kisses you again. “I love you, honey. So much.”

NOW.

That was four months before the pills started.

The room goes bright, and Frank finds himself back in the ER, eyes still trained on you. You’re looking anywhere but him, lip wobbling just slightly.

Letting out a shaky breath, your eyes flutter close as a single tear leaks down your cheek. Aside from the day your engagement ended, Frank doesn’t think he’s ever felt worse. A quick glance round at everyone else tells him they haven’t noticed yet, maybe he can-

“I-I’m sorry,” You burst out. “I need a minute.”

Without another word, you’re gone, making a beeline for the stairwell.

His first instinct is to follow, to try and make this better somehow - he's not sure his presence makes anything better right now, but he'd feel like a prick for not even trying.

Immediately, Robby's hand stretches out, barring him from crossing the ER. “Not you.” His voice is firm, but not unkind - it's the first shred of connection he and Frank have shared since Robby discovered the pills all those months ago.

“But-”

“Dana?” Robby cuts him off, glancing at the charge nurse.

“Yeah, I've got her. Don't worry.”

Chapter 2 Chapter Text

He looks taller. You’re not sure why that’s your first thought upon seeing your ex-fiancé, but it’s the only one that comes to mind. Logically, you know that’s not possible. Ever since you’ve known him, Frank Langdon has stood at a respectable six feet tall. Unless the laws of biology have reformed to give him a growth spurt at thirty-two, you’re positive that he’d measure the same as ten months ago.

Brief, painful small talk is stumbled through, before you head to the ward round, your mind spinning. Last you’d heard, they were planning his return for end of August. Not early July.

You suppose that must be a good sign - a sign that he’s recovering well, and ready to come back to work.

All too soon, the memories start to resurface. The fact that the last time you saw him had been from a car window, watching him pull away from the home you both shared.

You can’t even focus on Robby’s words, too caught up in your own misery.

God, you wish Heather was still here. She’d know exactly what to say, having been through her own tumultuous workplace relationship. Tears finally starting to trickle, you do the only thing you can.

Excuse yourself, and get out of the ER.

Footsteps sound behind you, and your heart sinks. You don’t think you can even look Frank in the eye right now, much less talk to him.

The stairwell is a welcome reprieve, and you let out a weary sigh as you sink onto the bottom step.

Much to your relief, Dana rounds the corner, her gaze knowing.

“I-I’m sorry,” You begin, but she shakes her head immediately.

“Don’t be. You know how much I hate Robby’s speeches. Hell, I owe you one for getting me out of there.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. “Glad my suffering can be of some use. It’s so stupid. I guess I was caught off guard. Didn’t expect him to be here today.”

“Shit, kid - I mean, I thought you knew. Robby was supposed to tell you, give you some kind of heads up.

If I’d known he didn’t, I would’ve. I just didn’t want to upset you by bringin’ it up when I didn’t need to.”

You shake your head. “I had no idea. I mean, I uh- I knew it would be soon-ish. I just- I didn’t… yeah. I didn’t know.”

A quiet falls, as you wipe a stray tear. Dana lowers herself to the step beside you. “It could be worse - at least you didn’t get shit on today. Whitaker can’t say the same.”

“Felt like I got metaphorically shit on, though,” You reply dryly. “I don’t even know what to think. Obviously, I’m thrilled that he’s doing well, that he recovered. But- it’s hard, y’know? Looking at him, and not seeing him ending things.”

“It’s okay to still love him, kid,” She murmurs, voice low as her hand continues to rub at your back.

“What?” Your head whips round at her words, confusion clouding your expression. “I do not still love him.”

Dana silences all protest with a roll of her eyes. “You cried about him at your birthday party a few months ago. Remember? Mohan had to get Abbot to distract everyone.”

You had actually forgotten about that. Tequilas well into the double digits does wonders for allowing you to forget your most embarrassing moments.

“You were together for three years - hell, that’s longer than my first marriage. It’s natural to think about the what-ifs-”

“I’m not. Promise. I was caught off guard. That’s all.”

The look Dana shoots in your direction tells you that she doesn’t believe a word you’re saying, but she doesn’t comment. Instead, she just nods, and gets to her feet. “Alright. Well, take as much time as you need out here. Robby won’t mind.”

“Thanks, Dana.”

*****

It takes seventeen minutes for you to re-enter the ER. Give or take. Frank watches the clock as closely as he can, trying to ignore the growing pit in his stomach.

When you finally do, your eyes are red-rimmed, and your head is pointed at the floor.

Whatever chances he had of catching your gaze, trying to apologise, shrivel up and die as he watches you beeline for one of the trauma rooms, shutting the door behind you with a thud.

He bites his lip, weighing up his options. The last thing he wants to do is push, so his only course of action is to leave you alone, unless necessary for the job. He hates the idea of making you in any way uncomfortable, even though he knows his very presence is probably doing that already.

He doesn’t see you for the rest of the shift, caught up with a fight that breaks out in the waiting room. For the first time all day, Frank is filled with relief that you aren’t here - especially after he takes a slap in the face for trying to break the patients up.

The next day isn’t much better. Other than passing you briefly in the corridor first thing (you’d smiled at him, which Frank considered the ultimate win of the shift), you’ve spent most of the day up in paeds.

A conscious choice, he’s sure.

It isn’t until he’s working with Mel on a hypochondriac pneumonia case, that he watches you escort a child and her parents into the trauma room. It looks pretty stressful - Robby had appeared just a few minutes ago to help.

“How has she been?” Frank asks, as he bundles the tourniquets and wipes into his arms.

“Mrs Danforth? Fine, I think. A little highly strung, but her examination was pretty normal-”

“Uh, no. Not her.” Frank makes one glance across the ER, where you’re still sitting with your patient. Frank had gleaned bits of information from the boards - the girl had a tension pneumothorax, now resolved by your needle decompression. While shaken, she seems alright now, soothed by your presence.

Your head is bent low, a hand resting on her shoulder as you speak softly to her and her parents.

You’re completely in your element.

Mel follows his gaze, before letting out a quiet ‘oh’. As if weighing up how much to tell him, the truth finally wins out. Frank had been counting on that. Mel’s the only one here who won’t soften the blow. “She took some time off, right after you left. Just a week - it was meant to be more, but she had a fight with her parents. Timmy got engaged.”

Frank’s expression drops. You’ve never been particularly close with your family, having spent your entire life being compared to your older brother. Five years your senior, and the apple of your mom’s eye, you never stood a chance. Timmy was always the tidiest, always the smartest, always the life of the party.

He’s an investment banker in New York, leaving your parents to almost sneer at your career in emergency paediatrics.

His only flaw in their eyes was his love life. Unable to settle down, Timmy had been sleeping around well into his thirties, drawing much disappointment from your parents.

Your engagement had been the first time in your life you’d had a leg up on your brother. Frank hadn’t even met them until you’d been together for eighteen months - you had claimed you didn’t want them to scare him off.

Meanwhile, you’d been having regular dinners with Frank’s parents from the moment you became official.

Timmy getting engaged, while your relationship fell apart, had the potential to be the final nail in the coffin of your familial ties.

And he wasn’t around for any of it.

Frank thinks he might be sick.

“H-how is she now?” The words come out in a sharp gasp of breath.

“A little better recently. Meltdown yesterday aside. She-she’s uh-” Mel stammers a little, stumbling over her words, and he frowns.

“What?”

“She’s got a boyfriend.”

If he’d been wondering how you felt upon seeing him again for the first time, now he knows. All the air is sucked from his lungs, his focus zeroing in on the stethoscope in his hands, as he tries desperately to steady himself.

Fundamentally, it shouldn’t be a shock. You’re the best person he’s ever met, and anybody would be lucky to have the privilege of loving you. How every person you interact with doesn’t fall a little bit in love with you, he’ll never know.

But after all this time, Frank has never allowed himself to consider the idea that you might not end up together. Throughout recovery, his only real motivation was making amends with you.

He loves his career, his job here, but he’d give it all up in an instant, if it meant he had a chance with you.

“I’m sorry, Doctor Langdon,” Mel continues.

“Don’t be,” Frank manages, though he can feel the well of self-pity beginning to fill. “I-is it someone that works here?”

Another silence, and he braces himself for the worst.

“Mike Gillies.”

It’s somehow worse than he could’ve possibly imagined. “Paramedic Mike Gillies?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“He’s a fucking dick.”

Frank can’t imagine he’d be too thrilled hearing about you dating anyone that wasn’t him, but Mike Gillies is the lowest of the low.

He’s only worked at the hospital for a few years, but he acts like he owns the place. Frank has it on good authority that the other paramedics can’t stand him (they were all drunk at Frank’s last Pitt Christmas party). He’s rude, dismissive, and absolutely doesn’t deserve a second of your time.

Not that Frank does either, of course. In the grand scheme of things, if you’re tallying up treatment of you, Mike Gillies probably comes out on top.

The thought is nauseating.

The two of you used to make fun of guys like that. Before he ruined everything.

Frank can tell that you’re nervous. It’s not something he sees in you often, but your lip is starting to look a little ragged from the amount of time it’s spent between your teeth today.

You’re up for Rising Star at the Pitt’s awards ceremony today, an award he himself was nominated for last year, though he eventually lost to Heather. He was nervous too, though he certainly didn’t have you by his side then. He’d taken some girl from Hinge, whom he promptly slept with and never saw again.

Three months later, you and he would go on your first date. And the rest is history.

It had been a battle to even get to come tonight - with so many doctors attending, the hospital is always short-staffed on awards night. It had taken considerable begging, and a promise to cover two of Shen’s shifts to get it off.

“You look beautiful,” He hums, moving to kiss your cheek. At the last second you turn, pulling him in by his shirt to catch his lips.

Excessive clinginess. Another tell-tale sign of your nervousness.

It’s clear you don’t want to go - but he knows that deep down, you’re going to win this award. And he also knows that you’ll regret it if you don’t go, and simply have to pick up the award from admin next week.

As expected, after a few minutes of kissing, you pull back to murmur, “Maybe we just shouldn’t go.”

“Sweetheart, I agreed to an extra twelve hours of work so I could see you win this award - I’d really like for us to go.”

“I won’t win,” You dismiss immediately. “It’ll be Garfield in cardio, or Routh in ortho.”

Frank shakes his head, hands dropping to your hips as he drags you in a little closer to him, the soft velvet of your dress skimming through his fingers as he repositions. “Trust me. You’re going to win. I know it.”

You roll your eyes, but drape your arms across his shoulders anyway. “You’re a little bit biased, given that you’re only sleeping with one of the nominees.”

“None of the rest of them could ever compare to you, my sweet girl,” He replies, voice dripping in honey, and you laugh. “In bed, or otherwise.”

He can tell that you’re still not convinced.

“Think of it this way - if you weren’t here tonight, you’d be working a shift with Mike Gillies and his moron friends bringing you patients every ten minutes.”

The laugh that springs from your lips is loud, unladylike, and very real. Frank knows he’s hit the jackpot. “Very true.”

“Win or lose tonight, we’re going to get a nice dinner, in some very nice clothes, and then have lots and lots of really dirty sex.”

“I like the way you think, Mr Langdon,” You reply, finally letting him lead you out of the hotel room.

As anticipated, your name is read out two hours later, as the newest recipient of Pittsburgh’s Most Promising Resident award. Frank’s not sure he’s ever been happier for anyone before.

As if conjured by his subconscious, Mike Gillies appears in the ER entryway, eyes zeroing in on you as soon as his patient is taken by Mohan. Unfortunately, you’re emerging from the trauma room, and run right into him. Frank can’t make out what’s being said, but you smile widely, and he has a sudden urge to gouge his eyes out.

“You doing okay?” Mel asks from over his shoulder, brows furrowed.

“Fine,” Frank grits out, fighting to drag his eyes away from you both. “Just fine. What’s next on the agenda?”

*****

You’re hoping that Mike doesn’t notice Frank’s return. Nothing ever came to blows, but they’ve never liked each other. This day has been relatively Frank-free, and the last thing you need is for Mike to cause drama.

Of course, nothing ever goes to plan, and Mike watches Frank go to greet the arriving ambulance.

“Don’t know how you ever dated that junkie,” He mutters, as Frank helps push Ziggler’s gurney to one of the free trauma beds. “He’s an arrogant piece of shit.”

“Don’t call him that,” You reply, heading for the supply closet for some more bandages. Mike falls into step beside you, frown deepening.

“Don’t call him what? A junkie? Babe, he was in rehab. If that doesn’t constitute a junkie, I don’t know what does.”

He follows you inside as you duck to gather some supplies. “Addiction’s not a choice, Mike. That’s not how it works.”

Mike rolls his eyes, leaning against the counter. “Yeah. I’m aware of that. But I see addicts every single day-”

“And I don’t?”

“Don’t be difficult. You know what I mean. I just think this place needs to be more careful with who it hires, that’s all.”

You sigh. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Why are you being so weird? He dumped you ages ago-”

You wince at the choice of words, fighting to keep your breathing steady.

“-so unless you’re still into him, I don’t see why you’re upset.”

You can’t tell him what’s really wrong. That even the sight of Frank terrifies you - because you don’t feel any differently for him than you did a year ago. That you know he could break your heart all over again, with just a few words.

When you don’t reply, Mike lets out an annoyed huff. “Fine. Whatever. I have to get back out. I’ll see you later.”

A slam sounds as the door closes, and for a second you’re worried that Mike’s force is going to shatter the glass.

You’ve never liked drawing attention to yourself - an argument at work before your boyfriend storms across the ER is exactly what you don’t want today. You’ve had enough attention, from Frank and everybody else.

You’re not sure how long passes - it could be ten seconds, it could be half an hour - when Santos pokes her head round the door. “Got a parent and child duo coming in - car crash. Doesn’t look too bad, just whiplash and some lacerations. Trauma room three when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Trin,” You reply, rubbing at your forehead.

When you make it to Trauma Three, the father is already getting stitched up. By Frank.

"Oh."

The noise escapes before your brain catches up. Frank pauses, head snapping round to face you, his expression falling a little. "This is Jacob and Alicia Martin - car accident at approximately thirty miles-per-hour. Alicia has a corkscrew fracture - ortho are on their way to X-Ray."

"Thank you, Doctor Langdon," You reply, voice clipped as you turn to grab a pair of gloves.

Normally, you'd spend most of your energy trying to console the child, make them feel better about being in the ER. Today, it's all you can do to stop yourself from sneaking continuous glances over at Frank.

Each time you do, you manage to catch his eye, before hurriedly glancing away again.

“Is there something going on?”

The father’s voice snaps you out of your trance, and brings reality crashing back down.

"I'm sorry," You reply, shifting into work mode. "It's been a long day - won't happen again."

You get back to work on the sutures, trying to ignore Frank, sitting just a few feet away to attend to the father.

It's the longest it's ever taken you to complete a few stitches. It's only when the patients are finally out of the room, and on the way to radiology, that you can breathe again.

Frank is still standing at the opposite end, pretending he's busy with tidying up the needles and bandages.

“I’m so sorry.”

His voice is low, hands shaking just slightly as he looks at you. There’s none of the cockiness that used to radiate from him. The assurance that was such a key part of his being has been stripped back to nothing, leaving Frank as much of a shell of himself as you are.

“I’d give anything to undo what I did. I just- I wanted you to know that I am so unbelievably sorry for how I treated you.”

You close your eyes, pressing them shut tight as if that will ward off your gathering tears. “I don’t know how to be around you, Frank.”

“I know,” He whispers. “If you really want, I can look for jobs somewhere else-”

“What?-”

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable in your own workplace-”

You’re shaking your head. Faced with the choice between seeing Frank daily for the forseeable, or potentially never seeing him again, you realise there’s only one option. However mixed up your feelings for him may be, and despite everything that’s happened, you miss him.

A lot.

You think he’s probably still the person who knows you best in the world, even after all this time.

“I don’t need you to leave,” You insist. “I just- it’ll take time, okay? I’m not sure how long… but yeah. I need to have time to process this in my own way.”

He nods earnestly. “Yeah, of course. N-no, that makes total sense. It was just eating at me, and I wanted to apologise, properly. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

You manage the smallest smile. “I appreciate that. I’ll uh, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow,” He replies, moving to open the door for you. The relief in the air is almost palpable.

Mike is waiting by the door - thankfully, too engrossed in conversation with security to notice who you were just talking to. Straightening your back, you make your way over to him, ready to smooth over the afternoon’s fight.

“Hey,” You murmur. “You ready to go?”

“In a better mood now?”

You bite back a snap, and nod. “It was just a long shift, I’m sorry.”

Mike thinks for a second, before giving you a nod of his own. “I’m sorry too. C’mon - we’ve got yesterday’s football to watch tonight.”

You don’t know why you do it. You’ve been able to spend most of today pretending that Frank Langdon hasn’t crashed back into your life, throwing your entire world off its axis.

But there’s a pull in your stomach, low and unyielding, as Mike takes your hand.

He doesn’t ever lace his fingers through yours. Not the way Frank did. It’s simply one firm grip of your hand. You swallow slightly. You’ve never noticed that before.

As if moving independently from your brain, your head swivels as you cross the threshold of the ED, one last look inside.

One last look at Frank. To convince yourself that he’s really here, and not some twisted figment of your imagination. That the man you’ve dreamt about for ten months, have loved for half a decade, isn’t breaking your heart with every word, every glance.

He’s still standing at Central, making half-hearted notes in the charts.

His gaze is already fixed on you.

Chapter 3 Chapter Text

It’s been a terrible start to your day. Mike got off his shift at six, and managed to make his bad shift your problem before you’d even brushed your teeth. You’d been on for fourteen hours yesterday, after Samira had to go home sick and night-shift were short-staffed. Which meant by the time you got home, the mountain of dishes from the previous night had seemed like too big a mountain to tackle.

You’d get to it tomorrow, when you were more in control of your limbs.

That had not gone down well with Mike.

Despite his insistence that he was exhausted, he managed to muster enough energy to go off about cleanliness and ‘the rules of the house’.

What could have been a simple, “I’ll do it when I get home”, instead turned into the biggest blowout you’ve ever had. Even calling off the engagement with Frank hadn’t been so full of vitriol.

Doors were slammed, insults were yelled, and now you’re doing your best to lower your blood pressure before you make it to work.

Over the past few weeks, you and Frank have fallen into a cautious rhythm - one that mostly involves you avoiding him, and forced politeness where necessary. This morning is no different. You offer greetings to Perlah and Princess, a hello to Dana, and a tight-lipped smile to Frank as you head for the changing rooms.

There were a couple of kids brought in overnight, so Jack had texted and asked if you could start down here, and head up to paeds when necessary.

It’s not too bad - a few admissions upstairs, and a discharge. Nothing too complicated, and all stuff you can do in your sleep. Until the mid-morning rush starts, and suddenly you and Frank are manning the floor with Javadi and Whitaker, while Mel mans triage and Robby tries to convince Gloria not to cut any more funding for the year.

You grab Whitaker, and leave Javadi to Frank. After a really unfortunate death, the kid seems to have developed an aversion to paediatrics, and you’re out to change that. You think you’re getting somewhere - Whitaker even cracks a few smiles while you work through a couple of broken limbs.

“See? Paeds isn’t so bad - plus they tend to be nicer patients than the adults.”

He grumbles, unconvinced. “It’s not the kids I’m worried about - it’s the parents.”

You’re about to reply when Carice, one of the Pitt’s regulars, get wheeled in by Frank. She’s a complete drunk, second only to Myrna, but you hadn’t seen her around for a while. You’d been hoping that meant she was on the straight and narrow again. Based on her current state, you assume that isn’t the case.

“Parents are tough,” You turn back to Whitaker, pulling your eyes from Frank. “You get used to it eventually. How to deal with them.”

“You might,” He snorts. “Not sure I ever will.”

You drop your voice to an almost conspirational tone. “If it makes you feel any better, Frank once told a kid’s dad to go fuck himself because he was getting in the way of the procedure - patient filed a complaint and he had to go up to HR and explain himself.”

“They let him away with that?”

You shrug. “Prodigal son privileges, I guess.” He definitely doesn’t have them anymore.

*****

Frank knows something’s wrong, but he just can’t put his finger on it. From your posture, to the slight furrow of your brow. Something happened before your shift, and you’re in a terrible mood.

Thankfully, the kids seem to be doing the job of cheering you up. Your shoulders are looser, and Frank can see you laughing with Whitaker. It isn’t until one of the regulars arrive, that everything goes to hell.

“How was the wedding? Where’s your ring, Frankie?”

Carice’s voice is loud. Booming, even.

Shit.

When he doesn’t answer immediately, Carice’s jaw drops. “Don’t tell me that you’re divorced already. Come on, kid - thought you’d be able to hold it together for a year or two, at least.”

Frank hopes you haven’t heard Carice, but one glance at your figure tells him you heard every word. Your shoulders have stiffened, knuckles turning white as you grip the chart.

A few seconds pass in silence, before you start to move.

“Shit,” Frank curses under his breath.

“Did I say something wrong?” Carice frowns.

“We didn’t get married.”

Understatement of the century.

Frank continues bandaging her up, but he can’t get the look on your face out of his head. How utterly devastated you looked.

“Do you- do you uh, mind if I go check on her?” Frank asks. Robby would have his head if he knew Frank was ditching a packed ER to go after you, but since it’s entirely his fault you’re upset, he feels he’s got some kind of obligation.

“Go ahead, sweetie, I can wait.”

Carice is one of the better regulars. Less handsy than Myrna, and generally easier to placate. Frank nods, and follows your trail, doing his best to stick to a speed-walk and not run.

He knows exactly where you’re going.

*****

You assume you’ll have some privacy on the roof. Aside from Robby and Abbot, no one else really comes up here unless they have to - normally the winds are enough to dissuade people.

You don’t know what’s wrong with you. The past few weeks have been fairly normal, in the grand scheme of things. You and Frank are surviving being in each other’s orbit again, and you figure that’s got to be enough for now.

He’d kissed you for the first time up here. It had been barely longer than a few seconds, before both of you had realised what you were doing. Frank had liked to count the kiss after dinner as your first, but you had been partial to the roof.
*****
“You were great,” He insists, leaning against the railing. “Really.”

“You’re just saying that,” You roll your eyes, but there’s no humour in Frank’s expression.

“Sweetheart, I don’t sugar-coat. If I thought you were shit, I’d say so. But you managed triage for a major trauma by yourself as an intern. Doesn’t get much better than that. Even Robby was impressed.”

His words help a little, yet you can’t help but think of all the patients you couldn’t save today. After a ten car pile-up on the freeway, it’s been the shift from hell. You’d already been short-staffed, with half the residents off sick.

When you don’t reply, Frank nudges you with his shoulder. “You’re thinking too hard.”

“Isn’t that the job?” You reply, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“It is. But you’re off the clock. Which means you’ve gotta let your hair down, forget about tonight.”

Without thinking, you let out a sharp sigh, allowing your head to lean against his shoulder. There’s barely any contact, hardly more than a touch, but it sends your heart racing.

Why the hell did you do that?

If Frank is phased by your actions, he doesn’t show it. He simply allows his arm to fall round your back, holding you against him. “If you can get through today, you can get through anything.”

“You sound like you’re reading from a Ted Talk,” You murmur, and he snorts. “One of those speeches about learning to live your best life, punctuated with at least three different power moves.”

“You’re really good at ruining the moment, aren’t you?”

At his words, your shoulders tense a little. Sure, you and Frank have basically flirted since day one, and he may have been part of the reason as to why you ranked PTMC so high on your applications, but still. It’s all been casual. He’s probably like this with everyone.

Even as you think that, you know it’s untrue. You love him, but you know some of the other students and doctors find him arrogant, and a little obnoxious. Occasionally, you can see where they’re coming from, but mostly he’s been a great help to you - signing off procedures, grabbing you good teaching cases.

You don’t know how to reply, and opt to turn your head a little to meet his gaze. You’re a lot closer than you’d planned on being - almost nose to nose. The look in his eyes is unreadable, and the silence grows, before suddenly he’s moving.

A single twist, and his lips are on yours.

In your surprise, your hands rest on his shoulders, while his drop to your waist. After a second, he pulls back, forehead resting against yours. “That wasn’t how I planned it.”

You can’t help but grin. “You planned this?”

“Well… plan is a strong word. In my mind, I’d have taken you out to dinner first, wined and dined you real nicely. We’d have shared a bottle of wine - white, because that’s what you like, even if red is way better. Then I would’ve walked you home, and been the perfect gentleman.”

“Sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into it - would be a shame for a plan like that to go to waste,” You hum.

“If you’d be willing to forget about this, we could do it tonight.”

You pretend to think over his offer. “No promises on the forgetting, but I would let you take me out to dinner.”

He smiles. “It’s a date.”
*****
You don’t even realise Frank’s on the roof until the jacket is draped over your shoulders. When you turn in surprise, he just shrugs. “You were shivering. Looked cold.”

“And you knew this before you came up after me?” You raise an eyebrow.

He shrugs. “That’s like You 101 - the cold is not your friend.”

You let out a small sigh, pulling Frank’s coat tighter round you. “I shouldn’t have run out like that.”

“It’s fine,” He immediately dismisses.

“Not sure Robby would agree.”

“If he has a problem with it, he can take it up with me.”

At this, you laugh. “Yeah, because you’re someone in his good books. I think I’d have a better shot with Gloria defending me.”

“A fair point. I-I told Carice what happened. It won’t come up again.”

“Thanks,” You whisper. “I appreciate that.”

“You walk to work today?”

A random question, but you’re glad for the change in conversation. “Yeah. My car’s in the shop - busted windpipe or something, I don’t know.”

You’re almost positive that’s not what the mechanic had said, but words are failing you right now. Frank was always the one that was good with cars. You just needed one to get from point A to point B.

“Are you still on Elm?”

“I’m uh, living with Mike,” You begin, before wincing slightly. “But it’s not, y’know, really what it looks like - my landlord put my rent up really suddenly, and I couldn’t afford it, so it just made sense-” You cut off, gaze fixed on the ground. You’d rather be talking about anything else. “It’s not forever.”

Not because you care deeply about what Frank thinks of you.

No. You just don’t want to be the asshole talking about her new boyfriend to her recovering addict ex-fiancé.

“I really don’t want you to feel awkward around me,” He finally murmurs. “Like you can’t talk about your life, or that you have to be worried about my feelings.”

“It’s just…” You start, gaze trained on the city below. “It’s weird that there are probably some people out there who assume we got married.”

Frank’s never considered that. That there must be patients out there who’ve been in the ER once, who will forever think of Frank as a competent, safe, doctor.

The thought makes him choke up a little.

“Yeah.” It’s all he can say without crying.

“We should probably get back down there,” You finally breathe, keeping your gaze pointedly away from Frank’s face. “I really want us to be able to work together.”

“I do too,” He replies, voice earnest. There’s nothing he wants more.

“I’m still not… there yet, but I’d like us to be friends. Eventually. If you’d want that-”

“Of course I do,” He interjects, with more enthusiasm than would be considered appropriate. Since you seem to be in the mood for confessionals, he swallows before speaking again. “I don’t think anyone’s ever known me as well as you.”

He doesn’t know what his goal is. Does he want you to agree - tell him that Mike has nothing on him? Or does he want your lips to curl in disgust - he did hide an addiction from you, after all.

Your eyes close for a second, and for a second he thinks you’re about to cry. “Robby’ll be looking for us.”

A nod, and you both head back downstairs.

It’s funny how many parent and child duos end up in the ER today - whether it’s luck or fate, you and Frank continually end up thrown together. You can feel yourself relax with every passing case, as you both slip back into the routine that you’re so used to.

You do history, while he checks medical records.

You each do your own examination, before Frank makes some excuse to get the parent out of the room so you can check everything’s okay at home with the kid.

You know that Frank is out to impress when he offers to do your paperwork for you. Ever since you’ve known each other, you’ve been trying to get the other to cover paperwork. It was something that had gotten a lot easier once you got together - Frank became incredibly amenable as soon as sex was put on the table.

That’s not a card that’s available to you anymore, but it appears that Frank’s guilt is enough to have the same effect.

If you close your eyes, it's almost like the good old days. When the diamond ring was perched on your finger, and Frank Langdon was still yours.

By the time the end of your shift rolls around, you find that you can finally look at him without wanting to cry. Barely an achievement, but to you it feels monumental.

"Are you working tomorrow?" You ask him, as you pull your sweater on - an old UPenn medical school one.

"Yeah - full twelve. You?"

You nod. "Me too. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow."

*****

Robby catches Frank just as he’s about to leave for the day. Backpack in hand, he’s trying not to think about the empty apartment waiting for him at home.

The left-over pasta, nowhere near as good as what you used to make. The box of chocolates with all the coconut ones left over - Frank hates them, they’re your favourites. He knows he should just throw them out. Even his misery isn’t quite enough to get him to stoop to the level of coconut.

“What’s up?” Frank frowns. Robby still doesn’t exactly go out of his way to interact with him, and he figures it must be because he’s done something wrong.

He can’t think of anything off the top of his head - he’s been very diligent about the sign-off process, as humiliating as it may be. Today was the first day he’d asked you to do it. It hadn’t felt right to ask anything of you, not after everything that happened, but he figures today was a step forward.

He hadn’t really known what to expect. Pity? A little bit of schadenfreude? All you gave him was a small smile, as you scribbled your name on his sheet, before bidding him goodnight, and heading off home.

To Mike.

The thought fills him with just as much joy as it did three weeks ago. Worse, now that he knows you’re living together.

Robby’s hand comes down on Frank’s shoulder, as he guides him towards the staff lounge. “You two looked… friendly today.”

He doesn’t say your name, but he doesn’t need to. For the entire afternoon, the two of you were like a well-oiled machine.

The way you used to be.

Sure, as R4s you probably didn’t need to work together quite so closely, but Frank reckons he can get away with it, since he’s still on probation.

“Yeah, I guess. We’re still getting used to being around each other again. But we’re good. We’re friends.”

Robby lets out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Robby glances around, clicking the door shut before he continues. “It means that she cried every day for a month after you ended things. Probably longer, and she just got better at hiding it. She was a very different person for a long time, Frank. You can’t just storm back into her life.”

“I haven’t stormed in-” Frank begins, but Robby holds a hand up.

“You want the best for her? Keep your distance. Be nice, but detached. Got it?”

If Frank thought his night couldn’t get any worse, he was sorely mistaken. But deep down, he knows that Robby’s right. He isn’t good for you - not in the way you need. “Yeah. I’ve got it.”

“Good,” Robby replies, eyes softening slightly. “I know this has been hard for you. But it’ll get better. Eventually.”

“Eventually,” Frank echoes, eyes cast to the ground.

The walk back to his place normally acts as some kind of solace - a reprieve for Frank to leave work at the hospital, and clear his head before he makes it home. Today, everything just continues to hang over him like a plague.

All he can think about is you. The way your eyes sparkled just a little today, after the girl was revived. The way your hand lingered for just a second too long on his arm. The way Frank knows that this can’t go on. For either of your sakes.

Starting tomorrow, he’s got to keep his distance. Follow Robby’s advice.

It’s the right thing to do, but that doesn’t make it feel any better. Which is how he ends up sprawled across the couch with a beer, watching an old Penguins game.

Anything to take his mind off things.

He’s about to doze off, eyelids getting heavy, when the bell rings. Did he order food and forget? Pulling a sweater on, he pads towards the entrance, and pulls the door open.

You’re the last person he expects to see on his doorstep. Eyes shining, hands trembling, it looks like you’ve been in some kind of warzone.

"What are you doing here?" Frank frowns, gaze running over your figure - the backpack at your feet, the bags in your car.

“A-are you busy?”

Frank’s rarely busy these days, but he’s certainly never too busy for you. You could ask him to drive a hundred miles in the middle of the night to kill a spider, and he’d come running. “No. Not at all.”

"Uh, Mike and I broke up. He kicked me out. And... and I don't have a place to stay." You say the last part like it's poison on your tongue, like it pains you to even form the words. He knows your thought process. Even when you were together, you hated asking for help. This must be killing you.

His mind starts spinning. You're friends with Samira, with Mel. Surely somebody in your life is better equipped to help you out right now, instead of your ex-fiancé. "What happened?"

"Doesn't matter," You dismiss, voice thick in a way that tells him it does matter. As if suddenly coming to your senses, you shake your head. "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't be here-"

"No, wait!" He exclaims, before he can even think about the ramifications of his actions. The consequences of having to live with the girl he still so desperately loves. "You can stay here. God, of course you can. My guest room's free."

Even if it wasn’t, his answer wouldn’t change. He’d sleep on the floor if he had to.

"I don't want to impose. I just... I didn't know where else to go."

“I-I’m glad you came to me,” He replies, voice soft. “You have bags in the car?”

“Only a few. He didn’t exactly give me much time to pack.” You let out a laugh, low and humourless. It’s so unlike the lilt that Frank is used to from you.

“Let me get them.”

Wordlessly, he follows you out to your car, grabbing two of the three to hoist over his shoulders. He’s about the grab the last, when you reach out, hand curling around the strap as you shoot him a look. Guilt begins to pool in his stomach - his back injury is the entire reason you’re both standing here right now. He’d be an idiot to risk that again.

“Good call,” He murmurs.

“Yeah.”

Frank lets you head upstairs first, watching as you step into his apartment - the one he’d bought after rehab. The one that’s nothing like the home you once shared.

Watching you in the doorway, glancing round, he lets out a shuddering breath.

What has he done?

Chapter 4 Chapter Text

The apartment is too quiet. Even after a twenty-four hour shift, when Mike is out cold, you’re greeted by the sounds of his snoring, wafting from the bedroom.

There’s not a sound from anywhere, and your brow furrows. Maybe he went out. Decided to go out for drinks with a friend, or something. He’s been known to disappear on occasion, only to slink back into bed at three in the morning, alcohol on his breath and no real excuses for the lack of contact.

Letting out a sigh, you drop your bag, and hang your coat on the post by the door, before making your way through through the house. The dishes are still piled up, but you figure there’s no point tackling them until you’ve had dinner, or you’ll end up with the start of a new mountain straight away.

You pretty much assume Mike’s gone out, or headed down for an early start to his shift, when you walk into the bedroom and find him sitting on the edge, eyes stormy.

“Mike? What are you-”

“Why the fuck do you still have this?”

In the palm of his hand sits a ring. The diamond ring that Frank had proposed with. Your engagement ring.

It had taken you a month to even take it off in the first place - the most naïve part of you had hoped that one day Frank would turn up on your doorstep, with promises that this was all a bad dream. That he still wanted to marry you.

That never happened, and eventually even the sight of the ring made you want to sob.

But you couldn’t just throw it away. No matter how mad you were at Frank, the ring represented a better time for you both. Same with selling. It just didn’t feel right.

So, you tucked it away in the back of your jewellery box, only to be brought out on particularly difficult nights. Nights where you wonder if you’ll ever have that again.

There’s a little bit of embarrassment about someone knowing you’re not quite as moved on as you claim to be, but mostly you feel anger.

Anger that Mike’s gone through your things, and invaded your privacy.

“Why are you going through my things?”

“Answer my question.” His voice is low, laced with barely contained fury.

“You first,” You reply, hackles raising with each second. Arms crossed, pull your sweater tighter round you.

“Fine. I’ve had an inklin’ that something’s been wrong since that bastard Langdon’s come back on the scene. Day one, I figure you’re just feeling weird about it, whatever. That’s fine. But you’ve been weird for three whole weeks now, and I think you’re playing me for a fool.”

The anger dissipates slightly, leaving just confusion. “What?”

“Kirk saw you and him today. Actin’ all friendly, like you’d never broken up. So, I got curious, and found this.”

His hand flexes, as if about to crush the ring.

It’s a battle to keep your emotions in check. “We work together.”

Mike snorts. “S’never stopped you from fucking him before-”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” You snap, stepping out into the hall. “Frank and I have been separated for a year, and nothing has happened since then. And I don’t appreciate the insinuations that something has happened.”

Mike’s footsteps sound behind you, heavy and foreboding. “God, I should’ve known better - the guys at the station all warned me about you, y’know - said you’d run right back to him if given the chance. I put a roof over your head-”

“I pay more fucking rent than you do!” You shout, slowing to a stop as you turn to face him again. “I’m sick of you treating everybody like shit. All the ED staff fucking hate you, outside of your stupid little steroid-lover EMTs - you’re rude, you’re dismissive, and you can’t understand that not everything is about you.”

For just a second, you think he might hit you.

“I’m sorry that I’m concerned about my girlfriend fucking some junkie - for all I know, you could be giving me AIDs or something-”

You can feel tears starting to cloud at your periphery. “You’re a prick.”

“And you need to get out. Now.”

Your jaw drops a little, eyes narrowing. “It’s almost eleven.”

The muscle in Mike’s neck ticks, his lips curling unpleasantly. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you slept around.” With that, the ring is thrown against the wall, clattering to the ground. “I’m going for a shower - you better not still be here when I’m out.”

Eyes burning, you drop to pick up the ring as you pass, ignoring the laugh that sounds from him. How can you possibly pack up your entire life in less than ten minutes?

You don’t dare slip the ring onto one of your fingers, and instead opt to place it carefully back in your jewellery box, before shoving it into your backpack. Clothes, laptop, a few others things - you figure that’s all you need for now, and then you can come back for everything else.

You know Mike well enough that he’s not about to start a hospital wide in-fight by getting rid of your things. He’s a dick, but he has some semblance of sense. Occasionally.

Three bags is about all you can carry, and you take them out to your car, making sure to slam the apartment door shut behind you as hard as possible.

The tears come easy. Thick and heavy, they soon give way to sobs. If your life over the past year has been on a downward trajectory, this might just be rock bottom. Single, homeless, not over your ex, and unable to afford solo Pittsburgh rental prices.

You consider your options. Your parents are too far away, though you’d rather sleep on the streets than ask them for help anyway. Mel’s been having a rough time with Becca - she definitely doesn’t need you crashing on her couch.

You could ask Samira, but you have it on good authority that she and Abbot have been hooking up, and spending most nights at her place. You’re not out to be a cockblock, and you certainly don’t want to wake up to your attending each morning, knowing that he’s probably spent the night inside your best friend.

You could go to Frank.

The thought pops into your head, intrusive and unwelcome. You can still barely function interacting with him at work - being around him non-stop might just tip you over the edge.

And yet, you can’t think of a better option right now. Robby had once told you to get in touch if you ever needed anything, but you can’t imagine that extends to sharing his home.

For all his faults, Frank has seen you at your worst before. It doesn’t feel quite as embarrassing going to him, knowing what he’s been through recently.

You won’t get any judgement from him. Wiping your eyes, and swallowing slightly, you make up your mind.

You’re asking Frank Langdon for help tonight.

*****

He’s been remarkably level-headed about everything. You’d had no idea what to expect, turning up at Frank’s door in the middle of the night. He’d have been well within his rights to turn you away, direct you to the nearest hostel.

The guest room is nice - a little bare, with only Frank’s sport stuff shoved in the corner of a closet. A basketball, some shorts, golf clubs.

You can’t help but wonder what he does in his spare time these days. Neither of you have ever had huge social circles. Once you found each other, you didn’t feel much need to fill your lives with other people.

Did he go back to his parents for a while? Did they have any idea what was going on?

You try and shake the questions from your head. When it comes up naturally, you’ll ask him. But until then, it’s none of your business to be speculating.

All your clothes barely fill a single drawer. Turns out having five minutes to pack doesn’t exactly leave you with much, unsurprisingly. The other two bags sit out in the entryway - your books, jewellery and laptop.

After a few minutes, you realise you’re going to have to face Frank eventually. Thank him again, at the very least.

You change out of your scrubs, and reach for a hoodie, before realising that it’s one of Frank’s old ones, that managed to slip through the cracks.

You’ve never cared about ice hockey, but you did very much care about the soft jersey that Frank bought at the start of your relationship. You’d bided your time, waiting until he’d worn it enough for it to smell of him, before stealing it while he was on nights.

Enough time passed that it ended up in the regular rotation of your clothes - Frank could have it back after a wash until it smelled of him again, and then you'd poach it back.

You push it to the back of the drawer, and grab a Rolling Stones sweatshirt instead, before heading back out to the living room.

He’s sitting on the couch, but the TV is turned off, and he’s scrolling on his phone.

“I-I can find somewhere else tomorrow,” You start, eyes trained on your hands. “It’s just been hard to save lately, with the rent and stuff-”

“You can stay as long as you want,” Frank interrupts. “I know that this might not be your ideal situation, and if you want to find somewhere else I’d totally understand - but you’re welcome here for as long as you want.”

It would be nice to not have to worry about apartment searching right away. But also, you're not sure how long you can sustain this for. “What’s your rent? At least let me-”

He’s immediately shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t need any money.”

“Frank,” You murmur, glancing at him. “Come on. Let me give you something. I can’t stay here for free.”

“You can. And you will. What kind of prick would I be if I made you pay when you’re having a tough time?”

You bite your lip. You’d paid sixty percent of the rent at Mike’s, after he’d used the argument of you earning more than he did. In hindsight it’s a major red flag, but at the time it was still almost a thousand dollars cheaper than living alone per month, so you’d figured it had been worth it. “A-are you sure?”

“Completely.”

The kindness overwhelms you, and a small sob escapes, while embarrassment licks at your heels. “I’m sorry-”

Frank’s on his feet immediately, taking a few steps towards you before stalling completely. You can read his exact thought process. He doesn’t want to push, doesn’t know what’s appropriate in this strange no-man’s land.

Each attempt to stem the flow of tears fails, and you can feel your shoulders starting to shake. You’ve never felt like more of an idiot in your life. “F-fuck, can you-”

One gesture, and Frank knows exactly what you mean.

He crosses the room, and pulls you tightly into his arms as another cry escapes. Face buried into the crook of his shoulder, you let yourself lean into his touch, and take a little of the weight off of you.

You can’t pinpoint why you’re so upset.

You didn’t love Mike.

You didn’t even particularly like him.

But still, the sobs tear right through you. Frank’s hand cups the back of your head, holding you to him as he murmurs softly. “S’okay, you’ll be alright, you're so much better than him-”

Your shoulders shake, and Frank's grip tightens.

Finally, you feel like you can pull back a little, regain your bearings. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me-”

“Don’t apologise,” He replies. “Please.”

A small nod, and you separate, Frank clearing his throat as he takes a very deliberate step back from you. Trying to keep some boundaries, you suppose. “Are you hungry?”

“I haven’t had dinner yet,” You reply feebly.

“Okay, great. I’ll order pizza. Want some wine?”

“Frank, you don’t have to-”

“Kid, the sooner you learn to accept help, the quicker this is going to go.” His tone tells you he’s not going to take no for an answer, and you nod again, while he heads to the kitchen.

*****

When he returns to the living room, wine in hand, you're still dabbing at your eyes.

"He's a dick," He murmurs softly, dropping onto the couch beside you.

Your voice is far thicker than usual, and your mascara is trickling down your cheeks, but you manage a half-smile. "You’ve said that already."

"That's because it's true."

He pours a glass and passes it over, before grabbing one for himself. Brow furrowing, he doesn't quite know what to say. How to help you.

How can an ex-fiancé comfort after a break-up? Especially when you and Frank ended the way you did - with tears and shouting and regret pooling from every pore in his body.

Your bags still sit unpacked in the corner - less than half of what you own. The bastard hadn't even given you enough time to grab everything. Tonight, those bags will gain a home in Frank's guest room.

A wave of shame washes over him. You shouldn't be in this situation at all. If it weren't for him, you wouldn't have dated Mike the paramedic, and therefore you wouldn't currently be homeless.

Instead, the two of you might have had your own house by now. An upgrade from the studio apartment you shared for the three years of your relationship. Maybe you'd have a dog, or a cat, or a baby on the way.

Frank swallows.

He can't spiral like this. Not tonight.

“Pizza’ll be here in ten,” He murmurs.

“I have a few twenties in my purse-”

“Please - my treat,” He insists.

Already, this is your second conversation about money. It’s going to be a long few weeks, if the two of you continue walking on eggshells around each other.

It must just be his guilt.

If he lets you stay here, and pays for your pizza, maybe it allows him to sleep easier at night. “You’re not going to budge on this one, huh?”

“Nope. My house, my rules.”

*****

You have to bite back a smile as Frank crouches down beside the DVD rack near the TV. Always suspicious of streaming, the most he could ever manage was Netflix. Everything else was too far - if Frank liked something, he wanted to own it.

One of his favourite Sunday morning activities was scrounging through thrift stores, looking for something for movie night.

Often, it ended up with some very terrible choices.

But no matter how bad they were, Frank would diligently watch them right through to the credits, barely even checking his phone. One of your last had been Expendables 3 - you’d never seen the first two, and were pretty much only checking in for Harrison Ford and Glen Powell.

Despite that, you found your eyes drooping by the twenty minute mark. An hour and ten minutes later, you’d come to, curled up on Frank’s chest as the credits began to roll.

*****

“You did not watch all that,” You insist, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

“It really wasn’t that bad.”

“It was shit, Frankie. So, so, bad.”

He digs his fingers into your sides, tickling a little as you let out a shriek. “You don’t even know, you were asleep for most of it.”

You huff slightly, repositioning so you’re directly on top of him. “The bits I saw were really shit. I get next pick. I want to watch Almost Famous.”

“We’ve seen that loads-”

“Because it’s good! Unlike the fucking Expendables.”

He hums slightly, kissing you softly. “Fine. Almost Famous it is.”

You lean into his touch, arms draping over his shoulders as he sits up, pulling you into his lap. Absentmindedly, your hands begin to run through his hair. “How’s your back?”

His answer is immediate. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

“That wasn’t what I was asking,” You murmur, leaning forward a little. “How’s your back?”

“Alright - think it’s getting better.”

“Just checking to make sure I don’t have to move this to the bedroom, in case I incapacitate you,” You grin, peppering kisses across his face. As you move down towards his lips he moves a little, catching you mid-movement. You sigh into his touch as you mould around him.

“Sounds like you’re calling me an old man, sweetheart.”

“Well, you are a full eighteen months older than me,” You tease, hips rolling just slightly. “That’s practically geriatric. Like I might have to do all the work here.”

Frank lets out a scoff, instantly twisting to flip you onto your back, settling between your legs. “Now, I know you’re manipulating me to get what you want, but somehow I don’t even care.”

“Maybe you should take the day off tomorrow.”

“Maybe you should just work the shift with me,” He mumbles, lips trailing along your jaw.

“Hm, I think I like my idea better,” You reply, eyes fluttering closed as he brushes your pulse point. “But weddings are expensive, so I guess we should get a move on with the saving.” Your hands move to the hem of his shirt, as you work it over his head.

“I thought you wanted to watch Almost Famous,” He smirks.

“Don’t be a smartass, Frankie. It’s not cute.”

“You’re letting me undress you, so I must be doing something right-”

*****

Frank pulls a few DVDs out, very obviously searching for something. It lasts a few minutes, before he lets out a satisfied noise, pulling out his choice.

He flashes it in your direction, and you almost can’t believe your eyes.

It’s Almost Famous.

“I uh, I know this used to cheer you up - thought we could maybe watch it over dinner-” He cuts off, as if suddenly unsure of himself. Like he’s worried he’s crossed a line.

But if anyone’s crossed a line tonight, it’s you.

“Yeah,” You smile. “I’d like that.”

The doorbell goes, and Frank is up to grab the pizza before you can even reach for your purse.

The two of you end up perched on the couch on opposite ends, the pizza box between you as Tiny Dancer plays from the speakers, and Kate Hudson drives off into the distance with the band.

“How long have you lived here?” You ask, mouth full of food as you sneak a glance at Frank.

“Since end of January, give or take,” He replies. “When I uh, got out of rehab.”

“You were in rehab over Christmas?”

It just slips out, your brow furrowing as you look at him. Thinking back, that’s a more than reasonable time-frame, based on Pitt-fest. But there’s something about the idea of Frank sitting alone in some room, away from his friends and family, that breaks your heart a little.

“Yeah. October to early January.”

“Did… did your parents come out to visit?”

If his mom and dad were there, maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe you’re just projecting your own experience onto him. A quiet day, and turkey for one.

Frank’s gaze is trained on the ground, and you can feel a pit starting to form, low in your stomach. “Nah, they were really busy. I-it’s fine, though. I get it.”

While your parents have never exactly been the warm and fuzzy type, Frank and his family were really close while you'd been together. The whole reason he'd ended up with the back injury in the first place was because he'd been helping them move. It's out of character for them to not have been around for Christmas. "Frank... did anyone visit you?"

He takes a second to reply, and with each passing moment, the urge to sob grows. "Dana dropped by at Thanksgiving. Cassie once or twice. T-that's about it."

“Oh.” It’s a horribly sad sound that escapes - sad for Frank, sad for you, sad at the way everything turned out. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was nothing I didn’t deserve,” He shrugs, before glancing at the clock. “It’s late. Are you on tomorrow?”

You’re broken from your haze, and nod. “Yeah.”

“Me too - we should uh, we should get some sleep.”

A quiet falls, as you get to your feet, and you pad down the hallway, offering each other a weak goodnight.

“Frankie?” You turn in the doorway, watching as Frank stands against the frame of his own room. It’s such an oddly domestic scene, one you became long accustomed to over the years. Sweatpants hung low on his hips, and his ratty old Penguins shirt.

For the first year of your relationship, you’d tried to convince him to retire that shirt - to no success. Despite the holes under the arms, and the frayed hems, it seems to still be his favourite bit of clothing.

Maybe you both just need some comfort right now.

“Hm?”

“Thank you. For this. I really appreciate it.”

There’s a moment of silence, the weight of everything hanging between you, before Frank speaks again. “I’d do anything for you.”

Despite everything that’s happened, you believe him.

Chapter 5 Chapter Text

month one.

You can almost feel the whispers spreading throughout the Pitt the next day. Sure, arriving to work in the same car was perhaps a little bit of a giveaway - but it made no sense to take two cars to the exact same place.

You’re just being eco-friendly.

Dana, as usual, clocks it first. Her eyes narrow just a little, before she dips her head to murmur into Princess’s ear.

It takes an hour to reach Robby.

After your second patient of the day, he appears outside your trauma room, murmuring your name quietly. “Can I talk to you?”

You nod, and follow him over to the lounge.

“Now,” He starts. “I’ve been hearing some rumours, and I’d really like some clarification. Tell me you’re not living with Langdon.”

The guilt that flits across your face gives you away immediately.

“Kid,” He groans. “Come on. What the hell?”

“Mike kicked me out last night, and I had nowhere else to go,” You defend, finding yourself unable to meet Robby’s gaze. “It’s only temporary, and I have my own room. It’s not like I’m crashing on his couch.” Or in his bed.

“You could’ve called me.”

At this, you let out a laugh. “You wanted me to call my attending for a place to crash? I don’t think so, Robby. You don’t want me as a house guest.”

You understand where he’s coming from. Robby’s always looked out for you - on more than one occasion, you’ve found yourself thinking about him as the father you wish you had. You’d never admit how many times you’d cried into his arms in the aftermath of Frank leaving.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Frank’s clean now.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. You still love him, he still loves you, and that’s a problem when you’re not equipped to be together.”

Shame rises a little, as you realise that Robby might be right. That’s there no way that this arrangement can end in anything other than disaster. And that you might not be as good as hiding your feelings as you think you are.

Before you can reply, a trauma bursts through the doors, Mike at the helm. Instinctively, Frank moves to get the patient. Mike completely ignores him, opting to shove him out of the way as the gurney passes.

Robby sighs heavily, before heading across the ER to get the patient, sparing one last glance for you. “Be careful. I don’t want any more broken hearts around here.”

*****

You can’t put it off any longer. You need to go and get your things from Mike’s. It’s been three days since the breakup, and you worry that if you leave it any longer, he’ll start donating things to your local Goodwill.

Frank had insisted on coming. You don’t push him on why. You figure you can probably make a decent guess.

So, on a day where you know Mike is on-call for twenty-four hours, you and Frank slip out to grab everything.

It’ll only take half an hour, you reason. You’ll be in and out, and Mike won’t know a thing.

It’s going so well - you and Frank moving in tandem to pack up your life. You’re grateful for his silence. This is hard enough to navigate without some awkward small talk as well.

It isn’t until you have everything out on the landing, that you see the familiar blue Chevy pull into the driveway, and you let out a sigh.

“Is that-”

“Yep,” You groan. “Fuck. He was supposed to be at work until five.”

Frank eyes Mike warily, grabbing a box and making for your car.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Mike’s voice cuts across the lawn, barely contained fury laced through his tone.

“Getting my things, and getting the fuck out of here,” You reply.

He begins to make his way towards the door, arms crossed and brow furrowed. “Good to see you.” His words are directed at Frank, and you have to fight an eyeroll.

“Can’t say the same, Gillies,” Frank murmurs, a hand dropping to your back as he ushers you towards the pile of stuff.

“Should’ve known you’d run straight back to him - guess the junkies do it for you, huh?”

You keep your gaze fixed ahead, as you continue to pile boxes into your car, Frank at your heel. It’s almost like he’s scared to leave you alone with Mike - worries he’ll do something to you in his absence. Or worse, convince you to go back to him.

“Quite frankly, I’m surprised it’s taken this long, Langdon - thought you’d have made a play for her as soon as you got out of rehab. Tell me, do you miss it? I bet you do.”

“Mike, stop it. This has nothing to do with him-”

“It’s okay,” Frank insists, grabbing the last one from the doorway. “He can say what he wants about me.”

“See, baby? He says it’s okay. Besides, I was only asking. Must be hard to give up the good shit like that. Especially when his only consolation prize is you. Bet he’ll be back on the heroin by the end of the month.”

A muscle ticks in Frank’s neck, and you realise you’re approximately five minutes away from a brawl. “Fuck off, Mike. It wasn’t heroin.”

“What? Not my fault you’re choosing an insecure, weak-willed prick over a real man. What can he do - break your heart and leave you again? Have fun with that.”

If this goes on for much longer, you’ll be in danger of lunging for Mike. “We’re leaving-”

“Slut.”

It’s muttered under his breath, to the point where if Frank hadn’t immediately spun on his heel, rocking his fist into the side of Mike’s jaw, you’re not sure you would have clocked it.

It catches Mike off guard, stumbling backwards until his legs hit the porch steps. Your eyes widen in horror, while Frank’s are glued to his fist, as if unable to believe what he just did.

“Frank-” You begin, while Mike dabs at his nose. Blood is streaming pretty freely, but it all looks superficial. Unless Mike Gillies wants to own up to being socked by Frank Langdon, you figure you’ll both be fine.

“Y-yeah, we should go,” He murmurs, glancing back at you, before focusing his attention on Mike. “I ever hear anything like that from you again, I’ll kill you. Got it?”

You toss your keys in Mike’s general direction, before allowing Frank to usher you to the passenger seat. There’s some blood across his knuckles, and he’s silent as you pull away from the sidewalk.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” He finally mumbles. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

Frank glances at his knuckles, before nodding. “It’s his. Not mine.”

You swallow, looking out the window at the passing houses. “Thank you. For standing up for me.”

month two.

It starts with Santos.

She doesn’t even bother pretending that she isn’t staring - trying desperately to analyse whatever is going on between you and Frank. You’ve been able to feel her gaze all morning, though every time you look over, she busies herself with a patient.

When Frank brushes past you, hand glancing your arm for the briefest of seconds, you suck in a breath, before pretending nothing happened. Frank pretends even harder.

The day has been messy. Loud. Too many patients, and not enough hands. A pile-up on the freeway leading to six majors and fourteen minors. And it’s not even ten yet.

At one point, you and Frank end up in the same exam room with a combative elderly man who’s convinced the two of you are trying to steal his wallet. On a normal day, you’d have very little patience for that kind of thing, but after two hours of trauma and loss, you’re almost a little relieved to be treating a crazy.

“This is fun,” Frank mutters as he dodges a surprisingly solid left hook.

“Don’t let him hit the wall again,” you warn, grabbing the man’s wrist as gently as possible. “Sir? We’re not trying to steal from you, we promise. Doctor Langdon and I are trying to help.”

“Shit!” Frank mutters, trying to corral the patient without pinning him. A swing is sent in your direction, which he manages to catch at the last possible second. “He’s wiry.”

Together, you manoeuvre the patient back onto the bed long enough for you to administer the sedative you ordered. It takes a moment, but slowly, the man’s thrashing eases, and his grip loosens.

Finally, he slumps back on the pillow.

You and Frank stop moving at the exact same time - still breathing hard, and standing very, very close together.

Frank laughs under his breath, shoulders dropping. “Jesus.”

You nod, pushing hair out of your face. “Good catch,” you say. “If you hadn’t blocked that last swing, I’d be icing my jaw right now.”

He looks up at you. Really looks.

The kind of look that used to unravel you. The kind of look that maybe still does.

You swallow, before dragging your gaze away. “I should go check on the kids in the crash. Make sure they’re still stable.”

By lunch, Samira seems to be on the case as well. You’re restocking some of the trauma trays when she appears at your side.

“So…” Samira begins, in that patient, expectant tone that makes you want to walk to the roof and jump off.

You keep your gaze firmly on the butterfly needles. “No.”

“I haven’t asked anything!”

“You don’t need to - you and Trin have been weird all morning,” You comment, as a sheepish Trinity Santos appears in the supply closet.

“Can’t friends be a little curious about other friends being awfully cosy with their ex?” Her arms are crossed, as she leans against the counter. Santos is even less subtle - eyes darting between you, and Frank, who’s standing across Central chatting to Mateo.

You groan. “Samira.”

“I’m not judging,” she insists, hands raised innocently. “I’m observing.”

“Don’t observe.”

“Then stop giving me things to observe.”

You shove your scrubs into your bag. “Nothing is happening.”

“Mm.” Samira tilts her head. “Does Frank know that?”

You freeze.

As if on cue, Frank glances down at his pager, before his gaze starts to dart around the emergency department, looking for something. Someone.

There’s something in his expression that twists your stomach into a knot of worry, and you find yourself stepping forward, and out of the supply closet. “Frank?”

“Oh thank god, there you are. A train just derailed downtown, and Robby’s stuck across the city at some appointment. It’s just us.”

When you reach the trauma bays, he opens the door for you.

It’s stupid. Stupid and small and nothing.

Except when his hand grazes your back as you walk through, every nerve in your body lights up like it remembers something you’ve spent a whole year trying to forget.

month three.

After six beers, Frank Langdon is the prettiest boy in the world.

If you’re being completely honest with yourself, you don’t need any beers to think that. But they certainly don’t hurt, tinging your vision with a fuzziness that takes you straight back to medical school.

It’s why you’re currently standing at the bar to get another round, allowing the guy beside you to chatter into your ear. Anything to get Frank and his half-unbuttoned shirt out of your mind.

It’s Samira’s birthday tonight, and she’d insisted everyone come out for drinks after the shift. Robby’s not here, with him and Abbot swapping shifts so that Jack could come - you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little relieved. You love Robby, but it’s obvious he’s still not entirely on board with the roommate situation.

In all honesty, you can’t really blame him, but you’re not looking for reason tonight. You just want to have some fun.

You’re grabbing drinks for Frank and Mel, and the guy just appeared from nowhere.

You take him in - he’s handsome, but in a more rugged way than Frank. He’s tall too - you find yourself having to tilt your chin up to talk to him.

He works in finance, he’s from Seattle originally, and he’d really like to take you out for a drink sometime.

Instinctively, your eyes dart across the bar to where Frank is sitting.

He’s already watching, but you can’t quite read his expression. It’s not annoyed, or angry, just a small smile before he nods. Not permission - you both know that you don’t need that from him. More… acceptance.

He’s okay with it, and he wants what’s best for you.

You turn back to finance guy. “I’m sorry, I’m not really looking to date right now.”

Your drinks are made, and you head back to the table. “He was cute,” Samira comments, eyebrow raised as you shake your head.

“Nah, not for me.”

You’re treated to an eye-roll from Santos, a knowing look from Samira, and the slightest sigh of relief from Frank.

You slip back into the booth, passing Frank his beer, and sticking your tongue out at him. “What are you staring at?”

His voice is quiet, too low for anyone else at the table to hear. “You look beautiful tonight.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, swigging the drink and tuning back into the conversation that’s happening around you both.

*****

By the end of the night, you’re practically hanging off of him. Turns out, you don’t have quite the stamina for drinking that you used to. He’s not much better, an arm wrapped around your waist as you try and make it the half mile back home.

Samira had offered Jack’s services to drop you both home, but you’d declined. You love Jack, but you’re still not quite used to your boss being in the friend group.

All too soon, Frank is fumbling for his keys, and you both stumble into the hallway. Instinctively, you both separate, drifting to each end, where your respective rooms lie.

You’re not sure why you don’t bid him goodnight, and head to bed. Why instead, your feet seem to move of their own accord, as you take two steps towards him before crashing your lips to his.

Immediately, his hands are cradling your face, and your back is pressed against the wall. It’s simultaneously too much, and never enough.

You move to deepen the kiss, try and mould yourself against him as much as possible, when he pulls back. “Sweetheart, I don’t know if we should-”

“Frankie,” You breathe. “Do you want to do this?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“Then shut up.”

His shirt goes first, as he walks you back into his bedroom. Next, the flimsy straps of your dress are pushed down your shoulders, leaving you in just your bra and panties.

If you were more sober, you think you’d probably feel a little self-conscious. But between the beer, and the way Frank is looking at you, all thoughts of embarrassment dissipate straight away.

His legs hit the bed, and he sits on the edge, pulling you with him, a low groan escaping. “God, honey-”

There’s such a desperation to your movements that you almost don’t recognise yourself. Each roll of your hips brings Frank closer.

This week has had hotter temperatures than recent Pittsburgh history - even if your body temperature wasn’t skyrocketing with every shift, there would still be sweat beading at your neck. Frank trails one with his tongue, mouthing sloppy kisses down your neck.

There’s hardly anything between you - just the linen of his trousers, and the lace of your panties. His own shirt is long gone, and you rake your nails down his chest, a feeble attempt to ground yourself.

Suddenly he’s moving, flipping so that your back is on the bed, while he continues to trail his lips lower.

“He go down on you?” Frank breathes, chest heaving as he braces himself over you.

Wordlessly, you nod, lip between your teeth.

“Did he make you come?”

It’s barely a whisper. “No.”

He’s moving before his brain can catch up, edging down the bed until he’s where he wants to be - settled between your legs.

There’s an unspoken challenge to his movements. A deep-rooted need to be good for you, to prove that he can still be good for you.

That he’s the best for you.

Most people would be quick to disagree with him on that fact. Maybe even you yourself, but Frank can’t bring himself to dwell on that too much.

You’ve had sex since Frank. But this is perhaps the most vulnerable he’s ever seen you.

There are still copious amounts of alcohol flooding through his system, but his only priority is making you feel good. Making sure you don’t regret tonight.

A kiss is pressed to your ankle, moving torturously slow as he makes his way up. Giving you ample time to back out, if you want to.

“This okay?”

One final confirmation, and as soon as you’re nodding, all his restraint disappears, and he dives in.

“Oh my god, Frank-”

He’s missed you so much.

His own hips push against the bed, some kind of desperate bid to alleviate his throbbing cock. Each movement, each time your grip tightens on his hair, he has to fight back a moan.

Your sighs are escalating a little, as you almost massage his scalp. A part of him wishes you’d tug harder, be a little mean about it. It’s what he deserves.

Instead, your hand remains nothing more than an anchor, quiet pleas tumbling from your lips as you buck up towards his face. “Frankie, please-”

His name has never sounded better, and he can feel the pre-cum starting to gather in his boxers.

Fuck. He’s waited this long for you, and now he’s about to come before he even gets inside you.

Hands braced on your thighs, he sucks at your clit, pulling back just slightly before he kisses it again. In all the years you were together, that was a sure-fire way to through you over the edge, and it appears that a year on, you’re no different.

A cry escapes your lips, back arching towards him as you come. He works you through the aftershocks, as he feels the pressure build below. A squeeze of your thighs around his head is too much, and he comes in his pants.

“Shit,” He curses, voice soft as he pulls back a little.

You’re sitting up on your elbows, chest still heaving. “What’s wrong?”

Even when he lost his virginity he managed to put on a better show than this. But there’s no hiding it - you know him too well. “I came in my pants.”

The laugh is undoubtedly at his expense, but Frank can’t find it in himself to mind. You’ve always been a happy, and mildly horny, drunk. “That’s so cute.”

“S’not cute. It’s embarrassing,” He replies, hooking a hand round your ankle to pull you to the edge of the bed as he stands up. Immediately, your hands settle on his waistband.

“It’s cute,” You insist, pressing a kiss to his naval. Frank’s eyes flutter closed at the movement. “Trust me. It’s a compliment.” Your fingers hook, and begin to trail his pants down, boxers with them. “Want some help?”

Frank’s never had a problem with rebounding - his refractory period has served him well in the past with women. He’d never turn down a little help though. Not from you. Never from you.

He’s breathing a little funny. He knows it. But when he’s spent the last year dreaming about you, he can’t find it in himself to care.

Not when you’re sinking onto your knees in front of him, and Frank becomes sure that just the sight of you could get him there again.

You pause for a second, before leaning forward, and pressing a kiss to his thigh. Your hand reaches out, pumping a few times as he starts to harden a little. Looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, he thinks he could die right here.

Saliva pooling on your tongue, you let it fall onto the tip of his cock.

You don’t give him a chance to adjust, instead taking as much of him as you can, mouth warm and wet as you suck.

“Shit, baby-” He hisses, eyes closing.

One hand stabilises yourself against his thigh, while you take him deeper and deeper.

If he’s not careful he’s about to blow a second load.

As gently as possible, his hand tangles in your hair, slowing you to a halt. “Can’t wait anymore,” He urges, and the smile you give him back rocks his entire world.

“Didn’t realise you were such a lightweight these days.”

“Only for you, honey.” He’s helping you up, before guiding you back onto the bed, lips attached to your neck. “Still doing okay?”

“I’m perfect.”

Condoms were never an issue the last time you were together. After years of monogamy, and a copper IUD, there wasn’t any need. But it’s been over a year now, and Frank doesn’t want to assume. “Shit,” He curses quietly. “I uh, I don’t have any condoms.”

You pause for just a second. “Me neither.”

“We don’t have to-”

“I want to,” You interrupt. “I’ve still got the IUD, and I always used a condom with Mike. In his own words, he didn’t want to risk ‘knocking me up’. I-if you’re okay with it, I am.”

Your brow furrows a little, brain trailing down a sobering path, as Frank’s heart twists slightly, remembering the days gone by where the two of you discussed children and babies. How you both agreed on two, but differed on the genders - you wanted one of each, and Frank wanted two little girls.

He swallows. “I haven’t slept with anyone else. Not since you.”

You don’t say anything, reaching out to pull him in by the nape of his neck, vision a little cloudy. You can’t tell if it’s the alcohol, or being with Frank like this again. When he lines himself up, it’s all you can do to keep from moaning into his mouth.

I love you I love you I love you

There’s a dull ache as you adjust to the stretch, so foreign and yet all too familiar. His cheeks are flushing, eyes closed in concentration as he pushes in.

You weren’t sure you’d ever be like this with him again.

Suddenly, you feel a little breathless, overwhelmed by the wave of feeling washing over you. You’ve spent so long in a state of numbness, unable to function, that it’s almost a return to life. To normality.

To a reality where Frank didn't leave you, and you're both married by now.

The Langdons.

What could have been.

“Frankie,” You mumble, chest heaving. “Kiss me please.”

He complies immediately, tongue tracing the seam of your mouth. He’s everywhere, encasing you entirely.

Moonlight streaks across the room, painting you both in a silver hue as you move together.

A flash of uncertainty hits - at the idea that you may have just fractured the fragile bond you’ve been working so hard to build over the last few months. He shifts slightly, angling deeper, and your mind clears of anything that isn’t Frank Langdon.

His hand slips between you both, fingers making quick circles on your clit.

When your breath hitches, he knows you’re close.

For the second time that night, you cry out his name as you come.

It’s enough to send him over the edge, pulling out just in time to finish over your stomach.

Letting out a shaky sigh, Frank lowers himself to press a kiss to your cheek. “Doing okay?”

“Better than,” You hum, fingers carding through his hair as you offer him the prettiest smile he’s ever seen.

“Let me get you cleaned up.”

He’s gone for just a minute, before cleaning you up, kisses peppered across your face as he goes. There’s still a definite alcohol-induced warmth, but you’re mildly more sober than you were getting home.

Part of your brain is screaming at you to get up, apologise, and go back to your room. But your brain and body still feel mildly disconnected, and all you do is curl yourself into Frank’s side as he slips under the covers.

You don’t know how long you lie there for, content to just breathe each other in. Finally, you feel sleep starting to tug at you. “Please still be here in the morning,” You murmur, gaze fixed on the ceiling.

He doesn’t comment on the fact that you’re in his bed, in his apartment, and that leaving would probably have to involve an identity change. That he’s not sure anything could drag him away from you again.

Or that he’s still so deeply, irrevocably in love with you that he has no idea what he’ll do tomorrow if you decide that all this was a mistake.

“I’m not going anywhere, honey.”

Chapter 6 Chapter Text

The headache is the first thing Frank notes the next morning. Pounding and aggressive, he doesn’t remember the last time a couple of beers did that to him. Maybe high school.

Of course, you weren’t part of the equation in high school.

Coming to a little, he reaches out, still half-asleep, to find the bed empty. There’s still a lingering warmth from your side - you left recently.

His heart sinks.

He’s fucked it all up.

This friendship, this dynamic he’s spent months trying to rebuild, might all be gone because of one drunken mistake. He was more sober than you - he should’ve put a stop to everything.

A swirl of dread settles in his stomach, heavier than the hangover. He scrubs a hand over his face, wincing at the bright streak of morning sun slicing through the curtains, illuminating where you should still be sleeping.

He has no idea where you stand.

If you regret it.

If he’s lost you for good.

You’ve never been an early riser. The very fact that you’re awake before him is a bad sign.

For just a second, he lets the panic wash over him. Lets himself wallow in self-pity, before pulling it together and facing the music.

Letting out a low groan, he gets to his feet, and heads for the hall.

*****

When the alarm goes off at 6:30, you’ve already been awake for forty-five minutes. You’d awoken to your face pressed into the crook of Frank’s shoulder, his thigh slotted between your own. Faced with the overwhelming urge to roll your hips a little, it takes all of your willpower to think rationally. It would be so easy to press kisses to his face, and let him fuck you until you can’t remember your name anymore.

It isn’t until you pad out to the hallway that it all hits you.

You got drunk and fucked your ex.

Not a unique situation. In fact, it’s happened to you before - an ex from college who you fell into bed with more times than you’d ever admit.

But Frank is different.

He’s the only man you’ve ever loved. And if last night is anything to go by, you evidently still do. It makes you feel a little sick.

Sure, he seems better now, but how much do you really know?

Maybe a relationship would be too much, tip him over the edge. Or maybe you’re just not meant to be.

You could get back together now, have a good few months, and then totally burn out.

You’re not sure you could survive another end.

Grabbing your scrubs, you make two cups of coffee, and wait for Frank to appear, lip between your teeth.

When he finally appears in the doorway, the breath is knocked from your lungs. His hair is mussed, his shirt wrinkled, and he looks younger. There’s a notch between his brows, furrowed as if he knows exactly what’s coming.

You think you might sob.

He cocks his head, studying your expression, and you push one of the mugs towards him. “I made coffee,” You mumble.

“Thanks.” He freezes, obviously unsure of what to do next. What to say. How to get rid of the crushing air of tension that’s fallen between you both.

“Frankie,” You stall a little after the nickname slips from your lips. “You know we shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know.” His voice is low, barely audible. There are bags under his eyes, a testament to the four hours of sleep, but he holds your gaze for just a second longer than necessary.

There’s a slight challenge in his eyes. Daring you to look away first, be the one to break things.

You do, glancing at the clock as you try and steady your trembling hands.

“I’m not trying to make things more complicated than they need to be,” He murmurs.

“But we *are* complicated,” You reply miserably. “That’s just the way we are. And last night made it so much worse.”

He flinches a little at your word choice, and a wave of guilt washes over you. “I don’t regret it.”

Your instinct is to tell him that you do regret it. Cut this off before you end up breaking each other’s heart again. Your mouth opens, ready to say the words, when your voice dies.

You can’t do it.

Not completely.

“Frank,” You whisper. “I don’t want to get hurt.”

Impossibly slowly, he reaches out, tentatively taking your hand. You let him make contact, eyes closing as you let out a shuddering breath. It’s more kindness than you deserve this morning. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you. O-or make you feel like you can’t live here anymore.”

A single tear leaks down your cheek, as you try and gather the courage to look at him again.

“I love you,” He continues, squeezing your hand tightly. “Always have, always will. But that comes in whatever form you want it to. If you just want a friend, that’s fine by me. If you never want to see me again, I’ll move to Alaska.”

At this, you let out the smallest laugh. It’s strained and a little choked, but the air lightens slightly. “I don’t want you to move to Alaska.”

“That’s good. I’m not very good with snow.”

“I’m sure you’d figure it out,” You reply dryly. “Can’t be worse than a Halloween shift in the Pitt.”

Immediately, your words die on your tongue. Frank had told you he loved you for the first time on one of those shifts, after a hellish day.

There’s no getting away from him. From you both.

“Last night…everything got so real,” you continue, the words scraping their way out of you. “Real in a way I’m not ready for.”

He goes absolutely still.

“I care about you,” You whisper, voice pitiful. “God, you know I do. But I-I don’t think I can do this. Not yet, not for a long time - maybe not ever.”

You think you’re going to remember the expression on his face for the rest of your life.

“Okay,” he says, voice low, and impossibly soft. Like he’s comforting you after a nightmare, and not making you feel better about breaking *his* heart. “Okay. You don’t owe me anything you’re not ready for.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” You mumble. “I just- I don’t know, Frank.” A few tears leak down your cheeks, and you sniff, wiping them on your sleeve.

“You won’t lose me.” He’s steady like he is in the ER. Like he’s handling some kind of precious cargo. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your throat tightens. The sincerity in his eyes is devastating.

“I just… I need time,” You manage eventually. “But I don’t want you to wait for me - that’s not fair. When I might not ever be able to give you what you want.”

“I know how I feel. That’s not going to change.”

You’re not sure what comes over you next. Longing? Loneliness? Insanity? You’ll never know. “Would one for the road be a totally terrible idea?”

His eyes widen a little, surprised at the suggestion, before he shakes it off and nods. “Probably. But uh, I wouldn’t be opposed, if you aren’t-”

Before you can talk yourself out of it you lean forward, closing the distance between you both. You hesitate just a little as he draws nearer. It seems much scarier without the haze of alcohol clouding your judgement.

“We don’t have to do this,” He says quietly, but you know what he really means. *You don’t owe me anything.*

“*Please* kiss me.” It’s halfway between a cry and a prayer.

God, you wish things had worked out differently.

Nodding slowly, he reaches out to cup your cheek, giving you every opportunity to back out. The tenderness behind his touch almost shatters you. Lips against his, you fight the urge to sob. There’s an all-consuming urge to pull him tighter. His hand slips from your hair to the back of your neck, steadying you. The kiss deepens a little, but he’s still controlled in his movements.

He’s not letting this get out of hand.

Not like last time.

Finally, he pulls back, forehead resting against yours. “T-that’s enough.”

Lip between your teeth, you try and steady your breathing. “I’m sorry.”

A moment’s pause before he replies. “Me too.”

“I have to get going, I have an early meeting,” You mumble. “I’ll see you at work?”

You make for the door, before the memory of his voice, of his hands, sends you straight back into his arms.

*****

It only takes Robby forty-five minutes to corner Frank. While nobody’s said anything this morning, he’s positive the rest of the Pitt know what happened last night. The two of you weren’t exactly subtle - he’s pretty sure the looks you’d exchanged could be considered ‘eye-fucking’. At the very least, Samira and Jack must know - they’d been the last ones left, and had watched the two of you begin the walk home together, your arm tucked through Frank’s.

He hasn’t seen you at work yet.

You must be choosing to stay up in paeds today, unless you’re paged down. He doesn’t know whether that fact fills him with relief or regret.

Very possibly both.

He’s taking five to catch up on paperwork when Robby enters the lounge, shutting the door behind him with a resounding click.

“You’re being weird today.”

“Hello to you too.” Frank doesn’t bother looking up from the chart in front of him. “I’m fine.”

“I’ve also noticed that a certain someone hasn’t been downstairs yet - you have any idea what that’s about?”

“Nope,” Frank replies, popping the *p*. “Maybe they’re just swamped. I’m sure she’ll be down soon.”

Robby lets out a low sigh, leaning against the counter, realising that prodding isn’t going to get him anywhere. “Jack said the two of you left together last night.”

“Since we live together, it would be kind of odd if we didn’t-”

“Alright, smartass,” Robby interjects. “You know what I mean. You sleep together?”

The moment’s hesitation tells him everything he needs. “Jesus, Langdon-”

“Hey, hey,” Frank immediately defends, lowering the iPad. “It wasn’t like that.”

“So you’re back together?”

“Well… no, but-”

A groan. “You’re an idiot.”

“I told her I loved her.”

The silence is deafening. As if even Robby can’t believe what he just heard. Michael Robinavitch, the man that slept with Heather Collins in her intern year as an attending.

It’s a cold day in hell when he can judge Frank’s relationship.

“How did she react?”

“Uh, she didn’t really. Just said she needs time.”

“I hope you’re planning on giving her that time,” Robby raises an eyebrow, and Frank scoffs.

“Of *course* I’m giving her time. It’s just hard. I don’t know… I thought living together would fix everything, but I think it’s just fucked everything up even more.”

Before Robby can reply, the EMTs burst through the front door, and everyone is immediately distracted.

*****

You can’t focus.

Not on the incoming car crash that Frank moves to get.

Not on the toddler crying in Trauma three.

Not on Mel’s voice directly across from you.

“Hello? Are you even on planet Earth?”

“Hm?” You murmur absentmindedly. “Sorry, just spaced.”

“Uh, yeah. Well, I was just asking how last night was. You and Frank looked cosy.”

“It was messy. I was messy. And now I don’t know what to do.”

Samira, who’s been pretending not to listen from the nurses’ station, turns around as though she’s been summoned.

“You should let him in,” she declares without hesitation. “He’s good for you.”

“Or,” Santos calls from behind a curtain. “You could *not*. Just throwing that out there.”

“Why are you eavesdropping?” You reply, a little bit more snap in your tone than necessary, before you sigh. “Sorry… just testy today I guess. And confused.”

“You’re only happy when you’re with him, babe,” Samira argues, while Trinity rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, and you were fucking miserable because of him too.”

Mel shrugs, conflicted. “I’m not sure. I think you two need… I don’t know. A giant time-out?”

You let out a small, watery laugh. It doesn’t help. “Not sure there’s enough time in the world to fix us.”

There’s a pain deep in your chest, like something crucial has just dislodged. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were about to have a heart attack.

*****

The pain only worsens later in the shift. When Allison from neuro comes down to consult on Frank’s car crash patient. She explains the MRI results, laughing occasionally with each response. She’s too close to him.

Your stomach starts to churn, waves of nausea licking at your heels.

She’s pretty.

Frank seems to like her, if his body language is anything to go by.

He’d probably be better off with her than you. Sure, Frank was the one that ended things in the first place, but you’re the one who keeps flip-flopping, unable to decide if you’re stable enough to let him back in.

When she leans in, hand resting on his bicep, you can’t watch anymore, opting to turn on your heel and head for the opposite end of the ER as quickly as possible.

It feels like she’s around every corner. Surely there aren’t that many neuro consults that constitute this kind of presence. You barely register your own hypocrisy. You aren’t based in the ED.

You’re just needed here more often.

Finally, you can’t avoid them any longer. You’re in the supply closet gathering some cannulas when Frank appears. “Hey,” He says, voice quiet. “How are you doing?”

“Fine. Just busy. Flu season always clogs up the ER. How’s Allison?”

“Oh,” he murmurs, brow furrowing. “That was nothing.”

“You should go for it.” The words feel like swallowing glass. What’s wrong with you? “She seems nice.”

Frank looks genuinely thrown. “Why would you say that? We were talking about an MRI.”

“Right,” You reply, letting out a humourless laugh. “She likes you.”

“So?”

“So… you should go for it.”

It’s like your mouth is moving before your brain can even comprehend the conversation. How can you have gone from sleeping together, to coming to some kind of agreement, to this? Actively pushing him into the arms of another woman?

His voice is low. “I told you that I would wait.”

You can feel your hackles raising with every passing second. “I didn’t ask you to do that!”

“That’s not your call,” He snaps. “You can’t just dictate how I feel. That’s not how this works. You don’t want to be with me? Fine. I told you this morning that I would do anything for you, and I mean it. But you can’t tell me not to love you. That’s not fair.”

It’s the only anger you’ve seen him express since Robby found the pills in his locker all those months ago.

The only way you know how to respond is with anger of your own. “You’re putting your whole life on hold for a *maybe*.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m not putting my life on hold! I made a choice, and you’ve got to live with that. I’m not asking anything of you.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m trying to be realistic here. I think I might be the only one.”

“Realistic?” Frank repeats, incredulous. “Realistic is that I’m standing here telling you I care about you. That I’m willing to wait because you matter to me. And you’re telling me to go flirt with someone else so you’re absolved of the guilt you feel because you’re still attracted to me.”

You wince. He sees it.

“Look at me,” He mumbles, slower. Almost resigned. “If you really want me to move on, say it. Say the words.”

You stare at him, mouth open, but nothing comes out.

He nods, like that’s exactly what he expected. “You can’t. Because you don’t want that.”

You shake your head, trying desperately to fight back tears. “I want you to move on.”

The words come out jumbled, sticking in your throat as you speak.

“You’re lying. You’re scared, and you’re lying,” he growls. “To me, to yourself, to whoever the hell you become every time you get scared.”

“Maybe I’m not lying!” You’re shouting now, the rest of the ER be damned. You’re half-surprised that no one’s come in yet, to check on all the commotion. “Maybe this is who I am.”

He stares at you for one long, brutal, second.

Then his jaw sets. “Then I don’t know what the fuck you expect from me.”

The words hit like a slap.

“Figure your shit out,” He says, with barely contained rage. “And don’t tell me what I deserve again. I know fine well what I *fucking* deserve.”

You’re not sure he’s ever been this annoyed at you before. Pressure burns deep in your throat, and each blink lets a tear escape from the corner of your eye.

He almost adds something. A muscle ticks in his jaw, like he’s aching to tell you more of what he thinks of you. Instead, he turns and storms out of the closet, slamming the door behind him.

*****

Frank doesn’t really know how he ends up at a bar with Allison. Some time between fighting with you and the end of his shift, she’d approached him and asked if he was ever free.

The voice suggesting tonight didn’t even sound like his own.

It’s nothing to do with her. She’s smart, she’s pretty, she’s funny - all in totally different ways to you. Where you’re soft, she’s all edge, a biting sense of humour. More than once, he feels like the joke must be at his expense, and he’s just not smart enough to understand the punchline.

But still, he tries. So hard.

He pretends dutifully that he can’t hear your voice in the back of his head, urging him to move on.

Every laugh is forced, and each attempt at contact is swiftly dodged, and Frank knows in his soul that they’re never going to go out again.

That must be some kind of record. Colossally fucking up two potential relationships within twenty-four hours.

He walks her home, and when she invites him inside, he politely declines. There’s no real disappointment in her expression - Frank expects she just wanted some meaningless sex to begin with.

He couldn’t even give her that if he wanted to.

The walk back to the apartment seems to stretch on for hours, a stark contrast to the trip home last night. When you’d been tucked into his side, smile wide as you’d gazed up at him.

He swallows hard as he unlocks the door. The lights are dim, but not off, and for a second Frank is worried you’re still up.

He’s not sure he has the emotional capacity for more of earlier.

Then, he sees you, curled up on the couch. His heart stutters a little when he sees what you’re wearing - a UPenn hoodie.

A very patriotic Yale graduate yourself, the hoodie must be one of his. One that you’d kept after the breakup.

You look peaceful.

Taking a few steps forward, Frank lifts the fleece blanket that’s draped across the back of the couch, before laying it over you. He takes special care to tuck in the sides, before straightening up.

He watches you for one last second, and then he heads to his room.

Chapter 7 Chapter Text

You and Frank don’t speak for nine days. Nine painful days of dancing around each other, doing your best to avoid one another in a fairly small apartment. You spend more time in your room than ever before, pulling as many shifts as you can until Robby finally kicks you out of the hospital.

Frank is always *just* out of reach. In the kitchen before dawn, grabbing coffee and disappearing before you can muster words. In the living room in the late afternoon, reading a medical journal with headphones on, eyes studiously avoiding yours. You catch glimpses of him leaving for the Pitt, with his hair still damp from the shower, stethoscope slung around his neck and jaw tight.

Everyone’s noticed you’re coming to work in separate cars. The entire hospital must know something’s wrong.

You hate it. And you miss Frank. In a roommate capacity, in a friend capacity… in *other* capacities.

It isn’t until you’re getting back from a twilight shift, on one of Frank’s off days, that you both end up in the same room properly.

Frank’s on the floor, sitting against the couch with his knees up and his face buried in his hands.

Your chest tightens.

You hover in the doorway, then force yourself to step inside. There’s no other way to get to your room. “I can go,” you say quietly. “If you want space.”

He shakes his head without looking up. “No. Stay. Please.”

You sink down beside him, leaving a careful inch of distance. Neither of you speak at first.

Finally, Frank breaks.

“I hate this,” he says, voice raw. “I hate avoiding you. I hate us both being uncomfortable in our own house. I hate feeling like I-like I messed us up again.”

*Our house.* You think you might cry.

Your throat tightens. “You didn’t mess anything up.”

“I pushed,” He replies miserably. “And I’m sorry.”

You lean your head onto his shoulder, closing the gap between you both tentatively. He doesn’t move away. He exhales slowly, and rests his cheek against the top of your head.

And just like that, the nine-day standoff is over.

*****

Your brother is the last person he expects to bump into in Pittsburgh. Your family have always lived in Philadelphia, have never even so much come through to visit you.

Not that you have a problem with it. In fact, as far as he knows, you’d be perfectly happy to never see them again.

A couple of years your senior, you’ve never been able to measure up to Timothy. He’s always been smarter, more outgoing, funnier in their eyes. Every scrap of attention you’ve ever had in your life has been begged for, while Tim was handed everything in spades.

Each time Frank interacts with your family, he gets closer and closer to violence.

He doesn’t understand how they can be so awful to you. Even when the both of you had gotten engaged, they had found a way to make it about themselves.

*“Finally, sweetie. Something to tell the girls at the club.”*

*“You know, I never thought it would be you getting married before Timmy.”*

*“You’ll need to lose a few pounds before then - don’t want him to run a mile before you even make it down the aisle.”*

The last one makes Frank’s teeth hurt. He did run a mile. But not because of how you look. You’re always perfect to him. Because he couldn’t handle disappointing you. So he broke your heart instead.

Even if the two of you had gotten married, there’s no way your side of the family would’ve even been there, much less involved. You’d told him that on the first night.

*“Frankie?” You hum, head resting against his chest. Your engagement ring is glinting in the moonlight, and he’s caught you admiring it more than once tonight.*

*“Hm?”*

*“Would I be a terrible person if I didn’t invite my family?”*

*His arm curls around you a little, while you turn to glance up at him. “No. You’d be a totally sane, reasonable person who wants to enjoy her wedding, and not worry about Timothy making it all about himself.”*

*You seem a little unconvinced. “They’d be so angry.”*

*“So? How many times have they left you out of family plans? Made you feel shitty because you didn’t want to scam people out of money on Wall Street like your brother? Sweetheart, if I thought there was the smallest chance that they wouldn’t ruin your day, I’d say to invite them. But they’d make you miserable, and you know it.”*

*“I don’t want them around our kids,” You reply, voice becoming more certain with each passing second. “Not ever.”*

*Frank just nods, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Whatever you want, I’ll make happen. Okay? That includes Timothy getting a surprise in his bed a la The Godfather.”*

*At this, you snort. “You’re such a dork.”*

*“And yet, you still agreed to marry me.”*

So seeing Timothy now, after over a year, knocks him off balance. He’s mostly annoyed. At the way your family has treated you your whole life, and at the fact that he wasn’t there to protect you from it.

Of course Timothy would materialise the week Frank finally feels like he’s getting his life back together. Getting back on track with you.

Timothy spots him at the same time. His eyes go wide, his smile slow and delighted, almost cruel. Frank fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“Francis?” He calls, making a beeline across the bustling Pittsburgh street. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Frank stiffens. “Timothy.” Normally, Frank would correct someone calling him Francis. But Frank honestly feels a little too friendly for your brother, so he keeps his mouth shut.

Timothy strides up, suit immaculate, hair perfect, and the same cologne that gives you headaches reeking from his pores. He gives Frank a once-over that isn’t quite rude but definitely isn’t friendly.

“So,” Tim says, clasping his hands in front of him. “Still… what was it again? Family medicine?”

“Emergency medicine,” Frank corrects. “Still saving lives and all that, yeah. Not quite as glamorous as ruining them on Wall Street though.”

Timothy laughs just a little too loud. It sounds abrasive, and a little aggressive, even though his smile is wolfish. “Always had that sharp tongue.”

Frank says nothing. He’s thinking about you, and how much you hate these little digs, how every visit to your family ended with tears and shouting. How he used to kiss your forehead and promise you’d never have to see them again if you didn’t want to.

How Frank broke you anyway.

“Actually, this is perfect timing,” He says. “I wanted to extend an invitation.”

Frank raises an eyebrow. “To what? Your next Ponzi scheme?”

Timothy chuckles. “No, no. My *wedding*, Frank. I’m getting married in a few weeks. Thought my sister might like to see you.”

Frank blinks. “…Right.”

He thinks he might be sick. Timothy obviously knows about the break-up. You wouldn’t have been able to hide that, given you were meant to be married by now. But he clearly has no idea of anything that’s followed. The friendship, the relapse… the truce. Timothy thinks he’s just inviting a bitter ex, purely to mess with your head.

He wants to tell him that you’re living together. Let him infer from that what he wants, but he knows it isn’t his place.

Instead, he bites his tongue, and forces a smile. “That would be nice, Timothy. I’ll be there.”

*****

“Your brother invited me to his wedding.”

You freeze with your mug halfway to your lips, while The Kardashians argue in the background. It’s one of your guilty pleasures, and while Frank claims he doesn’t like it, you’ve caught him invested more than once. “He *what*?”

He shrugs, shoulder stiff and tense. “Caught him not that far from the hospital. I didn’t know his fiancé was from here. Said they’re having the wedding here to be closer to her family.” He shifts his weight, avoiding your eyes. “Look, I’m not going. It was a power play. He wanted to feel like he got something over you, and I won’t give him that.”

You swallow, setting your mug down. “Frank…”

“And I don’t want to make things weird for you,” He adds. “Or stir anything up with your family. Or-”

“Frank.” You say it gently this time. A murmur. “It might actually be… nice. If you came.”

He blinks, startled. “Nice?”

You nod, lip between your teeth. “You’re the only person on that guest list who’s not going to try and make me feel like shit for the entire day. I could use an ally.”

Frank watches you for a long moment. “You’re sure?”

You manage a smile. “I’m sure.”

He exhales slowly. “Then I’ll be there.”

And he is. Which is how the wedding day goes from bad to worse.

Your parents barely mask their distaste. Your aunts whisper behind your back. The cousins you haven’t seen in years make passive-aggressive comments about how *brave* it is to bring an ex.

The only reprieve of the day is seeing Timothy’s face when you get out of the cab with Frank, linking your arm through his as he helps you up the stairs.

It’s not the bitter reunion he’d been hoping for. Instead, it’s like the two of you never broke up.

The ceremony itself is fine. You sit near the back, Frank drawing light patterns onto the back of your hand. It’s calming. You’re surprised he remembers that about you.

But when dinner rolls around, you’re placed with some aunts and uncles, while Frank is dumped at the worst table in the whole venue.

You do your best to play along, smile politely, and not throw yourself into the nearest decorative fountain. But every time you turn around, someone else is giving you a sympathetic pat on the arm and a murmured, *“You’ll find someone someday, sweetheart. Such a shame, having to bring an ex.”*

By the time you escape your assigned table, your jaw aches from all the clenching.

Placed directly by the toilets, you can immediately tell that Frank’s table barely made the cut for the guest list. Thankfully, by the time you weave your way through the endless crowds, his neighbours on each side seem to have dispersed. Letting out a heavy sigh, you drop into the seat to his left, while he pushes his wine glass in your direction.

“You look like you need this,” He murmurs.

“Thanks,” You reply, downing it in one. It doesn’t help. Not even a little. “I shouldn’t have come. I’ve had five different people ask me why my ex is here already, with such fucking sympathy that I can’t stand it.”

“M’sorry,” He mumbles, reaching out to drag his thumb across your knuckles, grip loose. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Don’t be - you’re the only reason I haven’t jumped off the roof of this fucking place yet.”

Frank looks at you, as if debating whether or not he should speak again. “Your mom cornered me earlier. Asked if we were back together.”

You groan, dropping your head to rest on your palms. “Did she also mention that I needed to hurry up and get pregnant before my fertile window closed? Because I got that one this morning.”

“Jesus,” He sighs. “They’re… something.

“Don’t worry, you can say *awful*. They can’t hear you from here. Unfortunately.”

“Are you really okay?”

You swallow. “I just need five minutes without one of them telling me I should have brought a real date.”

Frank’s eyes flick to you. “So I don’t count?”

It’s almost a joke, but his eyes are serious.

“You count too much,” You blurt without thinking. “Sorry- that was, uh, that was weird.”

A silence falls, while you both examine the other, trying to work out where you stand.

“C’mon - let’s dance,” He finally murmurs, reaching out to lace his fingers through yours, but you immediately shake your head.

“Absolutely fucking not. Not in front of them.” You retract from his touch, glancing back over at the family table. The one you weren’t seated at.

“I don’t mean in front of them,” He replies softly. “Out in the hall.”

You hesitate, still unsure, and he leans forward, voice low. “Come on.”

You blink at him. “Why?”

“Because if one more person looks at you like a wounded animal, you’re going to lose it.” He stands, smoothing his shirt out of habit, and holds a hand out for you to take. “Hallway. Now.”

You follow him out the side door, weaving past waiters and guests too drunk to notice. The hallway outside is almost empty, quiet except for the muffled swell of strings.

You let out a slow breath, your shoulders finally dropping.

“Better?” he asks.

“A bit.”

Without a word, he steps closer and holds out his hand.

Your raise an eyebrow. “You’re not serious.”

“Come on.” His voice softens, dripping with honey. “You wanted to avoid dancing in there. Here’s the alternative.”

You look at his hand, and slip your fingers into his.

He draws you in gently, one hand settling at your waist, the other warm in yours. He starts moving the two of you in a slow sway, and you rest your head against his shoulder.

It’s not romantic. More of a comfort.

“I’m sorry about recently,” You breathe. “I’ve been messing you about.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Frank insists.

“I-I…” You go to speak, before the words die on your tongue. This feels like too momentous a conversation to have in the hallway of a wedding neither of you want to be at. “I miss you.”

Frank doesn’t reply, giving you the space to process your thoughts.

“I don’t think I’ll ever feel the way I feel about you for another person.” Your tongue feels heavy, resistant to the honesty. “But I’m scared.”

“I know,” He mumbles, eyes concerned as he glances down. “I’m sorry.”

“S’not your fault. I just- I think I need some time. I want to get back to where we were, eventually. But… I’d just- I’d need you to go at my pace. And I don’t know if that’s too much-”

“It’s not.” Nothing you could ever ask of him would be too much.

*****

Frank hadn’t meant to take you to the diner you’d spent your first date at. But fate works in mysterious ways. Pulling over the Uber after ditching the wedding early, you both gorge yourselves on cheeseburgers and milkshakes as a reward for dealing with your family, before making the short walk home afterwards. You lace your hand through his, before pressing the softest kiss to his cheek at the door, and padding through to your bedroom.

Frank’s not sure he’s going to get much sleep tonight. Not with a glimmer of hope, *real* hope, blooming in his chest for the first time in a year.

Sure, it might take time, but he can win you back.

He knows he can.

A knock sounds at his door. Brow furrowing a little, his first thought is that something must be wrong. He gets up and pulls it open, revealing you on the other side. You’re picking at a hangnail on your thumb, eyes worried as your gaze snaps to his.

“Couldn’t sleep,” You whisper, eyes shining a little. You look like you’re about to cry.

“Is everything okay-”

“I want to be with you,” You burst out, obviously unable to keep it in any longer.

When you’d told Frank you needed time to think things over, he’d been anticipating a month or two. Maybe longer… closer to a year. Not four hours. “Sweetheart, I-”

“No,” You interject, hands trembling slightly. “I just- I need to get this out.” When he nods, you continue. “W-When you left, I thought my life was over. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, I could barely even make it to work.”

His expression falls a little, guilt flooding through his veins, and you stumble on. “I’m not trying to make you feel worse than you already do,” You murmur. “But I was miserable, Frankie. All I wanted was to see you again, and I couldn’t. And then, when you came back, and I was with Mike-”

Frank bites back a grimace.

“-I couldn’t stop thinking about you. How I couldn’t imagine being with anyone but you. Which scared the absolute shit out of me. I mean- I was living with another man, and I couldn’t get my ex out of my head. It was pathetic. But uh, even my best times in the period we were apart - none of them came close to our worst.”

He can tell that you’re on a roll now, caught up in getting the last year off your chest. You’ve now pushed past him into the bedroom, pacing up and down while you gesture.

“I know that I’ve messed you around, and I’m really sorry, but I don’t think I can live like this anymore. Pretending that I don’t still l-”

“Don’t,” Frank suddenly speaks, voice firm.

Your eyes widen a little, cocking your head in confusion. “What?”

He looks almost scared. Tired, young, and scared.

“Don’t say you love me - not until you mean it again.” Frank doesn’t doubt your feelings. But he’s also not sure he could handle you telling him that you loved him, only to change your mind again in the morning. He’d deserve it, sure. But he thinks it might kill him.

“I mean it, Frankie,” You murmur, reaching out to take his hand. “You know I do.’

Frank lets out a shuddering breath, eyes closing as he presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Just - let me make it up to you before you go saying things like that again, okay? Let me earn it again. *Please*, honey.”

He’s never stopped loving you, but if the two of you are ever going to get back to the way you were, you’re going to need a strong foundation. And Frank’s not up for cutting a single corner.

“Y-yeah, of course,” You reply softly. “Whatever you need. I-I don’t know when I’ll be ready for things to be like they were, but I want to try. If you’ll have me.”

“God, of course I will.”

A silence falls, as the two of you try and digest the past few minutes. How everything has just changed in an instant. “Can-can I sleep in here tonight?”

“Yeah, honey. C’mere.”

He leads you to the bed, and you both crawl under the covers, settling against each other. Your breathing evens out, syncing with his, and you’re both suddenly hit with the same thought.

*What now?*

He wants to kiss you. More than anything. But you’d just said you wanted to take things slow, and he doesn’t know where your line is. He’s leaving it to you to set whatever boundaries you need from him. Until then, he’s happy just to be in your company.

You’re the one that initiates it. Of course you are. Frank’s on cloud nine right now - he’d be a fool to push, to risk ruining this. Your cheek is turned, resting against the pillow as you mould your lips against his.

He smiles against your mouth, reaching out to cup the back of your neck, tongue probing just slightly. You comply immediately, sighing into his movements and trying to draw as close to him as possible.

“Is this okay?” You mumble between kisses.

“More than,” He breathes. His hands shift a little, settling on your waist. “Missed you so much, sweet girl.”

“Missed you too, Frankie.” Your voice is hoarse, back arching into his touch as he begins to work his way downwards. First your neck - sucking at your pulse point in a way that’s sure to bruise tomorrow. Then, along your collarbone and down the valley of your breasts. He misses nothing, nipping and soothing while you keen under him.

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, you know that?”

You go to deny immediately, but the way your thighs clench tells him you like it. Humming slightly, he situates himself between your legs, a last glance up to check you’re okay.

*This is the way things are supposed to be.*

You and him together, without your fucking family, or anyone interfering. It hits him in waves, that dizzy, impossible *luck* of it all. To lose you, and somehow gain you again. He’s scared to move too fast, scared to breathe wrong, scared of anything that might disrupt whatever miracle delivered you back to him.

The noise you make when he dips his head is obscene. A low moan that goes straight between his legs. “That’s it, baby, c’mon-”

He teases his thumb through your folds, continuing to kiss and suck at your clit.

“G-god, *fuck*-” Your breathing comes in short, sharp gasps as you try and ground yourself, fairly unsuccessfully. Your legs tremble, hips bucking as it starts to become too much. “P-please, Frankie, *please*, gotta cum-”

He smiles against you, a small laugh escaping that vibrates against your clit. “Didn’t expect you to be so desperate, honey-”

“Shut up and fuck me,” You interject, mustering as much bite as you can, which currently is not much. Barely pausing, Frank moves back up your body in a single fluid movement, lining himself up. You feel the emptiness for just a second, before he pushes in.

It starts slow. Romantic even. Deep, measured thrusts as the two of you rock together. More than sex. A melding of two souls.

The kiss is sloppy. All teeth and tongue and saliva, and *want*.

His hands are laced through yours, a desperate attempt to be as close as possible. This is the first time since Pittfest that things have felt well and truly right.

If he died right now, Frank Langdon would die a happy man.

He can feel the tension rising, the way your legs tighten around his waist, changing the angle so he’s hitting just a little deeper.

*he loves you he loves you he loves you he loves you*

Your voice cuts off in a cry as you come, nails digging into the flesh of Frank’s back. It doesn’t take him long to follow, a few more pumps as he works you through it. A low groan slips from his throat, as he lowers himself to your level, lips pressed to your temple in a sloppy kiss.

“I love you, honey,” He breathes, before raising a hand when you go to speak. “Not yet. Don’t say it yet. Gotta make sure you really mean it.”

You let out a small huff. “Frankie-”

“Humour me?” His eyes are so earnest, so wide, that you can’t help but nod.

“Okay. Fine. You can *win me back*.”

“That’s my girl,” He grins, adjusting so he’s lying flat. You curl against him, head on his bicep, hand splayed out across his abdomen. “Should probably get you cleaned up-”

“Don’t want you to get up,” You mumble, almost inaudibly. “Just stay with me.”

Chapter 8 Notes:

so sorry for the delay, i had the flu :( anyway this is short and kinda fillery but i don't have the capacity for anything else lol

Chapter Text

Frank’s never been more relieved to feel a warmth radiating from beside him, as he comes to. You’re still out entirely, lips parted a little as you let out a small huff of breath. You’re angled towards Frank’s chest, a leg tucked between his knees.

You look peaceful.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and you stretch a little, before curling tighter into him. Another few minutes pass, of Frank just watching you come to, before you stir fully. Eyes bleary, they land on his immediately, and you smile. “Morning.”

“Morning,” He replies, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards. “Filled with regret?”

His tone is joking, but there’s an undercurrent of stress. At the idea that this might be filed under yet another mistake. Maybe you were just feeling vulnerable after your brother’s wedding. Maybe you’re just not meant to be together. Not anymore.

Instead, you simply shake your head, lip between your teeth. “Nope. You?”

His head shake is immediate. “Never.” He adjusts slightly, dipping his head to kiss you. “Are you working today?”

“I’m off until Tuesday.”

“I’m off until Monday,” He grins, as you drape your arms across his shoulders. “That gives us a whole weekend to ourselves.”

“And how do you propose we use this weekend?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I promised you some wining and dining. Doing this properly.”

You groan softly, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “You don’t have to do that-”

“Told you I was going to do it right, baby. You don’t want me going back on my word, do you?”

You hum, pretending to mull his words over. “I suppose.”

“So, I propose a game plan,” He continues. “We shower - together, of course. Gotta be environmentally conscious. Then, we dress up a little fancy, and I take you out for lunch, and we grab a movie at that fancy new theatre that opened across town. The one that serves champagne to your seat.”

“Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought,” You whisper, laughing as he peppers kisses across your face. “Does it even matter what I say?”

“Well, we can do whatever you want today. But we are doing something, that’s non-negotiable. Celebrating the first day of a new era.”

His earnestness is incredibly endearing. “Alright,” You concede. “We can do whatever you want today, but tomorrow I want a movie marathon in sweatpants and takeout. Deal?”

“Deal.”

*****

“Frank?” You call, while you fiddle with the backs of your earrings. You wish you hadn’t let Samira talk you into upgrading your collection to flatbacks. Sure, they’re comfier to sleep in, and a lot less likely to catch on masks while you’re working, but they’re also small and fiddley.

You’ve spent ten minutes on one stud.

“Hm?”

“Can you grab my emerald necklace? It should be in my jewellery boxes, one of the pouches.”

He makes an affirmative noise, before disappearing down the hall. When he doesn’t return with the necklace after a few minutes, your brow furrows, and you pad down the hall. “You find it-”

You cut off when your eyes land on Frank, sitting on the edge of the bed, an object in hand. On closer inspection, you freeze.

It’s your engagement ring.

“I-I didn’t know you still had this,” He mumbles.

“I do,” You say quietly, the words settling into the room softly. You lean against the doorframe, suddenly very aware of how still he’s gone. “I couldn’t… I didn’t want to get rid of it.”

Frank turns the ring slowly between his fingers, the diamond catching the light in a way that makes your chest ache. He swallows. “I thought maybe you’d sold it. Or tucked it away somewhere I’d never see.”

“I tried,” You admit. A soft laugh slips out before you can stop it, dry and awkward. “Every time I opened the box, it felt like… closing a door I wasn’t ready to shut. I-It was actually the final nail in the coffin for Mike and I. He found it, right before we broke up.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t want you to,” You shrug.

“I-it’s stupid,” He murmurs. “Guess I just never thought about the fact that you might have kept it. Didn’t even cross my mind.”

You step closer, the carpet muffling your footsteps. “It’s not stupid.”

Frank looks up then, really looks at you, like he’s bracing for something. “Does it still mean the same thing to you?”

You sit beside him on the bed, close enough that your knees brush. “It means what it meant then,” You say, after a brief pause. “And it means everything that came after. I don’t think those cancel each other out.”

He lets out a slow breath, something loosening in his expression. Carefully, he holds the ring out to you, resting it in your palm. His fingers linger for half a second longer than necessary.

“Your necklace,” he adds, quieter now. “It was in the other pouch. I’ll grab it.”

“In a minute,” you say, curling your fingers around the ring. “It can wait.”

“You look beautiful,” He replies, eyes glancing down your figure, at the deep green of your dress. The one that you’d chosen knowing it was his favourite colour.

You tilt your head downwards a little, closing the gap between you both.

*****

You know you’re getting sick the moment you wake up.

Your body feels wrong - heavy and sluggish, with every joint aching like you spent an entire night out on the town. When you shift, your head throbs, and you let out a quiet groan before you can stop yourself.

“Hey,” Frank murmurs beside you. “Are you alright?”

Right. Frank’s bed. Frank’s room. Even after a month of this, of being back together, you’re still not quite used to not being alone anymore.

You push yourself upright immediately. “Nope. Absolutely not.”

He blinks awake, confusion giving way to concern. “What?”

“I’m sick,” You say hoarsely, already swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The room tilts, but you grit your teeth. Despite working primarily in the Emergency Room, you’ve always had a shitty immune system. It was only a matter of time before you caught a winter bug. “Like flu-sick. I need to go sleep in the guest room. I’m not getting you sick.”

Before your feet even fully hit the floor, Frank’s hand closes gently around your wrist.

“Slow down,” He says, sitting up. “You’re dizzy.”

“I’m fine,” You lie, tugging weakly. “You haven’t caught anything yet. I shouldn’t be in your bed when I’m contagious.”

He lets out a quiet breath, the kind that means he’s choosing patience. “We share a kitchen. A bathroom. The same air. That ship sailed when I was inside you last night.”

“That’s different,” You insist, blinking hard. Your throat tightens, and you hate it. “Sleeping next to you is different.”

“Honey - we had sex twelve hours ago,” He says softly. “And I’m not kicking you out when you feel like hell.”

You push at the blankets, frustration burning through the fog in your head. “I don’t want you getting sick. You’ve got that presentation, and I don’t want it to be my fault you’re not well.”

Something in your voice gives out on that last word. Halfway between a sob and a cough.

The tears come fast and humiliating, blurring your vision as you scrub at your face. “I’m so tired,” you choke. “Everything hurts, and I can’t even think straight, and I don’t want to be a problem.”

Frank goes very still. Then he shifts closer, careful not to crowd you. His arm snakes round your waist, guiding you until your head is resting on his shoulder. “Hey,” He says quietly. “You’re not a problem.”

You shake your head, tears slipping down anyway. “You always end up taking care of me. I hate being a burden.”

“Remember when I caught COVID and you didn’t? You take care of me too,” He replies, without hesitation. “This is just my turn.”

The fight drains out of you all at once. Your shoulders sag, and you let Frank lean you back against the pillows.

“I don’t have the energy to argue,” You mutter.

“Good,” Frank says gently. “Then stay put, and I’ll go get some painkillers.”

He pulls the blanket back up around you, tucking it under your chin. “I’ll open a window,” He adds. “Disinfect everything. Make soup. If I get sick, I get sick.”

Your eyes flutter, exhaustion pulling you under. “You’re really stubborn,” you murmur.

“Only about you,” he says, a small smile in his voice.

You don’t even realise you’ve fallen asleep until you bolt upright six hours later. For a moment you don’t know where you are, only that you’re unbearably warm and cold at the same time, throat raw, head pounding.

There’s a shape beside you, radiating heat.

Frank.

Your eyes crack open. The room is dimmer now, curtains half-drawn. The clock on the bedside table reads just past four. Rain hits the window, a soft rhythm.

“Oh,” you rasp. “You’re still here.”

“Hey,” Frank says immediately, like he’s been waiting. He’s sitting upright against the headboard, book in his lap. “Welcome back.”

You try to sit up and immediately regret it, swaying. Frank’s hand is there at once, firm at your shoulder.

“Nope,” He says. “Bad idea.”

“I slept forever,” You mumble.

“You needed it.” He reaches for the glass on the nightstand. “Small sips.”

You take it with shaking hands, managing a few before your stomach turns. You grimace.

“Okay, little ambitious with the water, got it,” He says calmly, taking it back. “We’ll try again later.”

You swallow, eyes burning. “You didn’t go to work.”

He shrugs. “I called in.”

“You didn’t have to-”

“I wanted to.” He says it easily, like it’s not even a question.

Guilt prickles anyway. You turn your face toward the pillow, embarrassed by the sudden sting behind your eyes. “I’m gross.”

Frank huffs a soft laugh. “You’re sick.”

“I sound disgusting.”

“You sound like you need soup.”

You manage a weak smile at that, but the effort costs you. The room swims again, and your chest tightens.

“I hate this,” you whisper. “I hate being this useless.”

Frank shifts closer, careful. His hand rests between your shoulder blades, massaging softly. Despite yourself, a low moan slips out. He’s always been weirdly good at massages. “You don’t have to be useful,” he says. “You just have to get better.”

Your breath stutters. “What if I get you sick? You’re visiting your parents next week.”

“Then I’ll be sick,” he replies simply. “We’ll be sick together, and I’ll go visit them when I’m better. ‘Sides, I’m not leaving you here alone with the flu.”

A tear slips out anyway, hot and frustrating. “I don’t like needing you this much.”

His thumb presses lightly to your cheek, reassuring as he wipes the wetness from your face. “I know.”

You turn your head just enough to look at him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he adds quietly. “You don’t have to earn care. Would you believe me if I told you that I like taking care of you?”

That does it.

You cry then, quietly, shoulders shaking as exhaustion and fever and delirium and fear all bleed together. Frank stays exactly where he is, murmuring nonsense reassurances, passing you tissues and pressing kisses to your temple.

When it ebbs, you’re wrung out.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“Don’t,” he says gently.

He helps you lie back down, tucking the blanket around you again. You’re dimly aware of him brushing your hair back, cool fingers against burning skin.

“Sleep,” he murmurs. “I’ll be right here.”

And this time, when you drift off again, you believe him.

*****

You’re going to tell Frank that you love him tonight. No more dancing around the issue. It’s been three months of being back together, and he’s been wonderful for every second. Attentive, level-headed, compassionate. He’s proven over and over again that he’s the man you want to spend the rest of your life with.

You want him to know that.

No, you need him to know that.

Except he’s late. Promising to be back for seven, you start to worry a little when it hits half past and there’s no sign of him.

But you’re being ridiculous. It’s a rare day when you get out on time - very often you don’t make it home until closer to nine. You’re sure Frank must be the same.

It’s past eight when your phone rings. Assuming it’ll be Frank, you frown when you see Samira’s name pop up.

“Hey, Mira, what’s up? Is Frank still there?”

“Uh, yeah, he’s here-” She starts, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh okay, that’s good. He’s almost an hour late, and I was starting to get worried. He wasn’t answering his phone, either-”

“Listen, I need to talk to you,” She interjects. “Robby’s on his way to your place right now, so please don’t worry about driving. He’s going to be there in five minutes, so he can bring you here.”

You stop in your tracks, brow furrowing. “Why would I need to be there? What’s happened? Is Frank okay?”

There’s a single moment of pause on the end of the line, and your heart stops. “Sweetie, he was in a car accident. They’re working on him right now.”

Chapter 9 Chapter Text

After the massacre at Pittfest, the hospital feels oddly quiet. There are still patients everywhere, some critical, some barely grazed, some dead. And yet, it feels like everybody’s let out a breath, for the first time in five hours.

And Frank’s nowhere to be found.

He’s been spotty all day. Nowhere to be found when you looked for him after lunch, and appearing again randomly when things started getting bad.

Frowning, you head up to paeds to grab your things. Maybe he’s just showering. Trying to get rid of the blood under his fingernails. Backpack slung over your shoulder, you catch Robby and Abbot as they’re leaving. “Hey, have either of you guys seen Frank?”

They exchange a look, Robby’s expression falling a little. Immediately, your heart sinks. “Come on over here, we can talk,” He murmurs, hand at your elbow. “Frank was sent home.”

“Why? Is he okay?” Your mind starts to race a million miles a minute. Visions of him somehow getting hurt tonight. Although, surely if he got hurt, he’d still be here to be treated.

“He’s been stealing pills from the hospital. Librium. I’ve sent him home tonight, and we’re going to work out what to do tomorrow. It-it’s uh, likely that he’s going to need to do some kind of treatment programme. Rehab.”

“Stealing?” you echo, frowning. “That doesn’t-” You trail off, shaking your head. “I didn’t see anything. He didn’t seem- I mean, Frank’s been stressed, sure, but-”

“Kid, it’s bad,” Robby interjects. “Like ‘might not have a job soon’ bad.”

“Oh,” you breathe, chest constricting.

You don’t know what your face is doing, but Robby’s expression softens even more. “I’m sorry you’re finding out like this,” he says. “Tonight forced my hand. I can’t let him be around patients when there’s a risk like that - we obviously needed him during the MCI, but starting tomorrow… he needs help.”

You nod, because that’s what you do when everything inside you feels loose and unanchored. When your life and relationship is going at ninety miles an hour, and about to run off the road entirely. “I— I should go,” You mumble, the decision forming fully in your mouth before you realize it. “I need to go home.”

Robby hesitates, then nods. “That makes sense. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. I’ll be in touch.”

The drive is the worst fifteen minutes of your life, but you’re suddenly very grateful you brought both cars to work today, due to an early meeting you had.

By the time you get home, your hands are shaking. The lights are on when you pull up, a thin, steady glow behind the curtains that makes you want to cry already. It’s so familiar, and yet you have the distinct feeling that everything is about to spiral out of control.

It’s quiet inside.

The bedroom door is open.

Frank is standing at the foot of the bed, folding clothes with careful precision. An open duffel bag gapes on the mattress, half-full of t-shirts, jeans, underwear.

He looks up when he hears you.

For a second, neither of you speak.

“What are you doing?” you ask, even though the answer is right there in front of you.

He swallows, nods once, like he’s bracing himself. “I’m… I’m going to rehab. Tonight. Or first thing in the morning. Robby gave me some numbers.” He gestures vaguely toward the bag. “I thought it’d be better if I just… got ahead of it.”

A fresh start.

“You were going to leave without talking to me?” Your voice is steadier than you feel.

“No,” He says quickly. Too quickly. “I mean- I didn’t know when you’d get home, and I didn’t want to put this on you after everything tonight.” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’ve been through enough. I-I thought it would be easier this way.”

Your expression hardens a little. “You don’t get to decide that I don’t get to be here.”

That makes him flinch.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” He admits, eyes cast low. “I didn’t want to look at you and know I disappointed you.”

Your chest tightens painfully. “Frank… that’s not true-”

“I stole from the hospital,” He interjects bluntly. “From patients. From fucking Louie.” His voice breaks, just slightly.

You step closer without really deciding to. “Is that why you’re packing? Because you think leaving will make that better?”

He lets out a hollow laugh. “I think leaving might be the only way I don’t drag you down with me.” He finally looks at you then, eyes red, exhausted. “I need a clean slate. A fresh start. And I don’t know how to do that if I stay.”

The words sting more than you expect, knocking your entire world off its axis. At the idea that Frank doesn’t need you. Not the way that you need him. He wants to face this alone, and without you.

“You don’t get a fresh start by running,” You say, trying desperately to keep your voice level. The last thing either of you need right now is a screaming match. “You get one by staying and doing the work.”

“I don’t trust myself here,” He replies, still unable to meet your gaze. “I know how easy it would be to mess up again.” His voice drops. “And I can’t mess up again. Not after this.”

You think of the back injury. The long nights on the couch. The way he’d grit his teeth when he stood up too fast. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You ask, the question small and aching between you.

He closes his eyes. “Because I wanted to be better before you noticed,” he says. “Because I thought I could fix it on my own. I thought it would just be a few weeks.”

Silence stretches, thick and heavy. You think you might be sick.

“I’m not disappointed in you,” You say finally, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I’m scared. I’m angry you didn’t trust me. But I’m not disappointed.”

“You should be.”

“I’m not,” You repeat. “I love you.”

That does it.

Frank’s shoulders cave inward, like something inside him finally gives. He turns away, dragging a hand down his face, breathing hard. “I don’t deserve that,” he whispers.

“Maybe not,” You say. “But you still get it.”

He stands there for a long moment, back to you, then nods once. “I have to do this,” he says hoarsely. “I-I can’t do this. I have to go.”

When he shoulders the duffel bag, something in you snaps.

“No,” You say, sharp and loud in the too-quiet room. God, you hope the neighbours can’t hear everything. “Absolutely not. You don’t get to do this.”

Frank stops by the door. His back is to you, but you can see his jaw clench.

“Turn around,” You demand. “If you’re going to leave me, you can at least look at me.”

Slowly, he does.

“You think you can just pack a bag and disappear?” you continue, voice rising. Your hands are shaking now, fists clenched at your sides. “You don’t get to decide this by yourself. Are we just not getting married anymore?”

“Jesus,” He groans, frustration seeping into his tone. “A wedding is the last fucking thing on my mind right now.”

A wave of shame washes over you. So many people died today, had their life destroyed, and you’re thinking about yourself. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that you don’t want me to wait for you. That we’ve been together for almost three years and you don’t even want to try and let me be there for you.”

“I’m going to rehab!”

“And you’re breaking up with me,” You shoot back. “Don’t dress it up like you’re doing me a favour.”

His eyes flash. “I am doing you a favour.”

That lands like a slap.

“Oh, don’t,” You laugh bitterly. “Don’t you dare act like this is noble. You lied to me. You stole from your job. And now you’re running because it’s easier than staying and facing me. What do you want from me? I want to work through this, Frank.”

“I am facing you,” He snaps, voice raised now too. “I’m standing right here.”

“No, you’re not,” You shout. “You’re already gone. I-if I hadn’t come back when I did, you would’ve left me a note, and disappeared from my life entirely, with no regard for me.”

You pray he denies that. Shakes his head and yells at you for even thinking that low of him. Instead, he swallows, and you know you were right. He would have left. Frank drags a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “You have no idea what it’s like to look at you and know I failed you. Every day.”

“I didn’t ask for better. I asked for you.”

Silence cracks between you, sharp and loud in your ears.

“You think this is about you?” he fires back. “I’m trying to stay alive. I’m trying not to screw up again.”

“Do you have any idea what this feels like? To come home and find you packing? Like we don’t mean anything? Like this doesn’t mean anything?” You hold up your hand, engagement ring glinting softly in the light.

His voice breaks, then hardens. “I can’t get clean with you here.”

“What-” you mumble, stunned. “I’m a trigger now?”

“No,” He snaps. “You’re a reminder. Of everything I can’t live up to.”

You step closer, invading his space, anger blazing through the hurt. “Frankie, please. Tell me how to be there for you, and I’ll do it. Don’t do… this.”

The room goes dead quiet except for your breathing - ragged, furious, and exhausted. Finally, he speaks. “I have to-”

“Don’t.”

You can’t stand and listen to him explain all the reasons why he has to leave you.

“If this is what it takes to stop hurting you.”

Tears burn your eyes, but your voice stays loud, sharp. Masking the hurt. “I’m begging you. Stay. Don’t do this like it’s some grand sacrifice. Stay and let me be angry with you. Let me help you. Let me-”

“I can’t! I’m sorry. but I need to go.”

The words echo, ugly and final.

“You don’t get to come back from that,” You cry, not bothering to hide from him anymore. “You don’t get to leave and decide someday you’re better and just… knock on my door like you didn’truin this.”

He grips the doorframe, knuckles white. “I’m not planning on coming back.”

That’s the one that breaks you.

*****

He’s never looked smaller. After two emergency surgeries - the first to stop the internal bleeding, the second to remove his spleen after he crashed again in recovery - Frank finally made it to the ICU.

You got the story from Robby on the way to the hospital. He’d been on his way home, to you, when a drunk driver had hit him a couple of streets over.

He’d been bleeding out on the road just a few hundred metres from the apartment, and you hadn’t known a thing.

He’s not out of the woods yet, but you feel mildly less desolate than you did four hours ago. After dealing with all the paperwork, which you were very grateful to Robby for shouldering, you’re currently curled up in an uncomfortable chair, fingers laced through Frank’s.

Ever since he stabilised, and got moved to the ICU, you’ve had a small trickle of Pitt staff through to give you their condolences.

Dana brought food. You had thanked her, and then pushed it aside as soon as she left. The idea of eating anything right now still makes you feel sick.

Robby had brought Frank’s personal items. Clothes, signet ring, phone, wallet. You’d managed to keep it together until you’d found the polaroid tucked beside his credit card. It’s one of you, from a hike the two of you had done last month. You’d been in California for a conference, and Frank had used some of his annual leave to tag along. Your smile is wide, gaze focused just above the lens. On Frank.

By the time Samira appears, you’ve pulled it together a little. And then she pulls you into a tight hug, and you bawl into her arms.

Then, the ward gets quiet, and the night shift settles in. You get a single text from Jack.

Thinking about you both, kid. I’ve told everyone to leave you be, in case you want to try and get some sleep, or even just want to have a cry without worrying about Shen barging through the door every second. If there’s anything I can do, consider it done. I’ll pop by in the morning. Abbot.

God bless Jack Abbot.

You hope you have good news for everyone in the morning. That Frank comes to, and is completely on the mend. Except he doesn’t wake up that night.

Or the next.

It isn’t until day three, when you’ve spent approximately 65 hours at Frank’s bedside, when his hand finally twitches.

You’re on edge immediately, as his eyes flutter.

He goes to speak, choking a little, and you immediately grab for a cup on his bedside, pressing it gently to his lips. “W-what happened?”

There was a while when you didn’t think you’d ever hear his voice again, and the tears come quickly.

“You were in a car accident, Frankie. You had surgery, and they took out your spleen.” His brow furrows, and you press a kiss to his knuckles. “I-I was so scared-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m okay,” He mumbles. “C’mon, don’t cry, honey-”

“I’m sorry,” You sob, leaning forward to rest your head against his shoulder. “I-I thought that you might not wake up, and you were going to die without knowing that I love you - because I do. So, so, much. And I never once stopped. Not even when I hated you. And I know that this might be a lot to take in, but I just- I need you to know that I love you. More than anything.”

His lip curls up slightly. “Can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

“I was going to tell you… the night it happened.”

“M’just glad I’m hearing it at all, sweetheart.”

You let out an incredulous laugh, and press your lips to his. Cupping his cheek, you sigh into the movement, being careful not to touch anywhere near his abdomen. “I should call in the doctor. Get you checked out.”

“You could just do it,” Frank offers, but you shake your head.

“I am purely here in a girlfriend capacity. No doctoring here unless absolutely necessary.”

“Girlfriend,” He murmurs, contemplating. “We should really do something about upgrading that, soon.”

You’re not quite sure how Frank Langdon can be on death’s door and still make you swoon, but somehow he manages. “Alright, Casanova. Just focus on getting better, and then we’ll talk. Alright?”

He just shoots you a grin. “I’m holding you to that.”

Six months later.

The white lace of the wedding gown drapes across your shoulders, as you try and manoeuvre the bodice over your hips. Normally a two person job, you’d insisted you could do it yourself, so as to get some semblance of a ‘first look’ with Frank.

After everything, you’re not exactly going about it traditionally.

You’d both had your bachelor and bachelorette parties last week, opting to spend your last night before marriage together. Your night had consisted of takeaway pizza, Almost Famous, and shower sex, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Frankie?” You call through to the guest room, where Frank has been banished. “Can you help me lace up my dress?”

“You sure? There’s no going back once I’ve seen it.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, there’s no one else here. If you don’t come now, then this dress is not staying up and I’ll flash all of our guests.”

“Can’t be having that, can we? Think Whitaker might have a heart attack if-” There’s a pause. Then the door opens.

You hear him before you see him. A sharp intake of breath, that he doesn’t bother hiding. You meet his eyes in the mirror as he steps inside. No grand reveal. No aisle. Just the two of you, in your home. Together.

“Wow,” He says quietly, reverently, like anything louder might break the hesitant quiet of the bedroom.

Your throat tightens. “Hi.”

He doesn’t move at first, like he’s afraid this isn’t meant for him. Then he smiles, slow and familiar, and comes closer. His hands hover at your back, unsure for once. He presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, and you turn to pull him in for a hug. “You look incredible,” He murmurs.

“I like your suit,” You mumble, feeling the material beneath your fingers. “You look like Montgomery Clift.”

Finally, he pulls back, and you adjust the dress, holding it up against you. His hands are warm at your back, knuckles brushing skin as he finds the laces. You feel the faint tremor in him, the way his breath steadies as if he’s bracing himself. For someone who’s never been short on words, Frank is suddenly very quiet.

“You okay?” You ask, watching him in the mirror.

He nods once, then exhales a small, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah. Just - yeah.”

He starts lacing the dress carefully, pausing occasionally to drop another kiss to your shoulder, your neck, your cheek. Each pull draws the fabric closer, makes you feel more real inside it. Less like you’re pretending.

You meet his eyes again in the mirror. There’s something open there, something undone. You’ve seen that look before - in hospital corridors, in half-lit kitchens at three in the morning, after your brother’s wedding. It’s the look he gets when something matters more than he knows how to say.

“I’ve been so worried all morning that I’ll cry as soon as I see you, ruin my makeup,” You admit quietly.

His mouth tilts into a smile. “Still time.”

You huff a laugh. “Don’t push it.”

He tightens another lace and his fingers linger, resting flat against your spine. The touch is grounding. Familiar. It’s the same hand that reaches for yours in crowds, that presses into your back when you’re about to lose your nerve. That makes you feel completely and utterly safe.

“You look like you,” He says finally. “The most beautiful woman in the world.”

The words hit harder than anything else could have.

You swallow. “Are you trying to make me cry?”

He finishes the last tie and lets his hands fall, like he’s afraid to overstep now that he’s already crossed some invisible line. You turn then, fully, dress hair still loose, and allow yourself a good look at him.

“I love you,” You whisper.

There it is.

His face changes - softening even further, if that’s possible. His eyes shine and he doesn’t bother blinking it away.

“Jesus,” He murmurs. “I really get to marry you.”

You step closer, resting your forehead against his chest. You can feel his heart under the fabric, fast and sure.

“Looks like it,” You murmur.

He laughs quietly and wraps his arms around you. You fit there easily, like you always have. “What do you say? You ready to lock this thing down?”

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