Work Text:
Once a year, like a bad zombie movie, a shambling mass of dead-eyed day-shifters drag themselves to the PTMC an hour early to be lectured on hospital policies and standards.
It seems almost counterintuitive that people who agreed to years of extra school just to reach residency would consider a lecture to be one of the worst days of the year, but alas, such is the power of hospital administration, cursed be their names.
Gloria gives Robby the powerpoint about eight minutes before he presents it to them (any earlier and he ‘loses’ it) so it ends up being twenty minutes of tangents while Robby pretends like he isn’t pulling it out of his ass.
It’s not even that bad if Frank’s being honest.
He even made a game of seeing how off-track he could get Robby without him noticing. His third year was his best work yet, getting Robby started on an EMT who brought in a ‘DOA’ with stable vitals (apparently the guy had no idea how to find a pulse and the rest of his crew decided to let him crash and burn). Dana even chimed in, laughing that the poor guy hadn’t been able to make eye contact with her for a month.
Unfortunately, revenge for any fun during the presentation comes swiftly.
The flashcards.
Fake situations about HR infractions and hospital policy with obvious answers like ‘Don’t fight patients, even when they suck’ or ‘Don’t break HIPAA by talking about patients who suck’ or ‘Don’t sleep with your coworker Frank, even if she looks at you like you’re still worth something.’
Standard HR mush.
Eighty percent of the questions could be boiled down to ‘if your Press-Ganey scores are bad, it's because you hate me, Deborah in HR, specifically and you don’t want my children to afford college.’
It’s mandatory, it’s offensively dry, and it’s the closest Frank’s been to relapsing in the past three months. At least that’s what he tells Cassie in the elevator up to the lecture hall, watching her slam her coffee like it isn’t actively steaming.
Cassie laughs over her cup, “Don’t. I mean, same. But don’t.”
“Thank god your sponsoring wisdom isn’t time dependent.” Frank snorts, leaning back against the elevator wall. “Your advice is incredible this morning.”
"I believe in being genuine with the struggles of recovery. Leading by example." Cassie shrugs magnanimously.
“You believe in faking appendicitis to get out of this class.” Frank doesn't bother to hiding his smile at the memory of her pre-lecture ‘pains’.
“Medically inconclusive abdominal tenderness sounds important to me.”
“I’m sure it does. Should I expect your hand to spontaneously deglove or for your water to break today?”
The elevator stops before Cassie can respond and Heather steps in, hitting the door-close repeatedly.
Frank shares a look with Cassie, shrugging at Heather's back.
“Someone looks excited for hospital policy day.” He jokes, trying to figure out why she looks like someone pissed in her cheerios.
Heather shoots him a flat look as a hand slides between the elevator doors. They open again to reveal an out-of-breath Robby who enters with a loaded look at Heather.
Ah. The culprit.
The tension builds as the elevator starts up again, dead silent this time.
Thanks for that, culprit.
Frank’s not even sure if Robby noticed Cassie and him in the elevator, too busy re-enacting the Cold War Part Two - Let’s Pretend We’re Not In A Fight Because That Would Imply We’re Something.
Cassie looks content to burn her mouth and pretend she’s somewhere else, but Frank’s mouth isn’t connected to his brain so- “Are we all feeling ready to learn this morning?”
The elevator, strangely, doesn't react well to his uncaffeinated attempt at bludgeoning them into acting normal.
Robby shoots Frank a look typically reserved for flunking med students, Heather rolls her eyes (he can tell from how the back of her head wobbles), and Cassie snorts, glancing at Robby. “He wants you to call on him a lot today. He was just telling me all about it.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Frank straightens up, “Questions are for the uninitiated and non-senior residents. I put in my time already.”
Robby smirks, the asshole. “I don’t know, maybe this group needs some inspiration. Someone to guide them through it, get their feet wet.”
“One joke and I’m sent to flashcard hell-?”
“You love HR protocols. You and Garcia violate them all the time. Now you can tell everyone else about them.”
“I can’t believe you would threaten me with this today, of all days.”
“Tuesday?” Cassie deadpans.
“My five month and eleven day sober-aversary.” Frank announces with as much ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ energy as he can muster.
Robby cracks slightly, a mix of exasperation and something warmer on his face at Frank’s progress.
“I hear that’s a big one.” Heather says without turning around, “That's why you always see it pre-written on those Kroger cakes.”
Robby loses the train of conversation at the sound of her voice (so much for that), turning his energy back to awkwardly glancing at her and sucking the air out of the elevator.
Damn it.
Frank ducks around them as soon as they hit their floor, bee-lining towards the lecture hall. Not his circus, not his monkeys - he has enough of his own monkeys, no more monkeys.
One of the small joys of working in a teaching hospital is that the lecture hall is nicer than it has any right to be, a large auditorium that admin refreshes every few years. It’s overkill, but he won’t complain when the promise of comfortable seats is one of the few things keeping him going. A handful of people are already there as he walks in, clustering around the room.
Mel’s head turns as soon as he walks in, lighting up when she sees him (Frank’s heart does normal appropriate things at her smile), waving him down to the front row with her. He pivots immediately towards the stairs.
The front of the class was always a little, much, in med school. It was full of kids trying to kiss up to the professor or drop their ‘oh so important’ last name into conversation. There’s no room to move without knocking into someone or their ego.
The one time he had tried, his fidgeting got him no less than three friendly after-class suggestions to consider another spot.
“How’s my favorite resident doing this morning?” Frank grins as he slides into the seat next to her. Mel shifts her bag out of his way, bumping their knees together for a warm second.
Weird. The front row doesn’t seem so bad all of a sudden.
“I told you not to make that joke,” Mel huffs, like she isn't trying to hide the same smile she makes every time he says it. “Someone might think you actually treat me differently.”
Frank wonders how she would react if he dropped the word ‘resident’ all together, ignoring the urge to test it. “Oh no, I wouldn’t want that to happen.”
“Frank.”
Frank laughs, pivoting, “How did Becca do with waking up early for this?”
Mel gives him a knowing look, “I’m expecting revenge. Imminently. If you treasure your sleep you might want to be careful staying over.”
“I expect nothing less from her.” Frank says, swallowing at how casually Mel mentions coming over. Like he’s expected. Part of the routine. “She lives by a code. There has to be consequences.”
Mel huffs, “Of course you encourage it. It’s all fun and games to you Mr. Steals-My-Pens.”
“Excuse me, it’s Dr. Steals-Your-Pens, allegedly. And it’s not my fault that mine are always dried out, I think Dana is switching mine out for duds.” Frank says, ignoring Mel’s flat look, “It’s a conspiracy.”
“It’s something.”
“Ye of little faith. Maybe I’ll join Becca, tell her you forced me to get up early too.”
“Oh no, how will I survive?”
“We can be very coordinated when we want to be.”
“Not coordinated enough to follow a peanut butter cookie recipe without me.” Mel says, messing with her notebook like she doesn't know what a low blow that is.
“It couldn’t come out of the measuring cups!” Frank puffs up righteously, “I- We decided that you make it more efficiently, that’s all.”
“Of course,” Mel agrees seriously, eyes glinting, “It would be a shame if I had no time to efficiently make those, too busy dealing with both of you…”
“Woah, woah, let’s not be too hasty. We don’t need to harm innocents.”
“Are we talking about you or the cookies?”
“Either. Both. Whichever one makes you keep baking.” Frank can’t keep the buzzy smile off his face watching her laugh.
She presses her knee into his again absently, leaning into him as they talk - setting off that warm tingling in his chest again.
Platonically.
A loud clap at the front of the room has them both jolting to look up at Robby.
Right, the HR lecture. The HR lecture to make Frank regret the timing of his sobriety. The HR anti-sobriety lecture.
“Good morning.” Robby says with a grimace that says his morning has been hell. Oh well. “I appreciate all of you coming in early to go over these carefully curated materials that help us be sure we are following hospital policy to the highest standard.”
Robby hits the powerpoint clicker, watching an overly peppy ‘Introductions!’ slide transition across the screen. He stares at it in silence as it skids in before hitting the clicker again. “I’m not doing that.”
And off they go. Whatever the opposite of ‘off to the races’ is.
The presentation runs the same as always, Robby cherry-picking what to read on each slide and lapsing into silence randomly like he doesn’t know what it’s going to say next (he doesn’t).
Frank thinks he could forgive some of the content if it wasn’t all so ugly. At least the queer talks have rainbow slides and awkwardly encouraging clip-art. Whoever put this together decided that burnt orange would sear the information into their brains best.
Cheers to that, Deborah in Administrative Coordination. Frank’s pretty sure he’ll be seeing it burned into his eyelids for a week.
Mel takes notes on every slide, laser-focused on the presentation (real front row energy, although it’s much cuter when Mel is the one doing it). Frank’s heard all this before (and didn’t bring anything to mess with) so he entertains himself by reading over her arm, trying to figure out the shorthand system she must have invented in med school.
Mel shifts her arm so he can read better, sharing a grin with him conspiratorially, like she already expected them to be sharing in the first place. Frank just leans in more, telling the voices in his head (sounding suspiciously similar to their coworkers) to shut up.
No matter what little (massive) jabs Dana gives him, he is perfectly normal friends with Mel.
He is.
Just because he got her a gift when they broke the STEMI record or carries her bag for her doesn’t mean that something is going on.
He’s following the program. No relationship changes for one year.
Abby hadn’t liked that one, sitting stiffly on their therapist’s couch as she told Abby how important steady relationships are for addicts. Frank had chaffed at being talked about like he wasn’t right there and Abby chaffed at promising to support Frank’s recovery.
Whatever.
He sleeps in the guest room to give her space, Abby doesn’t look him in the eyes when she can help it, and Mel is his just-a-friend who makes him feel better every time she's nearby.
Friends do stuff for each other all the time, it doesn’t have to mean anything.
Like bulk-buying her favorite Hawaiian chips (if admin isn't going to stock the vending machines properly, he has to!).
And carpooling twenty-eight minutes out of his way to drive her home (it encourages him to clean his car more often! Good habits!)
Even the sleepovers have a reasonable explanation.
Mel had invited him by their lockers as they were getting off shift, back when he was still readjusting to the Pitt. She told him it was small-craft night and with Becca at the center for a movie sleepover, she was short a crafting partner.
He'd agreed immediately, still feeling the weight of Robby's eyes following him from their shift.
Small-craft (always said as one word which never fails to make him smile), as Mel described it on the drive to her apartment, is her way of making sure she has things outside of work that make her happy. Give her some non-adrenaline based achievements, no matter how ‘important’.
It was one of the best nights Frank had had in a long time. She had unhealthy gas station snacks, half a dozen different crafts, and a mismatching playlist of some of the worst songs Frank had ever heard in his life.
Frank left that night with a wonky bead gecko (his own creation), sore cheeks (Mel’s doing), and a warmth in his chest that made the guest room almost tolerable for the first time since he’d come home.
So small-craft nights had stuck.
And when he starts staying later, unwilling to pry himself away as Mel tells him stories about growing up and wiggles her (freezing) toes under his thigh, she just tells him that he might as well stay the night.
For road safety.
So small-craft sleepovers had stuck too.
It isn’t Mel’s job to handle the feelings bubbling in Frank’s chest. He's a grown man and she is his best friend.
That’s enough for him.
It is.
At least for six months and nineteen more days.
“Now let's have some fun with it.” Robby deadpans, leaving the ‘Questions’ slide up on the projector. “We’ll go through some different scenarios. Chime in when you think you know what the answer is.”
Robby plows through situation one, an intern has an argument with a second year resident in another program and isn’t sure who to talk to about resolving it and Frank turns to look at how everyone else is handling the lecture.
The initiated have a number of advanced techniques to survive the ordeal: disassociating at the wall (Samira), ripping up their coffee cup (Cassie), or even messing with something unsubtly on their phone (however Robby stepped in it with Heather must have been good)
The newcomers are far less prepared.
Santos’s head is already in her hand (rookie mistake, Frank gives her two minutes before she’s fighting to keep her eyes open) and Whitaker is next to her fidgeting like he sat on something.
Eh scratch that, he might have.
Frank is kind of impressed with the amount of fluids (bodily and otherwise) that Whitaker can get hit with in a shift. He isn’t even doing anything different, he just has a natural talent.
Javadi is playing with the end of her ponytail, half-turned in her seat to stare at one of the nurses (what’s that about? Cassie is the worst at rumor catch-up, she always jumps around and now he doesn’t know any of the good stories).
The nurses spotting the other seats are as seasoned as the senior residents and have no illusions about the importance of the lecture, leaning back in their seats just waiting for it to be over.
Frank’s attention is drawn back to the front though as Mel raises her hand to answer.
“The intern should talk to their attending who will help them address the issue. If an attending is unable to help them then it can be escalated to an HR representative.”
Frank shoots her a little thumbs up when she answers, watching her straighten at the encouragement. He meant it to be sarcastic (it would have been if it was anyone else) but Frank couldn’t help but mean it a little bit watching Mel preen.
“Correct, Dr. King.”
So what if the lecture’s dumb? Mel isn’t and she deserves to know how good she is at solving inter-departmental resident conflicts. Besides the first question’s a tone setter - gotta let everyone know who’s leading this lecture.
Frank wonders what Santos is going to do when Robby calls on her next, clearly checked out and unprepared-
And then Mel raises her hand to answer the next question.
And the next one.
And the one after that.
Every time Robby asks a question, Mel answers it.
Frank can’t imagine what his face is doing as he stares at her. Every time she answers she looks at him, nudging his knee when he doesn’t immediately acknowledge her being right.
His dick gives a twitch in his scrub pants, watching Mel dominate the class with ease, and he has to focus on his worst cases from the past week to keep it from becoming a problem.
Frank knew Mel is a front row student, he knew that she’s competitive in the ER even when it's not as obvious as when he does it. He knew, somewhat, that she was taking notes and loves to have the right answer. He just didn’t realize how it would feel to have her turn to him for approval like he was the one testing her-
Robby tells ‘the class’ to just shout out the answer with a tight smile like he can’t tell if his contempt for being here is stronger than his relief that someone is participating.
Whatever. Frank just watches Mel, heart pounding like he’s watching a Penguins game and not Mel’s inevitable and crushing classroom takeover.
Robby flips to the next card and reads it.
Mel raises her hand, finger sliding over her notes as she gives the answer.
Frank grins at Mel and watches her cheeks flush at the attention.
Robby flips to the next card and reads it.
Mel raises her hand as she speaks (like Robby doesn't know who's answering).
Frank shoots her a thumbs up, half leaned over her notebook himself.
Robby flips to the next card and pauses, reading it silently.
Something freezes Frank’s mind at the hesitation. Everything here is basics. No hypothetical cases. No ethical dilemmas. Why is Robby glancing at him like that-
They wouldn’t have-
“In this scenario, we will be looking at a doctor who is in pain from an old injury. They had a prescription for it, but when the pills run out, they felt like they still need more.”
Ice starts pooling in his veins, circulating his chest in a vice grip.
“The doctor doesn’t want to ask for help and begins taking medicine from their patients, compromising patient care and the doctor’s professionalism.”
Frank’s eyes latch on the floor, body rigid and alien as he feels eyes latch onto him.
He had done these exercises.
He had looked at a room of people in rehab and admitted to being an addict over and over again. He had therapists and nurses and sponsors all tell him he’s an addict. He’d said it so many times it had gone numb in his mouth just to get his residency back.
“Where should the doctor have gone instead of stealing from the hospital?”
None of those people were Robby, who still won’t talk about that day. No one in rehab saw him in action, scrambling for an out even past the point of no return. None of them understood what it was like to walk back into the PTMC knowing that ‘addict’ came before ‘doctor’ in the mind of everyone welcoming him back.
They hadn’t been Cassie or Heather or Santos’s pet med student or -
Mel.
Mel knew about the drugs. And the stealing. More than the patchy rumors that circulated while he was gone.
They had talked about it in the stairwell on a night shift, after Mel lost a patient. She asked him in a wobbly voice if she was too involved in her cases or if this was how awful everyone felt all the time.
Frank's throat was tight as he told her no one is as good as they look.
He’d know.
He'd given her free range of his dirty laundry, whatever she wanted. If she wanted to feel better about coping strategies, she was talking to the right guy.
Most people with open access went for the dirty details, a hint of living vicariously, to see what it was like that close to the edge.
How did he take the drugs? (However he could get them. Pills, preferably.)
How did he hide it? (No one was looking. He isn’t sure if that made it better or worse)
Was it a fun high? (No.)
Did he ever take something harder? (It wasn’t about feeling good, it was about not feeling bad)
Mel’s questions had been different. Simpler. More devastating.
She asked him how he handled switching meds so often, changing brands and strengths with each dose based on what he could get. She asked him what he would do when a patient was still in pain from a missed dose. She asked him if he had patients that he wouldn’t take from, rules about where he got it.
Frank told her everything in a scratchy thin voice like something sharp was dragging across his vocal cords, exposed with no idea how to tuck it all back into his chest.
Mel had listened quietly, their shoulders pressed together the whole time like the intimacy of their closeness could dull the blow of what he was saying, what he was admitting.
His voice dried up eventually, leaving them sitting in the awful truth of what he did.
And then Mel hugged him, the tight band of her arms pressing him back into his skin.
Tucked so close that he could feel her taking a breath, nose turned into his shirt, Mel whispered that she was really happy that he got help. And even happier he came back.
It had been their moment away from…all of it.
He had given her everything and she had given him back the same kindness she always held him with.
His confession and her absolution.
It felt like the air is being sucked out of his lungs to hear it now. His worst hypocrisy as a doctor - laid out in barely depersonalized words - in its simplest, ugliest form.
His brain is skipping beats in the silence, like time is speeding up without him. No one else even seems to be breathing, letting Robby’s words hang over them like a noose.
Frank could feel Robby’s eyes on him, heavy and burning. Robby already said it, why is he still looking, what does he want?
There’s no way-
Robby wouldn’t be waiting for him to-
Don’t make him say it-
“It’s a trick question!”
Mel’s foot softly presses against his, like she can pull him out of his own head with a touch. Maybe she could.
If there was some part of Frank that Mel couldn’t open, he has yet to find it.
“Uh-”
“It’s a trick question,” Mel explains before Robby can speak. “The hospital guarantees access to undiluted medication and clean equipment, which in turn, prevents disease or overdose. It’s the best option.”
Frank presses his foot back against hers, affection warring with the shame in his chest.
Mel isn’t someone who cares halfway.
She knows the name of every nurse in Becca’s center, day or night. She knows Millie’s allergies (blueberries and soybeans) and Tanner’s bed time system (at least six books, two with magic).
He can’t help wondering if she learned this for him.
If she had journals stuffed somewhere (highlighted and tabbed, always) researching factors of addiction. Disease transmission and overdose rates and the need that pushed people to sacrifice their physical safety for chemical relief.
He wondered if they heard the same things, worlds apart, as he fell apart in rehab and she studied how to put him back together again.
Frank didn’t know what he would do if she told him she had. If he asked and Mel told him she spent their time apart studying the ugliest part of his life so she could handle it as gently as everything else she touches.
“While that is correct from, uh, one perspective,” Robby says haltingly, voice much tighter than it had been during the other questions. Like it was personal. Huh. “The right answer is to get help with an addiction specialist in Behavioral Health Services.”
Mel frowns at her notebook where Frank can see she wrote it down next to all the other questions. It doesn’t look nearly as painful in Mel’s hands. “The question was where to get the drugs, not who to speak to about getting clean. Those are two different questions.”
“That’s what we’ve got written down.” Robby says with an awkward shrug, looking at the card like it might change.
Mel huffs quietly, jotting down an addendum in her notes. “Fine, put that one in the review pile.”
Review pile- God, Frank is going to run out of words to describe what being around Mel does to him.
He forces himself to untense the coil in his chest, focusing on her foot against his. He knows, in that awful unshakable way his kids know he loves him, that Mel's got him. Unflinching faith that she's there. And that it's exactly where she'll be in an hour and a day and a month and, and- hopefully six months and some change.
It's hard not to come back to himself when Mel is there, as sure of him as she ever was, no matter what Robby or Gloria or fucking Deborah says.
“Uh, there’s no review pile.”
“I know, we’ve been doing so good.” Mel says, clearly disappointed.
“This isn’t that kind of presentation.” Robby tries gently, “These aren’t- there isn’t a test.”
“Then why are we reading poorly written exam questions before our shift?”
Frank snorts hard, head dropping towards Mel’s shoulder as he pretends to cough (not that well). Dana is bolder than him, letting out a sharp laugh a few rows back.
“This is a policy seminar to ensure we know HR standards.”
Frank can’t tell if he's seen Mel this riled up before, head cocked like if she looks at Robby differently, he’ll start making sense.
“Then what’s the grading scale we’re working with?” Mel asks.
“You aren’t.” Robby says more than a little helplessly, floundering.
“What do you mean we aren't?” Mel caps her pen and puts it down, focusing all of her attention on Robby.
Frank feels like he’s watching another kid get yelled at in school. Except the other kid is their boss. And deserves it. A little. If he’s being petty.
“This seminar is a pass-fail system. Being here the whole time is considered a pass.”
The room is silent as Mel digests the news. She looks over her notes and Frank’s empty desk, like she’s getting it for the first time. The room doesn’t feel as tight as when Robby asked, attention dragged off of him by Mel’s interrogation.
“This is bullshit.”
Frank chokes on his spit (acquainting it with his lungs in a highly graceful maneuver). Mel rubs his back as he leans over to cough and he considers just passing out from oxygen deprivation to avoid having to collect himself. Again.
“We came to work early so you can read us flashcards we aren’t being tested on, written by administrators , to prep us for- what? How to make Surgery apologize for being mean?”
“Great point, King.” Santos chimes in, grin clear in her voice. “Whoever wrote these clearly hasn’t met Surgery before or they would know that’s a hopeless fight.”
Frank's chest crackles as he clears his throat, no time like the present- “Who even wrote these questions? They can’t have passed Step Three, writing something that ambiguous.”
Based on the snorts, he’d say he at least got at least four people to laugh (A good number based on his earlier equally uncaffinated success rate). His chest loosens at not being hung out to dry, at people still being willing to give him the time of day.
Mel grins next to him making his chest glow (around the saliva still pooling in his lungs).
“If we can redirect-” Robby tries.
“Was it Gloria?” Dana asks unhelpfully as Robby sends her a sharp look.
“I can’t comment on who the specific program manager is-“
“Gloria is going to tell us about hospital professionalism?” Cassie jumps in, “She asked me if a donor could shadow an appendectomy because it would be ‘engaging’.”
“We just need to get through the cards-“
“This could have been an email.” Santos snorts, “Don’t touch your coworkers, don’t touch drugs, and don’t mess with HIPAA. Boom, already wrote it. Anything else is overkill.”
Frank’s chest crackles warmly.
No one had to say anything. It wasn’t their hole to dig him out of, he knows that he did. But he can’t deny the warm feeling in his chest at the support and distraction ping-ponging around the room. He wouldn’t have expected it from anyone, let alone Santos.
It wasn’t her fault, what happened. He's sober enough to admit that. When he came back to the Pitt, he pulled her aside to tell her that, try to clear the air a little before they spent twelve hours on top of each other. He had apologized (awkwardly, genuinely), she accepted (awkwardly, cautiously), and they had made as little eye contact as they could get away with the whole time.
He hadn’t expected anything from her, he doesn’t think he would have had any grace in the inverse, but things had been, fine. Verging on good, if he was an optimist. She didn’t have to have his back with anything, but he couldn’t lie that it felt weird to know that she did, even in something as weird and offbeat as this.
Robby seems halfway to a new breakdown as the room wakes up from their education comas to bully the course materials. “We have twenty more minutes of flashcards and engaging discussions-”
“No, we don’t.” Mel says snapping her notebook shut.
Frank stares with wide eyes as she slips out of her seat and walks up to Robby, gently taking the stack of cards out of his hands. “I’ve got it.”
Robby stares at her bug-eyed as she flips through the new cards, nodding to herself. Mel looks up like she’s surprised he’s still there and says something too quietly for Frank to catch that has Robby wandering over to Heather.
Heather shifts her bag for him to sit next to her, smirking at the look on his face and Frank decides to mark that progress as another one of Mel’s successes.
“If we do a lightning round, we can be out of here with enough time to get up to one cafeteria muffin apiece.” Mel announces, “Academic decathlon style, I’ll read the scene and you interrupt when you have the answer. If you’re right, you get the card and if you’re wrong, someone else can steal it."
“What do cards get you?” Whitaker pipes up.
“Whoever has the most cards at the end can hand off their charting for one patient to someone else.”
The room buzzes at that. Charting is hell and getting to hand it off to a loser of their choosing is a powerful offer for the unmedicated ADHD and competitiveness inherent in an ER residency program. The room livens up at game, blinking the sleep out of their eyes at the idea of speed-running it. A handful of nurses in the back (lead by Donnie) start betting almost immediately on who's getting the most cards.
Frank takes advantage to talk to Mel, “You were a lot in med school, weren’t you?”
“I was valedictorian.” Mel says proudly.
“God, you must have been insufferable.” Frank says, wondering if there are hearts around his head looking at her.
“You ever remind the teacher about assigning homework?” Santos asks, climbing down the stairs to the front row followed by Samira.
“If they didn’t assign it on time it would throw off the semester schedule. Or the grading curve if we couldn’t make it up later.” Mel says seriously, shuffling the cards.
“Oh my god.” Frank snorts.
“So, so much sense.” Santos says with a wide smile, plopping down two seats away from him. “Things are just clicking into place right now.”
Frank gives her a look at the switch that she shrugs off with performative casualness, “Front row always gets called on the most for these things, I’m not losing to you over my seating.”
Fair enough.
“Sorry if we’re not as good as your last seat buddy,” Samira adds, sitting between them, “I don’t play much footsy but I can try it if you want.”
Ah, there it is.
“Just focus on the game,” Frank mumbles, cheeks warming. “Dick.”
Samira bumps his shoulder and Frank rocks with it good-naturedly, smiling to himself. Not what he expected from today, but...good. Worth at least fifteen percent of the heart attack he had.
Not that the flashcards get any credit for that. Fuck the flashcards.
Mel clears her throat and gives it her best Alec Trebek, “Our first question is: there is a department focused on bridging community-specific gaps, such as the DEIB program. What does DEI- Whitaker?”
“It’s diversity, equity, inclusion, and uh, that’s-” Whitaker answers, stumbling over himself.
“It was on the slides.” Santos needles, half-turned to look at him, "Just remember the slides man."
Frank grins as she winds him up, watching him sputter at the pressure.
Mel finally gives him an out and calls, “Open to steal!”
“Diversity, Equity, Inclusion, and Belonging!” Santos crows as Mel nods, “Get woke Dennis, god! Learn about minorities for once in your life.”
Dennis (apparently) keeps huffing as Frank gets ready for question two. Santos can have the first one, but he's not losing to a room of interns-
“One point to Trinity. Next question, an employee’s long term value to the hospital is measured by the acronym-”
“ELTV! Employee Lifetime Value.” Frank jumps in first. Sue him, he wants Mel to see him try.
She grins (worth it) and sets the card aside, “Correct! One point to Frank.”
Santos gives a fake retching, “This is rigged, he has an advantage because he’s part of the materials.”
“You jealous of my hospital notoriety?”
“I mean a little.” Santos says, eyes glinting.
“I suggest studying more if you don’t want me wrecking your shit.” Frank says, feeling a competitive heat wake up in his chest. Santos has the same look in her eyes, leaned forward in her seat.
“Language!” Heather yells.
Frank shoots her a sarcastic thumbs up (when did Robby’s arm migrate to her shoulders?) and focuses on the game, newly invested in earning some free charting. He's got a good guess on who's going to give it to him.
“Next question-”
—-
Heather smiles at Mel doing her thing as more people chime in than have spoken all morning.
“She’s good at this.” Heather hums, shifting slightly to lean on Robby’s arm.
“You mean she’s competitive.” Robby laughs quietly.
“She’s in the ER, of course she’s competitive.” Heather says with an eyeroll, “She’s good at this. Engagement. In a Mel way.”
Robby nods, eyes stuck on Frank as he half-stands from his seat trying to answer over Trinity who’s doing the same thing. “Frank is in a good place for staying at the PTMC. Getting attending at some point. Even if Gloria was needling with the card.”
Mel hands the currently hotly-contested card over to Dana who stole it from both of them and Robby smiles at her playing along as much as anyone.
“It’d be nice if Mel got the peds fellowship when it comes around to that time.” Heather says, looking at Robby slyly, “Keep her around longer. Would be good for them, to stick around.”
Robby turns to her with that, eyes warm, “Absolutely. She brings out the best in him.”
“Even if it takes some time to get there.”