Chapter Text
“Dr Langdon?”
He can’t do this.
“Dr Langdon.”
Not with Robby avoiding him. Not with Louie under his care. Not with Santos keeping him under a microscope.
“Frank.”
His eyes snap up, looking between his arms as his hands pull at his hair. His eyes meet Mel’s where she’s crouched in front of him.
“There you are,” she offers a warm smile. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”
He shakes his head. Feels like his chest is gonna explode.
“Okay. Let’s get these hands out of your hair before you pull it all out. I want you to squeeze my hands instead.”
Her gentle palms wrap around his fists, carefully pulling them away and weaving their fingers together. He squeezes, but it's not the same without the pain even as his scalp still aches.
“Do you wanna talk about it, or do you want me to find someone else?”
He wants Robby. He wants Robby to sit next to him and remind him that he has a place in this ER and that he just needs to find his rhythm again and it’s all going to be just fine because he just needs time.
But Robby doesn’t even want to look at him. Robby would refuse to be in the same room with him, tell him again how he doesn’t want Frank in his ER, tell him he should’ve lost his medical license and he shouldn’t even be a goddamn doctor anymore.
His throat closes up around a sob. He pulls his hands from Mel’s and wraps them around his middle in a pitiful attempt at holding himself together.
A hand snakes its way behind him, rubbing circles between his shoulderblades. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, “I’m right here, I’ve got you.”
He allows himself to lean against her touch, bringing his hands back up to cover his face until her spare hand reaches across his wrists.
“Hey, none of that, please,” she tells him. “It’s okay. Please don’t pull at your hair again, I hate seeing you hurt yourself.”
He shakes his head again. “Sorry,” he rasps.
“It’s okay,” she repeats, breathing her own quiet sigh of relief now he’s found his voice again. “You’re okay, I’m okay. Can you try a deep breath again for me?”
To really make it up to her, he gives it a shot. Long and deep through the nose, slow and albeit shaky through the mouth.
“Good, you’re doing really well. Another, please?”
In through the nose, notably easier through the mouth. His shoulders lose their tension, arms dropping back to hang over his raised knees.
“I’m gonna grab you some water and tissues. I’ll be right back,” she pats his shoulder as she stands, stepping across the room to the sink.
He listens to her fill a mug with water and pull a few tissues from the box on the coffee table. He’s staring at a mark on the paint on the walls, a splash of coffee that the cleaning crew had missed.
For a moment, he considers that if they missed this spot on the wall of the staffroom, what are they missing when they clean the patient areas? In the trauma rooms?
Then again, his colleagues and mentors all missed how he’d been stealing benzos. The missing stock, the resealed bottles.
They weren’t perfect. His colleagues, the cleaning crew, the whole damn ER.
In a way, he fits right in. More so now than even before he went to rehab.
“See? Right back,” Mel’s back at his side, offering the mug of water.
He takes a few sips before setting it aside, focussing his attention on the coolness easing his throat. She places a tissue in his hand, which he uses to wipe his face. “Thanks,” he says quietly, throat still sore.
“No problem, honestly,” she smiles. “Did you- um- can I ask what happened?”
He shrugs. “I’m not even sure. Everything sort of got to me, I guess. Sorry you had to see that,” he rubs at his chest, working out the last few ebbs of unease.
“Really, I'm happy to help. How do you feel now?”
A nod this time. “Better,” He answers truthfully, breathing that final ounce of tension out. “Thank you. I should-” his eyes find the door, watching a pair of paramedics wheel a gurney across the hub as Dana directs them. Her eyes scan across the bay, searching for a resident to hand the case to. “Should get back out there, right?”
Mel nods too with a smile, eyes on Dana too. “If you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” he manages a smile back. “What do we think, a heart attack? Fall from great height?”
She offers him a hand, helping to pull him up. “Oh, they weren’t moving too fast. Difficulty breathing on arrival, but improving on low flow oxygen.”
They exit the staffroom and watch as the paramedics talk to Dana, the patient laying heavily on the gurney. They have a sick bowl in their lap, and a nurse setting up an IV.
“High alcohol content,” They both nod in understanding.
“BAC 0.19%?” He offers.
She scoffs. “Have some faith. 0.12%, but it’s their first time drinking and they got scared.”
He hums, scanning the rest of the ward. Santos is focussed, for once, on charting. Whitaker and his ducks have Louie behind a curtain. Robby’s talking to Dr Al-Hashimi, but he glances over and offers a concerned nod, watching them wearily.
He tightens his grip on the staffroom door. Instead, Mel covers his hand and pulls the door back shut. She gives Robby two thumbs up and a bright smile, gesturing that they’re about to start helping the new patient.
“Come on, we can do this,” She tells him quietly, rubbing a thumb over the back of his hand.
His hand leaves the sanctity of the staffroom handle, drops to his side.
He can do this.