Chapter Text
The ground fell away from beneath her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't hear. Couldn’t see anything except his face and the blade in his hand.
It was him. This was him. He found her. He finally found her.
SIX WEEKS EARLIER
Mel knew how cliché it was to feel like it really was just another day, but she meant it in a much more positive connotation than she’d heard others use it. She came in bright and early to be on the floor by 7am, and was given three patients from night shift. 42-year-old male with type 2 diabetes complaining of kidney pain. 23-year-old pregnant female with spotting. 98-year-old female, nearly septic from UTI. It cheered Mel to see the older woman smiling widely, happy to be waited upon by the ED staff, grateful beyond words that she was “feeling better already!” Mel was confident she could help them all; every day that passed made her more sure that this was exactly where she belonged.
Of course, there were other details that took away from the comfortable monotony. The way Frank Langdon was smiling at her, for one. His “pigtail-pulling” - as Dana had referred to it endearingly - was truly the highlight of every shift Mel worked with him. Frank wasn’t the type of man to treat anyone with kid gloves, especially a coworker, and he’d never acted like she was any less important than anyone else in the ED. On the contrary, really; some days he made her feel like she was the only person he really saw, the only person in any room they were in, the singular friend he had. She tried not to be too influenced by her own feelings about him as she made these observations. They had spoken many times since he returned in July about their similar feelings of isolation and otherness, their love of being needed, their constant desire to be of service. Mel believed they were truly cut from the same cloth, and it was these things that had drawn them together like magnets since her first shift at PTMC. They were now the dynamic duo, working flawlessly side by side, understanding each other’s needs without even needing to speak.
Of course, Mel also had a massive crush on him. But that was neither here nor there. Not only had he been divorced for less than a year, but Mel also couldn’t let him get too close to her. Her history carried too much risk to let her truly be the partner he deserved. She was content to be the best friend she could be to him, and nothing else.
It was very difficult to convince herself of her contentment when he held his hand up for a high five, however, lacing their fingers together before she could retract. His bicep was flexed as his arm raised, pale skin contrasting against the black of his scrub top, and her mouth went dry.
What a man, what a man, what a man, what a mighty good man…
“Nice save in there, Dr. King.” His smile was dazzling as he finally released his grip. She had no idea what facial expression she was making.
“You too, Dr. Langdon. Always a pleasure.” Her cheeks flushed when she realized that that comment could be misconstrued sexually, trying to pivot. “I mean, of course, working with you is always pleasurable - I mean, emotionally speaking!”
He laughed, but she always knew he wasn’t laughing at her. She also knew the science behind blue eyes, but couldn’t find any medical explanation for his seeming to give off heat when she looked into them for too long, becoming almost molten under her gaze. “Don’t worry, Mel, I know what you meant. I won’t be calling HR on you. For this, anyway.”
Her brow wrinkled, her gaze drifting as she tried to figure out what else she’d done to him to warrant an HR notification. He reached out to nudge her chin back toward him with his index finger. “Joke, Mel.”
“Right! Sorry. Busy morning.”
“For you and me both.” He opened the door to the trauma room for her, letting her lead the way back out into the hub. They both reached for the hand sanitizer at the same time, and she jerked her hand back just as their fingertips touched. She wasn’t trying to avoid touching him, of course. That would be ludicrous. She was just being polite and letting him go first for the sanitizer since he let her go out of the door first. Normal friends being normal friends.
What was not necessarily her version of normal, however, was him taking the glob of hand sanitizer that she’d let him have and rubbing it onto her hands for her. “I cut you off there, we can just share,” he said as he lathered between her fingers. “There, now we’re both clean.”
Unfortunately for you, Frank, my mind is not.
“Mellow yellow!”
Mel turned to see Trinity striding toward her, hands on her stethoscope. Frank tended to make himself scarce where Santos was concerned, a gentle elbow in her ribs and a quiet “later, gator” his parting gifts. “Been looking for you. Trivia tonight, Brass Taphouse. You in?”
“Wow, I love trivia,” Mel said. “I played all the time in undergrad.”
“So, yes?” Trinity nodded towards the charting stations, plopping down onto one of the stools and swiping her badge. “Trying to get a group together and we need a ringer.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t really go out much.” Mel didn’t say that she specifically avoided spending more time in public than absolutely necessary, not only for the avoidance of overwhelm but also out of caution.
“I know you don’t, which is why I’m always trying to get you to go out, in case you haven’t noticed,” Trinity quipped without looking up from the computer. “Seriously, it’ll be fun. We’ve got Huckleberry, Mohan, Javadi.” She was counting on her fingers. “The biggest group size allowed is eight, so naturally the goal is to fill all the slots and increase our advantage.”
“You’d also probably benefit from varying the age range of the players. To extend your knowledge bases.”
Trinity eyed her sideways, looking confused but nodding. “That, too. I’ll let the others know you’re going, then?”
“Let me get back to you.” Mel sat down at another charting station. It really did sound fun, and she couldn’t remember the last time she did something like this with a friend group. Besides, all those people around her, and there would be no way to attract attention on her own. As lonely as it could be to sink into the background, it definitely helped her to be inconspicuous in public. You never know who could be looking for you.
“Ask around, too. Like I said, three spots open.” Santos stood and locked her computer as the ambulance bay doors opened, jogging toward the action like a moth to a flame.
Mel charted as meticulously as always, not needing to turn around to know when Langdon was approaching several minutes later. The man gave off heat like a bonfire and she was also unhealthily attuned to the fresh mixed scents of his cologne and laundry detergent. “You can’t sneak up on me.”
“I wouldn’t in my wildest dreams,” he replied smoothly, absolutely lying. He leaned his elbows on the counter next to her. “What’s this I hear about trivia? Are you going?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Trinity just told me about it maybe ten minutes ago.”
“Mel, you are the smartest person I know. Please go.” He puffed out his bottom lip, fluttering his lashes.
Her pulse skyrocketed. “Flattery, Frank?”
“I am the card-carrying captain of the Melissa King fan club.”
A laugh burst out of her, and his answering smile was pure elation. He always looked like that when he made her laugh. “Okay, I thought flattery was supposed to get you nowhere? Because I think it might be working.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.” He reached out and tugged on her braid - hence Dana’s comments about “pigtail-pulling.” “So you’re going?”
“You know, it might be a little suspicious if I told Santos I’d think about it, but then immediately said yes to you.”
“Suspicious is the wrong adjective.” He pinched his chin between his finger and thumb like a philosopher. It deepened the dimple there, and she had to avert her eyes to keep from blushing. “I would say it’s much more reasonable to assume you’d say yes to your best friend over a casual coworker.”
“Is that what we are? Best friends?” Take a breath, Melissa. Be normal.
“You wound me, King.” He flopped into a chair as if he was swooning, holding a dramatic hand to his chest. His legs stretched straight out in front of his body, nearly supine; there was no safe part of him to look at. Mel glued her eyes to the space behind his head. “You’re my best friend, yes. And I am much more likely to say yes to an invitation from you than I am to anyone else.”
“Becca and I have been best friends since we were in the womb together. But I think it’s safe to say you’re my best friend that is not related to me.” She chewed her lip to keep from smiling. Best friends. Truly, she hadn’t had anything bad on her radar since her move to Pittsburgh, but was hesitant to truly feel safe. She didn’t know if she’d ever feel fully safe again. The look on his face tipped the scales in her mind. What was the worst that could happen? “Your flattery has been successful. I’ll go.”
“Thank god! My wound is healed!” He leapt up with renewed vigor, flexing both biceps next to his ears like Hercules. Mel couldn’t help the way her jaw dropped open, nor the increase in her pulse. She thought from this angle she could maybe even see some underarm hair peeking from beneath one of his sleeves, and she couldn’t stop the mental image of pressing her nose into it from invading her mind. If she’d been standing, her knees would have buckled.
“You good?” he asked several seconds after she’d frozen, and she nodded quickly, feeling the heat of her face and neck with mounting embarrassment.
“Uh, yep, I’m good.” She quickly tore her gaze away from him, but not before seeing a smirk tugging at his features. He’d definitely noticed her reaction, and knew exactly what had caused it. Rookie move.
“Good. I’d hate to have blinded you with my beauty.”
She choked on her own breath and glared at him as he cackled, backing away from her. “Nothing to be embarrassed about! See ya around, Mel.”
Mel really wanted to go home and change her clothes. She’d worn scrubs into the hospital today, and knew how many germs and bodily fluid particulates were saturating her clothing after 12 hours. She was considering whether she wanted to spend the money on an Uber or just only wear her undershirt and deal with the ickiness of the scrub pants all night as she unlocked her locker.
“Deep in thought, I see.” Frank’s voice was next to her as he leaned down to open his own locker. Since returning from leave, he had been exiled to the bottom row, and Mel wondered if Robby had had the assignment made spitefully out of knowledge of Frank’s back pain. Sometimes, she really disliked Dr. Robinavitch. Well, his behavior, at least.
“Always. I’m just wondering if I have time to run home and change clothes before we go.”
“Let me drive you.” A demand, not a question. She looked him up and down, realizing he’d changed into the clothes he wore into work that morning: dark wash jeans and a long-sleeved black henley. The top two buttons were undone, and she could see a touch of chest hair. She bit her tongue as hard as she could without injury, the pain distracting enough to let her pry her eyes away from his suprasternal notch; any longer looking at it might have given her palpitations.
“No, I wouldn’t want to put you out. I can just pay for an Uber.”
“Melissa.” Frank so rarely used her full first name on its own, and sometimes, like then, she felt like a scolded child. His gaze was locked on her face, deadly serious. “Please let me drive you home. Do not pay for an Uber that you don’t need.”
“I don’t like feeling like a burden.” She was glowering at him, stubborn.
“I know. Me neither. We’ve talked about this, remember? We hate feeling like burdens but we love being needed. If we switched positions, and you had the car and I needed a ride somewhere, would you hesitate before offering to drive me?”
She paused. Why did he know her better than she knew herself? Why did he know exactly what to say to assuage her guilt and convince her in the same breath? She let her locker door close quietly and sighed, finally meeting his eyes. What was it that Edward Cullen said when he put his arm around Bella while they walked into school? Since I’m going to hell. “Fine. It’s a little frightening how easy it is to say yes to you.”
“It’s not frightening to me. I love when I can break through your armor. It makes me feel better that you do the same thing to me.” Something so effortlessly said, but carrying so much weight in her heart. Her cheeks heated again for the hundredth time that day and she gripped her backpack strap for something to do with her hands so she wasn't tempted to reach for him. “C’mon, King. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Snow was falling gently as they left the hospital, but luckily there was no ice or slush on the pavement. The cold was biting, however, stinging her nose and cheeks as soon as they were moving. Santos and Whitaker flew past them in the parking lot, clearly having had the same idea about going home quickly to change. Santos put her foot in a pothole wrong as they approached her car, stumbling forward and just catching herself on her trunk and Whitaker’s backpack before she could fall to the ground.
“Jesus fucking Christ with these potholes again!” she shouted, kicking futilely at the ground. “I’m going to break my fucking ankle.”
“Trin, you told everyone this is your spot and threatened to spray paint your name onto it. You literally picked a spot with a giant pothole behind it.” Whitaker sounded long-suffering, no longer too animated dealing with Santos’s outbursts. “Maybe they’re going to fix the lot when winter is over.”
Mel heard Frank’s gentle, disbelieving snort next to her as they passed, right before Trinity answered. “My ass. This shit has been here since last winter.” She’d regained her footing then, finally noticing Mel and Frank passing them to get to his car. “See you in a few, docs! Bring your A-game! I don’t handle losing well.”
“Not surprising!” Mel called back, and Frank’s quiet laugh sent a buzz down her spine. Is this why he always smiled so wide at her when he made her laugh? This gratified, lighter-than-air feeling of giddiness?
His car was clean, two toddler carseats woven behind them in the backseat. Two empty Redbull cans took up both cupholders between their seats, and a Black Ice air freshener hung from the rearview. Mel couldn’t remember the last time she was in Frank’s car. Probably the last time he insisted on driving her home instead of letting her walk or take the bus or an Uber, like tonight. He maxed out the heater immediately, and Mel lowered the collar of her puffer coat so the air could hit her stinging face. “Where to, Miss Daisy?”
Mel wrinkled her brow. “I know you’re not referencing MarioKart right now, but I can’t think of the more probable alternative.”
His laugh rang in her ears pleasantly. She was reminded again how she never, ever felt like Frank was laughing at her. He just loved to laugh, and he genuinely thought she was funny. It was like someone sequenced her inherent Mel-ness and created her perfect other half, naming him Frank Langdon. The thought made her avoid his eyes. “The movie is literally called Driving Miss Daisy. Put your address in the GPS?” He handed her his phone, and she didn't need to ask his passcode, having had it given to her months ago by him “just in case of emergency.” (She reminded herself forcefully that 2244 was also his locker code, and he hadn’t chosen it, so it had nothing to do with her birthday being February 4th. Just a coincidence. Just like it was a coincidence that her phone passcode, 728729, happened to spell ‘scurvy’ on a T9 keypad.) It opened to a home screen that matched his lock screen, a photo of him holding his kids on either shoulder. He was in sunglasses, hair blowing about in the wind, and there were pumpkins behind them. Probably from this past Halloween. The smiles on their three little faces took her breath away for a short moment before she recovered and opened his Maps app.
Siri’s voice kicked on over CarPlay, and Frank reached out to put his hand on her headrest to look behind them while backing out. She was comforted that he was going through these motions even while having a rear camera. Probably a result of his upbringing, she thought. His personality was erratic, over the top, and definitely a little hairbrained sometimes, but Frank was always very careful. He’d been careful with her their first shift together, and the second one, and every shift since. A careful, caring man.
“I’m opening Spotify,” she narrated, so he didn’t think she was going through his phone. The things in his library were just as scattered as she expected them to be, some still named “My Playlist #4” and others just presaved albums. Others were called “Work”, “Running”, and “kid friendly” in lowercase. The last one made her smile. She searched up Megan Thee Stallion and played her top songs.
“I’d expect nothing less from Mel Thee Stallion,” he said, eyes on the road and hands on the wheel, completely serious and not at all joking with her. She felt chills again, but not from the cold.
As they approached her neighborhood, she held out a plain white keycard to wave at the entry gate scanner, and he did so wordlessly. He didn’t immediately give it back. “Do you have extras of these?”
“Yes, every unit gets three and you can pay for more.”
“Perfect.” He opened his visor and slipped the card in there wordlessly, eyes still locked on the road in front of them through the blackness of a Pittsburgh winter at 7:15pm. She couldn’t speak, knowing she should be a little offended at his actions or even a little defiant, but instead she just felt warm. “One for you, one for me, one for Becca.”
Always thinking of her and Becca. She was even warmer, tugging at the collar of her jacket again and trying to keep her breathing steady. How could she not have a crush on this man? How could he not be her best friend?
She directed him to her designated parking spot, always empty, and was surprised when he turned the car off. “You’re coming up?”
“Yes?” He sounded sarcastic, but was smiling and unbuckling his seatbelt.
“You really don’t have to. You can stay down here in the warm car.”
“No, I want to see your place.” He seemed to realize he might be overstepping and paused as he let the seatbelt zip back to the car door. “I mean, if you’re okay with that.”
She pursed her lips and didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered southward to them. “You have to promise not to be judgmental.”
“Not possible. Scout’s honor.” He held one hand to his heart and the other up in the air, palm toward her. She rolled her eyes but was still fighting a grin. They left the car and speedwalked to the door to her building, and she keyed in the code on the buzzer quickly. His eyes were on her gloved hand, but she’d known they would be. Probably taking mental notes, just like she would. He may have even had a note for things like this in his phone, like her. She found more similarities between them every day.
They took the stairs to the second floor and followed the hallway to her front door. Her Ring camera stared unblinkingly at them as she dug in her backpack for her keys. She wordlessly unlocked the deadbolt, the second deadbolt, and the door handle lock. She could feel his eyes on her, but she’d grown so used to the feeling of being watched that she almost didn’t notice. Especially with Frank; his eyes were always on her hands when she worked on patients, when she was charting, when she was telling a story and got a little overanimated in her gesturing. He’d told her once that sometimes the “tinyness” of them caught him off guard. He’d said he could fit both her hands in one of his, and then had taken her hand to prove it to her. She’d had to chug her water bottle to distract herself and get the feeling back in that hand.
“That is a lot of locks,” he said. She could hear the curiosity in his tone, but she still squinted at him over her shoulder as if to say “this is what I meant about not being judgmental.” He took the hint, holding his hands up in surrender and following her into the entryway.
She keyed in the code to her alarm system, waiting for “SYSTEM DISARMED” to flash across the screen before closing the door to the keypad. Frank was still watching her. Hating the feeling of wanting to explain herself, she turned around and did so anyway. “I’m mostly alone here except for weekends and even then it’s just me and Becca. I’m a small woman in a big city and I don’t have the benefit of having spent a lot of time in Pittsburgh so it makes me more comfortable to have some extra precautions.” She waved to the front door and the alarm system. “You can’t be too careful.”
“Agreed. Thank you for telling me,” he answered simply. The kind and caring look on his face alleviated any anxiety she’d had while speaking. “I’m sorry if I made you feel judged. It actually makes me feel more comfortable knowing how safe you are. It’s very on brand for you. Mel King never met a problem she couldn’t prepare for.” He was smiling at her then, and she swallowed hard and nodded in response. If only he knew.
Frank waited for Mel in her living room while she ran into her room to shower and change. He warned her not to wash her hair if she didn’t want it to freeze on her head, and she laughed. He loved her laugh. He loved making her laugh. He wanted to make her laugh every day for the rest of his life.
He nosed around in her space while he waited. She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t just be sitting like a statue on her couch with his eyes down, right? She was well aware of his restless energy. He tucked his hands into his jacket pockets as he circled the border of her living room, examining the life of Mel King. As soon as he’d walked into the apartment, he’d been irrationally struck by the inherent feeling of her presence everywhere here. The entryway’s tidy shoe rack, where he’d kicked off his boots so he wasn’t tracking anything inside. The mat just inside the front door with “please wipe your paws” scripting across it. The variety of picture frames and canvas artwork covering the walls. He knew just by looking that most of it was Becca's. Mel had mentioned that Becca had been very into watercolor lately, and he was particularly impressed by a still-life of a vase of poinsettias. “Becca King 12/14/2026” was written in the corner, almost so small as to not be noticed. It didn’t seem like something Becca would have written herself, since her presence was very much larger-than-life; someone at the center had probably written it.
Her living room was cozy, the lighting warm; he checked the light switch, and as suspected, it only lit one stand lamp. “The big light is the enemy,” Mel had said to him once. She’d never been to his apartment, but he was already becoming familiar and comfortable with only using lamps to light his space. If Mel didn’t like the big light, he’d better be prepared to not use it even in his own home.
Not that she’d ever expressed desire to go to his home. But he’d be ready for it, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to contain his excitement when she did.
He ran his fingers along the bookshelf, feeling the spines of books, DVD and blu-ray cases, and surprisingly, at least a hundred vinyl records. Some of the sleeves were so beaten up that they had to have come from her parents. Cyndi Lauper, Van Halen, George Michael, Styx, James Taylor. Then the newer ones: Taylor Swift, more Taylor Swift, a third Taylor Swift; Olivia Rodrigo; Kendrick; Doechii; My Chemical Romance. He wished he knew exactly which records were hers and which were Becca’s.
He sank into the couch to feel how comfortable it was. There were throw blankets over both armrests, one over the back of the couch, and more folded and stacked in an armchair off to the side. Her coffee table was clean and empty but there were books piled on the lower shelf of it, a mix of medical journals and textbooks and fiction novels. He lay down on the couch briefly, sinking in like it was made for him. He could imagine Mel falling asleep out here after a shift when she was too riled up to settle in bed. He turned his head to the side to breathe in the scent of the zebra throw blanket under him. Sweet, clean, a little fruity, a little vanilla. The scent of Mel King. As if to drive the point home, there was a long blonde hair stuck in the fibers of the blanket, and he smiled when he saw it.
He moved into the kitchen before he could get too comfortable on her couch. An electric tea kettle. A Kitchenaid stand mixer covered by floral fabric. A snowman hand towel on the handle of the oven. Boxes of cereal on top of the fridge.
The front of the fridge was saturated in images. Magnets from their travels: he saw several UMich Med School logos, where he knew Mel went; Fort Pitt, where he’d fervently recommended she take Becca; several from Virginia, one reading “Virginia is for Lovers” that was so faded he had the thought again that it had to have come from her parents. One shaped like the courthouse in Colonial Williamsburg. The magnet he’d gotten her when he’d gone home to North Carolina was there, too, front and center and holding up a photobooth reel of four silly photos of Frank and his kids. He remembered handing it to her to show her when he gave her the magnet, and had only half-noticed her putting the pictures and the magnet both inside her locker, even though technically he hadn’t been giving her the pictures to keep. The photobooth reels printed in sets of two anyway. The other hung on his fridge, also center-stage, and the thought that they both put it at eye level with the same level of sentimentality warmed his cold, dead heart.
“I should really give those back to you,” came Mel’s voice behind him. He had been so rapt he hadn’t even heard the shower or her coming out of her room. He turned away from her fridge, but didn’t feel caught; instead, he was trying to comprehend her words. She was embarrassed, cheeks pink and eyes downcast as she reached for the fridge.
“Give what back?”
She still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and her hand hung limply in the air, halfway reaching for the fridge still. “The photos of you and Tanner and Penny. I know you were only giving me the magnet. I just liked the pictures so much and you didn’t ask for them back so I figured I was getting away with it.” A very, very small frown tugged at her lips, and the idea that Mel thought she had to “get away with” hanging pictures of his family on her fridge filled him with such affection for her, he couldn't breathe for a few seconds.
“Don’t be silly,” he scolded playfully, taking her hand out of the air. Her palm was soft and warm against his. “Truth be told, I didn’t intend for you to keep them, but when I saw you put them in your locker I loved the idea of you having them. They print in doubles, anyway. The other one is matching on my fridge, right in the middle just like this.” He echoed his thoughts to her, hoping they would give her the joy they gave him.
He’d made the right call. She finally looked up at him, glowing instead of frowning, relief and something else in her expression. “Good,” she sighed. “On the same wavelength, like always.”
Goddamnit Frank Langdon, don’t you dare cry. “Like always.” He squeezed her hand and let it fall from his, regretting the cold seeping back into his skin immediately. “Ready to go?”
He surveyed her dramatically, and he saw she was wearing clothing similar to his. Dark ripped jeans, but the fabric visible through the rips meant she definitely had a thermal layer under there as well. Also a long-sleeved aged crewneck sweater with a Metallica logo, the sleeves hanging past her hands just a bit; a small sliver of the collar of her undershirt peeked out against her neck. Her hair was down in loose waves, a little damp and frizzy around her hairline like she’d put it up to shower and then just untied it. His hand ached to smooth the soft baby hairs there. She was so beautiful.
“You are so beautiful,” he said suddenly. Why keep such an obvious thought inside?
Her face blushed redder than he’d ever seen it, and the ache to touch her increased. She ducked her head and stared at the toes of her fuzzy socks, tucking her hair nervously behind her ear. “Thank you. You’re beautiful too.”
He felt like he could probably lift a whole car one-handed with the surge of emotion flooding him. He wanted to kiss her. He was dying to kiss her. Instead, he broke the brief silence so she wasn’t uncomfortable. “Ready to go be beautiful while we destroy the other trivia teams?”
He wanted to check the time, but couldn't look away from her. He knew he had a staring problem with Mel King, but he had so few luxuries nowadays. Why forgo this, his most valued of joys? She lifted her head, glancing at the clock on the stove. “Yeah, it’s 7:40! Let’s go, it starts at 8.” She turned and led him out of her kitchen back toward her front door, and he helped her into her long puffy coat. She had a beanie this time, too, wrapping a scarf around her neck and putting gloves on before donning her winter boots. She noticed him staring and rolled her eyes, gently poking at his chest. “Frank, move it.”
“Right. Sorry.” He couldn’t even think of a quip. How could watching someone put more clothes on be so mesmerizing? He zipped up his hoodie and put on his own winter coat, saving the boots for last and then sliding his gloves on as he waited for Mel to lock all the locks on her front door. He wondered again if this was standard for the other apartments here, but as they walked back towards the stairwell, he saw that they all only had one deadbolt and a lever handle without a lock. Mel had had those locks specifically put in, then. Maybe her abundance of caution came from losing her parents at such a young age, becoming a full time caretaker of her high needs sister while she had in all rights still been just a child herself. Frank was stunned every time he thought about how strong she was, how everything she’d been through should have soured her kindness and gentle heart long ago. Somehow, it seemed like the opposite was true. She was the most empathetic and caring person he knew, no matter what life threw at her.
Their table was only half full when they walked into the taphouse, chairs squeezed in closely to accommodate their group size. Trinity, Whitaker, and Mohan were already seated. Javadi and McKay came in just after Frank and Mel, and before anyone could decide where to sit Frank pulled Mel down next to him. The chairs were so close together that their thighs were touching. The realization made him start reciting the periodic table in his head to keep from doing anything stupid, a habit he’d picked up in college.
“McKay, no kid tonight?” Frank asked, needing the distraction of conversation. He knew he was a space heater, but Mel’s leg against his had him feeling even warmer. He shucked his winter coat and his zip-up, leaving himself in only his henley again.
“No, he’s with his dad. Remember when we used to go to trivia a couple years ago? I heard about this and remembered how much fun we used to have. I’m so excited.” McKay was also taking off her winter coat, hanging it on the back of her chair. He felt Mel shift next to him, and saw she was standing to take off her overcoat, folding it up neatly and using it as a seat cushion. God, she was adorable.
“I remember. I hope you’ve mellowed out, though. I recall a very competitive streak in you,” he told her. The others at the table let out little “ooh”s and “aah”s at the idea of zen mother Cassie being a sore loser.
“Listen, listen, it wasn’t bad. The one with the real competitive problem is Garcia. Is she coming?” McKay looked at Trinity, who blanched.
“I’m not her keeper,” she scoffed. “Besides, we have eight already. Mel, McKay, Mohan, Huckleberry, yours truly, Crash, Doctor Rehab, and Abbot should be coming any minute now.”
“Holy shit, you got Abbot to come out to this?” Javadi exclaimed at the same time as Mel barked “Trinity!” at her coworker’s nickname for Frank. Santos rolled her eyes, nudging Mohan.
“I didn’t pull Abbot. I thought about what Mel said earlier, that we could benefit from having a variety of age ranges,” Trinity answered. Mel’s eyes widened as she blushed. Somehow Frank knew that Mel hadn’t believed Santos had been fully listening. “So I asked Mohan here to invite her boyfriend.”
“I have to do the laundry for a week,” Mohan sighed, but her smile was genuine. “Worth it.”
“Agreed,” McKay laughed, patting Mohan’s shoulder. “We’ve got this in the bag now.”
“We already had it in the bag as soon as Mel agreed to come with,” Frank corrected quickly. The responses from the table varied widely, from Santos’s groan to Javadi’s and Mohan’s “awwwww”s to Mel’s wide flustered smile and the brief nudge of her temple to his upper arm in appreciation. He preferred the last reaction by miles.
“Mel, let’s get drinks!” Mohan suggested, standing and pulling at her friend’s sleeve. Frank wanted to hold her against him and not let her walk away, but he knew that was an intrusive thought he absolutely needed to keep on the inside, so he let her go. Mohan opened her phone to type in a list of everyone’s orders, then she and Mel leaned against the bartop maybe 15 feet away.
Cassie cleared her throat loudly to call his attention to her, leaning on the table. “How you doing, bud?”
Frank knew she was asking if he was okay to be in a taphouse surrounded by raucous drinking, even though everyone knew alcohol had not been his vice. He relaxed backward and let his arm fall over the top of Mel’s empty seat casually. “My one year of sobriety passed last week. December 30th.”
“I almost forgot. I just thought about it this morning, actually. Congratulations.” She reached over and squeezed the hand that still lay on the empty table, and he smiled and nodded his thanks. “Any big plans to celebrate that milestone?” She let her eyes casually drift to where Mel stood with elbows resting on the bartop, one booted foot on the footrest, her head and hair falling backward as she laughed.
“Taking it one day at a time,” he replied smoothly, trying desperately not to look suspiciously obsessed with his coworker. It hadn’t missed him that the unofficial official rule about waiting for any new relationships on a sobriety journey had now lapsed. Maybe that was why he had been fearlessly letting himself get more attached to her lately. But who was he kidding? He’d been getting attached to her since before he was even sober.
“Yeah, yeah. I know you’ve got your eyes on the prize.” Her voice was smug, since he still had his eyes glued on his prize right now. Mel was so fucking beautiful.
Clearly, he wasn’t the only man in the bar to think so. He watched as Mel and Samira were approached, a burly man with tattoos on his neck sidling up to Mel, his Mel, a dangerous smile on his face. Frank didn’t need to even look at her to know that Mel was shrinking in on herself, cringing away from the man’s voice and gaze the way she’d never once done from Frank. He vaguely heard Javadi’s observation of “poor Mel, she might not even realize right away that he’s hitting on her. She’s too nice. What a creep” but Langdon was out of his chair and crossing the floor before anyone had even responded.
“I like this sweatshirt. Did you go to any of these tour dates?” the man was asking as Frank approached, reaching his hand out as if to touch Mel’s back, and Frank snatched the man’s wrist out of the air before he could make contact.
“It’s fucking rude to touch people without their consent,” he growled. He threw the man’s wrist backward, away from his Mel, and crammed himself in the tiny space between the two of them.
The guy looked baffled and pissed, eyes narrowing and sleazy smile disappearing. “Sorry, dude, didn’t realize she was here with her boyfriend.”
“Maybe your boyfriend can teach you some manners,” Frank replied simply, flashing his most charming smile at the Neanderthal. “Get lost.”
“Fuck you,” the other man hissed, but did as he was told, not even eyeing the two women at Frank’s back before he stomped away. Frank realized then through the adrenaline that Mel’s fingers were twisted in the back of his shirt, shaking slightly, and he turned back toward her slowly so as not to startle.
“You okay?” he asked her, ducking his head to meet her gaze. She was cowering still, bottom lip locked between her teeth, but when she looked into his eyes it all faded, the scared grimace turning into an amazed grin so wide it was blinding.
“That was badass!” Mohan shouted over Mel’s shoulder, and Mel jumped, breaking eye contact with him to his immediate disappointment. So careful not to startle her, and here Samira came… “‘Maybe your boyfriend can teach you some manners.’ Nice save, Langdon!”
He wrenched his eyes away from Mel’s face painfully, but her hand was still tangled in his shirt, so he put his arm around her waist like that scumbag had wanted to. Not a flinch in sight, nor a startled wince. Just a widening of her grin and a deepening of the red in her cheeks. He finally looked fully at Samira. “Thanks. Guy’s a toolbag.”
“Thank you, Frank,” Mel leaned toward him and whispered over the sounds of the bar, and his breath caught in his chest. This was where they were meant to be: arms wrapped around each other, feeding into each other’s body heat, the pitter-patter of Mel’s heartbeat against his right ribs. He realized then that neither of them had acknowledged the man’s assumption that he was Mel’s boyfriend. Neither confirmed nor denied. He felt like jumping up on the bar and singing.
“No need to thank me.”
She nudged him with her temple again, this time against his pectoral muscle right in front of his underarm, and the heat there was searing. Surely she could feel his heart pounding when she did that, right? His fingertips on her waist tightened as she looked back at Samira, the two of them making fun of the Neanderthal’s dumb pickup lines and the look on his face when Frank had grabbed his wrist, and he felt Mel’s fingertips loosen on the back of his shirt only to lock on his waist, so they were mirrored. Was he developing an arrhythmia? Was his heart skipping beats? Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium…
Frank was heartbroken to have to release her when the drinks were ready to be carried back to the table, and Samira squealed upon seeing Jack seated at the table as they returned. She kissed his cheek and then his lips, and Mel averted her eyes carefully, sliding Frank his soda and taking her seat at his side. The warmth of her enveloped his every sense, and he found himself violently envious of Samira and Jack, able to flaunt what they had for the world to see. He wanted to kiss Mel’s cheek and then her lips in front of their friends and the rest of this bar. He wanted to pull her close and forget that anyone else was here. God, he loved her so much.
The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. He did, didn’t he? Yeah. He was in love with Mel King. Looking down at her small smile, amazement still in her eyes at his savior act, he wondered if she felt the same way he did. So much of her was always on display for him; she wore her emotions on her face in ways that he’d memorized over the last six months since he’d been back from exile. He knew her every smile, every slight intake of breath, every slow exhale, every lip twitch and avoided gaze. The way she was avoiding his gaze now, after she’d glanced down at his lips and then the collar of his unbuttoned Henley, told him everything he needed to know. Yeah, she felt something for him. Attraction, at the very least. Hopefully more.
The decision was made in that moment. He was going to make her his.
The rightness of that decision and the immense relief and joy that flooded him only solidified his choice.
Trivia was phenomenal.
Each round had questions arranged in order of difficulty, the categories given ahead of time and a point betting system that allowed teams to bank up more points on the categories they were more confident about. Many at their table had different opinions about how much they should be betting; Santos almost always wanted to double-or-nothing the last question of each round, but Whitaker and Mel wanted to play it safe, holding onto their points so they could clean up by doubling in the final round. Jack sat back most of the time quietly, arms crossed, leaning forward to whisper the answers he knew into Samira’s ear or neck or hair. Frank had never seen this side of him, but he wasn’t surprised. Jack was not an expressive coworker, but he felt everything deeply. It stood to reason that the same would go for his relationships.
They were each pulling their weight very effectively, too. Javadi and Santos shone in the pop culture and math questions; they were all equally matched in the science questions, but somehow Santos was the quickest at them; Jack, Samira, and Whitaker knew geography; Mel, Frank, and Jack knew history. Cassie was their ringer for the sports questions, Frank helping her a bit where he could. Whitaker also excelled in the language categories, but Mel was the clear star of those as well. Santos and Frank were neck-and-neck for the general statistics questions - “cows outnumber humans in the state of Montana. What is the ratio of cows to humans?” had them both reaching for the answer slip at the same time with the same ratio. Trinity snapped at Huckleberry that he should’ve known since he’s from the middle of nowhere too, to which Whitaker replied “how many times do I have to tell you, I’m from Nebraska!”
This trivia host also had a bonus point opportunity for every question: she played a song while waiting for their answers, and there was a blank line at the bottom of the answer slip to fill in the name of the artist. That gave the team one extra point, and luckily the ages at their table spanned wide enough that they knew most of the artists, Mel actually getting more than half of them on her own. Frank thought about Mel’s vinyl records, wishing he’d thought to ask her which ones she liked most. His earlier decision hit him again, and he told himself he had plenty of time to find out.
He couldn’t control the way his eyes stayed glued to the woman at his side. He knew it was probably pathetic, and obvious to not only their table, but the whole bar. It wasn’t worth it to look away though, not to make others more comfortable, not when he could risk missing the crinkle of her brow as she thought over an answer, or the tip of her tongue wedged between her lips while she intently spelled out “onomatopoeia” or “yarmulke” on the answer slips. (She got every single spelling question correct.) This was a side of Mel King he’d never seen before, and an insane part of him wished the taphouse had a security camera pointed at her table so he could get the footage and make sure he hadn’t missed a microexpression.
“King, I’m going back to the bar. Let me buy you a beer, for the love of god,” Santos said, standing after Cassie left the table to turn in their answer slip.
“No thank you, Trinity! I’ll take another nonalcoholic Shirley Temple, though.”
“Don’t be a buzzkill! I want to see the people’s princess at least tipsy for once. You never come out with us, I gotta make the most of it.” Trinity had already had 3 beers, and her cheeks were red, pupils dilated, but not nearly where Frank would be after the same amount of alcohol.
“I don’t drink very much, and especially not in public. It can be very dangerous.” Mel’s expression was serious, and Frank was reminded again of the locks on her door and her alarm system. She was a very, very careful woman. It was endearing, but also sent a pang through his chest. This literal walking ball of sunshine had enough to be afraid of that she would take precautions in everything she did, every move she made. He wished, not for the first time, that he could go back in time and hug 19-year-old Mel after the loss of her mom and tell her that everything would be alright. That she would be so proud of who she became. That she would have so many people who loved her, him included.
“Dangerous?” Trinity made a dramatic survey of the room, hands on her hips. “We’re safe here.”
Mel’s brow crinkled again, her eyes falling to the table. Frank put his arm on the back of her chair, his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mel. At least you’re not a recovering addict who isn’t supposed to drink, sitting in a taphouse full of beer. I think I have you beat.” He squeezed her shoulder, her warmth in his palm again.
“Ugh,” Santos groaned, leaving the table without asking anyone else if they wanted a drink. Mel shot him a grateful look, eyes soft and warm. He winked at her, disappointed to lose eye contact as she looked away but gratified by her shiver and the smile that snuck onto her lips.
The last round arrived, 20 measly points putting them in first place. Nearly everyone was overeager, bouncing in their seats, desperate to win. The last question was an English language question, and with Mel at their table, they bet every single point they had. The interim song kicked on, leaving them about 3 minutes to come up with their answer. The atmosphere was tense.
It was a homograph question. Two definitions of two words that were written exactly the same. “Please only write one of them, since they’re the same word!” the host had joked as she read the clue: “a characteristic belonging to someone or something; to explain something as the result of a specific cause.” Frank watched Mel’s lips silently form the two definitions over and over, the pen clenched in her hand. It was clear the other tables were just as stumped as she was, including their closest rival. He moved his arm from the back of the chair directly onto her shoulders, leaning in close to her.
“You got this, Mel. Remember, you’re the smartest person I know,” he whispered conspiratorially. The song was already halfway over, and he could see the crazy night was getting to her in these final moments, eroding her confidence. Her hand shook slightly on the pen.
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I don’t know the answer.”
“Even if you don’t. It’s okay. You carried this table on your shoulders enough for one night. We’ll just win next time.”
She looked up at him then, away from the blank paper. “Next time?”
“Yeah, or the time after that. No pressure, okay? It’s a game.” He was ready to have to fistfight Santos if she got exuberant in her anger at their loss. They had already bet all their points, those bets having been given to the host before they were read the question. “What, you didn’t think there would be a next time?”
“I want there to be,” she breathed, hazel eyes boring into his. The rest of the room fell away from them then; he could no longer hear the argued whispers of their table or those of the tables around them, couldn’t hear the song playing, couldn’t hear the host saying “one minute on the clock!” It was just him and Mel.
“Then there will be. Don’t worry about anyone else. It’s just you and me, Mel.” He tightened his arm around her shoulders.
She closed her eyes and sighed deeply, her breath sweet and cherry-filled on his lips. His eyes closed briefly too. He didn’t realize he had been bouncing the leg pressed against hers, an energetic tic of his, and he suddenly felt her hand reach out and grip his thigh, stopping its movement. His eyes snapped open, all the blood in his body rushing southward. For Christ’s sake. He was in the middle of a crowded bar, seven of his coworkers surrounding him, on the brink of either a landslide win or loss. What am I, thirteen??? Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen—
“I know the answer,” she hissed suddenly, writing faster than he’d ever seen and leaping from her chair to sprint across the taphouse floor.
The song ended just as she landed beneath the host booth, handing up their answer slip. She was bouncing up and down on her toes, her blonde hair bobbing on her back, and he loved her so much he wanted to scream.
“Alright teams, the answer to our final question was the word ‘attribute!’ Only one team got that correct, doubling their points in a risky move that paid off by keeping them safe and sound in first place, everyone give it up for Down with the Pittness!”
Their whole table stood up in a roar, empty glasses knocked over on their table as they cheered. High-fives were given, and kisses planted on cheeks and foreheads as their wild eight-person hug somehow stretched across their whole table. Frank could have lit a campfire with the flame burning in his chest at the look on Mel’s ecstatic face. He’d never seen her smile wider. The group hug separated, and he lifted her into a hug of their very own, her feet leaving the floor. He wanted to spin her around, but knew he’d likely take out a couple of chairs with her legs, so he fought the urge.
“I knew you could do it,” he whispered in her ear, and she giggled, her arms snug around his neck. He thought he felt the ghost of her lips against the skin behind his ear for the briefest of moments. Was this heaven? Had he died and gone north instead of south?
“Not without you encouraging me,” she whispered back, and he put her down so he could see her face, letting his hands come up to find her cheeks. If not for the absolute certainty he felt that Mel would not want their first kiss to be in front of their tipsy colleagues, he would have brought their lips together right there. “Thank you, Frank.”
“Nothing to thank me for.” He squeezed the apples of her cheeks once before letting his hands drop, realizing then that someone was taking flash photos of their table. It was the trivia host, a professional camera held up in front of her eye as she clicked candids of their celebration.
“C’mon y’all, to the trivia wall for the winner’s photo!” she shouted over the hullabaloo. She waved them toward the front of the taphouse, a big bulletin board filled with pinned up photos of groups of trivia teams. Each photo had the team name and the date penned underneath it, along with the winning number of points. The board was nearly floor-to-ceiling, some of the images from years before.
“Don’t worry, we’ll take some fun ones and some serious ones! Everyone in position!” The host stood several feet away, smiling as she waited. Frank pulled Mel close into his side, and Cassie stood on his other, one hand in a thumbs up and the other around Samira to her left. Samira’s arm was around Abbot, and Santos, Whitaker, and Javadi knelt in front of the rest of them, back-to-shoulders-to-back and holding up finger guns like Charlie’s Angels. “Everyone say ‘beer!’”
Several serious photos and more than several “fun ones” later, their party slowly trickled out of the bar into the frigid night. Frank looped his arm with Mel’s as he walked her to his car, opening her door for her and helping her off the snowy pavement before jogging around to the driver's side. She was shivery, pink-cheeked and wild-eyed, but smiling so wide he knew her lips would hurt in a few minutes. He stared at her for a moment anyway, soaking her in.
“That was so much fun. Thank you so much for forcing me to go,” she laughed, holding her gloved hands up to the air vents as she waited for the heat.
“I didn’t force you!”
“Okay, thank you for dramatically bullying me.”
“I wouldn’t say bullying, but there was definitely an element of drama to my invitation,” he agreed, putting the car in reverse and turning to put his hand on her headrest to back out. She was cheesing that wide smile nearly the whole way to her house, and as he pulled into her gated complex - with the keycard he not-so-surreptitiously stole from her, like she’d done with his photobooth photos - his phone chimed in her lap.
“It says you were tagged in a post on Facebook,” she read off to him.
“Interesting.” He took the phone she’d outstretched to him after he’d parked in her spot, opening the notification to find the taphouse had posted the pictures of their big trivia win. Samira had reposted it and tagged him and the rest of their team, everyone except Abbot and Mel.
“They already posted the trivia pictures,” he told her, swiping through every one to look for Mel. The camera couldn’t possibly encapsulate how amazing she was, but it came damn close. She was glowing in every picture, simply radiant.
“What?” Her tone had completely shifted, a full 180 from the flying high happiness of just seconds ago. “Is it public?”
“Yeah, it’s the taphouse’s business page,” he answered curiously, trying to dissect the emotions flying across her face. None of them were ones he was too familiar with on her. Fear topped the list. “Do you want me to tag you? I don’t think I have you as a friend on there, though.”
“No, no, I don’t have social media. It’s dangerous.” There was that word again. “I wish they had asked my permission before posting them.”
“Hey,” he murmured, taking one of her wrists gently to pull apart her wringing hands. That was one motion of hers he was intimately familiar with. “Talk to me. You okay?”
“I don’t like having my picture on the internet.”
“I’m sorry, Mel. I can message them and ask them to take it down.”
“No, please don’t,” she huffed. “I don’t want to be a buzzkill.”
Frank suddenly felt the urge to key Santos’s car. Why would she put the idea in Mel’s head that she could ever be a buzzkill? “Stop. You’re not a buzzkill and you never could be. If it makes you feel safer, I’ll send the message.” He paused, reeling, trying to think of something to make her feel better, to bring back the smile that had burned itself into his corneas over the last several hours. “Do you want to at least see the pictures?”
Thank god for small victories. She bit her lip, the harshness of her expression softening a fraction. “Yes, I would like to see them. Can you text them to me?”
“Absolutely.” He had to release her wrist to save the photos and open a text to her, having had her number already from one of their shift coverage group chats but never having gotten to text her on her own. “Done.”
Her phone dinged in the pocket of her jacket, and she pulled it out, the contact name on her screen reading “Dr Frank Langdon PTMC.” So very Mel. But she’d saved his number, too. The thought made his pulse jump.
He saw the photos reflecting in her glasses as she scrolled through them, the tenseness of her features finally cracking a bit with each one. Several candids of them all jumping up and hugging at the announcement. Two of them getting into position at the photo wall. Two or three serious photo wall pictures, and the same amount of silly ones. She scrolled back through them in the opposite direction, double tapping on herself and Frank together in each one to zoom in. The third candid from the beginning had caught him holding her up in the air, and he saw her knees were bent, the bottoms of her boots pointing to the camera, his arms completely dwarfing her back as his hands clasped her waist. Just his closed eyes and up were visible over her shoulder, the bottom half of his face hidden. The next photo was of when he’d put her down and held her cheeks, and the expression on his face nearly made him look away. Embarrassingly, hopelessly adoring. The face of a man staring at an angel. His hair was falling in front of one of his eyes, and he had often seen her staring at it, so he knew it affected her. He wondered idly if she had her own version of reciting the periodic table to keep from getting embarrassingly turned on by him in public.
She double tapped on that photo, too, zooming in on the two of them amidst the chaos. Her hair was a golden waterfall down her back. Truly, he had been trying his best to be respectful and not ogle her, but goddamn, did her ass look great in those jeans. She didn’t linger on herself long, though, dragging the picture up so the only thing clearly visible on her phone screen was him.
His heart picked up again. She was staring at him now. Oh, how the tables turned. He didn’t think she even realized right away that she was doing it so blatantly in front of him, too focused on the images to notice yet. The half of her face visible in the dim glow of the car was definitely still pink, eyes crinkled at the corners from her smile. He watched her respirations, and they were short and shallow, a surefire sign of increased tension. So he did have the same effect on her as she had on him. This was proof. He pulled a staggering, shuddering breath into his aching lungs as he watched her thumb trace the line of his jaw, ghosting above her phone screen. No amount of periodic table recitations could save him now.
The sound of his gasp shook her from her reverie, regret piercing like a blade in his gut. She glanced up at him, realizing he was present, that she was in his car with his eyes on her, and terror dawned over her expression.
“Sorry thank you for the ride see you tomorrow bye!” she shrieked all in one breath, voice pitched high and cracking, and leapt from his car, running to her building at a full sprint before he could even process what had happened.
He thunked his forehead numbly against his steering wheel, finally cognizant enough to pace his breathing. Why did he have to be weird and scare her while she was so focused? Why did he have to make her nervous telling her they’d posted the pictures? He knew she didn’t have social media. As cautious and guarded as she was, he should have known she might not have wanted her image online. Maybe he should have said something to the trivia host when she was taking the pictures in the first place.
The worst part, besides knowing that Mel was likely freaking out in her living room right then, was that he’d really, really wanted to walk her back to her apartment. He had wanted to take her face in his hands again, like in the bar, but this time kiss her perfect lips with the same care and attention they were so good at sharing. He’d wanted to feel her breath stutter, to feel her lean closer to him, feel her hands close around his wrists or his back or tangle in the front of his shirt.
Son of a bitch.
He wasn’t familiar enough with her building to know which apartment window was hers, and she wouldn’t have turned on any overhead lights anyway, so he couldn’t know whether she’d gotten inside safely. He looked down at his phone in his lap, still open to the photo message he’d sent to Mel.
You (10:19pm): made it inside safely?
The speech bubble appeared almost instantly at the bottom, and he stared as if he was watching her tiny thumbs flying across her keyboard in the flesh.
Mel (10:19pm): Yes. Thank you so much for an amazing night. So sorry to make you uncomfortable.
You (10:19pm): not possible, truly I feel better now that I know we both have staring problems 🙈
You (10:20pm): sorry if I made you uncomfortable tho. pls tell me if I ever overstep
Mel (10:20pm): I find myself more and more surprised every day by how much I love when you overstep with me.
He stopped breathing again. He was going to need to get a portable pulse ox if he kept letting her get to him like this.
Mel (10:21pm): Good night, Frank. 🩵
You (10:21pm): good night, Mel 🥰
He was so fucked.