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The silence in the house didn’t sit right. Frank felt it on the back of his neck every time he stepped into the kitchen at six in the morning with no pancakes burning on the stove, no children running around screaming and no glares from his wife over her coffee mug.
He stood, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. The house had been empty besides himself for two weeks since he got out of his three month stint at rehab. Abby packed up Tanner and Penny, loaded the back of their SUV with enough bags to survive a minor apocalypse and drove off to her parents’ place with no date of their return. She called it "giving him space to focus on himself." Wasn’t that what rehab was for?
Frank called it what it actually was: a trial separation that neither of them had the guts to put into legal terms yet.
He leaned both hands against the counter and dropped his head between his shoulders. The physical cravings for those pills faded months ago and were now replaced by shame and loneliness.
His eyes drifted to the side of the refrigerator and tucked under a faded magnet from a local pizza place was a card. He didn't need to move closer to know what it said. He’d read it enough times while in rehab, laying on a narrow bed with the springs poking into his lower back, staring at her neat cursive handwriting.
Dr. Langdon,
I heard about what happened and I wanted to write to tell you that you’re a good doctor, no matter what. Thank you for teaching and listening to me on my first day, for trusting my opinions and for taking the time to pay attention to what cases best suit me. I hope your leave goes well. I’m rooting for your recovery so we can hopefully work together again.
Sincerely,
Melissa King.
It had been almost four months since that awful shift during Pittfest and he was forced to walk out of PTMC, clutching a rehab ultimatum from Robby in his shaking hands. He worked alongside Mel for only fourteen hours. The last hours were filled with chaos, mass casualties, everyone running on pure adrenaline and yet her presence from that one shift managed to tether itself to him like a burr caught in wool.
Frank exhaled slowly through his nose, reaching out to pour his cup of coffee.
Why do you keep buying that coffee?
The voice was so clear, so distinct in its deep but light cadence, that Frank nearly dropped the pot. He didn't jump but his shoulders hitched up as he turned his head slowly toward the kitchen island.
Nobody was there, of course. Just the barstools tucked under the counter and the morning sunlight filtering through the open curtains just catching the dust floating through the air.
Frank let out a dry laugh that turned into a sigh. He pulled the mug to his lips, taking a quick sip that burned his tongue.
"Reminds me of the breakroom coffee," he muttered aloud to the empty kitchen. " It... I don't know. It makes me feel like I'm still working."
It's still terrible coffee, Frank, her voice responded in his head.
It wasn't audible and it didn't sound like a perfect recording of Mel, either. It was just his own brain wearing her face, trying to speak in her voice that he was so starved to hear again.
You're just punishing your stomach to pretend you're not feeling lost, the imaginary version of her added. You just miss being useful.
Frank closed his eyes as a tired smile twitched at the corner of his mouth before he let his head drop forward. "Yeah. I miss it a lot, Mel."
I know, her voice carried all the comfort his own mind was trying so desperately to give him. It's okay that you miss it.
This all started around month three of rehab. At first, it alarmed him—he wondered if the sudden lack of pills in his system was finally making him lose his mind. But after weeks of marriage counseling sessions where Abby sat next to him, tearfully talking about trust and emotional abandonment, Frank was so utterly drained from talking about his feelings that his brain simply created a different place for him to escape to.
Mel didn't ask him how his recovery was going. She didn't ask him to unpack his childhood trauma or express his deep rooted fears of inadequacy and failure. In his head, Mel just... existed. She observed. She gave blunt commentary on his life and she kept the loneliness of his house from swallowing him whole.
Frank stood in the doorway of the kids' bedroom, staring at Tanner’s plastic dinosaurs and legos still scattered around the floor where he left them weeks ago. Penny’s nightlight was still plugged in and her princess bed had the covers undone. It made the house feel abandoned even though Frank still existed inside the walls.
Frank hadn't tucked Tanner into bed or heard Penny sing her nonsensical bedtime songs for months. It killed him more than anything to have them in the middle of what Abby was punishing him for.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, the bright light was harsh against his eyes.
Abby: Kids are asleep. Tanner asked about his Lego set. I told him we’d get it next time we come back. Hope your meetings are going okay.
Casual. Polite. A status report from his supposed wife who used to sleep with her head on his chest.
Frank shoved his phone back in his pocket. His hands started to sweat as a familiar rise of panic crawled up his throat. He had two more months of this. Two more months before PTMC would even consider letting him come back. What if he couldn't survive the silence that long? What if he completely unravelled before he ever got the chance to step back into the ED?
He walked down to the kitchen, filled a glass of water and drank it in three fast swallows. His chest felt like there was a tight band pulling around his lungs.
He leaned both hands against the edge of the sink and let his head hang between his shoulders.
Hey.
The thought hit him softly, wrapped in that deep voice of hers that carried none of the judgment he’d been piling onto himself all day.
Frank didn't open his eyes. He just let the gentle image of her settle behind his eyelids. In his mind, Mel was leaning against the kitchen island with her arms crossed, watching him with that same calmness that had made him feel so different on her first day.
You're okay, her voice whispered in his head. It was simple but laced with so much softness. You don't have to figure it all out tonight, Frank. You just have to get through right now.
Frank let out a sigh as his shoulders dropped an inch and his forehead rested against the cabinet above the sink. "I miss my kids, Mel.”.
I know, she answered and mentally stepped a little closer as she pressed a hand to his back. They miss you too. But they're okay and safe. And you're doing the work so you can be better when they come back.
Frank took a deep breath, letting her imaginary voice wash over his nerves. His heart rate slowed and settled down to its regular rate.
The aching loneliness didn't go away, but the panic eased up a bit. Having her quiet presence around the corners of his house—talking to him in a voice that was half her memory and half his own soul trying to heal—kept the walls from closing in.
The laptop screen casted a glow across his dark home office at 1:14 AM.
Frank sat back in his chair. He knew he shouldn't be doing this. It was a line—a subtle but creepy line that he swore to himself he wouldn't cross. But the silence in the house tonight was louder than usual, and the urge to put his imaginary Mel to something real overwhelmed his self-control.
Her Facebook page was public. Mel didn't seem to care much for privacy settings or perhaps she just didn't post often enough to think about it.
His fingers hovered over as he scrolled slowly down her feed.
It didn't take long to piece together the life behind her doe eyes. There were no glitzy vacation photos, no nights out at crowded bars with groups of friends. Her digital footprint was sparse but still deeply personal.
He found a post from four years ago. A photo of Mel sitting beside a young woman who looked almost identical to her, holding cups on a wooden bench. The caption was short: Our 24th birthday. Becca liked the tea. She didn’t like the wind.
Frank leaned closer to the screen. Becca. He remembered Mel mentioning her briefly on her first day—a twin sister on the spectrum. Seeing her face brought a strange knot to Frank's chest.
He scrolled further back, finding an older memorial post. A photograph of a middle aged man in a uniform who it turned out was her father. A military veteran with a ribbon tied around a frame. Beneath that post was a shorter note announcing her mother’s passing right at the start of Mel’s first year of medical school.
Frank swallowed hard as his throat went dry.
Both parents were gone before she even finished her school. Left completely alone to get through medical school, residency and the full weight of caring for her sister. No wonder she acted the way she did. No wonder she didn't waste time on social cues but was always kind. She was carrying a mountain on her back but she never let it stop her from being optimistic. He couldn’t help but want to know more about her.
"Fuck, Mel," he muttered under his breath, feeling a wave of respect and profound sadness for her. "How the hell do you manage all that?"
He continued scrolling past a few medical article shares and tagged photos from her undergrad years.
Then, his finger froze.
The photo was tagged at a Renaissance Faire many summers ago. Frank’s breath hitched in his throat.
It wasn't a posed photo. Someone had taken it while she was turning toward the camera, laughing—a real, open mouthed laugh that he’d never seen on her. Her golden hair was pulled back into her usual braid that fell over one shoulder as a few stray strands framed her face.
But it wasn't just her face that made him feel suddenly hotter.
She was wearing a deep emerald green dress with a tightly laced corset. The laces were pulled in, cinching her waist and pushing her breasts up over the low cut neckline, displaying the smoothness of her pale skin and soft cleavage that made Frank’s stomach drop.
The contrast was violent. The competent resident who wore slightly baggy scrubs and avoided eye contact was replaced by a creature of earthy and breathtaking beauty. She looked soft, wild and everything he’d been craving for.
Frank’s hand began to tremble slightly as his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He couldn't take his eyes off the curve of her chest. A primal heat surged straight to his groin and made his breath come in short gasps.
It had been probably close to a year since he touched his wife. Sex with Abby had dried up long before the stealing came to light—their physical intimacy reduced to occasional, random encounters that left both of them feeling more alone than before.
And now, staring at this photo in the darkness of the office, his desire collapsed in on itself.
"Jesus Christ.”
He felt a deep shame wash over him but he couldn't close the tab. He couldn't look away. His hand reached and pushed his sweatpants down with clumsy, urgent fingers. His thick, erect cock sprang free and throbbed against the cool air of the room.
He wrapped his fingers around the base, his thumb stroking over the wet tip as he stared at her cleavage and the braid resting against her collarbone.
He shut his eyes and instantly, the imaginary Mel was no longer just standing politely in his kitchen.
She was in his lap.
In his head, he could hear her voice—not the calm voice from this morning but a breathy whimper as he pulled her down by her braid. He pictured her in that corset, straddling his thighs as she sank down onto him while he gripped her hips.
Frank, she gasped, her deep voice shivering over his skin. Frank, please.
"Mel," he groaned, his hand pumping faster.
He imagined going down on his knees, unlacing the corset with his teeth, pulling her breasts free and burying his face in her warmth. He pictured his fingers slicking through her wet, tight pussy, hearing her mouth break into helpless moans as he ate her out.
He imagined slipping into her for the first time—feeling her gripping him and holding her steady by the waist while he held eye contact, watching her eyes roll back in pleasure as he drove himself deep inside her.
His stroking became frantic as his knuckles hit the edge of the wooden desk. His hips jerked forward, breath hitching into a sob as he came, thick surges shooting over his hand and spilling onto his abdomen.
Frank slumped forward over the desk and rested his forehead against the wood, his chest heaving as his heartbeat slowly hammered its way back down.
The room was quiet again besides his short breaths.
He opened his eyes, staring down at the mess he made and then up at the screen where Mel was still smiling, completely oblivious, frozen in a memory from years ago.
He cleaned himself up with a tissue from the desk, pulled his pants back up and slammed the laptop shut.
He walked back out to the kitchen for some water. He reached out and touched the corner of her card on the fridge, his thumb resting on her signature.
"I'm sorry, Mel," he whispered into the dark. "I'm so fucking sorry."
The imaginary version of her didn't answer this time.
The timeline of his return to PTMC had been pushed for another four months. What was supposed to be a six month leave stretched into ten after a near slip up. Frank had found an old prescription bottle in the back of his sock drawer stuffed in a pair of wool socks he never wears—two pills rattling around in an old prescription bottle like little ticking bombs. He hadn't taken them. He flushed them down the toilet and immediately called his sponsor, but the panic had thrown him into a spiral that Robby and the PTMC review board deemed a crucial vulnerability.
His marriage to Abby was basically dead, though neither of them took the next steps or even talked about actually hiring a lawyer. Abby rarely called now, mostly just for the kids. When she did text, her messages were stripped of any care, reduced to check-ins about the house and when she plans to stop by for a few hours so he can see the kids.
He still can’t believe how she just up and left once he got back from rehab. Took the kids without a real conversation about it. The only real conversations they had were when they did couples therapy and Frank wasn’t always truthful.
Frank was living in a mausoleum of his own making, starving for emotional connection and human touch.
And so, his brain continued to build what it needed to survive.
Mel stopped being a figment of his imagination that he occasionally conversed with while making coffee. She became his oxygen. He became dependent on her presence to get through each day without losing his mind.
She was there the moment he opened his eyes. Frank would lie on his back in the middle of his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He didn't feel alone though. He’d close his eyes, turn his head, and imagine her lying beside him. He pictured her wearing one of his soft t-shirts, her golden blonde hair unbraided for once and fanned out across the pillow.
You're holding your breath again, Frank, her voice would whisper.
Frank would let out a long exhale as his chest collapsed into the mattress. "It's hard to get up today, Mel."
Then don't get up yet, she would reply and shift closer to lay her palm against his bare chest, right over his heart. Just lie here for five minutes. I’m right here with you.
He’d reach his hand out under the covers, hovering his fingers an inch above the cold space beside him, picturing the curve of her hip, a faint smell of lavender he remembers lingering on her from that first day and the steadiness of her breathing. Having her there—even as an imaginary friend constructed from his own desperation—was the only thing that kept the weight of his depression from pinning him to bed all day.
She was his anchor, his therapist and his sanctuary. He confessed things to her that he had never breathed to another living soul. Sitting on his back porch drinking tea out of a chipped mug, he’d talk to her about the fear that he’d ruined his children's lives or the deep terror that he’d forgotten everything about working in the ED. And imaginary Mel would answer—not with hollow compliments or sweet lies, but with such care that had drawn him to her on day one. She’d remind him of his own competence and that he wasn’t a failure. He couldn't function without her. If he went three hours without mentally running a scenario past her or hearing her voice in his head, the panic would creep back up his throat.
He was unequivocally dependent on her. But dependency, when left to rot in a house devoid of actual human connection or touch for months, inevitably turned into an all-consuming fixation.
His emotional reliance on her was the gasoline but his physical attraction to her was the fire that threatened to consume him entirely.
It started happening every night. Once the sun went down and the house became too quiet to bear, Frank would lie in his lonely bed. He knew he was crossing too many lines. But he couldn't stop himself. He needed the real world version of her to feed the mess his brain had become.
Mel rarely posted, but she was occasionally tagged by Becca or in the background of someone else’s photo from work lately. Frank knew her profile like the back of his hand now.
Then, on a Tuesday night at 11:45 PM, he saw it.
A new photo tagged from one day ago.
Frank’s heart kicked up, his breath caught in his throat as he brought the phone closer to his face.
It was a photo taken at the zoo. Mel was standing outdoors in front of an elephant enclosure, holding a water bottle in one hand. Becca was standing right beside her, holding a plush elephant toy tightly against her chest.
Mel was wearing a simple, purple sleeveless tank top that hugged her torso, paired with fitted dark jeans and her signature braid.
Frank’s hand began to shake as he zoomed in on the photo.
Mel was looking directly at the camera, her arm wrapped around Becca’s shoulders, pulling her twin close. There was a protective softness in Mel’s eyes—a look of unconditional love for her sister that made Frank’s throat go dry.
"Look at you," Frank whispered into the dark. "Look at how good you are to her."
He couldn't take his eyes off her. The top left her pale, smooth arms exposed. Frank wanted to zoom in closer, his gaze tracing the soft curve of her shoulders, the delicate line of her collarbone and the gentle swell of her breasts pushing against the fabric. Her waist was narrow, her hips soft and curved against the denim.
She wasn't the slightly awkward resident in baggy scrubs anymore. She was a living, breathing woman of staggering beauty.
A wave of need surged straight to Frank's groin. He hadn't felt skin against skin, hadn't kissed a woman, hadn't held someone in so long that his body felt like an exposed nerve everyday.
Staring at the swell of her chest in that top, picturing her voice whispering in his head, the dam broke instantly.
"Jesus, Mel," Frank groaned, his voice dropping into a hoarse rasp.
He didn't even try to fight the shame anymore. The shame had been burned away weeks ago.
His fingers moved clumsily and pushed his sweatpants down over his thighs. His cock sprang free and he wrapped his hand around his shaft, stroking hard from base to tip, his eyes fixed on her mouth in the photo.
He shut his eyes and his imaginary Mel was no longer sitting politely beside him or speaking in whispers.
In his head, he was no longer lying alone. Mel was straddling his lap, her knees digging into the mattress on either side of his thighs, wearing that exact top from the photo. He imagined reaching his hands up to grip her waist underneath, feeling her skin and digging his fingers hard into the soft meat of her hips.
He pictured grabbing her braid, wrapping it around his hand to pull her head back and keep her face inches from his. In his head, her deep voice shattered into needy, breathless whimpers against his lips as she rolled herself over his cock.
Frank, she gasped, shivering over his mouth in a wrecked and desperate demand. Frank, please...inside me. I need you.
"Mel... fuck, Mel," Frank groaned out loud as his hand pumped fast and slick over his shaft, his hips arching up off the bed.
He imagined sliding his hands up beneath her top, cupping her breasts, rolling her nipples between his thumbs until she arched her back in a helpless cry. He pictured flipping her onto her back right there beneath him, hooking his fingers into her jeans to rip them down her legs, spreading her thighs wide and burying his face deep between her legs.
He could picture her breathing breaking into shameless moans, her fingers tangling in his hair, her thighs clamped around his head as he licked through her wet, swollen folds, eating her out until she was trembling and sobbing his name.
He imagined the moment he’d drive himself into her, holding her pinned by her waist while he looked straight into her eyes and watched them roll back as he slammed his length all the way inside her, filling her completely, burying himself to the hilt over and over.
"Mel!" he rasped, his hips jerking wildly upward. His breath hitched into ragged sobs as his entire body went rigid. He came hard, shooting over his hand, spilling across his knuckles and his stomach
Frank collapsed back onto the bed, the phone sliding off his chest to the sheets. He lay there with his head thrown back against the pillow, chest heaving as his heart hammered, echoing like thunder in a quiet room.
Slowly, Frank opened his eyes and looked down at his messy stomach, at his trembling hand and then down at the screen resting beside his hip.
A familiar knot of guilt tried to settle in the pit of his stomach but it didn't last. The obsession had grown far too big for guilt. He didn't feel like a creep anymore; he felt like a man dying of thirst who had finally tasted water. He was hopelessly and dangerously addicted to her.
He grabbed a towel from the foot of the bed to clean himself up and pulled his sweatpants back up. He clicked the lock button on his phone, cutting off the light and plunged the room back into total darkness.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, walked out and went down to the kitchen. Frank walked over to the refrigerator and reached out in the dark as his fingers found her card again. His thumb brushed over her signature at the bottom, feeling the faint indentation of her pen on the paper.
"Four more months, Mel. Four more months and I'm coming back to you."
In his head, her voice answered—gently and utterly tender, wrapping around his messed up heart like a blanket.
I'll be waiting, Frank. Just hold on.
Frank closed his eyes, took a deep breath and felt at peace. He was royally and irreversibly obsessed with Mel King and nothing in this world was going to stop him from taking what he needed when he finally got to see her again.
The sound of car doors slamming in the driveway hit Frank right in the center of his chest. He stood up from the couch so fast he felt dizzy for a few seconds.
When he pulled open the front door, Tanner didn't stop. He dropped his backpack on the porch and charged straight into Frank’s knees, his arms wrapping tightly around his father’s thighs.
"Daddy!"
Frank dropped to his knees, pulling Tanner in close, burying his face in his hair. Before he could even draw a full breath, Penny wobbled through too with her thumb jammed into her mouth and her stuffed rabbit trailing in her other hand.
"Hey, sweet girl," Frank choked out, extending an arm and scooping her onto his knee. He squeezed them both so hard Tanner let out a breathless giggle.
For the first time in months, the house wasn't quiet. It was alive with the chaotic but beautiful noise of small footsteps, plastic dinosaurs clattering across the coffee table, and Penny demanding that Frank watch her jump off the second step of the staircase four dozen times. For two straight hours, Frank wasn't a disgraced doctor, a recovering addict, a shitty husband or a lonely man losing his mind.
He was just Dad.
He helped Tanner build a new Lego tower, sat on the floor while Penny put plastic barrettes into his hair and just let himself breathe.
By three o'clock, the summer heat and the excitement caught up with them. Penny fell asleep right on Frank’s chest while they were watching a cartoon. Tanner was curled up on the other end of the sectional, his thumb hooked into his mouth, sound asleep beside his plastic T-Rex.
Frank carefully slid out from under Penny, laying her down beside her brother, and pulled a throw blanket over them both.
He stood up, his joints popping and turned around.
Abby was standing at the kitchen island, holding a glass of water. She looked worn out with dark circles under her eyes and her posture stiff.
Sitting on the barstool right beside Abby was Mel.
Frank’s heart gave a subtle twitch. She didn't speak or look at Abby. She kept her focus on him. She was just...present, silent but solid.
Frank walked into the kitchen, keeping his distance and leaned his hips against the counter opposite Abby.
"They're out cold," Frank said softly.
"Yeah," Abby replied, taking a quiet sip of water. "They had a long drive. Tanner's been asking about you every day, Frank."
Frank looked down at his hands, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the counter. The warmth from holding his children was still lingering, making the coldness of the woman across from him hit even harder.
"We need to talk about a divorce, Abby.”
Abby closed her eyes for a brief second, letting out a long sigh. "I know."
"I'm not agreeing to full custody for you," Frank’s voice dropped into a hard tone. He stepped half an inch closer, his gaze locked onto her. "I'm not doing just weekend visits, Abby. I’m their father. I’m clean, I’m returning to work in a month. I need joint custody. Fifty-fifty. I will fight you until I don't have a dime left if you try to take my kids away from me."
Abby stared at him with a mix of shock and sadness.
"Frank," Her voice trembled slightly. "Do you really think I'm that cruel?"
"You took them to your parents for months, Abby," Frank rasped. "You left me in our empty house with no actual return date. The few hours here and there isn’t enough or fair to me. It feels like you’re slowly erasing me from their lives. I'm terrified you're going to use my past to make sure I never have them again."
Abby set her glass down and smoothed her hands over her face, running her fingers through her hair and looked at him with an expression that had no anger to it.
"I didn't take them to punish you, Frank," she whispered, looking over toward the living room where Tanner shifted in his sleep. "I took them because I couldn't handle watching you drown while I was trying to keep everything afloat. The kids were confused at first, yes. They missed their rooms and Saturday morning pancakes. But they're getting used to the back-and-forth now. It’s... it’s going to make the actual separation easier for them."
She looked back at Frank with her eyes filled with a somber honesty.
"I don't want to take our kids from you, Frank. You're a good dad. You've always been a good dad, even when you were at your absolute worst. We'll split it fifty-fifty. Joint custody. We can have the lawyers draft it up next week."
The air left Frank’s lungs in one heavy rush. "Thank you," Frank choked out.
Abby offered a faint smile—a small sign-off on seven years of marriage ending not with a battle but with a tired surrender. She nodded once, wiped a stray tear from her cheek and walked quietly toward the living room to gather the kids' shoes.
Frank stayed frozen by the counter and his chest heaved as he stared at the floor.
He felt a phantom weight near his elbow.
He glanced to his left. Mel was still sitting on the barstool. She hadn't moved. She hadn't said a word during that conversation. But as Frank looked at her—at her wide eyes, golden hair and the faux stability she brought into his broken life—she slowly inclined her head toward him in a comforting nod.
Frank let out a few silent tears as he ran his hand through his hair.
He had his kids. He had joint custody.
And in one month, he was going to be back by the side of the woman who had sat quietly beside him through it all.
The sun came up on the Fourth of July like a furnace being switched on high. By 6:30 AM, the humidity was already hovering around eighty percent.
Frank stood in a bathroom at PTMC as he pulled his scrubs on.
For ten months, he had wondered if he would ever stand in this plain old bathroom again. Now that he was here, his hands were trying their best to remain steady but his heart felt like it was drumming against his ribcage.
He made it to his locker and reached for his stethoscope and draped it around his neck. Then, he paused.
He looked down at his left hand.
The gold ring gleamed as he smoothed his thumb over it once. It was a lie—to keep the rumors at bay, for now. He knew if he took it off today, the gossip mill would link his return to his failing personal life, adding fuel to the narrative that Frank Langdon was a broken man on the edge of another breakdown.
So, he left it on.
He closed his locker and headed out to the main nursing station. He stepped out and took a slow, deep breath to center himself.
"The prodigal son returns."
Frank turned. Lena stood at the front of the desk and looked up at him through her glasses. Her expression was neutral as her eyes assessed him from head to toe.
“Too soon?”
“No, I guess not.” Frank muttered, tying the strings of his scrub pants.
“Have you seen Robby?”
“He’s in with a trauma but you can catch some of the hand-offs with the night shift.”
"Got it," Frank nodded and walked down the hall, keeping his eye out for a particular blonde.
He glanced around finding Shen and Ellis speaking with McKay and Santos.
And then, he saw her.
Frank stopped dead in his tracks a few feet away as the air caught in his throat.
Seeing her on a screen, alone in his home was one thing. Hearing her voice in the corners of his mind was another. But seeing her right here—in three dimensions, breathing the same air, smelling faintly of antibacterial soap and that same lavender scent—sent a shockwave straight through his nervous system.
She wasn't imaginary anymore. She was real. She had small dark circles under her eyes. Her chest was rising and falling beneath her scrubs. Her hands were solid, holding onto her stethoscope tightly.
Mel turned her head slightly as her eyes swept over the room and her gaze landed on him.
For a second, neither of them moved. The noise of the ED seemed to drop away into a muted blur. Mel’s eyes widened as her lips parted into a genuine wide smile—a smile so bright and open it made Frank’s knees feel weak.
Before he could say a word, Mel took three quick strides straight toward him. She didn't stop at a professional distance. She didn't offer a polite handshake.
In her excitement, she reached out and grabbed onto one of his biceps with both her hands, her fingers squeezing his arms firmly.
"Dr. Langdon!" Her voice raised slightly with a sweet tone behind it. “You’re back!”
The physical contact hit Frank like a bolt of lightning. Her hands were warm and she was standing so close to him with her face tilted up, her eyes searched his face with an unfiltered happiness.
Frank’s brain short-circuited.
Ten months of imagining her touch, ten months of staring at her photos, ten months of picturing her under him, moaning his name and now her hands were gripping his arm in the middle of the ED as she looked at him like he was the only person in the whole building.
Frank felt blood rush to his face and his core burned as his heart beat faster. He had to summon every ounce of his willpower, every scrap of professional discipline he possessed, just to keep his arms crossed instead of reaching out to pull her against him.
He forced his lips into a small smile, forcing his voice to sound neutral, even though his insides were in turmoil.
"Hey, Mel," Frank responded softly, his voice a fraction lower than usual. "Yeah. I'm back."
Mel squeezed his bicep once more as her thumb brushed against the fabric of his sleeve, unaware that the man standing in front of her was currently carrying almost a year’s worth of intense, obsessive and sexual fixations inside his head.
"I’m happy you’re back," Her eyes locked onto his without a trace of self-consciousness. "The department has been different without you. And... I missed working with you."
Frank looked down at her and felt the terrifying but thrilling reality set in. He was back in the ED. He was wearing his wedding ring that meant nothing. And the woman standing in front of him had no idea that she had been living in his house for ten months.
Frank smiled down at her. "I missed it too, Mel," he whispered. "Let's get to work."
By noon, the ED was overflowing. Frank moved through triage with a practiced efficiency that he thought he lost. And the one thing that helped him stay somewhat confident was knowing Mel was there. Whenever she was in the same room as him, his focus sharpened around her.
He watched the way she worked. She was fast, precise and unfazed, though she still struggled with the loud noises, occasionally wincing and shaking her head when two monitors beeped at the same time.
Every time she flinched at a loud noise, Frank subtly stepped in and turned down the alarm volume on the monitor or gently guided a shouting family member out into the hallway.
He didn't make a show of it. He just did it.
And every time he did, Mel would glance up at him, her eyes flashed with gratitude that made Frank’s chest ache.
At 5:00 PM, they were standing side-by-side in the breakroom, washing hands after helping with a minor firework burn on a teenager's hand.
"You did great with that kid back there," Frank said casually over the sound of the running water. "His dad was yelling, but you kept your cool and got the dressing on clean."
"He was loud," Mel added. "It was difficult to concentrate. But... you moved between him and me. That helped."
Frank turned his head to look at her directly. "I’ll always back you up, Mel. You know that."
Mel turned her head too. She looked down at his left hand resting on the edge of the sink, where the water was rinsing the soap off his gold wedding ring.
Her expression didn't change but her voice dropped slightly, taking on a thoughtful tone. "Your card," she mumbled softly.
Frank blinked. "What?"
"I sent you a card," Mel looked back up to meet his eyes. "To the facility. I didn’t know if you received it. You didn’t ever respond, so I assumed you were too focused on your recovery or that you didn’t remember who I was."
Frank felt a tight knot form in his throat.
If you only knew, he thought. If you only knew that your card had been on my fridge for months. If you only knew that I stared at it almost every morning and night while I talked to your imaginary figure.
Frank took a step closer to her and turned off the faucet. "I got it, Mel," His voice was rough with an emotion he couldn't fully mask. "I got it the day it arrived. And I read it every single week I was there."
Mel’s eyes widened slightly. "You did?"
"Yeah," Frank stepped closer still, his body blocking her from the door. He looked down at her face as his gaze dropped for a fraction of a second to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. "It was the best thing I received the whole time I was away. I didn't write back because... I wasn't in a place where I had anything good to say. But I kept it. It’s on my fridge now."
Mel stared at him as her chest moved slightly beneath her scrubs and a flush of pink crept up her neck.
"Oh," she whispered. "I... I’m glad you kept it."
"Doctor Langdon!" a voice called from down the hall. Perlah was striding through the breakroom door. "Trauma Bay 1! Inbound MVC, three minutes out!"
Their moment broke.
Frank blinked, taking a small step back and pulled his professional mask back into place. "On my way!"
He turned back to Mel, offering her a quick nod. "You ready, Dr. King?"
"Always," Mel agreed, her voice slightly breathless.
As Frank rushed toward the trauma bay with Mel behind him, his hand brushed against his scrub pants as his fingers trembled slightly.
He was back and it felt good. And as he glanced back over his shoulder to see Mel watching him with that same intense focus, Frank knew one thing with absolute certainty.
He couldn’t wait to finally turn his imagination into reality.