#michael langdon writing

[moonriase]

Losing a kid is hard on everybody.

[ebodebo]

my bestie @lavenderdaisychain got me hooked on the pitt and yk i love nothing more than sexualizing an old man, BUT this is pure ER angst i fear.

(cw: talks of children dying)

-

You come into the ER after having been out.

In a fucking kindergarten classroom.

Saw three kids die, one in your arms.

It never got easier.

Especially with children.

Anyone who says it does is a liar.

Or a heartless fuck.

You trudge into the ER, surgical gown soaked in blood.

Eyes bloodshot and hands shaking.

Dr. Langdon is perched on the triage desk, who you presume is antagonizing Nurse Evans with his “wicked sense of humor.”

You don’t care.

You can’t even fucking think straight.

You need your husband.

Now.

“Where—where is he?” Your voice is timid, and you tremble when approaching the desk.

“He’s suturing up a patient in…” Evans turns to look at you, eyes widening at the sight of you. “Are you alright?” She asks, voice offering slight comfort.

You shake your head, lips pursing as tears spill down your cheeks. “No. I, I need to see him,” you begin. “Can you, can you tell him I’ll be in the, the lounge?” You sniffle through your words and, by some miracle, finish your sentence.

“Of course, honey,” Evans says sympathetically.

“I’ll tell him if I see him,” Dr. Langdon voices, attempting to offer you a little comfort.

You nod, your head lulling as you turn around slowly, feet magically carrying you to the lounge.

You sink to the floor behind a trash can, head in your hands. 

The wet blood spreads across your face, and you want to scream. 

You quietly sob instead.

And you sit on that cold, sheet vinyl flooring for what feels like ages until you hear the door gently open.

“Honey,” Dr. Robinavitch says into the air, unsure of where you are, closing the door behind him.

He looks down at the floor, where blood splatters lay sporadic and random, leading to behind the trashcan.

Following the splatters, he wanders to the trashcan, eyes fixating on you, head in your knees as you heave silently.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coaxes, moving to sit next to you, hand reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear; all he sees is fresh blood on your skin. “Are you bleeding?” His voice is noticeably concerned.

“They were just ki, kids,” you say in a hushed voice. “They didn’t even know how to subtract.” Your voice is quavering, cracking.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, hand brushing against your arm. “I know.”

You look up at him, eyes fatigued and raw. “I, I don’t know what to do,” you stumble over your words. “Their blood is on my hands.”

While their blood was literally coating your skin, a haunting reminder of what happened.

You also felt heavy guilt for not being able to save them.

“I saw the file,” he begins. “Internal bleeding, organ damage, blown spinal cord,” he grabs your hand, holding it tightly as he stares into your eyes. “Even the best doctor in the world couldn’t have saved them.”

You knew he was right, but that didn’t stop your brain from being riddled with guilt and what-ifs.

“I just…” You trail off, more tears spilling onto your cheeks. “The parents screamed at me. Said it was my fault.”

“Their kids died. They’re hurting,” he delicately says, squeezing your hand. “Whatever doctor was there would have gotten the end of that,” he murmurs.

You nod along, pursing your lips. “It doesn’t hurt any less,” you murmur.

“No. It doesn’t,” he agrees.

“The, the blood is cold,” you speak softly, with a frown.

He tips his head back, eyes narrowing in sympathy. “Can I clean you?”

You nod lightly. 

He helps you stand and moves you to a chair to sit as he quietly moves to grab some gauze and some diluted bleach solution to gently clean the blood off your face.

“There’s my girl,” he mutters, wiping off the majority of the blood covering your face.

Your lip quips slightly before the anxiety claws up your brain. “I still feel like shit, Mike,” your voice is just above a whisper.

“Yeah. It happens,” he moves over your nose, collecting the last remnant of the blood.

“Does it ever get easier? Do you ever not feel like shit?” Your voice carries some desperation.

“Truth or bullshit?” He asks, tipping his head towards you.

You think for a moment. “Bullshit.”

He nods and lets out a short, dry laugh. “We get over everything and never feel like the assholes.”

You release an airy laugh. “Okay, now the truth.”

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “You never get over the things you see. The things you do. But, you have to keep moving,” he stands, tossing the used gauze in a hazard bin. “Because for those three kids, ten need help too,” he shrugs. “You have to be okay with seeing people not walk, but then turn around and be happy for the people that do,” he sits back on the chair.

“It is nice to have someone with so much experience. Been in the field a long time when I haven’t,” you give him a half smile. 

“Christ. You make me sound like such a pervert. Just going after a young woman,” he lets out an amused laugh.

"I guess I am pretty spry," you jest, the shared humor lightening the mood. "I'm sure my youthful stride intimidates you."

He rolls his eyes playfully, a wide grin plastered on his face.

You tilt your head to the side. "You should probably head out, huh?" You sink into the plastic chair. "Your pager has been going off since you came in," you begin before you smile at him. "Someone other than me needs their handsome ER doctor."

He smiles lightly. "If you need me, I'll stay," his tone was earnest. 

You shake your head. "I'll be fine. Go save some lives, doc." The respect in your voice is palpable.

He nods, standing before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Shift ends at 10," he begins moving towards the door as his pager blares. "Wanna grab food from that Chinese place you like?" 

You nod, chewing your lip. "Sounds good to me." As the door closes behind him, you let out a sigh, feeling a mix of relief and worry.

He pulls the door open, standing halfway in and halfway out.

"I love you," he says zealously. 

"I love you too," you say back with equal passion, the depth of your feelings evident in your voice.

Then, he goes straight back into the fray.

You smile to yourself because you couldn't have picked a better man.

He was able to de-escalate situations and escalate them on your behalf. 

He loved you perfectly.

-

author's note: i need this man.

[asxgard]

MASTERLIST

[ REQUESTS CLOSED ] list & rules

— Most my work is 18+. Anything marked with an astrik* contains explicit content. Minors DNI, you will be blocked.

— All work is my own. Please do not repost anywhere else without my consent.

Under the cut you’ll find all my works. Hope this helps you navigate!

The Pitt

Dr. Michael Robinavitch masterlist

Dr. Jack Abbot masterlist

Dr. Frank Langdon masterlist

Dr. John Shen masterlist (coming soon)

(Dr.) Dennis Whitaker masterlist (coming soon)

updated 04/25/2025

My AO3

[jackabbotsfakeleg]

Dark is The Way, Light is a Place.

Ongoing Series Synopsis: As a board-certified clinical psychologist working at PTMC, you were expecting to see patients of the hospital. But by some twist of fate, you end up seeing several ER doctors for individual therapy. Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch / Jack Abbot/ Frank Langdon x Psychologist!Reader Genre: Angsty, existential, dark, and sometimes fluffy therapy sessions. A/N: I'm a clinical psychologist so this is a planned series to explore what therapy sessions might look like with some of the Pitt crew. Planned for at least Robby/Abbot/Langdon but open to incorporating others. I hope you enjoy, thank you for reading

Next Chapter

Robby has been in the elevator hundreds of times– transporting patients, rounding with Jack, taking the “long way” to the roof for a much needed shift in perspective. 

But he’s never been to the eleventh floor. This building, this hospital, he knows it like the back of his hand–a second home. But the eleventh floor is foreign to him- Behavioral Health.

There’s a hard rule about the “soft” sciences and the ER– They come to you. Doctors aren’t transporting patients in five-point bed restraints who bite in an elevator. The Psychologists and Psychiatrists come to the ER for the consults, the medication orders, the 72-hour hold evaluations. He’s joked about them before with Jack – bats hanging in the rafters, waiting for the next crisis to swoop in.

And yet, here he is. The eleventh floor, at the eleventh hour. 

Robby hesitates when the elevator dings and the door opens - a moment of apprehension about the inevitable reveal of the skeletons in his closet - It’s not too late to head back downstairs, no one would know you were even here, not even Jack. And he wouldn’t blame you. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts as the elevator doors begin to close, bumping against the outside of his arm. He’s already got one foot out the door- an unconscious step towards finding out where the wild things went. He bites the bullet, and steps out, turning the corner towards room 1122.

—------------------------

“Thanks, Doc,”  Jack opens your office door and steps into the hallway, turning back to confirm, “I’ll see you next week?”

There’s something about the way he wears his sadness -like a badge of honor of all of the things he has survived. His sessions are exhausting and existential. He holds his trauma in his hands and wrings it out like rain. He speaks about death–his own and the people he’s lost. He talks about ending it, in a very matter-of-fact, this-is-what-it-would-feel-like way, and backs away from the ledge when he recognizes that the feeling in his body is actually fear. 

“Same time as usual. But Jack, you fucking call me if you need me,” Your tone is serious and empathetic, a directive for the man who talks about darkness like his soul was forged there, “Dark is the way…”

“Light is a place,” he replies, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He repeats the mantra under his breath several times, before turning to walk down the hall. 

You stand to close the door when you’re met with a familiar face, Dr. Robby, waiting outside the door. 

“Michael,  I’m so glad you’re here.”  

He locks eyes with Jack, an unspoken greeting,  like one of the great bromances of the 21st century. For a second, you imagine the two of them hugging, but instead, they acknowledge each other with a nod, Jack reaching out to squeeze Robby’s shoulder, as if to say, “I’m proud of you.” I’m sure they’ll compare horror stories on the roof later. As Jacks walks off you watch Robby’s expression change to something unfamiliar - anxious. He looks over his shoulder, as if he’s making sure no one else saw him come up here, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. 

The stark contrast in presentation is unsettling. You’ve seen him work downstairs, confident, calm, collected. Here, he’s softer, uneasy, wounded. Heavy is the head that wears the crown 

“Come on in,” You smile, holding the door open for him to slip past you and into your office. You can hear the audible sigh of relief as the door closes behind him, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, “this your first time?”

His back still faces you as he takes in his surroundings, hesitant to sit. He studies the diploma’s hanging on the wall, an exercise in distraction. Maybe if he spends his time pointing out things about you, you’ll run out of time to talk about him.

“On the eleventh floor? Yes.” He points to the certificate on the wall, and finally turns to look at you  “Board certified, huh?” 

He keeps you at arms length, wants to talk about anything but the reason why he’s here. You could make small talk with this man all day, he’s got the bedside manner for it, wears being “just fine” well, with smile lines to prove it, charismatic, attractive, a good guy. 

“I meant therapy, Michael.” 

He nods, sheepishly, “That easy to tell? Although I’m not sure if I should be wasting your time. There are far worse off people than me” 

“Sit.” You motion to the couch, and he initially ignores your command. His attention turns to the sound of staff running past your doorway and down the hall, likely responding to a crisis. Emergencies are his thing, always running to put out a fire, not even recognizing that he too, is engulfed in flames. 

“I’m happy to discuss you ‘wasting my time,’ and the fact that you have had your hands balled up in fists in your pockets since you got here for the next..” you look at your watch, “55 minutes. But not until you sit.” 

This time, it’s a directive. It catches him off guard, the slow recognition that he, for once, is not in control of what happens here. He apologizes, removing his hands from his pockets after your pointed observation, and takes a seat.

You take a seat opposite of him, matching his posture,  “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well” His answer is short and to the point. a real nothing-to-see-here vibe. He folds his arms across his chest, briefly glancing at his watch, “I told you, I’m probably wasting your time.” 

"I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, than wasting this time with you. Humor me, you’ve got my full undivided confidential attention.” 

He inhales and rubs a hand over his neck, avoiding eye contact with you, “Found myself on the roof like Jack.”

There it is.

“I really need to start having office hours up there.” You lighten the mood, before diving back in, “Okay, you’re on the roof, then what happens? You get close enough to the edge to think about jumping?”

“Jesus, no.” He retorts, like the thought of diving off the roof is the most outlandish shit he’s heard all day. Not Robby. Not cool, calm, collected Robby. He’d never do something like that. Right?

“Therapy only works if you’re honest with yourself. We’ve all thought about jumping, Michael. doesn’t mean you intended to.”

“Touche,” He’s still trying to feel out the process, unsure of how safe of a place this is.

“Let me show you something,” You turn to your desk, rummaging through a disheveled pile of papers, for a blank sheet of paper. On it, you scribble a mantra, handing it to him.

“Dark is the Way, Light is a Place.” He says it aloud, slowly, eyebrow raised, looking to you for an explanation.

“It’s from a poem by Dylan Thomas.” You explain, “The gist is that there’s going to be so much pain in this lifetime, but that doesn’t mean it is not worth losing a single moment of it, because at the end of the day, there is going to be hope. But I need you to dig deep into that pain, anchor yourself there, let me sit in it with you.” 

You can see him at a crossroads in his head. Choose to make this all about sleeping and surface level bullshit and leave with his sanity and some semblance of wellbeing, or bare his soul to someone he’s just met, to anchor himself in the pain, to share it and reveal what’s hidden in the darkest places of his mind, and leave with his soul wide open, exposed, and raw, with the promise of an eventual catharsis.  He chooses the latter. 

“For the first time in my career, I didn’t want to come back here” his voice cracks, “I felt like I was drowning. I couldn’t pull myself out of it. For days, I felt this sense of darkness, this hopelessness.”

“You felt scared” you reflect, but he shakes his head silently for a few seconds, drawing a deep breath in before continuing.

“Being on the roof, wondering what it would feel like at the bottom, Fuck. I felt at peace with that.”

He watches your face when he says it, looks for you to flinch, or your eyes to widen. He waits for the recoil, for you to hit a panic button. You maintain eye contact, softening your expression, sitting with his words.

“That must have been really hard, and really hard to share. I’m really proud of you for allowing me to sit with you, with this.” 

“Dark is the Way, Light is a Place.” He repeats, and for the first time in a long time, he feels proud of himself too. 

[helleboretea]

Some Prompts for The Pitt because we need more fics:

Langdon’s mood swings aren’t from addiction- he’s got bipolar disorder and his meds aren’t working/he’s switching meds

A family member of one of the mains is brought in (Mel’s sister, Franks kids, Trinity’s estranged mother, etc) (with something relatively minor, please don’t kill off Mel’s sister or Frank’s kid)

Santos and Garcia had a one night stand shortly before she started at the Pitt

Mel discovers /becomes suspicious about Langdon stealing pills instead of Santos

T4T Robby/ Collins (ftm Robby, mtf Collins), Robby was the one who was once pregnant with Collins kid

Mel comes out as ace/aro

Whitaker’s first time going out with the street team

Yellowjackets au (I crave chaos)

Christmas (or other big holiday day) in the ED

Langdon’s first day back from rehab

Hostage situation

Recovery fluff after a bad shift

Santos saves Langdon’s life

Mohan has a chronic health condition that she’s been hiding

Santos used to be Robby’s foster kid

Mel deals with severe overstimulation

Please add more.

[a-fragile-little-teacup]

Hey guys, one of the reasons that The Pitt is so good and seems so realistic is that there isn’t a “main villain”

There are assholes, yes (fuck you, Driscoll), but not villains

Because having it be cut and dry good v. evil isn’t realistic on this kind of scale.

[lavenderdaisychain]

RobbyXHoney where she gets hurt by a psych or pissed off patient 🤭

Knights in black figs

a/n: OH. EM. GEE, Dr. Honey and Dr.Robby are BACK! I almost switched this where Robby got hurt instead but it was not working, but here we are!!

Dr. Micheal RobinavitchxFem!Doctor!Reader

tags: Established relationship (married), Age gap (not specified but 20s/40s), PTSD, veteran experiencing an episode (this is dramatized and not always an accurate description of how veterans react), violence, angst, but also fluff at the end, very much hurt/comfort, medical inacuracies bc im j a girl, Langdon saves the day?? in this economy?? very much needed.

It happened fast. Too fast to even register. One moment you were checking on a patient and the next you'd become a hostage in your own ER.

"Mr. Prescott it's me Doctor Robinavitch." you announced, softly stepping into the dimmed room. Logan Prescott was a younger man, a vet. He’d come in for some head pain and you were trying to rule out if it was physical or mental. You were always soft with these patients, but should've had another nurse or even Robby there with you, but you knew you could handle him.

Leaving the battlefield didn't mean the war was over, you were all too familiar with the warzones that wage in the mind like a raging torrent.

Logan was curled up on the bed, not asleep but not awake, his hands clasped tightly over his ears. He'd told you he hated hospitals but knew he needed help, you'd bribed Myrna to get a bed in the hall so he could try and get some quiet in a room. You watched as he slowly rocked back and forth, humming a military cadance to himself.

"Logan? I brought you some Tylenol, then we need to do some testing down here before we send you up to imaging is that okay?" You made sure to give him plently of space, not always knowing how a patient with PTSD will react. Logan turned and looked to you, terrified and in pain, he sat up and took the tylenol gratefully. "I got you file from the doctor at the VA, you do have some history of head trauma, is there any way you can expand on that?"

You shined a light in his eyes as you spoke, routine. His pupils were reactive to light and sizing properly. According to Logan he had a few stories of gettimg hurt in combat- passed the finger test -but didn't remember any head injuries.

"My pain is all at the back of my head Doc," He winced again, "feels like the base of my neck is on fire all the time."

You chewed the inside of your lip as you felt the base of his neck for any injuries, not knowing this action would send everything sideways. All it took was a sharp press at the nape and you were being overpowered.

it happened fast. Too fast to even register. One moment you were checking on your patient and the next you'd become a hostage in your own ER. A hand grabbed the back of your head before slamming your face into the metal tray that sat beside you. Strong arms wraped around your waist and throat, locking you in place as a blade hovered near you. Logan barked an order at you, but it wasn't in English, you cursed yourself for not taking Arabic like your grandmother had begged.

"Logan, just drop the blade and we can talk about this-" the blade pressed into your top, wrong answer. "If we walk out there with you holding me like this shit is going to hit the fan, fast-" You tried your hardest to plead with him, craning your neck to see his face, but his eyes were hollow. He was running on a deadly autopilot.

"We have to go now. I trade you I get her back that was the deal." he growled in your ear as he began to walk to the door. Your chest began to tighten and your breathing was on the edge of becoming erratic. You weren't fearing for your life as much as you feared for the man who kept your body captive against his.

"I am walking out with a patient who is not in a clear state of mind," You called out to the hallway praying someone would hear you. "Do not approach aggressivley he is armed!"

The two of you stumbled from the room into the heart of the ER, which came to a screaming halt at the sight of a man with a knife to one of their own. And not just one of their own but Dr. "Honey" Robinavich of all people. One of the nurses tried to lunge at Logan before you could protest, earning a slice to your shoulder. You bit back your pain, shooting daggers at the nurse as he backed off, eyes wide with fear.

"What the hell is goi-" Robby couldn't finish his sentence as he rounded the corner with Dana, coming face to face with his wife being held up, bleeding. A wave of emotions crashed into him as he assesed you from afar. Blood was splattered across your face, a stream trailing down your bicep. Logans head snapped around as he faced Robby, seeing him as the authority.

"I'm here for our trade. I want my wife," He growled.

"Sir, I don't have her," Robby started gently, you felt an arm squeeze tighter around your throat. You tried to pull yourself free, hoping if you could speak to Logan he would listen to you. "You're in Pittsburg, you're safe. But you are causing a scene in a hospital and you've hurt someone innocent.” Robby brought his palms up in a surrendering stance, eyes focused on you the whole time.

Logan began to ramble again, in Arabic you assumed, but the more he rambled about needing his wife back the tighter his grip got on your throat. The edges of your vision began to darken, stars shooting in front of you.

“Sir, can you tell us where you are?” Dana asked, bravely stepping forward, Robby was locked in his place behind her not looking at you but looking behind.

“Unless you bring my wife back you need to get the fuck back!” He shouted.

“We’re trying to get her right now,” Robby cut back in, slowly pulling Dana behind him. “But you need to let her go.” Robby’s eyes were trained on you, your fear began to slowly wash away. He had you, he always had you. But Logan didn’t like his answer, he raised his blade to your chest. You had to think fast.

“Baby,” you choke through his grasp. “Logan it’s me. Please baby let me go.”

That got his attention. Logan’s grip on the knife faltered as he thought for a moment maybe he’d dragged his wife into this mess to get her back. You didn’t see Robby’s small nod, but as a needle pierced Logans arm, the knife made its home in between your ribs.

The panic set in. At first you didn’t feel the knife, didn’t feel your knees hit the ground, or the strong arms that lifted you onto a trauma bed.

Muffled shouting clouded your mind as your vision was darkening quickly. Was this how you were going out? Trying to help a patient? Stabbed in front of your family and maybe never heard from again before you could tell them all you loved them?

“Honey, Honey you have to stay with me.” Robby’s voice was shaky, fear coating each word.

You opened your mouth to speak, or at least you thought you did, but no words or sounds came out. Your ears began to ring and as hard as you wanted to stay awake, you couldn’t. Not anymore.

“Oh my God.” Was that…Langdon? Your eyes fluttered at the sound of his voice and the monitor quietly beeping behind you. “Robby I didn’t know he was gonna do that!”

“It’s okay kid, I gave you the go ahead,” Robby replied, his voice was tired. "None of us knew how he'd react and we had to get him down. She's alive...that's what matters." you rolled your neck to get a better look at you husband who was slouched in the shitty hospital chair. The movement sent waves of pain causing you to hiss, the men turned to face you. Langdon's eyes were wide with shock, and maybe shame. Robby was just happy to see you awake.

"You saved me Frank," your voice was strained, barely above a whisper, "I'm grateful for you." He almost broke right there, fingers twitching slightly like he wanted to come in the room and reach for you. He cleared his throat and mumbled a quick 'any time Honey' before he was whisked away by a beeping pager. He knew he needed to leave because as soon as the door shut Robby was curled up in your side, pushing your hair back and kissing the side of your face tenderly.

You couldn't hide the way the shakes took over your body as you thought about the day you'd had, being the empathetic person you were, Logan was on your mind. Tears pricked at your eyes, the pain in your throat radiated through your body, you'd become acutely aware of the deep scar that now lived in your chest.

"Hey, hey baby breathe," Robby's calm voice pulled you from the panic that tried to set in, you leaned into his touch, taking the Star of David that lay around his neck in your hands. Robby softly dragged his hands up and down your spine, careful to avoid the blossoming pain in your ribs.

"I want to go home." You choked out.

"Soon," Robby nodded, placing another tender kiss to your temple. "we don't have to talk about today yet but I love you so much, I don't say it enough."

Of all things you could've done a laugh escaped you, through the pain and the sorrow there was never a day Robby couldnt make you laugh. You cupped his beard, pulling his face down slightly to place a kiss to him. "I love you," you whispered back. That was all the energy you had but he knew everything left unsaid behind it. As the observational hours went on, you laid against Robbys chest, the drumming from his talking of hospital nonsense comforting you.

"I mean really it's been months since Pittfest we should not be seeing those rats still!"

"Call Whitaker, I got him to kill one at the house the other day because I felt sorry for it." The way Robby's full belly laugh rumbled against you like thunder in a summer storm made the stress of the day melt away completley. Your heart soared at the fact that your husband would come up with pure bullshit just in the hopes it would make you laugh.

Now you were home. Safe, away from the hospital until you had a psych eval but it wouldn't be for another 3 weeks.

You stared at yourself in the mirror. Robby had protested you getting out of your comfy bed after finally getting home, but ultimatley gave in, you dropped your robe once the bathroom door had (reluctanly) closed. Your face looked like hell, your nose had been taped but it didn't mean the crook would disappear, your top lip was swollen and sliced from where your face had connected with the metal tray. Patches of purple and green spread under your eyes like a sea of wilted moss.

Your throat was covered in black and purple splotches, just looking at it made the pain rear it's ugly head. Your hands trailed down to the white patch at your ribs, Robby said it took 18 stitches and it was a miracle he didn't puncture a lung. He never wanted to hurt you, not really.

"You hungry?" Robby asked through the door, your stomach growled in response.

"Starving!"

When you knew Robby had walked to the kitchen you slipped out of the bathroom, robe still on the floor and decided you needed a piece of comfort. The smell of your favorite breakfast began to travel trough the house, beckoning you to the kitchen.

"Mmmm, my favorite,"

Robby turned at the sound of your feet padding into the kitchen, his eyes taking in every piece of you as you'd traded your robe out for a teeshirt that just covered your ass and nothing else. Robby took you in his arms gently, his hands moving under the shirt you wore to press small circles in your back. You pulled robbys neck down till his head rested lightly on your shoulder. You would never forget today, because today reminded you why you woke up every day, for them.

For him

"I love you," You whispered in his ear. The rest of your weekend to come would be laying around in bed, eating good food and remembering how much you love each other, even if you didn't say it enough.

a/n: omg this was so fun to write, life has been insane so I was so happy to get some Robbyxyou (honey) content out!! I have big plans coming but I hope yall enjoy ~kisses

@ebodebo @kchronicallyonline @sceletaflores @that-sarcastic-writer

my dividers are from the lovely: @enchanthings-a

[commander-writergirl]

Watching The Pitt (Max) for the third time and I've noticed something.

Everyone points out Robby's misogynistic bias when stressed. But can we talk about Langdon's oblivious misogynistic issues??

Like he literally shrugs when Dana points out his wife could use a vacation and his reaction is "Don't I deserve one, I'm the doctor." Mind you he has two kids under four and from what I can tell, Abby his wife is a stay at home mom or a work from home mom, either way she is very obviously around the kids more than Langdon. Add on he got a dog without discussing it in general with HIS FUCKING WIFE.

And in Langdon's case, he's iffy when it comes to teaching female residents. Like Santos gets under his skin but as Robby points out, belittling and shaming are not good teaching tools and as Robby also points out, PTMC is a teaching hospital (Robby himself was even able to put his anger with McKay aside to have a teaching moment).

I think we miss it cause we all love the way he and Mel work together but he's very oblivious. And we won't know if it's just the drugs until season 2.

Honestly, all the characters of The Pitt have a blind spot.

Collin's literally points out McKay's when a plus size patient comes back in after crashing her car.

As a Writer: All the blind spots and imperfections are wonderful to see in characters. Whether we like it or not, the world is shades of grey and having character flaws is realistic.

[beastsovrevelation]

Captured Angel

Michael Langdon x F!Angel!Reader

Contains: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, elements of coercion, implied loss of virginity, blasphemy, hierophilia

“Good, you’re awake.”

A chill ran down your spine. You had awakened in an unfamiliar room. Your head ached, your wings hung limp, and your limbs were heavy. The air was soaked to the last thread in malice. It made you nauseous. Gritting your teeth, you dragged yourself up, your mind aflame with a single thought – you had to get out. You looked around, but before you could spot a way of escape, you felt a presence. Dark... Darker than the blackest night. Your heart froze in your chest, a taste of iron suddenly coating your tongue. Though you had not seen his face, you could recognize him anywhere. Seven heads. Ten horns. His honeyed voice left a cold, oily trace on your very soul as he spoke. You drew a deep breath, and spun around, to meet a pair of piercing blue eyes.

His lips crooked into a smirk. Holding your gaze, he moved towards you. You drew back.   

“Get away from me, filthy Beast...” you snarled.

Deep down, you loathed yourself for the instinctive reaction. You were a soldier. You had a duty to stand your ground, and instead, you cowered. He promptly crossed the gap between you two.

“Ah-ah!” he scolded, clasping your chin “That’s not very nice, now, is it?..”

You grimaced. Michael Langdon. How ironic, for Satan’s son to bear your General’s name. The one who cast him out... You hoped it hurt the Evil One greatly. Michael caressed your cheek. You winced, and pushed his hand away. Sneering, he grabbed you by the throat.  

“Why am I here?” you hissed through gritted teeth.

He glanced down at your heaving chest.

“You’re my captive” he purred “Isn’t it obvious?”

You swallowed. Struggling would only worsen your chances, you knew as much. His gaze darkened with hunger as he watched you – like a wolf, salivating at a wounded deer. Your guts had coiled into a tight knot, a sickly sweet taste coating your mouth.

“Why didn’t your bootlickers kill me?” you asked, not quite certain if you wished to know the answer.

A chuckle escaped his lips. The Antichrist’s lecherous expression made your blood boil. How dare the abomination touch an angel of the Lord, you thought. A strange sensation was budding between your legs, but you pointedly ignored it, just as you ignored the feeling of unease clawing at the back of your skull.   

“That would’ve been a waste...” Michael tilted his head “They thought a gift would please me. They weren’t wrong...”

You snarled, attempting to pull away.

“Get your putrid hands off me!”

He tightened his grip on your neck.

“Hush” he coaxed in a mockingly gentle voice “I’m not going to hurt you, angel.”

“Vile creature...” you spat.

He pulled you closer. You bared your teeth, as your face almost crashed into his. Though you did not need air, the pressure on your throat was beginning to make you dizzy. Every nerve in your body screamed to fight - your muscles   had tensed, prepared for combat. You might have broken away. Escaped this unholy place. You should have at least tried... But, perhaps because of the mist gathering over your mind, your legs trembled underneath you. You found yourself staring at his mouth. His breath brushed against your skin, warm and silken. Your pulse leapt into a frenzy.

Michael snuck his other hand under your clothes. The captors had stripped you of your armour, and taken away your sword, leaving only your linen tunic to cover you. His fingertips caressed your thigh, slowly creeping upwards. You held your breath as you felt him part the soft folds of your skin.

You had never been fondled like this before. Carnal pleasure was forbidden for your kind. You should be disgusted, you understood as much. Still, the electric-like impulse roused by his touch paralyzed you, preventing you from breaking his arm.

He stroked your entrance. You stifled a gasp, your intimate muscles tightened in anticipation. Your hole was beginning to well with slick. Taking your lack of resistance for a welcome, he slipped two fingers inside you. The feeling of his skin against your sensitive membrane made your head spin, and you barely held back from bucking your hips into his hand.

He let go of your neck, only to wrap his arm around your waist. Keeping you steady, he spread his fingers wider, straining you until it hurt. You shuddered. He massaged the velvety walls of your flesh, driving you to the edge of madness. Aware of how much satisfaction hearing your cries would give him, you clenched your jaw. His skin grazed against a certain knot of nerves, and you nearly sunk to the ground as your legs buckled from the bolt of stimulation. Still, somehow, you did not make a sound.

It only made Michael more determined. He fixated on your sweet spot, leaving you to desperately clutch the lapels of his jacket. His mouth lingered but a thread away from yours - you felt his heartbeat echo against your rib cage. He narrowed his eyes, and pressed his thumb to your clit. Overwhelmed, you drew a sharp breath.

“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?..” he teased “What is it, my dear? What do you want, hm?”

He pushed a third finger into your dripping slit. You whined in pleasure muddled with despair.

“Speak up, angel” he demanded.

Virtue be damned. Something tameless had infected you. Caught in the furor of sin, you eagerly cast your innocence aflame.

“I...” you stammered “I want... I need you to ravish me...”

Michael threw you onto the bed, and climbed on top of you. Laying flat on your back, your wings sprawled open, you looked up at him, your eyes sweetly half-lidded. His knee shoved between your thighs, he ripped the front of your tunic open. You sighed as cold air brushed against your nipples. He placed his hands on your breasts, savouring the softness of your bare skin. His eyes aflame with lust, he took a moment to admire your flushed, helpless body. Biting your bottom lip, you pushed your chest into his touch. He grabbed you by the throat again.

“You’re mine” he snarled “Mine alone...”

Against your better judgement, you nodded. Your gaze wandered down to his crotch, causing your mouth to immediately water. Michael’s lips crooked into a sleazy smirk. He unbuckled his pants, and slipped his underwear down. Your eyes widened as his hard cock sprung free. Large, but not obscenely so. You pulled the skirt of your tunic up, leaving your aching cunt at his mercy.

He pinned you down under his full weight. You wrapped your arms around him, savouring the feel of luxurious fabric under your fingers. Like an animal in heat, you craved to feel him inside. His eyes locked with yours, Michael clasped your leg, and positioned himself more comfortably. You blindly caught hold of his member, helping guide it into your hole.

Your heart skipped a beat – you let out a moan as your membranes clamped around him. Hardly giving you a moment to adjust, he began to move. The sudden strain roused a twinge, but it soon was obscured by shattering pleasure. No longer holding back your mewls and whimpers, you sank your nails into his back. Should the expensive suit get ruined, it will be his fault.

Michael groaned, his teeth bared in primal satisfaction. Your response only encouraged him, and he quickly picked up the pace. Each thrust sent a shattering wave of pleasure through your fevered nerves. You wrapped your legs around his waist, welcoming them. He traced the tip of his tongue over your neck. You hissed as his long hair tickled you, overwhelming your senses even more. He purred, and nipped at your jaw.

“Kiss me” you demanded.

He obeyed, leaning down to press his mouth against yours. You parted your lips for him, and allowed your tongues to battle for dominance.

“Say my name” he ordered, upon pulling away.

“I can’t...” you gasped in horror.

“Your general isn’t here...” he growled “It’s just you and me...” he pressed his face to your temple “Say my name, sweetheart. Show the Beast how much you’re enjoying your downfall.”

He pulled his cock almost all the was out, then slammed it back in, roughly grazing your sweet spot. Your cried out, and sank your fingers into his hair. You didn’t want to think about her. You loathed to imagine her disappointment in you. But his presence eclipsed her face. Drowned it in the storm of ecstasy ravaging you.

“Michael!”

“Good girl” he praised with a grin.

Shock after shock of ecstasy tore through your body, setting every cell of it aflame. Your forehead was laced in sweat. Your muscles quivered from the tension. You were close. Very close. Turned feral by the pleasure, he grabbed you by the wrists, thrusting into you with merciless force.

“Michael...” you moaned.

You couldn’t stand it anymore. You arched your back, trembling and convulsing as a scream escaped your throat. Michael threw his head back with a snarl. You had grown painfully tight around him, prompting him to reach his own release. You felt him spill inside you – it was the strangest, most pleasant sensation  you had ever experienced.

You collapsed into the pillows, limp and gasping for breath. He slumped down on top of you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to soak in the glowing haze of bliss. But, just when he had crept off of you, and was about to pull you into his arms, you leapt up. Using his surprise for your advantage, you climbed onto him – this time, you were the one to pin him down. You caught his gaze, and drew a dagger from underneath your ruined tunic. Afraid to molest their master’s gift, the devil worshippers had missed it.

“You will find the men who captured me, crucify them, and bleed them like pigs” you growled, pressing the blade against his throat “Do you understand me, Antichrist?”

A drop of blood sept from under the metal, glowing against his milky skin in a warning.

“Yes” he murmured, as his eyes blazed with adoration.

[eveningspirit]

But consider this: Langdon did to Robby exactly what Robby did to him earlier. No compassion there, from either side. Blunt pointing out the harsh truth. Do you think that withouth hearing from Langdon that he's "also a little fucked up" (followed by those harsh examples Robby didn't want to acknowledge), Robby would have asked Abbot for the number to that therapist Abbot talks to?

[detectivedeckerstar]

you have no idea how ready for this i am

[ebodebo]

LISTEN…confronting your fiance, langdon, about his drug problem…at the hospital which you’re a nurse at…and your dad overhears the yelling and barges in…and yes ofc robby is your dad bc who do you think i am? heavy angst incoming!

mentions of addiction and drugs…read at your own discretion!

-

Your sight must be deceiving you.

You had been going off of little to no sleep and in the middle of your fifteen-hour shift.

The bag in your hands held small white pills, each one taunting you from behind its wall of plastic.

You had been staring at them for ten minutes.

Ten tantalizing minutes that felt like an eternity.

You swore you didn't come to snoop, but…you had a gut feeling to check deep in his backpack.

You almost threw up when you heard the crinkle of the bag and felt the hard circles enclosed.

"Honey," Langdon breaches the silence as he approaches, not noticing the bag in your hand. "Are you alright?"

You close your eyes, releasing a shallow breath as you slowly turn to face him, the bag hanging by your fingertips.

His eyes widen in surprise before words start pouring out of his mouth. "Okay," he begins, putting his hands up. "I know what you think," he nods his head, his chest rising with each word.

Your lips flatline, and you release a shallow breath through your nose. "Do you?"

"I'm not an addict," he urges, eyes wide.

You shake your head, a humorless smile on your face. "Why did you feel the need to clarify that, huh?" 

His jaw tightens. "I—I'm not."

You shake your head, tears already brimming your waterline. "How long?"

"Listen…you're upset," he starts, but his voice is too calm, which makes you lose it. 

You toss the pills on the floor. "How fucking long have you been hooked on these God-damn pills!" you shout louder than intended, tears now fully streaming down your cheeks.

His eyes widen. "Just—just calm down," his calm voice suggests, yet it carries some nervousness.

"You want me to calm down?" you spit, eyes narrowing at him. "I just found out my fiance is an addict, and you want me to calm down?" 

"Baby, baby," he moves closer to you, desperation in his voice. "You, you know me," his eyes search yours, looking away from his. "I'm not a fucking addict." His hands move to press into either of your biceps.

You almost falter at his touch, but you shake your head, finally looking up at him. "Do I know you?" you ask, eyes moving over his. "I mean, do I really?"

"I haven't lied to you," he says, his light eyes searching for anything from yours. "Baby, I'm not an addict. Could an addict do what I do?"

He tries to reason, and you let out a dry laugh.

A salty tear runs down your lips as you sniffle. "Apparently," you shrug him off, stepping away from him to run your hands through your hair.

"You, you know me," his hands shake as he tries to explain. "They're just for the pain."

"That's what they all say, Frank," your voice rises as you chew on the inside of your cheek. "You know that."

He inhales deep breaths, raising his hands in surrender. "Baby…I know you're upset," he starts, making you laugh humorlessly.

"That doesn't even scratch the surface," you say plainly.

"Please don't, don't tell Robby," he exasperates, his voice tight. “He'll report me, baby," he moved closer to you. "Please don't."

You let out a huff. "You don't want me to tell my dad you're an addict so you can keep your fucking job?"

"Baby, please," he urges, desperation in his words. "I could lose my medical license."

Your mouth hangs open; silence hangs between you two for a moment before your voice dips down. "You piece of shit," you mutter. "You piece of fucking shit," you bring your finger up to point at him, voice incredulous. You shrug loosely. "Were you on the pills when you proposed?"

"Baby," he tilts his head to the side, evading the question.

"Were you on them?" your voice is lethal, loud.

He closes his eyes before opening them, letting his shoulders sag.

There it is.

The confession.

You shake your head, your eyes downcast as you make a humorless sound. "Oh, that's just...that's real nice, Frank," you begin, your voice rising as you continue. "I'm so fucking glad to know that you were God-damn high when you told me you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me."

"I, I meant everything I said," he says immediately. "We can—we can still get married," he says hopefully. "I love you so much."

"No, you don't, Frank," you shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. "You would have told me about the pills if you did."

"What's going on in here?" Dr. Robby's voice slices through the air, making your and Langdon's eyes snap to him.

"Robby," Langdon greets, voice slightly shaky. "No—nothing,"

Dr. Robby's eyes drift to you.

Your eyes are bloodshot, cheeks wet with tears.

"Frank," he turns towards Langdon, pointing lazily at you. "What the hell did you do to my daughter?"

"I didn't—I didn't do anything, Robby," he tries, eyes moving to you as if you were going to defend him.

"He's a fucking addict," your voice ricochets off the walls. You bend down to pick up the bag off the floor. "Painkillers."

Dr. Robby's eyes snap back to Langdon. "Is it true?"

"It's not what you think—" Langdon starts before Dr. Robby lifts up his hand.

"Frank," he urges, voice low. "Have you been popping painkillers?"

Langdon doesn't move for a moment before he slowly nods. Dr. Robby lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head. 

"Frank," he looks at him. "You need to leave," he says, finality in his tone.

"If you would just let me explain—" Langdon starts before Dr. Robby wipes his face roughly.

"Get the fuck out of my ER!" Dr. Robby shouts. "Now."

Langdon winces before he slowly grabs his backpack, eyes locking with yours before you turn away from his gaze. He nods lightly before turning to move out of the door.

"Daddy," you say lowly when Langdon leaves, sinking onto the ground and propping yourself on the locker. "He's an addict," you sniffle, head in your hands. "A fucking addict."

Dr. Robby sighs as he approaches you, sinking into the spot next to you.

"He was on them when he proposed," you murmur, chest heaving. "He was fucking high!"

"Oh…sweet pea," he coaxes, putting his arm around your shoulder and embracing you.

"I, I feel so lost," you blubber into his chest, tears staining his jacket. "I don't know what to do."

He nods. "You don't have to do anything right now, kiddo. You just have to be. I'm here for you," his voice offers you some comfort.

You don't remember how long you sat there crying into your dad's chest, staining his clothes and ruining your makeup.

You’re glad to stop moving for a moment.

Letting everything go and putting it all in the open.

You know that eventually, you'll have to deal with the fallout, but for now, you just wanted your dad to hold you.

-

author’s note: oh my god this got way more emotional than i intended…

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

Office Secrets

Luke Cooper x f!reader

TW: smut, p in v, unprotected, fingering… lmk if there’s anything else lol

Word count: 1526

Friendly note, I wrote this all in one day so it’s probably not the best but I’ve been so obsessed w Evan lately I just needed to write lol Enjoy!!!

~~~

“So, who wants to bet the two newbies are doing it?” Meredith says as she puts coins into one of the vending machines.

“They so are,” Kevin says. “Have you seen the way they look at each other it’s like- Pam and Jim.”

“Hey!”

Angela shakes her head. “You people are disgusting… but I wouldn’t doubt it. I’ve seen them flirting on multiple occasions.”

“This is all circumstantial, it doesn’t mean they’re sleeping together,” Oscar argues.

“I would bet they are,” Phillas says with a laugh. “I mean I remember how fun it was being all secret with Bob, it’s so thrilling.”

Pam glances at you in the annex, Luke’s leaning back on your desk, smiling as you two talk. She looks back to the group and shrugs. “It’s possible they are.”

~~~

“Hey y/n, do you think you could make some copies for me?” Pam asks as you’re walking by.

“Yeah of course, double or single sided?” You reply with a smile.

“Double please.” She hands you the original.

You walk to the copier, but as you’re about to open it, Luke slips in front of you.

“Luke I was about to make copies,” you say, annoyed.

“So do I, you aren’t the only person in the office who needs to get stuff done,” he laughs.

“Since when have you ever had things to get done? You’re the laziest person here.”

“That’s hostile,” he replies, turning around to give you a smirk. “I might have to report you to HR.”

“Just please hurry up,” you mumble.

“Anything for you babe.” He winks.

You turn to the camera and stare, almost at your limit with this boy.

~~~

“I just don’t understand men sometimes it’s like, he’s so different when we’re alone yet in public he wants to be the biggest ass ever,” you rant to the camera, you’re in the hallway near the elevator where no one will hear you. “Sometimes I just want to knee him in the balls and get on with my day.”

“If he’s so annoying why do you sleep with him?”

You frown. “He’s really good at that stuff, most assholes are honestly.”

~~~

You’re at the vending machine getting a snack when you feel arms snake around your waist. You quickly turn around and push him away.

“Luke stop it we can’t be doing this here,” you whisper.

He looks out the windows then back at you. “Nobody’s around, come on just one kiss. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since last night baby.”

You and Luke were hired about three weeks ago now, both just interns to help out with the little things around the office. At first you thought Luke was an idiot slack off, but after a week of him constantly flirting with you, you decided he wasn’t that bad of a guy and of course he’s gorgeous. And, after one night where he gave you a ride home this simple work crush turned into casual sex.

You made Luke promise to keep it a secret, you didn’t want anyone at the office to think your personal life would interfere with you doing your job. So, far you don’t think anyone has figured it out, and your glad.

“Don’t talk like that here,” you say, giving him a slight glare. “We made a deal.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m serious Luke, imagine if Michael found out. He’d make it a whole thing.”

“It probably already is a thing, Jim and Pams was.”

You scoff at him. “Okay, that doesn’t mean this has to be.”

“Whatever,” he says as he begins to walk away. “See you later.”

You give an annoyed look to the camera and shake your head before returning to your previous activity.

~~~

“Listen, y/n is a good girl I guess, I just wish she’d stop acting like the office finding out about our thing is the worst possibility imaginable,” Luke tells the crew outside the break room.

“What do you think would happen if they found out?”

“I don’t know, they’d give us weird looks. It doesn’t really matter it’s not like me and her are gonna be working here forever. At least I know I’m not, not sure what her life plans are.”

~~~

You stare at the clock and sigh, still a whole nother hour left at the office. This whole day has been terrible, mostly due to Luke. You don’t understand why he’s acting so annoying today. Usually he’s decent toward you, probably because of what he wants from you the second work ends. You turn back to your desk and start to organize papers, deciding Luke isn’t important.

A few have passed when Luke appears beside you. He leans back on your desk, one of his hands gripping the edge. You try to ignore him, keeping your attention on the stack of paper you’ve been messing with. Luke doesn’t let you ignore him forever though.

“Can you come with me somewhere where we can speak privately… away from the cameras.”

You look up at him. Is this it? Is he really going to break it off at work? You can’t believe it. You want to give him a piece of your mind, so you slightly nod and get up, following him out of the annex and down the hall to one of the stock rooms. You’re ready to start giving it to him but before you can he smashes his lips on yours.

At first, you’re caught off guard, he’s never kissed you at work before. You don’t hesitate to kiss him back however. He backs you up till the back of your legs hit a spare desk. You let him guide you onto it, your kiss turning into something more.

He bites down on your lip, his hands roaming up and down the sides of your body. You have to admit, you’d been craving this too. Even though you saw each other last night. Luke was the best you’d ever had, how were you supposed to not want him again? Even though he’s been annoying you all day you can’t help but melt into the palm of his hand, he’s just so damn attractive.

“Luke, we can’t do this at work,” you whisper, the sensible part of you taking over.

“Nobody will know, come on baby, I’ve been thinking of you all day. I need you,” he replies.

Your stomach fills with butterflies at his words. He knows exactly how to persuade you. You fall back on the desk as he kisses down your neck, Your legs wrap around his waist, he makes you feel so good. He brings his lips back up to yours as one of his hands starts to slip up your skirt and under your panties.

He starts to rub small circles on your clit; you to moan into his mouth. He smirks against your mouth. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer, you love the feeling of his body against yours. It’s the best you’ve ever felt.

“You’re already so wet baby,” he mumbles on your lips.

“Luke,” you moan.

“Do you want it baby?”

You nod, moving one of your hands down to rub the bulge in his pants. He grins at you and removes his fingers, beginning to undo his belt and fly. In seconds you feel his tip brushing against your entrance. He leans back over you as he begins to slowly thrust inside of you. You bite down on your lip and close your eyes, the familiar feeling of him filling you taking over.

You throw your head back as he starts fucking you. The sound of the desk hitting the wall doesn’t even register in your head. You’re too engulfed in how good Luke’s dick feels inside you, hitting that special spot that makes your legs shake. His head rests in the crook of your neck, he’s moaning and whispering all the dirty things he wants to do to you. It’s all too good to be true.

Eventually though, you feel that tightening in your stomach, your orgasm approching. Luke must realize this because he doesn’t stop his violent thrusts for even a second. You hold on to him tightly, biting down on his clothed shoulder as you finally cum. He finishes with you, pushing himself so far inside you he’s hitting your cervix.

He lays on you for a few seconds before pulling himself up enough to look down at you. His chest is still heaving as he speaks in a soft voice, “I really like you y/n.”

“I really like you too Luke,” you say with a weak smile.

Both of you get yourselves decent fast, you’ve been away for at least fifteen minutes by now. You give Luke one last kiss before exiting the small room alone, he promised to wait a minute or too before following.

As you sit at your desk and resume your previous activities, Luke walks by you, sending a quick wink before disappearing into the main office. You give a small stare into one of the cameras, your face turning bright red. This was only the beginning.

[trishxtrix]

The Bench Across the Street

AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |

Summary: What if Abby is hurting and forcing Frank to take benzos to “control” his ADHD?

What if few hours after the argument, Frank is brought to the ED on a brink of an overdose and some unexplainable injuries.

TW: Abuse, Overdose, Suicide Attempt

Tags: Dark!Abby | Frank whump | Frank-centric | Miscommunication | Abusive!Abby | abusive relationships | threats of violence | implied/reference child endangerment | is this considered AU? | spousal abuse | men can be victims of abuse too

——————————————————————————————————

Mia

   The shift went smoothly. No major accidents, no complex cases, and surprisingly, no Karens. It was like the universe felt sorry or something. Or maybe it was just the calm after the storm—a breath before the next blow.

   When the day shift started coming in one by one, I couldn’t help but let out a quiet sigh of relief. Handover was quick and efficient, even with the quiet tension humming beneath it. The day shift nurses kept sneaking glances toward the now-empty behavioral room, then back to me like they were waiting for me to confirm something. I didn’t. Just kept flipping through the final tablet, finishing off notes like the day before hadn’t broken a man in half.

   Let them talk.

   I was halfway through logging my last chart when the elevator doors slid open with a sharp ding behind me.

   I didn’t turn around—not until I heard it.

   “Where is he?!” 

   My blood ran cold.

   Abby.

   She stormed into the ED like she owned it, all sharp lines and too-high heels, her purse clutched like it was a weapon. Her eyes scanned the department like a threat, zeroing in on the first familiar face— Robby.

   He had just stepped into the corridor from the staff entrance, still in his coat. The poor guy hadn’t even taken two full steps before she descended on him.

   “Dr. Robby,” she barked. “Where is Frank? I know he’s here!”

   Robby blinked, startled. “Abby? What—”

   “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend you don’t know. I got a call from this hospital at midnight, saying he’s on a psych hold.” Her voice rose, brittle and cracking. “I want to see my husband. Now.”

   I stepped around the station, tablet still in hand, planting myself between her and Robby.

   “Mrs. Langdon,” I said calmly. “That call came from me.”

   She turned like she’d been struck. “You?”

   “I’m Dr. Mia Castellano. I was on Frank’s case last night. I’m also listed as his emergency contact.”

   Her lip curled. “That’s impossible. I’m his wife.”

   “Yes,” I said, not blinking. “And he listed me.”

   Robby glanced at me, brows tightening, clearly absorbing this in real time.

   “You’re the one keeping me from him.”

   “I called as a courtesy,” I replied, voice sharp but controlled. “Frank is under a 72-hour psychiatric hold. During that time, he determines who he sees. He hasn’t requested contact.”

   She turned to Robby like she expected him to take her side. “You’re seriously going to let her block me? You trained him. You’ve known him for years.”

   Robby’s mouth opened, but he hesitated—caught. He didn’t know where Frank was now, or what Abby had done. His silence spoke volumes.

   I stepped in again. “Frank is under medical care. He is safe. That’s all you need to know.”

   “You don’t get to decide that,” Abby spat.

   “I’m not the one who decided,” I said. “Frank did.”

   Abby’s voice dropped into something low and venomous. “You think this is helping him? You’re just making it worse.”

   I didn’t flinch. “We’re making sure he lives. That’s the priority.”

   Security arrived, hovering without touching her, just close enough to remind her this wasn’t her stage.

   Her eyes darted between the three of us. “You’re all going to regret this.”

  “No,” I said softly. “We’re already regretting we didn’t step in sooner.”

   She glared at Robby one last time, but he still had no words. And then she turned and left, the sharp echo of her heels cutting through the stunned silence she left behind.

   Robby exhaled. “Jesus.”

   Behind us, Abbot had arrived sometime during the chaos. He watched Abby’s exit with narrowed eyes, then looked at me.

   “You made the call?” he asked.

   I nodded. “After midnight. Just to keep her from showing up unannounced.”

   Robby stepped forward, brow furrowed. “She said psych hold. Where is he?”

   “Transferred upstairs halfway through the night,” I said. “He’s safe. Stable. Still processing.” With that I turned and walked away—down the corridor, past the vending machines, until I reached the empty break room.

   Mia sat on the windowsill, one foot braced on a chair, her phone pressed to her ear. She had her coat draped over her lap, eyes fixed on the pink-gold smear of sunrise barely peeking over the Pittsburgh skyline.

   The call connected on the second ring.

   “Vin D’Amato,” the voice answered smoothly, already awake and probably three espressos in.

   “It’s Castellano.”

   A pause—then a chuckle. “Well, shit. Never thought there will be a day where you will be the one to call me.”

   Mia didn’t smile. “I need a name, D’Amato.”

   “Aren’t you supposed to be a real doctor now?”

   “I am. Which is why I’m not calling in favors lightly.”

   Vin’s tone sharpened. “This about your boy?”

   She hesitated just a second too long. “He's not my boy D'Amato, but sure.”

   “What kind of trouble?”

   Mia took a breath. “Abuse case. Domestic. He’s the victim. We’re lining up for custody protection and a formal report, but I need someone airtight. Not just a family lawyer—someone who knows how to navigate the courts when the system doesn’t believe the victim.”

   “Reeva Morrow,” D’Amato said without hesitation, “only takes three clients at a time. Doesn’t advertise. But she’ll burn a courtroom down if she has to. 

   “Send me her contact.”

   “You owe me a drink, Castellano.”

   “I owe you silence. Let’s not confuse the two.”

   D’Amato laughed, low and easy. “Same old you.”

   The line went dead.

   Mia let her head tip back against the glass, just for a second. Just to breathe.

   Then she heard it.

   Two voices, low and uncertain, just behind her, near the break room door.

   I closed my eyes. Let them listen. Let them wonder.

   They didn’t say anything to me. Not yet. Not even when we made eye contact as I left the break room to go up to the psych ward.

   But I could feel it shift—the way they were looking at me now.

   Like they were seeing the parts of me I never meant for them to know.

~~~~~~~~

   I got to the psych ward, exhausted to the bone.

   The overhead lights were still dim from night mode, casting long shadows on the tile as I stepped out of the elevator. Everything up here felt quieter than the rest of the hospital—like the air knew to tread lightly; like it had absorbed too many breakdowns and not enough recovery.

   I walked up to the nurse’s station and spotted the same nurse who’d helped transport Frank up here hours earlier. She looked up from her monitor and gave a small nod when she saw me.

   “How is he?” I asked, voice low.

   She leaned in slightly. “He’s…quiet. No outbursts. No sleep either, far as I can tell. He’s alert, but… tight. Like he’s waiting for something bad to happen.”

   I nodded once. “Can I see him?”

   “Technically visiting starts at eight,” she said, then added with a faint smirk, “but I’ll forget I saw you. Room 207.”

   “Thank you.”

   I walked down the hallway, feeling the weight of the day—yesterday—in every step. The lights buzzed faintly overhead. The doors were closed. Every sound felt like it echoed too much.

   Frank was awake. Sitting on the edge of the bed. Shoulders hunched, hands clasped like he was holding himself together with pure tension. He looked up the moment the door opened.

   “Mia.”

   I stepped in and shut the door gently behind me. “Hey.”

   He looked rough. Dark circles. Hollow eyes. Hair still messy from the night before. But he was upright. Breathing. Awake.

   “I said I’d come,” I said, walking over.

   “You didn’t have to,” he murmured.

   “Yeah. I did.”

   I pulled the chair closer, sitting just in front of him. “The hospital’s still standing. No one tried to die after four a.m. It was a good shift.”

   His mouth twitched. “Lucky them.”

   I looked him over, quietly, before asking, “How are you really?”

   He hesitated. “I feel like a live wire in a bathtub.”

   I nodded. “That sounds about right.”

   There was a long pause.

   I moved the chair closer and sat down in front of him. There was silence between us, but it wasn’t awkward. It was just… full. Saturated with everything neither of us could put words to yet.

   “Abby showed up,” I said finally. “Made a scene in the ED. Tried to get to Robby.”

   Frank closed his eyes and sighed, slow and exhausted. “Of course she did.”

   “Security walked her out. She doesn’t know where you are. Just that you’re here. We’re not letting her get near you.”

   His jaw clenched. “She always finds a way.”

   “Not this time,” I said quietly.

   He opened his eyes and looked at me. Really looked at me. “You said that like you already made sure.”

   “I am making sure of it.”

   His brow lifted slightly.

   “I had her flagged in security, and called a few people.” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Asked for a recommendation. Got connected to a lawyer who specializes in this sort of thing.”

   Frank’s face twitched. “What sort of thing?”

   “Custody disputes. Domestic violence defense. High-risk protective cases. She’s solid.”

   “She?”

   “Yeah,” I nodded. “Her name’s Reeva Morrow. Quiet but lethal. Doesn’t advertise. She’s good with complicated dynamics. Used to prosecute DV cases before she jumped the line and started protecting the people the system failed.”

   Frank stared at me for a second too long. “You called in a lawyer already?”

   “I said I’d take care of it. I won't wait around.”

   He sat back a little, visibly unsettled but not ungrateful. “How do you know someone like that?”

   “I don’t,” I said honestly. “But someone I trust does.”

   He nodded slowly, processing, and I could tell he wanted to ask who. Wanted to ask how. But he didn’t. He just looked down at his hands.

   “I don’t know what I’m doing, Mia.”

   “You’re surviving,” I said. “That’s enough for now.”

   He swallowed hard, eyes still fixed on his palms. “I don’t even know if I’m strong enough to fight her.”

   “You don’t have to be strong yet,” I said. “That’s what the rest of us are for.”

   I reached out, just resting a hand on the side of the bed—not touching him, not pushing, just there.

   “I’m going to be here every step of the way, Frank. You don’t have to be alone in this.”

   He nodded. Slowly. Like it took effort.

   “Okay.”  

[bridgetlynn]

For the drabble game, Frank and Dana and, because I like pain, number 69 :)

Okay, so thanks for the kick to get something written. #69 was Annoyance. And I'm not sure if this is what you were thinking about - but I think there's a general overall feel of that emotion throughout. I just kind of wrote and wound up in an interesting place. And Robby showed up to play as well. Hope that's okay. Five sentences went out the window around 1pm. It actually clocks in at 4290 words. It's still untitled. Hope you enjoy it - even if it went in a different direction then I necessarily expected it to. So here are Dana dealing with Frank and Robby and Annoyance.

The start of a shift cycle, following the two day break, always came around too soon in Dana Evans’ opinion. This one, following the roughest shift she’d had in her entire career when not counting a global pandemic, had seemed to come a little sooner than usual. It also happened to be, on top of everything, a Monday. 

And now, something had been blown up that couldn’t be put back into its box; and according to her computer, it might not have needed to have such a large blast radius.

Needless to say she’s had better mornings.

“Hi!”

Dana looked up from where she was reviewing the status of the patients currently inhabiting her emergency room, as she had been off for four days, and met the bluest eyes she had ever seen in person. It would be a lovely sight if those eyes weren’t currently in the skull of a puppy turned human. A puppy wearing black scrubs which meant it was going to probably be her problem eventually.

“Who are you and why are you bouncing in front of my desk an hour before you should be?”

“Frank Langdon. Intern,” he introduced himself and then to her horror brought a hand up and proceeded to drain a can of Red Bull at six o’clock in the morning. “Nice to meet you,” he added once he was done. 

Dana just groaned, loudly, and held a hand out as she saw him start looking around for, hopefully, a garbage, “Give me.” He frowned slightly but passed the can over. “Sit,” she added, pointing at the chair directly next to her. “If I let you wander you’ll get lost or stolen and I don’t have the time to make flyers today.”

“Yes ma’am?” he questioned more then replied and slowly sat in the chair while Dana got back to reviewing the computer charts.  

Two minutes later the puppy’s feet started tapping and shortly thereafter the chair she had put him on started swinging back and forth. She glanced to the side and watched as the swinging slowly became spinning and let him have four rotations before her own hand snapped out and grabbed the arm of the chair, “Bad puppy. Q-word time. Shhh.”

“Q-word? You mean quiet?”

“Fuck,” Dana groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Bad puppy. No more talking.”

“I thought you were quitting?” 

Dana rolled her eyes, and gritted her teeth, before looking up and replying, in a very serious tone, to Robby’s overly sarcastic question, “I’ve quit at least once a year since long before you strolled through those doors as a cocky fellow, barely out of his twenties, ready to blow through all the young and pretty nurses,” she said very pointedly.

“Well, that’s not true at all,” Robby replied, laughing slightly and missing the way Dana’s eyes hardened somewhat.

“No. It is,” she assured him. “Back then you were absolutely what my daughter would refer to as a Grade C Fuckboy with your floppy hair and ‘fix me’ energy.” She smirked, kind of meanly, at his widened eyes and added, “Oh! But don’t worry; by now you’ve reached at least an A. And you still need to be fixed. I’ve been told it’s your most attractive trait. Until those women actually date you.”

Robby opened his mouth and paused; then he examined Dana’s face and seemed to finally register that she wasn’t remotely amused at the moment, “Okay? What’s wrong? You’re pissed at me.”

She quietly gathered up the stack of papers she had just finished printing shortly before Robby arrived, the reason she had been here two hours before shift, and slid the folder across the counter to him. 

“Is this the thing?” he asked, dropping his voice to a nearly incomprehensible volume and Dana rolled her eyes again.

“Yes; that’s the pharmacy audit you had me run against Langdon’s hospital ID. I’d have done it quietly - like you originally asked - but I figured that was blown to hell after you started screaming about it for all and sundry to hear in the ambulance bay,” she responded at a normal level since as she pointed out - everyone knew even if they didn’t officially yet. “Stop fidgeting Francis James Langdon. God didn’t bless me with sons for reasons. Please stop doing things to remind of some of those reasons,” Dana stated without looking away from where she was double checking the inventory in Trauma Two’s cabinets and med-carts for various medications and supplies. 

As it was, normally, she wouldn’t even be doing the inventory in the trauma rooms; however, they had six fairly major trauma’s roll through one after the other in the course of an hour and a half, three for each room, and hadn’t had time before now to fully flip the rooms for much more than cleanliness. Which meant that her LPNs who had acted as Scribes for the traumas also hadn’t had time to get their notes into the computer; and therefore, Dana had no final inventory numbers of what was used and two very bare trauma rooms. It was definitely a case of doing for oneself when you need it done quickly and correctly - and she needed to get an order to Central Supply within the next hour. 

On any other day Dana wouldn’t mind him letting off a little energy while it was on the calmer side in the department; but she was on a time crunch and Frank had already dropped one box each of tubing, gauze and gloves in the last ten minutes and they were getting to the more breakable items shortly.  Easily distracted and over-caffeinated residents still in their puppy stages bouncing on her last shred of patience was not a great combination at four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon eight days into a July heatwave. She was half convinced they weren’t packed, beyond the traumas, because no one had the energy to leave their houses and get here unless they were ready to bleed out. Unfortunately, that could flip in a moment with no notice so, fidgeting wasn’t going to fly right now.

It was also her own fault for asking the hyperactive R2 to help her. The gangly boy was useful for high places and bulky crates. 

“I think I’m meant to be insulted by that,” Frank muttered while pushing the cart she pointed at over to the other side of the room. “But I’m awesome. So I won’t be.”

“Don’t think sweetie,” Dana replied. “Know. Know that you are to be insulted by that.”

“Oh come on Dana,” Frank grumbled, shuffling back over to her looking for all the world like Tanner and not for the first time Dana wondered if Abby hadn’t just cloned and shrunk her husband. “What’d I do now?”

“Knocked up your wife while she’s trying to finish her Master’s degree when you already have a two year old ,” Dana said decisively. “This is why I don’t have sons. My girl’s know not to let any nasty penis’ near them until after they finish their degrees. Boys would need to be tied up in their bedrooms through puberty. Too much work.”

She saw Frank smirk and shake his head before responding with a laugh, “No boy of yours would dare. Also, Kate’s married with a kid, Julia’s a lesbian and Rose is fourteen. I think you’re…okay?” She watched as he suddenly stopped moving the next cart and slowly turned to face the Charge Nurse before sputtering out a denial, “What did you say first? Because…no I didn’t!”

Dana blinked, because that was genuine confusion, “Oops?”

“What oops?!”

“I mean, Congratulations?”

Frank scowled and pulled his phone out of his pocket, glaring at the older woman, he snapped, “Excuse me. I have to go make a phone call right now.”

“I said oops!” Dana called after the resident. “Sorry puppy,” she mumbled and grabbed her tablet to keep marking down what needed to be restocked within the next hour. 

When Robby walked in a few minutes later she just raised an eyebrow at him, not in the mood to deal with the older version of the resident had just stalked away. He merely raised his hands up and, despite a clear warning on her face, asked, “Why did Langdon just ask me how to ask his wife why she told you something before him?”

Dana froze for a second and then burst out laughing, “He asked you for advice on talking to a wife?”

“I think I’m supposed to be insulted by that,” Robby mumbled and left the room while Dana continued to laugh. Robby scowled and Dana held up a hand before he could say anything else, loudly or otherwise, and continued speaking, “I do not appreciate it when orderlies whose names I do not even know start asking me if a senior resident is in jail for shooting up fentanyl or something. And when I ask what the hell they are talking about the response is, apparently, Dr. Robby was screaming about him being arrested for stealing medication and being high at work.”

Robby visibly winced at that and scrubbed a hand over his face, “I wasn’t thinking. He just got me so mad. I sent him home and he wouldn’t leave. And yes, I should have handled it a little better; I can admit that. He did approach me calmly and I am the one who blew it up into…loud.”

“Yes,” she snapped and then immediately lowered her voice. “Into “loud” is one way to put it. I mean, seriously, Robby? It was a bad day there is no doubt about it; but you’ve been spiraling for over a year and you crossed a line Friday. There is no excuse for Frank’s shit to be aired all over the fucking hospital,” she hissed at him. 

“And what about what he said to me?” 

Dana raised an eyebrow at that and then pointedly looked around the ER, where no one was even looking in their direction, before replying, “You’re Chief. Remember what I said to you when you asked what people were saying? No one sees anything or says anything where you are concerned. A fourth year resident in a competitive program who is more talented than most of the other residents put together? Hmm, I wonder how fast they want that star to fall?”

Robby nodded and fiddled with the stack of papers and rather than respond to what she had said he simply asked, “How bad is it?” She shrugged, “Well in thirty-three years I’ve seen worse. Hell, there was an anesthesiologist here in the early aughts, before your time here, who probably could have given Escobar a run for his money.”

“Dana,” Robby admonished. “Seriously.”

“I am,” she responded with a shrug. “What Langdon did isn’t good. But, when I tell you I’ve seen worse I mean it. And don’t tell me you dare tell me you can’t say the same.” Robby frowned deeper and tapped the folder with a pointed look to which she, again, rolled her eyes at the stubborn man. “Okay. Fine. I went back three days like you asked and the only somewhat questionable thing other than Louie’s meds was a, technical, pedes case on Wednesday.” “Pedes!?” Robby practically shrieked and Dana held up a hand, glaring at him. “Before you immediately jump to the worst case scenario, I remember that patient and the mother was so high strung that I jumped on as Frank’s nurse for it. You know he doesn’t deal well with mother’s that are clones of his own.” “Dana. Point please?” Robby implored, though he at least visibly paled at the comparison the nurse made. None of them liked thinking back on the one time they had met Louse Langdon in person.

“I’m getting there,” she muttered, resisting the urge to throttle him as she had been since early that morning. “Kid was almost seventeen, a wrestler and couldn’t stand up straight after practice. Back was totally frozen from the shoulder to hips. He admitted his partner screwed up some hold they were not supposed to be doing and he felt like he just got stuck. Scans showed no skeletal damage or tears, exam indicated that he probably just, essentially, pulled everything. Langdon called in a neuro consult and Janson came down.”

Robby winced again, “He should retire. Or be retired.”

“Yep,” Dana agreed, exhaling through her nose tiredly. “Janson prescribed valium and percocet. And Frank argued with him over here by the desk; pointing out, ironically, how bad of an idea it is to give a kid access to that kind of medication. Janson disagreed; but like you said - he’s old. So, Janson sent the script. Frank delivered the meds…and the mother winged them back at his face. The bottles landed halfway to the trauma rooms,” Dana explained, pointing behind her. “I don’t know what happened to them after that,” she admitted with a tight smile. “But Langdon changed the prescription to what he originally wanted.”

“Which was?” “Prescription strength ibuprofen and a week-long course of metaxalone. The mother was a bit more receptive to that after Frank explained that it was non-narcotic but that she should still disperse the meds to him herself at the correct times.”

“Skeletal muscle relaxer? Yea, I guess that’s a little better for that injury at that age,” Robby admitted quietly.

“Right,” she replied, nodding slightly. “So, then I went back to April, around when he got injured, and he only prescribed lorazepam ten times in that six month period and he never actually accessed the Pyxis himself for any of them before Friday. So take that how you will. Sometimes it is just a shitty vial or maybe he did something to that one. No way to really prove it.”

“OH Jesus what happened?!” Dana almost screamed and hurried across the room to her bouncing baby R3 who was currently walking through the ambulance bay doors alone, despite having the weekend off, and bleeding profusely; looking like someone had taken a bat to the side of his head.

“Baseball bat,” he mumbled, more than slightly dazed, as she steered him towards an exam room reminding herself that head wounds bleed a lot, and his white t-shirt being half red was probably not a big deal. 

“Robby!” Dana called, waving him down and pointing. She saw his eyes widen and he then proceeded to shove the tablet he was holding into the hands of Dr. Scott, one of the other A shift Attendings, who he had been speaking with before tearing across the department, tugging Heather Collin’s sleeve as he passed her to get her to follow him.

“What happened?!” he asked as both doctors came into the room while Jesse and Dana helped Frank up onto a gurney, ignoring his protests that he was fine. “You are not fine,” Robby calmly replied before Dana could do it herself. 

Which was probably a good thing as she was currently more likely to scream at him out of sheer terror then do anything calmly.  “Frank baby,” Dana said, trying to keep herself calm and stepping aside to allow Jesse to begin hooking the resident up to monitor’s at Robby’s quiet directions. “What happened? Did someone hit you with a baseball bat?” she asked carefully. “Do we need to get the police?”

Frank stared back at her, with thankfully even pupils even if he did look like he wasn’t fully aware of what was going on, and then burst out laughing. The fact that Jesse and Heather were both snickering a little and staring back at her and Robby while they did so was swiftly making her terror be replaced by aggravation. 

“It is not funny,” Robby snapped. “Look at him,” he added, and started listing off a barrage of lab tests, a full body CT, a chest x-ray and, after peering into Frank’s ear on the side of his head that was hit, an ENT consult, since his ear was bleeding. 

“It’s a little funny,” Collins disagreed. “No one hit him on purpose with a baseball bat. Don’t you remember he said his family was in town this weekend? Look how he’s dressed,” she added, pointing to Frank’s dirty clothes that Dana just realized consisted of baseball pants, a t-shirt and cleats. 

“Oh,” Dana mumbled and then froze again when Frank interjected something that she was sure she misunderstood in a spacey tone. “I’m sorry sweetheart what was that?” she asked.“Heather’s wrong. Henry absolutely hit me on purpose.”

“Henry?” Dana croaked out the question and felt somewhat justified in the pointed eyebrow she shot at Heather who looked horrified herself now.

“My older brother,” Frank explained, shrugging and then wincing. “Ow.”

“What ow?” Robby asked, looking exhausted. 

“Shoulder.”

“Did he hit you there too?” Jesse asked, since all four of them were a little flummoxed by the situation they were in; as were the various people who had been popping their heads into the exam room for the last ten minutes. “No, I wrenched it” Frank disagreed and then turned a pout in Dana’s direction. “I left my fidget.”

“Frank,” Robby redirected the younger doctor’s attention. “How’d you also wrench your shoulder?”

“Ginny,” he replied, still sounding distracted. “Heather? Can I have your clicky pen please?” he asked, pointing at the pen hanging on her shirt collar. “I won’t click it. Much.”

An hour later Dana was praying for her strength and her blood pressure. 

“Mrs. Langdon, your son has a grade two concussion because your other son hit him in the head with a baseball bat,” she explained slowly, glaring at the woman and not bothering to hide it. 

“Oh dear, honestly though boys will be boys. Henry didn’t do it on purpose. Frank caught out Henry’s home run. He wasn’t actually going to hit him; but Frank stepped the wrong way. He stepped into the swing instead of away from it. Henry would never want to hurt his baby brother. Henry’s my good boy. Always has been,” Louise Langdon explained, as though that made everything better. “Besides, Frank’s had that type of concussion before and he was fine. The last time it was his fault too. He was always getting hurt as a child. He just never pays attention to things; even now as an adult and it’s still happening. Are you sure I really can’t see him yet? Frankie can not make decisions about things like this. He’s very distractible,” the older woman was almost rambling at Dana by the end of her explanation, sounding like she was trying to justify it all in her own mind as much as to Dana. 

“Right,” Dana muttered. “And his shoulder? He said that Ginny wrenched it?” she asked, as that was the one thing that they couldn’t figure out; none of it made sense but at least most of it had a clear cause and effect.

“Oh, well, yes, Ginny. Henry’s wife. She might have had a few too many cocktails last night; it was a family bar-be-que,” she began explaining with a laugh and a shrug. “Well, she almost dropped Ellie.” Dana blanched and leaned back on the desk behind her as this woman casually explained that her son’s wife had almost dropped her five month old granddaughter because she was drunk. “Frank lunged, but since we were standing at the top of the back porch stairs he had to grab the railing to keep from falling when he overreacted.”

“Right,” Dana mumbled. “Well thanks for letting us know so we can treat him properly,” she added and hurried away before she got fired for murder. Suddenly everything Abby had ever said to Dana about never seeing her in-laws despite them living a half hour away and Frank avoiding all mention of his parents except in the most serious circumstances made a lot more sense. “Oh,” Robby mumbled and began quietly flipping through the papers in the folder, skimming through the information for himself. “These are Hagan’s records too?” he asked in surprise.

Dana nodded as she slipped on the cardigan she had worn that morning, “Sure are. He was prescribing the same dose of medication to Frank from when he got hurt up until last week. Right about the time he went on vacation. Or, more accurately, according to Lisa Jacobs, the charge nurse for the day shift on Five, otherwise known as the ortho floor, he has been encouraged to retire quietly due to inconsistencies in his prescribing. So yes, those are Hagan’s records. I thought they might help when you pull your head out of your ass and make sure he can keep his job.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Robby admitted. “I told him what needs to be done and he’s not answering his phone now.” “Yea, well I took care of that for you too,” she responded. “His cell phone is currently off and in the bottom of Abby’s purse. As of an hour ago Frank himself has been checked in across town at Presby to detox for the next week to ten days. They might pull some strings to keep him there; but Abby didn’t like that because that would mean keeping him in the psych ward since they don’t have an inpatient facility for just rehab.”

“So what you’re saying is I have a week to figure out where to send him that is covered by insurance?”

“I’m saying you have a week to pull a few favors out of your ass because insurance will stick that boy in a hell hole that’ll be overcrowded and understaffed and he’ll twiddle his thumbs for a month and bullshit his way past whatever first year psych resident he gets assigned to. This isn’t the 80s anymore Robby. Insurance doesn’t actually want people to get clean. They make less money that way.”

“I hear you,” he agreed and then noticed something. “Why are you wearing jeans?”

“Cause for the next two weeks I am on medical leave,” she explained, gesturing at her own face. “I mean, I’m fine. But, hey, free extra vacation days? I’ll take ‘em. Better than pizza. And I’m serious Robby. Figure out something. Because even if you’re pissed at him as your friend, you’re a damned doctor and Hagan fucked a lot of people up it looks like. I know he’s an adult; but there is a reason I mentioned the Grade C Fuckboy.” “Oh?”

“Yea; you made Frank Langdon look like the most responsible boring straight laced by the book rule following residents to ever walk through those doors. And you were two years older then than he is now. See you in two weeks.”

“Abby shouldn’t have called you. Not after last night,” Frank whispered as Dana took a seat next to him on the couch in the basement den of the Langdon’s small house three in the morning mere hours after they got off the worst shift of his career. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Dana disagreed and squeezed his clammy hand. “Here’s what is going to happen,” she began, taking on her best no bullshit tone. “You are going to take this pill,” Dana explained, slipping a librium into Frank’s hand and gestured at the bottle of water sitting on the table in front of him. “Abby has six more upstairs that she will give you, in halves if necessary, you will use these pills to keep from going into DTs.”

Frank shifted on the couch looking uncomfortable and avoiding her eyes so she just squeezed his hand tighter and continued explaining the plan she had started coming up with the moment he had left the break room that night, “No later than Tuesday you will get a call to go to Presby. My sister-in-law is a Nurse Manager in behavioral health over there and she said she can get you in as soon as a bed opens up in their detox program. She said the absolute latest should be Tuesday morning.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” he replied softly, finally looking at her with tear filled eyes. Dana simply shook her head and wiped away the one tear that fell. “Sure I did,” she disagreed. “I’ve told you for years; I just don’t have time to put up flyers. Also, you’re finally housebroken,” she joked and then frowned when he had no reaction other then to still look like he was minutes away from a total breakdown. “Listen to me Frank, for as much as I’m very angry with you right now? I still love you and I will not lose you to this.” Dana leaned back into the couch and stretched a kink out of her neck before continuing, “Also you owe your wife a vacation, Robby an apology and that overly cocky brat who caught you at least one month’s rent coverage.”

“Dana,” Frank groaned in protest and she smirked even as she reached over and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I’ll let you send it anonymously because lord if she doesn’t make Intern-you look cool, calm and collected. It’s got to be karma of some sort. She’s the universe’s gift to you for the headache inducer you were to every senior resident you had.”

“And what is she to you?” Frank joked back, even as he started looking like he was falling asleep, where he was sitting, from her repeatedly running her hand through his hair. 

“A reminder that boys aren’t so bad afterall,” Dana replied a few minutes later after he had finally fallen asleep. “See you in two weeks kid.”

[helleboretea]

This guy's walking down a street when he falls in a hole.

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M, Gen, Other

Fandom: The Pitt (TV)

Relationships: Frank Langdon/Abby, Melissa "Mel" King & Frank Langdon

Characters: Frank Langdon, Abby Langdon, Melissa "Mel" King, Michael "Robby" Robinavitch, Trinity Santos

Additional Tags: Suicide Attempt, Suicide, Overdosing, Past Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Mentioned oc - Freeform, post episode: s01e10 4:00 P.M., post episode: s01e11 5:00 P.M., Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Chronic Pain, Drug Addiction, Autistic Melissa “Mel” King, autistic character written by an autistic author

Language:English

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Frank’s on the fucking edge. He really didn’t mean to be. He came up here originally just to get some fucking air. Because the hospital staff were looking at him funny when they passed and it was too hot and he couldn’t fucking breathe and god knows he can’t just go home. (“Hi honey, sorry I’m home early, I was fired for stealing drugs.”) So he just came up here for the fresh air and the quiet. The edge - and the railing that he’s definitely on the wrong side of - that was just incidental. He doesn’t meant it. But fuck, it’s here now, isn’t it? He’s here now."

--

Or, Doctor Langdon overdoses when he can't get ahold of Robby, and Mel finds him.

-

Or, a different interpretation of the original character description for Dr Langdon which stated he had had a "devastating back injury."