Chapter Text
Mel knows she can be a bit … obsessive about things. She doesn't really see the problem with it but other people certainly seem to find issue. She's learnt to keep most, if not all, of it to herself. Not that doing so helps her fit in more. But that's okay too. She has a good life now. A job she's good at, a safe place for Becca. She's convinced herself that she's happy with her life.
That is until Langdon comes back to work.
Frank Langdon. She doesn't even try to hide her excitement at seeing him back again after so many months. Hadn't thought she should hide her excitement until she catches the expressions on everyone else's faces at her reaction. The heavy thing that lives in her chest tugs painfully as it always does when she does the wrong thing socially.
"I'm glad to see my favourite resident is still here," Frank murmurs to her and suddenly the heavy thing in her chest no longer exists. Really, how was she not meant to get obsessed with him?
-/-
Her obsessions wouldn't be such an issue if she could actually implement limits to them, if she felt like she had some level of control over them. She's just so curious though. There's always more to learn, more to uncover, more to examine, more to dissect and analyse. It's what makes her good at her job, each new patient a puzzle to put together, a knot to unravel. And Mel wants to know everything about Frank.
One of the first things she uncovers is that he doesn't wear his wedding ring when he first arrives at work but it's on his finger by the time he hits the floor. From there, it's easy enough to search for divorce proceedings and find his name. Only recently finalised. Mel wonders how much they tried to make it work, if they tried couples counselling, what the agreement on custody was. She also wonders why he's lying about it all by wearing his ring on the floor.
-/-
McKay being late to work one shift turns out to be an absolute gift when Dr Robby opens up the staff folder to find her number. Mel has tried to access it before but it's password-locked and so she feels barely a sniff of guilt as she pushes that one dodgy Code Grey button that always takes thirty seconds to send out alarms. With Robby distracted, it's a quick scroll up, a snap of her phone, and she has all of Frank's information.
She's not even irritated to discover that the address listed is clearly not where Frank is living. That's part of the joy of digging for clues, seeing what new parts of the puzzle each one will unlock. The cosy suburbia vibes and the 'For Sale' sign tell her more than enough. This was where Frank used to live, where his family still live, although clearly not for long. She notes down the open days listed on the realtor's website, cross-checking against Frank's roster, as she ponders what trove of new clues she might discover inside his old home.
-/-
Shifts with Frank do nothing to weaken her obsession. He's so attentive, so good at teaching, so ready to shower her in compliments when she does something right. With the rest of the team still largely not engaging with him, his focus is often entirely turned on her. She feels bad for thinking it but she can't help but be happy that everyone does avoid him. It means shifts on with him are spent almost entirely with him by her side.
-/-
They're intubating a patient with a head injury and he's right behind her, arms wrapped around her as he holds the patient's neck firmly in place to provide manual in-line stabilisation, somehow still tall enough for his head to peer over her shoulder as she slides the blade down the throat.
"Remember not to anchor back on the patient's teeth," he says quietly, his breath tickling her ear. "You're trying to pull the handle up towards the opposite corner of the room."
She does exactly that and the epiglottis comes nicely into view, making it incredibly easy to slide the bougie and then the tube between the cords. She wishes it wasn't so time critical, wishes his arms could linger even longer around her, never mind the dropping sats worsening the head injury. She takes a deep breath to steady herself as she ties the tube neatly into place.
"Perfect as always," Frank says. "So what are the priorities now, Doctor King?"
"CT scan, neuroprotective measures, and ongoing C-spine protection," she answers confidently.
"Neuroprotection?" he probes, his eyes shining blue-bright as he stares at her. He’s the only one she doesn’t mind staring at her.
"We're aiming to prevent secondary injury, so our targets are normoxia, a pCO2 of 35-45mmHg, normothermia, a BSL of 6-10, and crucially, a MAP greater than 80 and a systolic pressure greater than 110," she rattles off quickly. "We also need to monitor for signs of raised intracranial pressure."
"And if there are signs of raised intracranial pressure?"
"250mLs of 3% saline IV."
"Excellent," Frank says, smiling broadly at her now. "Four other things you need to do or to monitor as part of neuroprotection?"
God, she wishes he'd save the compliments until the very end. They make it harder for her to concentrate, her usual razor focus turning slightly fuzzy. "Umm," she says, biting her finger. "Positioning … and …"
"Head of the bed at 30 degrees for positioning," Frank gently corrects. "The other things to think about are seizure prophylaxis with levetiracetam, correcting anaemia and thrombocytopenia, and considering if they need antibiotics."
She nods vigorously. "30 degrees, seizure prophylaxis, correct anaemia and thrombocytopenia, antibiotics if needed," she recites back, thrilled at the nod and smile she receives in turn.
-/-
She's finishing the secondary survey on the patient as they wait for neurosurgery when the alarms start dinging loudly. She looks up to see the sats plummeting through the floor, the alarm getting louder and deeper with each second.
Frank is there in a flash, disconnecting the tube from the ventilator before Mel has even moved an inch.
"Pneumothorax," he barks after a few seconds. "The right chest wall isn't moving properly." He hands the BVM off to Jesse while gesturing at Mel. "Finger thoracostomy." He's yanking open the drawers on the procedure trolley by the time Mel has started to move.
She pulls the arm up and starts palpating the rib spaces as Langdon rips open the equipment pack next to her. She digs her fingers into the correct space as Langdon splashes chlorhex over the area. The next second and there's a scalpel in her hand, Langdon now behind her, one hand reaching to hold the patient's arm back, the other hovering near Mel's hand. She's once again boxed in by his body, can feel the heat of him against her back.
"One to two inches," Frank says, words coming out so quickly that they almost slur together. "Deep, remember."
She's barely removed the scalpel before his finger is sliding into the hole she's made.
"Deeper," he says with a shake of his head. "Gotta get into the space. You should feel the pop."
She forces the scalpel in deeper, feels the resistance disappear as she pops the pleura. Removes the scalpel before sliding her own finger into the space, feels her finger hook over the rib with a vague sense of satisfaction. Frank slides his finger in when she removes hers, twisting his wrist around.
"Good," he says as they watch the sats rise again. "Now, next time, you're going to be more forceful. It's different from a regular tube thoracostomy where you'd use forceps to gently break through the space. Scalpel in deep and then finger in the wound, force it through, finger it open, twist your wrist around as your enter the space, make sure you feel around, go in deeper to feel the lung. Re-finger as needed to see if the lung is up."
Mel's not sure if she's still breathing as she watches Frank move his finger in and out of the wound. She desperately needs him to stop saying the word finger before she does something embarrassing like moan or whine. Nothing about this should be erotic, the patient had nearly died, and yet Mel feels completely electrified, entirely too aware of how close Frank is to her, how easy it would be to press back into him further.
"My fingers are a bit bigger than yours," Frank says, "but even with smaller fingers you can make a track big enough to place a chest tube afterwards. You can always put two fingers in to scissor it open more if needed or get the forceps in to widen the space."
Mel feels vaguely hysterical, teeth biting down on her lip before she can say something deranged. She grabs the forceps and chest tube, largely to stop herself from grabbing Frank's fingers, and starts feeding it into the chest. By some miracle, she doesn't whine when Frank steps away from her. She no longer has any idea what's happening, if the patient has remained stable, if there's anyone else in the room, the usual noise of the busy department somehow muted. As she sutures in the tube, her mind is entirely focussed on how many fingers Frank would be able to fit into her.
"Fuck," she whispers softly to herself.
-/-
The patient has just left for the OR, the bay still the usual mess of blood and detritus that follows such a resus, equipment strewn about the space haphazardly, when Mel feels Frank's presence hovering behind her chair. She turns her head up towards him as she continues charting.
"Are you okay?" he asks gently, always so gentle with her. It makes her teeth ache in the best way.
"It took me too long to react," she replies, turning back towards the computer screen. Yeah, because that's really what has you flustered. She wonders what Frank would say if she asked him to finger her open. "I'll work on that," she says slowly, trying desperately to focus on the words she's typing into the chart.
"You're too hard on yourself," Frank shoots back immediately.
"If you hadn't been there-"
"But I was," he interrupts. "You're still learning, Mel. We're all still learning. Next time, you'll nail it. Come on now, the slogan of emergency medicine is basically 'see one, do one, teach one'. You'll do the next one and then teach some poor intern the time after that. It won't be long until you barely need me around."
"I hope not," comes out before she can really think about what she's saying. "Oh, umm … I just mean … well, you're a good teacher."
"Well, in the interest of remaining a good teacher in the eyes of my best resident, do you have an approach to hypoxia after intubation?"
Mel turns towards him again as she shakes her head slowly. I always need you around, she thinks, I always want you teaching me.
"The DOPES acronym," Frank says as he snags a spare bit of paper, clicking his pen. "Displacement, obstruction, patient, equipment, stacked breaths. What was the first thing I did?"
Mel thinks it's a bit ludicrous of him to think she can remember anything except for how many times he said the word finger.
"Took the patient off the ventilator and bagged them," Frank continues on. "Removes most of the equipment and lets me feel what the patient is like to bag. If that doesn't fix the problem, then it's a problem with the tube or the patient." He taps his finger against each letter of the acronym as he goes, like it's his personal mission to drive Mel out of her mind. "Is the tube displaced or obstructed? Check the end-tidal CO2 and pass the suction catheter. Is it the patient fucking everything up? Think about pneumothorax, anaphylaxis, pulmonary oedema, or bronchospasm. And with bronchospasm, are there stacked breaths?"
Mel taps her finger against each letter of the acronym as she summarises it back to him quickly, furiously not thinking about how big his fingers are compared to hers.
"And when in doubt … well, I'll always try to be here when you need me, Mel."
She can only hope he doesn't notice her breath hitching or the blush staining her cheeks.
-/-
Mel smiles to herself as she watches the air hiss out of the front tyre of Frank's car, the same bloody scalpel hanging loosely in her hand.