Archive of Our Own

Abby had rough hands.

She worked with them, callouses formed from using a trowel in her parents' garden her entire life. Thumb pads tough from pushing needles through fabric, little white dots decorating her like a constellation from pricking herself, not being careful. On her right hand, by the last joint of her middle finger, was an indent caused by gripping a pencil her entire life, only recently switching to paintbrushes and oils. She had a burn scar on the inside of her wrist, earned from leaning over the grill while helping her father and catching her skin on hot metal.

Frank liked to run his thumb over it, pressing a kiss over the discoloration, moving his lips up her arm.

The edges of her fingers were thick, using the corners instead of the meat so she could keep her nails, typing away at her desk. A receptionist, then a secretary, then working from her parents' home while he slept in his car for eight weeks during his ED rotation, COVID hitting right when he was catching his stride in his last year of medical school, and they were moving forward. They were planning a family.

It was a year after they had spent what little money they had on a chapel for a January wedding, her family and his friends making up the pews, and they slipped cheap rings onto each other with promises to upgrade once they could save.

Frank still had the same one on, six years later, dulled with age, working in the same hospital he spent nights in the parking lot of so he wouldn't get his pregnant wife killed.

He never wanted to stay in Pittsburgh. They met by total chance in college, her working the same morning shift at a coffee shop he went to every day just to look at the cute barista.

"One medium coffee, two cream inside. Got it." She typed in the order the moment she saw him through the glass front door in his jeans and some random band shirt, beat up laptop bag slung over his shoulder and earbuds hanging by their wires on his collar. He always took them out when he got in.

"Didn't even have to say my order this time, damn. You're getting good." He was leaned up against the counter, hands bearing most of his weight as he smiled at her, head tilted slightly to the side.

"What can I say? You're predictable by this point. 10% tip?" She batted her eyelashes up at him innocently, biting back a smile when he blew out a breath, looking up at the ceiling. "You drive a very hard bargain, Abigail. You think I have 10% tip money?"

"You're going to Yale, pretty sure you have tip money." She shot back, smiling as he pulled out the same amount he paid every day. "With a scholarship, and a job, and loans! Med school is expensive!" He handed over the five dollar bill, and she gave back the receipt, electric where their fingers brushed before she turned to make his drink.

She had written her number down on his cup, and got a text not even thirty seconds after he walked out the door with a selfie taken from a low angle, his face scrunched up, the accompanying message reading All I had to do was tip?

On their first date, he found out they were from the same city, just different high schools. They'd even seen each other at track meets, and never talked. Small world and all that.

They did long distance for a year while she took care of her mother and he finished med school, then went right back to a city he wanted out of for the woman he loved. He scored residency in the ED he had gone to once for a broken nose and a black eye, stinging from getting hit right in the socket with a baseball. His cheekbone still twinged sometimes, decades later, if he pressed on it.

Abby had always been someone who loved through touch.

She slipped her hand into the back pocket of his jeans, making him have to rearrange how he kept everything just so she'd get that smile on her face. She liked it when he put his arm around her, his hand on her thigh, a finger in her belt loop. When it was cold enough to wear a jacket, she'd prefer to walk hooked at the elbows, and she'd rest her hand on his forearm, head against his shoulder. She pressed into him, against him, curled up next to him on the couch, put his head in her lap and ran fingers through his hair.

She was physical, and he loved that. Craved it, even.

His family had never been an affectionate type. His parents both worked office jobs, different positions at the same company, both cheating on each other with young new models. For some reason, they never got divorced, and Frank often wondered alone to himself, face covered in a pillow to try and drown out the sounds of shouting, if they could even still love each other through all of this. He learned, Sundays at mass, that marriage was a sacred thing between a man and a woman, something woven through love and devotion to each other.

How devoted could two people really be to each other, if all they did was play a game of who could make the other hurt worse?

They were still married. They still hated each other. The moment he left that house, he was pretty sure they forgot he existed, and he was fine keeping it that way. There wasn't any fanfare when he left, anyway. Not even a hug goodbye. He was pretty sure he hadn't gotten one of those since whenever the last time his mom picked him up was.

So when he met Abby, all kisses and giggles and body touching everywhere, he was overwhelmed in the way sand must feel when the tide comes in. Filled, and refreshed.

She used her hands in other ways, too.

He still remembered the way his dorm mate had whistled, seeing the long red lines down his back as he changed his shirt, hurried before class, getting back in the morning after staying the night at Abby's.

"Damn, man! What the hell did you have sex with last night, a wolverine?"

Frank had laughed, genuinely laughed, spinning and smacking at his friend's hand as he approached to tug up the hem and assess the damages. "Not as bad as it looks, and, I swear to God, man, best orgasm of my life. She's amazing, dude."

He had fucking cherished the way cotton scraped gently over irritated skin the entire day.

Abby liked to be rough in bed. She liked to grab, to pull, to push at him harder and harder, and he took all of it like a sponge. Seeing the marks of what they had done, the ache of his muscles the day after, feeling the way his constantly going thoughts melted out his ears and seeped into their bedsheets, it was incredible. Not to say they were always having wild sex, but hey, he took it whenever he could get it.

It wasn't always exclusive to their room. She swatted playfully at him when he took jokes somewhere she couldn't follow, flicked at the back of his head when he was being particularly assholeish. He wouldn't even protest that, it was generally a good reminder to reel himself in. There were a few times she'd jabbed her elbow into him, pinched hard enough to bruise, but again, those were pretty deserved. She kept him in line sometimes. No harm, no foul.

With the start of his residency, with a newborn at home, things got hard. They fought more. She nitpicked, he got defensive faster than needed. She hated how often he was gone, how little time he spent with her, with the baby. She felt like she was alone, apparently. So, he just took over whenever he could, running himself into the ground to let her get a night's rest. It caused comments from a couple coworkers, interns mostly, but it even caught the eye of his new attending. A Doctor Robby.

"Langdon." Robby approached with a frown, Frank looking up and straightening some at being addressed so clearly. He raised his eyebrows in an indicator to go on, focusing away from the board where he was trying to find a good case.

He had not been expecting the question Robby would give. "You okay?" He asked, face pinched together slightly, giving Frank a once over. All it did was make him chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I'm okay. Didn't sleep super well, that's all. I've got a baby at home, he's just struggling with sleep routines right now. My wife and I are working on it."

"Okay." Something about the tone made the hair on the back of Frank's neck stand, like Robby didn't quite believe him. As if he was telling him a lie. "That's it?"

Frank nodded, slow, confusion setting in. "Unless I've got a CO2 leak and I've been hallucinating. I'll be fine, just a little sleep deprived."

Their conversation was cut off by an arriving trauma, and any concern over Robby's response was quickly left on the bay floor.

It took a while. In fact, it was almost six months later, when Tanner started sleeping through the night, did the tension wrapped around their house like a rubber band start to ease up. It didn't quite go away, but it lessened. They got back into the swing of things slowly, surely, but it didn't return to normal. It was distorted, slightly to the left, and he didn't know how to fix it.

She was sweet with him again, running her fingers through his hair as she passed by if he was studying on the couch. Despite not being a student, he still spent the small amounts of free time he had with material. Learning, reading new studies, watching conferences. It was always put aside though, when little hands grabbed up at him, or crying went on for long enough that he clocked a switch out was needed. He tried to be attentive, really, he did. He just wasn't always on top of it, getting sucked into whatever he was working on and the rest of the world fading away.

His schedule changed with the following year, and he was able to be a little more consistently inconsistent. Tanner spent more time with Abby's parents, which seemed to help her mood tremendously. She was given more breaks, and, they got more time together.

They started feeling like them again, and it was beautiful.

Not everything got fixed, but that was expected. A new face entirely dependent on them was going to change how they functioned. It just was. There wasn't a way around the shift it would make, and honestly, he didn't want it to. Tanner was the best thing to happen to him, tied close with the day she gave him her number with a wink.

One thing that never went back to normal, was sex.

Frank sighed as he came home, dropping his bag on the floor as he kicked off his shoes. It was a long, long shift, and fuck, was he exhausted. His knees ached, his jaw tense from the the stress of the day. He had to break up three fights, almost got decked by a guy trying to swing at the man who had ran into him on an electric scooter. He'd lost two patients back to back, one of which was a nineteen year old in sepsis, a UTI gone untreated for too long, that just overwhelmed her systems. She needed to see a primary when she first started having issues, not when she collapsed in the middle of a poetry class.

He walked into the kitchen, shaking out three ibuprofen and taking them with tap water. He didn't flinch when he felt hands on his waist, relaxing back a little into the sweet touch of his wife.

"Hey, honey." She murmured, pressing soft kisses to his shoulder, nuzzling her forehead into the crook of his neck. "How was work?"

He shrugged the shoulder she wasn't on, closing his eyes and leaning his head to the side when she started nosing gently on his neck. "Not good. Looking forward to some sleep. How'd Tanner go down?" He'd had a bad bout of nightmares lately, making him afraid of going to bed. He hadn't been here in time to see the toddler down lately, but she kept him updated.

She hummed in response, one hand lazily coming up to brush through the hair on the side of his head. "Out like a light." She whispered, right into his ear, other hand pulling up his undershirt to trail over his stomach, dipping fingertips below his waistband.

He groaned, quiet, skin sparking a little, but he put a hand over hers to stop it from moving. "Not in the mood, Abs. Really, really bad day at work, I just want to shower and sleep."

"C'mon, baby. We barely have time anymore, I miss you." She ran her thumb, not trapped by him, over the skin, dragging her nail as she kissed again at the junction of his jaw.

He just smiled a little, liking the affection, but pressed his thumb over hers to keep it in place, looking back at her without disturbing too much. "Seriously, I'm fucking exhausted, lost patients today. Not that this isn't hot, I'm just not feeling it where you want me to. Rain check?"

The hand in his hair tightened painfully all of the sudden, shoving his head forward and ripping her hands off him like he was burning her. "Sure." She spat, holding her hands up with a small scoff as she walked away. He barely had time to register what had just happened, incredibly dumbfounded, when their door shut a little too loud and he heard Tanner start fussing. He shoved whatever the fuck that was to the side, and went to go take care of his boy. He could decipher it in the morning.

When he got dressed the following day, showering after waking because he hadn't had the time, he realized she had cut him. Just a little, right below his belly button with her nail. Huh.

Abby ignored him almost entirely for about a week after that. It was confusing, and a little harsh, but he guessed he got it. He wasn't often one to deny sex. She was probably just worked up and annoyed she'd have to deal with it herself, finally getting her libido back after it being near dead for almost a year and a half.

When it repeated, a month later, him saying no, and she did the exact same thing, that only made him more uncertain about whatever the hell that meant. This time, she was short with him for a week and a half, a couple days extended from what it had been just a little bit ago.

He just went with it the third time. It wasn't even that bad, it was fine sex, better than her ignoring him. He just felt nothing.

If Frank had to pick a moment in retrospect, that would've been it. When he realized their marriage was falling apart. It was easy, so easy, to look at him then, laying in bed entirely numb, and tell him he should get the fuck out of there.

Instead, he stayed one kid and three years more.

There was still that voice in his head reminding him, coiled up like a serpent against his ear, telling him marriage was devotion. It was a promise, something given of his flesh and his blood and his spirit, halved between him and the woman who dug her nails into his arm hard enough to leave bruises spotted by Garcia when the sleeve of his shirt rode up.

They had just loaded a patient onto a bed, working as a well oiled machine as he and Collins and Robby and about six others stabilized the guy laying unconscious in front of them. He took vitals, on lung duty like usual, checking breathing and O2 stats on screen. The guy had a visibly broken leg, hence, Garcia.

He reached across the patient, plucking an intubation tray out of the hands of the nurse who prepped it, directly next to where Garcia was examining said leg, knee twisted entirely to the side. He hadn't even realized the bruising was there.

"What the fuck is that, Langdon?" She asked, eyes trained directly on the hem of his sleeve before looking up to him. Just as confused, he glanced down to see what she was staring at before returning to the patient and quickly plastering on a smile. If she had said something literally anywhere else, he might've told her. He knew he could. Instead, he white lies directly through his grin. "What, you wanna know what my wife and I get up to in our spare time? Didn't peg you for the type."

It does exactly what he wanted, causes her face to scrunch up and mouth to drop open with a retort before Robby barks at them to focus, and the bruises are left behind in the bustle of keeping this man steady.

He thought about that moment, and a couple others, when he sat in his car in the driveway a year later and realized how easy it could be to leave.

It would be straightforward. Wait until she's asleep, pack some items, put the kids in the car, and go. But then, who would he go to? Who would even want him there? He wasn't going to run away to some shelter, put his kids through that, and it wasn't like Abby was beating the shit out of him. Not in the slightest. She still sat across from him on the couch, slotting her toes under his thigh and laughing when he tried to jump away from the ice cubes attacking him. She still came up next to him in the kitchen, leaned her head on his shoulder, inhaling and sighing contently at whatever he was meal prepping. He did that on his days off, made them both lunches for the week. It was part of the routine he needed to kept his head on straight when out of the chaos of the ED.

And he still tensed, if she came up behind him in the kitchen. If she put her hand on his waist, pressed lips to his jaw. But that, that he couldn't control. He had no say over involuntary reactions, so as long as he schooled it down, as long as she didn't notice, it would be fine.

He'd be able to get the kids out in less than ten minutes, if he made bags for all of them. Be able to pick them up and go. He could even put all of it into one, so, he did. A change of clothes for all three of them. It was only if things went south. If she actually started hitting him.

And then his mother called, and out of instinct rather than obligation, the need to be of service, he said yes to helping her move. His parents were getting divorced.

And then he heard a specific sound, felt a specific pain, just as they were finishing loading, and suddenly he was at the ED because he had apparently passed out.

And then, like the fucking idiot he was, he fell in love with the way his pain medication saved him from everything. He could never just keep it easy, could he?

He just made things complicated.

Frank was able to stand again for long periods of time. He had nearly cheered the first he was able to move around the kitchen for the entirety of cooking dinner, hands a little sluggish with the medication but he was alright. Now, he could do it almost every day, enjoying the way nothing ached anymore, the way his pills made him calm.

Most of all? He enjoyed that he felt no spike to move away when Abby came up next to him, running a hand over his hip and looking at what he was doing. "What are you making?"

"Rosemary chicken and wild rice." He gestured to the two burners currently being used in front of him, one housing the steaming rice and the other with the chicken breasts he was searing.

Nothing afraid moved through his stomach when she dug her nails into him, just a little, frowning. "No vegetables?"

"I can't use the back burners still, or get down long enough to put chicken in the oven." He explained with an apologetic expression, pain belatedly starting up under her hand. "I even made a plain one, just for Brooke."

She merely nodded, not complimenting, not thanking him. She ran her palm over the crescents she just pressed into him as if that would soothe things, and moved off into the house.

It was the best Frank had felt in years. He was out of pain, and she didn't scare him. He felt like himself again, if a little drugged.

Of course, he had to fuck it all up. He had to ruin the nice thing he had going, the balance he had found with her where he stopped pushing on the pinprick bruises from when she grabbed his skin and compressed, where he chuckled again at her flicking at the back of his ear.

He just has to steal from work to keep it going, keep himself and Abby happy, keep his kids with parents that loved each other, and a fucking intern found him out, poured water all over his house of cards.

The same overwhelm that had once been the reason he could breathe was stifling now. He didn't even go home when Robby shoved him out the doors, angry hands catching on wounds already given. He drove for a while, parked by a bridge he used to jog over on his morning run, and realized how easy it would be to walk off instead of deal with whatever Abby was going to do to him.

She wouldn't hurt the kids. She hadn't yet. But she would absolutely kill him if he went home and told her what he'd done.

Just a couple steps, and his life would be over in a way he didn't have to deal with.

So easy.

The wail of sirens broke the surface, making Frank gasp for air as he saw ambulance after ambulance speed by, followed closely by cars that were riding off the wake the ambulances cleared.

They weren't assholes trying to catch a ride. There were too many doing it, and when he saw just a passing glance into a truck bed and saw people, his only steps were back to his car to get to the Pitt.

He could handle Robby.

He couldn't handle Abby.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Frank? What the hell is the matter with you?" She was slamming cabinets, and he heard it reverberate through his head. He felt fake, only half trying to explain himself, not even knowing what words came out. His brain still felt like mush from the day.

"I wasn't, but look, it'll be fixed, okay? I- I have to go to rehab, but then-"

"I don't give a shit about the fact that it'll get fixed! It's the fact that you did it in the first place! What was going on inside your head?" He didn't move away when her hand lifted, when she passed by and smacked him hard enough on the side of the head that he to put a hand on the counter to steady himself before turning to keep his eyes on her. "I fucked up, I know that, but look, can we-"

Abby whirled around on him, fire blazing hot enough that it should've melted the ice coating his lungs. "We are not putting this off just because work sucked! You use that excuse so goddamn often, why did you even go into this field?"

He drew in a sharp breath, eyes narrowing. He couldn't get out of this. His back fucking burned. "There was a shooting at Pittfest today, Abby! People died, I almost had a gun pulled on me, for God's sake!"

"Boo fucking hoo, I don't care, Frank!" She pushed him, hard, his hips colliding with the counter top and fireworking pain all through his back. It made his vision blur for just a moment, almost shaking his head before he recognized the headache forming behind his eyes.

He took a small step forward, hands in front of him. "I'm just trying to explain, I've been on my feet for almost fifteen hours-"

This time he had to white knuckle the granite when she shoved him back against it again, grimacing at the way his muscles fucking buzzed with contempt. "Stop trying to excuse yourself! Stop it! Just stop!" Abby grabbed his face by the jaw, and he registered the intimate familiarity of her nails biting him, before she slammed his head back against the cabinet.

Later, when Frank was sure the concussion was just mild, checking himself in the bathroom after making sure all the red went down the drain, he limped his way back over and washed blood from the door with a paper towel.

Rehab sucked. He didn't see his kids, he didn't see Abby. He was around people all day who did things worse than he ever did, both in stories and in drug of choice. He wasn't honest when he was asked why he kept stealing. He told them about his back, not about his wife. Not about the way she ached something awful inside his chest, made his lungs constrict every time he wondered if his babies were okay with her.

She never touched them while he was there. Would she now?

The thought made him start smoking. They called it harm reduction. He called it self-medicating.

Three months later, he was released back into her custody, hand tight on his now thin upper arm as she dragged him to the car.

She knocked his head on it when she pushed him into the open passenger side.

If Frank had to pick a second point where their relationship really nose dived? That's where he'd put the marker.

He couldn't move out. He didn't have the money. Which meant he couldn't divorce her, because who in their right mind would believe the freshly out of rehab asshole over the woman who had stayed with him through everything?

It just.

Kept.

Happening.

He went back to work to eyes that followed him and cold whispers that stopped whenever he got close. They kept looking at him like he was liable to start cooking meth in the bathroom, not that he had stolen a few pills from someone who wouldn't take it anyway.

Mel was on shift with him at the end of his first week back, and he hadn't even seen the way her whole face brightened when she caught eyes on him. He only noticed when he was suddenly hugged, squeezed tighter than he had been in a long time that caused fire to spark by his spine, but he didn't pull away. Just put an arm around her in return, and let her calm down.

"I'm glad you're back." She had muttered into him before pulling away, fixing her glasses. "It's good to see you, Doctor Langdon."

He just smiled at his favorite duckling, nodding once. "Good to be back, Doctor King."

Frank didn't pick up on the way her eyes lingered on the new hollow in his smile, or how much smaller he looked in presence.

Robby barely even glanced at him except when taking the cup he had just pissed in. That stung way worse than the way a ring hit his skull, smacked upside the head for not doing the fucking dishes.

He packed a new bag for him and the kids. Spent an evening after shift when she was gone with friends to take out everything in the backpack he put in the trunk of his car years ago, and redo it.

They had just done laundry, so it was easy to pick out clothes they didn't wear often enough to be noticed missing. Shoes were harder to come up with an explanation for, so he figured he could grab them by the door.

Frank photocopied all of their important documents, put it all in plastic sleeves and into a clasping envelope. That went into the bag. He got a plastic bag full of kibble, put it in another so it wouldn't leak, and put that in as well. If he was escaping with the kids, the dog would have to come too.

After putting the backpack in his trunk, next to his first aid kit and his spare set of scrubs, he had a moment where he realized how easy it would be right now. He could grab them, the dog, he could leave. She wasn't going to be back until after midnight, she wouldn't even notice for so long. They'd be able to.

Frank got as far as standing in the doorway of the kids room before he realized he had no proof. He had no actual evidence of what was happening. He'd just be labelled a junkie kidnapping his children, running off with them with delusional thoughts of how awful his life was. They might think he relapsed, or that he'd found something else to be his vice, fill the hole left behind. He could be arrested.

He hit his head a couple of times on the doorway, light, just to try and jostle something loose in his head. An idea, a plan, anything to try and get a way out. The only thing he could think of, was to wait.

Frank repacked the bags every month. It became an easy part of his routine, something that was added to his rounds. Four weeks passed, he redoes everything. New kibble, new shirts, new socks. It also meant nothing was out of rotation long enough for it to be suspicious, for her to start noticing what was going on. A random pair of pants disappearing for a few weeks wasn't that odd when you considered the chaos of their world.

The other thing he started doing, was taking pictures.

He hated it. It made him feel dirty, and like this was real. She was actually hurting him, evidence of it on his skin as he took snapshots of bruises on his ribs and red on his cheeks. He had to give her props where it was deserved, she was generally careful about not putting anything lasting anywhere that could be noticed. That left a sour taste, though, when he realized she knew what she was doing to him. It was easy to keep it all in a hidden folder, it wasn't like she took his phone for random checks. She wasn't controlling like that.

It took nine months. Nine months, after getting out of rehab, six years into their marriage, ten into their relationship, for the bough to break under its weight and send them all toppling to the floor.

Honestly, though, the storm couldn't have picked a better day.

It was the beginning of October. He'd just repacked his bag last week, even got a couple new things for his first aid kit yesterday. Some medications were expiring, and he'd rather have stuff that actually works in an emergency. It was triggered after Dory, their dog named after the Finding Nemo fish (the kids were obsessed), got into something in the yard and had to spend tonight in observation.

As a result? Abby went out for drinks.

Frank stayed home and did bedtime with the kids.

Tanner went to bed about thirty minutes after Brooke, giving the two of them some time together as father and son. They gossiped lightly about the day, Tanner told him again about the girl in preschool who wouldn't stop crying over a dead spider they found. He tried to be interested, redirecting lightly to get him to brush his teeth after they'd been standing in the bathroom for fifteen minutes.

Maybe he should get Tanner checked for ADHD once he got old enough. Recent reports showed it might be genetic to a degree, after all.

"Alright, buddy, c'mon. Time for bed." He couldn't pick Tanner up like he used to, and that burned in his chest, but the kid didn't seem to mind. He'd gotten into a habit of skipping when getting around, anyway. "You're already past bedtime."

Tanner, for his part, groaned, tossing his head back but climbing off the stool in front of the sink anyway to head off down the hall. "Are you gonna read a story?"

Abby usually did it, even on nights he was home. She did voices, apparently, something he had never been great at. "Yeah, I'm doing the reading tonight. What are you feeling?"

He watched the kid look over the bookshelf in his room, quiet, contemplative, before suddenly lighting up and deciding. He pulled out an incredibly well worn picture book, holding it up triumphantly to show off his prize. It was Days With Frog and Toad.

Frank smiled. "Fine by me." He gestured for him to get in bed, watching Tanner clamber up. They went through what was now their routine, Frank sitting on the side of his bed as he snuggled Tanner's beat up tiger stuffie to him, pulled the now zebra striped blanket up over him, grabbing lightly at his feet to make sure they were all there and causing tired little giggles to erupt from the boy. "Settled?" He asked, resting a hand on Tanner's ankle. At Tanner's nod, he opened the book.

"Toad woke up. 'Drat!' he said. 'This house is such a mess. I have so much work to do.'.."

Halfway through the third reading, Frank's voice softer each time, Tanner's head slumped visibly to the side. He kept going, getting quieter and quieter, watching the kid for any signs of waking up, before he finally stopped altogether and got up as gently as he could. It took time, usually, to get him to fall asleep. Going this quickly must've meant he really was tired.

Frank got up, put the book back on his shelf with the collection of all the others. He looked over them, a couple higher up, away from kids that tear stuff, were Abby's delicate books taken from her childhood bedroom just to share. When they got a little older, Frank planned to read to them both some of the books he used to love as a kid. The Hobbit, The Princess Bride, fantasy books with good endings. They could always use some of those.

He was careful, clicking off the bedside lamp and catching the little light by the doorway turn on, spraying yellow stars across the ceiling to mix with the faded glow in the dark ones already up there. They probably needed replacing, now that he thought about it. It had been a while since they had gone up, put there after the first time he sat outside with Tanner longer than he should've, seeing the way the night sky reflected in eyes just realizing how big everything was in comparison.

Frank pressed a kiss to the forehead of his son, pushed some hair back from his forehead, and pulled the door mostly shut behind him so he could flick on the hallway light. Tanner liked the ability to still see out there, and no harm was done by it.

He barely got ten minutes to clean before Abby got home, carrying her heels in her hand.

"Frank?" She called, setting her shoes unceremoniously on the counter he had just wiped off, getting down a glass and a cheap wine bottle from their cabinets out of reach from little hands.

"Laundry. Kids are asleep." He responded, voice a little quieter. He started the load, closed the door for noise cancelling and walked over to her in the kitchen. "How was your night?"

She hummed, smiling a little as she picked up her now filled wine glass and putting a hand on the table for balance. She must've drank a decent amount. "Jess is moving in with her girlfriend, they're getting a cat together."

"Good for them." Frank, at one point in time, loved hearing about the gossip in her workplace. She often went out with some of the other ladies from before COVID, and every time she got back he would to sit next to her on the couch, sharing one of the wine bottles she was drinking from now, until she eventually got too giggly to continue and he sent her off to bed with sloppy lipstick kisses on his collar. At least, he used to.

Abby shrugged and sighed, rolling her head to the side in a way that sent off a little klaxon in the back of his head. "Who drove you home?" He asked in lieu of a few other questions. He hadn't recognized the car that pulled up. "Mm, April." She grinned, running a finger around the rim of her glass. "She's getting married in a few months, actually."

"Good for her." He repeated, turning his back on her to clean one of the pans he had left to soak yesterday. He left it too long, but honestly, he didn't care.

Frank heard her sigh, and the gentle scrape of her chair getting pushed away. He heard the clink as the bottle and the glass got set on the coffee table by the couch, muffled by the wall between. He heard her bare feet pat gently on the tile as she walked up behind him, and his own inhale when she toyed with the tie on his sweatpants.

"Frankie, c'mon, forget about the dishes. You can do them tomorrow." She nosed gently at the space behind his ear, going up on her toes to press lips to his jaw. "It's been a while."

The bag in the car weighed heavy on his shoulders. "My back's killing me, Abs." He dried off his hands, turning in her hold to give himself just a little more control. He smiled down at her, putting his own hands on her waist as hers shifted up to his shoulders. "In the morning, I'd be a lot more interested."

It was a half offer, a way to put this off, diffuse the situation. He wasn't even lying about his back, it really did ache, he just did not want to deal with this on top of everything.

"The kids won't be asleep when we wake up." She pouted up at him, running one hand through the hair on the back of his head, scraping her nails along his scalp. It used to be something he loved, would get him weak in the knees. All it did now was make him anticipate her digging them in harder. "Right. I'm sorry, baby, I'm sure we'll have time soon." He pressed a kiss to her, quick, easy, running his thumbs over her dress before letting go. He needed to finish dishes.

She frowned at him, eyes a little clouded. "What's been going on with you lately?" She asked, fingers tightening a little on his hair. "Ever since rehab, you've been so, so distant from me. I've been here for you through everything, Frank. I didn't have to be. Do you even still want me around?"

He blinked at her for a moment, a little caught off guard. "Of course I do." His voice was quiet, as genuine as he could make it. "Why would you think I don't?"

"Let me think." She deadpanned, pushing away from him a little. "I don't know, maybe the fact that, like right now, every time I try to initiate sex, you always have some excuse. You're tired, long day at work, you don't want to wake the kids, do you have any idea what that sounds like? Before I found out you had a drug problem, I thought you were cheating on me!"

He cringed at that, face scrunching up before he tried to smooth things out. "Yeah, I can see how that might seem. But, seriously, I've never cheated on you. Never even thought about it."

She scoffed, rolling her eyes and rounding the table. "Yeah, sure."

"Honest to God, Abby. I swear." He held his hands up, trying to show a truce. All that seemed to do was make her more upset. "What, I'm just supposed to trust everything you say? You hid an entire addiction from me, Frank! You stole from your work! You almost cost us everything we had, everything I sacrificed so you could be a doctor!"

Ow. He tried to remind himself she had been drinking, this wasn't quite her. That old saying about how drunk words are just sober thoughts floated between his ears.

He swallowed, shoulders tensing a little at how loud she was getting. "Look, maybe we should take this outside, or at least close the door, Tanner just went down and you know he's-"

"Oh my God, every time!" She laughed, throwing her hands up and picking up her heels. "Every damn time, you try and deflect, make the argument about something else, get me to shut up. Can you take responsibility for once in your life? Genuinely, is that something you can do, or are you just going to keep making everything about something else until everyone forgets how full of crap you are? Does Robby see it? Your new interns at work? Do all of them see you as easily as I do, or is that just from knowing you so long I see straight through all your bullshit?"

He took a small step back, deeper into the kitchen. He wanted to put a little distance between them and tried to hold on to his own anger by a thinning leash. It didn't work very well. "I did take responsibility! I came home and I told you exactly what I did, I fucking went to rehab! I'm sorry I screwed up our lives, Abby, I am, but it didn't just effect you!" He quickly remembered his reminder to her, concern flaring for Tanner's sleep, quieting. "You don't get to make my addiction about you."

She just stepped forward to keep him within arms reach, offense written all over her face, outrage coloring her. "Do you seriously think I would've married you if I knew you'd be a fucking junkie?? I thought by getting with a med student I wouldn't have to worry about any of that shit, Frank! That you'd be stable!"

Statistics flashed by, suicide and addiction and abuse among doctors, tinted by just the sheer sting of what she was saying. He wondered, where in him she saw stability. If she saw the guy rolling into a coffee shop with the sun rise and somehow thought that was someone who had an incredibly steady life. Maybe it was his own fault, too focused on not looking back he forgot that the past followed.

He was speaking on autopilot at this point, brain kicking left of the gear he used to diffuse in tense rooms around a sleeping body. "What do you want me to say, Abby? I'm sorry? I've said that a thousand times by this point! And again, Tanner's sleeping, so unless you want to explain why he got woken up by us shouting, lower your voice, because I am not taking the fall for that one."

It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it too.

Frank didn't have enough time to react to the shoe swung at him, held by the heel, cracking him right in the temple.

Pain exploded on the left side of his face, stumbling to the side to hit his hip into the island. Stars blossomed in his vision, twinkled in his ears, throwing off his balance. "What the fuck, Abby??" He shouted in pure instinct, bringing a hand up to where he was quickly feeling blood pour from and hissing at how tender the whole area was. Head wounds.

He only half heard her continuing. "The fall? The fall?? You're the whole fucking reason we're like this! The whole reason we're yelling in the first place! You want to talk about blame, Frank?" She advanced, making him reel backwards. He was trapped with her, in this little alleyway between the sink and the island. He needed out, sluggish thoughts going as her voice just climbed. "You want blame? All of this is on you! The shitty house, the fucking loveless marriage, the- the blood on your shirt! This is all on you!"

She swung again, hard, but this time she revved up. Even with his thoughts running a little slower, making the back of his brain yell to get his head scanned, he still saw it. Abby overcompensated, and he managed to duck, his back screamed at the movement, just as her arm came around.

It was enough. Thank God, it was enough. She lost her balance, dropping the shoe to grab onto the sink's edge, and he peddled backwards as fast as he possibly could. She lunged for him, clawing at his arm, and he pulled away to the familiar sting of nails as he beelined out the door just to slam it shut behind him, muffling the sound of her tripping.

Two options. He had two options. He could try again, try to reason with his drunk wife who had probably just given him a concussion, a laceration, his blue sleep shirt turning purple, head wounds really did bleed a lot, or he could get the fuck out.

It wasn't even a choice.

He went straight for the hallway on the other side of the living room, not hesitating for more than a second.

Frank grabbed Brooke first, shoulder ramming into the wall as he rounded the corner. His balance was in hell, but there was no way he was staying here tonight. Not after that. Not after the second attempt which really should've landed.

"Okay, sweetheart, c'mon, let's go." He muttered, wincing as his head pounded at bending over to pick her up. He barely even felt his back, but that wasn't exactly a good thing considering the amount of adrenaline needed for that. She did stir at being picked up, but not enough to wake, and he had never been more thankful to a toddler before.

Tanner was a different question.

He heard the kitchen door slam open as he ran into the kid's room, and he wondered how quickly she'd figure out where he was. As a precaution, he closed the door mostly behind him, thinking for a moment how he'd have to do this. How he could get them both out. He had one shot at this, there wouldn't be a coming back inside the house. He'd get in the car and go.

To be honest, Frank had hoped he wouldn't be awake. That somehow, he slept through the shouting. By the mildly panicked breathing he was hearing from the boy's bed, he realized how incredibly wrong he was, and once again was thankful to a child for the fact that only a few months ago, Tanner stopped needing a lamp on and settled for the hallway. It was dim in here now, which meant he wouldn't see the blood.

"Hey, hey buddy, we're gonna get out of here, okay?" He kept his voice level, quiet, adjusting his hold on Brooke as he went as fast as he could to the bed. "Nighttime drive. I've-I've got your sister already, can you sit up for me?"

Abby was coming down the hall. He could hear her. God, when did he become so aware of what she sounded like? Her footsteps? That was a cliche on television, not the way he thought about his wife. Tanner finished waking up fast, to his credit, bolting upright in bed, one hand still clutching tight onto his tiger.

"There you go." He smiled on pure instinct, Tanner couldn't see it. "I need you to stay really close to me, and do exactly what I say. Can you do that? Yeah? Good boy, alright." He took his hand, helping him out of bed, eyes focused on the light filtering in through the cracks in the doorway. So close, so damn close, just needed to get out there, needed an opening, had to figure out how to get past her. She wouldn't hurt the kids, right?

"Where the fuck are you, Frank??"

He heard the door to their bedroom slam, probably putting a dent in the wall with how hard the handle would've hit, and Frank took the chance. He didn't know if he'd get another one, and he needed the kids away from here.

Trying to juggle rushing a four year old along without scaring him, holding a toddler starting to squirm awake, only mostly being able to see, and feeling a bit like the entire world was swaying back and forth was an experience Frank seriously, genuinely, with every ounce of his heart, hated. The only sensation he had in his hands was cold, mirrored in his chest and stomach. There wasn't panic, not like how he thought there'd be. None of this was how he thought it'd be. Maybe it was shock. Maybe she'd beaten him bloody on the floor of the kitchen and this was all a dream, a last hope before brain death.

Just a little farther. They were out of the hallway. He was half dragging Tanner, who was starting to realize something was wrong. Mostly because he looked up, and Frank felt him gasp, hurrying up a little just to ask questions. Shit.

"Daddy?? What happened to your face?" Tanner asked, a slight edge to his voice. He really must look way worse than he felt, shifting his hold on Brooke. He could make it, though, he could. They would. Had to. Frank let go of Tanner just for long enough to grab his keys off the hook, taking hold of his hand instantly after undoing the bolt lock. His back was starting to break through the adrenaline rush, putting a timer on how long they had.

Well, that and the fact that Abby figured out where he was when as he was opening the door.

"What the hell are you doing??"

A wine glass shattered against the wall by his head, spraying crystal over the three of them. Tanner shouted, grabbing onto Frank's leg. He really wished he had the time to grab them shoes. "C'mon buddy, out the door, let's go, to the car." A more frantic note took over his voice, feeling coming back to his hands just enough to make him aware they might be shaking.

So close. So fucking close. He heard a small clunk sound behind him, and running on nerves and what he later realized was fear, Frank moved to block Tanner as he shoved him outside, shifting Brooke to rest more on his front, much to the poor girl's displeasure.

It wasn't a moment too soon, either, because it turned out she had grabbed the bottle and threw it as hard as she could at them, not intending to miss this time. This was an entirely different pain from the heel, a different kind of striking from the glass. This was burst on his back, drenching him in a half finished bottle and sending shrapnel through his shirt and into his skin, little green pellets to scatter across the floor, into his hair, in Brooke's.

If he hadn't moved, it would've hit Tanner.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Abby!" He shouted over his shoulder, one last look at her.

She looked deranged. There wasn't a nice way to put it. She was red in the face, strands of hair loose around her cheeks where they'd been pulled out over the night. Over the last, what, twenty minutes? Her lipstick was a little rubbed of from use, and he realized he must have marks on his neck from earlier. She tended to wear something that rubbed off, just so she could leave red kisses on him.

The thing that pulled all the air from his lungs, though? There weren't any tears in her eyes. No regret. No apology. Not like the times when they were younger when it was a genuine accident she hurt him. She would press a hand over the reddening patch, teasingly kiss it better, fuck's sake, she'd say she was sorry. There wasn't any of that tonight.

Frank hardly recognized her.

He shut the door as hard as he could behind him before she could decide on a next move, not bothering to try with locking it.

Tanner was halfway down the driveway, anxiously shifting from foot to foot, staring up at him with wide eyes when he caught up to him, retaking his hand to lead him to the car. "What happened? Why did Mom do that? Why are you bleeding?" He was asking valid, very valid questions that he barely had the cognizance to answer right now.

"Mom's very drunk right now and is making some really bad decisions, so we're gonna go, and she's gonna calm down. Can you buckle yourself in?" He half pushed Tanner into the car, watching him climb over to his car seat as he strapped Brooke down. She was awake now, probably from all the jostling, and pulling a little at his shirt when she was put down. She was tired, and upon inspection, had a few small cuts on her forehead.

Fucking hell.

He reached over and checked Tanner's job once both kids were done, moving into a more settling anxiety since they were outside and he hadn't heard the door open again. He redid one of them, it didn't click originally, but smiled anyway. "Good job, buddy."

Frank knew, full well, he was not fit to drive. He felt woozy, one eye was squinted and half closed. His entire body ached, even through the rush of epinephrine, and that didn't bode super well for whenever they wore off permanently. Beyond that, there was a gnawing, churning pit opening up in his stomach, only sloshing worse when he got behind the wheel and buckled himself in. He'd told countless patients not to do the exact thing he was about to do.

The car sputtered, just for a moment, long enough for him to feel a wave of nausea over him, and then it gave mercy, the engine roar being the best sound he'd heard in a long time. When he turned his head to look as he backed up, dropping one wheel off the curb as he did so and making him cringe as he realized there was probably glass in his back, he tried incredibly hard to not think about the way Tanner's eyes jumped from the blood on his face to the blood on his arm to the mirror, where he had learned recently he could make faces just for his parents to see.

It took about a minute, for Tanner to ask.

"Where are we going?" He said, small, voice wet. Frank was white knuckling the wheel, not entirely certain what direction he was heading in. "Somewhere safe." He settled on, and didn't trust himself to glance back when he heard small sniffles.

Abby sighed, running a hand over his thigh. She was settled between his legs on a lounge chair, back against his chest, his arms around her waist. It was a peaceful day, out camping with friends who were swimming in the lake nearby as they rested on the sand, guardians of their belongings. She tilted her head back, watching him for long enough for him to look down at her. "What?" He asked, quiet as to not break the moment. She had stared a little longer before nuzzling into his collar. "Just like looking at you."

He turned the corner, taking a deep breath as he did. He didn't know if Abby would follow. They had another car, her car, but that didn't mean she'd try and chase him. She only knew the address of a few of his work friends, most of which weren't even home yet. While it would've technically ended almost an hour ago, final rounds and handoff took so long most nights they were probably just finishing up.

"You need to take better care of your hands, sweetheart, I know you know this. I got you compression gloves for a reason." Frank told her as gently as he could, massaging her right palm and wrist. He came off shift to her half asleep with an icepack on her arm, having overdone it with typing the whole day and drawing the entire evening. "I know, I know. You tell me enough." She groaned as he hit a tender spot, and he worked it. "I like these hands, I want you to keep having them." He smiled at her huff, pressing a kiss over the small patch on her wrist.

He couldn't go to Robby's, he was always last off shift, and he might not even answer the door, all things considered. Not like he could show up at Abby's parents' house, tell them their daughter just scared the daylights out of their kids and made him look like a horror movie victim. He stopped at a red light, continuing when it turned green. He was realizing now that, shockingly, he didn't actually have that many friends. Especially not since making a fool of himself in such a spectacular way.

Frank had stood in the kitchen for God knows how long, head in his hands and his elbows up on the island. He didn't even hear Abby open the kitchen door, wrapped in her robe and one of his shirts, arms crossed tight over her chest. It was cold. "What are you still doing in your scrubs?" She frowned, soft, walking over next to him. "Frank? Honey?" She prompted, putting a hand on his shoulder when he didn't respond. He turned then, put his arms around her tight and pulled her close as he physically could, burying his face into the fluff. "Oh- Okay, okay, baby, it's okay." She soothed, one hand rubbing between his shoulder blades and the other resting on the back of his head, running her down with the grain of his hair as he cried and shook apart in the safety of her.

Maybe a police station? He still wasn't very keen on a shelter. It wasn't too late for a lot of them, but most of the ones he found in his research catered towards women. He got it, he did, but it made him seriously wonder what his choices were here. If he called, told them what was going on, that opened the door to a few more of the people he worked with. Cassie had Harrison this weekend, but she might be willing to help him just for the night. He turned down another road. Dana would probably, minimum, have resources. Despite appearances, he was pretty sure Yolanda would be sympathetic. He just wasn't sure.

He couldn't stop driving. He knew if he did, not only would Tanner want out of the car, but he didn't think he'd be able to focus again long enough to keep them going. Even now, he was working entirely on autopilot, moving the car and navigating traffic only half aware of what he was doing. It felt like standing outside the window looking in, not like this was actually happening. Not like he himself was running away from Abby, shirt soaked through with wine and blood, two scared kids without shoes in the backseat. He needed medical care. He wanted to look over the kids. He needed somewhere to go.

Frank blinked, and he was at the crossing before PTMC. He had insurance here. The kids did. They'd be able to document everything. They'd know it wasn't some random person, probably. He could explain, he had the photos, he technically had witnesses. And, they were people he could trust with his kids.

Once the light turned, he pulled into the parking lot. Guest, since, y'know, he was. His day off, and somehow, he ended up back here.

He felt himself be half dragged back into his body, suddenly and violently aware of how much every ounce of him hurt.

Frank could come back for the backpack, once the kids were looked at. Yeah, that's what he'd do. "We're here." He said to sort of no one in particular, getting out of the car. His feet were rough against the asphalt, but he was glad that at least Tanner wore socks to bed. He'd teased him for it in the past, and now, it was one of the very few things he had going for him. He got out Brooke, realizing he had put red fingerprints on her when he picked her up.

"Okay, buddy, you're gonna hafta be real careful walking since we don't have shoes on. Pay, pay attention to the floor as you go, alright?" He explained to Tanner once they were out. He had a small cut above his eye now, matching his, and it made him want to either throw up or sob.

Instead, he took his hand, and moved them across the parking lot.

He didn't even notice he was going to the back entrance until he smelled cigarette smoke and heard Dana shout. One hell of a paying attention example he was putting on for his kids.

There was a lot of motion, suddenly. Voices he knew, people he'd seen. He pushed at a hand (Dana, again) pulling him inside. It was bright, so fucking bright, and he winced at the way the world suddenly lit on fire. Movement and noise and smell, somebody touching him that he pushed away again. Somebody else grabbed lightly at Brooke and he panicked suddenly at the thought of anyone he didn't know taking her or Tanner away. What if Abby showed up? They couldn't give them to her, he didn't know what she'd do with them. He never thought she'd hurt them and then she threw a bottle at their son. Their son.

Just as fast as it appeared, the everything went away. He was pushed into a room, it seemed. Where did they find one of those? Did he even need it? A quick glance down reminded him both kids were still with him. His shirt was still purple. It hadn't been an hour ago. The noise was muffled now, and while there wasn't much to be done about the lights, having the sensation of too much all the time suffocating him split in half really did wonders for his mental clarity.

He blinked, and Robby and Dana were in front of him, Mel stood a little off to the side.

"Frank?" Robby asked, voice soft. The same voice he used for scared patients, he realized. "Where are your shoes, man?"

It was just absurd enough of a question that it shook him back into reality, lips cracking where they split into a smile. It made his cheek throb. "Can you, can you look at the kids? They have some cuts." He said instead, his arm aching where he slowly let his hold on Brooke ease. "We were in a bit of a hurry, I didn't have time to grab shoes."

He could feel the alarms raise in all three of their heads, Robby glancing over to where Dana already had a Tanner clinging to her leg. Frank didn't really pay attention to whatever exchange was held, but soon enough, he was handing his girl over to one of the few people he trusted with her and spent a few seconds telling them it was okay. Dana leaned down and muttered something that had Robby nod, and off they went.

Robby sighed, standing up once the girls (and Tanner) were gone. He pulled on gloves from the wall, the sound of latex echoing as they snapped on. They both just sat there for a moment, staring at each other, before Robby sighed again and sat back down on the stool to begin.

"What happened?" He asked after a beat, not touching yet. Not prodding. A quiet protocol they had for victims of any kind, which, he guessed he was now.

"The sole of a high heel, Abby's acrylics, wine bottle." He pointed to each injury as he said it, blinking a couple times to clear his head. "Fuck, um, can you tell Mel and Dana to be careful with the kids? It's, it's glass, that caused.. that." He gestured a hand vaguely to the side, off to where his kids disappeared to.

He nodded but didn't make any move to do so. "How'd they get cuts from glass?" The same level tone. It would've been grating if he hadn't been so damn tired.

"Same way I got the ones on my back. Abby threw shit at me, and they got caught in the crossfire. I tried my best, Robby, I swear, but I didn't even realize she had the glass the first time until it exploded on the wall by the door."

".. Okay." Robby nodded, seeming to process a whole bunch of things at once. "Abby, did this."

"Yep."

He knew the question was coming before it was said. "Is this the first time?"

"I'm pretty sure you can make an educated guess on that one." He rolled his shoulders with a sudden wince, breathing out slowly. Now or never. Do or die. Whatever other sayings there were for leaping off a cliff and hoping there wasn't spikes below. "I've got a, a folder on my phone. I've been trying to figure out how to leave her for months, just started documenting everything. I can show you when I can look at a phone screen again."

That seemed to kick Robby into gear, leaning forward and taking Frank's face in his hand, tilting it down to look at the laceration on his head. "Blunt force?" A small nod. "Feel like you've got a concussion?"

"I don't know how much of it is concussion and how much is what the fuck just happened, but I'd say probably. She got me pretty good."

Robby's 'okay' was quieter than usual, gently prodding at the skin and getting a hiss in return. "She sure did, this'll need stitches and a good clean. I'm ordering you a CT to look for anything fractured, but nothing feels broken. Can I see your arm?"

He held it out politely, looking down at the marks with him. They stung a lot worse than they looked, not bleeding too badly. "I'll wash these when I was your head, but they should heal fine. Think you can take off your shirt or do you need some help with it?"

Despite the lack of judgement in Robby's voice, Frank still gave him a look. "Least buy my dinner first." He huffed, glad to see the mild amusement that brought his friend before grimacing a bit and managing to get off his shirt by himself, turning to let Robby looked it over. "It looks like your shirt sustained most of the damage, these all look alright. A couple need a stitch or two, but it's not too terrible."

At least he wouldn't be busy for too long. Frank nodded, looking back up as Robby went over to the computer to put in the orders. Quiet came over them both, requests being made, and he even dipped out of the room to grab a passing by Santos to ask for a suture tray. To her credit, she only stared for a second or three before nodding and going off to get it.

With nothing life threatening, Robby gave him some gauze to hold to his head, and stood there a moment.

"What's, with the lipstick on your neck, Frank?"

This time, Frank did look away, reminding himself Robby had to ask. He had to. It was part of his job, it was part of the investigation they were going to have to do, it would benefit him in court if his doctor heard so soon after everything what caused this. Telling him did nothing but help him and tear his dignity apart, but at this point in time, shirtless and bleeding, how much dignity did he have left?

He sighed, dropping his chin for a moment before lifting it to look at Robby. "You want an actual answer?"

He could see Robby get even more uncomfortable at that, but affirmed anyway.

"I was doing the dishes, she started kissing on me, and got pissed when I told her I didn't want to have sex tonight. And, and I'm only telling you this because I know you have to ask and I'm not gonna make you, yes, this has happened before." He pursed his lips, shrugged his good shoulder, and watched Robby's heart fall into his feet where it broke on impact.

"Jesus.." Robby muttered to himself, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. His eyes went to the floor, then up at the ceiling, then back to Frank where they lingered, traced over the blood drying tacky into his waistband, the bruising now blooming pretty on his face, and he could see Robby go through every interaction they'd had in the last five years of knowing each other to see if he could've spotted it. If he could've helped.

If anyone could've.

The moment was broken by Santos returning, holding the tray, handing it over with another long look at Frank. He just gave her a small wave, before stuttering a moment when she went to leave. "Hey- can you, can you check on my kids? Just make sure they're okay? Dana and Mel are with them, I-, I just don't want them scared." Not any more than they already were hung between them, and she deferred her gaze to Robby before nodding. "Yeah. Sure, yeah, I'll, I'll do that." With another look between them, she left, putting him and Robby back into that same silence from before.

It stayed like that as Robby exchanged gloves, removed the gauze, and began the process of cleaning his head wound.

Robby's hands were gentle. They were sure, and steady. They were harsh at times, shoving and rageful and scared, but they were saviors. Robby's hands cleaned the blood from his face, quickly but not rushed. Did the stitch job efficiently. They moved on from his head to his back to his arm, checking in with him in little murmured asks if he could feel anything, if this hurt, if he needed a break.

When it was all done, and his gloves were tossed, and he sat down on that damned stool instead of walking out of the room, and asked Frank, with that air of knowing and apology that he'd longed for since first being forced out the doors by the hands that just repaired him, if he wanted to talk about it, who was he to say no?