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Sticky: (Mostly) Friends Only
Abel held up his hands, helpless. “She’s sitting in my house holding Cissy’s hand this very minute! She gave me her valise before I left the house, and I thought sure she’d send an errand boy to fetch it back tomorrow. But no, not an hour ago she walked right up to my door, determined as you please, and I do believe she intends to stay despite how the whole damned ruck of Stirlings must be throwing a tantrum as we speak. The spunk of the girl! The ways of Providence are strange.”
Life was full of surprises, but in Barney’s experience, people generally weren’t. Oh, people had surprised him before, in his callow youth, but that was because he hadn’t understood who they really were. Once you got down to someone’s true character, you could see that they’d been who they were all along. People mostly kept doing just what they’d been doing their whole lives, what they’d been brought up to do. Of course he’d met a handful of those who bucked tradition and struck out on their own, but he hadn’t expected to find one in Deerwood.
“Is it Providence?” he asked. “That seems as clear a demonstration of free will as anything I’ve ever heard.”
Five times Valancy Stirling surprises Barney Snaith.
Frank’s biological father is a non-entity, Mel decides, either in actuality (as in Frank doesn’t ever think about him) or at least in his relationship with her (as in he does think about him but doesn’t want to discuss it), so she’s honestly forgotten that he even exists until the day they walk out of PTMC towards the parking lot and a sudden, rough voice says, “Frankie,” and Frank goes so stiff beside her that it scares her.
Frank never talks about his dad.
Everyone should have known that Frank Langdon's getaway would be as showy as possible.
Mel and Frank in 100-word slices.
Santos takes longer to put two and two together. It gives Langdon enough time to increase the collateral damage.
[Or: exactly 500 words of how it could have been]
rounding the bases, we're headed for home (47406 words) by Lirazel
Chapters: 6/6
Fandom: The Pitt (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Melissa "Mel" King/Frank Langdon
Characters: Melissa "Mel" King, Frank Langdon, The Pitt (TV) Ensemble, Trinity Santos, Samira Mohan
Additional Tags: Post-Season/Series 01, Divorced Frank Langdon, Developing Relationship, Demisexuality, Loss of Virginity, i don't think mel is a virgin but i'm writing this anyway, mel accidentally cockblocks herself, by underestimating how horny she'll be for frank, meanwhile he's just trying to be a gentleman, horndog!mel, horny virgin rights, body image stuff, cliche baseball metaphors, (apologies to the non-americans), if i was very cheesy i would subtitle this 'or how mel king hit her first home run', but i'm not THAT cheesy, mel knows what she wants and frank is going to give it to her, basically mel is a rollercoaster and frank is just along for the ride, just so much talking about sex and sexuality, and what people want and why, alan alda is the secret guest star
Series: Part 2 of batting 1.000
Summary:
“I want to, uh, cover all the bases, which I know is a silly metaphor, but I think I’m beginning to understand it now, and I don’t want to skip any of them, I know theoretically how they all work, but it might take me a while to master them, and I want to make sure that I’m competent at each thing before we do the next thing, but I already know I want to do the next thing and the next thing because, Frank, I want you so badly that sometimes I think I’m going into cardiac arrest.” She stops abruptly, a little breathless from the string of words and from realizing what she just said and how wide Frank’s eyes have gone.
Mel really did think she wanted to take it slow. Turns out she didn't know herself at all.
“Frank.”
The name isn’t loud, especially in the rising din of the ER, but something about the raw terror in it makes Jessa’s heart leap. She spins around to look at Dr. King, and finds that her face is so white that Jessa reaches out unconsciously to grab her by the arms and steady her. She remembers just in time that Dr. King doesn’t like to be touched except by a very few people (Dr. Landgon, Dr. Mohan, occasionally Dr. Santos) and she jerks her hands back.
“Dr. King? Are you okay?”
She keeps her head down, focuses on work and Becca and studying for boards, and all the time, she’s thinking of Emily.
Mel had thought she was so pretty and cool, the first time Dad brought her to dinner. Emily wasn’t the only guest—there had been at least two other grad students invited, too, but Mel only remembers Emily’s red-brown hair tumbling over her shoulders, the hazel eyes that looked almost as big as an anime character’s, the way she talked with her hands about the Victorian novels that lined the bookshelves in Dad’s study. After dinner, Mel and Becca had agreed that Emily looked like a Disney princess, and when Becca said something about it a few days later to Mom, Mel didn’t understand why Mom’s laughter was brittle.
“I need to get AAA,” she says, and he glances up to see her bouncing in place to keep warm, her breath streaming out of her mouth like dragon’s smoke. Her coat is one of those puffer ones, all down and nylon, but her pants aren’t thick enough for standing outside for this long. “It’s not that expensive, I just keep forgetting and—”
“You do not need to get AAA,” he says, cranking at the jack. The metal is biting cold against his hand—he didn’t stop to get gloves before he ran out of the house, which was stupid but whatever—and the grit of the road shoulder is digging into his knees through his jeans—at least it’s dry; it hasn’t snowed in a while—but like hell is he going to let her spend her precious money on getting somebody else to come change her fucking tire. No matter what it does to his back. “You need to call me, which is what you did.”
“I didn’t want to,” she says, and he shouldn’t feel that like a kick to his ribs, but he does. “Becca insisted.” Thank you, Becca. He makes a mental note to buy her that Cricut she’s been eyeing.
Five times Frank Langdon takes care of Mel King (and one time she takes care of him)
“I need to get AAA,” she says, and he glances up to see her bouncing in place to keep warm, her breath streaming out of her mouth like dragon’s smoke. Her coat is one of those puffer ones, all down and nylon, but her pants aren’t thick enough for standing outside for this long. “It’s not that expensive, I just keep forgetting and—”
“You do not need to get AAA,” he says, cranking at the jack. The metal is biting cold against his hand—he didn’t stop to get gloves before he ran out of the house, which was stupid but whatever—and the grit of the road shoulder is digging into his knees through his jeans—at least it’s dry; it hasn’t snowed in a while—but like hell is he going to let her spend her precious money on getting somebody else to come change her fucking tire. No matter what it does to his back. “You need to call me, which is what you did.”
“I didn’t want to,” she says, and he shouldn’t feel that like a kick between his ribs, but he does. “Becca insisted.” Thank you, Becca. He makes a mental note to buy her that Cricut she’s been eyeing.
Five times Frank Langdon takes care of Mel King (and one time she takes care of him)
“Melissa? Melissa King?”
He turns to see—oh, fuck—a pack of young women in sun dresses, one, a curvy brunette, sporting a sash with the word ‘bride’ written on it in glittery loops. The bride is—fuck, she’s hugging Mel and not noticing (acknowledging?) how Mel is shrinking away from her. He takes a step to intervene, but Bridezilla finally lets go, and he pauses.
“Hi Miranda.” He’s standing behind her, so he can’t see Mel’s face; her voice is polite but dull, and her shoulders are up by her ears. He feels himself tense up.
“I’ve got an idea,” A-Cheng says finally. Then, with effort: “About A-Xian.”
“Tell me,” Jiang Yanli says.
“It’s crazy.” He hasn’t looked at her since he sat down, but now he glances at her out of the corner of his eyes, like he’s gauging her reaction.
She laughs, a little laugh. “It’s A-Xian,” she says, spreading her hands as though that explains everything. (It does. Nothing has ever been orthodox, not with A-Xian.)
The corner of A-Cheng’s mouth jerks up, but the smile doesn’t quite bloom. He shakes his head, the lock of hair falling back down to brush against his cheekbone. “What if I—” Shakes his head again, pulls his shoulders back like he’s pulling on his Zongzhu robes. “I’m going to marry him.”
-or-
Let's fix everyone's problems through marriage. Chengxian-style!
She couldn’t say, I’m trying to figure out a way to live with all this longing, and in the meantime, I’m embarrassed and a little bit resentful. Not out loud.
Or:
Mel thought everything would get easier when he came back. Instead, it's a new kind of torture.
“Does she know?” Cassie asks.
“No. Fuck, I hope not.” The thought of Mel having any idea of the cesspool of emotion inside him terrifies him. He knows her well enough to be pretty sure that she wouldn’t be disgusted or scared, but she might feel pressure, feel awkward. She might pull away. He’d rather die.
“Four more months. Are you going to tell her?”
He can’t even begin to answer that.
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