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"Well, shit," Sara swears, low and even from the central nurse's station.
"Don't say things like that without context," Robby says, looking up from the monitor in front of him. "Might think you actually mean something bad."
Sara, a tall, athletic looking blonde woman who would probably look more at home on a basketball or volleyball court than in scrubs, glances his way. Post Pittfest, post a sudden and unexpected attitude change from Gloria and upper management, Sara had been one of the new but welcome changes.
So had Michelle, Will, and Conner, plus a few other new nurses who primarily worked night shift. It wasn't quite a fix, but the extra hands meant schedules were a little easier to manage, time off not quite so hard to come by, and times like this, close to the holidays, more senior staff could take the time to be with families.
Sara wasn't Dana. No one could really be Dana. But she was still a welcome face.
She's frowning at her phone, brow furrowed and readers at the end of her nose. She can't be much older than some of the residents, maybe in her early 30s. The readers make him smile, though, and he tugs off his own.
"The MVA traumas that just got wheeled up? They were in accidents on 295 across the river." She thumbs at the screen once more before sliding her glasses up on top of her head. It makes her bangs stick up like a little crest of feathers, and Robby keeps his eyes on her face with a deliberate focus. "That's my way home."
Robby makes a quiet noise, hopefully appropriately sympathetic. The storm system that had been hammering the east coast hadn't spared Pittsburgh, even as far inland as they are, and more often than not, someone or another was late or just out entirely because of the roads. Accidents were another layer of irritation, and half the time, staff came in grumbling from the get-go. He's glad his townhouse is close enough to walk, even if he's had to start strapping Yak Trax on his boots for the short trip home.
It doesn't mean its any less busy, especially tonight. Two days before Christmas, it seems like not only is all of Pittsburgh in its best, accident-prone form, but so are all its visiting family members, too.
He doesn't get a chance to respond before the word of another incoming trauma interrupts him, and he's back up and working.
The next three hours are a blur of faces and cases; a broken arm, alcohol poisoning, and three car accidents to go along with the two he'd already dealt with this shift. When the last one gets wheeled out towards the elevator and a waiting surgical suite upstairs, he's left rubbing his back with a soft groan, staring after the (mostly stable) teenager for a long moment before he realizes Langdon is still in the room with him.
The other man had already tugged off his gown and gloves, clear glasses held limply in one hand while he pokes at his phone with a focused, unhappy expression. Before Robby can slip away, he looks up.
"Did you hear about this?" He offers unhelpfully, his eyes still sharp, even hours into their shift.
That'd been an adjustment, one he didn't realize he needed to happen. Langdon— clear eyed and focused. Sober.
"Care to narrow it down?" Robby asks dryly, eyes flickering down to Langdon's phone before back up to the man's face.
"Half the bridges across the river are closed." Langdon's face is clouded with irritation, and he drops Robby's gaze as he speaks. "And every other route east is backed up for miles."
"Sara said something about that, the tamponade from a couple hours ago was in the wreck that closed 295 down."
Langdon makes a short, irate noise, and shoves his phone back in his pocket, finally seeming to realize he still had his safety glasses in the other hand. He's spinning to stick them in the bin when Robby finally speaks.
"Is there an issue?"
Robby's a little surprised with himself for even asking. Langdon looks almost as taken aback.
"I- uh." Langdon blinks for a moment, like it might make the conversation make more sense. "I live out in Regents Square, now."
"Shit—" Robby laughs before he can stop himself. "Yeah, I— I see your problem."
"It'll be hours to get out there with this bullshit," Langdon grumbles, and Robby can't even get out a slightly more sympathetic response before the other man is backing out of the room with a stormy expression.
Robby would feel bad later. When he's home, changed out of his scrubs, and isn't stuck in traffic. Eventually.
For better or for worse, they're kept busy. Another accident (motorcycle this time), a compound fracture from a slip on the ice, and an infected surgical site that nearly put the patient into septic shock before he'd dragged himself back into the ER all keep him moving and away from Sara, and therefore away from the main thoroughfare for gossip in the department.
"He's spending it alone, y'know." Sara's voice is a little commiserating, the next time Robby pauses long enough to sit and try and catch up on his charting. "Isn't that a bummer?"
Robby has to work to drag his focus away from the computer screen and back onto Sara. He's still trying to remember if 'cauda equina' has a second 'e' in it or not when her words finally register.
"Who?" Robby asks absently, before his brain catches up. "Langdon? I— I hadn't heard." It's not his business. Certainly not his place to ask, even abstractly, given… everything.
"Mhm. He was asking if I thought I'd need another body on Christmas day, was offering to come in."
Robby is about to open his mouth to point out that he was also spending it working, when the phone rings. He doesn't have to hear the other side of the conversation to know it's another MVA, and he swears softly as he saves his work and pushes himself to his feet.
The storm doesn't let up, and neither do the incoming patients. He's not sure if he's just particularly eager for this shift to end, or if it really is worse than years past, but by the time he throws in the last suture to hold in the ET tube from his latest crike, he's itching to get home.
He's grateful to hand off to the night shift, walking in step with Shen as he recounts the last few hours and the left over boarders in the rooms and halls with an increasing number of yawns punctuating his sentences.
"You're not about to fall asleep at the wheel on the way home, are you, boss?" Shen asks, his tone only half joking as he glances back over his shoulder at a patient waiting for a med/surg bed upstairs.
"I walked," Robby tells him, but it doesn't do much to reassure Shen, if only based on his expression.
"Just stay away from busy streets for me, okay?" His grin is puckish, and Robby can't help but return it as he turns to collect his things.
His good humor lasts through him tucking his stethoscope into his backpack, hunting down his travel mug from this morning and filling it with break room coffee for the walk home, and patting his pockets to make sure his phone is on him. It lasts as he bids goodnight to Sara, who's pulling a double, and as he turns towards the lockers where his heavier winter coat is stuffed inside, probably still damp from the snow this morning.
It lasts right until his eyes land on Langdon, still sitting in front of his computer, with no apparent move to get up and head home.
He's tired. His feet hurt, his elbow is still aching from where he'd accidentally knocked it into the rolling x-ray machine a few hours ago, and he's got to walk home in the increasingly wet and miserable looking storm outside. He should leave.
"Something keeping you here, Frank?" He asks instead, pitched softly enough it doesn't draw attention of anyone besides the man in front of him.
Langdon looks up at him. His eyes are wide and blue and so familiar it makes something ache in Robby's chest, deep behind his sternum, like he's pressing on a bruise and can't decide if he should stop.
"No— I mean, nothing work related." He wets his lips, and Robby doesn't look down at the flash of pink, no matter how distracting. "Just—" Langdon waves generally, out towards the ambulance bay doors. "That."
Robby nods, attention flickering over towards the doors and the rubber mats that got set halfway to the hub, just to try and contain the wet puddle of half melted snow that got dragged in on the wheels of each gurney. It makes his teeth ache, even in the relative warmth of the Pitt.
"That," Robby agrees mildly, and his fingers tighten on the strap of his backpack where it digs into his shoulder.
"I figured I'd crash in one of the on call rooms, save myself a headache of a drive home. I work tomorrow, anyways." Langdon continues without prodding, a little faster than usual. "So. I have time for exceptionally thorough charting." His lips press into a flat line, a tepid attempt at a smile, and Robby—
He should go home.
"I've got soup," Robby says without preamble.
Robby's caught again in that wide, blue-eyed stare, this time paired with the dark furrow of Langdon's eyebrows and a half opened mouth, like Robby might have finally cracked.
(Again. Permanently. More thoroughly.)
"Soup?"
"Soup—" Robby cuts him off, eyes drifting to his ear, then the monitor on his desk; anything besides Langdon's increasingly confused face as the words come out of him of their own volition. "I made it yesterday, and it's— it kind of sucks, but either I end up eating it because it feels wasteful to throw it out, or I feed a bunch of it to you and limit the amount I end up inflicted with, so." He swallows, and makes himself meet Langdon's eyes again. "Soup."
Robby has a brief moment of horrified suspension, where he's certain Langdon will deflect, thank him for the bizarre and not particularly welcoming invitation, and turn back to his work. He doesn't know why it matters— it doesn't matter— when Langdon blinks and slowly nods.
"I— Uh. Okay. Soup." He glances back at the screen, fingers flexing over the keyboard as he glances at his work, and Robby feels the need to speak again.
"I mean— I've got a guest room, too, you— you know that, I just—"
"No, I—" Langdon looks up, and his expression loses some of the startled edge. "Thanks, Robby. Sounds better than driving home right now."
Maybe the ease of leaving together should startle Robby. Watching Langdon gather his things, a little rushed, all as Robby tries to avoid the curious glance Sara throws his way before Robby can avoid it feels easy. And when they step out into the cold, they fall into step like they'd never stopped.
It's hard to think about, most days. Langdon, a fresh-faced resident with a young wife who was just barely into her second trimester when he'd started. His anxiety about bringing something home to her as they dealt with surge after surge of covid patients, and how Robby had offered his guest room without a second thought.
Having another person in his space, even with the stress and anxiety and dread that colored his memory of that time, had kept him balanced. Someone who understood, even if Langdon didn't carry some of the same baggage that Robby had, the ones that had floated along after him all the way from New Orleans and Katrina until they'd washed up on the banks of the Allegheny river.
Langdon— Frank had been there. He'd understood the stress, the fear, and hadn't judged Robby when he'd sat on the porch and chain smoked his way through half a pack, or balked when Robby had needed to talk about something, anything other than the sound of mechanical ventilators and the beeps of monitors, even until his voice was hoarse.
Adamson had changed things. Tanner had changed things.
The short walk home, over icy sidewalks with rapidly growing piles of fresh snow, his shoulder brushing with Langdon's and icy snowflakes clinging to their hair and eyelashes, feels like it takes them back four years. Maybe it should be bittersweet.
When Robby ushers them up the steps of his rowhouse, both of them stomping snow off their shoes and shivering a little, it doesn't feel bittersweet.
He's laughing when they step in, amused and a little apologetic, as Langdon toes off his shoes and glares down at his soaking socks. Robby might've worn the right boots to walk home, but Langdon certainly hadn't.
"And you do that every day?" Langdon asks incredulously, dropping his backpack by the door and staring down forlornly.
"Uphill both ways," Robby confirms, and the amusement in his voice is obvious enough that Langdon sends him an icy look. It only makes another laugh rise up in Robby's throat.
"Shit— okay, hold on." He kicks off his own boots in a damp pile next to Langdon's, and when he sets his bag down next to the other man's, it's with a sense of deja vu. He makes himself keep his back to Langdon as he trots upstairs to his bedroom, and when he returns back down a few minutes later, clad in a hoodie and clean sweats, he offers a dry pair of socks and sweats to Langdon.
It's only as Langdon takes them that Robby wonders if it was too much. Too— familiar. Too comfortable. It's been a long time since they were defacto roommates, and he's about ready to pull them back when Langdon looks up with an inscrutable expression.
"Thanks," he murmurs, and before Robby can respond, slips away to the guest bathroom just down the hall.
It's a welcome distraction to head to the kitchen, and start pulling out food for them both. He doesn't quite know what the hell he's doing here, and as he listens to the soft sounds of someone else in his space, he finds his attention drifting. It's not until the soup is quietly bubbling on the stovetop and he's got a bowl full of cheddar he's shredded that he hears Langdon trot back in.
"It smells alright," is the first thing he says as he comes closer, and Robby startles at the words.
"What— oh, yeah." He shrugs, and stirs it again. "I mean, I didn't invite you here to poison you."
Robby isn't sure what he expects in response, but the slightly bitter noise Langdon makes wasn't it. He sends a glance at Langdon, who misinterprets his look and instead reaches into the cabinet to get out bowls.
It's enough of a surprise, stupidly enough, that Langdon takes his silence as an invitation.
"I mean. You'd have your reasons, I guess." He raises his eyebrows, a clear attempt at brushing away some of the uncomfortable tension that had sprung up around them, and looks down at the pot. "Is that hot?"
With a sudden gust of wind that rattles the windows, the room clicks into darkness.
"This is just embarrassing." Langdon's voice is close, and when Robby twists his head to look at him, his expression is bemused.
Langdon looks completely at home, sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, a bowl of soup in his hand and his socked feet twitching back and forth, and Robby sends him a glare. The only light currently is halfway between them, a flickering candle that he'd found in one of his cabinets. The smell of the soup and 'Cinnamon Dream Delight' mix into an odd blend, but it gives him just enough light to continue his attempts to light a fire.
"I wasn't exactly planning on this, y'know," Robby says, and swears when the tiny pile of balled up paper burns impotently without catching the kindling around it. "I normally have little fire starts. You light it and stick it in there, and—" He gestures vaguely, hand with the lighter waving, and Langdon snorts.
He has to swallow a bite of soup before he can speak, and when he does, the judgment hasn't faded in the slightest.
"I'm just saying, it's a little sad for a man to have a wood burning fireplace and enough wood to build a cabin on the back porch, but can't start a fire."
"Pretty rude for a guy eating my soup and wearing my pants," Robby mutters darkly, and Langdon laughs, bright and clear. It should irritate him. Instead, a warmth entirely independent of the fire blooms in his chest and fills him up to his cheeks.
"Alright, John Muir, you fucking do it," Robby snaps, and tosses the lighter at Langdon before he crawls over next to him, dropping back against the couch with a huff. His soup has cooled more than he'd prefer during the course of his efforts, and Langdon just sends him a pleased, smug smile.
Sometimes Robby forgets that Langdon was the youngest of his siblings. He remembers it in moments like this.
Of course, the jackass knows how to light a fire.
It's not until Langdon had stood up with a soft grunt, stepped outside and back in with a little yelp at the cold, and returned with the tiny hatchet Robby has outside with his cords of firewood that Robby realizes he's outmatched.
By the time Langdon's shaved a tiny pile of feathery shavings off the corner of one of the split pieces with the hatchet and an undeniably smug aura, he's resigned himself to drowning himself in the bowl of soup in front of him.
The heat of the fire is nice, he has to admit eventually, and he extends his legs towards it when Langdon settles back down beside him.
Neither of them say anything, staring at the crackling flame as it slowly creeps along the wood, piece by piece, and the warmth and light gets brighter and brighter.
"Thanks," Robby finally murmurs, and carefully keeps his eyes on the bowl in his hands.
"Well. You fed me. Call it even." Langdon shrugs. "Even if the soup is awful."
It feels good to laugh, even if it is at his own expense. He doesn't know how he feels about Langdon anymore, months after his return. Doesn't know how to sort through the disappointment and his self-directed anger, paired with the quiet, familiar, and sometimes painfully blunt man beside him. He's surprisingly glad to have him here, sitting in the dark of his living room, eating terrible soup.
They lapse into silence for a few minutes, quietly finishing off the food. It was hot, if nothing else, and the creep of the cold from the windows is only half held at bay by the fire.
("These windows are awful. I can see frost forming on the inside."
"They're historic! Original to the house. God knows what it would cost to replace them."
"Such a shame they don't pay you more.")
The memory catches him off guard, of a younger Frank shivering over the stove as he waited for water to boil. Robby had looked into replacing them after the other man had moved out, but never actually done it.
Robby sets his bowl down with a soft thump on the rug, and finally gives in.
"How did you learn how to start a fire?" He says, and when he glances over, he's caught by the sight of warm, flickering light cascading over Langdon's forehead, the slope of his nose, and the constant tease of the stupid dimple in his chin.
"Boy Scouts," Langdon answers promptly, and turns to meet Robby's gaze. "I, uh. Hated it. All my sisters did Girl Scouts, though, and my parents seemed to think I needed to do it, too."
Robby raises his eyebrows, picturing a tiny, beleaguered Langdon in khaki shorts, complaining about camping. It's an easy enough task, and he can't help his grin.
"Oh, fuck you. Meant we actually had a fire, instead of freezing to death, eh?" Langdon shoves at his shoulder, his own grin wide and a little shark like, before he flops back against the couch.
"I'll send Laura a thank you gift." Robby says it before he can think, and he realizes about the same moment as Langdon that he still remembers his mother's name.
There's a moment of silences as Langdon blinks at him, his expression melting into something a little surprised, and almost shy.
"She'll like that." Robby watches as Langdon turns back to the fire. It's hard to tell, in the low light, but he thinks his cheeks are flushed.
Robby swallows his first words, then his second. He shouldn't push, especially not in the fragile, tentative peace that surrounds them. But here, in the dark of the room, with the soft, muffled blanket of snow outside and the warm glow of the fire, it feels— cushioned. Protected. Like there's a little more give in the brittle distance between them, and Robby can't stop himself from prying, just a little.
"Why are you here in Pittsburgh instead of with them in Boston?" He's been curious, since Sara had mentioned it earlier. He'd been in town for Thanksgiving, too, and as Robby searches his memory, he can't remember him being gone in the months that he'd been back.
Langdon sends him a brief look, searching, but not unfriendly.
"Ah— uh. Christy had her first kid." He shrugs, a little loose, and keeps his gaze forward. "Like a month ago. And she and her husband are still out in the middle of fucking nowhere, and didn't want to travel, so. The extended Langdon clan are showing up there."
"I don't think you can call Phoenix the middle of nowhere," Robby says quietly, and Langdon waves a hand at him.
"Can't exactly fly out for it, though," Langdon murmurs with another shrug, his expression a little melancholy. It'd been part of his probational return, a byzantine tangle of rules and restrictions that included a huge reduction in his time off, and approvals for time away from the Pitt. Robby hadn't really thought of it after he'd been told about it, but he regrets that inattention now.
"Guess not," Robby murmurs, just as softly. He's turning over the thought still when Langdon speaks.
"If you asked a prying question, do I get one, too?"
Robby starts, just a little, and glances his way.
"Was I prying?" He asks, voice rough.
Langdon shrugs. "A little. Not much, though."
Robby huffs out a laugh through his nose. "I guess, then. Sure."
The silence stretches between them, for a long enough time that Robby wonders if Langdon will say anything at all. He's just thinking about tugging down the blanket off the back of the couch to wrap around himself when Langdon finally speaks.
"Are you disappointed in me?"
Robby freezes. His hand is still half extended towards the blanket, and he drops it in his lap with a soft thump as he stares at the inscrutable side profile of the man next to him.
He's not sure what he's looking for, but when Langdon turns to look at him, his eyes feel too sharp. Too aware of— of everything. The fight, their history, the almost full year of silence, of the way that here in Robby's home, it feels like they both are trying to forget.
"Not with you." Robby breathes out.
"Then— are you mad?"
Robby blinks, and he twists until he can face Langdon directly. His voice makes something feel fragile and tremulous in Robby's chest, and he reaches out haltingly, until his hand can find Langdon's shoulder.
"Frank— What— Where is this coming from?" His hand doesn't move, just rests on the mass of Langdon's shoulder and squeezes softly. "I'm— I'm not mad, or disappointed, its— it's not—"
"Why am I here?" Langdon interrupts him, and his expression is shuttered, impossible to read. It's not a taunt, not upset, but his confusion is hard to miss.
Robby stares at him, at his eyes that look almost green in the warm light of the fire, at the tiny furrow between his brows, and the way his hands are clenched tight on the knees of his sweats. He opens his mouth, and can't find it in himself to lie.
"Because I've missed you."
"Oh."
Robby can't look away, can't so much as blink, as he watches those words hit Langdon. Hit Frank. He thinks of this same room, four years ago, of Langdon with his feet in his lap and a smile on his face and the way he'd laugh and call him 'Michael' whenever Robby made a particularly bad joke.
He thinks of months spent in each others pockets, propping each other up, and the fragile structure that had crumbled when Langdon had blinked at him one night and murmured into the space between their lips, "I'm married, Robby."
He thinks of Frank, of the familiarity and fondness he'd never been able to shake, and he feels like his heart might stop.
Robby wonders what shows on his face, because when Frank finally shuts his barely parted lips and swallows, the implacable expression melts into something soft.
"Robby?" He murmurs, and his hands relax on his knees.
"Yeah?" Robby breathes out, the hand on Frank's shoulder tense.
"I'd really like to kiss you."
Robby can't quite smile, not with the buzzing in his ears that only fades when Langdon's eyes flicker down to his lips. He nods, a little stupidly, and before he can close the distance, Frank's done it for him.
As far as kisses go, it shouldn't be great. The room is cold, and when Robby slips his fingers up Frank's shoulder to his neck, his skin is icy, and they both taste more than a little like the soup they'd both finished. But when Frank's hands find Robby's cheeks and his lips curl up in a Cheshire-cat smile, Robby thinks this might be a personal best.
When they break apart, they're both breathing a little heavy. Robby can't stop the way his thumb rubs over the hinge of Frank's jaw, and he chases after his lips to press another soft, lingering kiss to them.
"Hey, Robby?" Frank murmurs, his eyes half lidded.
"Yeah?"
"I know you mentioned that you had a guest room, but— I think it'll be easier to stay warm if we stay close."
Robby grins, and he has to twist his head as he laughs. When he turns back, Frank's eyes are bright with amusement.
"That sounds logical. But, I mean— I'm not the expert, here." He aims for his best solemn expression. "When you got your 'huddling for warmth' badge, is that what they taught you?"
Frank doesn't laugh. He blinks seriously at Robby, and nods. "Absolutely, they did. Scout's honor."
When Robby kisses him again, Frank grins so widely they knock teeth together. Robby doesn't mind. They've got plenty of time to get better.