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Abby was going to kill him.
Nobody wanted the Christmas Eve night shift. Every year, it was the same: a desperate game of avoidance, full of strategic vacation requests and conveniently timed sick days. So, to prevent bloodshed, they resorted to drawing sticks. Short stick loses and the person who pulled it gets to spend the night in the ED while everyone else enjoys their nationally mandated family time.
It all started back when he was an MS4, after a particularly vicious argument broke out between two nurses over the Christmas Eve roster. Blood had been drawn and feelings were hurt. Ever since, leaving it to fate had been the only way to prevent further carnage.
Except now, he was about to throw hands.
What were the odds? Two years in a row? No way. He told Abby it wasn’t possible - statistically, cosmically, morally. She told him she’d have the roast in the oven, expecting him home before it was done. And yet, here he was, having to tell her he was in for another holiday in the trenches.
At least he wasn’t suffering alone. Santos, it seemed, was equally unhappy with the outcome.
In the end, the nurses did their best - there was tinsel strung limply over the nurses’ station, a sad little tree was tucked into the corner of the break room, and a Bluetooth speaker was playing distorted holiday classics that only made everything feel more surreal.
Langdon walked to the door separating the ED from the waiting room to take a peek at what awaited them. A man in a Santa suit sat in triage, clutching his side and insisting he was fine despite the deep gash oozing through the faux velvet. Across the room, a kid with a candy cane lodged firmly up one nostril wailed loud enough to shake the walls.
Frank spotted Robby the moment he walked in, looking as put together as one could in a ratty hoodie. He had the same relaxed posture, the same ever-present travel mug, and the same way of making an ED on Christmas Eve look like just another Tuesday afternoon. It was irritating, honestly.
Robby stopped next to him, scanning the ED like a man taking in the morning weather. “So. How bad is it?”
Frank scoffed. “You ever seen two drunk Santas fight over a vending machine sandwich?”
Robby blinked, taking a slow sip of coffee. “Not personally.”
“Well, you missed it by about half an hour.”
Robby nodded like this was the most reasonable thing he’d heard all day. “What was the sandwich?”
“Tuna.”
“Ah.” He took another sip. “That explains it. Classic Christmas in the ED.”
Frank shook his head. “Yeah, well, I was hoping to dodge it this year.”
Robby gave him a look, a hint of a smile on his face. “You drew sticks again, didn’t you?”
“Of course we did,” Frank muttered. “Because apparently, trusting people to act like adults and just sign up for the shift wasn’t an option.”
Robby smirked. “And yet, here you are.”
Frank sighed. “It’s like the universe has it out for me.”
Robby took another slow sip of coffee. “Or maybe you just have really bad luck.”
Frank scoffed, glancing at him. “Yeah, well, you say that like you’ve never missed one of these shifts.”
Robby’s smirk didn’t falter. “That’s because I haven’t.”
“You got to be kidding me,” Frank said, frowning.
Robby shrugged. “I’m an attending. Comes with the job.” He took another sip, then smirked. “Plus, I’m Jewish. The most festive my family ever got was ordering Chinese takeout from the place across the street.”
Frank raised an eyebrow. “Because that was the only place open?”
“Exactly.” Robby gestured around the chaotic ED. “So, really, this isn’t much different. Just swap the lo mein for a half-melted protein bar and an argument with your family for a patient who thinks he’s the second coming of Christ.”
Frank sighed. “Great. So, tradition?”
“Now you’re getting it. Now excuse me, I have a speech to make.” Robby said, placing his mug on the desk and clapping his hands together.
“Everyone, gather up!”
A few groans rippled through the group, but people shuffled in anyway, some still clutching half-finished coffees, others resigned to the fact that these pre-shift speeches were as much a tradition as the holiday chaos itself.
Robby scanned the skeptical faces before him and smirked. “Happy to see you all here, whether by choice or sheer bad luck.” His gaze flicked toward Frank for half a second.
His expression turned slightly more serious. “Look, we all know Christmas Eve in the ED isn’t exactly festive. People don’t come here because they’re having a great time. Emotions are high as ever and patience is at an all-time low. And I know that, as the shift drags on, it’s tempting to let the madness sweep you up.”
He paused, then gestured around the room. “So let’s do our best to keep our heads. Be patient, be kind, even when the patients aren’t. Remember, what’s just another chaotic night for us might be the worst night of someone else’s year.”
A beat of silence. Then, with a crooked smile, he added, “Also, if anyone manages to go the whole shift without hearing ‘but it’s Christmas’ as an excuse for something, let me know. I’ll personally buy you a drink.”
“You know that doesn’t count!” someone called out.
Oh right. The bet.
Frank smirked. He’d almost forgotten about that.
It had started as a joke a few years ago, a way to keep things interesting, to lift the spirits of those poor souls stuck working the holiday shift. Every year, there was some kind of Christmas-themed wager, usually ridiculous, always wildly competitive.
Robby had never been particularly thrilled about the whole thing. He tried to kill the tradition last year by coming up with something so absurd no one could possibly win: the first person to treat patients named Mary, Joseph, and Jesus wins. Bonus points if they came in together. Triple points if there was a donkey involved.
It was improbable enough to make everyone think that that’d be the end of it until an elderly woman named Mary came in with a twisted ankle. A few hours later, a Joseph stumbled in with a bad case of food poisoning straight from his in-laws’ Christmas Eve dinner, quickly followed by a Jesús (pronounced with an “h” but hey, it was close enough) with an ugly gush on his cheek from a bar fight. The bet was a lock and Collins was already counting her money, but then a guy stumbled in with a donkey bite. Apparently, the petting zoo at some church’s live nativity scene had gotten out of hand.
That had been the moment Robby officially gave up trying to shut it down.
“So,” Perlah spoke up, grinning, “what’s it gonna be this year?”
Robby sighed. “Something simple. That doesn’t involve patients. If they overhear and file a complaint like they did two years ago, Gloria will have my head.”
“Okay, okay, I’ve got one for you,” Perlah said, leaning in. “First person to completely lose their shit over that damn Bluetooth speaker buys lunch for everyone.”
A ripple of approval spread through the group.
Frank groaned. “Oh, come on. That’s basically rigged.”
“Then I’d suggest you find some patience, Langdon,” Perlah shot back, grinning.
Robby exhaled, shaking his head with a smirk. “Fine. But - ” He pointed a warning finger at the group. “No tampering. If I find out someone intentionally cranks up the Christmas music just to push someone over the edge, you all lose.”
“The volume button doesn’t work, so don’t worry,” Dana shot back, a hint of a smile on her lips. “It’s out of our hands now.”
Frank had made peace with the idea of spending Christmas Eve in the ED. Well, peace was a strong word. He'd resigned himself to it, the way one resigns themselves to a root canal or a tax audit. What he hadn’t prepared for was being stuck with Santos .
She was the only other one who’d drawn the short stick, which meant they were about to spend the next twelve hours in a forced truce. Everyone else had found an escape route - Javadi was dying of the flu, Mel was with her sister, and Whittaker had vanished to Nowhere, Nebraska, where Frank assumed they still sent mail via horse. That left him and Santos, which was just fantastic.
They’d been at odds since the moment she stepped foot in the hospital. On her first day, she’d gone over Langdon’s head multiple times, ignoring the chain of command like it was an optional suggestion. She made decisions without running them by him as if he were the intern and she was the senior resident. It was infuriating. She was infuriating. Cocky, sarcastic, and entirely too confident for someone still figuring out how to navigate the hospital without Google Maps.
The thing was, Frank knew exactly why she pissed him off so much. Because a few years ago, he was her. The difference was, back then, his seniors had tolerated his arrogance with the patience of saints and the thinly veiled hope that he'd fail hard enough to learn his lesson. Needless to say, he did. Now, he was on the other side of it, forced to watch a younger version of himself make the same reckless, infuriating mistakes.
He’d really tried to step it up ever since Robby chewed him out. Not that he ever actually apologized to Santos, he just told her he shouldn’t have spoken to her that way, which was about as close to sorry as he could manage. It seemed to be enough for her, though, and ever since, they’d kept things strictly professional.
In the last few months, they’ve reached something akin to a working partnership. She was still cocky and overconfident, and he was still mildly annoyed every time she opened her mouth, but at least they weren’t at each other’s throats anymore. She’d even surprised him a few times with her decision-making. The biggest surprise, though, was that she started consulting him. Or, more often than not, Collins.
Except Collins wasn’t here today.
This meant if Santos needed to bounce ideas off someone, it was either him or Robby. And Robby was the attending, so it’d be odd for her to consult every case with him. So, realistically, he was her only option.
He could do it. They were both stuck here anyway, might as well make the best of it.
Frank cleared his throat. “So…no plans for the holidays?”
Santos didn’t look up from the chart she was scrolling through. “I’m not on the best terms with my family.”
Of course she wasn’t. The way she said it was clearly meant to shut the conversation down. Most people would take the hint. Frank wasn’t most people.
He rocked back on his heels. “That's why you didn’t try to swap out of this shift?”
Santos snorted, finally glancing up at him. “Why, did you?”
Frank exhaled through his nose. “No.”
He did, actually. With no luck.
“Then I guess we’re in the same boat.”
He nodded, tapping his fingers against the counter. He could leave it there. Should leave it there. But instead, before his brain could tell him to shut up, he found himself saying, “That mean you don’t do anything at all? No traditions?”
Santos tilted her head. “I get takeout. Watch a movie. Used to do it with my sister before I moved. Now, it’s just me.”
Frank blinked. “Huh.”
“What?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. Just, Robby said the same thing earlier. Guess that’s just what you do when you’re-” He stopped himself just in time, but she caught it anyway.
“When you’re what?” she challenged, arching a brow.
He cleared his throat. “Not into Christmas.”
Santos let out a short laugh. “Nice save.” She turned back to her chart, but there was the ghost of a smirk on her face.
Maybe they could make this work after all.
***
The patient was already mid-rant when Frank and Santos pushed through the curtain.
“Unbelievable! I spend all day cooking, and this is the thanks I get?” the man fumed, gesturing wildly with his uninjured hand. The other was held stiffly against his chest and right in the center it, still smeared with what looked like gravy, was a steak knife buried to the hilt.
Frank took one look at the scene and sighed. “Let me guess. Christmas prep got a little heated?”
“She stabbed me with a fucking steak knife!” the man snapped. “Over gravy! Can you believe that?”
Frank raised an eyebrow. “The good steak knife?”
The patient scoffed. “Yeah. One of the fancy ones we only use for holidays.”
Frank glanced at Santos. “Crime of passion.”
Santos, to her credit, didn’t roll her eyes, though she looked like she wanted to. “Vitals are stable,” she said instead, focused on the monitor. “BP 132 over 86, heart rate’s holding at 92.”
Frank hummed in agreement as he leaned over the patient. “So, what’s our priority here?”
Santos didn’t miss a beat. “Control bleeding, prevent further damage, and, before you ask, no, we don’t pull the knife out.”
Frank smirked. “Good. Why?”
She shot him a look, clearly aware she was being tested. “Because it could be tamponading a vessel. Remove it without proper imaging, and he could hemorrhage or lose function in his hand.”
Frank nodded, grudgingly impressed. “Alright, let’s say the knife hit a flexor tendon. What’s the risk?”
Santos answered immediately. “Loss of finger mobility, potential nerve involvement, and increased risk of infection. He needs imaging, X-ray to rule out fractures and foreign debris, and likely a hand surgery consult.”
Frank tilted his head. “And if the knife severed the digital nerve?”
Santos squared her shoulders. “Depends on the severity. Partial injuries might regain function over time, but a full transection means permanent sensory loss in the affected fingers. Either way, he’ll need a hand surgeon to assess.”
Frank’s brows lifted slightly. “Not bad.”
Santos arched an eyebrow. “Not bad?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Frank turned back to the patient. “Hear that? You’re in good hands.”
The patient groaned, clearly not appreciating the pun. “Great. But can you do something about the fact that my wife stabbed me?”
Frank shrugged. “Not my department. But I can get you something for the pain while we run your scans.”
The man exhaled. “I’d appreciate that.”
Santos handed Frank a syringe. “Morphine, three milligrams.”
Frank gave her another long look before accepting it.
Maybe they could make a team after all.
***
“I was next, asshole.”
“Like hell you were, I’ve been sitting here for three damn hours!”
Frank sighed, rubbing at his temple. He was going to let security handle this one, except they were nowhere in sight when he needed them. They never were.
“I have a kid at home, man.”
“Oh, cry me a river. You think you’re the only one with a family? Maybe if you didn’t get piss drunk on Christmas Eve, you wouldn’t be here wasting everyone’s time!”
Frank turned just in time to see the first guy - mid-forties, red-faced, still wearing a sweat-stained Santa hat - lurch to his feet. “You wanna say that again?”
The other man, younger but just as irritable, rose too, hands clenching at his sides. “Yeah, I do. Maybe if you had any goddamn impulse control, you wouldn’t have fallen down your porch stairs like a-”
“Alright,” Frank cut in, stepping forward before this turned into something they’d all regret. “Let’s all take a breath and-”
He stepped between them just in time for an elbow - or maybe a fist, it was all very fast - to connect solidly with his ribs, sending a sharp, white-hot pain shooting down his spine. He staggered back, swallowing a curse. His legs felt like they might buckle, but no way in hell was he going to let that happen here. He managed to close his hand around the armrest of one of the chairs and catch his balance, just barely.
His body felt like it was made of glass, and a surge of panic hit him when his left leg refused to cooperate, dragging heavily beneath him. He clenched his jaw, hoping no one noticed. Somewhere in the background, security was stepping in, voices raised, chairs scraping against the floor as people scrambled back. Frank barely registered any of it, too focused on locking his knees and keeping himself upright.
Santos grabbed his arm. “You good?”
“I’m fine,” he ground out, trying to straighten himself. Another flare of pain shot up his spine, so he resigned to sinking into the chair instead. He wasn’t sure how long it was going to take him to get back up from it.
“You don’t look fine.”
Frank forced himself to straighten. “It’s- just give me a minute.”
Santos frowned, scanning his face. “It’s your back, isn’t it?”
Right. She knew because of course she did, she wasn’t stupid. She’d seen him use his cane at the end of some shifts, and gossip traveled fast in this place. Someone must’ve already filled her in.
He sighed, giving in because, realistically, he didn’t have much of a choice. His spine was still protesting, sending intermittent pulses of nerve pain down his legs. Not bad enough to be a full-blown episode, but enough to remind him that, hey, getting decked was not ideal for an incomplete SCI. She helped him up and kept supporting him as they made their way back into the ED. She was even smart enough to not suggest a wheelchair. He leaned heavily on her, mostly because he couldn’t feel his left leg and the fact he could walk at all right now was only because of hundreds upon hundreds of hours of PT that taught him exactly that. She guided him to an empty exam room, his back screaming with every step. He was starting to feel nauseous, dizzy, and he couldn’t hide the tremor in his hand when he placed it on the exam table.
Santos crouched in front of him, scanning his face. “Ribs or back?”
Frank exhaled sharply. “Both.”
Santos nodded. “Okay. Shirt off.”
Frank shot her a look. “At least buy me dinner first.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not in the budget. Lift your damn shirt.”
Grimacing, Frank obeyed, peeling the fabric up inch by inch. The movement pulled at his ribs, sending sharp, stabbing pain through his torso, but what worried him more was the burning sensation along his spine that sharply contrasted with the creeping numbness in his leg.
Santos took one look at the bruising already blooming along his ribs and let out a low whistle. “Damn. Santa really kicked your ass.”
Frank huffed, trying not to laugh because that hurt too. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
The truth was, he wasn’t sure how bad this was going to get. He’d had flare-ups before. Sometimes they were manageable, sometimes they knocked him flat. The jury was still out on this one.
She moved to touch around the bruise, but he flinched away. Despite the equilibrium they'd worked out over the last few months, there was no way he was letting her examine him. Santos must have read something in his expression to know that she should drop it.
“You should probably get checked out. Some imaging, at least.”
“I’m good, nothing that can’t be fixed with an ice pack.”
“And your back? Do you have meds for this?”
Frank hesitated. “In my locker.”
“Give me the code, I’ll bring them here.”
Like hell he would. Then again, he was pretty sure the trek into the locker room would be literal torture and take him about three times as long as it should. He could always change the code after. He exhaled sharply, muttering the numbers under his breath. Santos, to her credit, didn’t gloat. She just nodded, turned on her heel, and strode off like she hadn’t just won some kind of battle.
That was when Robby strolled in, looking far too amused for someone who had just walked into an active disaster.
“Ho ho hooooooly shit,” Robby said, eyebrows shooting up. “What the hell happened to you?”
Frank scowled. “Got in the middle of a fight.”
“And lost?”
“Oh, piss off.”
Robby didn’t look amused. He stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he took in the deepening bruises along Frank’s ribs and the way he was bracing himself against the exam table. “How bad?”
“Santos has already looked me over,” he said, ignoring the surprise on Robby’s face. He didn’t waver, though. Frank let out a long sigh and added: “it’s just some bruising.”
Robby muttered something under his breath. “Let me take a look.”
Frank tensed as Robby palpated his ribs, fingers pressing lightly along the worst of the bruising. It sent sharp, electric pain through his side, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay still. Right up until Robby pressed his fingers lightly against a particularly bad spot, and Frank sucked in a sharp breath. “Shit- watch it.”
“Doesn’t appear to be broken,” he announced. “But you might have a crack. Breathing okay?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t look convinced but moved on, pressing the heel of his hand against his lower back. “Can you feel that?”
Frank clenched his jaw. He could, but just barely - it was distant like the sensation was trying to reach him through layers of fog.
“Sort of.”
“That’s a no.”
Frank exhaled sharply, bracing his hands against the exam table. “It’s fine. I can still move my legs.”
“Yeah, about as well as a drunk Bambi.” Robby sighed. “Alright, let’s get a chest X-ray to rule out a fracture and make sure there’s no pneumothorax.”
Frank groaned. “Robby, it was one punch.”
“You think it was one punch. Adrenaline does funny things.”
“I was there, I remember.”
“Great, then you’ll remember the part where you also have an SCI.” Robby shot back. “We should also do a spine film to make sure there’s no structural damage causing the flare.”
Frank was exhausted, hurting, and not in the mood for this conversation. “Santos is already bringing my meds. Once I take them, this’ll get better.”
Robby folded his arms. “And if it doesn’t?”
Frank shot him a tired smirk. “Then you can say ‘I told you so’ and make my life even more miserable for the rest of the night.”
Robby gave him a long, measuring look, then exhaled. “Fine. But if this gets worse, you are getting that scan.”
As if on cue, the door swung open again, and Santos strode back in, tossing two pill bottles onto the exam table.
“I didn’t know which ones you’d need, so I grabbed all of them,” she said flatly. Then, with a smirk, she added, “Oh, and I figured you’d want this.” She tapped the cane against the floor with a pointed look.
Frank glared at it like it had personally offended him.
Santos crossed her arms. “Look, you can sit here and glare at it all night, or you can take your damn meds and be functional for the rest of the shift. Your choice.”
Frank’s jaw tightened. He hated the way she was right, hated the way Robby was still watching with amusement, hated the fact that yeah, he actually did need it.
With a frustrated sigh, he snatched the bottle and opened it, shaking out a few pills.
“Smart choice,” Santos muttered, smirking.
Robby let out a low whistle. “Well, damn. I think I just witnessed a Christmas miracle.”
Frank flipped him off before dry-swallowing the pills.
He gritted his teeth as he pushed himself off the exam table, gripping his cane with reluctant familiarity. His back still felt like it had been through a meat grinder and his leg tingled. At least the meds would kick in soon.
Robby clapped a hand on his shoulder, entirely too pleased with himself. “Proud of you, Langdon. Personal growth looks good on you.”
Frank glared. “Get out of my way before I show you some personal regression.”
Robby just grinned.
Together, they stepped out of the exam room and immediately regretted it.
Because, of course, blaring through the tiny but powerful Bluetooth speaker was the unmistakable opening notes of All I Want for Christmas Is You. It seemed that the volume button was working after all because the damn thing was cranked to full blast.
Robby took a long sip of coffee like he had foreseen this and was simply waiting for the two of them to explode. Frank closed his eyes. Santos audibly groaned. Then, like clockwork, they both shouted in unison:
“Somebody turn that damn thing off!”
Somewhere in the distance, Perlah howled in victory.