[🎭] Su alteza

Every good hunter knows when it’s time to pull the trigger.

No one could deny Jack’s skill, no one could deny his patience, no one could deny his dedication—no one could come along and say that he didn’t deserve Frank Langdon any more than Robby ever did. Perhaps they could say that Jack wasn’t as good man as the rumors claimed; perhaps someone could say that Jack was nothing more than a man who knew how to put on a front—and they’d be right, of course they’d be right. Wasn’t that what every good man was? A shell to hide his true desires, a creature who learned to feign self-control until he himself believed his own story. People might say that Jack Abbot was a million different things.

But never a coward.

Can you really blame a man for showing mercy? Can you blame a hunter for growing fond of the prey he’s been chasing for years? Can you blame an animal for following the instincts it has denied itself for the same amount of time? Whatever the answer was, he couldn’t care less—not now that Robby was gone, not now that he’d left his poor boy all alone, not now that the opportunity he’d been longing for ever since he first saw those blue eyes had been handed to him on a silver platter. So he did what every good predator does before feeding: he prepared to pounce. And there are certain things he’s glad Robby told him—certain truths he’s glad he managed to coax out of him. He knew what Frank liked, what made him a little more docile, what melted his defenses, and how delirious feeling favored made him feel.

“Bad day?” he asked dryly, as if he were about to scold him. There’s nothing better than making a thirsty man a little thirstier before giving him relief; people say that way the water tastes glorious for both parties—and who was Jack to deny such truths?

“I’ve had better,” Frank muttered, fiddling with his phone; he glanced at Jack before looking away.

“Mhm,” he almost hummed. “Every day gets tougher.” He shrugged. “Don’t you think maybe the shift is getting to you?” He let the question hang, as if offering a possibility, as if he weren’t sure, as if he hadn’t planned this moment the second Robby left the hospital.

“I’ve always had the same one,” Frank frowned now, looking at him as if he’d suddenly gained a courage fueled by pure pride, by pure devotion; he didn’t give a damn about the shift hours now that he barely saw his kids—what mattered to him was the man who’d be his boss if he stayed on during the day.

“It’s more disorganized,” Jack replied. “I’ve always believed that Robby puts too much pressure on his residents—you saw what happened with Mohan.” He tilted his head. “It would be a shame if you left with that bad taste in your mouth too.”

Frank didn’t say anything this time; he stared at the floor as if he were thinking about what Jack had said, as if the part of him that knew exactly what the problem was, was internally battling the part that still couldn’t bring himself to leave Robby. There was no struggle more intense than that between duty and desire, between reason and love, between reality and loyalty.

“You’ve got real talent,” Jack continued. Frank looked at him immediately—that’s what he wanted, that’s what he’d been hoping for. Wasn’t it obvious? Wasn’t it easy? “Maybe you’d do better with us at night. You could make the most of your day, and we could make the most of your skills.” He looked at Langdon again, and as a certain part of him melted away faster and faster, growing more and more desperate, as if a single match had been enough to burn the candle down to its wick. “Robby is still very blinded by pain—which is partly understandable—but he’s wasting you.”

“Robby needs—”

“What he needs or not isn’t up to you. Believe me, that’s a fight you’ll never win, and even so, I didn’t think you’d want to stick with him after everything he’s said about you.” He shrugged, but Langdon looked at him immediately, worried, as if he could imagine everything Robby definitely didn’t say—but he didn’t need to know that, not now, not when Jack had him on the verge of giving in. “You could switch shifts, you know? I know it’s hard, but maybe you need a fresh start.”

“Maybe…” He paused for a second—a second in which that foolish loyalty to a man he believes no longer loves him finished twisting, agonizing, and dying. Then, as if he’d somehow learned to bathe his words in pure glory just to give him the final win, he murmured softly, “Maybe I do need it.”

There he is.

Jack didn't smile; Jack didn't celebrate; he simply looked at him and nodded once, twice. There was a certain satisfaction when your prey surrendered to you; some might say it took the fun out of the hunt, but for him, it was what made him feel best—seeing how the creature looked so vulnerable and unable to escape that it simply let you take it away, as if it knew it was a battle it would lose and that there would be no war from which to recover. If Frank were a deer, a rabbit, or a bird, Jack knew he couldn’t have killed him with a single shot; in a case like his, he had to corner him because there was another hunter to whom Frank had surrendered. But wasn’t it characteristic of a man to devote himself to another person the moment the object of his desire was tarnished?

Isn’t the most important thing about prey knowing what it is?

A couple of weeks later, a couple of papers later, Frank was where he had always belonged, where he should have been from the very beginning—working for him, devoting himself to him, a story with a happy ending. Jack was a patient man after all—a patient man who knew how to pretend perfectly, a patient man who, when his best friend called to ask why his most loyal devotee had switched shifts, simply replied with a few words and a smile that couldn’t be seen over the phone.

You were watching a show, late, way too late, but who cares about details? Especially when the most important part of the night is when Lex called you. Lex Luthor himself on the phone, the same man who broke up with you exactly two months ago, now audibly pathetic, not crying, he’d never cry, that man was more pride than person after all, but he was wrecked, more than you ever thought he’d be.

“Bought you a new suit” Lex confesses, his words slurring, and you could almost smell the alcohol through the phone “Then I remember you weren’t here” He sighs. 

You didn’t say anything, in fact, you hadn’t talked at all in the whole call and it’s been at least five minutes. He doesn’t seem to care, Lex keeps rambling about how he’s been buying you things, planning dates that would never happen because you weren’t by his side. Not a single word about missing you, but you know him, this is his way of telling you he does.

But it’s not enough for you anymore.

“You know… I really wanted us to last” He sighs “You’re amazing, I know I didn’t say it enough when we were together, but you were really, really wonderful” He mumbles, almost a whisper, a silent confession, a desperate attempt to staying alive from a drowning man.

The silence is from both ends now, he doesn’t say anything and you wonder where he is, what he was doing. He sounds sincere, he sounds sad, he’s almost grieving the relationship and you were genuinely surprised by it, he loves you, you knew it, but you never expected this after he decided to break up with you, not because he was cold doing it, but because he never changes his mind.

“I miss your voice” He confesses after the silence.

“You always said you like it” You finally talked and you could hear his breath hitching.

“You always knew how to make me weak” He almost hums.

“Oh? Is Lex Luthor admitting a weakness?” You tease, because you miss him too, dearly.

“Coehlo once said that the strongest love is the one that’s not afraid to show weakness” He retored.

“I always admired your ability to remember quotes even when you’re drunk.”

“Mhm, you weren’t dating the smartest man alive just because of his looks, were you?” He sounds more relaxed this time, you almost could imagine him smiling.

“I think his money also helped” You answer, playing his game.

“I Should’ve known you were a gold digger” He almost chuckles.

“I think everyone knew that before you, maybe you’re not the smartest man alive after all.”

“I’m not if I let you go” He admitted.

Frank was now working the night shift.

There was something painful about those words, something Robby couldn’t quite put his finger on. Suddenly, he felt turn to a heavy weight that lightness that came from the confidence that Frank would run to him; suddenly, all that arrogance—the vanity Langdon himself had shaped—evaporated into a mist tinged with the humility born from a harsh reality check; because he realized that the three months he’d spent fantasizing about having Frank back and finally as his own had been in vain, that the foolish excitement he’d felt when Jack called to tell him that Langdon had gotten a divorce was nothing more than a gentle breeze before a deluge.

But he knew he could recover, because he still had the shift changes, because all the strategies he’d planned would just have to be altered, because his mind refused to let the pride his own delusions had given him die completely, so as the time to see him again approached, the pride he felt seemed to flicker back to life, and when he saw him, he felt that childish smugness blossom again in his chest, because it was Frank he was thinking of—the same man who had followed him around like a puppy during his first year working at the hospital, the same man who thought Robby’s word was law—and maybe they’d had their rough patches this past year, but Robby was confident that with a few sweet words, he’d have him by his side again.

However, it apparently wasn’t as easy as he thought; all the confidence he’d built up melted into despair when he noticed the not-so-subtle change in Frank, because he noticed a lot of things that weren’t there before and he didn’t know how to explain them, because now Langdon was more distant, more distracted, colder; he noticed the lack of subtlety with which he avoided him, he noticed the lack of tact when he said he was busy, he noticed the lack of attention he gave him, because this wasn’t his Frank, because he didn’t know why he suddenly even seemed bored when Robby asked him about his day as Frank was leaving and he had just arrived.

It was probably just his ego talking, because Frank’s completely disinterested expression had definitely hurt more than just his confidence, but he didn’t know what had caused such a sudden change. The indifference gnawed at his insides while he genuinely wanted to know about his life; these past few days, all the information he’d gotten had come from Jack, and it wasn’t fair, because before, Langdon would tell him things just because, because he was eager to hear what Robby had to say; now he was lucky if he even looked at him for more than two seconds when it wasn’t necessary.

“And you know what’s worst? It’s that I know he’s cheating on me, because you always notice it; they stop paying attention to you, they don’t care about you anymore, because they’re spending all their energy on the other one!” One of the patients complained while Princess nodded, absorbed in the story. “It’s the same old routine; men are so predictable when they stop liking you.”

Robby really wouldn’t have thought much about that conversation until now.

“How was your day?” Robby looked at Frank, who was keeping his eyes firmly fixed on one of the rooms.

“Mhm?,” he hummed, still not looking at him. “Fine,” he muttered without adding anything else. Robby opened his mouth to say something when Jack emerged from the room Frank had been dutifully watching. He saw them look at each other; Jack nodded and Frank smiled, shaking his head and leaving Robby talking to himself as he went over to Abbot.

Oh.

Shit.

Maybe he should have expected it, maybe he should have thought about it, maybe he should have suspected it. With Jack being the first to know about Langdon’s divorce, with Jack being the one who answered all the questions he had about how Frank’s life was going, with Jack being the one who always knew everything, they were practically rubbing it in his face, and Robby blindly clung to a place that seemed to have been taken—stolen—by someone else.

“Men are so predictable when they stop liking you.”

But that wasn’t possible, was it? Because he remembered very well how much Frank loved him, how much Frank needed him, and even if Abbot wanted to try to take his place, he couldn’t, because he’d tried to do the same thing during Frank’s first year and hadn’t succeeded, and he won’t succeed now, not when Robby realized what the problem was, especially since he knew the game Jack was playing, because if there was one thing Jack Abbot was good at, was flirting—he knew how to be charming without even trying—but two could play that game.

So he decided to play his entire hand, to exhaust every resource, because he knew this was nothing more than a facade, a way for Frank to try to erase Robby from his mind, and he wouldn’t let him get away with it, because he knew that no matter how strong he wanted to pretend to be, Langdon was a weak man—and, more than that, a man who thrived on validation. Robby decided that very same day to be lenient again, because he remembered how he’d managed to get him to stay with him, because he still remembered how to weave the webs that had trapped him the first time, and he was going to use them to his advantage.

A few words here, a few smiles there, and in a couple of weeks all that indifference was replaced by that same enthusiasm that suited him so well, because it was tailor-made for what Robby loved, because it made him feel in control, because it made him feel arrogant again, and there is nothing more relaxing for a man who calls himself “humble” than to feel filled with a pride inflated by reasons he himself decided to redefine.

Now Frank looked at him more; now he didn’t have to pry the words out of him with tweezers or a magnet, now they were loose, now they flowed eagerly, now they were heard by the ears they belonged to, now the conversations returned to their true owner. He still hadn’t decided to go back to the day shift, but that was okay, because his guy was becoming his again, because there was no real competition anymore, because no matter how much he wanted to replace him; if in the end they both knew they’d come back to this, neither of them could truly escape who they are. Now, when Frank looks at him, he smiles, probably more at ease.

Dates with Lex are always expensive.

He never cared about the prices; he only cared about what you liked, what you wanted, and what you needed. He knew how to read you, he knew what to get you, and yet he always needed you to be vocal about what you might need, or want, or like, because under all that cockiness, he was extremely insecure. And you weren’t mean, but if there’s something you really love, it's to make him falter.

“You know…” You started, interrupting his talk about the food, “The lights of this place really highlight your eyes.” You shrug, he scoffed.

“Thank you.” He smiled, already examining you, looking for anything to compliment, because he was not only cocky but extremely competitive, and if you flattered him, he needed to double it, but before he could even talk, you added.

“And that’s a new cologne? Bought it just for the occasion? Did you want to charm me, Lex?” You smiled, tilting your head. He opened his mouth, ready for the comeback, but you didn’t back down. “And the suit is really fitting; maybe you should lose the vest and the shirt.” You wait a second before adding “and the pants.”

“Ready for your order?” The waiter came just in time; you looked at Lex, who was looking at you as if he couldn’t believe your words, not because he was embarrassed, but because he had a reputation to keep!  He should be the one making those comments. After a few seconds of silence, you smiled again.

“What’s wrong? You were talking about the food being excellent five minutes ago. Cat got your tongue?”

You weren’t being fair!

He clears his throat, looking at the menu and ordering what he initially told you he was having and ordering for you because “he was the expert,” always so damn prideful. When the waiter walked away, he looked at you again, frowning this time.

“He could’ve heard you, you know? I can’t lose my prestige because my boyfriend decided to have a sharp tongue today.” He crosses his arms.

“So when you do it, it’s fine?” 

“Of course it is, is just-”

“Just like sex-”

“Can you stop it?” He sighs, looking away.