Chapter Text
It’s been about forty eight hours since the day from hell finally ended. Well, truthfully it hasn’t ended for Frank, it’s just been quieter which is its own kind of hell. The chaos around him has ratcheted down but the chaos in his mind has ramped up to a level he can’t keep up with. He’s in an impossible situation. Dr. Abbot had explained to him once about a chess term called zugzwang, where every option left on the board is a bad one. A place where you're forced to make a move that puts you in a worse place than where you currently stand. That’s what his life is now.
Two days ago, Dr. Robby had searched his locker and found drugs that weren’t prescribed to him. It wasn’t the benzos Santos had accused him of stealing, Frank wished they had been. He doesn’t know how he would explain that situation either but it had to be better than where he found himself now. Dr. Robby was convinced Frank was stealing and abusing meds and in the moment Frank tried to play it off as medicine for Abby. Pleading with him that he had gotten them for his wife. But he couldn’t explain why they were in a baggie or why he would have them in his locker. He’d gotten so used to hiding them over the years he’d gotten complacent and thought he’d be fine keeping them in his locker hidden under a pile of junk collected over time. Never did he think he’d be accused of stealing medicine from a patient. Never had he thought Dr. Robby would be standing in front of him demanding he open his locker. The pain in the doctor’s eyes still haunts him. Every time he tries to close his own eyes to sleep they’re there looking at him with their own plea. Sad, wet eyes begging for anything but this kind of betrayal.
His mind flashes to later that day in the ambulance bay, Dr. Robby screaming at him. He can’t remember the words now. Just the pain, disappointment and the clearly broken trust that had been hurled at him like the bullets that had been sprayed into the crowd at Pittfest. Dozens of invisible wounds going straight through his skin and buried deep into his soul. He feels like a husk of who he once was, filled with shattered glass that shreds new wounds every time he breathes. There’s not a surgeon on earth that could fix him. He imagines what Garcia would say to him if he suggested it, probably something like, “I’m good but I’m not that damn good.”
Frank grips the steering wheel until his knuckles scream for mercy and his breath stutters hopelessly unable to convince his lungs to fully expand for just one single deep breath. He’s been sitting here for twenty minutes trying to get the courage to open his door and walk up the driveway. Actually knocking on the door is going to have to be its own battle. He knows what he needs to do, but he’s no more confident that he can do it than when he made up the plan nine hours ago. He walks through the plan one more time, letting what he has accomplished so far bring the tiny boost of confidence to fuel him to keep moving. He’d forced himself to take a nap, granted it had been filled with nightmares and more than a few times of gasping awake covered in sweat. He still counted it as a task on his list completed. He’d packed a bag of a few items and several changes of clothes, another item crossed off. A quick sweep of the empty house before the movers came to pack and transport everything to the storage unit setup in Abby’s name. She’d packed a bag for herself and Tanner and left yesterday for Chicago. Her sister had offered her place for them to stay as long as they needed. That conversation hurt almost as much as the ones with Dr. Robby, Abby had pleaded that there was some other way to fix everything but Frank had held his ground. If there had been anything left of his heart the sight of them getting into their suv and backing out of the driveway with tear streaked faces and shaking waves goodbye would have shattered it all over again.
The heart ache of the last two days slams into him again. Deep, painful sobs rip through him. He lets them tear at him until he swears they’ll be enough to stop his heart. It’s truly a testament of the human body that his is still beating. There’s a not so small part of him that wishes it would just give up the fight. Make the choice for him so he wouldn’t have to go through with what’s next on his list. Because out of everything that’s happened the next steps will be the worst part of it all. But it’s the new layer of darkness that settles over him that gets him to open his car door. The realization that it doesn’t matter if he survives or not, because there’s nothing left for him after tonight. Tomorrow's sunrise is meaningless whether he witnesses it or not. It doesn’t matter that his feet feel like they’re weighed down with those old ball and chains used on prisoners. There’s no more codes to rush to or incoming trauma patients to run to. There’s no need for him to rush, his car will do the running for him.
He doesn’t even feel it when his hand raps against the solid wood door of the two story house. He briefly takes in the well manicured yard and blooming flowerbeds, he recognizes the coneflowers and daisies but there’s dozens more he doesn’t know the names of. Probably never will. The world seems to stop spinning as he waits, he feels like he’s standing at the edge of a cliff instead of the small concrete pad in front of a house he wished he was standing in front of for any other reason but the one he finds himself in. His mind is nothing but a carousel of darkness and despair circling back to wash him in regret for every decision he’s ever made. He’d been convinced it would all be worth it, but he knows better now. He’d been naive and let himself grab on to the shard of hope a doctor had given him long ago. He’d do anything to go back to that day and push it away like he'd done everything else. Instead he finds his heart stopping, every muscle tensing as someone yells to let him know they’re coming, turning him into a statue like the small garden gnome that stands three feet to his right, almost overwhelmed by the drooping leaves of a daylily that’s nearing the end of its blooming season. Maybe he has something in common with more than just the gnome. His eyes move back to rest on the bottom door frame as he listens to footsteps get closer and another wave of dread washes over him. His eyes clamp shut as the door handle turns, his heart stops as the door swings open with a creak.
“What the fuck are you doing here?!”
That voice. The deep, pain filled voice he didn’t ever want to hear again but couldn’t bring himself to walk away from. At least not yet. Just one more brutal, torturous time. So much to say and yet no words can make it out. He imagines his brain and what it would look like if he could see the amygdala churning out cortisol and adrenaline. He imagines the local fire department would be jealous of the output, putting even their best water trucks to shame as his body freezes under the assault of the hormones. The world still isn’t spinning and is spinning entirely too fast at the same time. Time. How long has he been standing here? How long since he last breathed? If the sway of the house in one direction and the flowerbeds tilting in the other direction are any indication he thinks it’s a safe bet he’s on his way to being hypoxic. Just as he takes a gasping breath to ease the burning that’s lighting up his chest he hears another voice, “Let him in, I told him to come over.”
He’s only seen the socked feet and lightly haired legs up to bare knees of the man that answered the door. Completely incapable of raising his eyes any higher. But even that sight retreats outside his peripheral vision as it leaves to confront the other man who had invited him over. His mind latches on to the red mahogany flooring that’s left in his view. He wonders if the two men who are currently occupied raising their voices at each other refinished the floor themselves. It makes him wonder how much he really knows about these two men he’s admired for so long. Would they be the kind of men to want to do the work themselves either for the cost effectiveness or just to be able to have that pride that they did it themselves. Or would they prefer to pay someone to do it, passing at the idea of having to do so much physical labor with their hands after spending the day using them to save life after life.
His thoughts are broken as a new set of legs appear before him. One that doesn’t look much different than the previous set, but the other in its mechanical black joints and stainless steel support giving away the man who had replied to his text with just an address and a threat, “don’t make me regret this.” A strong hand grasps him above his right elbow and pulls at him to step into the house. If anyone is talking he can’t hear them. He stares at the wood planks and the worn finish as he convinces his body to take a deep breath and to move the muscles in his body necessary to have him standing on those planks of wood. His body only reluctantly listens to his commands but seems to take orders a little easier from the man that continues guiding him. Maybe it comes with the military training, the ability to move men who can’t move themselves. A power to get another body to operate the way it should. Maybe it’s what makes the man such a great doctor. Either way, Frank is starting to think he may just be a super hero. Dr. Abbot always felt infallible when it mattered most. And standing here staring at the edge of the hardwood floor and a thick blue and grey area rug of what must be their living room, he thanks those powers for being able to move the immovable while maintaining peace by a thread with the man he feels is off to his left. The one seething in rage and radiating pain that should level entire cities with his own awful, excruciating superpower. The light elbow to his ribs catches his attention, he’s getting the feeling he missed someone speaking to him but he doesn’t dare look at anyone’s face to confirm it. But he’s aware enough to catch the sigh Jack lets out as he clearly repeats himself, “start talking, Frank. I didn’t agree to you coming over to inspect our floors.” An angry huff makes his eyes dart to the left where he studies the white crew socks worn by the man he came to see.
Honestly, he came to see both of them, but it’s Robby that needs to hear his words the most. Robby has always deserved the truth; he just couldn’t allow him to carry his burden until now. Now it doesn’t matter. He lets that settle into his broken soul and it must be what his body needs to finally release his voice back to his control.
“The…the drugs you found weren’t Abby’s.” his voice breaks as he starts speaking but the sentence is still intelligible enough to get another angry scoff from Robby with a curt reply, “No fucking shit.”
Thankfully Robby leaves it at that, probably catching an angry glare from Jack if he’s reading the emotions in the room right.
“I mean in a way they are, they’re prescribed to her but she gives them to me.”
The anger in the room spikes to a point where Frank physically senses it. It’s like the heat of the sun during a heat advisory and the smell…well, he’s trying to ignore that right now.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Frank! Are you seriously going to drag Abby into this?! You’re really going to stand there and tell me Abby is not only enabling but encouraging your addiction! There’s only one reason an alpha hides Omegtrone! You’re getting high off of it! I’m a goddamn doctor, Frank! Omegtrone suppresses heats in omegas, gets alphas higher than a kite and does jack shit for betas. LOOK ME IN THE EYES AND TELL ME YOU’RE NOT TAKING IT TO GET HIGH!”
Frank can’t resist the command, but he also can’t lie. Not anymore. He can’t do it anymore. He raises his eyes and meets the eyes he prayed he’d never have to look into again. Not these eyes. The same ones he saw that day in the locker room, the same ones he saw in the ambulance bay. But he stares into them anyways and lets them tear him apart impossibly more and says, “I’m not taking them to get high.”
The explosive anger that comes out of Robby doesn’t shock him, but he needs him to get this anger out before he can hear all of the truth. From his peripheral he can see Jack studying him with a slight tilt of his head and narrowing of his eyes. What does surprise him is Jack calling out to Robby who’s slammed his fist into the door jam of the kitchen and is wiping his hands down his face with far too much force, “Robby, chill your fucking ass out. We’re going to hear Frank out.”
Frank has gone to the middle ground and kept his eyes to stomach level, he can’t give up the context clues of body language now that he has it but he also can’t look into those eyes again.
“You’re fucking kidd-“ Robby explodes again but is cut off by Jack, “I said CHILL THE FUCK OUT!”
Jack losing his cool on Robby is so unheard of Frank didn’t even know it was possible, but clearly it is because even Robby snaps his mouth shut and looks surprised at the admonishment. He sees Jack nod at him to continue with his confession and he feels the bile rise up into his lower esophagus.
Now or never, Frank thinks.
“I’m not taking Omegtrone to get high and I’m not abusing or stealing drugs. I’ve never stolen medicine from a patient or the hospital. Abby gets the prescription prescribed to her and then she gives it to me. So, if you want to report me for that then be my guest, it doesn’t matter anymore.”
He really tried to say it. He really did. But the best he did was hint at it. And it’s not fooling Jack, he doesn’t know what Robby is thinking, he can’t read past all the anger.
But Jack isn’t letting him off easy, “Frank, I need you to be real damn clear here. This isn’t something you can be ambiguous about. I want to hear you out and I want to clear this whole fucking mess up, but you need to use those words in that brain of yours and be crystal fucking clear on what’s going on. Do you understand me, Frank?”
Frank takes the chance he didn’t think he had the courage to take and looks up into Jack’s eyes. He’s surprised to not see hate in them. But there’s more pain than what there was before and that sends its own sharp pang through himself. Jack wants him to be brave and so for Jack he looks over to his biggest source of pain, mostly caused by himself, and while looking Robby straight in the eyes he repeats, “I’m not taking Omegtrone to get high, I’m taking it to suppress my heats.”
And because Jack asked for clarity and no more ambiguity he adds with all the pain and fear he’s ever felt in his life, “I’m not an alpha, I’m an omega.”