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Therapy has been a comfort to Franklyn ever since he first began. He remembers his first session as a high school Junior with the hazy clarity of nostalgia rather than true recollection, already so consumed with anxiety toward choosing his college majors that he'd felt none toward the therapy itself; years of ritual have turned it into sort of an addiction. Franklyn can think for himself but he's afraid to, because then he has to live with mistakes he can't predict but is certain he'll make anyway. He prefers to pay people to do his thinking for him, and usually that is enough.
Naturally, habit takes over. Franklyn is content to allow his therapists to work over his problems until they discover they too can't solve them all; he's the sort of person who always seems to develop new ones. He has never taken well to rejection -- quite fears it, in fact, a problem he can at least content himself in knowing he's far from alone in -- but has extensive experience with it, which is to some dismal advantage.
He is aware, for instance, how people assume he thinks less than he really does. Observes less, as if he hasn't experienced varying degrees of rejection all his life despite a comparatively stable life, and isn't constantly preparing himself for the other shoe to drop. It isn't manipulative nor a feint, it just is; Franklyn fears the worst but fears even more being unprepared for it, and he is a man well aware of his own limitations. Sometimes he wishes he were stupider and could prevent himself from overthinking.
Franklyn is convinced by now that his therapist Dr. Lecter thinks he's stupid, and he's convinced his friend Tobias thinks he's stupid, too. It is only this supposition that keeps him from doing anything impulsive sooner.
You could be projecting onto him what you consider to be your flaws, Dr. Lecter had said, and then he'd said, You're not a psychopath. Although you may be attracted to them.
Do I have to report it?
Franklyn swallows, his entire throat clenching tight enough to sting, and looks over at his phone. His fingers drum and tug at themselves absently.
Why would he say something like that to me?
Why do you think?
He could call the police, but his instinct -- habit again -- is to call his therapist first, so the phone remains where it is because Franklyn also knows that now more than ever he must think for himself. Tobias won't leave his thoughts, and it's not for the normal reasons. Fear and denial hold him hostage at this moment, trapped in his spacious home with the luminous fishtank and the enormous window adorned with rich olive-green curtains, drawn now. He can't call Dr. Lecter this time.
Because he knows I'd tell you.
By the time Franklyn notices he's holding the phone in his hand he's already dialing, and there's nothing to do but wait as it rings. This action is thoughtless, but he realizes it even in the moment. He doesn't care. Hearing Tobias's composed "Yes?" on the other end of the line releases a tension in Franklyn's chest he had only distantly been aware of.
"Tobias," he says quietly, with the relief of a man who's just come up for air. Tobias responds with unreadable silence, which doesn't dissuade Franklyn from going on even if common sense recommends he hang up. "Tobias, where are you?"
More silence. "You know where," comes the eventual answer, Tobias's voice wary. Franklyn reads into those pauses, knowing that Tobias knows Franklyn hasn't called the police. Assuming, maybe, that he is too stupid to think that he should. Franklyn is afraid, but he isn't stupid; he has fought for his little victories and given up because of his little defeats too many times.
Whether or not Tobias has done the terrible things that Franklyn fears he has, Franklyn doesn't want to be the friend that gives up on him. Franklyn wants to be the friend that saves him.
"Will you let me help you?"
For a moment Franklyn almost thinks Tobias has hung up on him. Then: "You can't." The confidence with which it's said makes Franklyn's skin cold, but he perseveres.
"Please," he says, with less authority than he'd meant but he has no time to dwell on that. "Please. I-- I can hide you, I can-- it isn't too late," he finishes softly, with a sort of weak desperation that even makes him wince. He's helpless and he knows it, but he doesn't want to know it. He wants to believe there's more reason to this conversation than a blind lapse in caution, than an anguished fear of heartbreak.
"I love you," he adds hopelessly after he's met with more silence.
"I know you do." Tobias's voice retains the same tone of confidence, but Franklyn senses something beneath it that he hopes he isn't imagining. "I don't know if that's enough, Franklyn."
He says again, "Please." And then: "Please… don't reject me." You aren't alone, he thinks to add, but he's not sure it's the right thing to say given that it isn't his aim to support Tobias's theoretical murder compulsion.
"I wouldn't leave you alone," Tobias says, as if reading Franklyn's mind. "Not without saying goodbye first."
Through a great effort of willpower, Franklyn keeps himself from saying please again. "We can talk," he says instead. "You don't have to stay."
"Did Dr. Lecter suggest you reason with me?" Tobias asks pointedly, his directness catching Franklyn so off-guard at first he shakes his head before remembering that Tobias can't see him.
"No. I--" He wets his lips nervously. The mention of Dr. Lecter rekindles his anxiety, the uncertainty he always feels making decisions without therapist approval. It is an addiction, and he feels the symptoms. This is the first time he can recall acting in opposition to what he assumes his therapist would tell him -- he is pursuing the lion even knowing of its hunger.
This boldness could be in response to Dr. Lecter's lack of a solution. Or maybe Franklyn loves Tobias more than he previously suspected.
"This is my problem. Our problem." His voice is nearly strangled by how tense his throat has become and the effort it takes keeping it from cracking.
"Then I'll be by." And then the line goes dead. Franklyn stares at it fearfully, feeling his pulse pound in his wrist and at his temples. Part of him hadn't been expecting success, he's so used to his efforts failing. He's used to his friends or his lovers or even his acquaintances rebuffing his efforts bit by bit until the relationship finally dissolves completely. A matter of time, really.
Despite himself, he feels hopeful. Maybe there's a happy ending in all of this after all.
Tobias is dressed in a dark grey suit when he shows up at Franklyn's door, the shade not far off from the navy one Franklyn's wearing. Swallowing and trying to calm himself down enough not to be visibly nervous, Franklyn invites Tobias in.
"Y-you know," he begins, stammering over the words clumsily as he indecisively flicks his gaze from Tobias to his own feet and back again. "You can stay as long as you need to. No one has to know… I'll be here for you. I am here for you."
"I hope you aren't thinking of getting the police involved," Tobias says calmly, taking a seat on Franklyn's couch. Franklyn can't help but notice the way Tobias seems to observe the methodically organized apartment with approval. "Sit down."
Franklyn obeys. It's easier not to think for himself, but still he does, guardedly. It would be so easy to allow himself the comfort of denial, but he knows the lion is in the room. It's impossible for him to convince himself otherwise.
What would Dr. Lecter say right now?
"There's no going back, Franklyn," Tobias says. "It is too late. I know that you think I killed that musician."
"Did you?" Tobias's eyes answer for him, and Franklyn has to look away from them. He parts his lips, searching for words he can't yet find. What could he have been thinking, inviting Tobias here? He was less than a foot away from a murderer. A happy ending? What would Dr. Lecter say right now? "Then… why did you come see me, if you think it's too late? Why--"
"You invited me." Tobias tilts his head, which Franklyn sees in his peripheral vision even though he's still been avoiding eye contact. He bites his lower lip. "You said that you loved me. Do you still, knowing what I've done?"
Franklyn shakes his head, but he says, "Yes." That makes Tobias laugh and Franklyn finally looks up him again, fearful and flustered.
"What you did was horrible," he continues, slowly so that he doesn't trip over his words but still his voice wavers. "But I don't want this to be goodbye."
Tobias puts his hands on Franklyn's throat and Franklyn's whole body flinches; the hands tighten, then Tobias leans over the small swatch of distance between them and kisses him. Something in Franklyn's stomach turns over and allows him to hesitantly kiss Tobias back, breathing slowly because with Tobias's fingers so near his windpipe he's afraid to breathe faster.
"Are you going to kill me?" He whispers, when the kiss breaks.
"Not yet," Tobias assures him.
"I won't betray you," Franklyn assures back. "Even if you don't kill me. I won't tell anyone, if you-- if you promise not to do it again. There's things we can do. We can work together on this--"
"You can't protect me," Tobias says softly, kissing Franklyn's temple. But Franklyn wants to. He wishes for the scenario that ends with Tobias getting help, changing his ways and becoming a better person for it. He wishes also that he were anyone else but Franklyn Froideveaux, so that if Tobias changing weren't possible he could make himself walk away.
But it's because he is Franklyn Froideveaux that he can't do that. He stays, both because he does not want to give up on his friend, and because he is perilously in love with him. He's not fooled by Tobias anymore but he allows Tobias to manipulate him with the soft touches and kisses Franklyn's longed for since the two of them became acquainted.
"But I have to try."
Something in that response merits a chuckle from Tobias, his breath a damp huff against Franklyn's neck. He doesn't argue the point, which leaves Franklyn to wonder if there is still a chance, or if Tobias simply wants Franklyn to continue hoping there is. His doubts tumble over themselves, making motive impossible to determine. Dr. Lecter would know, of course, but Franklyn can't ask him.
"They'll be searching my shop soon," Tobias tells him, his voice casually level as he pushes Franklyn down against the couch, holding him by the shoulders now instead of the neck.
"What's--?" It's asked a little deliriously as Franklyn's thoughts become increasingly strayed, hoarse exhales escaping him. Tobias doesn't elaborate, allowing the comment to disappear into the darkness as his hands begin speaking louder. "Oh, God. Tobias."
Nothing has changed. Franklyn knows Tobias is still a murderer even as clothing gets pulled aside or off entirely, that this is no solution and the only kind of happy ending possible for them involves both of them alive but one behind bars. This is only a distraction and both of them know it. Maybe it's also a goodbye, but it's too soon still to determine; Franklyn's fingers lace together behind Tobias's neck, pulling him close so their mouths can meet again. His lips part as if to form words, but all that escapes are shaky breaths.
When it's over, neither of them speak. Franklyn looks up at the ceiling with regret, wiping damp curls from his forehead and turning his head so that the phone is once again in his line of sight. Tobias has stood up and fixed his clothing and now paces in wordless thought so that his footsteps mingle with the loud drumming of Franklyn's heartbeat to his own ears. Both sounds seem to grow louder as indecision continues to swallow him.
But he doesn't know what to do -- he needs someone to think for him right now. His head is in the lion's mouth and he feels his own judgement paralyzed by both extremes: hope and despair competing, wanting to believe Tobias can change and fearing that he can't. Or won't. If he can grab the phone before Tobias can stop him, Dr. Lecter is the first button on his speed dial, right before his mother.
It's too far and too late, he thinks as he reaches for it anyway. Tobias stops pacing and is on Franklyn in moments, slamming Franklyn's head against the floor while he tries to wrestle the phone away. Franklyn grunts as his fingers try desperately to retain their grip on it, his free hand swiping weakly at Tobias's face. He manages, with effort, to wrench his own arm back enough to smack Tobias's head with the phone, which buys him some space. He gets in another hit, harder, distantly hearing buttons press against Tobias's ear as Tobias smacks Franklyn's head against the floor again. Their bodies collide with the knowledge that life is on the line, legs kicking into air or flesh, furniture being knocked into. A lamp falls off Franklyn's end-table and crashes onto both their heads, a sensation Franklyn hears more than he feels; light explodes behind his vision and his head rolls over shards of porcelain.
"Don't--"
Franklyn isn't sure which of them it was that tried to speak, because he loses consciousness. He's woken by gentle shaking and a distant calling of his name -- "Franklyn" -- after what seems like only a few seconds, but he's looking up into Dr. Lecter's face and Tobias is nowhere to be found.
"What happened? Where's--?"
"By the time I arrived," Dr. Lecter begins, helping Franklyn to slow sit up. "You were here by yourself. I came as soon as I picked up your call and heard the sounds of a struggle."
The side of Franklyn's face feels tacky with what he assumes is blood, but he's too disoriented to feel any pain. He looks at Dr. Lecter with the uncertain eyes of someone who wants both to hear the truth and be told a comforting lie. Dr. Lecter knows this, too, but Franklyn also knows Dr. Lecter thinks he's stupid. Whatever he's told, he can still observe the scuffs and patches of blood on the wood floor beside him, the phone smashed against the far wall so that the batteries have vanished, the end-table that had fallen but is now upright again.
"Did you see him?" Franklyn asks, voice hoarse and doubtful. Dr. Lecter holds Franklyn's face still, tells him to hold still as he inspects Franklyn's eyes and head wound with clinical disinterest. Checking for concussion, Franklyn supposes idly. He can't help but feel comforted by Dr. Lecter's presence and attentiveness even now -- or perhaps especially now -- after who and what has just been lost to him, although it's a strangely hollow sensation all around. The happiest kind of ending he could have expected.
"Your intruder? No," he says. "It's as I said. When I got here you were here all by yourself. Was it Tobias that attacked you, Franklyn? You'll recall you mentioned to me your concerns."
It's no surprise to Franklyn that Dr. Lecter is able to deduce Tobias, but he hesitates in answering. "I don't remember," he offers finally in a disoriented tone of voice. He's certain it isn't convincing, but if Tobias must be caught it doesn't feel right to Franklyn that it be Dr. Lecter who calls the police. Tobias is dangerous and no matter how Franklyn feels for the man, this is his problem. By now it would be reckless to endanger his therapist any further.