Fic: Observations
Title: Observations
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: Murphy Brown
Series: Come Rain, Come Shine
Rating: Teen
Timeframe: Post Just Like Riding a Bike
A/N: This really, in the end, is a love letter to Frank. But it’s a love letter that has made me ask the question … what, really, is his relationship with Murphy? How is it defined? And what is the line between devotion and co-dependence?
Disclaimer: Murphy Brown does not belong to me, however if they want me to write novels, I’m open! But until then, I don’t make a dime from this.
Summary: Oh he loved her. He loved her wit and her charm and how under the brash, stressed out snark, she was the best friend anyone could ever have. He loved that he kept her secrets. At least he had. For a time.
Frank Fontana was, in fact, not a complete idiot. He knew enough about himself to know that his fear of relationships had nothing to do with falling in love and everything to do with failing. He’d grown up seeing only the side of his parents that complained to everyone, that griped about how nothing was good enough. He knew that loving Murphy was the closest he’d ever be to falling in love and he was smart enough to know that to be in love with Murphy Brown was a risk to his life that he was not prepared to master.
Oh he loved her. He loved her wit and her charm and how under the brash, stressed out snark, she was the best friend anyone could ever have. He loved that he kept her secrets. At least he had. For a time.
It started slowly, and he knew he could pinpoint when the friendship started to change. Once, they’d get high after a show, chowing down on cheeseburgers and fries and planning the next story. After coming down, she’d open a bottle of Jack and finish it off while writing the most brilliant copy he’d ever heard. When she came back from Betty Ford, her nights were spent in her office, the door closed off.
They went out together. Still shared their Bullets season tickets. They played video games on weekends. But the dynamic changed. Not much. But enough. Just enough for him to notice it. For him to worry. After all, before she sobered up, before Jim had found her passed out in the foyer of her townhouse, her secrets had all been about her drinking.
The difference between them was how they carried their secrets. Frank needed to unload. Murphy internalized. Always. He’d been hurt when she didn’t tell him about Jake, but his therapist had helped him understand that it was something Murphy had failed at and it was an embarrassment. Much like his fear of failure. It stung when she didn’t tell him about Jerry, but he knew, under all of the disgust he felt for the other man, that she too was unsure of how to describe her feelings for him. When he left her, over and over again, Frank watched her take her broken heart and wrap another layer of brick around it.
“Are you sure, really,” his therapist asked one afternoon, “that you aren’t really in love with her?”
His answer had been instant and sure. No. No he wasn’t. But she was more his sister than his sisters had ever been. And he loved Avery even more than his own nephews. He loved her because she was his tether. If Murphy survived, they all could. So he accepted the distance that built, slowly. So slowly. He accepted the reminder from his therapist that she would be changing the boundaries with old friends and needing to make new ones, because addicts so often surrounded themselves with enablers.
And if sometimes, Frank enabled her dependence on him, he accepted that reality. In his mind, it allowed him to criticize her more, to stand up to her more. He liked to think it strengthened their relationship. In the end, he wasn’t sure if that was really the case but it was a truth he was willing to live in.
Which was how he knew. He knew before she did. He knew before Peter Hunt ever made an appearance in the newsroom.
They all saw the piece where the border guard put the gun to Peter’s head. They all watched in terror as one of their own talked his way out of the situation. Halfway through the report, he’d glanced over at Murphy. Her eyes were glued to the screen, her lip tight between her teeth. She was evaluating the other reporter on every level of her psyche. To the untrained eye, she was simply enthralled, but he knew that look.
If Peter Hunt ever came into Murphy Brown’s life, it was all over. Everything in his gut told him that they’d be perfect for each other. And suddenly, he found himself grasping. Everyone he’d ever loved, once they fell for someone, he became less important. He already had adapted to the changes because of Avery, but this would be different. It wasn’t fair, he knew, to put that pressure on his best friend, but what could he do?
Because his nasty secret was, in the end, that his co-dependence on Murphy’s happiness was part of what kept him sane. What happened when she no longer needed him? Who was he then? He didn’t know how to need himself. So he needed Murphy and she needed him and he knew his therapist wanted him to put down roots that didn’t involve Murphy, but see, she’d saved him just as much as he wanted to save her. She’d dragged him from the print journalism world and put him in front of the TV cameras and she made him a better journalist. So what if she scared off the women he brought around, she knew better than he did that they were far more representations of his mother than of a woman he wanted to marry. Murphy refused to let him settle.
What scared him was that, looking at her look at Peter, she’d finally found the one she wouldn’t have to settle for.
But hey, Peter Hunt had to come into their lives first, right? Right now, he was an image on a TV screen. A rising star in the profession. He had no reason to pass through FYI, so it wasn’t anything to worry about.
Until he turned around to see him following Murphy out of her office. Until he saw the look pass between them. Until he saw the color rise in her cheeks and the way Peter watched her walk away.
He knew before she did.
Did he step aside? Encourage her? Did he let it happen? Or was he selfish?
Well.
That one was a given.
Murphy didn’t need another man in her life. Because what if it failed? What if he broke her heart? What if this time, she couldn’t stop herself from reaching for a bottle or that pack of cigarettes?
It was selfish, maybe. But what if? He had a right to protect himself too. He’d already watched her nearly self destruct once. She was just like him. She needed to protect herself.
What if she fell off the wagon?
What would he do then?
***
Eldin pretended he didn't care. He didn't want to care, really. He knew better than to care about what this crazy lady did with her life. But God. He cared. He cared because behind the wall that was so damn thick, there was this human being who just needed connection. She needed connection like he needed art and so the two of them clicked together. He pretended to stay because of the kid, but really, he cared about her too.
For the past few months she'd been moony. Since the guy in the sling really. Since the night she'd come home looking for all the world like she'd lost her best friend. He'd seen her perk up when he answered the door. He'd seen her the next day, humming to herself as she came into the kitchen and kissed Avery goodbye. He'd stood behind her when the TV was on, watching her watch news reports that came in. He'd seen the letter she carried with her. He'd looked into her eyes the night he came over and saw just how terrified she was at the idea that anyone could look at her like she was anything more than Murphy Brown.
He was glad. For all his teasing that she needed to get laid - and she did - he wanted his employer happy. Yes, happy employers paid better, but happy mothers were better mothers. She was so determined to prove she could do it all, and so often Eldin had to stand there and watch her fail because he knew she would never forgive herself if she didn't. How strange, really. To know that she was setting herself up to look like an idiot, but she didn't care because it was her journey and no one else's and so he painted murals for her son and hoped that between the two of them, Avery would grow up okay.
But what Eldin hadn't expected was the complete change. In front of people, she was her usual prickly self but behind closed doors, behind their door, she was softer. Cautious, almost. He caught her looking at photos not just of Jake but of that Peter guy and he had hoped that when she stopped him to ask advice about condoms no less that he was the one who was coming over.
He had been. As Eldin realized the next morning when he pulled in, and the guy's car was still there and he'd checked the bedroom only to find them passed out and the sheets in a way he'd only ever seen when her insomnia threatened to ruin them all. Avery had crawled out of his crib and wanted breakfast and Eldin had turned to his duties, making sure that Murphy had her morning.
No one knew he saw the reaction of her friends when they discovered her with Peter. No one saw how after everyone left, she sank against the door and took a sad, sagging breath. No one knew how she'd muttered to herself, cursing the world, saying how at least for one night it had been fun. She'd been crushed that she hadn't had a morning after.
That was new. This was new. He was new. This was different and Eldin watched how careful her movements were, how sore she looked. Heh. Good for her, really. Good for her. The last time she'd looked like this, Jake had been in town, and Eldin had his own opinions about the man. But, really, was this guy Murphy was so hung up on ready to be a father? Because Eldin knew from experience that you didn't just date the woman, you dated the kids. Part of him hoped it had ended after one night.
He wasn't sure he could handle Murphy's broken heart again. Her friends hadn't been there when she cried after Jake left, when she just wanted Jerry to settle down. They hadn't come in at six in the morning to see her pacing, Avery in her arms, terror in her eyes. She'd needed support beyond what they'd given her and so he stayed and he watched and he painted her pain into the murals in the bathroom and her joy into the designs on her bedroom ceiling. He didn't tell anyone what he knew, what he saw. She was his boss, not his conscience after all.
***
What hurt for Corky, wasn’t what people expected, she knew. She wasn’t jealous. Everyone knew about her stupid crush on Peter. She’d been obvious about throwing herself at him, hoping somehow that he’d stop looking at Murphy like a lost puppy and look at her that way. Just once. Just once. To have someone like Peter look at her like that. She’d shortened her skirts and she’d strutted around and over and over, she’d made herself a fool all while Murphy just stood there and got all of his attention. When Peter had asked if she wanted to go to the Humboldt’s, she’d jumped like she was the ugly girl being asked to the prom, draping herself all over the popular quarterback and all the while she’d sat there while he mooned over Murphy. She’d sat there, trying too hard, watching his eyes as they watched another woman. The “college girlfriend” joke he’d thrown out hadn’t meant to be a dig, she knew, but there it was, between them. She was younger than Peter. He wasn’t looking at her.
One last ditch effort had come in the corridor before the awards started. She’d thrown herself at him, losing herself in a kiss never meant for her. He’d kissed her back, teased her about a nice little place down by the coast, but she’d known he’d never go through with it. And worse, she’d seen Murphy emerge from the shadows and maybe a part of her had wanted to rub it in Murphy’s face. A part of her snarky mean girl beauty queen self had wanted to show off that she’d landed The Hunk. But Peter’s heart wasn’t in it. He wasn’t any more interested in her than any of the other men in the room, and Murphy’s face had broken when she’d seen the kiss.
Her mentor could deny it all she wanted, but she had a thing for Peter.
No, what hurt wasn’t that she’d been right and Murphy had denied it. It wasn’t even that Peter had been willing to tease and flirt even while his eyes were on someone else. It wasn’t that Murphy was older, and somehow still the most viable sexual being in the room. No, what hurt was that she hadn’t realized they’d actually gotten together.
For months, Murphy had been quiet when it came to the subject of men. Corky had assumed, maybe not incorrectly, that she was beginning The Change and of course that was a trying time for women. But even though Murphy didn’t date often, she wasn’t opposed to flirting, to looking after the men who walked out of the room. No, Corky was a journalist who specialized in human interest pieces and so she should have noticed the letters now tucked into Murphy’s ever present reporter’s notebook. She should have noticed the fact that Murphy had finally bought a cell phone that wasn’t attached to her car and the top of the line flip phone was on her desk, between the toy rat and the rubber lobster.
For a woman who liked to imagine her life was one big romance novel, Corky sure as hell had been willing to ignore all of the signs. She’d believed Murphy’s denial.
She’d wanted to believe Murphy’s denial. She’d been right and Murphy had denied it and she’d been so desperate to believe it that she’d allowed herself the lie. Peter had no reason to come back to FYI to visit like he did. He wasn’t there to see her, Miles only wanted him on the show, Jim didn’t care, and Frank was so threatened. No. She knew. She knew and she’d ignored her instincts and then, standing in Murphy’s living room, she’d watched the object of her desire clutch a towel together over his naked body and her mind had flooded with images of a night she’d made a fool of herself over. Were his kisses tender or forceful? Did he care about her pleasure or focus just on himself? Sex with Will had been so boring, really, after her initial rush to excitement. Sex with Peter, she could only imagine, was as exciting as the life she needed to believe he lived.
No one would be captured by terrorists that often, right?
She’d turned 30 against her will. But Peter had taken her up in a plane and showed her that life could still be exciting. He’d helped her after her sprained ankle and taken her to the Humboldts and the entire time, all he’d wanted was Murphy. Never in her life had she been The Friend. She didn’t know how to be The Friend. She was supposed to be The One they Wanted and he didn’t want her.
He didn’t want her.
And even her rejection of him was because she knew, even in his kiss (how dare the song be right!) that he didn’t want her.
It hurt because Murphy could have told her. Instead, she’d watched the other woman put a wall around herself. She’d ignored the flushed look on Murphy’s face the night of Peter’s interview. She’d pretended not to notice how disappointed Peter was when Murphy didn’t show up at Phil’s.
“She left?” He’d asked. “Oh … I mean. I should get going. Plane to catch and all.”
Corky knew better. And she’d stood in the middle of the bullpen and told him to get in the saddle and ride, ride, ride, and he had, apparently.
But did it have to be with Murphy?
***
Back when Peter had been on FYI, there had been a fundraiser for the Committee to Protect Journalists. The black tie event had brought together reporters of all stripes, many of whom had ducked missiles and run from soldiers hell bent on silencing their words. Jim had arrived with Doris on his arm, his beloved wife floating through the crowd with the charm and skill befitting a woman of her luminescence. She’d teased network executives and laughed with reporters and like all of them, had caught her breath when Murphy entered the room.
However, unlike most of them, she had been the one to notice exactly the way Peter Hunt reacted. She had elbowed Jim as Peter took Murphy into his arms on the dance floor. They’re beautiful together, she’d said, resting her hand on his arm. I wonder how long it will take for them to realize it.
But Jim didn’t like to concern himself with Murphy’s love life. Murphy was married to her job and devoted, now, to Avery. He’d seen men come and go over the years, the occasional relationship making the papers, the ones she kept around for more than a week becoming a source of gossip in the office. If anything, the thing he noted was after she sobered up, she stopped finding solace in the arms of men who enabled her addiction.
She deserves love, Doris had said one night, clucking her tongue. It’s too bad she doesn’t believe it for herself.
The one that lingered in his mind was Jerry Gold, the heathen beast who stole his Slugger’s heart. What hurt, when he chose to pay attention, was that he’d seen how a part of her was truly happy around Jerry. But he also saw, when he looked into her eyes, a familiar twinkle. Jerry fed the same part of her as drinking once had and she lost herself in exactly the same way. When he vanished back to Los Angeles, Jim breathed easier. For all of his seeming to care for Murphy during her pregnancy, the hangover she felt was similar to how the Jack had knocked her sideways toward the end.
But he’d never considered Peter to be a factor. Despite Doris’ observation, despite the night of dancing and the taunting at the office and the show of ego at the Humboldt’s, he never considered Peter as a suitor. The rough, brash journalist with an ego the size of Montana and … well. When he allowed himself to think about it, of course it worked. Of course they worked.
What bothered him was that he hadn’t allowed himself to think about it.
Oh, Murphy’s love life was not his business, but she had always been his responsibility. He’d vouched for her with the network, he’d mentored her toward the anchor desk, he’d driven her to Betty Ford and stood on the grounds as she stalked away. He’d listened as she broke down, admitting for the first time her deepest fears of failure and how the booze kept the demons at bay and she didn’t know what to do because now the booze was a demon and what if nothing worked anymore and she was broken. What if she couldn’t go back?
She was his little sister. His daughter. And he knew better than to interfere, but he also wanted to sit Peter Hunt down and declare in no uncertain terms that if he hurt Murphy or that little boy, there would be hell to pay.
How had he not seen it? Doris had. In just a few seconds, she’d seen it. And now, sitting in his office following Murphy and Peter’s awkward exit from the newsroom, he forced himself to acknowledge he had too.
The childish flirting was bad enough, but no, it had been the look in Murphy’s eyes over the past few months that had given her away. He hadn’t paid attention at the time, but now, he realized every time the phone rang, she glanced back. She jumped to check the mail when it came in and more than once, he’d seen her gazing longer than normal at her computer screen, checking personal email.
She and Peter had come together when he’d been back in town after his injury and Murphy was now a woman waiting. Watching her, he knew, this was what Doris had once gone through, and he found himself reaching more for his wife, realizing, suddenly, that in the thirty-five years of their marriage, that her explorations for freedom were as entwined with fading anxiety over his career as they were her realizing she’d spent a life as a proper housewife and wanted more for herself.
He’d never been so glad that Murphy had the freedom to define herself before falling for Peter and he wished Doris had been granted the same security.
Seeing her in her living room on that morning after with Peter had been tantamount to seeing a daughter in bed with a lover. They had no business knowing what happened with Murphy’s love life, no reason to know what she was doing. But worse than that, he hated that they had clearly interrupted a private moment. She’d been trying to push them out the door, and they’d ignored her. She’d begged them to leave, and they’d turned it on her, lecturing her. Yes, she had slept in, but she told them to go. They waited. And because they hadn’t listened, she’d been humiliated in front of them.
How often had that happened, really?
Murphy was loud and brash and demanding. She got what she wanted because she was pushy. All she’d asked was that they leave her be. They hadn’t. Her secrets were out in the open. A woman who valued her privacy lest people mock her for it, had her entire world laid bare.
If he’d listened to Doris, maybe Murphy wouldn’t have been embarrassed. Maybe he should have trusted her. Trusted his instincts. For now, he could do something concrete. He could give her the privacy she needed, follow her lead, and see where this journey with Peter took her.
***
Miles didn’t want to be giddy, but he was giddy. A dark, always ignored part of his psyche told Miles that his excitement had far more to do with seeing Peter Hunt naked than the fact that he was sleeping with his star reporter, but a lifetime of experience told him how to ignore that. After all, the harsh reality was that he wanted Peter back on the show because Peter meant ratings.
Miles wanted to be stoic. He didn’t want to flash his high pressured neurosis around to everyone. He didn’t want people pitying him, or seeing him as the stereotype he so often found himself playing in to. Josh didn’t have these issues. There he was, ruling the social justice world and fighting for access and the environment and everything else under the sun, and he was cool and calm and collected and Miles didn’t think about the fact that his brother had also slept with Murphy Brown.
Well, had they really slept?
Ugh.
But the truth was that no matter how good he was at his job, he wasn’t a lawyer who gained respect as the years went on. He was a producer who still felt like he was drowning while the sharks swam around him. Peter Hunt hadn’t been his call, but it had been one of the best moments of his career. Peter Hunt. Dashing. Smart. Witty. Brilliant. Appeal across all demographics - especially the ones the network pretended they didn’t poll. He made tired housewives want to watch the news and he made armchair generals feel like they owned the world.
Much like Murphy, really, Peter was the full package. Murphy was more apt to ruffle feathers, but it was as much the nature of her reporting as the fact that Peter could give an identical report and it would be received with open arms. Miles hated to think about the sexism in the business, but he couldn’t ignore it either. Not when he flat out told Corky to dress sexier to attract Peter to stay and then turned around and stalked her at the Humboldts.
His own weirdness around Corky aside - the dark part of his psyche rearing up and saying it was about covering parts of himself was shoved down again - he wanted Peter to have incentive to stick around. He wanted the network to dump him back on FYI. He needed a break and he knew it was wrong, but the fact that Murphy had left the office to go home and have sex with Peter Hunt mattered to him. The fact that Murphy had stood there in front of all of them and talked about her personal life was a whole other matter entirely.
Peter wasn’t Jerry, after all. Under the brash arrogance, he was a genuinely good man and even in the half-second interaction seemed to really care about Murphy. Which, really, was nice. Murphy was like a big sister and he worried about her. Her taste in men was questionable. Frankly, Miles still didn’t know how Jake could have abandoned her and Avery, activists could be parents after all, but that was a whole other ball of anxiety.
Still. This was the first time in almost seven years of working together that Miles wasn’t questioning the man she brought around. So what if it was due, partly, to the hope and prayer that Peter would come back to FYI, that Miles could reclaim is number one ranking. Oh, those had been the glory days, before the brass called him after every show, before they started wanting Corky to do more celebrity interview pieces, before they started asking him if Murphy really just wasn’t getting too old to do the job. The calls had stopped when Peter was on the air. Miles’ worst nightmare was them offering the star his own show. What then? How could he compete then?
He wanted to be the good friend. He wanted to be the one to cheer for her just like she had all of the different times over the years. And yes, he was happy that she seemed happy. But really, he couldn’t put aside the idea of building FYI for a new generation with Murphy and Peter fighting battles for journalism side by side.
God this relationship had better work out. He couldn’t handle the new ulcer if it didn’t.
***
Miles had a crush on the guy, that much was obvious. Phil didn’t much care who Miles was crushing on, save for the fact that wherever his eye went, there went FYI. And that it was rare when he was so obvious about the men. It didn’t bother him, not really. He’d serve anyone who came in and paid in cash, didn’t care who they were sleeping with. Well. That wasn’t true. It was good for business if he did care who they were sleeping with.
He’d watched Jim and Doris grow old together, Frank trip over himself chasing after every woman in the place. He’d chuckled at Corky and rolled his eyes at Miller. He’d seen Murphy rebuff every man who had ever come up against her - save Jerry Gold and that was something he wanted to forget. The image of them kissing was forever burned into his eyes and he was just glad Gold was in LA or Germany or wherever he’d landed.
He also knew the moment he laid eyes on Murphy Brown and Peter Hunt in the same space that they were absolutely perfect for each other.
And God save the union.
He watched, helpless and amused, as they danced around each other for months. Was he really the only one who noticed the long, lingering stares? How they were always the last ones left at the table? How Peter helped her with her coat, pulled the chair out for her? Once, Murphy had come in for lunch and claimed a back booth to get some work done. When she did this, even the servers knew to steer clear. Phil would bring her a club sandwich and a bottle of club soda and leave her be. She hadn’t said a word when Peter invaded her space and settled in to work as well. They didn’t speak to each other all afternoon. Just sat and worked.
Phil had actually wondered if Murphy had started drinking again. No one, not even Frank was allowed in her space like that and there she was, with Hunt.
But now, it was, as he was learning, the early stages of her falling in love.
It was fun to witness, this part of Murphy rising to the surface. He’d seen her in here with Kennedy Cousins and a couple of actors and even Jerry Frikkin Gold but he’d never seen her react like this. He’d never seen the FYI crew react like this.
Miles was damn near celebratory, as if Peter and Murphy sleeping together would magically improve ratings. Jim refused to speak on it. Corky looked lonely. Frank, well, Frank was always upset. He felt for the guy. The co-dependence created in relationships where addiction was a factor only ended up screwing everyone over later on. Phil wondered if half the time people went back to drinking wasn’t because they wanted to, but because they missed the friendship they had with the people who enabled them. He was proud of Murphy for not giving in to her old habits. He was more proud of her for apparently finding someone to connect to who wasn’t a sexist jerk hellbent on destroying journalism and the environment. But now, he wanted to see them together post-realization. What would the difference be? Would there be one? After all, to just watch them before, one could almost believe they’d been in a relationship since the beginning.
He’d noticed that first day. Peter had ordered the chili, extra hot, and Phil had been sure the kid was suicidal. He’d looked over right at the moment Murphy took her seat at the table and seen Peter’s eyes trail over her, watched the younger man’s shoulders square off, ready for a fight. Kids on the playground, really. But they were grownups. He was honestly surprised it had taken so long.
When he thought about it, he realized Murphy’s behavior had been different the last few months. Since the interview Peter gave after he was shot. He’d realized then there was something up about the interview, but he hadn’t given it any thought beyond a chuckle. Now, he knew. It had started there. Then. Since day one.
Oh, this was going to be fun to watch. Well, as long as Peter didn’t hurt Murphy or Avery. Murphy could take care of herself, but Avery, well. Peter better not mind death by chili if he did anything there.
***
The hardest part, Frank had to admit, was not the morning after. He was hurt Murphy hadn’t told him, but he was learning there were things his best friend would always keep from him, despite his inability to do the same. No. It wasn’t the morning after, but instead Monday, when she stepped off the elevator.
It was clear she’d spent the past few days being loved. She downright glowed with an energy he’d never seen in her. She was calm, but there was a pep in her step. She was smiling, but there was a change in her eyes and Frank watched her steal glances at the newsfeed.
No, the hardest part was not the morning after. It wasn’t even admitting she was falling in love with someone who was, even he could grudgingly admit, perfect for her. No. It was, he finally admitted to his therapist, that there was someone else - another man - in her life. Frank wasn’t in love with Murphy, no, but he needed their connection. He needed their friendship. He needed to know that when he called at three in the morning in the throes of an anxiety attack that she’d answer because she was awake too.
How long before Peter learned her secrets, before they talked about AA meetings and failure? Before he knew secrets about war zones that kept Murphy up at night? How long before it was Peter lifting Avery up into the trees and carrying him on his shoulders. How long before Avery called Peter daddy? How long before a Godfather wasn’t needed because a real father was there to bandage knees and read bedtime stories?
How long before Murphy just didn’t need him anymore?
Frank sat back and watched her watch the newsfeed. Andrea Mitchell was running a story on Bosnia and there was Peter, right in the thick of things, pointing to a bombed out building. Murphy didn’t turn up the feed, didn’t make a show of any of it, she just watched the report, one hand clenched at her side.
The hardest part for Frank wasn’t that Murphy was sleeping with Peter, or that she didn’t want him. The hardest part was that Frank only wanted his best friend, and he just didn’t know how to share without losing her. So he read the paper and watched Corky give Murphy a pat on the shoulder as the segment on the feed ended. He needed to be the most important man in Murphy’s life because he always had been, and now he was third. Behind Avery and now behind Peter, and he could feel his trek to irrelevancy beginning.
Maybe it would end. Maybe this time, her heart wouldn’t break. Maybe she’d still need him. But he knew better. Because if Peter Hunt reminded Frank of anything, it was that he was as replaceable as his toupee. Logic made no sense in this moment. He knew, as her best friend, he should walk over and squeeze her hand and tell her it was going to be okay. Instead, he looked back at his paper, ignoring the wall of jealousy that was building. Murphy wanted Peter Hunt, she could have him. Distance and all.
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: Murphy Brown
Series: Come Rain, Come Shine
Rating: Teen
Timeframe: Post Just Like Riding a Bike
A/N: This really, in the end, is a love letter to Frank. But it’s a love letter that has made me ask the question … what, really, is his relationship with Murphy? How is it defined? And what is the line between devotion and co-dependence?
Disclaimer: Murphy Brown does not belong to me, however if they want me to write novels, I’m open! But until then, I don’t make a dime from this.
Summary: Oh he loved her. He loved her wit and her charm and how under the brash, stressed out snark, she was the best friend anyone could ever have. He loved that he kept her secrets. At least he had. For a time.
Frank Fontana was, in fact, not a complete idiot. He knew enough about himself to know that his fear of relationships had nothing to do with falling in love and everything to do with failing. He’d grown up seeing only the side of his parents that complained to everyone, that griped about how nothing was good enough. He knew that loving Murphy was the closest he’d ever be to falling in love and he was smart enough to know that to be in love with Murphy Brown was a risk to his life that he was not prepared to master.
Oh he loved her. He loved her wit and her charm and how under the brash, stressed out snark, she was the best friend anyone could ever have. He loved that he kept her secrets. At least he had. For a time.
It started slowly, and he knew he could pinpoint when the friendship started to change. Once, they’d get high after a show, chowing down on cheeseburgers and fries and planning the next story. After coming down, she’d open a bottle of Jack and finish it off while writing the most brilliant copy he’d ever heard. When she came back from Betty Ford, her nights were spent in her office, the door closed off.
They went out together. Still shared their Bullets season tickets. They played video games on weekends. But the dynamic changed. Not much. But enough. Just enough for him to notice it. For him to worry. After all, before she sobered up, before Jim had found her passed out in the foyer of her townhouse, her secrets had all been about her drinking.
The difference between them was how they carried their secrets. Frank needed to unload. Murphy internalized. Always. He’d been hurt when she didn’t tell him about Jake, but his therapist had helped him understand that it was something Murphy had failed at and it was an embarrassment. Much like his fear of failure. It stung when she didn’t tell him about Jerry, but he knew, under all of the disgust he felt for the other man, that she too was unsure of how to describe her feelings for him. When he left her, over and over again, Frank watched her take her broken heart and wrap another layer of brick around it.
“Are you sure, really,” his therapist asked one afternoon, “that you aren’t really in love with her?”
His answer had been instant and sure. No. No he wasn’t. But she was more his sister than his sisters had ever been. And he loved Avery even more than his own nephews. He loved her because she was his tether. If Murphy survived, they all could. So he accepted the distance that built, slowly. So slowly. He accepted the reminder from his therapist that she would be changing the boundaries with old friends and needing to make new ones, because addicts so often surrounded themselves with enablers.
And if sometimes, Frank enabled her dependence on him, he accepted that reality. In his mind, it allowed him to criticize her more, to stand up to her more. He liked to think it strengthened their relationship. In the end, he wasn’t sure if that was really the case but it was a truth he was willing to live in.
Which was how he knew. He knew before she did. He knew before Peter Hunt ever made an appearance in the newsroom.
They all saw the piece where the border guard put the gun to Peter’s head. They all watched in terror as one of their own talked his way out of the situation. Halfway through the report, he’d glanced over at Murphy. Her eyes were glued to the screen, her lip tight between her teeth. She was evaluating the other reporter on every level of her psyche. To the untrained eye, she was simply enthralled, but he knew that look.
If Peter Hunt ever came into Murphy Brown’s life, it was all over. Everything in his gut told him that they’d be perfect for each other. And suddenly, he found himself grasping. Everyone he’d ever loved, once they fell for someone, he became less important. He already had adapted to the changes because of Avery, but this would be different. It wasn’t fair, he knew, to put that pressure on his best friend, but what could he do?
Because his nasty secret was, in the end, that his co-dependence on Murphy’s happiness was part of what kept him sane. What happened when she no longer needed him? Who was he then? He didn’t know how to need himself. So he needed Murphy and she needed him and he knew his therapist wanted him to put down roots that didn’t involve Murphy, but see, she’d saved him just as much as he wanted to save her. She’d dragged him from the print journalism world and put him in front of the TV cameras and she made him a better journalist. So what if she scared off the women he brought around, she knew better than he did that they were far more representations of his mother than of a woman he wanted to marry. Murphy refused to let him settle.
What scared him was that, looking at her look at Peter, she’d finally found the one she wouldn’t have to settle for.
But hey, Peter Hunt had to come into their lives first, right? Right now, he was an image on a TV screen. A rising star in the profession. He had no reason to pass through FYI, so it wasn’t anything to worry about.
Until he turned around to see him following Murphy out of her office. Until he saw the look pass between them. Until he saw the color rise in her cheeks and the way Peter watched her walk away.
He knew before she did.
Did he step aside? Encourage her? Did he let it happen? Or was he selfish?
Well.
That one was a given.
Murphy didn’t need another man in her life. Because what if it failed? What if he broke her heart? What if this time, she couldn’t stop herself from reaching for a bottle or that pack of cigarettes?
It was selfish, maybe. But what if? He had a right to protect himself too. He’d already watched her nearly self destruct once. She was just like him. She needed to protect herself.
What if she fell off the wagon?
What would he do then?
***
Eldin pretended he didn't care. He didn't want to care, really. He knew better than to care about what this crazy lady did with her life. But God. He cared. He cared because behind the wall that was so damn thick, there was this human being who just needed connection. She needed connection like he needed art and so the two of them clicked together. He pretended to stay because of the kid, but really, he cared about her too.
For the past few months she'd been moony. Since the guy in the sling really. Since the night she'd come home looking for all the world like she'd lost her best friend. He'd seen her perk up when he answered the door. He'd seen her the next day, humming to herself as she came into the kitchen and kissed Avery goodbye. He'd stood behind her when the TV was on, watching her watch news reports that came in. He'd seen the letter she carried with her. He'd looked into her eyes the night he came over and saw just how terrified she was at the idea that anyone could look at her like she was anything more than Murphy Brown.
He was glad. For all his teasing that she needed to get laid - and she did - he wanted his employer happy. Yes, happy employers paid better, but happy mothers were better mothers. She was so determined to prove she could do it all, and so often Eldin had to stand there and watch her fail because he knew she would never forgive herself if she didn't. How strange, really. To know that she was setting herself up to look like an idiot, but she didn't care because it was her journey and no one else's and so he painted murals for her son and hoped that between the two of them, Avery would grow up okay.
But what Eldin hadn't expected was the complete change. In front of people, she was her usual prickly self but behind closed doors, behind their door, she was softer. Cautious, almost. He caught her looking at photos not just of Jake but of that Peter guy and he had hoped that when she stopped him to ask advice about condoms no less that he was the one who was coming over.
He had been. As Eldin realized the next morning when he pulled in, and the guy's car was still there and he'd checked the bedroom only to find them passed out and the sheets in a way he'd only ever seen when her insomnia threatened to ruin them all. Avery had crawled out of his crib and wanted breakfast and Eldin had turned to his duties, making sure that Murphy had her morning.
No one knew he saw the reaction of her friends when they discovered her with Peter. No one saw how after everyone left, she sank against the door and took a sad, sagging breath. No one knew how she'd muttered to herself, cursing the world, saying how at least for one night it had been fun. She'd been crushed that she hadn't had a morning after.
That was new. This was new. He was new. This was different and Eldin watched how careful her movements were, how sore she looked. Heh. Good for her, really. Good for her. The last time she'd looked like this, Jake had been in town, and Eldin had his own opinions about the man. But, really, was this guy Murphy was so hung up on ready to be a father? Because Eldin knew from experience that you didn't just date the woman, you dated the kids. Part of him hoped it had ended after one night.
He wasn't sure he could handle Murphy's broken heart again. Her friends hadn't been there when she cried after Jake left, when she just wanted Jerry to settle down. They hadn't come in at six in the morning to see her pacing, Avery in her arms, terror in her eyes. She'd needed support beyond what they'd given her and so he stayed and he watched and he painted her pain into the murals in the bathroom and her joy into the designs on her bedroom ceiling. He didn't tell anyone what he knew, what he saw. She was his boss, not his conscience after all.
***
What hurt for Corky, wasn’t what people expected, she knew. She wasn’t jealous. Everyone knew about her stupid crush on Peter. She’d been obvious about throwing herself at him, hoping somehow that he’d stop looking at Murphy like a lost puppy and look at her that way. Just once. Just once. To have someone like Peter look at her like that. She’d shortened her skirts and she’d strutted around and over and over, she’d made herself a fool all while Murphy just stood there and got all of his attention. When Peter had asked if she wanted to go to the Humboldt’s, she’d jumped like she was the ugly girl being asked to the prom, draping herself all over the popular quarterback and all the while she’d sat there while he mooned over Murphy. She’d sat there, trying too hard, watching his eyes as they watched another woman. The “college girlfriend” joke he’d thrown out hadn’t meant to be a dig, she knew, but there it was, between them. She was younger than Peter. He wasn’t looking at her.
One last ditch effort had come in the corridor before the awards started. She’d thrown herself at him, losing herself in a kiss never meant for her. He’d kissed her back, teased her about a nice little place down by the coast, but she’d known he’d never go through with it. And worse, she’d seen Murphy emerge from the shadows and maybe a part of her had wanted to rub it in Murphy’s face. A part of her snarky mean girl beauty queen self had wanted to show off that she’d landed The Hunk. But Peter’s heart wasn’t in it. He wasn’t any more interested in her than any of the other men in the room, and Murphy’s face had broken when she’d seen the kiss.
Her mentor could deny it all she wanted, but she had a thing for Peter.
No, what hurt wasn’t that she’d been right and Murphy had denied it. It wasn’t even that Peter had been willing to tease and flirt even while his eyes were on someone else. It wasn’t that Murphy was older, and somehow still the most viable sexual being in the room. No, what hurt was that she hadn’t realized they’d actually gotten together.
For months, Murphy had been quiet when it came to the subject of men. Corky had assumed, maybe not incorrectly, that she was beginning The Change and of course that was a trying time for women. But even though Murphy didn’t date often, she wasn’t opposed to flirting, to looking after the men who walked out of the room. No, Corky was a journalist who specialized in human interest pieces and so she should have noticed the letters now tucked into Murphy’s ever present reporter’s notebook. She should have noticed the fact that Murphy had finally bought a cell phone that wasn’t attached to her car and the top of the line flip phone was on her desk, between the toy rat and the rubber lobster.
For a woman who liked to imagine her life was one big romance novel, Corky sure as hell had been willing to ignore all of the signs. She’d believed Murphy’s denial.
She’d wanted to believe Murphy’s denial. She’d been right and Murphy had denied it and she’d been so desperate to believe it that she’d allowed herself the lie. Peter had no reason to come back to FYI to visit like he did. He wasn’t there to see her, Miles only wanted him on the show, Jim didn’t care, and Frank was so threatened. No. She knew. She knew and she’d ignored her instincts and then, standing in Murphy’s living room, she’d watched the object of her desire clutch a towel together over his naked body and her mind had flooded with images of a night she’d made a fool of herself over. Were his kisses tender or forceful? Did he care about her pleasure or focus just on himself? Sex with Will had been so boring, really, after her initial rush to excitement. Sex with Peter, she could only imagine, was as exciting as the life she needed to believe he lived.
No one would be captured by terrorists that often, right?
She’d turned 30 against her will. But Peter had taken her up in a plane and showed her that life could still be exciting. He’d helped her after her sprained ankle and taken her to the Humboldts and the entire time, all he’d wanted was Murphy. Never in her life had she been The Friend. She didn’t know how to be The Friend. She was supposed to be The One they Wanted and he didn’t want her.
He didn’t want her.
And even her rejection of him was because she knew, even in his kiss (how dare the song be right!) that he didn’t want her.
It hurt because Murphy could have told her. Instead, she’d watched the other woman put a wall around herself. She’d ignored the flushed look on Murphy’s face the night of Peter’s interview. She’d pretended not to notice how disappointed Peter was when Murphy didn’t show up at Phil’s.
“She left?” He’d asked. “Oh … I mean. I should get going. Plane to catch and all.”
Corky knew better. And she’d stood in the middle of the bullpen and told him to get in the saddle and ride, ride, ride, and he had, apparently.
But did it have to be with Murphy?
***
Back when Peter had been on FYI, there had been a fundraiser for the Committee to Protect Journalists. The black tie event had brought together reporters of all stripes, many of whom had ducked missiles and run from soldiers hell bent on silencing their words. Jim had arrived with Doris on his arm, his beloved wife floating through the crowd with the charm and skill befitting a woman of her luminescence. She’d teased network executives and laughed with reporters and like all of them, had caught her breath when Murphy entered the room.
However, unlike most of them, she had been the one to notice exactly the way Peter Hunt reacted. She had elbowed Jim as Peter took Murphy into his arms on the dance floor. They’re beautiful together, she’d said, resting her hand on his arm. I wonder how long it will take for them to realize it.
But Jim didn’t like to concern himself with Murphy’s love life. Murphy was married to her job and devoted, now, to Avery. He’d seen men come and go over the years, the occasional relationship making the papers, the ones she kept around for more than a week becoming a source of gossip in the office. If anything, the thing he noted was after she sobered up, she stopped finding solace in the arms of men who enabled her addiction.
She deserves love, Doris had said one night, clucking her tongue. It’s too bad she doesn’t believe it for herself.
The one that lingered in his mind was Jerry Gold, the heathen beast who stole his Slugger’s heart. What hurt, when he chose to pay attention, was that he’d seen how a part of her was truly happy around Jerry. But he also saw, when he looked into her eyes, a familiar twinkle. Jerry fed the same part of her as drinking once had and she lost herself in exactly the same way. When he vanished back to Los Angeles, Jim breathed easier. For all of his seeming to care for Murphy during her pregnancy, the hangover she felt was similar to how the Jack had knocked her sideways toward the end.
But he’d never considered Peter to be a factor. Despite Doris’ observation, despite the night of dancing and the taunting at the office and the show of ego at the Humboldt’s, he never considered Peter as a suitor. The rough, brash journalist with an ego the size of Montana and … well. When he allowed himself to think about it, of course it worked. Of course they worked.
What bothered him was that he hadn’t allowed himself to think about it.
Oh, Murphy’s love life was not his business, but she had always been his responsibility. He’d vouched for her with the network, he’d mentored her toward the anchor desk, he’d driven her to Betty Ford and stood on the grounds as she stalked away. He’d listened as she broke down, admitting for the first time her deepest fears of failure and how the booze kept the demons at bay and she didn’t know what to do because now the booze was a demon and what if nothing worked anymore and she was broken. What if she couldn’t go back?
She was his little sister. His daughter. And he knew better than to interfere, but he also wanted to sit Peter Hunt down and declare in no uncertain terms that if he hurt Murphy or that little boy, there would be hell to pay.
How had he not seen it? Doris had. In just a few seconds, she’d seen it. And now, sitting in his office following Murphy and Peter’s awkward exit from the newsroom, he forced himself to acknowledge he had too.
The childish flirting was bad enough, but no, it had been the look in Murphy’s eyes over the past few months that had given her away. He hadn’t paid attention at the time, but now, he realized every time the phone rang, she glanced back. She jumped to check the mail when it came in and more than once, he’d seen her gazing longer than normal at her computer screen, checking personal email.
She and Peter had come together when he’d been back in town after his injury and Murphy was now a woman waiting. Watching her, he knew, this was what Doris had once gone through, and he found himself reaching more for his wife, realizing, suddenly, that in the thirty-five years of their marriage, that her explorations for freedom were as entwined with fading anxiety over his career as they were her realizing she’d spent a life as a proper housewife and wanted more for herself.
He’d never been so glad that Murphy had the freedom to define herself before falling for Peter and he wished Doris had been granted the same security.
Seeing her in her living room on that morning after with Peter had been tantamount to seeing a daughter in bed with a lover. They had no business knowing what happened with Murphy’s love life, no reason to know what she was doing. But worse than that, he hated that they had clearly interrupted a private moment. She’d been trying to push them out the door, and they’d ignored her. She’d begged them to leave, and they’d turned it on her, lecturing her. Yes, she had slept in, but she told them to go. They waited. And because they hadn’t listened, she’d been humiliated in front of them.
How often had that happened, really?
Murphy was loud and brash and demanding. She got what she wanted because she was pushy. All she’d asked was that they leave her be. They hadn’t. Her secrets were out in the open. A woman who valued her privacy lest people mock her for it, had her entire world laid bare.
If he’d listened to Doris, maybe Murphy wouldn’t have been embarrassed. Maybe he should have trusted her. Trusted his instincts. For now, he could do something concrete. He could give her the privacy she needed, follow her lead, and see where this journey with Peter took her.
***
Miles didn’t want to be giddy, but he was giddy. A dark, always ignored part of his psyche told Miles that his excitement had far more to do with seeing Peter Hunt naked than the fact that he was sleeping with his star reporter, but a lifetime of experience told him how to ignore that. After all, the harsh reality was that he wanted Peter back on the show because Peter meant ratings.
Miles wanted to be stoic. He didn’t want to flash his high pressured neurosis around to everyone. He didn’t want people pitying him, or seeing him as the stereotype he so often found himself playing in to. Josh didn’t have these issues. There he was, ruling the social justice world and fighting for access and the environment and everything else under the sun, and he was cool and calm and collected and Miles didn’t think about the fact that his brother had also slept with Murphy Brown.
Well, had they really slept?
Ugh.
But the truth was that no matter how good he was at his job, he wasn’t a lawyer who gained respect as the years went on. He was a producer who still felt like he was drowning while the sharks swam around him. Peter Hunt hadn’t been his call, but it had been one of the best moments of his career. Peter Hunt. Dashing. Smart. Witty. Brilliant. Appeal across all demographics - especially the ones the network pretended they didn’t poll. He made tired housewives want to watch the news and he made armchair generals feel like they owned the world.
Much like Murphy, really, Peter was the full package. Murphy was more apt to ruffle feathers, but it was as much the nature of her reporting as the fact that Peter could give an identical report and it would be received with open arms. Miles hated to think about the sexism in the business, but he couldn’t ignore it either. Not when he flat out told Corky to dress sexier to attract Peter to stay and then turned around and stalked her at the Humboldts.
His own weirdness around Corky aside - the dark part of his psyche rearing up and saying it was about covering parts of himself was shoved down again - he wanted Peter to have incentive to stick around. He wanted the network to dump him back on FYI. He needed a break and he knew it was wrong, but the fact that Murphy had left the office to go home and have sex with Peter Hunt mattered to him. The fact that Murphy had stood there in front of all of them and talked about her personal life was a whole other matter entirely.
Peter wasn’t Jerry, after all. Under the brash arrogance, he was a genuinely good man and even in the half-second interaction seemed to really care about Murphy. Which, really, was nice. Murphy was like a big sister and he worried about her. Her taste in men was questionable. Frankly, Miles still didn’t know how Jake could have abandoned her and Avery, activists could be parents after all, but that was a whole other ball of anxiety.
Still. This was the first time in almost seven years of working together that Miles wasn’t questioning the man she brought around. So what if it was due, partly, to the hope and prayer that Peter would come back to FYI, that Miles could reclaim is number one ranking. Oh, those had been the glory days, before the brass called him after every show, before they started wanting Corky to do more celebrity interview pieces, before they started asking him if Murphy really just wasn’t getting too old to do the job. The calls had stopped when Peter was on the air. Miles’ worst nightmare was them offering the star his own show. What then? How could he compete then?
He wanted to be the good friend. He wanted to be the one to cheer for her just like she had all of the different times over the years. And yes, he was happy that she seemed happy. But really, he couldn’t put aside the idea of building FYI for a new generation with Murphy and Peter fighting battles for journalism side by side.
God this relationship had better work out. He couldn’t handle the new ulcer if it didn’t.
***
Miles had a crush on the guy, that much was obvious. Phil didn’t much care who Miles was crushing on, save for the fact that wherever his eye went, there went FYI. And that it was rare when he was so obvious about the men. It didn’t bother him, not really. He’d serve anyone who came in and paid in cash, didn’t care who they were sleeping with. Well. That wasn’t true. It was good for business if he did care who they were sleeping with.
He’d watched Jim and Doris grow old together, Frank trip over himself chasing after every woman in the place. He’d chuckled at Corky and rolled his eyes at Miller. He’d seen Murphy rebuff every man who had ever come up against her - save Jerry Gold and that was something he wanted to forget. The image of them kissing was forever burned into his eyes and he was just glad Gold was in LA or Germany or wherever he’d landed.
He also knew the moment he laid eyes on Murphy Brown and Peter Hunt in the same space that they were absolutely perfect for each other.
And God save the union.
He watched, helpless and amused, as they danced around each other for months. Was he really the only one who noticed the long, lingering stares? How they were always the last ones left at the table? How Peter helped her with her coat, pulled the chair out for her? Once, Murphy had come in for lunch and claimed a back booth to get some work done. When she did this, even the servers knew to steer clear. Phil would bring her a club sandwich and a bottle of club soda and leave her be. She hadn’t said a word when Peter invaded her space and settled in to work as well. They didn’t speak to each other all afternoon. Just sat and worked.
Phil had actually wondered if Murphy had started drinking again. No one, not even Frank was allowed in her space like that and there she was, with Hunt.
But now, it was, as he was learning, the early stages of her falling in love.
It was fun to witness, this part of Murphy rising to the surface. He’d seen her in here with Kennedy Cousins and a couple of actors and even Jerry Frikkin Gold but he’d never seen her react like this. He’d never seen the FYI crew react like this.
Miles was damn near celebratory, as if Peter and Murphy sleeping together would magically improve ratings. Jim refused to speak on it. Corky looked lonely. Frank, well, Frank was always upset. He felt for the guy. The co-dependence created in relationships where addiction was a factor only ended up screwing everyone over later on. Phil wondered if half the time people went back to drinking wasn’t because they wanted to, but because they missed the friendship they had with the people who enabled them. He was proud of Murphy for not giving in to her old habits. He was more proud of her for apparently finding someone to connect to who wasn’t a sexist jerk hellbent on destroying journalism and the environment. But now, he wanted to see them together post-realization. What would the difference be? Would there be one? After all, to just watch them before, one could almost believe they’d been in a relationship since the beginning.
He’d noticed that first day. Peter had ordered the chili, extra hot, and Phil had been sure the kid was suicidal. He’d looked over right at the moment Murphy took her seat at the table and seen Peter’s eyes trail over her, watched the younger man’s shoulders square off, ready for a fight. Kids on the playground, really. But they were grownups. He was honestly surprised it had taken so long.
When he thought about it, he realized Murphy’s behavior had been different the last few months. Since the interview Peter gave after he was shot. He’d realized then there was something up about the interview, but he hadn’t given it any thought beyond a chuckle. Now, he knew. It had started there. Then. Since day one.
Oh, this was going to be fun to watch. Well, as long as Peter didn’t hurt Murphy or Avery. Murphy could take care of herself, but Avery, well. Peter better not mind death by chili if he did anything there.
***
The hardest part, Frank had to admit, was not the morning after. He was hurt Murphy hadn’t told him, but he was learning there were things his best friend would always keep from him, despite his inability to do the same. No. It wasn’t the morning after, but instead Monday, when she stepped off the elevator.
It was clear she’d spent the past few days being loved. She downright glowed with an energy he’d never seen in her. She was calm, but there was a pep in her step. She was smiling, but there was a change in her eyes and Frank watched her steal glances at the newsfeed.
No, the hardest part was not the morning after. It wasn’t even admitting she was falling in love with someone who was, even he could grudgingly admit, perfect for her. No. It was, he finally admitted to his therapist, that there was someone else - another man - in her life. Frank wasn’t in love with Murphy, no, but he needed their connection. He needed their friendship. He needed to know that when he called at three in the morning in the throes of an anxiety attack that she’d answer because she was awake too.
How long before Peter learned her secrets, before they talked about AA meetings and failure? Before he knew secrets about war zones that kept Murphy up at night? How long before it was Peter lifting Avery up into the trees and carrying him on his shoulders. How long before Avery called Peter daddy? How long before a Godfather wasn’t needed because a real father was there to bandage knees and read bedtime stories?
How long before Murphy just didn’t need him anymore?
Frank sat back and watched her watch the newsfeed. Andrea Mitchell was running a story on Bosnia and there was Peter, right in the thick of things, pointing to a bombed out building. Murphy didn’t turn up the feed, didn’t make a show of any of it, she just watched the report, one hand clenched at her side.
The hardest part for Frank wasn’t that Murphy was sleeping with Peter, or that she didn’t want him. The hardest part was that Frank only wanted his best friend, and he just didn’t know how to share without losing her. So he read the paper and watched Corky give Murphy a pat on the shoulder as the segment on the feed ended. He needed to be the most important man in Murphy’s life because he always had been, and now he was third. Behind Avery and now behind Peter, and he could feel his trek to irrelevancy beginning.
Maybe it would end. Maybe this time, her heart wouldn’t break. Maybe she’d still need him. But he knew better. Because if Peter Hunt reminded Frank of anything, it was that he was as replaceable as his toupee. Logic made no sense in this moment. He knew, as her best friend, he should walk over and squeeze her hand and tell her it was going to be okay. Instead, he looked back at his paper, ignoring the wall of jealousy that was building. Murphy wanted Peter Hunt, she could have him. Distance and all.