this is my sideblog dedicated to the pitt so likes and follows come from my main blog @champains
my asks are open and i'm always happy to reply to any questions/requests/prompts/speculation about s3/just chat in general!
i also have a semi-encyclopaedic knowledge of the mel/frank ao3 tag so if you're trying to find a fic you read months ago that you only remember vague details of, hit me up :)
header by the wonderful @rosenfinchzz
i can only apologize for the amount of times i discuss sweat/hair/hands/veins. i am aware.
inspired by the governor’s waltz by phoebe bridgers
cw: emotional infidelity, failmarriage
The thought only occurs to him as Mel’s fingers brush against his, passing him a pair of gloves. A flicker, quick as their contact, that he and his wife hadn’t touched in nearly 13 days.
Normally, Frank tries not to count the days. It’s not as if he’s really keeping track of it, or wants to for that matter, but he already tracks so much else, what’s one more statistic? That stretch of time should probably make him upset, but it just sort of settles. Heavy, but uninteresting, just a tightness in his chest.
It would’ve been longer if Abby hadn’t accidentally nudged his thigh on the couch when she was readjusting Tanner in her lap during a rare family movie night, but the clock reset when her blanket-covered foot kicked against him. The contact made him jolt, a pit growing in his stomach when he inched farther toward the arm on his other side as Penny slouched further against him. When Abby’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly at his twitch, he apologized quietly. Punched from his gut, even though there was nothing to apologize for.
They’ll never beat their record of 88 days. At least, not while living in the same house, no matter how hard they try. It’s only a matter of time before two people in close contact inevitably brush against each other.
After rehab, he tried. He really did. Tried to salvage something. Abby promised him she wouldn’t leave him, dangled it over him even, so he tried to bridge the gap, but quickly he realized he was the only one reaching. She shrunk away from him despite refusing to let him sleep in the guest room. Dodged away from a stilted temple kiss or hand on her shoulder despite insisting that nothing was wrong.
So instead, every bit of contact became foreign. Reduced to fingers touching when handing off the kids, bumping hips passing each other in the hallway. Each one nauseating. Alienating almost. Two ghosts haunting the same house, pretending not to notice the other is dead.
They don’t even talk anymore if it doesn’t relate to the kids or schedules. Gone are the tentative questions about work, gone are the small check-ins, gone are the this is goods and do you need something while I’m outs. They are replaced instead with a secret language of scowls and throat clearing and sitting on the porch to cool off. Stuck forever in this fairytale ending turned war of attrition.
Of course, no one ever sees that. All they see is a wife standing beside her husband in his recovery. A good woman. They all say it like Abby sticking next to him is some act of mercy, some divine and holy and selfless thing, that she’s put aside her feelings to support him, and not some flare of stubborn pride. They never care to look deeper; they never see the sadness in their eyes or how the smiles are downturned and faltering. Unaware, or perhaps just uncaring, of the spiteful bite to each word.
Frank knows if they’d let themselves drift apart everything would be better. He knows cutting this cord would alleviate this weight that presses down on both of them. Well, he hopes it would feel better, sort of knows it would. But he knows he isn’t in a position to start that process. Even suggest it.
She stayed, so he has to stay, too.
He wonders most nights, staring at the ceiling and listening to Abby hold her breath next to him in the dark, if it’s supposed to feel like this. Like he’s trapped. Helpless. There once was a time that they liked touching, that they enjoyed being around each other, but does it always fade into this ache? Or is this another penance he’s paying?
It would hurt much more if he didn’t feel himself growing towards something else.
Because now there’s Mel.
This force who wormed her way in and shifted to fill in this growing gap in his life. Exactly the right fit in this vacuous space. She’s there for him in every way he needs and more, wordlessly, and he’s there for her, too.
When Mel nudged him on her couch, he didn't shy away. Instead, he swayed towards her. A warmth he seeks out — that he craves. He presses towards it like a sunflower in the sunshine.
It’s like he can get through anything as long as he can slide his hand along her back when he passes her; as long as he can feel the chill in her fingertips when they press against his arm and relish in the contented hum she lets out at his body heat; as long as he can tug the end of her braid, or press his thigh against hers when they sit beside each other, or hug her tightly, cradling her head against his chest.
He reaches out and she reaches right back.
When he really thinks about it, Frank doesn’t think he could ever go a day without talking to Mel. Not after being away from her for so long, not when she makes him feel the way she does, like someone is finally looking at him instead of through him.
He never felt like that with Abby; they’d go weeks at a time on a break, icing each other out until they collided again. Even at the height of their honeymoon phase, they’d go without speaking some days, and it never made a difference. It’s nice, Abby used to say, a little distance doesn’t bother us. As if the fact that they could spend so much time apart was a point of pride. They should’ve known then and there.
There should be guilt. Something gnawing away at him, but nothing can eat away at already empty space. Too much distance grew and it didn’t bother them. It festered and gave way to nothingness.
Some part of him is relieved that Abby is pulling away, too. Some days, he thinks the end is getting closer. So he’ll let it happen. He’ll inch further away, just like he did on their couch, and hope that the growing divide gets too wide, and he’ll be cut loose. Maybe, it’s better that way. He can wait her out.
Patrick Ball at the HBO MAX Emmy Nominee Celebration held at nya studios WEST on August 16, 2026 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by JC Olivera/Variety via Getty Images)
still laughing at al hashimi being really cool that langdon was addicted to benzos but then acting like he killed someone when she was told he was getting his benzos from the benzo factory he works at. like okay mama let’s use our critical thinking skills
I've read 200 monas yesterday! And I could smell the Kingdon AU easily!
give me kind understanding hot drug dealer frank langdon who after meeting hot mess grieving mel king one time drops everything to help her sell a fuck ton of sex drugs like seriously this is made for them
The Pitt, Mel King/Frank Langdon, 10k, Part 4/4, Regency/Persuasion-inspired AU. A @kingdonwishlist fic for @musing-and-music & @stalactice. And for its #1 fan @disgracedprinceera because this fic would be nothing without her!
Miss King’s eyes swept over the crowd before meeting Langdon’s. He felt his breath catch. “I have loved him and been true to him, by word and by deed, for years. My love has been beside him for all these years; now I ask that the love he once felt for me returns, where it belongs.” She paused and turned her gaze from Langdon to somewhere above and beyond him, delivering her final line powerfully. “If there is any power whose peculiar care is faithful love, that power I invoke to aid me.”
I think Mel feels a bit misfit in this place, and I think Langdon — I think most people that struggle with addiction or masking of any kind — I think there is a sense of chronic apartness. Like, you just feel sort of fatally unique, or fatally different. And I think that is something that a lot of addicts talk about. And I think that is something that he sees reflected in Mel. (x)
patrick ball + referring to mel and langdon as kindred spirits
guys i’m away and i don’t have my laptop someone PLEASE make kingdon gifs to the lyrics of bobby by phoebe bridgers im asking so nicely i have nothing to offer in return but my love
