Summary: Intrigued by his new concierge doctor, Boris schemes on how to more fully integrate Hank into both the Hamptons and Boris' own life. One plan after the next leads to mixed failure and success. Poor Boris! Season one, with minor spoilers.
Disclaimer: I do not own nor ever shall any of the characters, though I would greatly enjoy doing so.
Rating: This will (probably) eventually be M.
A/N: I have had to imaginatively create some of the background for Hank, Evan, their father, and Boris, especially related to ages and time frames. As much as possible, I have stuck to the canon background. Why this story? I thought there was an intriguing chemistry between Hank and Boris. In particular, I love Boris' character and want to see it developed more.
Chapter One will be a bit shorter than future chapters.
The Art of Strategic Planning
Direct from a Distance
At the age of forty-four, German nobleman Boris Kuester von Jurgens-Ratenicz often found himself bored. He was a recluse, a man who valued his privacy almost more than any other possession, particularly as privacy was such an elusive quantity in the Hamptons. Wealth was important to him, but not as an end in itself. He had been born wealthy, had become quite accustomed to the power and privilege wealth extended to him. Thus, wealth was only important because it allowed him to do as he wished, sometimes in ways that would make others question his morality, and because it virtually guaranteed that he could keep his private life just that: private. There was no reason, he believed, for others to dig into what they did not need to know.
Unfortunately, this degree of privacy often left him with the distinct feeling of boredom. Loyal servants, ones who knew him well enough to leave him alone except when he asked for them, surrounded him. His bodyguards were previous Mossad agents, and all of them knew how to keep annoying pests off his estate. His home was silent, one of the things he demanded from his servants—and that was one of the reasons that he found himself almost perpetually isolated from others. It was his own fault, for he had almost ruthlessly established that he would not be disturbed if no emergencies existed.
Sometimes, his own ability to get exactly what he wanted seemed to backfire on him in ways that he could not anticipate. He would not trade his isolation and privacy for sheer variation in his life, but at times the silence, the seclusion made him wonder if he had not acted too precipitously.
This had become particularly clear when he met Henry "Hank" Lawson.
Boris knew that he would never forget that night. He was holding one of his rare and exclusive parties, one complete with models and other superstars. Music had thumped throughout the house, lights had shined, and beautiful and enormously wealthy guests had streamed between various rooms and the outdoors, particularly the gardens. As was his custom during such a party, excepting a few strategic appearances, Boris had watched from the peripheries, much like his own Mossad security agents.
His time at the peripheries had ended abruptly with the arrival of one fairly-short and slender Doctor Lawson.
The moment he saw the young doctor, Boris had found his mouth dry. The lovely young doctor's eyes were emeralds glittering from the depths of a fair skin. Dark lashes, each lash lightening towards the top, surrounded the eyes, with light brown eyebrows. His face was lean, with faint laughter lines around the eyes and mouth as well as a smile that was generous and welcoming. Dark brown hair curled around his face, trimmed short; Boris was sure it would be unruly if allowed to grow longer. The light blue of his shirt, while not matching his eyes, somehow lightened his features. Most of all, Boris noticed that, all looks aside, yet another thing was remarkable about this young doctor: his eyes almost seemed to glow from within. They were captivating.
That night remained in his mind as pivotal. One of his guests, a supermodel named April, had traversed his botanical garden and, apparently, she had inhaled something deadly. His concierge doctor, Doctor Silver, had suspected April of drug abuse and had been about to treat her for that—until Doctor Lawson had arrived on the scene. The young doctor, probably twenty years Silver's junior, took one look at the ailing woman and knew that it was not drug abuse. No, he somehow knew it was insecticide that she had inhaled, and he had saved her life.
For a good part of the evening, Boris and Lawson had heatedly contested one another, and Boris had been shocked: no one, and he truly meant no one, argued with him. He was rich, powerful, and of noble descent. People did what he said without question. However, here was a man about ten years younger than himself, a young guest at his own party, who had demanded his cooperation in saving someone's life. They had eventually worked out a compromise, another amazing event, for Boris simply did not compromise. He made others compromise; he did not do so himself.
Rather than being furious, though, as he would normally have been, Boris found himself relishing the confrontation. This young man knew who and what he was—at least to the extent that he knew that Boris owned an extensive manor and had Mossad agents as his bodyguards—and he outright fought just about every gesture that Boris made.
It was exciting, it was a break from the boredom that had cursed his life—indeed, it was a challenge, for Lawson was just as stubborn and unwilling to compromise as Boris. The German noble couldn't remember the last time he had last felt so rejuvenated, so intrigued by someone else. His life to this point had assured him that few people, if any, would defy him. Even more, his experience in the Hamptons had proven to him that those who surrounded him could never challenge him.
He had been wrong, even if that person was clearly not from the Hamptons.
Thus, within minutes of meeting Hank Lawson, he had known with absolutely no uncertainty that this doctor would be something he had never experienced before. He was a true challenge, a young person who did not care about Boris' wealth or his position in society. Lawson's intelligence and integrity shone through his every action, from his almost jarringly insightful diagnosis of a rare toxic reaction to his hostility against being paid for saving someone's life. Boris had never seen anyone so capable of thinking in unusual ways and, even more, of seeing alternative explanations for expected behavior. Indeed, he didn't seem to like easy answers—he even seemed suspicious of them. In this regard, he was very much like Boris.
Doctor Lawson filled Boris with hope. He made him think that, perhaps, not all people could be easily bought, that not all people valued wealth and power over human integrity. Truthfully, he made Boris believe again when his belief in human integrity had long been dead.
As the good doctor became a part of the community—almost against his will, for Boris could be very strategic in his manipulations—he watched as his doctor gained a reputation for not only being the best of doctors, but for also being a man of great honesty and compassion. While he would fight for a patient with the tenacity of a pit bull, he only did so when absolutely necessary. Otherwise, he was gentle, kind, caring, even compassionate. His kindness also wasn't a convenient mask. From his own knowledge of human behavior, a knowledge gained over years of dealing with people who could and would lie without blinking, Boris knew that the gentleness was real; Lawson cared for those he treated.
However, Boris wanted more than that. He wanted Doctor Lawson to become Hank Lawson to him: to be comfortable being the young man he sometimes glimpsed behind the professional persona, not just the doctor.
Boris smiled, eyes looking out his window and studying his vast grounds. He wondered where his spirited doctor might be, what he might be doing this very moment. Eventually, Boris would always know that.
It was a slow task, but Boris was gradually drawing Hank into his own world, into his own influence. Hank Lawson was still fairly young, and he seemed at times to be wandering, to be looking for something. Boris hadn't yet learned what that something might be, but he strongly felt that Hank also didn't know. The good doctor had been fired from his last position for saving the life of a teenager rather than the life of a hospital benefactor. His fiancée had also broken off the engagement, Boris assumed because she was a gold-digging mite. He was sure that this broken engagement had been to Hank's benefit, even if Hank didn't quite see it that way.
After leaving, Hank had drifted, and from what Boris could tell, he didn't quite know where to point himself. Hank seemed to be looking for something even he could not describe, but Boris thought he might be able to name it. In his own opinion, Boris thought Hank was looking for security, for permanence, for meaning. Without the knowledge of what he wanted, Hank had floundered until Boris offered him an option he had never considered: working in the Hamptons as a new kind of doctor, one who set his own schedule and came to his patients when they were in crisis.
As a crisis was almost as inevitable in the Hamptons as fast cars and large estates, Doctor Lawson was steadily finding himself in a position where he could help many people and still tend to those who could not afford medical care at all. Boris had never seen a concierge doctor care for an entire population of people, no matter their status or wealth, and it made him strangely proud of the man. He had plans for Hank, but Hank also, apparently, had plans for everyone in the Hamptons, including Boris. He seemed bent on converting them to his own way of thinking.
Boris did have plans for Hank, amazing, wonderful plans. In these plans, Hank would steadily learn to be part of the community Boris now called home, and that community would learn to see the good doctor as someone it could never afford to lose. From his understanding of the people Hank had treated, this part of his plan was already working remarkably well. Furthermore, Hank seemed less inclined to simply leave the Hamptons, as he had at the beginning, especially after his brother's cajoling.
There were few things agreeable about Evan Lawson, but Boris freely admitted that the younger brother had helped keep Hank in the Hamptons, and for this he was grateful—even if he certainly would never tell Evan so.
From what Boris had seen, Hank Lawson had had very little permanence in his life. He had been orphaned when he was thirteen, thrown into a cruel and destabilizing foster care system that had frequently parted him from the only family he had, his (annoying) little brother. The records suggested that Hank's mother had died of cancer while his father had abandoned him. Probably because of his father and his time in foster care, Hank seemed to have a very negative outlook on authority; indeed, his irreverence for authority had probably been at least partly responsible for Hank's defiance the first time they met at Boris' party.
Boris remembered Hank standing up to him that first day. He had watched, fascinated by the audacity, as the younger man met his eyes, unflinchingly. The German's amazement had escalated when he considered that he practically loomed over the much shorter and slimmer doctor—and there he was, still defiantly challenging him. He liked this; in fact, he liked it a lot. He had never seen a more interesting young man shaped in such a handsome physical package, and he had known almost instantly that this man needed to be his, that Hank Lawson needed to be forever in Boris' life.
Boris needed this handsome doctor: in every possible way. He needed him as his companion, who could always make him smile, who always looked up to him for help and advice, who always looked at him for protection. He needed someone looking up to him, had yearned for it longer than he could accurately remember. Boris wanted to give Hank everything he had never had, to make him smile as his cares and concerns dissipated. Indeed, he wanted to give Hank everything: cars, trips to the Riviera, endowments to charity, anything that might make his doctor smile.
Yet Boris needed more than that. He needed Hank to care for him as much as Boris was beginning to realize he cared for Hank. Boris needed to sink into Hank's arms, kissing him, holding him: claiming him. He needed to have that same lovely man meet his passion with his own, giving himself completely for Boris' taking. He needed his doctor committed to him: his companion for life, in bed and outside it.
Thus, in pursuit of this young man who had stolen his heart, Boris had developed Plan A: his strategy to attain Hank Lawson's trust and to simultaneously bring the younger man into his life more and more. From a distance, Boris would teach the doctor that he could come to Boris with any problem, that Boris would be more than pleased to help guide him and protect him in any way. He wanted Hank to start going to him when a problem arose, not to his brother or to, God forbid, Jill Casey.
Boris was certain that his plan would take long and would be arduous, but the end result—Hank—was well worth it.
Next Chapter: Plan B. Eddie enters the picture. Boris intervenes. And we get to see Domineering Boris.