loki laufeyson (toberuled) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-08-14 00:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | arthur, eames, loki |
Who: Evan, Cory/Arthur, and Louis
What: Talking over the whole 'intervention' thing, fending off an impromptu party brigade, and sadness.
Where: Evan's apartment.
When: Immediately following Louis's conversation with Arthur.
Warnings/Rating: None.
Louis was sitting beside Evan’s bed. He’d chosen to sit on the floor, and against the wall beside the bed he could listen to Evan’s breathing.
Louis didn’t know what he was going to do, exactly, except that he’d do whatever it took. He leaned his head against the wall. The whole thing already felt like a lost cause before he even got started. Louis kept replaying the way Evan’s gaze had slid past him at the hotel, and he wondered if things could ever be fixed, if they’d just gone too wrong this time. He shut his eyes and tried not to think about it, about Arthur outside, what Eames had said, the memories, about anything. He had to stay dogged, single-minded, and everything else could come after. There was no use hoping it would all go back to the way it was, anyway. He’d made his decision. Evan’s life was more important than his affection. One way or the other, he was going to lose him. At least this way, they’d both come out of it breathing.
Evan had woken up a few seconds earlier, and he'd glanced over at Louis from beneath lowered lashes. Now, he'd been listening, man. Yeah, sure, so he'd been jonesing too, but he'd been listening, and he knew that this was some kind of intervention. He knew Arthur (because no way was that Cory) and Louis had decided to save his sorry ass for reasons he couldn't figure out. Louis had left him, man. He'd walked out of that cab, and he'd left, and he hadn't even fought. And then he'd said that shit on the journals, and it wasn't like any of it wasn't true. It was like the stuff Bianca said - all true. And it's not like he was driving, so no one else was going to die or anything. And Arthur, man. What did Arthur care? Man got him off in an alley, and then it was like it never happened, which was usually his disappearing act. Nah, man, this shit was all about Eames, because Eames was worth saving. Well screw them all, man.
After rolling heavily onto his side, his back to Louis on the floor, Evan grabbed his cellphone on the nightstand and began sending a text to the entire address book (hookers galore). Party at my place. Bring blow.
Louis watched him roll away from him, and the fact that even that stung somehow said this was going to be a very, very long stay. "Who are you texting?" he asked. He'd seen him grab the phone, and if he was contacting someone to bring him booze, then taking away his phone might need to be step one. His hair was still slightly more in control than usual after the work Loki had done on it, and his voice was rough, because apparently norse gods didn't believe in regular sleep schedules.
Louis stood, and slipped his hands into his pockets, looking down at Evan on the bed. “...I should warn you that a doctor will be coming to visit later this evening, to assess whether you can detox here or not,” he said. He watched him, waiting for a reaction, a word. Anything. Then, quieter, “At the hotel. Did you hear what I said?”
Evan rolled onto his back as soon as Louis posed his question, and he let the phone fall against the mattress, as if he hadn't texted anyone important. "Just some friends," he responded, tucking his arm beneath his head and attempting to focus on Louis' looming shape. He did try to honestly remember what Louis had said at the hotel, but everything was a hangover blank, and the only real constant was that he was really thirsty, man. He glanced toward the nightstand, in search of water, and he smacked his lips together dryly. "I don't remember anything, man," he said, and he pushed himself up to sit with a groan. He could focus better that way, and after a long stare, he chuckled. "Like the curls better."
Louis stepped away, opened the door, and left the room for a moment. When he came back, he was holding a glass of water, full from the tap in the bathroom. "Here," he said, handing it off to him. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of that before. Too wrapped up in himself. Stupid. "I didn't do them," he said, tiredly, not taking the compliment as any indication of anything. Evan was just that way. "...I told you that it wasn't me who talked to you after the memories," he said. He paused, and let that sink in a moment, shifting his weight against the wall. Who knew? Most likely it wouldn't even matter. "What did you text your friends about?"
Evan took the water, and he downed it in one long, long sip. His throat worked hard to get it down, to keep it down, and be pressed his chapped lips together afterward, trying to find some leftover moisture. Man, he had no idea what the hell Eames had done to him through that door, but he felt like shit, and there was no way they were going to let him have something to drink, which was the only thing that would make him feel better. He was already slipping into DT territory, rapid breathing and clammy skin and trouble concentrating, but he wasn't calm enough to realize it. "Yeah, it was Loki. Right, man," he said, and it was obvious he wasn't sure about that. Louis had been the one who walked out, yeah? "Partying," he answered simply about his friends, and the doorbell made it clear that he wasn't lying.
"It was," Louis said, brow furrowing. Why didn't Evan believe him? He didn't look well - hopefully Arthur had already found that doctor he was going to look for.
Then the doorbell rang, and Evan indicated his reason for texting. Louis swore quietly and went to the door, holding the frame and leaning out. "Arthur?" he called, unsure if it would still be him outside. "Evan texted some friends. I think he told them there was a party, or something. Can you tell them it was a joke and wave them off?"
Cory appeared in the doorframe. His hair was still slicked back off his forehead, but the windbreaker Arthur had chosen was missing (and so was the gun it had hidden). Cory had a slouch and faintly shadowed, apologetic look about his face, even with his hair out of his eyes. The browns seemed bigger and more honest, while Arthur simply looked more competent, even calculating. “He’s around,” Cory said to Louis, without any of Arthur’s cool friendliness. There were hints of distrust and resentment in the corners of his mouth when he looked at Louis, but these went away when Cory switched his gaze to Evan. “Hey,” he said lamely, giving Evan a little wave. His expression became slightly more wary, even worried, and before Evan could reply he slid out of the door again and out of sight. “We’ll handle it,” he called back.
We need to get him a drink, Cory informed Arthur as he poked the man into control in front of the door. Arthur was skeptical but he knew the general idea of addiction so he tentatively agreed, and then Cory let him handle the knocking door. Probably a good thing, too. Cory was terrible at confrontation and it wasn’t just two people knocking, it was a crowd. Some were already drunk and they were all happy, rowdy, and loaded down with exactly the kinds of things Arthur did not want in the house. He took in the sight of all the people in the hall in one glance and before the grinning college kid with the bottle could push his way in, Arthur caught him under the chin and shoved his throat toward his spine.
It wasn’t a strike, and caused no permanent damage, but the college kid went backward with enough force to clear the immediate area around the door. Arthur stepped out into the hallway and neatly shut the door behind him. “Evan sent all the texts by mistake,” he called out loud enough for most people to hear. “He’s not feeling good. Go away.” There was booing and shouts, and Arthur just stood in front of the door and waited for someone to actually try getting through. Crowd mentality every time.
The first guy got away with a ringing ear and a few bruises to the inside of one leg. His friend got a black eye, and the third was divested of his bottle of Silver Patron before he was summarily knocked off-balance and shoved backward into the crowd. The crowd mentality started shifting from irritated anger to embarrassed retreat. Arthur kept the Patron.
Evan, who had managed to down most of the water in the glass Louis handed him, even as he craned forward to try to see the show at the door without moving, groaned when he heard bodies start to fall. Damn Arthur. Cory wouldn't be able to pull that shit. He rolled onto his side, stomach beginning to cramp and complain, and he wondered why the hell they were doing this to him, why they even cared. He couldn't even stand himself, man. "Why are you two even here?" he asked Louis, without turning to look at the man in the room with him. Louis was all hang-dog insecurity, and Evan knew that look, man. He knew that damage was done, and he wasn't sure Louis even understood that the way he did. There had been way too many men like Louis in his life; Evan knew the signs. As for Arthur, he just needed to let Cory find a girlfriend and get laid. Maybe someone with some fashion sense that would actually cut that rat's nest. He groaned.
Louis watched the show at the door with a measure of anxiety. If the partiers overwhelmed Arthur, they were going to have a bigger problem on their hands. Even if Evan didn't make it far from the bed, it would be difficult to keep the crowd of people from isolating him from them both.
But Arthur had no issues keeping the men outside, and Louis watched with a touch of appreciation for the fluidity of his fighting. They'd taught him to fight when he became a policeman, but not like that. He waited for Arthur to shut the door before turning to Evan again. The question took a moment to register, since it had come while he was still distracted by the fighting. "Why are we here?" he repeated, incredulous. "Because we want to make sure you don't die, Evan." It was blunt, but true, and that was where Evan seemed to be headed, in the end.
Arthur answered the people who tried to push their way in with words, and then he threatened to call security or the police, and finally he went back inside and slammed the door. He left Cory standing just in sight of the bedroom with the Patron in his hand, and there followed a rather amusing one-sided conversation in which Cory shouted at the air. “You can’t just beat on people for no reason!” Pause. “Oh he was not. You totally could have talked them out of it. No--” Pause. “Well you could try!” Pause. “What do you mean you could have stepped on the walls--you can’t step on walls, here, Arthur! What’s wrong with my shoes!” More waving of the Patron. “Oh shut up.” Cory turned on his heel and headed back into the bedroom, snagging a glass from the sideboard on his way in. He poured some of the tequila into the glass and then stuck the bottle awkwardly under one arm to cork it again. The shouting was gone and now Cory was just a guy trying to juggle while staying on his feet at the side of the bed. “You’ve probably been going nonstop, huh?” he asked Evan, giving Louis a little smush of his mouth to one side and a shrug. “Here.” He held the cup out to Evan, making sure the bottle was out of reach.
Louis heard the argument in the hall, though he was only halfway paying attention once he realized who, precisely, Cory was talking to. It was interesting, how easy it was to tell the difference between him and Arthur. He wondered, briefly, whether it was the same with him and Loki, but that was best not dwelled on for long.
When Cory walked in with the bottle of Patron and began pouring out a glass for Evan, he was alarmed. "Are we sure that's a good idea?" he asked. He was aware going cold turkey could be a problem, but that was why he was calling in a doctor.
Cory seemed confident, even casual. “Yeah, for now, because he’s had so much that if he stops he’ll start seeing--uh.” He cut off that description and reverted. “He’ll start having a really bad reaction. So some now until the doctor gets here... Arthur called someone. I don’t even know how he’s supposed to know people on this side.” Cory scowled into nothing, but there was no response. Obviously.
Evan sat up midway through Cory's argument with himself - well, with Arthur. He felt tired, man. Tired of all of it, and he just wanted to be left the hell alone, but that obviously wasn't happening anytime soon. Louis' assertion that they were there to make sure he didn't die just left Evan feeling hollow, and it was like before, when they told him he was depressed and pumped him full of all those drugs. Shit. He scooted back against the wall, and he held out a hand for the paltry glass Cory held out. "That's Cory," he informed Louis, who he wasn't sure could tell them apart yet, and then he downed the glassful in one swallow and held it back out, empty, with a puppy dog look at both of them. "It's not enough, man. I feel like shit." Which he did. The cramping in his stomach was getting worse, and he shook his head. "I don't want to feel like this, and it's bullshit that you two think you can force me to for your own selfish fucking needs." He closed his eyes, and he let his head rest back against the wall, waiting for the sound of booze pouring into the proffered glass.
After a few seconds, Cory disappeared, and so did the bottle of alcohol. The former returned, but the latter did not. Cory leaned his knees against the edge of Evan's bed when he took the cup back, and he left that on the sidetable. He scrutinized Evan's face and actually put a hand out to touch the back of his hand to the other man's temple. Clammy, not so good. "I can't give you more right now, it's not a good idea until the doc gets here. Just hold on for another few minutes." Cory took his hand back and gave Evan a funny look. "The hell kind of reason I have? 'Cuz we had such a great time last time?"
Evan groaned, thwarted, and he rolled onto his side, away from Cory, his back to both of the men in the room. He didn't even bother giving Cory an answer, man. Fine. Fine. If they were going to pull this shit, then they could just pull this shit. He didn't have to like it, and he didn't have to talk to them, and they'd get tired eventually. As for the doctor? He didn't have to see any doctor he didn't want to. He laughed, a hard and bitter laugh that filled the room with madness. That's what his degree was good for, huh? Knowing they couldn't force medical treatment on him. Whatever, man. Whatever.
That laugh was scary. Cory glanced at Louis, and then his young face acquired an Arthur-like determination. The bed barely acknowledged his weight as he put his hand down on the edge of the mattress and leaned over to snag Evan’s elbow and pull on it. The strength was totally ineffectual, and Arthur would never have done such a pointless thing, but Cory tugged on Evan’s arm like a toddler dragged on his parents. “Hey. Forget about stupid Arthur for a second. You don’t want to be sick all the time, do you? Nobody does. I don’t want you to be sick.” Pull.
Louis watched Cory leave and come back, trying to find words enough to answer Evan. He was right, honestly. He was being selfish. He wanted Evan to live because he wanted it, not because it was what Evan wanted, or because it was what was best for him. But living had to be better than the alternative, didn't it? And if he was willing to give up Evan to make sure he lived, that couldn't be wholly selfish. He didn't think, anyway. He wasn't sure.
He continued leaning against the wall even as Evan rolled away from them both and laughed. It sent a chill down his spine, that laugh, and Cory's childlike tugging only added to the eerie, unnerving feeling the whole situation was giving him. Louis wanted to sit down on the bed, but didn't want to crowd Cory out, so he stayed where he was. "Why do you want to die?" he asked, quietly. "Is it Bianca? Is it because of the accident? Why?" He stared at his back. "Do you really see nothing in this world worth being sober and living for?"
Evan didn't want to be pulled on, and he didn't want to be tugged on. He didn't want anything but a drink. Barring that, he just wanted to be left alone, man. He didn't answer either of their questions, and he just stubbornly closed his eyes. Done, man. Conversation over. They could lock him up, and they could dry him out, but they couldn't make him open up. Even the shrinks hadn't managed that. No, way. Even the damn doctor could come and poke and prod, and he wouldn't say a thing. Game over.
Cory let go of Evan’s arm. It was not in his nature to be forceful, only faithful. His fingers spread away toward the ceiling and he slowly pulled back away from the bed. He gave Louis a helpless look. No shrug, no dismissal, just a look that said he didn’t know how to reach the man on the bed. With Becky, he’d had leverage; at least she liked him. “Don’t leave in case he wants anything,” he told Louis, glumly, turning away. Maybe he should go clean the kitchen. Something.
Louis watched Cory leave, feeling even more helpless now than he had when all of this had begun. He moved closer to the bed, and sat down at the edge. He watched Evan's back, and wished he was better at this. He wished he'd chased him when he left the taxi. He wished he'd known how. But he wished a lot of things, and none of them were going to get Evan out of the bed, or make him listen, or change.
Leaning across, Louis hesitated, then wrapped a long arm around Evan. He rested his head carefully against his shoulder, as if he might break him if he squeezed too hard. He was still tensed, prepared to be shoved away. But he held on, saying nothing.
Evan didn't shove away. He didn't move away, either. He didn't do anything at all, and he didn't say anything at all. But he stayed, and that was something, at least. His breathing evened, and then deepened after a few seconds. His pulse was still erratic, and glancing over his shoulder would show his eyes moving beneath the lids, but he slept, and that was something too.