Gambit has to (playforkeeps) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-06-06 21:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | fandral, gambit |
Who: Seven & Liam (Part I of II)
What: A cry for help
Where: A shitty motel > Seven's house
When: Backdated a month, after this.
Warnings/Rating: Language, some painful fluff.
A month of hell, a month of white powder and questionable transactions in shadows, it had done a lot to the thirty-something author. He had always been a slender thing, tall and narrow in the shoulders, but now he was positively gaunt. Clothes that had fit okay a month ago now hung on him, a cinched belt holding khakis up on narrow hips. The hotel bill had been paid, the receipts signed, and Liam was sitting on one of the thinly padded benches that served as seating in the shabby lobby. A large duffle was at his feet, a messenger bag with his laptop over one shoulder, the sum of his possession boiled down and condensed. Dark shadows were smudged beneath eyes that were usually so bright, so vibrant, but now were dull and lifeless, the whites shot through with red. When the door opened to admit Seven Morgan, Liam glanced up, taking in the image of the man whom he hadn’t seen in what felt like forever, and there was no denying the way his heart jumped, skipped a beat. This man he loved, despite everything else, despite everything he had been taught and grew up to believe, this was the person he loved more than anyone else. He was quiet as he got up to his feet, a hand coming up to grip the strap of his messenger bag, holding on for dear life, and for a moment, he was afraid that Seven would simply disappear. That this was all some drug-fueled hallucination and he was still in his room, laid out on the bed. But when the other man stayed there, didn’t budge from where he stood, Liam didn’t hesitate any longer. His duffle was picked up, draped over one shoulder, and with a half dozen quick, long strides, he crossed the distance between them, skeleton arms sliding in without permission around Seven’s waist, pressing in against him with a breath that came out in a hard exhale. There was a very brief moment - no more than ten seconds, though it felt like an hour - in which they were both frozen in some bizarre tableau, posed at opposite ends of the lobby while time stretched out between them. And in that moment, Seven was grateful for the dark, mirrored aviators that hid his eyes from the world, because he knew that he could not mask his pain without them. He managed to keep his mouth pressed in a hard, straight line as he absorbed the sight of the man in front of him, someone he didn’t know, someone wearing Liam’s clothes like a tent. The sharp lines of his cheekbones where they threatened to cut through his translucent-pale skin, the chapped skin of his lips and the hollowed-out sockets where a stranger’s eyes stared back at him. Seven reached out and placed his hand against the doorframe in an attempt to steady himself; in that moment he was just a lost and desperate man, tethered to the world by the slightest of holds. He was a mirror image of the fear and the ache that he saw in Liam’s strange, sunken eyes. So caught up was he in the agony of that moment that he barely had time to react as the other man rose and closed the distance between them, stick-thin arms wrapping around his waist so that Seven could feel every protruding bone, even with the leather between them. But he did not need time to react, because even on auto-pilot his body knew how to respond to Liam’s embrace. In one motion he had slipped his fingers under the straps of Liam’s messenger bag and his duffel, sliding them off the man’s scary-skinny shoulders and dropping them on the floor at their feet. And with the literal baggage out of the way, Seven was able to reach back out and gather Liam in his arms, holding him gently, worried that he might shatter under too tight a grip. With a sigh, Seven pressed his stubbled cheek against the man’s temple. One hand slid up to cradle the back of Liam’s head, and after a while he turned just enough to place a light brush of a kiss against his forehead. “Come on,” he murmured, pulling away at last because he knew that the longer he held on, the harder it would be to let go. He reached down and gathered up Liam’s bags, motioning him through the door with a tilt of his head. “We’re in the black pickup.” It was all that he could trust himself to say for the moment. There was no real line of coherent thought that ran through his mind as Seven eased the bags from his shoulders and then wound his arms around him to pull him in close. A breath he didn’t realise he had been holding was released, and bit by bit, he sagged against Seven’s chest. This felt like home, like the place he wanted to be, and there was no way he could put into words how much he had missed Seven, had missed this. And when Seven started to pull away, Liam was reluctant to release him, afraid on a deep level that space between them would lead to Seven simply disappearing from his life. And he hadn’t realised how much that scared him until now. He had told Sam that he wasn’t sure what he would do if Seven left him again, but in those scattered moments between release and the words that followed, Liam had an inkling of an idea as to what might happen. Throughout Liam’s entire life, he had never been dependent upon others. He had grown up standing strong on his own, just like his mama had taught him, and it was only in the last six months that things had shifted, that the foundation he had built his life upon had crumbled beneath his feet, leaving him lost and more than a little scared. It was amazing how much a single person could affect someone, and the imprint that Tristan had left upon Liam’s life, the fear, the manipulation, the twisted feelings, it had done more than mark him. It had left scars upon his very person, some of them physical. Before he could reach for the bags, Seven had them in his hands, leaving Liam with empty fingers that he shoved in the pockets of his cargos. One hand pressed against his hip, feeling the ridges of scar tissue from the marks that Tristan had left behind, a sobering reminder of everything that had happened. It was something to think on as he stepped out and into the sunlight, blue eyes squinting at the bright light, forcing him to shadow his eyes with one hand. Daylight had not been his friend for some time, and if he had to be honest, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been out when it wasn’t night. But his eyes adjusted eventually, letting him make out the sight of the black truck in the parking lot, and that was the direction he headed in. God, but this whole thing was more pain and disbelief that Seven could have predicted. He held the door open for Liam and followed him out of the motel lobby, grateful to leave the faint smell of old seafood behind them. He noticed Liam’s shading of his eyes against the sun, but with his hands occupied with the bags he could only squint and be thankful once more for the dark glasses that were his shield from the blazing white of an overcast sky. And still it was all he could do to keep from wincing as he took in the hesitant, stutter-start beat of Liam’s footsteps across the heat-baked asphalt - Seven realized he was holding his breath, as if the slightest breeze might knock this frail skeleton-stranger right over and break him into a thousand, unfixable pieces. Seven shook his head slightly, trying to dislodge the fear that had worked its way into his chest. He hiked the duffel higher up on his shoulder as he pulled out the keys to the truck, auto-opening the doors and moving to arrange the bags in the flatbed. After everything was secured, he took another moment to gather himself. Strong. He would be strong for Liam. He could do that much. And in an attempt to feel steady once more, Seven pressed the flat of his hand against the hot metal siding of the truck; he used the pain as an anchor, tying himself to the world and to this moment. And then he was slipping into the driver’s seat and starting the car and pulling out of the lot, going through the motions, turning onto the freeway and heading for Red Rock Villas. After a few seconds of driving in silence, he couldn’t help himself. Seven detached his right hand from the steering wheel (thanking whomever that his pickup was an automatic) and reached across the center console until he found Liam’s hand in his own. “I’m glad you called me.” The soft click of the locks that signalled the truck opening was his cue to pull the door open, leaving the bags to Seven as he pulled the seat belt down and over his shoulder. His stomach was a mess of nerves as the truck started and slid into motion, the hotel a distant memory as the freeway became their new home for the moment. Whatever had changed in Liam in the last month had its side effects; fingers drummed against one knee, an agitation that he couldn’t seem to fight, an absence of stillness where Liam had once been calm, even in mind and mood. It may have only been a month, but it had been a heavy month, and he wanted in a way that he was ashamed to admit to. When Seven’s hand bridged the space between them, Liam found himself jerking in surprise, turning away from the world that slid past outside to instead focus his attention on Seven. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, his fingers stilling atop his knee. “I’m glad you didn’t hang up on me,” Liam admitted quietly, a helpless grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, though he didn’t seem to have the strength to hold it there. Instead, he dropped his gaze to their joined hands, running his thumb along the back of Seven’s own, his shoulders sinking down with the breath he released. “You would have had every right to,” he added a moment later. Another sigh, and Liam sank down in the leather seat, turned towards Seven with one leg brought up slightly to fold beneath the other. The position was awkward, narrow limbs folded this way and that, emphasizing the weight he had lost in the past months. “Thank you,” Liam said softly, resting his head against the back of the seat, blue eyes nearly grey with how pale they had become. A ghost of who he used to be, that was the man occupying the seat there. The rest of the drive was a blur of midday traffic and the quiet, uncertain static of half-empty talk on the radio, spilling quietly into the cabin of the truck as they made their way down I-15. Seven was focused on the stretch of road ahead and the way that Liam’s thumb traced patterns against the back of his hand, all calloused touch and uncomplicated quiet. And for a while he was aware of the fact that for now, or at least for a car ride, he belonged to this man with the pale, unfamiliar eyes and a desperate twist to his mouth. He didn’t need to take his eyes off the road ahead; he could sense the severity of each painful moment as Liam arranged himself the passenger seat, tucking his too-slender limbs into awkward positions in some vague attempt to disappear. Seven’s gaze hardened in the middle-distance as he wound around residential corners, feeling something knotting within as Liam stumbled over his words. Even without looking over, he could sense the other man’s humourless grin. “Liam,” he murmured in a rush, resisting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and block out the light. For just a moment, he pressed the calloused pad of his thumb against the heel of Liam’s palm. And then it was almost as if everything could maybe make some sense; he forced a smile and tried not to wonder how grim it might look as he felt the gentle squeeze of the other man’s fingers around his own. “Liam. I wouldn’t have hung up on you. Not when you need my help. I gave you shit because I was mad, but... that doesn’t make it okay.” And his voice was low and gruff, but Seven meant every word. Maybe it took hitting somewhere close to bottom, drowning without hope, that led a person to realise what was laying in front of them the entire time. It was a month of misery, of drowning in whatever relief he could find, whether that was with someone or in something, but none of it was enough. No, what he had needed all along was sitting right beside him, gaze on the interstate that stretched out in front of them, and he had been blind to see it. For all of his spouting about love, about what it meant, about how people who cared about one another should behave, he was a poor judge of realising when he was being loved, too caught up in what his personal definitions were to accept what someone else might define love as. And all the while, it was staring him in the face. No, Seven wouldn’t have hung up on him, because in his own way, Liam knew that the other man cared for him. When he said that he meant more to him than that, that he wanted to help him, Liam was finally able to see the meaning beneath those words, the things that were left unsaid, and he knew there were reasons for that. For all of Liam’s experience in writing about love, he was woefully ignorant of the mechanics of it. And that ignorance had led to more than a handful of bad decisions since Seven Morgan waltzed into his life. Maybe if he had come to this realisation some months ago, before everything shattered and splintered into unrecognizable pieces, all of this could have been avoided. But life dealt this hand to him for a reason, and that was what he had to live with. Again, he ran his thumb over the back of Seven’s hand, fingers giving his a tight squeeze, and there was something more in the touch right then, something that hadn’t been there even five minutes prior. “I know,” Liam said softly, just a breath above a whisper. “I know.” And for the first time, he really did. Blue eyes flicked up, focusing on Seven’s profile, the way the sun caught the lines of his face, defining him against the world beyond, and Liam felt himself filled with something. It was a feeling of fullness, the void deep within no longer aching as it had. It wasn’t that he healed, but something in there mended, helped him along those first few steps on whatever path he ended up on. He didn’t say anything more, didn’t fill the air up with words that meant less than the intentions behind them. Instead he just held on, and for the first time, he really let himself trust. The pressure of Liam’s hand against his was like an anchor, meant to hold him steady in the dark waters. It was an anchor of blazing metal, as Liam’s skin was warm to the touch - a sideways glance at a stop sign confirmed that the stranger-man’s cheeks were pink and flushed, blood brought close to the surface by fragile capillaries that had long grown accustomed to opiate feedings. The touch threatened to burn and blister Seven’s hand, but still he did not let go. He pulled into the secluded driveway that cut across his property, half-wondering where the time had gone. It almost seemed to Seven that the drive had taken no time at all, but maybe that was the wishful part of him that didn’t want to surrender a single moment with this new, brittle shell of a man. “Wanna meet me in the living room?” He asked quietly as he shut off the truck, reaching up with his free hand to remove the aviators. The other hand squeezed and lifted, drawing Liam’s fingers up to his mouth so that he could brush his lips over the other man’s knuckles in a dry kiss. “I don’t know if you’re hungry, but I ordered Thai. Just gimme a minute, yeah?” And he tried his best to look reassuring, he really did. No doubt he was relieved when Liam went along with his suggestion, slipping into the house after Seven tossed him the keys. So it was that he was left alone, a fractured soul in the cab of his own truck - a man that clutched at his head as he drew each shuddering breath. A broken man, maybe, but he would be strong for the one he loved. Holding his stubborn chin as high as he could manage, Seven followed a stranger’s footsteps through the garage and into the house. “Hungry?” He finally asked, lingering in the doorway. |