Neil Donovan is (incharge) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2014-02-04 19:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | christine daae, phantom |
Who: Sam and Neil
What: Hospital visit.
Where: Whatever hospital Sam is at.
When: Recently?
Warnings/Rating: Uh none.
Neil was not drunk, thank you very much. He was hungover, maybe a little tipsy, but he downed a lot of coffee at the bar after he talked to Sam, even though the conversations following made him want to drink all over again. The coffee didn’t help his headache, though. Thudding behind his eyes and a dry mouth, and he hated himself for giving in. But it had all been too much too fast, and yeah, he’d been weak. Could anyone really blame him? The cops were treating him like a criminal, and the media had already labeled him as the cheating boyfriend who’d put a hit out on his lover for money. The Murphys weren’t even suspects anymore and now he had Lin bitching at him about Louis, about framing Chloe, when he really didn’t give a shit about her. And Louis? Louis would be fine. They’d keep him out of jail, if worse came to worst, and fuck what Lin said. He was angry enough after Chloe’s phone call that the prospect of her rotting away in jail was the happiest thought he’d had in a while.
And, because things always got worse, now Sam was missing a huge chunk of her life. It was like they’d taken twenty steps back and he had no idea how to get her up to speed. How would she react? How was he supposed to explain everything that’d happened between then and now? Just thinking about it made his head pound even more, but he had to come up with something. Somehow. He caught a cab to the hospital, ignoring the look he got in the rearview mirror; he knew he looked like hell, and he knew he’d been in the news for days. He gave the cabbie a glare in return that clearly said don’t, and luckily, the man was smart.
Whoever the hell was outside Sam’s hospital room (he couldn’t remember all these fucking people, honestly) didn’t give him the warmest welcome, but he hadn’t been arrested, hadn’t been charged, and he hauled over the doctor who said that he was allowed to see her. So he went in, not letting himself hesitate, and stopped as the door clicked shut behind him.
“Hey.”
Yeah, so, Sam had tried to gtfo of the hospital, but that shit had so not worked. Motor skills weren't great, and she'd made it about three steps before she'd started mashing the nurse button, the morphine button, whatever fucking button would make the world stop spinning quickest. The nurse had come, and getting washed up and out of the nasty hospital gown had helped calm the panic that Iris had left her with. Ok, so Neil had told her that she was a few years off. Ok, but he hadn't freaked her out. Iris, Iris had freaked her the fuck out, and it was only exhaustion, morphine and the soothing hot water and competent hands of the nurse braiding her hair that helped her chill out.
The woman had left her a few minutes later, a borrowed pair of pink pajamas that were rolled up at the wrists and ankles, and her hair in two, long damp braids, the bandages just visible above her left ear and beneath the braids of blonde. The nightmare breathing tube was gone, replaced by oxygen through a tube that was tucked behind her ears, and she was curled up on the hospital room chair trying not to think too fucking much. But it was hard not to, because she wanted to remember, but she couldn't fucking remember, no matter how she tried. Instead, she started to focus on the wires she was hooked up to, and that just made her aware of the vertical scars at her wrists. Ok, no, no, she wouldn't fucking panic. She was stronger than this shit, yeah? Whatever she was missing didn't matter, yeah? And that scar at her shoulder? That shit didn't matter either.
Then the door opened, and she'd only managed to look up before the door closed, then opened again, the doctor following on Neil's heels, as if he'd been waiting for him.
Sam didn't even get to return that hey before the doctor started talking, and it was all jumble and fucked up words for her. She couldn't hear him well, and the morphine made the conversation too fucking complex for her. He was talking about permanent damage to the hippocam-something, and he was explaining that the order of memories was affected in that kind of injury. That despite the last "remembered" day being in May of 2012, memories from the following year could still be present. He cautioned that new memories might not stick, and he went on to discuss rehab and motor skills and lost hearing in the left ear, which could affect balance. Sam tuned out halfway through, her gaze sliding to the window and the world outside, and she looked up when she heard the door close again, the doctor having slipped out as quickly as he'd come.
She crossed her legs in front of her on the chair, criss cross and pink fabric almost too girlish, and she looked at Neil. She fiddled with the ring that was on her left hand, a simple band with a ribbon in white gold and stones that she'd fished out of the hospital-issue bag her journal had been in. "Hey. Don't be weird. Iris was already fucking weird, while she was trying to tell me you guys were a thing or whatever," she said, because he kind of looked like shit, and she didn't want him to run the fuck out of the room. She pointed to the bed, only a few feet away from her chair. "Sit your ass down before you fall over, yeah?"
He wasn’t expecting the doctor to follow. Maybe he should have since there was obviously shit to talk about, but to Neil it was like the guy had appeared out of thin air, rambling on in medical speak, and he almost flinched. Almost. Instead he remained still, head turned and staring, and he really did try to understand what was being said. Memory loss, okay, so there was brain damage and that was fucked up. Right. Hearing loss and motor skills-- he was pretty sure that meant movement. He nodded along, but his headache just kept getting worse and all he could think was that he couldn't afford any of this shit, rehab and the like, even though he wished he could. One of his siblings would have to pay. They would, he knew that, he just hated feeling so goddamn helpless.
Belatedly, he realized the doctor had stopped speaking and he thanked him hastily as he left the room. He looked back at Sam, wondering how much of that she'd absorbed and how much she'd tuned right out. She was alive, awake and alive, and after staring at her motionless form for so long he just wanted to drink this in a little. "We're not a thing," he said, of himself and Iris. "That's the point. You and I are." He had no idea how to not be weird, so he just shrugged and sat on the bed as indicated. "I got you that ring," he added, tilting his chin in her direction. "How are you feeling?" That seemed like a safe place to start.
At first, she thought he meant that they weren't a thing. "Yeah, I know, I get it. I think I offended her or whatever by saying she wasn't your type, but seriously? I get it. So maybe I was into your or whatever, but you said time had passed, yeah? And it's not like we ever did anything." She managed to get the words out between one sentence and the next, but they were hard to say. It didn't make sense, right? May meant they'd only know each other a handful of months, and it wasn't like they were together or anything, wasn't like they'd had sex or anything. But it didn't feel that like that for some reason, and that made her head hurt. It felt like more, even though she couldn't remember anything specific, and she hated the sensation so much that she almost missed it when he continued talking.
She watched him sit on the bed, and she unthinkingly twirled the ring on her finger, though it took a good five tries just to get through part of the rotation. "Yeah?" she finally asked of them being together. "How did that happen?" she asked curiously, leaning forward in the chair for a few seconds before deciding to kill his fucking weirdness with proximity. It took some effort, and she wasn't steady on her feet, but a hand to his shoulder later and she managed to sit down beside him on the bed without pulling any wires loose. And, she'd never given a fuck about what she should and shouldn't do, so she just draped one knee over his and looked over at him. "Chill, ok? I know this is fucked up, but it's not like I don't remember you, yeah? I still know you good enough to know you look like you haven't slept in fucking days, and you really could use a fucking shave," she told him, shaky fingers and two attempts before she actually managed to drag an IV'd hand along his jaw. "So, just fucking talk? I'm not going to lose it on you." She grinned, gap-toothed and with the resilience of the young. "And I feel like shit, baby."
The pounding in his head made it difficult to follow along properly, and he blinked at her uncomprehendingly, squinting a little, before her words sank in. She was so very far behind that he just wanted to give up right then and there, but he couldn’t. He had to get through this, somehow. She was worth it. “No, you-- you didn’t offend her. Iris and I have never met,” he said, feeling as though he needed to repeat that particular fact. And he had no idea how to explain the ups and downs of their relationship, and oh, god, she didn’t remember what he’d done as Goblin, did she? How the hell was he supposed to explain that? Selfish as it might be, he didn’t even want to, and he wished Louis or someone else better equipped to handle this was here. He wished, too, that he’d asked the damn doctor what was and wasn’t okay to tell her. What if he tried to explain Chloe and her insanity, and he just made things worse?
Maybe he should just start off simple. Answering her question seemed like as good a thing to focus on as anything. “I guess… it just did,” he shrugged. “You were into me, and I was into you, so… yeah. We’re dating. Exclusive. You know, the whole deal. We even have a house.” He smiled, despite the fact that he’d just glossed over a lot of details. When she stood he was immediately on alert, ready to get to his feet should he need to, but he ended up watching apprehensively as she made her way to his side and sat down. “I know. I know you remember me, but-- a lot happened, Sam, and I just-- I don’t know where to start,” he admitted. “You-- you were shot, and I’ve been here, and we’ve all been worried.” His breath caught in his throat before he could hide it when her fingers brushed his jaw, and he hesitated a moment before bringing his hand to hers. “I guess that was a stupid question,” he said, of asking her how she felt, but he didn’t say anything about her insistence that he ‘just talk’. That was a lot easier said than done.
"You said that already," she told him of his never having met Iris, a lopsided grin and it was only the fact that she wasn't actually the jealous type that didn't make her assume that he was lying, yeah? Especially with Iris freaking out about everything too. But she wasn't assuming anything, because she still couldn't imagine Neil and Iris in bed. Who the fuck would even make the first move in that relationship? Yeah, no clue. But she could tell he was having a hard time with this shit, all that uncomprehending blinking and squinting, and she started thinking she should maybe just lie. Yeah, ok, so it wasn't honest or whatever, but she didn't want him falling apart either. So, she listened to his very brief explanation, which didn't really tell her anything, and she didn't press for anything else. "Yeah, ok, I think I remember," she said instead, which maybe she did? Whatever. He didn't need to know if things were scrambled.
When his breath caught, she noticed, and she wondered if maybe touching him wasn't kosher? She waited for his hand to settle on hers, so he didn't think she was spooking or something, and she let her hand fall after a quick squeeze to his fingers. Ok, so maybe touching wasn't something they did? She opened her mouth to ask him about the scars, but she closed it just as quick, because something told her that wouldn't be a good thing to ask. Yeah, lying, got it. "So, since my memory comes back all the time or whatever, let's not tell anyone, ok? So, tell Iris it's just temporary and it'll be cool or whatever." She considered his face, considered Iris' behavior, and she took a chance. "I know Iris and me don't get along or whatever, I remember, so you tell her, yeah?" She paused, and she tried to come up with the best way to phrase the question she did want to ask. "So, do they think it's dangerous for me to leave? Are they going to try some shit again? Like the life insurance or the hit?" And she was pretty fucking proud of herself, because that sounded like she knew what she was talking about. "I'll need therapy or whatever, but the Medicaid woman came by, so I don't think I'll be here forever." Because she wasn't counting on his money or whatever for shit. Maybe she should be, but she wasn't.
Her grin was a little reassuring, though Neil was pretty sure she was only reacting the way she was because she couldn’t remember any of the fucked-up insanity that had landed her in a hospital bed. “I know, but I-- I’m just trying to make a point,” he shrugged. Maybe he was trying a little too hard. Their relationship wasn’t exactly the most important thing she needed to remember just then, but even so, he wanted her to understand. He wanted her to know, irrational as the desire was, that they were together. When she said she remembered he blinked some more, dubious, because he had a really, really hard time believing she remembered anything that had gotten them from where she thought they were to where they were now. “Do you really?” It wasn’t an outright disbelieving question, but there was definitely some audible doubt there.
Had she asked, he would have told her that touching was okay. Of course it was. Fear had made his breath catch, days of it, of worry and panic that she wouldn’t wake up, that she’d be brain damaged, all because he’d dated a vengeful psychopath in college who held one hell of a grudge. “Don’t tell anyone?” He shook his head; he wasn’t that skilled of a liar, he just wasn’t. “I have to tell your family, Sam. Your brothers. Everyone-- they’re going to want to know how you are, and what if they ask one of the doctors? And I kind of already told Iris you had memory loss,” he admitted. “She kind of freaked out about you not remembering.” An understatement, but whatever. “A lot happened between you two,” he said, of her and Iris not getting along, because fuck if he knew where to start with that one. His headache started up again, and he wished he had a drink. Then he wished for aspirin. The rest of her questions, about the hit and life insurance and ‘them’ trying again, left him at a loss, and he struggled to come up with answers and a way to explain that he didn’t even have any money for her to count on in the first place. He wasn’t broke, but he wasn’t as well off as he’d claimed to be either. Louis had a job lined up for him, but that was before everything had gone to hell and even then it wouldn’t make him rich. Nothing would, unless his parents decided to un-disown him, but he didn’t think the likelihood of that happening was very high. “No, you won’t be here forever,” he agreed, because that was a simple place to start. “But, uh-- look, there was no life insurance policy. That’s bullshit. Someone-- someone tried to kill you, but it wasn’t-- it wasn’t for money.” He let out a long, long sigh. “Honestly, it’s my fucking fault. I brought this on you.”
His insistence that he was trying to make a point was weird enough that she stopped pretending or whatever for a second. She looked at him, inky blue eyes wide and only slightly morphine drowsy, and she tried to remember how shit had gone down. But she couldn't remember, no matter how she fucking tried, and the obvious doubt in his question just made her groan. "Ok, listen, yeah? It's not like- It's not like there's nothing after May, alright? It's just, I don't know, fucked up. I know what it felt like back then, yeah? What I felt like- about you. And I don't feel like that anymore, like, I don't know, like casual shit would be enough. So, I don't have the details maybe, but I remember some shit that I know is out of order. If I think really hard, I can't tell where that stuff started, yeah? Like, um, I know we haven't fucked or whatever, but I remember a canoe and something with paint, yeah? So, I don't know, things are a fucking mess in my head, but I don't think it's as bad as you think. I mean, I don't think you're in love with me or whatever, but I feel like we're together."
Which led her to the whole family thing. "I don't want everyone looking at me like I'm some freak. I don't want people talking to me like that. Iris freaked the fuck out in like three minutes, and she started making it sound like you two were fucking, and like things were a fucking mess, and I get that shit probably is a fucking mess," she said, motioning to her head and then tugging up the sleeves on the nightgown, baring those faded vertical scars on her wrist, "but I don't want everyone reacting like that, yeah? It doesn't fucking help, and it just makes me lose it. The doctors can't tell them shit; they can only tell you. So, yeah, I'm not saying lie to them, ok? But maybe just say I have a little bit of memory loss and it's temporary. I can tell whoever else needs to know, ok? I just don't want everyone thinking I'm fucked up, Neil, yeah? I can't stand that shit." Which was true; she'd always sucked at vulnerability. But she bounced back quick, no jonesing for a needle. Fuck, she didn't even know she was supposed to be jonesing for a needle. She reached for one of his hands, and she tugged on his fingers, the grip barely anything at all, no pressure, and that explained why holding onto things was hard. "Yeah, they said some nursing home or something for therapy, and I don't expect for you to pay for anything decent or anything, yeah? Before you offer. Public aid shit is fine for me." She probably would have kept on with that assurance, but he said it was his fault this shit had happened, and she just looked at him for a few seconds.
Finally, she repeated the tug to his fingers. "Baby, just string the fucking words together, ok? One - What did Iris do? And two - Who tried to kill me and why?" Those seemed like the most important things.
He tried not to stare at her like he had been for the entire time he’d been in her hospital room. He took a breath, he thought about what she was saying, and then he nodded. “Yeah, I get it. After a certain point nothing’s-- linear, right? It’s all jumbled up,” he said. Right. It made sense, in a certain way, if he stopped letting himself get freaked out about it. He smiled a little when she mentioned the canoe and the paint, and if she felt like they were together, well, maybe shit would be okay. “We, uh. We have-- we’ve had sex. But yeah, we’re together. You feel it. That’s good.” He nodded, biting down on his tongue to keep himself from rambling. Staring like an idiot or tripping over his own words, great options to choose from.
As much as he was not looking forward to facing her family, much less bending the truth, he had to admit she had a point. Iris had flipped her shit; the last thing they needed was everyone else doing the same thing. And maybe she’d remember eventually. It might not be permanent, the memory loss. “Yeah,” he echoed, looking down at the scars on her wrists and wincing a little before looking back up. “Okay. I’ll downplay it, keep it vague, and if you want to elaborate you can.” At least he wouldn’t have to outright lie, and he could understand her not wanting people to think she was fucked up. Shit like this just kept happening, though, and he didn’t know how to make it stop. He tugged back when she tugged on his fingers, and he let out a long, tired sigh when she said she didn’t expect him to pay for anything decent. “I can’t,” he admitted, because she was bound to find out anyway. “My parents cut me off, and most of my money is--was--theirs.”
Stringing words together was much easier said than done. “What Iris did,” he said slowly, “is really fucking complicated. But-- who tried to kill you, that’s a little easier. Uh. I dated this girl, Chloe, back in college. She dumped me. Then she ended up here, in Vegas, and you and I were-- well, she didn’t like that I wouldn’t leave her for you. She’s fucking crazy, Sam, her and her whole family. They hired someone to kill you.” He frowned. “The cops don’t believe it, and there’s no real proof, but it was them. I know it.” He tugged on her fingers with a little more pressure. “So, see? My fault.” Most things were, and it seemed he just couldn’t shake that off no matter how hard he tried.
She laughed when he tried not stare, because yeah? Obvious a little. "Is that good staring or bad staring?" she asked, because why the fuck not ask? But then he was talking about nothing being linear, and she nodded. "Yeah, and I know we've had sex or whatever, but we shouldn't have, yeah? Not in May. When did you fucking get off your ass and get on that, anyway?" she asked playfully. "Are you any good?" She was all gap-tooth curiosity, and something that felt like a lot fucking more than fondness. Sure, the world was a fucking mess, but it wasn't like she felt like the world was a fucking mess, so why not joke about it? Iris had flipped out, and that had made her sluggish mind panic, but it wasn't like she expected someone to slam through the door with a gun or anything.
She relaxed against his side when he agreed to downplay it, because that would make everything so much fucking easier. "I'm a good liar, yeah? They won't be able to tell when I'm off, not unless they talk to me a lot. And the only one I really talked to a lot was Iris, and I guess that's not happening anymore. Tessy's gone, and the only other relative I have in town is Lou." And Lou, well, Lou would be the same, regardless. She could tell him the truth, and he'd lose his shit. She could lie to him, and he'd lose his shit. There wouldn't be a fucking difference, though she didn't actually know why that was true. She might have asked about it, but he admitted that he was as good as broke, and she just wasn't expecting that shit. She looked up from her lean against his shoulder. "Why the fuck did your parents cut you off? That's bullshit. Can't you fight it or whatever?" She had no idea how rich people did shit, but weren't there laws against that crap? And, more importantly, she so couldn't imagine him broke. "Yeah, don't worry about it, though. I'll go to the public nursing home thing whenever. It's the same shit." Pause. "How the fuck do we pay the rent?"
The fact that she was batting 0-for-2 on whatever happened with Iris didn't make her feel good, and she probably would have gone back to thinking he and Iris were fucking if he hadn't been so insistent that he'd never met Iris. But he was already talking about Chloe, and she nodded. "Yeah. You told me about Chloe. She was the love of your life or whatever. Perfect and all that shit, yeah? I remember being so fucking jealous of her." But then he was saying that his perfect love was nuts, and how the fuck had that happened? "Do you want her back?" she asked, because that seemed an important question to ask first. And then what he said finally sunk in. "It's not your fault someone's crazy, baby," she said, tugging her fingers from his and reaching over to touch his jaw. "Yeah? You can't blame yourself for that shit. Ok, you said family. Do you have names? Pictures? Anything, so I know if they walk through the door or something?"
“Good staring,” he said without thinking, because it wasn’t bad staring and that was the only answer left. He didn’t really understand what she meant when they shouldn’t have had sex in May, but then again he was hungover, tired, and could barely remember what he’d done two weeks ago. “I don’t know.” He managed a smile with the confession, because yeah, he could poke fun at himself, at what a fucking asshole he’d been for so long. “I just did, I guess,” he added with a shrug. As for whether or not he was any good, it took a couple of seconds for him to adjust to the fact that she was teasing him. There just hadn’t been anything to smile about since she’d been shot. “I’d say I am, yeah,” he teased back. He wasn’t expecting another attempt on her life, at least not here, but once she was released he wasn’t so sure.
When she relaxed against his side he, in turn, found it a little easier to relax too, and he carefully slid an arm around her waist. “No, Louis isn’t the only one,” he said. “Joey’s here. Shane too.” He had no idea Tess was back; he wasn’t exactly in the mood to be paying attention to the journals. Louis had pretty much gone insane already, if Lin was to believed, but he wasn’t so sure. He’d have to ask. Maybe. “Because they’re assholes,” was his explanation; he didn’t feel like telling her it was because he’d refused to break up with her just then. “I don’t have the money to fight it and besides, I’m done with them. They can keep it for all I care.” But he shook his head, because even if he couldn’t pay she wasn’t getting subpar care. Especially not when it would be easy for Chloe or one of her batshit siblings to hire a better assassin this time around. “No. Listen, Sam, I can’t pay, but I have family here. Brothers. Casey paid for my lawyer, and they’ll help us out with this too,” he insisted, and he didn’t mention Daniel. He intentionally didn’t mention Daniel. “I used the last bit of money I had to buy us a house,” he admitted. “I took out a mortgage, too.”
He laughed when she described Chloe as the love of his life. He laughed because he couldn’t even remember loving her at this point; there was no fondness left, no kind feelings. “She’s definitely not fucking perfect,” he told her, shaking his head. “I was an idiot. I never saw what she was really like, and fuck no, I don’t want her back.” She was the last thing in the world he wanted. And maybe Chloe being crazy wasn’t his fault, but he was still the reason she’d zeroed in on Sam in the first place. “If you hadn’t gotten mixed up with me, you wouldn’t have been shot,” he said, plain and simple. “I don’t have pictures, no. I could get one of Chloe. Her brothers are, uh, Alexander and Jude. And there’s a Clementine in there somewhere.” But he didn’t think they’d come to the hospital; no, they’d been too damn cowardly to even carry out a murder plot themselves. They wouldn’t show their faces here.
"Yeah?" she asked when he insisted the staring was good staring, her expression flirty and unconcerned and something that hadn't been around since Ian, since Micah. She wasn't fucking worried, and it showed, and she grinned when he finally caught on that she was teasing, gap teeth working at her lower lip as she smiled. And she was a comfortable weight against his side, the kind of boneless relaxed thing that said she wasn't worrying about shit. And maybe that was bad, because hit-people or whatever, but the morphine and being tired didn't exactly help with being vigilant. And it wasn't like he was going to let anything happen to her. Whatever else was going on, she went with her gut when it came to that. She didn't think he was fucking Iris. She didn't think he'd taken out a life insurance policy and tried to kill her, though she knew that was exactly what it sounded like. "Yeah, you know why they don't believe you about the insurance, right? You're used to being fucking rich and now you're broke. It makes you look really fucking guilty." But that shit wasn't the same as proof, yeah? Good lawyers or not, he couldn't go to jail for something like that. She was about to work herself up about that, but he said Casey had gotten him a lawyer and, ok, cool. But his mention of buying them a house, that us, it made her grin like a silly little girl. "Why'd you buy us a house, baby?"
She scooted further back onto the bed, and she tugged him with her as she flopped back onto the pillow at the bed's head. So, there wasn't much force in the pull to his shirt, but the request was clear, regardless. A wordless lie the fuck down, and really he looked worse than she did. "Lie down, so I can fucking think," she finally said, because he'd just rambled off a lot of crap, and it took her aching head a few seconds to follow everything. "I know Casey," she said as she parsed that. "And there's someone else, yeah? D- something. And Ash." None of which had anything to do with 2012, but whatever, she didn't know that. "Baby, I'll take money from anyone, but I'm not going to bankrupt your brothers when the government will pony up. I could always ask Daniel. He likes using his parents' money for shit they wouldn't approve of. Is he still with Lin?" And her expression lit up when she realized that he'd told her Joey and Shane were in town. "Really? My Joey's here?" She'd always adored Joey more than Cheerios; and she'd adored Cheerios a fucking lot. "I don't even remember Shane. He was a voice on the phone my whole life."
She looked at him without saying anything when he said he didn't want Chloe back, trying to decide if he was lying. "You bullshit me a lot, yeah?" she asked, and that was just a hunch, but she didn't think he was bullshitting her about this. When he went on to explain all the reasons this Chloe shit was his fault, she just looked at him. "Baby, unless you made her think she had a fucking chance, this shit isn't your fault. Anyway, I picked you, yeah? It's not like you hit on me or anything. I might not remember a lot, but I remember that you weren't interested until I wore you down. So, whatever, that can't be your fault." She repeated the names after, committing them to memory, and finding it surprisingly easy to do so as her fingers found the morphine pump button. She closed her eyes. "How about you tell me something good, instead of telling me why I slit my fucking wrists," she suggested easily.
He definitely wasn’t used to seeing her look at him like that. It felt like it had been forever, before their lives became a series of disasters that never seemed to stop, and he almost wished he could just never tell her all the things she’d forgotten and just move on with those parts of her life staying blissfully blank. He could barely even remember a time when she looked like she hadn’t a care in the world. “Yeah,” he echoed, with a more genuine smile. As for the life insurance, yeah, so maybe it looked bad, but it was all bullshit. And he still didn’t understand how no one noticed that it looked too perfect, the broke boyfriend taking out a life insurance policy just days before his girlfriend was shot. “It’d make me look guilty if I actually took out an insurance policy, but I didn’t. If the cops would do their job, they’d be able to find that out. But Casey’s laywers’ll figure it out. I mean, I didn’t do it, so there’s no proof. They can’t charge me with anything,” he told her, trying to sound more certain than he felt. His faith in the law wasn’t exactly high just then. “I bought us a house because… because I got sick of Aria. Chloe moved in, and I just wanted to get away from her. A house seemed more, uh, permanent than another hotel,” he shrugged.
Even without her telling him to lie down, he knew what she was getting at when she tugged on his shirt. And so, after a moment’s hesitation, he followed suit and stretched out beside her. “Yeah,” he said. “Casey, Dair, and Ash. And you’re not going to bankrupt any of them. I’m the broke one.” His good humor vanished when she mentioned Daniel, replaced by a scowl. “Yeah, he’s still with Lin, but don’t ask him for money. Not him.” He hated Daniel like he hated few others, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. “Joey’s here,” he affirmed, smiling a the way she lit up. “I guess you have a chance to get to know Shane, right?” At least she hadn’t missed out on too much with him.
“I don’t bullshit you a lot,” he insisted, without thinking. “I just-- before, I didn’t always tell you everything because it was, I don’t know, easier. And I’m a fucking idiot.” Self-deprecating, but still true. He shook his head because no, he hadn’t made Chloe think she had a chance (not intentionally, anyway) and he turned his head to look at her when she said that she’d worn him down. “Yeah, you picked me, but I picked you too.” Maybe he hadn’t exactly done a good job of showing her that he cared, but he was getting better, and he did care. There wasn’t much good happening these days, and he had to think when she closed her eyes and asked him to tell her something. “Valentine’s Day is coming up,” he suggested, halfheartedly.
His smile seemed less forced, and that was good, yeah? And she didn't have a lot of faith in law enforcement. It was kind of hard to trust the police when you'd grown up avoiding them, but he was different. He had a lot of fucking rich family, and it wasn't like anyone who knew Neil could ever suspect him of doing something like ordering a hit. He couldn't even throw a fucking punch. "You're the most passive fucker I ever met," she commented, grin and knowing. "You wouldn't go out of your way to have me killed." Maybe there should have been a hundred other reasons why he wouldn't take a hit out on her, but that was the loudest one in her head. "You wouldn't even kick me out, baby." She was pretty sure he'd bail before doing anything as aggressive as asking her to leave or something. And she listened to his reasons for getting a house, none of which had anything to really do with her, and that made her believe them without question. "Chloe doesn't sound like she has a lot of pride," she mused, and she should be hating the bitch for trying to have her killed, but Chloe just sounded pathetic or something. Yeah, ok, so she'd been guilty of wanting Neil when he wasn't so into her, but she wouldn't try to have someone else killed over that. "Did she think it would get you back or something, or was it just about getting me out of the picture?" she asked curiously.
"Baby, I'll go to the public place. It's no big deal. Mooching off you is one thing, but I don't want your family to think I'm into you for the money." Yeah, she didn't give a shit about charity or whatever, but she didn't want people think she was fucking him because he was rich or something. Not that she could really remember fucking him, and he wasn't actually fucking rich anymore. But it felt good there, against his side, and she tugged his arm over until she could borrow his elbow for a pillow. She drowsily handed him the button for the morphine pump. "Mash that every thirty minutes," she told him, in case she fell asleep, and why the fuck was being awake so exhausting? Even tired, she had to chuckle when she heard that scowl in his voice at the mention of Daniel. "Ok, no money from Daniel. Calm down." Maybe that should have pissed her off, but she was too happy at hearing that her brothers were in town. She snuggled closer, and she laughed when he said he didn't bullshit her a lot. "Baby, you're like the king of the path of least resistance." And whatever good thing she was expecting him to tell her, Valentine's Day wasn't one of them. She had no idea what had happened between them to get them to where they were, but he wasn't professing his love or anything, and she knew (somehow) that shit just wasn't that way with him, with them which was fine or whatever, yeah? "Since when are you a romantic?" she asked without opening her eyes.
Despite the circumstances, he laughed. Out of all the reasons why he wouldn’t take out a hit on her, she went with laziness. “So that’s the only reason I wouldn’t have you killed, huh? Thanks,” he teased. It didn’t really bother him, though, maybe because he figured she knew him well enough to realize that he didn’t actually have it in him to kill anyone. Sure, he was all for throwing some punches, but when it came down to it he didn’t think he could actually cross the line, not without some help. And money didn’t matter enough to him to drive him to murder, or else he would’ve taken his parents’ deal and either cut things off with Sam or pretended to do so. He frowned when she remarked that Chloe didn’t sound like she had a lot of pride because, frankly, he didn’t care. He was done with feeling sorry for her. He was done trying to give her a chance. “She’s insane, and she doesn’t give a damn about anyone but herself,” he said bluntly. “I’ve never met someone as selfish as her. I think, at this point, it’s just about getting you out of the picture, because there’s no way in hell she’s ever getting me back.” Not even her crying on the phone had been enough to sway him, and hopefully she took that as a sign and hopped a plane back to England. Hopefully they all would.
“They know you’re not with me for the money,” he insisted, “and it’s not like I’m rich anymore. Come on, Sam, they like you. You’re family.” If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that no one in his family would think she was using him, or any of them, for their money. Besides, Louis was already walking a fine line between insanity and sanity; her going to some public place wouldn’t sit well with him either. He took the morphine pump when she handed it to him and nodded, obliging and letting her tug his arm wherever she wanted it. “I am calm,” he protested, and maybe it was a little easier to relax knowing that she wouldn’t be taking anything from Daniel, but whatever. With so many other options, why did she have to choose him? And, yeah, he had been the king of choosing the path of least resistance, but he liked to think he’d made some progress in that area. “I was,” he corrected. “I’m working on it.” Just like he was working on his alcohol problem and, okay, so he’d fallen off the wagon a bit there, but it was just a one-time thing. He laughed when she asked when he’d become a romantic, and he shrugged, a small, barely-there movement as to not disturb her. “I don’t know. I guess you just bring that out in me.”
She grinned when he asked if laziness was the only reason he wouldn't take a hit out on her, and she gave him a shrug that said yeah, pretty much. "That's a lot of fucking work, yeah? You have to like secretly hire someone, and you have to find a way to move money without anyone tracing that you moved it, and then you have to find a way to get it to the person you hired. And then you have to make sure they do it, and that they don't run their mouth if they get caught or something. Like, whoever shot me, where are they? If they get caught, you don't think they'll say who paid them? So, yeah, you probably have to like go kill them after. It'd be easier to just kill me yourself." She looked over her head, the movement giving her a tiny bit of vertigo. "There's a pillow. If you want to smother me, I'm pretty sure I'm too tired to do shit about it." She was still smiling, because, yeah. No, not his style. "Baby, if you were done with me, you'd walk out that door, and even that would be an effort." Because, yeah, she knew what he was like. "It's the same reason I don't think you're fucking Iris. Not because you're in love with me, and not because I think you're super faithful or anything, but Iris isn't confident enough to make a move, and you're not the kind of guy to chase a woman. Anyway, Iris likes sadists." Because she might not remember Ian, but she remembered Iris' stories about him just fine. "And you're not a whips and chains kind of guy."
She wasn't surprised to hear that Chloe was selfish, somehow, even though he'd only said fantastic shit about her before. Well, except for that part about her cheating on him and bailing. But she associated selfishness with rich bitches, so she wasn't surprised. But she was surprised at how sure he sounded about not going back to Chloe. Shit, for him that was almost like determined or something. "I'm sorry. I know you thought she was wonderful once, and realizing someone sucks is hard." It was hard to be pissed at people she couldn't remember, even when the throbbing behind her ear reminded her. Pissed just wasn't something she normally did, and whatever anger she'd developed in the past year just wasn't there anymore. She rubbed her fingers over the scars at her wrist, not thinking as the pressed calloused fingertips to the slightly raised ridges. "So, I'm a suicidal junkie? Does everyone know about that?" Because she'd noticed the old track marks, too. And that had stuck around, that pride that made her not want to appear vulnerable to people; it was better to know what she was dealing with up-front. And that seemed more important than arguing with him about how she wasn't going to take money from his brothers. But then he smiled, and she grinned again and turned instinctively toward the warmth of his chest. "Yeah? Does that mean you're getting me something romantic?" she asked of Valentine's Day.
It was almost funny, because everything she was describing was exactly what Chloe and her family had done to put a bullet in Sam’s head. And, yeah, it was a lot of work, which only convinced him further that the Murphys weren’t just crazy; they were pure fucking evil. What kind of person took a hit out on someone because they were bitter about an ex? If he could just prove it somehow, he was certain they’d all spend an eternity in prison for attempted murder or, at least, conspiracy to commit murder. “I guess that’s why they can’t find the shooter,” he sighed. “They either took off, or they’re dead in a river somewhere.” Okay, maybe not a river, but somewhere they wouldn’t be found for a long, long time. Which was problematic, but then again the whole damn case was. “Yeah, no, I’m not going to smother you. Killing people really isn’t my style,” he remarked dryly. He froze, just a little, when she said Iris liked sadists, but he relaxed when he remembered that she didn’t actually remember the shit Ian had done. Iris had probably mentioned him in the past or something. “That’s not true,” he protested. “I wouldn’t fuck Iris because we… we agreed that this, our relationship, is… monogamous or whatever. We’re not fucking other people.” And yeah, maybe he was thinking of Daniel, because if she thought they weren’t actually a thing she might fall for his sad drunken act again. But him? There wasn’t anyone else he wanted to be with, and he wasn’t interested in looking.
He shrugged. “Don’t apologize. I should’ve realized it a long time ago,” he said. He had thought Chloe hung the moon, once, but all that had been a lie. She’d liked his weakness, his willingness to follow her like a puppy and believe everything she told him. He should’ve seen the truth when she left him for that professor. But he hadn’t, and now things had progressed so much farther than he’d ever imagined. “You’re not a junkie anymore, and it’s been a while since-- you’re in recovery.” Which was true, for the most part. “Yeah, they know,” he admitted. “I’m not sure how much you told Shane, but everyone else-- yeah.” He figured he couldn’t keep that from her, and it was a lot easier to say than everything else. “Something really, really romantic,” he agreed with a laugh. “I’ll even take you out for a really cheesy romantic dinner.”
She should probably want to punch every single fucking Murphy in the face, but that was hard when they sounded more like villains out of a fairy tale than real people. And maybe it all just hadn't sunk in yet, yeah? The fact that she was here, all fucked up, because of some bitch that wanted on Neil's dick. It was probably the morphine, which was seriously soothing, but she felt detached from all of it, like they were talking about shit that had happened to someone else. She almost asked him, again, if he thought the Murphys would try something like this again, but it didn't seem as important as it should have been, not when he was warm and the bed was soft, and she was pretty sure she'd been asleep for fucking weeks, so why was she tired already? And she didn't notice the way he froze when she made the comment about Iris and sadists; she just smiled at his assurance that killing people wasn't his style. "Too much work," she reiterated. "You're totally the kind of fucker that would leave a Dear John note and bail while I slept," she teased. And she hadn't been expecting his protest about Iris. It made her actually go through the effort of tipping her head back to look at him, even though it came with shards of fucking pain. Eyes open, she quirked a brow. "You're doing the commitment thing?" she asked, and there was no hiding her fucking surprise, nope, no fucking way.
She looked at him a moment longer, while he said that he should have realized the truth about Chloe earlier. Yeah, ok, it didn't sound like he was bullshitting her. "Do I trust you?" she asked absently, her voice picking up a hint of sleepy slur, which betrayed her fight to stay awake. Maybe she didn't trust him? She should probably know that shit. But right then, lying in that bed, she had no reason to distrust him. She took his word about the hit, and she believed the shit he was saying about Chloe. Yeah, ok, so she knew he liked the path of least resistance, but that couldn't apply to everything, right? What he said about the junkie thing, though, that made her start listening again. She was surprised she'd told anyone anything, which meant she must have ended up in the hospital because of the wrists, maybe? Whatever, and the next logical question would be why?, but she ignored that too. It was easier to think about Valentine's Day and romantic things, even though she'd lost her stupid little girlness about that years ago, somewhere around the time when she'd started cooking dinner and washing boxers day in, day out. "Come on. You can do fucking better than dinner. Be creative," she teased, the seriousness gone along with her fight to keep her eyes open. She sighed and scooted closer, until she was using him as her personal heater. "Remember to mash the button, yeah?" she asked.
Part of him argued that he wouldn’t just leave a note and bail, that he wasn’t that guy anymore. But somehow saying it felt cheap and he just didn’t think he’d believe her. The more he insisted, the more she’d think he was bullshitting her, and what good would that do? It’d taken so long, and a lot of mistakes, to get to the point they’d been at before she’d lost her memory and even then they’d still had a long ways to go. Now, now it was like they’d taken twenty steps back and he had no idea how to prove that they’d even been ahead before this. Yet still, he had to say something. He couldn’t just let her keep on believing that what they had was so uncertain no one expected it to last. “I wouldn’t bail,” was what he managed, and even that was said with the expectation that she would laugh and dismiss it. Her surprise made him laugh, even though he knew it was going to be that much harder to get her to believe him based on the way she was looking at him. “Yeah, I’m doing the commitment thing. Don’t look so surprised,” he teased. “It’s not a miracle or anything.”
Did she trust him? That made him stop and think. A few months ago, maybe, he would’ve said no, but Neil thought he’d gotten a lot better at keeping things from her since then. It helped, too, that he was officially done with Chloe. “I think you do. More than you used to, anyway,” he added. He was relieved that she didn’t ask about the drugs or the scars, even though part of him knew someone, at some point, was going to have to fill her in. Like her, he found it easier to focus on Valentine’s Day and other things that didn’t require worrying about. “Fine, fine. I’ll come up with something more creative by then.” Assuming she would be released by then, of course, but that was a concern for later. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll remember,” he assured her. “Sleep. You’re tired.”
"You'd toss me out on my ass instead?" she teased, and she shook her head immediately after. "Yeah, no, too fucking hard." But he looked so earnest when he said he was doing the commitment thing, and her surprise wasn't even a now thing. She hadn't been fucking with him when she said she could kind of tell that shit was different than it had been in May. She felt more than she had then. She felt scary fucking amounts of more, but she wasn't about to fucking say that, yeah? She wasn't going to be pathetic and make fucking declarations, not when she knew he wasn't into that shit. And she had no idea where that understanding came from, but it was fucking there. For a second, she was inky-eyed doubt as she scanned his face, but the teasing smile was back within seconds, like shutters over a fucking window or something. "Baby, it's a fucking miracle. But maybe not. It must be easier to get sex at home, than have to go shopping for it, yeah?" she teased.
She wasn't expecting him to think about whether or not she trusted him, but his answer didn't really surprise her. "Of course I fucking trust you," she echoed with a yawn, and despite her words she scooted closer, as if the fucking telling had made her feel safer or something. She just grinned about him coming up with something more creative, because that shit wasn't him, and she knew it wasn't him, but she thought it was fucking cute, him having to come up with some girly, romantic shit to do. But he was right about her being tired, and she didn't even argue that shit. Instead, she pressed a kiss to his stubbled jaw. That had to be ok, right? Kissing his fucking jaw or whatever? Whatever, she just moved closer to his warmth and stopped fighting sleep and morphine and the ache that was still making her head throb. "Remember- memory- not a big deal."
She didn’t get it. Neil knew, he knew she wouldn’t. He knew he’d done a shit job of trying to explain how things were now. That was on him, really, and he had to find a way to fix it. But not then, not when she’d just woken up and she was clearly still drugged up on morphine. He’d wait until she was a little more clear-headed. He just shook his head, because nothing he said was going to change what she thought their relationship was. And, again, that was his fault, but he’d fix it. “No, that’s not it,” he protested, when she commented about sex being easier to get at home, because that hadn’t really been a constant part of their relationship for a while. Clearly, in his mind, it was more than just that. “I didn’t decide to commit because of sex.” But he stopped himself there, because he’d just get defensive and she’d keep on insisting when she should be resting instead. Now wasn’t the time.
It hadn’t always been easy for her to trust him. Back when he’d had Norman, that disaster, had changed things, and he winced just thinking about it. There were so many things in between, too, but he just held her tighter when she moved closer. “Okay,” he echoed softly, not remarking on memory being important or unimportant. He pressed a kiss to her hair and he watched her fall asleep, watched her afterward, because there was no way he was sleeping.