Lucas Davies fell down the rabbit hole (phantos) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-06-19 22:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | alice, elizabeth bennet, viola |
Who: Preston, Eli, & Lucas
What: Seeing to the drunken Preston
Where: Reliquary -> Sparke Industries Lab -> Reliquary
When: Immediately after this
Warnings: Passive aggressive anger? Otherwise, none.
The combination of alcohol and pharmaceuticals left Lucas in a dead sleep, one that he wouldn’t normally wake from easily. But he normally wasn’t woken up by someone shouting at him in a thick accent to let him know that someone was drunk and about to drive into traffic. That had him up in a breath, pushed up on his elbows as he tried to comprehend what Eli was saying. The moment realisation dawned on him, he cursed under his breath and was out of bed in just a moment. “What the hell does that bloody idiot think he’s doing?” he snapped quietly, shoving his feet into his boots as he tromped after Eli, hardly thinking about the threat of ass-kicking. Apparently, Preston had told him. Apparently, Preston had gotten himself shit-faced and called him early in the morning to tell him. Apparently, Preston was excellent at making sane decisions.
Preston was certainly not excellent at making sane decisions. He was, Eli knew, excellent at getting bloody pissed when he was upset, and he was going to extract a promise from him to put down the bottle, if it was the last thing he did. He glared at Lucas when Lucas spoke, all gritted teeth and anger as he muffled the phone at his ear again. “You came here, and you lied to me, Lucas,” he said, an old, betrayed anger there. “I trusted you,” he said, and he left it at that, going back to telling Preston to turn off the car engine. Then, Preston was offering to make something look like an accident, and Eli almost dropped the phone. “This was bad enough to make him suicidal, was it?” he demanded of Lucas, and then he cursed and pushed the door open to the sidewalk. It was quickly becoming light out, and they both looked a mess, but it hardly mattered. He dropped his keys, while trying to manage the phone, and then he shoved the phone at Lucas. “Talk to him,” he said, opening Lucas’ door and then going around to his own door and sliding in. “We need to know where he bloody is, and he won’t tell me.”
It was going to be difficult for Eli to demand healthier coping mechanisms when both he and Lucas were coming off a binge of their own, and this Preston knew very well. He didn't know the definition of "best mate" except that up until this point Eli had never mentioned any such person. He had been on the receiving end of Lucas' charm and he had a hard time imagining anyone to be proof from it, and after the series of conversations after the party, Preston felt as if he was only aggravating every situation he took part in. He'd made sure Anton was away by tampering (blatantly) with his schedule, and he had only thought about talking to his brother for a split second before he remembered the fight they'd just had about the attitude of their family towards exactly this kind of relationship.
That left work, which quickly ran out as night came, and the vigilantes were less served by Rescue's voice in their ear if they were already engaged. Having successfully isolated himself from the few connections he had, Preston lost the thread of logic very quickly. He had been in this place before, the place where he'd messed up so badly he was on his own to face it. He hadn't actually managed to get to the practically suicidal at that point, and he wasn't sure he would now, but it would be stupid not to think of an easier out. Eli's anger made him wince, but he couldn't quite bring himself to hang up. Instead he tried to find another cigarette as the phone rustled.
The accusatory words, the use of the past tense in the word trust, it all had Lucas wincing inwardly, but he pushed forward past his own selfish concerns. First and foremost, this was about Preston, not he or Eli. “I did not do anything to make him suicidal,” Lucas snapped as they exited the building, the streets empty at this time of morning. Taking the phone from Eli, Lucas slid into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut behind him, fumbling with the seatbelt as he pressed the phone between his ear and shoulder. “What in the bloody hell are you doing?” he asked, his tone incredulous. The seatbelt clicked into place and he held the phone with his hand. “Address, now. We aren’t playing games, Preston. And I’m sure you would rather us not have to get the police involved in a city-wide search for your arse. Cooperate. Please.”
Startled, Preston pulled a new cigarette out of the pack, but promptly dropped it a moment later. “Whozis? Lucas? You’re there?” The implication of this question was obvious, and so was the fall of Preston’s voice from surprise to unmistakable jealousy. He didn’t let it out very often, but it was most definitely there, buried very deep and biting bitter in the bottom of his stomach.
“No, it’s the bloody tooth fairy. Yes. I’m here. Unlike some of us, I stay put when I’ve had a bit too much to drink.” Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, trying to keep his calm, to clear his head of the fuzziness that lingered from earlier. “Address, Preston. We would like very much to know where it is you are.”
There and drunk. Of course. “Yes, you and Eli you can stay put,” Preston muttered, agreeing with this previous statement. And then, with a strange smile that is audible, through drunken thick tongue, “Virtuous obscurity.” He drops his lighter, and swears absently in the speech of his youth before resuming. “I’m safe. Anton has a lab. It’s safe. M’sorry I called.” This, at least, is all true.
Lucas let out a sigh, covering the phone for a moment as he glanced over towards Eli. “Is he always so uncooperative?” he asked, though it was obvious it was very much a rhetorical question considering the current situation.
“Every bloody second,” Eli assured him, turning the car toward Sparke Industries.
Speaking back into the phone, Lucas attempted another approach. “Preston. You’re only making the situation worse by acting this way. Eli is worried. I’m worried and I hardly know you. Humour us both and just give up the bloody address. Please.” His tone was as calm as he could make it, as reasonable as he ever was. “Or perhaps we should contact Anton. I’m sure a little work could make that happen. Would you rather that happen?” It was a far reach, but surely his employer would know something, right?
That got immediate response, even cooperation. “No! Don’t call him. Jesus, don’t tell him about this.” Coughing around some smoke, a scuffle as he obviously attempts to get up. The rattle of keys. “You can come... downstairs, to the parking lot, there’s a lobby... downstairs.” The lab was on the top of an office building with secure elevators and some testing sites several floors down. The garage was on the main floor, enclosed, but Preston was sure he could stagger out to the lobby. With some despair: “Don’t come here...”
Eli, who could hear some of the chopped words through the phone, pulled the car up with a screech in front of Sparke Industries’ pretty glass windows. He gunned the engine, loud enough to be heard on the phone, and he looked over at Lucas. “Tell him, if you would, that I’m about to drive this car into a wall of glass that belongs to his employer.” He smiled, a strange and distant smile. “And now’s the time to get out of the car if you like, Lucas.”
Lucas gave a nervous look towards Eli, head tilted to the side slightly though there was no doubt that Eli meant what he said. “Do you really need me to repeat that to you, Preston?” Lucas asked, sure it had been heard over the connection. “And I’m staying where I sit, Eli. No jumping ship for me.” He looked forward, out the windshield, towards the glass front of the building. “Preston. Do be a doll and get your arse up here.”
“Eli, no.” Preston was completely aware that Eli would make good on his threat, and by now he was sounding quite frantic. “Tell him no, Lucas! Please!” Preston almost fell several times in his haste to get back from the garage and into the lab to pull up the security feeds. There was Eli in that damned ridiculous car. “Please don’t. I’m not there, I’m at... I’m at another lab, please come away from there.”
Calmly, if distantly from the driver’s seat, voice raised so Preston could hear. “The directions, if you would,” Eli said, with that infuriating calm in place. He gunned the motor once more, in case there was any doubt he would do precisely as he said he would. “Tell him, Lucas, that this is his final opportunity to provide said address.” If there was any doubt that Eli was taking this entire affair badly, this made it abundantly clear that he was.
“Preston. I’d really rather not drive through a building tonight, so it might be best if you simply tell us where you are.” He licked his lips, suddenly dry, and Lucas went so far as to check his seatbelt once more. “I’d listen to Eli, love. I do fear I’m sitting in the same car as a madman. I can take a picture of his smile if you have any doubt.”
Desperate, Preston had no choice. He gave him the address. “Just... park in the garage. I’ll... I’ll get the gate open. For God’s sake don’t get yourselves put on the front page for this, I’m not wo--it’s not worth it.”
Eli didn’t waste time arguing worth, not just then. Nor did he waste time informing Preston that he was joining Alcoholics Anonymous the moment he was sober. Nor did he waste time discussing therapy sessions, which he was fairly certain would also be forthcoming. He merely put the car in reverse, and drove toward the address given, reaching over to mute the phone after he was on the road anew. “I’ll have you know,” he told Lucas, “that I’ve not forgotten that you collaborated to deceive me,” he informed him, but it was a calm, simmered anger now, and he unmuted the phone a moment later.
Lucas pressed himself back into the seat, closing his eyes tightly for a long moment, because he had never been under the impression that Eli had forgotten, and he knew the issue would be addressed sooner rather than later, but to hear it said again made something very deep within him ache. “I know,” he said shortly, before the phone was unmuted, and he sighed into the phone. “We’re on our way, Preston,” Lucas said a moment later, opening his eyes to look out the window. “And you are worth it. Stop selling yourself so short. It’s unattractive.”
“There’s not a need for this,” was Preston’s general response, in various drunken versions, until they arrived. This building, boring, glass, business, of approximately five stories high, did not have Sparke Industries labeled on the side. There was a guard station, but it was presently unmanned, and perhaps the dark glass was simply meant to give the impression of a possibility of eyes. Cameras watched the gate, an electronic white iron thing, which was rolled back part way to offer entrance to a long green drive that wound back toward the building.
At the end of the drive there was a white garage door, one of four, all of which looked startlingly residential. One stood open and glowed warm yellow and industrial blue, and a thin figure sat on the hood of a sleek white Lotus. Preston let the hand that held the phone drift slowly down onto his lap as the car approached.
Eli pulled his own car close enough that the heat of the lights could be felt against Preston’s knees and the fabric of his pants, and he put the car in park and shut off the engine without saying a word. He had no idea Preston owned such a car, and it seemed to just be another secret piled atop all the others. “Shall you do the honors?” he asked Lucas, voice dead calm, worry slipped away the moment he saw Preston was, indeed, alive.
Lucas glanced towards Eli, watching him for a moment before he sighed, turning the phone off and laying it on the dash. “You sure you want me doing that, Eli?” he asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer, instead getting out of the car, shutting the door behind him. His expression was drawn as he came towards Preston, hands sliding into the pockets of the tan cords he wore. “Glad to see you haven’t made any more stupid decisions before we got here,” he said, glancing back towards the car, and then back to Preston. “It’s a bloody mess.”
Preston was in wrinkled work clothes from the previous day, the shirt a lavender color a shade off white and the slacks the color of new wheat. The general effect was diminished by the wrinkles and the lines in his face, even more so because he wasn’t wearing shoes or socks. Red-shot blue eyes slipped past Lucas as he approached, the lack of recognition clear as he directed a gaze full of regret and pain to the man still behind the wheel. Then he said, quietly, drink and Boston thick, “I was trying to help.” There was an open pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket, but none lit at the moment, and no sign of glass or bottle. Regardless, the smell of rich peaty scotch was detectable at two yards off.
Eli was sharply sober, and he had intentionally sent Lucas out of the car instead of going himself. He’d done it for a few reasons. He wanted to see their interactions, to witness any other secrets they wouldn’t tell him, to see things they could hide when speaking to him. The light of the car shone brightly on them, and he rested his hands on the steering wheel, fists that had no outlet just then. He couldn’t hear Preston’s quiet whisper, nor could he hear whatever Lucas had said to precipitate it, but it was quite enough. He refrained from honking the car horn, but only just.
“By doing what?” Lucas asked, and he took a step forward, hands slipping from his pockets, palms out. “By getting so drunk you’re going to be feeling it days from now?” Lucas shook his head, another step, slow and careful. “This isn’t helping anyone, and I’m sure you know that. Not you. Not Eli. Both of you are miserable, I can see that plain and clear.” He half turned back towards Eli’s car, shielding his eyes with one hand before gesturing Eli out. “You two need to talk, Preston. Figure out what you both want.”
On the second step, Preston seemed to realize Lucas was advancing, and he straightened off the hood of the sleek car and took a step away, into the full beam of Eli’s headlight. Squinting in pain at the excess of light, he took another step back around the line of the door, back into the garage. Barely visible in the garage wall was a lined glass and steel elevator, which was where the smooth blue light came from. “I just... you said secrets would make it worse.” It was Preston that had said that, but no matter. “I was trying to help,” he repeated, now at a more moderate volume. He was aware they didn’t believe that, and also that he had failed to the point of aggravating the situation, but he was so drunk that it was a constant ache rather than a sharp pain.
Eli had seen Lucas’ gesture, and he hesitated before doing as Lucas wanted him to do. He knew Preston when he was like this, had ample experience when he was like this. “Talking isn’t going to work, Lucas,” he said as he opened the car door and walked around to the front. He leaned back against his own hood, hands in his pockets and eyes a dark, angry blue. He had caught the tail end of the comment about the lies. “Do neither of you realize that what happened between you is not the problem here? The problem is you both conspired to keep it from me.” He motioned forward with one hand, waving it between them angrily. “Whispers and secrets and lies to my face,” he explained. “There’s no shame in wanting one another,” he said, though it was a sentence tinged with shades of green, “but conspiracy? Honestly? Was that necessary?”
Lucas’ jaw was tight, lips pressed in a tight line as he watched Eli emerge from the vehicle. “It’s not exactly easy to tell a person that you flirted with his boyfriend, Eli,” Lucas said stiffly, pressing a hand back through his hair, shaking his head at the mess that they found themselves in. “I was going to tell you what happened, Eli. I did not feel it was... polite to do so when you were three sheets to the wind.” Pulling his hand away from his face, Lucas let out a sigh. “I did not mean for this to happen in this way. And I’m sure Preston, if he was in full control of his faculties, did not mean for it to happen this way, either.”
Preston, true to his word, looked horrified and angry at the same time. He took a couple steps toward Eli (or at least one, the other went askew). “We weren’t conspira--It wasn’t a conspiracy! We talked once and that was the only time I even--” He looked at Lucas, and it was a look caught somewhere between accusatory (this was his fault and a plea for help (do something!). Preston caught his balance on the sideview mirror, and the world rocked a little unpleasantly. “I didn’t have any secrets, I didn’t whisper...” he said, quietly, almost to himself.
“We’re all quite grown,” Eli said. “You may whisper about anything you like,” he said, hurt flashing across his face. “And Lucas, old friend, we spoke for hours about what happened at that blasted party, and you were not honest with me during any of them,” he said, but there was no bite in the statement. It was quiet, resigned, and he pushed away from the hood of the car and pointed at Preston. “You’re sleeping this off, and we’re seeing about counseling for you come morning,” he said, voice going firm and determined. Regardless of anything else, this was not happening again, not if he could help it.
“M’not going to counseling,” Preston snapped, with some heat, finally.
“I think I should simply take my leave with this,” Lucas said, taking a step back from the pair. “I’m sorry, Eli, that I did not tell you sooner. Preston, I am sorry that I complicated things.” He held his hands up before shrugging and sliding them in to his pockets, turning around with every intention to take his exit.
Eli reached out a hand and grabbed Lucas’ sleeve. “Don’t be a bloody tit. Help me get him in the car.” To Preston, he just quirked a brow. “Counseling,” he repeated, “or I’ll begin issuing ultimatums.” If there was one thing he knew about Preston, it was that Preston would (as a rule) capitulate to ultimatums.
“I’m not,” Preston insisted, taking another step back to prevent anyone from kidnapping him, as if it would really help. “You do the exact same fucking thing, Eli, L’be fine.” He was actually convinced of this, because he returned to the previous topic. “I do not whipser--... whisper.”
Of course, there would be no tidy exit for him, not that he had really expected it, but it had been a thought, a possibility to entertain. Instead, Lucas turned towards Preston, studying him for a long moment. “Stop arguing, Preston. You’re not going to win this argument.” Lucas stepped forward at that point, towards Preston as he backed away, though he made no move to tackle him to the ground or anything else dramatic. Instead, he simply held a hand out. “Come on. I’m not above dragging you to the car kicking and screaming, so unless you enjoy losing your dignity in such a manner, I suggest you join us. We can talk more. Later.” Because there was sure to be much talking in their future, reparations of burning bridges to salvage what was left.
“The difference between us,” Eli said quite plainly, his attention on Preston, “is that I do not become self-destructive when things are difficult to deal with. And I’m bloody worried about you.” The last bit was emphatic, and he turned back to the car and opened the door again. He trusted Lucas to get Preston into the vehicle, whatever else was between the three of them, and it was better if he didn’t venture near enough to touch either of them at present, lest they be dealing with worse matters come morning.
Preston didn’t want to have anything to do with getting in that car, or going wherever it was these two had been camped out (he forgot he’d called Reliquary). “Don’ see why we can’t talk about it now,” he said, rather fiercely, looking past Lucas at Eli, who wasn’t coming any nearer nor did it appear he was interested in doing so at all. “We can talk about how t’was my fault,” he added. “M’not destructive.” A quick jerk of his hand to indicate himself, unsteady but whole. “Not hurt.” At Eli, obviously, in a volume softer: “I didn’t mean it.”
“You’re not going to remember a lick of this conversation in the morning, Preston,” Lucas said with a sigh, and he gave up on asking Preston to join them, instead advancing towards him, reaching out to grab elbow in lieu of the hand he had offered earlier. He didn’t pull on him, yet, instead standing in front of the other man, growing quiet. “Please, Preston. This? This is not helping anyone. Come back, get some sleep, and you and Eli can talk in the morning.” His voice was quiet, pitched low, accent thick. “I’m worried about you, too, for what it’s worth. I was worried about you that night, as well. You’ll find I’m not easy to shoo away.”
“If you want me to believe you didn’t mean it,” Eli said from the car, “you’ll allow Lucas to help you into the bloody car, and we’ll discuss it in the morning over coffee and cigarettes,” he said. He was, quite simply, concerned about getting close to either of them, for varying reasons, and his control was slipping the longer they stood there. “We’re not leaving without you, so you’ve little choice in the matter. Salvage your pride, or no.”
Preston was far too drunk to realize he had brought this on himself, and he looked from Eli, unsure of what he saw in his eyes, to Lucas. He saw no help in either. His expression fell. “Should’ve stayed upstairs,” he muttered to himself, looking back at the elevator and pulling a little against Lucas’ grip before finally giving in. He waved back toward the car, cursing when he collided with a headlight hard enough to bruise but not even close to denting anything but his pride. Once Lucas was clear he ran a hand down a nondescript white panel, and the innocent-looking garage door began to descend down toward their heads.
Lucas caught those words, and a brow arched as they made their way towards the car. “And he would have crashed the car straight through the building to prove his point,” Lucas muttered, pulling open the passenger door and pointing at it. “Get in.” Looking over the top of the car, he met Eli’s gaze for a moment, some unasked question there. He could only hold the look for a moment before he looked away, pulling open the back door and sliding in.
Eli returned no looks, not that evening. He busied himself with getting settled in the driver’s seat and lighting a cigarette, and then he was reversing the car without saying a word. Once they hit the open road, he glanced over at Preston in the dim light of the car interior. He wanted to ask questions - Why? How did this make anything better? How much? - but he didn’t. Instead, he broke his own rule about not discussing this until morning, and he looked at Lucas in the rear view mirror. “Why?” he asked, looking away from the man in the backseat and bringing his attention back to the road.
Preston was, beyond all expectations considering just how much he had drunk over the last five hours, conscious. At the moment he was lighting a cigarette, and he yanked red eyes back from the window to see what the sound from the front was. He didn’t answer in case it was for Lucas, and slid a confused, questioning look at him. Preston noticed, belatedly, that Lucas looked a lot younger than he expected, and he had no coherent thought beyond that. Concern darkened his eyes, and he tried to get a glimpse of Eli’s expression, but to no avail.
Lucas had settled with his head resting against the window, the cool glass doing its job in keeping him awake for that bit longer. With the silence that hung heavy in the car, he hadn’t been expecting a question to be asked, and, judging by the look he saw reflected in the rear view mirror, a question asked of him. “There’s a lot of ways to be answering that, Eli,” Lucas said lightly, stepping carefully and minding his words. “Why I didn’t tell you? I meant to, and I had every intention of telling you. It’s hard to find a good moment to say such things, however.”
“And you felt no guilt, allowing me to ramble on as I did?” Eli asked with a sigh. He glanced over at Preston, who he was certain did not need a cigarette, but he refrained from saying as much. “How much have you had to drink?” he asked, because it was important. He’d already seen Preston in that space where drinking was no longer safe, where the drinker needed watching. He wanted to know if they were in that space now. They had little time before Reliquary came into view, but there was always the option of the hospital if need be, though he did not say as much.
Preston got the cigarette lit without burning himself or his clothing, and reached for the top button of his shirt without realizing it was already undone. Slowly lowering his hand after brushing pointlessly at his throat, he shook his head slowly, too heavy for him to hold upright properly. “Can’t remember. Not that much.” The two statements didn’t really coincide. They made perfect sense to Preston. “Not enough to blur it,” he added.
“Did I say that I did not feel guilty in remaining quiet?” Lucas said, a cold edge to his words. “Please don’t presume to know what was going through my mind at that point, Eli. And right now, we have more pressing concerns.” He hauled himself up to lean forward from the back seat, a hand coming around to press palm first against Preston’s forehead. “Nevermind how much you drank,” he said calmly. “Focus for a moment. How do you feel?” There was genuine concern and worry in his voice; he had spent enough time in college to know if someone was merely drunk or beyond that point.
“M’fine,” Preston insisted, gently pushing Lucas away by the shoulder and leaning back with a sour expression that resented the (what he felt to be) unnecessary amount of mothering that was taking place.
“I do not presume to know anything,” Eli said, ire rising like bile in his throat. When Lucas hauled himself forward, he wanted to reach back and show his childhood friend precisely how angry he was. He was, he felt, quite certain that neither of them realized the effort it was taking not to pummel them both right there and then. It was divine province that Preston pushed at Lucas, and Eli pulled the car in front of Reliquary quickly enough (and with enough application of the brakes) that it jerked them all forward of a moment.
“Except the fact that you think that I felt no guilt during our conversation last night,” Lucas said sharply, pushed back towards the backseat as Eli applied the brakes. As it were, his shoulder hit the back of Preston’s seat, and while his expression turned somewhat sour, he said nothing. “And he’ll live. I’m sure he’ll feel like shite when he wakes up, but he’ll live.” These presumptions, and the fact that none of them seemed capable of saying what was on their minds, was wearing on him, so it was with a considerable amount of violence that Lucas hauled himself from the backseat, nearly slamming the door (though he stopped short, having some consideration for his friend’s vehicle).
A seatbelt that someone else had probably buckled prevented Preston from cutting his head open on the slide forward, and as it was by the time there was a full stop his head was spinning and he had cigarette ash on his slacks. He swore, but not at anyone in particular, and then he pushed at the door. He stopped, figured out the seatbelt was still on, and then tried again, this time effectively spilling out onto the street and barely saving himself from a face full of pavement. He was starting to feel sick by this time, an unpleasant yet familiar feeling that made him want something more to drink to make it go away.
Eli watched all of these dramatic departures, and he was caught somewhere between feeling poorly for what they were experiencing, smugness at what they were experiencing, and anger that any of them were experiencing anything at all. He followed them both, grabbing Preston’s arm when he stumbled and throwing Lucas the keys for the door. He had no doubt his friend would catch the keys and do as needed to be done, regardless of what had transpired. “The bottom floor room is the best option, I think,” he said to Lucas. “The one with the divan. Do, however, put away our bottles.”
Lucas said a silent thank you that Eli had been quick to catch Preston, preventing what could have been a trip to the hospital. Catching the keys, he gave Eli a short nod and approached the front of Reliquary, finding the proper key and unlocking the door. Leaving it ajar, he cleared the way for the pair that would follow, taking up the glasses and bottles they had had what seemed a lifetime ago, stowing them where they would not be easily found or drank by the inebriated one. “All clear,” Lucas called out, coming back forward to pull the door further open to keep from anyone having to fuss with the door.
Preston tried to follow the arch of the keys with his eyes, but he wasn’t quick enough, and the vertigo induced by the attempt was so unpleasant that he didn’t try to see where Lucas went after that. He leaned first one way and then into Eli’s arm, obviously without intent, and sighed a sigh that turned into a groan. The distant protective warmth of the alcohol was starting to become a punishment, inevitable but familiar. “Bottles,” he said, obviously not as oblivious as everyone would like. “You’re a fuckin’ hypocrite, Elijah.” He didn’t use the full name facetiously, but no one present stuck with their real name all the time. Preston caught the slip and tipped his chin sideways at Eli. “Should’ve stuck with Ash,” he said, trying to walk but picking the wrong direction. “You were right, still the same.” Preston had done a lot of work to try to get away from who he had been. The failure showed in his expression. He turned it away.
“Of course I was,” Eli said easily, hands on Preston’s hips when he turned the wrong direction, correcting course and leading him toward the back room instead. “What was I correct about this time?” he asked casually. “And Lucas and I met for drinks and truths withheld,” he said, a touch of bitterness, “but neither of us drank as much as you have, nor did we almost kill ourselves,” he said. “No matter how upset we were. Now-” he nodded toward the divan, and he nudged Preston toward it. “Lucas, you know where the blankets and pillows are,” he added, because Lucas did.
Lucas very much wanted to argue that point about truths, but wisely, Lucas kept his mouth shut, instead heading upstairs to the room he had been in only hours before, retrieving an armful of blankets and pillows to bring back downstairs. “I think it’s time to play the quiet game,” Lucas said with a touch of ice to his voice, depositing his armload near the divan before making up the furniture as a bed, the pillow fluffed and the blankets pulled down neatly. “Before someone says something they don’t mean.” He gave Eli a look at that, though it was short and gone in a heartbeat. “Preston, get your arse over here. It’s much too late and you need to sleep.”
“It’s not late,” Preston argued, obviously enough of a bitter pill to match Eli. “It’s early.” This was true, since light was coming out over the line of the rooftops in the distance, slow but sure. Preston felt the need to be right about something, since he couldn’t even be right about his own goddamn name. “Why’s he know where the pillows are?” Preston asked, too drunk and dizzy to give a damn about how the inquiry sounded. He gave Eli a resentful look and tried to shake his arm free. (And, in a short mutter, he said, “I wasn’t going to do anything.”)
There was no shaking free, and Eli gave Lucas a look that said he had every right to be bitter at present, thank you very much. But he did hold his tongue, keeping his silence until he managed to maneuver Preston to the divan with a series of nudges. “He was sleeping in the room with said blankets,” he finally added, taking some pleasure in the jealousy in Preston’s voice. He was owed a bit of smugness in this entire debacle, was he not?
“Late, early, we aren’t meant to be awake at this hour, however you wish to phrase it,” Lucas said, folding his arms over his chest as he watched the progression to get Preston over and onto the divan. “Do you want some water, Preston?” What was it, with him lately, and seeing to inebriated or hungover companions. First Nell, and now this. He was becoming quite the expert and handling these sorts of situations.
Preston for his part didn’t answer, already slumped sideways on the divan and curled away from both of them because he didn’t want to deal with what their presence represented. He was slipping back from the bitter resentfulness into the depression, and while little enough was self-pity, he wasn’t in the mood to share it. He muttered a pair of strange lines to himself, Irish lines, distinct in the accent but not clear in the words, and then closed his eyes. “Just tried to help,” he finished, pressing smoke-stained fingers between his eyes.
The Irish registered as little more than words that Eli did not understand, though he was quite familiar with the accent. It made him bristle, stand up taller, and he had absolutely no idea who Preston was trying to help, or with what. “Trying to help with what, love?” he asked, the term of endearment slipping out unintentionally. Somewhere at the front of the shop, Nana was arriving, and Eli rubbed his forehead.
Vaguely, from the divan: “You.”
Lucas was quiet at the short exchange, hesitant in what he should be doing. “Do you want me to stay, Eli?” he asked quietly, just as confused with what Preston was trying to do to ‘help’. He was sure it made perfect sense to the other man, but in the state he was presently in, there was little to be done in making sense out of Preston’s words.
“Assuming you can keep your hands to yourself?” Eli bit back, and it was a reactionary comment, all tiger with a splinter in his paw. He sighed immediately after, and he dropped the hand that was on his forehead. “If you would. I need to open, and I’m not certain he should be alone,” he said, almost apologetically and motioning to Preston with the hand he’d lowered.
Lucas visibly bristled at Eli’s words then, but he said nothing in response, though his body language spoke to someone shutting off and pulling back. “I’ll stay with him,” he said, stiffly, and taking one of the blankets he had not set upon the divan for Preston, Lucas settled in a chair nearby, far enough that he could keep his uncontrollable hands to himself. “Do as you need. I’ll make sure he doesn’t stop breathing or anything else.” His bag had been thrown over his shoulder when they left, earlier, and now he pulled it away, setting it down on the floor and making no effort to hide his motions. A moment later, he was settled, leaning back in his chair with his leg crossed at the other knee.
Eli glanced back at the Divan, where Preston’s breathing had gone even and deeper, and then he looked at his friend again. “We’ll talk once we’ve both rested,” he said, squeezing Lucas’ shoulder as he passed by him, sorry he’d made him withdraw, and just sorry that Lucas had not been honest with him. “I’ll relieve you here once I’ve opened and Liz arrives,” he assured him.
It wasn’t the way he would have liked things to go, Lucas thought, but it had happened as it was apparently meant to. Not luck or chance, or anything remarkable. Just fate. “I’m fine. Do as you need and get some sleep. I don’t mind keeping watch.” One hand motioned him on before he settled back, arms folded over his chest, leaned back just enough to his head rested against the chair, growing quiet and still as he kept watch over Preston.