cv (ephemeras) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-09-28 23:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | gwen stacy, harry dresden, norman osborn |
Who: Sam, Toby + Neil
What: Iris!revenge gone wrong
Where: Green Door
When: Nowish
Warnings/Rating: Drugs, booze, violence and uncomfortable mentions of Ian.
Green Door was, beneath its bright green exterior, precisely what a sex club in the neon city should be. It was gaudy, dark, loud and decadent. Beds, couches and other flat surfaces dotted every corner, and nothing was hidden. After all, the point was to have very public sex with lots of other people watching and participating. Green Door wasn't for hiding away and sucking someone off in a dirty bathroom. It was a place to play and share, and Sam had been there a few times during her year with Clarissa. The place was popular with dealers, because who didn't like some candy with their orgy? And Sam thought she would be just fucking fine, because she knew the territory. She didn't take into consideration that the sheer amount of sex in the place would freak her the fuck out, because she fully intended on getting drunk before going to meet Toby, and she thought the booze would make everything chill.
The booze didn't make shit chill. By the time Sam walked in the door of Green Door, a cheap denim micro-mini and a red halter that bared her back, she was freaking the fuck out. She was wasted enough that she couldn't manage a straight line, but that shit didn't matter, and she stepped on more than a few feet with her cherry red imitation Docs. It was the first guy that tried to buy her a drink that sent her over the edge, and she'd texted Neil from a dark corner near the bar. But dark corners didn't last long in this place, and she gratefully took a stamp from the bartender, letting it melt on her tongue and then chasing it back with a shot of tequila that set off the stamp with a bang.
The trip started off solid, and all the colors, chasing sounds and bodies in the club suddenly seemed kind of fucking fantastic; Sam literally bumped into Toby while wandering through the crowd of hands and beds and moaning, not giving a shit who was touching her. "Hey, baby," she slurred, cheeks tear-stained, completely forgetting her fucking freakout for the moment, though that shit was just there, just on the periphery, waiting to scream. She had the look in her eyes that all crazy people did, wide-eyed and nervous, anxious, ready to fucking lose it without warning. "Got a clove?"
Perhaps it might have been a good idea to see what kind of place Green Door was before deciding to meet someone there. It was a lesson learned, and one that Toby wouldn't forget as he stepped foot over the threshold of the club. Loud music accosted the ears, but that had nothing up on the sights that swelled before him. There was a decided lack of clothing present as Toby all but made a beeline towards the bar, not wanting to be so uptight that he was forced to leave, and deciding that a drink would do good in helping with that.
Three shots of something sweet strong later, Toby dared to step away from the bar, keeping his eyes carefully averted as he attempted to look for Sam. He had to wonder why she had asked him here, of all places, but the answer was pretty clear what she was thinking. Toby didn't think she liked him that way, was fairly certain that whatever attraction he had towards her was one-sided, but he had never been good at reading those sort of things in other people, particularly since Theresa. He had just glanced at his phone before shoving it back in the safety of his pocket when another body collided with his, a stumble step to catch his balance as he reached out to steady the person who had bumped into him. "Sam?" It wasn't so much a question as a confirmation, gaze sweeping over her face, the tear stains, that wild look in her eyes, and immediately there was concern in his own. "Yeah, yeah," Toby stammered out, his speech a little looser, cheeks a little more flushed, but the alcohol hadn't quite kicked in fully yet. "Somewhere."
He shoved one hand in his pocket to pull out the crumpled pack of cloves, holding them towards her with a lift of his brow. "Wanna find somewhere quieter to enjoy these?" he said over the din of the club, curling one arm around her to pull her in towards him, as much to keep her close as it was to protect her from the jostle of bodies nearby.
Sam grabbed the crumpled pack of cloves, and she immediately began patting his pockets for a lighter, because her own was who the fuck knew where. She'd managed to tuck one of the cigarettes between her lips by the time his arm curled around her and tugged her forward. Close, yeah, and the panic in her eyes flared as she looked down at the floor, eyes inky-blue and hidden behind the thickness of her lashes. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe the fuck in. Breathe the fuck out. But there was this whole doctor thing now, and maybe she should have given in and gotten some therapy after the shit with Ian, but the last thing she wanted was to go near another shrink. She was a slightly vacant, gap-toothed smile by the time she managed to get it under control to look up at him, and she was pressed close and not doing anything to try to get herself away. "Yeah, sure," she said, wondering where her friend with the stamps was, and wondering if she could double up before they went wherever they were going.
The rooms in the place were labeled, and the labels were pretty fucking indicative of what happened inside, yeah? Orgy, No-wear, Dungeon, Voyeur, Fountain, Sexagon. Her bartender friend slipped through the crowd, the one from earlier, and Sam stopped him with a hand to his sleeve without ever leaving Toby's side. A grin, and he was slipping another stamp beneath Sam's tongue, and then he was offering one to Toby. Sam made a humming sound of pleasure, and she watched the ceiling as the world turned bright and awesome again. And, yeah, ok, and wasn't Neil showing up or something? And maybe it was all fucked up, but she didn't realize it, and the hand around her waist wasn't making it hard to fucking breathe anymore. "Yeah, ok. wherever you want, baby," she said agreeably, finally lighting the cigarette between her lips.
It was hard to pick up on the panic she was feeling with so many people around, the alcohol softening the edges of the world and making it difficult to focus on anything in particular. But then she was looking up to him with that smile and Toby couldn't help but return it. He was just starting to lead her in the direction of the rooms, but before they could get more than a step away from where they were, Sam was pausing, reaching out to stop a man who was making a path through the crowd. He didn't say anything for a moment, watched the exchange, the slip of something that Sam took beneath her tongue, and the one that was offered up to him.
A week ago, Toby wouldn't have even considered it. A week ago, he would have pushed the offer of the stamp away and probably have steered Sam straight out of this place. But a lot had happened in the last week, and he wasn't necessarily the person he was before. So when the offer came, Toby gave a look towards Sam, the corner of his mouth picking up in a small smile before he took the offered stamp, beneath his tongue just like Sam, and then before he could think entirely too hard about what he had just done, he tugged her towards the first room that they came to. Fountain.
Beaded curtains, plenty of flat surfaces, and a bit of quiet against the din of the crowd. Toby drew in a breath as he looked back towards Sam, the lit clove between her lips, and there was only a heartbeat of time before he joined her in it, the sweet smoke filling the air around them. "So," he said after a moment, the world lit up by whatever was on that little slip, his very skin buzzing with the effects.
The room, with its green beads hanging from the ceiling and people fucking on the makeshift beds, made Sam stare. The lights caught the beads in a way that made her LSD'ed mind see trails of bright green light, and the bodies seemed to be writing on top of each other. Someone called out that they were wearing too many clothes, and that the Voyeur room was down the hall, and the voice was a good-natured slur that Sam barely registered. "Yeah," was her response to Toby's so, and she sucked on the cigarette harder and faster as she leaned against Toby's side. In this place, he was a familiar face, a familiar voice, and that was so fucking reassuring. Not that she was actually panicking yet; because she wasn't. In fact, the lights just made her want to fucking twirl, and she wished there weren't so many fucking people.
Sam dragged her fingers through a strand of green beads, then she dragged them back again, and she looked over at the man holding her. "You can call me Iris if you need to or whatever," she said obligingly. After all, it was the name on all her fake documentation now. She wasn't sure if he could hear her over the moaning, and she considered repeating it, but her clove stopped burning, and stubbing it out unnecessarily suddenly became important, because she was fucked up, and weird shit always became important when she was fucked up. She stepped away when she was done, and she wandered through a line of beads, laughing as they parted and clinked together for her. Yeah, ok, maybe she could get through this shit. It was ok, yeah?
Toby watched as she stubbed out the cigarette, her words still ringing in his ears. You can call me Iris if you need to or whatever. His brow furrowed down slightly at that, and before he realised what he was doing, he was following after her as she moved through the line of beads, reaching out to lay his fingers upon her arm. The sounds around them were becoming something common, something he found he could ignore with little effort, and that golden euphoria that was grabbing hold of him was far more interesting than anything else. "I don't want to call you that," he murmured, lips suddenly close to her ear, a whisper just for her.
"Yeah?" Sam asked, confused for a moment as she tried to remember what she had told him to call her. Her hands settled on his upper arms, as much for balance as for a port in the storm, and she closed her eyes as she felt the lips close to her ear. Not Ian filtered through her mind, but it was something quiet, way at the fucking back. Not Neil was something closer, nearer, but that just made her fucking panic, and her heartbeat sped up, and her fingers closed more tightly on Toby's arms. "What don't you want to call me?" she finally asked, because talking made her feel like her feet were on the fucking ground or something. She stretched out a hand, and she dragged her fingers through those green beads again, and she thought she could hear them clinking over the music and the moans, even though there was no fucking way she could hear shit over that. And Toby (it was Toby, yeah?) was so fucking close, and she nudged one leg forward to see if there was any room between them, but there wasn't, and she could feel him breathing against her neck. Her breath caught; she wasn't sure she remembered how to fucking breathe.
Toby could feel the way her hands gripped his arms, tight and clutching, points of contact that burned through the thin fabric of the shirt he had worn. The question she asked didn't make sense to him right off, lips brushing against her ear, a tease and a whisper, so instead of trying to make sense of it, struggling against the waves of something that were crashing over him, he just went with it. "Just want to call you Sam," he murmured into the shell of her ear, warm breath and vodka mixed together. Toby let out a breath of his own, all those worries and frets from earlier sliding away. There wasn't room here to be thinking about what he had done, what he had possibly cost himself, not when Sam was this close and he could all but taste her. He ducked his head lower, pressing his lips against her neck, a soft, open-mouth kiss that was like everything Toby did: undemanding and warm.
Neil was angry, but he wasn’t blinded by it. No, he was actually thinking very, very clearly, his mind razor-sharp and bright in a way that he should have recognized as dangerous but hadn’t experienced it enough to be able do so. Normally, he was mellow. Muted. Whatever he felt was kept inside, wrapped in cotton, and it only reared its head every once in a while. Like when Louis had shown up on his doorstep and slugged him, for example. He’d managed to break Louis' nose without trying, without even realizing it, and that’d made him wonder what he was capable of when he put his mind to it. Maybe he’d find out tonight, because every time he thought of Sam hooking up with this Toby asshole just to stick it to Iris, well, jealousy was too mild a word to describe how he felt. He was just angry in general, at everyone and everything, because hell, he’d been so fucking careful not to push, to give her time, and here she was going to some club full of sex with a guy she barely knew. He tried to understand, he did, and he knew she was fucking up and it wasn’t really her fault, but yeah, it still hurt. It still pissed him off. And since he wasn’t going to take out any of that on Sam, well, whoever got in his way was going to end up being one unlucky bastard.
He’d never been to places like this, not even out of curiosity, and Neil was a brewing storm cloud in jeans and a dark shirt as he entered, eyes narrowed, having expected Sam to be near the entrance. With no patience left to shove through the crowd and look for her he headed straight for the bartender, thinking if anyone had seen her, it’d be the guy behind the counter, and at first he wouldn’t tell him anything as he gave a description of Sam. Tight-lipped, shaking his head, and that just pissed him off even more. But he didn’t get violent, no. Instead he pulled out a wad of cash and then, yeah, Mr. Bartender was all too willing to point and say he’d seen a girl who looked like that head off with some guy thatta way.
Blood pounded in Neil's ears, and everything went fuzzy and dulled for a moment before he nodded and shoved the cash into the bartender’s waiting hands. Yeah, thanks, have a good night, and he headed off in the direction indicated.
Neil paid no attention to the labels on the rooms, because he wasn’t there for sex or whatever the hell people came here for. The green beads clinked and rattled as he shoved past them, scowling, and he ignored the people on the beds and the remarks that he was overdressed. Maybe it was just him, but fucking in public was a little too much and he didn’t really get it. But then again he wasn’t there to try to understand why this was appealing, he was there for Sam. Sam, who he spotted a few feet away. Sam, who was cozied up to some guy who had his lips against her neck, and something in him snapped just then.
Three long, heavy strides and he’d reached them. Neil seized the man (it could’ve been Toby, could’ve been some fucking stranger, he didn’t care) by his shoulders and yanked him back, harshly, before shoving him to the ground. “Get the fuck away from her,” he snarled, positioning himself protectively in front of her as he glared down at the other man.
Toby's use of her name only made Sam more confused, more panicked and, much as she'd done with Ian, she just stopped. Somewhere between Micah and being locked in that hospital room that wasn't a fucking hospital room, she'd just given up on fighting shit that didn't feel right, because it never did any fucking good anyway. And Toby was a shrink, right? Somewhere in her mind, that fact mingled with the fear, and fuck if she knew enough to know it was some PTSD shit. Even with all the booze and drugs in her system, she was dead-still panic and hyperventilation, and the gentle lips against her neck were just a precursor to other shit. So, she clung tighter, because Toby was like twice her age and a doctor, and the moans and sounds in the room sounded louder, and her eyes were wild-crazy open and focused on the green beads that shimmered and swayed, and she reached out and smacked them every few seconds, wanting to see them sway, because she needed the fucking distraction, or she'd start crying and make an ass of herself.
And then a second later, Toby was gone, and Sam was left grasping at fucking nothing.
The snarl registered in the slow, trailing delayed way that shit always did after way too much LSD in Sam's system. One stamp, and the world was fucking awesome. Two stamps, and shit just didn't register right. Her pupils were so fucking dilated that she looked like something out of a demon movie, and she reached for the back of Neil's shirt out of habit, more than out of anything like conscious recognition. He was big and broad and familiar, even if her mind wasn't working right, and her fingers wound tight like vises in fabric, refusing to let go. "Hey," she slurred, the booze making words harder to manage than the LSD alone would have. "Hey, I'm Iris," and yeah, ok, that wasn't right, and she looked past Neil, to the ground. "That's my doctor," she said, which wasn't right either. "Friend."
One minute, Sam was clinging to him and his lips were on her neck, the world a distant thing save for her, sparkling and beautiful in his arms. Toby could hear the sound of the beads as they were touched, and maybe he was being too forward, maybe he was a lot of things, but there wasn't room for him to think too hard on it right then. But then the world shifted abruptly as someone grabbed his shoulder, pulling him away from Sam and then to the floor in motions that were too swift for him to follow easily. "What?" he barked out in his confusion, staring up at the other man as he positioned himself protectively in front of Sam. Toby's head was spinning, alcohol and LSD mixed together and leaving him slower than normal. But that didn't stop him from getting up to his feet, a brief sway before he stepped back towards Sam. "I'm not- I'm not doing anything," he stammered, his brows creasing together as he reached out towards Sam, fingers questing, making waves through the air that surrounded him, two steps behind with the world moving like molasses. "Sam. Tell him. I'm not-" And in his reach towards the girl, his hand landed instead on Neil's arm, a blink of confusion as he tilted his head towards the other man. "You can leave now," he said slowly, giving a tug to that arm, trying to pull him away. "She invited me here. Okay? That's all."
Until that moment, Neil hadn’t realized just how fucked up Sam really was. Unfortunately, that did nothing at all to soothe his anger; if anything, it only stoked the flames. He turned when she slurred, taking in her dilated pupils and the way she talked, like she had no idea who the fuck she was or where the fuck she was. “No, you’re not Iris,” he told her. “You’re Sam. Sam, and that asshole isn’t your friend or your doctor.” This guy knew about Sam’s history. He knew, and he still agreed to meet her here, still tried to take advantage of her when she was on who-knew-what, and it made him sick. Daniel was a sonofabitch but not even he’d sink this low.
It would have been a lot better for the guy if he’d stayed on the floor and kept his mouth shut. But no, he had the audacity to not only get up but to reach for Sam, like he had any right to touch her, and Neil turned back to face him with a thunderous expression. He looked down when Toby’s hand landed on his arm, jaw clenched painfully tight, and all that tugging and telling him he could leave now? Yeah, no. Worst thing he could’ve done. Neil might not have had a lot of experience with beating the shit out of people, but he knew how to throw a punch and he knew he could be capable of causing a lot of pain, and right then, he just wanted to hurt the bastard.
Neil didn’t say anything. No, he just swung a heavy-handed fist straight for the doc’s nose, good judgment gone right out the fucking window. And then, once his knuckles connected with a sickening crunch, then he spoke. “She made a mistake,” he snapped. “She called me to pick her up, you sick fuck. I’m gonna sue your ass for goddamn medical malpractice, you hear me?”
"He's not-" was all Sam managed before Neil turned to look at her, and there was a moment of recognition in her eyes, hazy, but there. "Hey," she said, softer, as if they weren't in the middle of a room full of naked people that were entirely focused on the scene they were making, and as if Toby hadn't just gotten to his feet. "You came," she managed a second later, surprised, and then she shook her head. "No, yeah, sorry, I'm not Iris." She agreed. "I can be, or whatever, if you want me to, but I'm not really. But I can be. Ian says I do a really good fucking job of being her sometimes," she explained, all present tense and the confusion evident in her voice. She reached for the green beads and dragged her fingers through them again, easily distracted by the clinking. When he mentioned Toby not being her doctor, though, her attention snapped right the fuck back, and her expression turned scared and young. "We need to do what the doctor says, yeah?" she asked meekly.
But Neil was turning just as Sam asked that question, and it took her way too long to realize that the snapped voice had come from him, and it took even longer for her to understand that the crunch that carried over the lingering music was Toby's nose. "Fuck," she whispered from over Neil's shoulder. "You can't hit the doctor, Neil," she said, a frantic tug of his arm, and then she moved past him to pull on Toby's sleeve. "He didn't mean it, yeah?" she asked, because needles came when you tried to hurt the fucking doctor. Everyone knew that. "He didn't mean it," she repeated in a panic, soothing Toby with a hand to his chest, and this trip was starting to get really fucking vivid. "He didn't fucking mean to hit you."
Around then, someone called for security, and people started hunting for their clothes.
That single stamp he had taken was doing weird things to Toby's head, stumbled-steps taken after Neil's fist connected with his face, and for a moment, Toby had no idea what had just happened. His face hurt, but that was the extent of his awareness of the situation as he stared, wide-eyed, at Neil. The words didn't quite make sense, that Sam had called him to pick her up, because why would she do that and also ask him to meet her. But then the comment about malpractice came, and that was a blow almost as harsh as the one to his face. Nevermind the fact that it was impossible for that to happen, given he had never treated Sam as a patient, but with everything that was happening with Iris, Toby on the edge of stepping down because of his own behaviour, the words did their job in wounding him.
Toby swallowed hard over the lump that had risen in his throat, and the position he found himself in made him feel cornered, vulnerable. "No, Sam, I'm fairly sure he meant it." His vision was swimming and his heart was racing, and when Sam pressed a hand to his chest, Toby all but flinched away, his eyes going wild and wide for a brief moment. He didn't dare touch her, didn't dare even meet her gaze as he side-stepped her, giving Neil a wide berth as he started to work his way to the exit of the room. The room tipped lazily, his sense of balance abandoning him in those precious moments, and before he simply fell to his knees, he reached out for the first thing he could hold onto. It was unfortunate, then, that it turned out to be Neil's arm, a tight grip as he tried to regain his footing in a world that swayed dangerously.
“You bet your ass I meant it.” Neil didn’t care if security showed up; hell, let them. He’d tell them the whole damn story, about how this psychiatrist was getting involved with patients and people he knew had fucking issues, how Sam had texted him to pick her up, and that he was pretty sure she had no idea where the hell she was just then. He’d tell the whole damn world if they were willing to listen, he was just that angry. “I can hit whoever I damn well please, and he’s a pathetic excuse for a doctor,” he snapped. “He can’t hurt me, and he can’t hurt you either. Okay?” His eyes narrowed as she moved past him, practically becoming slits as she brought her hand to Toby’s chest and tried to soothe him. Smart man, though, stepping back and trying to make his way for the exit. Too bad he didn’t make it very far, because yeah, Neil wasn’t in a very understanding mood just then and Toby really needed to stop touching him.
Neil pulled his arm free and shoved the other man back, not caring if he toppled to the floor. “Don’t touch me,” he hissed. “Come on, Sam, we’re getting out of here.” He turned towards her, extending a hand. “You texted me to get you, remember? Let’s just go.”
Sam didn't understand why Toby flinched, not when he'd been so eager to touch her earlier, and her hands fell away as Neil began to speak. She didn't actually believe that Toby couldn't retaliate, and she shook her head adamantly, even as Toby began to move. "No, Ian said I'd go to jail forever. He said I'd never see anyone again. He said I had to be a good girl. He said he was the doctor, and that he knew," she explained, all muttered slur and confusion, and this place didn't look like the fucking hospital, and it was those green beads that she'd fixated on that made her remember that no, this wasn't the fucking hospital. And getting back to them, making them clink and sway, that seemed really fucking important just then. But making Neil understand was just as important, and she'd taken a step forward when Toby reached for Neil's arm. "You can't pull away," she said, scared and forceful, and she really wanted a cigarette. Maybe there was a fucking cigarette somewhere. And she looked around noticed the blood on Toby's shirt, gaze going up, up, until she noticed the blood on his face. She didn't associate it with Neil's punch, and she didn't associate it with the crack that had resounded earlier.
She watched in wide-eyed horror as Neil shoved at Toby again, those splotches of red silencing her in a way nothing else had fucking managed to. When Neil extended a hand toward her, she looked at it with trepidation, doubting her own senses. Security had called the cops, and people were rushing to get dressed around them, but she just looked at that hand and, finally, she reached for it. "Toby was nice to me," she said, trying to explain something, but even she didn't know what the fuck she was trying to say just then. Her fingers squeezed Neil's hard enough to hurt her own hand, and she still squeezed tighter, and then she nodded. "The nurses can't see us leave," she whispered.
"I wasn't- I wouldn't-" Toby started, but he knew instinctively that his arguments would fall on deaf ears. He barely stopped from falling over at the hard shove that Neil gave him, one arm pinwheeling for a moment until he caught his balance. There was the murmur going around about the cops, the people jostling around one another to get their clothes and leave. He felt stupid, humiliated in a way he didn't entirely know what to do with, and the acid that still tripped its way through his system was only making it worse. It didn't matter that he was trying to be nice to her, didn't matter that he had only come on her invitation; this wasn't about him any longer, and he felt stupid for accepting the offer.
"Sorry," Toby mumbled, not daring to get close to either Sam or Neil, the ache in his face starting to make itself known. "Sorry." Toby didn't know if either of them could or would hear that mumbled apology, but did it really matter? Neil was already reaching towards her, and she was taking his hand, and that was his cue to leave. His steps were stumbles as he pushed through the beaded curtain, following the wave of people as they left the club before the cops could get there. Head down and shoulders up to his ears, his chest was tight as he finally broke through into the sand-storm that still brewed outside, gritty wind instantly sticking to his bloodied face. His chest was tight and his heart was racing as though he had run a marathon, and Toby had to wonder when it had all started to fall apart.
Yeah, no, Neil wasn’t interested in any of Toby’s excuses. He was ready to full-out throttle the guy if he laid a hand on him again, intentional or not, and his attention was torn between him and what Sam was saying. Part of him was, admittedly, angry at her for putting herself in this situation, but he’d never vocalize that and so it was the unfortunate doctor who bore the brunt of his wrath. “Ian isn’t here, Sam,” he said forcefully. “He’s dead. Remember? He’s gone.” He cut himself off there, before he could go too far and spook her even more. When Sam took his hand he held on, his grip firm and sure, and he glared at Toby as he got to his feet and stumbled out of the room.
Right. Time to go. Neil tugged on her hand, deciding they were better off going out the back way before the cops showed up. “He’s gone. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Sam was too fucked up to realize Toby was upset when he left. She was too fucked up to realize much of anything. She even shrank back from Neil when he forcefully insisted that Ian was dead. It had nothing to do with what he was saying, and it had everything to do with how he sounded when he said it. But, yeah, sure, yeah, she'd go. She didn't put up any fight when he tugged on her, because somewhere along the line she'd started just giving into anyone that sounded like that, and this wasn't any different. Gaze on the ground, she let him tug her toward the back. She didn't say a thing, even when they made it outside, and the sound of sirens and cops entering through the front of the club was some distant fucking thing. She didn't expect cops to help her, not anymore. Fuck that.
"We can fuck, or whatever," she finally said once they were outside, hoping that would make him less pissed off. It was a slur, an unfocused offer, and the fear that came along with it was evident, even in her black-wide eyes. She rubbed her hand where Toby had been sucking earlier, the skin there becoming angry and red within seconds, and then she started in with her nails, scratching, blood beneath the skin, and she tried to pull her other hand free to get at the bare skin of her back, where the touch from earlier felt like a belated itch she needed to scratch out.
Strangely enough, the sound of sirens didn’t make Neil panic. His anger sharpened everything into focus and so he was calm as he led her out of the club, calm as they stepped outside and he contemplated calling a cab. Regardless, they needed to keep moving; that was important. He’d only taken a few steps, though, before Sam made her offer, and he stopped short to look at her over his shoulder. “No,” he said, his voice softening. “We’re getting you home, and you’re going to sleep off whatever’s in your system.” He watched as she began to rub at her neck, then scratch, and his expression became one of alarm as she tried to pull her other hand free. “Stop,” he insisted, keeping firm hold of her hand and reaching to grab her free wrist, to stop her from scratching herself badly. “Stop, Sam. Don’t do that. Please.”
"He-" But as soon as Neil told her to stop, she did, and by the time he grabbed for her wrist, her fingers were slack, save for the occasional fucking twitch, because she wanted to scratch. She wanted to ask for a hot shower, one so hot that it fucking scalded every last fucking thing, but she didn't. His no, the response to her offer, registered belatedly, and it made her feel safe and rejected at the same fucking time, the two feelings warring and making her want to sleep. He'd mentioned fucking sleep, hadn't he? But she didn't ask him to repeat it. She just took a shuddering and shallow breath, and she let herself lean against him in slow, slow, slow increments, as the sounds inside the club became louder. She swayed, the combination of booze and drugs and the shallow, almost hyperventilating breaths making staying upright and conscious really fucking difficult, and she grabbed for him when she gave up the fight entirely. "You're supposed to call me Iris," she said, a slur-thick whisper as the world went black.
“I’m not calling you Iris,” Neil told her, a fierce almost-whisper as she grabbed for him. “Your name is Sam.” Yeah, this was a bad fucking idea, and Neil knew he was going to have to make her see that somehow, because this couldn’t happen again. And fuck that Toby guy if he so much as came near her again; next time he’d break his jaw. For now, though, he just wanted to get her home. In his mind that was his place, not wherever she was staying, and he didn’t even think to ask her otherwise. One arm around her waist offered support as he led her out to the sidewalk, where he could get a taxi and get the fuck away from the club, the cops, and the disaster this night had turned into.