Who: Glibt and Mark. What: Glibt messed up. Where: Brownstone 2.0 When: Monday afternoon, after this. Warnings: Language, alcohol.
Glibt wasn't quite sure how he'd made it back to the brownstone after leaving Harvey's office. He just remembered texting Mark as he'd somehow made his way out of the center - can't go see Thomas today, don't worry, I didn't tell him we were coming so we're not disappointing him. have booze ready, please - and sinking down into the back seat of the first cab he'd seen. That one heartbreaking thought continued to circle through his mind - worse than White, worse than White, worse than - until Glibt dropped his head into his hands, scrubbed at his dampened cheeks, and forced himself to think of anything else. Still, his mind just kept coming back to how he'd made Harvey feel without realizing it. He hadn't meant to start a fight. Glibt had really just wanted to stop by, to keep Harvey informed, to make sure they both had time to prepare themselves for the change. But Harvey had translated that into Glibt wanting to flaunt what Harvey couldn't have, to parade it around in front of him, to hurt him. Glibt hadn't wanted that.
Worse than White. It continued to whisper around the edges of his consciousness as he pulled up in front of the brownstone, as he went over everything he'd said before Harvey had become angry at him. He hadn't said anything bad, had he? He hadn't teased Harvey about not being able to be with him. Of course, Glibt hadn't been his usual calm, soothing self, but perhaps that was part of the issue. Harvey still loved Cris and the part of Glibt who was still Cris still loved Harvey. And this form, Matthew, had more of Cris' personality traits than Harvey had. That had been the stressor, that had caused Harvey to ask him that extremely insulting question that had set Glibt off, had made him spew verbal abuse at the man who had fought so hard for him, who still fought so hard for him. It was, really, all his fault. If Glibt had changed to an older form, one with less of Cris twined through, this might not have happened. It would have, at the very least, been a lot easier for him to look at Harvey without wanting to throw himself at the older immortal, and it would have been a lot easier for Harvey to look at him without feeling the turmoil that Glibt had felt radiating off him once he'd left the man's office.
Maybe, Glibt thought to himself as he walked up the steps to the brownstone, wiping his face to rid it of all the tears he'd shed, he would have to try again. Age himself up until he was just a few years younger than Mark. There would be less of Cris in his personality, then, and maybe Harvey wouldn't be so angry. Besides, Glibt was starting to hate how emotional this form made him. He chewed on his lower lip - really, he had to stop doing that or it would bleed eventually - as he wandered into the living room. Seeing Mark was both a difficulty and a relief at the same time, but Glibt came forward anyway, greedy hands taking the glass of whiskey from his fiance as Glibt took a deep gulp and leaned his head lightly against his fiance's shoulder.