Jainie (spooky_cupcake) wrote in lilpinkfic, @ 2008-03-20 22:47:00 |
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Current mood: | busy |
Fourth Wall - Chapter Three: Diegetic
Title: Fourth Wall
Chapter: 3 - Diegetic
Summary: An opportunity for redemption...
Fandom: The L Word
Pairing: Shane/Mark
Rating: NC-17 for language, mature subject matter, drug abuse, sexual situations.
“Mark?”
“Hey!” Mark greeted her warmly, surprised but happy to hear the voice on the other end of the line. “How you doin'? I didn't recognize your number.”
“Is Jenny there?” Shane asked brusquely. She sounded agitated.
“Uhh, y'know what? I think she left,” he said as he stood up from his desk and glanced outside. Jenny's car wasn't there. “Yeah. No, she's not back yet.”
Mark could make out the faint sound of her fist connecting with something hard and hollow-sounding. “Fuck,” she said, her tone angry but tinged with something else. Desperation? Fear?
“Is everything all right?” he asked, brows furrowing.
“I'm sick,” her words came out in a strained, nearly breathless rush, so soft and spoken so quickly he could barely make out the words.
“Hold on, slow down,” Mark said, trying desperately to keep up with her. “I can't hear you, say again?”
“I'm ... fuck, I feel sick,” her voice was thready, now, and it sounded as though she might faint while she was still on the line. “I think I took too much X. I -- I started seeing a bunch of... bunch of really weird shit.”
“Listen, it's – that's totally normal,” he said calmly, reaching for a print out sitting by his monitor. He flipped it over so that the blank side of the page was showing and grabbed a pen. “Just be cool. Just tell me exactly where you are, okay?”
“Um... shit,” Shane muttered. There was a pause, as though she was looking for a street sign. “I'm outside this club on Venice. I can't read the street sign. My... my fucking eyes won't focus. Venice.”
“Yeah, of course, but where, specifically?” He said, trying to remain patient.
“Fuck! I don't know. Wait. Venice and... Venice and Washington,” she said. “There's a little card on the pay phone with the address printed on it.”
“On Venice, on Washington. Okay,” Mark said, scribbling down her directions.
“There's that bar, y'know, down the street? Slickers?”
“On the Washington side,” he said affirmatively. “So the phone booth right by the alley?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I want you to just sit down right there and I'm gonna be there in, like, twenty minutes, all right? And just -- just be cool and just don't move from there, okay?”
“Okay,” Shane said.
Mark stuffed the directions in his pocket and grabbed his jacket, slipping it on as he swiped his keys off of the desk. “Um, you're not drinking too much water, are you?”
“What?” Came the hoarse, baffled reply on the other end of the line.
“'Cause I heard this thing about this guy who was at the Burning Man festival OD'ing on X and, uh, he wound up drinking all this water.”
He thought back to the story that Gomey had told him. The guy's body temperature had shot up dramatically and he'd died within an hour of taking the overdose. He stubbornly shoved the thought out of his mind.
“Yeah? What happened?” Shane said, a fine edge of worry to her words.
“Y'know what? Just -- I'm gonna be there in, like, twenty minutes. Just don't drink a lot of water,” he said calmly as he ducked out the door and headed for his truck.
--
Mark was rushing up Washington, eyes casting about as he tried to find Shane. If she'd actually OD'ed, he knew that he'd need to get her to a hospital or a doctor as soon as he could.
The sight that greeted his eyes wasn't the one he'd been hoping to find.
The phone booth, covered with years' worth of graffiti, sand and bright orange rust, sat there, its receiver sitting harmlessly, mocking him, in its cradle. For Mark, the sight was like taking a cannon ball to the stomach. He gritted his teeth in frustration; he'd told her to wait. At this rate, he'd never find her. He whipped around and cast a glance over the intersection. No sign of her.
He continued down the street, walking quickly, eyes scanning the crowd for that shock of dark, short-cropped hair he now knew so well. Homeless guy, tourist, beach bum, bikini-clad surfer babe, more tourists, guy on a bicycle... but no Shane.
As he got to the end of the street, he heard a sound that at once set his teeth on edge, started his mental alarms to blaring and filled him with hope.
“Fucking crazy bitch!”
Turning his head in the direction of the sound, he caught sight of Shane, flanked by two muscle-bound men in black polo shirts. They each had a hold on one of her arms and she was kicking and struggling with everything that she had. Which, in her condition, was saying something.
“Fuck you, you know?!” Shane shouted as she struggled to free her arms from their powerful grips.
“Ahh, shit!” One of the bouncers, a guy with brown hair, was having trouble keeping a hold of Shane as she thrashed.
Mark's feet moved seemingly of their own volition as he sprinted down the street towards them.
“Get out of here, you little freak!” The other bouncer, an equally beefy, older man with a graying buzz cut snarled.
“Fuckin' lay off!” Shane yelled, finally managing to free her right arm from the younger bouncer's hold. She whipped around and with the kind of quick precision that can only come when you're truly fucked up and pissed off, she backhanded the guy dead in the face with her fist. He was literally knocked for a loop, bending over as he tried to recover from the blow.
“You little freak!” The gray-haired bouncer growled, almost as if he was surprised that someone so much smaller than himself and his buddy had managed to hold her own for this long. It didn't surprise Mark at all, though. He knew Shane's keen survival instincts would make any panther jealous. Just one look in her eyes the moment you met her and you just knew: this girl knew how to handle herself.
“Eat shit!” She snapped.
“Hey!” The veteran bouncer raised his fist as Shane turned back towards him, hitting her in the face with a fist the size of two bricks that were glued together. She landed on her side hard on the asphalt, curling up into a ball, hands covering her face as though she expected them to try to attack her when she was already very obviously down.
Mark gritted his teeth and charged at the younger bouncer, who had recovered from the punch Shane had nailed him with, and was now bending over, reaching for her.
“Stop, man!” He said firmly. Before the man's hands had a chance to touch her, before Mark even knew what he was doing, he drew his arm back and swung at the bouncer's head. The blow caught him on the temple and sent him sprawling to the asphalt alongside Shane.
When he turned, he found that the elder bouncer was now stooping, his hands clawing at Shane's shirt, trying to get a hand hold so that he could yank her up off of the ground.
“Fuck you! Get off me!” Shane yelled, arms covering her head and face, trying to protect herself from any blows that might come, feet kicking out blindly.
Mark caught the gray-haired bouncer around the neck in a half-nelson and twisted him away from Shane. “You don't pick on my girl, you fuckin' piece of shit,” he growled as the much bigger man struggled to get free, incoherent grunts of rage sounding in his barrel chest.
He loosened his hold and pushed the bouncer away roughly, hoping that that would put an end to things, once it finally sunk in to the guys' steroid-addled brains that Shane wasn't alone anymore.
“She don't look like no fuckin' girl,” the elder bouncer snarled, struggling as his bouncer buddy tried to pull him away and back into the club. The guy was pissed and he'd do more even more damage – not just to Shane, but to the both of them – if he came at them again.
Mark quickly bent and slipped his arms around Shane's waist, carefully gathering her up off of the ground. She managed to get her feet underneath her to hold some of her own weight and he bent over, panting for breath, melding himself to her back, shielding her.
“Fuck you, you know that?” Shane said defiantly.
“Fucking cunt!” The gray-haired bouncer lunged and Mark shot one hand out to fend him off, giving him a weak shove at his arm, which was the best he could manage, since he was also trying to keep Shane vertical.
The younger bouncer finally managed to drag his friend away and Mark breathed a sigh of relief.
“No more,” he said to Shane, pleading with her and trying to calm her at the same time.
“Fuck you, y'know?” She yelled.
“Fuck off!” The gray-haired man shouted back angrily as he let his friend lead him back into the bar.
“All right, all right, come on!” Mark said, startled by Shane's uncharacteristic aggression. She was stoned out of her mind, bleeding all over the place and she was still talking smack. The girl had some serious rocks on her.
“Piece of shit,” Shane seethed. She was still hopped up – though whether it was from the fight or the drugs or a mix of both, he couldn't tell - and Mark could feel the bone-deep shaking that had overtaken her body.
Gripping her arms, he hoisted her upright as she shook her aching hand, bending over sharply to one side to spit out a mouthful of blood onto the pavement. "Fuck," she muttered through a pained gasp, grimacing.
“You're all right,” he said, wheezing as he tried to catch his breath. Reaching down, he took hold of her left forearm and carefully lifted it over his head. He draped her arm around his neck, hearing her soft groan of distress as he did so. “All right. You're okay.” She let out another throaty groan, this one of pain as her right knee buckled, threatening to send her to the ground again. He wrapped his other arm around her waist to hold her steady. “I got you, now,” he whispered breathlessly, feeling the weight of her slight frame as she leaned wearily back against him, gasping for breath.
Glancing towards the bar Shane had been in the process of being ejected from when he came along, Mark was relieved to see that there was no sign of either of the bouncers, either outside or just inside the doors.
“It's okay,” he murmured. “It's all right. I'm here. I've gotcha. They're gone, okay? They're not gonna hurt you anymore, I promise.” A barely audible whimper was Shane's only attempt at a reply. “I know... I know it hurts. I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner. Can you walk?”
“I think so,” she said.
“I'll help you, okay? C'mon, let's try to walk,” Mark said as he helped her limp back up the street.
It was slow going. She must have hurt her knee when she fell, and the drugs had already been doing a number on her head for a while, by that time, so she was stumbling and tripping over her own feet as she valiantly tried to follow the straight line that Mark was walking.
Shane's knee nearly gave out a second time and he sighed. This wasn't gonna work.
“Shane,” he said calmly. “Honey, I hate to do this to you and your uberlesbian ego, okay, but I gotta pick you up. 'Cause this just ain't cuttin' the mustard.”
Bending slightly at the knees, he gently scooped her up into his arms, forcing another low, weak moan from Shane's lips as she reached her right arm up and hooked it around his neck. He got her settled in his arms, her head coming to rest on his shoulder with a soft, hollow sigh.
Mark walked back down the street, turned the corner and continued to his car. He could feel people's eyes on him as he walked – staring questions into his back as he passed - but paid them no heed. He ducked his head down and tilted it to one side, resting his cheek against Shane's forehead. She was a little warmer than would be considered normal because of the fight and the drugs, but as best as he could tell, she wasn't feverishly hot. He breathed a sigh of relief. She'd be okay.
His car was parallel parked on a side-street and he skirted around to the passenger side.
“Shane,” he said gently. “I need to put you down, okay? You need to stand up for me for a minute so I can unlock the truck and get you inside and I can get you home.” Her breathing quickened slightly and her arm tightened around his neck. “No, no, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere, I'm right here. It's just for a second, I promise.”
He helped her get settled on her own two feet again, keeping one arm around her shoulders to hold her steady as he unlocked the door with his other hand. He considered picking her up again so that she could climb into the truck on her own and spare some of her remaining dignity, but he knew she would want to try, at the very least. Because she was just that fucking stubborn.
“Okay, here we go,” he said, giving the handle a tug and opening the door. He pushed it as far open as he could so she would have enough room to maneuver.
Sure enough, just as he'd predicted, she took a step forward, one hand grasping his shoulder and the other grasping the arm rest as she limped up to the truck. She studied her obstacle for a minute, dark, glazed eyes considering, as she braced herself on his shoulder. Lips pressed into a firm, determined line, Shane took a short jump, planting her left foot on the floor of the truck, her injured leg bent slightly at the knee. A few smaller hops got her turned around enough so that she could lower herself into the seat.
Shane carefully leaned back in the seat as if her entire body hurt, but let out a low, raspy sigh once she'd finally gotten settled, her left leg stretched out in front of her, her other one still bent.
Mark started at her head and worked his way down, sadly taking note of all of her injuries. She had a nasty cut at the corner of her eye that had left a thick, bloody tear behind on her cheek, her eye swelling from where the bouncer had hit her. Her mouth was also spattered with blood and as she grimaced at the pain in her knee, he noticed that her teeth had a faintly pink stain to them from the blood.
The knuckles of her right hand were an angry-looking red and swollen and at some point during the scuffle, the elbow of her shirt had been torn. Eyes traveling down, he grimaced. When she'd fallen, she'd scraped her knee hard on the unforgiving pavement – the knee of her pants was completely shredded and he could see smears of blood on her pale skin through the tear.
Sucking in a sharp breath, Mark raked a hand through his hair. She wasn't in good shape, but it could have been much worse. Still, it tore him up inside to see her like this... hurt... vulnerable.
When his eyes darted back up to her face, he noticed that her eyes had fallen closed. He reached out and placed a hand on her cheek. Her eyes immediately opened, the look in them reminding him of a frightened animal.
“Take it easy,” he said quietly, withdrawing his hand. “I was just checking to see if you were hot. How you doing?”
Shane licked her lips, eyes downcast, and shook her head slowly. Not good, then.
“Hey, that's understandable. You just got your ass kicked,” Mark said with a weak grin. “Not like you didn't give 'em something to think about though, right. Let's get you home, what do you say?”
Shane nodded and let her head loll to one side on the head rest, a hard shudder raking over her body as she wrapped her arms around herself. He allowed himself just one last careful touch to her shoulder before shutting the door. He walked around to the other side of the truck, got in and started it up and they were soon on their way home.
--
“Hey, Gomey? Yeah. It's me. Nah, man, I can't,” Mark murmured into his phone, his eyes squinted at the road as he turned onto their street. “Man, will you listen to me? I can't. I've got something I gotta take care of. It's important.” His eyes cut over to the quiet, motionless form sprawled in the passenger seat next to him. Shane had fallen into a fitful, healing sleep, and had fought it every step of the way. But she needed the rest, badly. Her head was turned towards him, chin touching her collar bone as she dozed, the street lights bathing her face intermittently in washes of yellow-white light.
Tucking the phone in between his shoulder and his chin, Mark took hold of the steering wheel with his left hand and reached out with his right, brushing the backs of his fingers ever so lightly over Shane's uninjured cheek. Her temperature was finally back to normal – or what passed for normal, for her. Dragging his eyes away, he drew his hand back and placed it on the wheel alongside his left, reaching up with his left hand to take the phone again.
“It doesn't matter what it is. This is more important – yes, yes, it is - and I can't come, okay?” He said, annoyed, into the phone. He struggled to keep his voice low so that he wouldn't wake Shane. “Hey, man? You do X, right? Yeah. You ever overdose on that stuff? Or, like, come close? I don't know.” Mark leaned his left elbow on the door as he listened to Gomey yammering away on the other end.
“Okay, right. Right. So what do you do? Or – right – yeah. Yeah. Huh? No, it's... it's a friend. No, it's nobody you know. No. No! I'm not telling you. Because.” He rolled his eyes, lips pressed into a thin, irritated line.
“So ... so water's okay, then, right? It's cool if they have water, right? I remember that story you told me but I couldn't remember – yeah, yeah, I couldn't remember if you said he drank too much or didn't drink any or what. Uh-huh. Right, right. Okay, I gotcha.”
Mark glanced at Shane. Her eyelids fluttered just slightly as he watched her, a slight crease forming between her brows before smoothing itself away, a soft, raspy sigh passing her lips as she slept.
“It doesn't matter why I'm whispering. It's none of your goddamn business.” He sighed, gritting his teeth as he turned into the driveway of the home he shared with Shane and Jenny. “Look, I'm hanging up. I gotta go. Gome – Gomey, Gomey. Hey -- man, I gotta go. Okay, fine. All right, man. Talk to you later. Bye.”
Mark resisted the urge to slam his cellphone repeatedly against the dash as he hung up with Gomey. The guy was his friend, but sometimes he could be such a freaking caveman. Here he was, dealing with Shane, who was drugged up and all busted up, and Gomey wanted him to go to some lame tits-n-wings bar so they could ogle girls and get shit-faced. He shook his head as he stuffed his cell into his pocket.
He got out and carefully shut his door and then walked around to the passenger side. He opened the door, once again making sure it sat back completely on its hinges so he would have room. He tucked his keys into his jacket pocket and leaned in, slipping his right arm under Shane's knees, the left one insinuating itself between the seat and her back, gathering her up into his arms. He carefully lifted her, but as he was ducking his head to avoid hitting it on the door frame, he must have jostled her a bit too much. Her eyelids fluttered and slowly opened to reveal her clouded hazel eyes.
“Mark?” She asked, her voice little more than a weak, confused croak, her brows pinching together.
“Yeah, it's me,” he said calmly as he eased her out of the truck and nudged the door closed with his knee. “We're home. You remember anything?”
“Kind of,” she said, eyes squinting as if it would help her to see through the fog clouding her memory. She shifted in his arms and a low, throaty groan tumbled from her lips. “Fuck. Put me down...”
“Shane, you can hardly walk – you fell and hurt your knee, remember?”
“No, seriously, man. Fucking put me down. I'm gonna puke,” she said, desperately pushing at his shoulder as she tried to wriggle out of his arms.
“All right, Jesus, hang on,” he said, setting her down on her own two feet. She took a couple of short, limping steps, staggering onto the lawn. Her right knee buckled and she collapsed onto the ground on her hands and knees, back bowing up as she retched, fingers grabbing tight handfuls of grass as her entire body heaved. Mark grimaced and ducked his head.
Several moments later, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and pushed herself back up onto her feet, both hands planted firmly in the grass to take her weight. Mark came to stand beside her and placed a steadying hand on her arm, the other one coming to rest on her hip. She leaned against his side wearily when she straightened up, eyes closed as she tried to catch her breath.
“Feel better?” He asked.
“Not much,” she said, wincing as she shifted on her left leg. “Can we go in the house? I need to fucking crash, man.”
“Your wish is my command,” Mark said, smiling as he scooped her up into his arms again.
“Ey, what the fuck, Mark?” Shane protested, casting a sharp look at him. “Put me down. I can walk.”
“Bullshit, you can,” he snorted as he started up the walkway. “Just relax, all right? It's not like I'm gonna drop you.”
“No, of course not,” she grumbled, folding her arms over her chest. “You don't have your camera with you.”
“Ahh, Shane, low-blow, man,” Mark sighed as he carefully took the steps up onto the porch. When he reached the door, he stopped. “Hey, put your hand in my pocket.”
“What?!” Shane asked, shooting him an indignant look. “Look, just because you saved my ass doesn't mean you get to have a piece of it, okay?”
“You are such a dumbass. My house keys are in my pocket,” he said, chuckling. “What, did you think I was comin' on to you or something? Shit, Shane. I mean, I know I'm a guy and a film school geek and everything but I think I could come up with a better line than 'put your hand in my pocket.'”
“This from the guy who tells tragic childhood stories to get pussy,” Shane muttered as she twisted in his arms, pulling at his coat. “Which pocket?”
“Left one, inside,” he said, adjusting his grip on her. He could feel her hand slip into his jacket, fingers scrabbling. “Got it?”
“Yeah,” she said, holding his keys up in front of his nose. “See?”
“Swell,” Mark grinned. He twisted and bent slightly at the hip, bringing her level with the door. “Okay, gimpy – make yourself useful and open that.”
“Fuck you,” Shane groused, even as she was sorting through the keys. She located the right one, fitted it into the lock and opened the door for them, pushing it wide open. “Wonder if Jenny's home?”
“I didn't see her car,” Mark said, stepping through the door. “She must be out or something.”
“Yeah, I think she said some of the people from her writing class were getting together afterwards for coffee,” Shane said, thinking aloud. “Hey, wait --” She reached behind him and he felt her jerk against him, the movement followed by the sound of the door shutting behind them. “Born in a barn, man, or what?”
“You know, that whole me dropping you on your ass thing? That could still be arranged,” he warned her. “So, couch, chair? Pick a spot.”
“Bathroom,” she said.
“Okay, that works, too,” he said.
“I gotta take a shower, get out of these clothes,” Shane said, lips twisting into a frown of distaste. “I stink.”
“Oh, come on, it's hot. Bouncer sweat, blood and puke,” Mark said as he carried her down the hallway towards the bathroom. “Who needs Chanel?” Shane snorted. “And you need to take care of your knee. It looked pretty fucked up. Need any help?”
“Nah, it's cool, I got it. I think there's a first aid kit in the bathroom,” she said as he set her on her feet again, resting one steadying hand on his shoulder.
“You know, this is the first civil conversation we've had since I moved in here,” he said with a smile, quietly pleased.
“This is the first time you've stopped acting like a jerk-off,” she said, giving his shoulder a pat. “Somehow I don't think it's a coincidence.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but soon shut it with a sigh. “You're right. You're a total bitch, but you're right,” he murmured, eyes twinkling.
Shane's expression had gone from mischievous to pensive as she hopped around to face him. She placed her left hand on his shoulder and took his hand in her right in a soul-brother shake. “I know I've given you a lot of shit, lately,” she said. “Not that you didn't deserve some of it. But... what you did.” She looked down and gave his hand a squeeze. “Thank you.”
“Any time,” he said, smiling and giving her hand a squeeze in return. He reluctantly released her hand and gestured at the bathroom door. “Go ahead and do your thing. If your knee's still giving you trouble when you get done, just give me a holler and I'll come help you to your room or wherever, okay?”
She nodded and looked up at him, favoring him with the first genuine smile he'd ever seen directed at him, her eyes dark green and shining. “Yeah,” she said. “Thanks.”
“Look, don't fawn, okay,” Mark said, making a great show of rolling his eyes and looking embarrassed. “I mean, a simple thank you will do. You're making a spectacle of yourself, going on and on about it like this. Really, it was nothing.”
Shane snorted. “You're a weird guy, Mark,” she said as she turned and limped into the bathroom, shutting the door after her. He stood and watched her go, hands on his hips.
“Yeah, I know,” he said quietly to the door. “And that's the problem.”