light comma sticks (ex_myth87) wrote in regulation, @ 2008-04-01 15:15:00 |
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Current music: | jens lekman || sky phenomenon |
it's like someone spilled a beer all over the atmosphere.
Who: Isaac Kettering and Lo Desmarais
What: Babysitting.
When: March 27, 2008, 2am
Where: A pub, her snazzy car, his house.
Rating: PG
Status: Closed, complete.
So it wasn't the most intelligent thing he'd ever done and Isaac knew, as soon as he set out to do it, that it wasn't going to work. But the cast on his arm had had to be replaced and he'd refractured the initial break when he punched his wall, so obviously he needed to do something. March had come in like the lion it was supposed to be, full of howling wind, some toppled trees, and skies a duller colour grey than they typically were, even in England. He loved it, though, despite the soot on the buildings and the overt pollution that dampened even sound. London was a begger's paradise and a drunkard's kingdom, so long as he was willing to sell it for the next pint.
Which Isaac was.
It was a bad idea. In fact, it was probably his worst ever, aside from a few he couldn't precisely remember that had landed him in hospital rather than some crazy bint's bed.
Of course, drinking the bloodsucker in his brain into oblivion hadn't exactly worked and, as he threw another punch, he sort of figured that, even in his addled state, he should be able to at least defend himself. But six shots of vodka and four pints of Guinness weren't exactly helping his coordination. Neither were the three pints of Newcastle he'd had. So he missed entirely and the hit that followed from the rather large man he was fighting - which was saying a lot, given he was six feet tall himself - sent him flying backward. He thought he broke a table when he landed, but everything sort of hurt and, even though he wasn't sure he'd have known anyway, he didn't think he felt anything jabbing into him at painful angles... or out of him, for that matter. He really didn't need any more broken bones. Well, at least not important ones. He could handle a few broken ribs, maybe, which was probably for the best because the big bloke was coming back at him and he didn't exactly think he was in any position to do any real damage, seeing as he was on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
Shards of glass crunched beneath the other man's feet as he approached and Isaac had the most absurd notion that maybe he'd be able to hide if he rolled over a bit - or not hide, but play dead. Playing won't be much of a problem in a bit, he thought, suppressing the urge to laugh. The thought of dying really shouldn't be amusing, but it sort of was.
Lo had known from the moment that she bit Isaac that he was going to be trouble, but it had taken her a few days to realize why. First, he dragged himself out of the hospital, weary from blood loss, and trekked home. Then he broke his arm again. There was the drinking, and the fighting, and the one night stands. She had no idea that humans could be so exhausting. She had tried at first to stay out of his mind, to give him his privacy, only listening in when he thought of her family or another hunt, but quickly she learned that was a bad idea. Now Lo was babysitting him at every waking moment, although she refused to interfere during minor scuffles, and would in no way walk in on his sexual escapades. But tonight, tonight was the straw that broke the camel's back, and she was in her car when she realized he was about to fight that very large man across the room.
What disturbed her the most was how often the human thought of death, and how little he cared about dying. Even when she bit him she felt no fear over his end, nor did she feel any regret. In fact, she had heard him think about suicide more than once, and had known that he had wanted to die over and over again since his wife was killed. If he wasn't so religious, Lo was fairly certain that he would be gone by now. And, she thought to herself as she pressed down on the gas, if she didn't make it to the pub in time he would have that wish granted. Something she wouldn't allow.
Lo liked this human.
She made it to the pub just in time to see the burly thug Isaac had taken on standing over him. And that was an odd feeling - to see the man's back and feel him hovering over her at the same time, it was so odd that she immediately tried to shrug it off so she could deal with the situation at hand. Time to play the frantic girlfriend.
"Get off him!" Lo screeched in a voice that was much younger than her own, not wanting to cause a scene by taking on someone who was probably three times her size. Her cry was loud, and people turned to stare, including the man who was about to kick out at Isaac's ribs. Some small part of her screamed my human, and she felt even more defensive than she had before.
"Isaac," she said firmly, stomping over to the fight, her eyes on the bigger man to watch for any sudden moves. "We are going home."
"Home?" Isaac asked, knowing there was something wrong with the situation but not quite able to figure out what. Greta shouldn't be in a place like this. No one else had ever called where he lived home so it made sense, really it did. And this really wasn't where she should be. That bloke had taken a step back and that was alright, then, because Isaac might actually have to kill him if he sent near Greta. Home sounded rather nice, actually. He sort of wanted to go, actually, because even though there was something wrong, Greta would make it better. She was sweet like that.
Ignoring all the bits and pieces that weren't quite fitting together properly in his mind, rolled over onto his side, ignoring the pain stabbing through his chest, and pushed himself up to his feet. Fuck, but that's going to hurt, he thought to himself, knowing there was a reason for it but unable to actually remember it was important - why he'd done it in the first place. Oh, protecting her. That made sense. He couldn't really think of anything else.
His vision was hazy as he wavered where he stood, then reached for her. "Sorry, love," he muttered, "I should've... could've done a... better job..."
Oh, and that hurt. Hearing herself called 'love' by someone who hated her and who she was with every ounce of themself was bad enough because it was proof of how far gone he was, but to know what he was thinking? Her heart actually clenched. He really loved his wife, so much, years later, it was wrong and cruel what had happened to her, and maybe even worse what had happened to him. Because he was different now, and in no way was that difference any good.
Unsure of what to do, Lo only reached for him and held him up against his side and she made her way past the stairs to the door. She glared at the man who had been fighting with him on the way out, but other than that she didn't say a word. She only hoped that Isaac wouldn't realize who she was until they were in the car - the sort of scene wasn't something she was prepared to handle.
At the car, she shifted him against the frame and unlocked the passenger seat so he could climb in. She knew by now where he lived and made sure that he was buckled in safely before she moved to climb into the driver's seat herself. "You've no reason to be sorry," she told him quietly, even though she knew he was talking nonsense. She felt like that needed to be addressed at least, it was the least she could do to explain that, even if he didn't believe her. "You did everything you could."
Eyes closed against the glare of street lights, Isaac leaned his forehead against the window, letting cool glass press against his temple. "Next time," he murmured, knowing there were so many broken promises between them, so many things he should have done - he couldn't remember why he hadn't. It was important. He should be able to remember... but he just squeezed his eyes shut a little more tightly and tried to breathe through the pain in his side.
Cracked, he thought, not even bothering to feel the damage to know it. Cracked rib... maybe two. Add to that the clunky awkwardness of his arm and he was just a mess. His mind shied away from that, though - there was something about it that he should remember, something he should think about... only he was in a car that smelled of clean leather rather than stale cigarette smoke. The scent of blood didn't linger over him despite the stench he knew he was probably giving off - alcohol seeping from his pores. Too much, he thought, raising one hand, his good hand, to rub at his face.
It didn't help to make him any more aware than he'd been, but it made his face hurt a little less, so long as he didn't touch the cheek the big bloke had hit on the first try. "Next time... I'll do better."
Next time, next time, Isaac thought, mind running in ever-slowing circles. Will there be a next time? Greta forgave him his sins - she'd want to go to church. He didn't really see the point, but confessing was good for the soul, he supposed. Forgiveness was something - he hadn't sought forgiveness in... years? Why hadn't he? Greta would have wanted him to - she worried so and... but he backed away from that thought as well. It was too risky. "Promise."
"Oh, Isaac," Lo muttered, reaching over to lay her hand over his bruised cheek at a stop light. Her skin was cool, on the verge of being cold, and while it was normally unpleasant to touch, the sensation might help ease the swelling. He really was in bad shape, worse mentally than physically, but she was no psychiatrist. Medical school she had attended, sure, but she had never looked too far into Pyschology - she wasn't able to relate with anyone well enough to make use of that. "You really are a wreck, you know that?" Her hand stayed on his cheek, her thumb stroking over the skin lightly while her palm rested. "You have to take better care of yourself, I can't come out and break up your brawls every night. You could get seriously hurt, and realize it or not, but you have a lot to live for. You just need to try, alright?"
She bit her lip and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, "Do you want me to take you to hospital, or do you trust me to fix you up myself?" Logically, it would be best for him to see a real doctor, someone who's medical license hadn't expired forty years ago, but if Lo knew Isaac at all, he would probably walk out no matter what state he was in as soon as the alcohol wore off and he came to his senses.
"Home," Isaac muttered, because that was what he'd agreed to in the first place. Home and bed and maybe he wouldn't hurt as badly in the morning as he thought he would. Most of her words just washed over him, then disappeared because her hand was cool on his skin and while he wasn't processing what she was saying, it was easy to just listen to the cadence she was speaking in. It was a lovely rhythm and he knew, somewhere, that it wasn't quite the way it should be, but he listened to it anyway and let it calm his mind.
Too many thoughts moving too quickly and he was lost, more than anything else. Lost and sure, to a certain degree, that he wasn't going to find his way home unless she showed him the way. Stupid, he thought. He depended too much on her. She wasn't always going to - but she couldn't leave. He had a feeling - he was forgetting important things again. It was a trend. A trend he wasn't willing to give up because it would hurt too much. Far too much - he could recognise that.
What was he supposed to try? He couldn't think of it. Maybe she'd forgive him anyway. He'd be able to apologise better, more clearly, once they were home.
"You were a better person when she was around," she muttered, following the route home from her own memory, because his thoughts were too jumbled to make sense of. God, she hoped he didn't light fire to the place once he woke up and realize that she had been there. "An important part of you died with Greta, didn't it?" She looked him over and continued on talking, even if he wasn't able to process any of what she said, or maybe because he wasn't able to. "You just... I don't think you know who you are anymore, Isaac. And you're hurting so much, but you're trying to make things heal in all the wrong ways. You can get better, you know, you just - you need to stop this. You need to let yourself grieve properly without trying to numb everything you feel, even I know that."
"Home," she told him as they pulled up in front of the building. She was lucky to find a parking spot nearby, and Lo unbuckled his seatbelt before going around to the other side of the car and helping him out. "I think you've fractured your ribs, so be careful, alright. What pocket are your keys in?"
"Same as always," Isaac muttered. He was the same person, the keys were in the same pocket - everything was the same but then it was all so different as well. He wasn't sure what to do with himself, so he peeled his eyelids up and blinked dizzily for a moment before staring up at the building. It was all wrong. This was a bad part of town - he thought, maybe, it was the wrong town entirely. But that didn't really matter, he guessed - it did, but he was going to try to ignore that the same way he was ignoring everything else.
The scent wasn't quite right and everything else was uneven, but he was patting his pockets before he could really dwell on that. Pulling the single key out of his pocket, he tilted his head to the side and offered it to her. She was bleary around the edges, but he didn't squint to try to bring her into clearer focus.
“You know I'm not Greta, Isaac," she told him as she unlocked the door and guided him up the stairs. "You need to let yourself realize that, because even if this feels easier now, it's not going to last. She'll still be gone in the morning," she knew that it would hurt to hear, but Lo still said it carefully, her eyes on him. "You don't like it when I talk about her, but I can't help it. I care about you, even if you hate me."
She leaned him against the wall while she opened up the door to his flat and stepped in. It was small, and dingy, and ransacked, but Lo already knew it was going to be like that. "Let's get you cleaned up," she told him. The dog was there, and it was a small miracle that it didn't go nuts when it smelled her, a miracle enough for Lo to send up a small prayer of thanks. "Say hi to Bingo."
"Hello, Bingo," Isaac murmured, stumbling toward the bedroom only to stop halfway there, bending at the waist, his broken arm held tight over his stomach. Our father, who art in Heaven... But that was the wrong prayer, the wrong thing to say. He needed something more, something that might stop the pain stabbing up through his chest. "I'm clean," he said, "Cleaned up..." Maybe 'clean' was the wrong word.
He was sure there was someone that he hated. There was still something very wrong with the entire situation. "Couldn't hate you, love," he whispered, swallowing hard, suppressing the nausea that spiked through his stomach.
"Okay," she answered, clearly not believing a word he said. "These are my best Blahniks and you are not vomiting on them, hear me? Arm over my shoulders," she directed as she crouched down, letting him do so before she slid her free arm behind his knees and lifted him gently. "Christ, you're too tall for this," she muttered, and Lo found getting him to the bedroom was more difficult than it should have been. But she managed, and once there she placed him down in a seated position on the bed before looking around the room, "You need a bucket or something - Isaac, love, where's a waste bin?"
Curling over on his side, Isaac pressed the side of his face into his pillow, trying not to breathe too deeply because he suddenly remembered he hadn't washed them in a few weeks. Sorry. He didn't know who he was apologising to, though. He just took a shallow breath and swallowed again, shaking his head, pressing his temple against the pillowcase. Inhaling hurt, but exhaling did as well and he was dizzy with it, the alcohol making the room spin. He refused to give into it, though. He'd had worse, he'd dealt with worse. He just had to block it all from his mind. Block everything from his mind.
Lo took that as a sign that he wasn't sure where it was, so she left to find something for him to be sick in herself. After a few minutes of searching through the small flat she managed to find a decent sized metal pan in one of the kitchen cabinets and brought that out along with some strong aspirin and a tall glass of water for him to take. The pan she placed by his bed, and she sat down next to him, nudged him over, and offered up the pills before running her hand over his cheek again.
"Do you mind if I have a look at your ribs?" She asked, and he was so out of it that she was only asking to be polite, since she planned on taking off his shirt to see what damage had been done no matter what he said. Really, if it was just his ribs that had been cracked then nothing could be done, but she did not to make sure that his spleen and lungs were alright before she felt alright leaving him alone.
"What were you fighting over? Do you remember?"
"No," Isaac breathed, answering both her questions at once. He wilfully pushed certain pieces of knowledge away from himself, exhaling slowly before loosening his arm where it was clamped across his stomach and trying not to wince. If he just kept his eyes closed, then everything would be okay in the end. Jesus fuck, but it's cold.
Thoughts swirling through his mind, a confusing cacophony of remembered sounds and sensations, Isaac tried to make himself stay conscious despite knowing there was something lingering near him that didn't quite settle. Bingo hopped up on the bed next to him, near his feet, snuffling curiously at her for a moment before flopping down and nudging at Isaac's knee with his nose.
Lo ran her hand over her face and moved his arm away before snaking his shirt up so she could examine his stomach. "Tell me if I hurt you too much, okay?" She sighed and pressed her fingers into his stomach, checking there for any swelling before moving across until she finally came to his spleen, which was what she was most concerned about. "You'll have to forgive me if I'm a little slow - I went to medical school thirty years ago, but," she waited for him to breathe before she pressed in harder, knowing that would hurt. The babble was only meant to distract him, and she had nothing more to say after that. He had two fractured ribs, but his organs were alright, and that was what was important.
After a moment to let him relax she gently pulled his shirt over his head. "Open your eyes," she advised, before checking the pupils to see if they were dilating normally. They were, which was a miracle, really, but it also meant he could sleep. Which, she thought, he needed more than anything.
After a few minutes of rummaging through his room she found a relatively clean pair of pajama bottoms to change him into - although the dog was more trouble there than Isaac was, and she had to keep pushing him off. "You probably won't remember this in the morning," she muttered as she pulled up the blanket around him. "So I'm going to write down instructions on taking care of yourself, alright? Don't throw it out, if you can remember that much. It's a really bad idea to keep rebreaking half-healed wounds."
Isaac hissed, his teeth clenched tight as she poked and prodded at him. Then a moment of clarity hit him like a tonne of bricks and he whispered, "I only do it because I know how it gets to you." What kind of a thing was that to say? Who was he saying it to? He knew her, he did, but he didn't want to think about that. The clarity slipped away a moment later and he closed his eyes again, shifting in the clothes she'd put on him. Bingo whined low in his throat and Isaac curled up against the pillow again, the dog's weight pressing against his back.
"You hurt yourself because you know it bothers me?" She asked.
"Something like that," he murmured, listening to Bingo whine again. "Maybe. I don't know."
"Why?" She asked him, sitting on the bed away from the dog. It hated her, it was probably afraid of her, and she hated that. "Isaac, why are you throwing all of this away? I would kill to have what you do, and you're wasting it."
He didn't answered, just breathed in slowly and tried to ignore how there was something unfamiliar overlying everything that surrounded him now. Not an unpleasant scent, but nothing that he'd been close enough to really notice before. Isaac wasn't the sort to really pay attention to smells and the like most of the time. Indeed, he typically ignored them. Letting himself slip closer toward unconsciousness - sleep - he pressed his cheek into the pillow again.
"Isaac," she whispered, her hand on his cheek again, and she sighed as he fell into sleep even though she knew he needed it. "Don't throw it away, alright?" Lo had half a mind to sing to him instinctively, but she wasn't sure if he would like that or not, so she settled for humming.
Isaac needed sleep more than anything else, but had he been truly aware of what she'd said, he might have tried to wake himself, argue the point. Luckily, he wasn't in any shape to comprehend her words and instead, he simply drifted off, down, slipping into unconsciousness to the simple sound of her humming. It soothed him, something he wouldn't have admitted to anyone, not even himself.
Laundry done, house cleaned, and kitchen stocked, Lo made her way back into the bedroom sometime around dawn. He was out like a light, something she was glad of even if what he had said was still itching in the back of her mind. His dream was playing in the back of her mind, and she was reminded once more of how odd dreams were, and how jealous she was that he could have them when she couldn't. It looped in the back of her mind while she put his clothes away, and when she was done Lo found herself sitting next to him and, soon enough, taking her shoes off and shoving his large dog off the bed so she could lay down next to him.
He was warm in that human sort of way, and she relaxed enough so she could experience his dream entirely, curled up like a comma against his back. Soon enough she was asleep.