Who: Percy + Wilson What: Talking and cuddling. When: Tuesday, 9/11. Where: Their house. Rating: PG-13. Status: Complete!
True to his word, Percy arrived home later than usual. There had been work to catch up on, but if he had to admit it, he was mostly just avoiding things while giving himself an empty and quiet space to think in.
He was no more in better sorts than he'd been the day before, and wasn't particularly keen on the additional feeling of embarrassment at being overly emotional in front of Wilson. Not that he assumed Wilson minded so much. Of course he didn't. He was some sort of constantly forgiving saint, sometimes Percy had absolutely no idea how he managed being so kind. Still, he was determined not to be so foolish tonight.
Settling his briefcase down, the redhead avoided Scout's attempt at tripping and murdering him, and then poked his head into the office. "Hey."
Wilson awoke with a start at his fiancé’s voice, nearly falling off of the leather sofa and upturning Baxter off of his stomach at the same time. “Oh, hey! Sorry, I must have nodded off.” He stretched a little, sighing to himself and smiling up at Percy. “Hey, you look hungry. That lasagna's in the fridge, if you want it still.”
Percy doubted very much he actually looked hungry, but didn't much see a point in saying so. "Maybe later," he said, crouching down a little to pet Baxter - he rather envied how pleased the tiny legged dog always looked. "Sorry to wake you. I hadn't quite realized you were sleeping."
“It’s okay, I have tomorrow off. Weird rotation for a week while the new interns get settled.” Yawning, Wilson sat up and moved so Percy could sit down and join them. “How’re you?”
"That's lucky." He felt like he should have remembered having been told that before, but didn't. Toeing his shoes off, Percy settled himself onto the couch, curling in close and settling his cheek against Wilson's shoulder before going back to petting Baxter. "I'm okay."
Wilson smiled and stroked Percy’s hair. “Okay is good. I don’t hate okay.” Wilson smiled and kissed the top of Percy’s head. “You seem tired, though. I could make you a cup of tea?” He was tempted to say ‘cuppa’, but he didn’t.
Something Percy appreciated, because okay was only okay, and false Britishisms would be too much. Closing his eyes at the kiss and hair smoothing, the redhead thought it might just prefer to sit there forever and not move at all.
Tea probably would help, though, and so Percy nodded his acquiescence. "Please."
Wilson smiled, kissing him again. “Earl Grey all right?” He set Baxter down gently, standing up and moving to the kitchen to put on the kettle. He knew how Percy took his tea, and soon enough he came back holding two steaming cups. “It still has to steep, but we’ll get it there.”
We'll get it there. As if tea needed coaxing in order to become what it eventually would be. Percy smiled, but it was vague and not all that amused. "Okay," he said, although it wasn't the best response. He curled up a little more on the couch, head resting on the leather arm, but reached out to take an offered cup anyway.
It was hard not to feel frustrated. Wilson bit his lower lip, sitting back down. “Any interesting cases today?” He just wished he could do something, anything, to help his would-be husband. But Wilson was smart enough to know there wasn’t any doing.
"A few divisions of estate." Percy couldn't help but note the frustration and the attempt at conversation, and feeling a bit guilty about it, made a more valiant effort to do more than sit around and pout. It really wasn't fair to Wilson. "Not always interesting, but there's potential for it." In that way where it was sickly fascinating to watch people argue over useless trinkets and furniture.
“I know estate law isn’t exactly the most interesting section of law, but it always seemed like it’d be up your alley. It seems like it’d be something to be meticulous with. ... wife number one wanted to be a lawyer,” Wilson murmured.
"It is up my alley." Percy looked down at his tea and gave it a little sniff before deciding it was steeped enough and sipping at it. "That's why I do it. Most of my cases involve family law." Nothing too flashy, but it suited him for the time being. Although maybe that political science double wasn't being put to much use, currently. Still, he couldn't fathom getting into most criminal law beyond the pro bono cases he offered at the courthouse on occasion.
“Family law would hurt, but I think I’m kind of a soft touch,” Wilson smiled. He discarded the teabag in a trash can near the couch, sipping at his own and shaking his head. “But then again, I tell people they’re going to die every day. What do I know.”
Both hurt, Percy thought, but at least he got to play a third party to the pain, where he was fairly certain that Wilson was not able to. Being a doctor was certainly more hands on, he assumed. It was hard to imagine. He frowned a little, fiddled with the string on his teabag. "That isn't all you do."
“Not all, no, but sometimes it feels that way.” Wilson leaned on Percy, twining their fingers. “The harder cases, they drain. Especially when it’s someone I like.” Wilson made emotional connections with his patients sometimes, which he probably shouldn’t do, but he couldn’t help.
Percy supposed James probably wouldn't have been such a good and likable doctor if he didn't connect that way, though. He nodded, rubbed his thumb absently over his fiancé's knuckles and tilted his head back until it rested on the couch. "I understand."
“I know you do.” Wilson pressed a kiss to Percy’s throat before laying next to him and letting his fingertips run over Percy’s hand. “What made you want to be a lawyer? When you were younger?”
"I didn't, exactly." It was weird to admit now, and Percy smiled that humorless smile again. "I was keener on politics, and rather fancied the idea of working my way into that." His younger self had been far more interested in the idea of gaining respect through levels of obvious power, thought maybe if he was respectable at his job, maybe his family might just change their attitude toward him.
"Of course, I don't think it suits my ideals much anymore."
“Politics? I don’t think anyone with ideals goes into them, period.” Wilson wrinkled his nose. “I don’t even like being chairman of a department at work.” Those meetings were always tedious. Wilson swore he could feel his hair going grey during the proceedings. “Fancy a movie?”
That was sort of the point, Percy supposed. He hadn't had ideals when he was younger so much as aspirations of power. Nodding absently, he sipped his tea and ran his fingers through Wilson's hair; fluffy and stupidly soft.
"If you like."
“I’d enjoy sitting.” He liked laying next to Percy, when the redhead put his head in his lap. “Come on, we’ll put on something boring and you can doze.” Wilson smiled, moving to sit by Percy. “You know you can make decisions too. You don’t have to do what I like.”
"I know," and he did, absolutely he did. It was just hard to pick something when he felt a bit like he couldn't be bothered to care one way or the other. Percy didn't mind watching movies though, it was something that he and Wilson did often and that seemed good enough for now. Fake it until you make it, right? That was the saying?
Anyway, the couch in the living room was longer than this one, and that seemed nice for dozing purposes.
Smiling, Wilson stood up and patted his thigh for Baxter to come join them. He smiled when he ran with them, scrambling up onto the ottoman that was near the sofa. Baxter had long since claimed it for his own throne.
Humming as he flipped through the titles he owned on Blu-Ray, he settled on an old movie with both John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart, popping it in. “Do you like westerns? I only seem to like the sad westerns.”
The ottoman shaped dog liked the ottoman. Go figure.
"I like their accents," Percy said, as if that actually counted for liking an entire genre for films. Maybe it did. It was good enough, in any case. He curled up on the couch, leaning against the arm and holding his tea still before arching his back to crack out a kink in his spine. This was okay. They didn't hate okay. "Sad is okay. I'd be sad if I didn't have proper electricity, too."
“Ooh, that sounds awful, come here.” The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance started on the television, and Wilson sat down to rub out knots in Percy’s spine. “Do you have a lumbar pillow at your work chair?”
Carefully, Percy set his tea down on the coffee table, and leaned into Wilson's touch. There was little he preferred over a back massage. "I have a good chair," he protested, sounding nearly sullen over it. It wasn't his chair's fault that he didn't move enough and got stiff about it.
“I’m sure you do, but your chair can’t account for how you sit in it.” Fingers that were used to touching people were sure and strong as he pressed down, smiling when Percy leaned into his touch. Sullen was a reaction he could work with - it was a reaction, so that was a good thing.
"It's got -- built in something." He shook his head, because he couldn't quite recall what. He and Sam had both bought themselves new chairs when they started their new place up. It seemed like the easiest and most useful sort of thing to award themselves with. Practical. Percy liked practicality.
He sighed a little, leaning further into the touch to the point where Wilson would likely have to give up on the massage because the younger man was just pressed into him.
Instead of giving up, Wilson just moved it up to his shoulders, trying not to get turned on when Percy pressed against him. There was no point when he didn’t think they were going to have sex, but he couldn’t really fight biology. With Percy, Wilson felt like an awkward teenager again sometimes.
Which was okay, because Percy had never quite gotten out of the awkward teenage stage in general. At least in terms of knobby knees and uncalled for amounts of anxiety. "Okay?" he asked, because John Wayne talking in the background wasn't quite enough to keep his interest.
“Good,” Wilson chuckled thickly. “You know what your aftershave does to me.”
"Oh," Percy said, sounding a little confused, because -- "Oh." His new tone said he'd gotten it; sometimes it took a moment for him to catch on. Sometimes.
“Don’t worry, I can control myself. I only just learned how a couple of years ago, though. You met me at a good time.” Wilson kissed Percy’s neck, just to tease.
Only feeling guilty over his own lack of current interest, Percy slouched a little and ignored the joke. It seemed terribly unfair, considering that he was generally very much interested to the point of occasional distraction. "I'm -- sor-- er. Not going to apologize because I think you'd scold me for it." At least he was learning, he supposed.
“You can apologize if you feel it’s polite, even though it’s not really necessary. I understand being a slave to manners,” Wilson chuckled. Hell, he understood; he kind of felt stupid for feeling like he’d done something wrong, even though he did.
It was sort of ingrained in him at this point. Apologizing was second nature; hell, Percy occasionally apologized to inanimate objects when he bumped into them. Senseless, and nearly laughable, but it wasn't exactly like he did it on purpose.
"Alright," he agreed, and then turned himself on the couch that he he could be half facing Wilson, at least. "I'm sorry."
“It’s quite all right,” Wilson murmured. He just hated that everything Percy had used to love was boring him. It was a hallmark of depressive episodes.
Percy was aware. But being aware didn't necessarily fix that, so much as make him feel a little worse. He pressed his cheek into the curve of Wilson's neck and frowned. "It isn't alright, James."
“Only because you don’t think it is. I just worry that you’re ... more sad than you’re telling me. I don’t know if that’s true, but it’s what I worry.” Wilson closed his eyes, trying to choose his words carefully.
"I wouldn't ever do anything stupid," Percy said it a little too quickly, a little too bluntly. And while it was true, it did make him give a little pause before going on, more slowly. "Please don't think I would. It isn't usually so…" he shrugged, not having a good word for it.
“I know, Percy. I don’t think that. I just ... “ Again, Wilson thought about where he wanted to tiptoe before walking there with words. “One of the defining criteria for depression or a depressive episode is losing interest in what you love. And that always killed me when I was having mine, just losing the things that made me me.”
"Oh," said Percy, a little blankly. He took a moment to think it over -- really, seriously think it over. Wilson was right, of course. This wasn't just being tired, or a little sad for no reason. Well, it was, but not just that.
He shifted, sitting up straight and looking down at his hands. The tea just seemed awfully far away. "I think I should probably do something about it." It came out of him like he'd had to force the words out, and he sort of had.
“Probably,” Wilson smiled, suddenly gone very quiet. “What that is is up to you, but I’ll support you every step of the way.”
"I know," Percy said, and quite meant it. Above all other things, he knew Wilson stood by him and always would. "I just don't know exactly what to do."
“I think the first thing to do would be to find a psychiatrist. They can talk through options with you for therapy - talk and medical both. I can find someone in our network for you.” Wilson hoped he hadn’t spoken too soon.
If he had, Percy didn't let on to it. He leaned forward only enough to pick his tea back up. It was sort of cold by now, but he didn't care much; he'd mostly only grabbed for it because it gave him something to do with his hands, and something to stare at. "Okay."
Nodding, Wilson put it into his phone as an appointment. “I’ll do that tomorrow morning, and schedule something on one of your days off so you don’t have to worry about time.” He resumed drinking his own tea as well.
The redhead nodded, nearly absently. He'd managed the difficult part of this conversation and didn't want to fathom anything more challenging for a while. He set his tea back down and curled up onto the couch enough where he could put his head into his fiancé's lap. Maybe he'd just pretend to watch the movie for long enough to fall asleep. "I love you." If felt best to say it, like maybe it would help James, too.
“I love you too.” Wilson ran his fingers through Percy’s hair, smiling and looking down at him. “I can’t wait to marry you, you know.”
"You still want to?" It was a stupid question, but Percy needed the reassurance anyway. Intrinsically he knew that this wasn't pity coming from Wilson, but just -- couldn't help himself. He backpedaled anyway, because he was tired of sounding pathetic about things. "It's relatively soon."
Wilson blinked, grinning broadly. “Of course I still want to. I wish we’d done it ages ago,” he grinned, leaning down to kiss Percy properly.
It was easy to return that kiss, and Percy was glad for that, and so he did. "I know," he murmured, because he was well aware of Wilson's strange impatience on the matter. He'd considered it endearing. "Soon," he repeated.
“Good,” Wilson smiled. “And I’ll text you the appointment time whenever I make it. If you don’t like the person I book for you, we’ll keep trying until you do.”
"Okay," Percy repeated, and then closed his eyes again. He wasn't sure what else to say, not yet. There was nothing he could offer that wasn't vaguely self-disparaging. "I think I want to sleep now."
“All right. Do you want to go to bed or sleep here for a while?” Wilson bit his lower lip, watching Percy’s body go from tension to relaxation.
"Here." Percy wasn't interested in getting up just yet, and the background noise of the movie was helpful in a way where he could listen to that instead of his brain. "If that's alright."
“That’s more than all right.” Wilson drank his tea. “This is my favorite part, Jimmy Stewart getting into fistfights always is. You remind me of him.” Not in the way that he’d had a crush on Jimmy Stewart as a teenager either.
"Why?" Percy opened an eye to consider the man on the television. He wasn't exactly a fist-fight or western person, and couldn't seem to find the connection.
“He always played a guy who tried to do the right thing, no matter what other people thought of him for it. He was always the underdog, but he usually did it in the end. You’re also both attractive.” Wilson shrugged a shoulder, hoping he’d make Percy laugh.
Percy did not laugh, but he did smile slightly. "I'll take the high moral standards, I suppose," he murmured. "But he's rather old."
“A young Jimmy Stewart. I’ll show you the Philadelphia Story tomorrow. He’s gorgeous in that one. And the dashing romantic hero.” Percy’s smile made Wilson’s whole face light up.
Rather wishing he could keep it that way -- Wilson's nearly glowing look -- Percy merely nodded. "Tomorrow, then."
“Tomorrow sounds good. For now, you sleep, baby.” Wilson rarely called Percy pet names, but he couldn’t help it. It just came out.
Percy didn't mind, and only registered it as anything other than it was; a term of endearment. He nodded, shifted a little and pressed his cheek against Wilson's thigh -- handing his glasses off to his fiancé before closing his eyes again. If nothing else, sleep came very easily when he was depressed.