Ripple Effect - 6. Chapter Two: Bleed Through

I

This time, when the aether phone light turned red, he was sitting at the table in front of it, waiting.

"Hey, Shadow."

His finger pressed the talk button with little hesitation now; this part of the conversation he had down, "Hello."

A laugh, "Well, just to get it out of the way, situation normal. Like usual."

He didn't write it down, he would remember it. That had been something he'd wondered about, an idle curiosity; he told himself he was going to ask, this time he would do it. Now was as good a time as any, before he lost his nerve. "What is – you...doing there? Re-reporting, on?"

Small talk was easy, simple and safe; ask something open and let the other speak on, as they will. Direct questions were different, more personal, riskier; how to know where the line is, what is not your business, what you shouldn't ask, when its always different from person to person? It took a certain bond, a mutual trust to spark his interest and coax him into expression, vulnerability; he'd only ever found that with -

...once, just once.

There was no bond here, nor even the start of one. He couldn't see her, she was just a voice in the room; it made the encounters unreal, like a fantasy, ephemeral, and thus safe enough.

"...if you don't know, I'm not sure I should be telling you." Which was what he figured, but at least she wasn't angry. "I'm monitoring someone, for a while. Nothing's expected to change, but just in case, here I am."

He thought of London's folder of still images, chains of red and black; he hoped she was not somewhere she should not be, watching those she ought not to see. He owed a response in acknowledgement and pressed the button again, "...oh."

"Its coming to an end, anyway. Finally, I can get to some place warm."

"...oh," he heard the note of disappointment in his tone; it surprised him. He had enjoyed this, having a voice to speak to him, that welcomed his own, he enjoyed relearning conversation just in case...he ever needed it again. He wasn't prepared to lose it so soon, how the end of it all would hit him.

Only the dark and the silence left...

(...home...I miss-)

...can't...can't, anymore...

"I'm not giving the phone back," she said, "I can still call in. And I'll probably get put on something new soon, anyway. I'll personally request you."

He couldn't say he knew why: maybe she sensed he was lonely, maybe she thought he was broken; pity, it was something he remembered well, from Elleth back at the orphanage, long ago. He couldn't see what she was getting from it otherwise, what was there to like?

He needed to move onto familiar ground, ask the one question he knew was always safe, always welcome, "How – are you, doing?"

And she told him about her day, as she always did. And he folded his arms on the table, rested his head on them, listening and letting the words fuel his imagination.

He wished she had been male.

It was an unfair thought, he was sure, but he couldn't help himself. If she had been male it would've been so much easier to pretend, to overlook the probable differences in voice and manner.

Pine needle green and autumn gold...

("You, Winter. Only you. Now, forever.")

He had not seen Tallen in years now. An inconceivable thought once, when they were so close, but somehow it happened. He had stayed away, as it seemed Tallen had wanted, all he knew anymore he heard from London. London said Tallen was happy, Tallen had moved on, Tallen had a friend in the Lower Town that he saw every night, Tallen didn't think about him at all anymore.

He wondered if it was the same someone he had gone to see that night, the night he thought would bring them together but turned out to be the beginning of the end. He wondered how Tallen met her, if she was good to him. What about her was so much more appealing than himself?

("We have something here, you know? Between us...if I don't go for it, I'm going to miss out on something. The sort of thing I'll regret for the rest of my life.")

Maybe it was inevitable, maybe he was foolish to think he could ever hold onto something so much greater than himself. He just wished it didn't hurt so much: the swift brutal rejection, the look of cold anger in pine needle eyes that he swore once were softer.

The thing that hurt the most, was that he never understood why.

---

II

"You think you'd mind a small change in our usual plans?"

He turned his head to indicate he was listening; Tallen stood just behind him, arms full of newly acquired used books he was putting on the shelves, his last task of the day before he was free to go.

"Nothing exciting. I was just wondering if you minded me doing a quick favor for Marie before we settle in?"

No, he didn't mind. The unusual request made him wonder if he should ask, or if its subject made it forbidden; he was safe here, now, Tallen would be kind whatever, "...what?"

"She needs someone with a big car to pick some stuff up for her kid. From his grandparents, I think she said." A shrug, "Not a big deal, shouldn't take long."

He took another book off the stack, pausing to touch Tallen's face, warm skin under his fingertips, free of blemish. Inside he still wept with relief to feel this again, after believing it lost; Tallen's eyes closed, just a moment, and he thought he felt the same.

"Yes...if you want." They had no particular plans, never did much besides spend time together. He thought it would be considered dull by others, like Sophie, but it was all he ever wanted, or needed.

Well, that was not strictly true. There was something missing from their nights, their interactions; something he might have expected, that he wanted and missed, that hung like a heavy weight in the air between them. It was in Tallen's mind, he could see it, though nothing was ever said or done. He wondered if Tallen was waiting for something, or not, if it was a thing that had passed. A depressing thought but he believed he could live with it, if he must, if it meant not being alone.

He was in the back room, putting his work away, getting his coat, when Marie came in and closed the door behind her. This was unusual, enough that he paused to see what would happen.

Marie's face was carefully composed, jaw tight and determined, she took a moment before speaking, "I never asked him, you know. I just mentioned it, and he insisted. Really is a nice guy."

She said it like it came as a surprise. There was no question so he didn't respond, eyes unfocused and breathing slowed, hoping it would be over soon.

"Here's what I'm going to do," and she took a step forward, cell phone in hand, "I know you said yes, but if you really don't want to, tell me now. I'll go out there and tell him I got a phone call, that a friend's going to help out instead. You two go on your merry way, I will make my own arrangements, and Tallen never hears about this."

He frowned, he hadn't known what to expect from her but this did strike him as odd. He'd never spoken to Marie, not once in two years, but he thought he had to find a way now. The words scraped out of his throat, resisting expulsion, "...why?"

"Because I don't want to cause problems."

She seemed so certain there would be a problem that he wondered if there should be, if he was missing something obvious. That rigid, defensive expression was so strangely familiar, he tried to read it for any clue. Resigned and bitter, she didn't want to be here, doing this; resentful that she had to, but not at him. No, he was once more a bystander to an internal struggle.

("That's what you think of me, you think I'm a whore. Well, fuck you. All right? Just fuck you. Get killed, for all I care.")

("I'm sorry. What I said before...I didn't mean it.")

("...why – why did, you - ?")

("Because...I don't know.")

(…)

Marie was too direct in a way he found intimidating, and she was not the type to chase someone down, much less collect asocial strays like Sophie, and so they had little to do with each other. He had always been fine with that, assumed she was as well; maybe, because Tallen seemed to like her, he should try harder. Enough so she never feels she has to do this again.

He only hoped she had the patience to deal with his verbal stumbling. "I don't – I...he's – your...a friend. His friend."

"I'd like to think so," wary, crossing her arms.

"Are so," according to Tallen, always happy to not to be the subject of interest. "So..." he didn't think he had the words, even were he comfortable to say them. To say that he admired the lengths Tallen would go to help a friend, and not just because of how much he himself benefitted from it. It was who Tallen was, and what was he without it? Buried under drunken depression, locked away in a burned out room, an empty unrecognizable shell. Not only did he not have a problem, he was glad of it, welcomed it, wouldn't trade it for anything.

Something must have shown on his face, her expression softened reluctantly, "You know, Nicky's father gets leave in six months, him and his buddies can deal with this when he visits. Despite what my son thinks, he's not going to die without his new toys."

It was another out, more gently given, but he didn't take it; it wasn't his decision to make. "Won't...be – all night."

She relaxed all the way now, offering a carefully friendly smile, "No, definitely not."

The door pushed open at her back, "Hey, you ready to go?" Tallen paused seeing Marie, sighing quietly, "I told you it was fine."

She shrugged, unapologetic, "And now I know it is." Opening the door wider, she disappeared through it.

Pine needle eyes looked him over, testing his mood, "Well, you look like you survived." He had, he's been improving, after all. "Come on," Tallen held his arm out, "Let's go."

He was confused, "I thought you were – going to-"

"I can still give you a ride home, its not even out of the way. I know you hate the bus."

He felt absurdly happy, walking back outside tucked safely under Tallen's arm, that welcoming body heat felt all along his side. Marie waited for them next to one of the cars he'd noted parked regularly on the block, "You have to let me make it up to you. There's a pretty good Chinese take out around the corner from me, let me buy you guys dinner as a thank you."

"Well, I'm not going to turn down free food. What about you?" the arm tightened around him, fingers brushing against his coat sleeve, he really wished he wasn't wearing one. He nodded, letting Tallen do the speaking part, "There you have it."

"Who doesn't like a night off, right?"

"You don't mean me, do you? You think I do the cooking? Have you eaten the food here?"

"I have," Marie's eyes flickered to him, offering a smile that was less confident than it might look; she wasn't sure what to do, but she was trying. "So he cooks just as well? And cooks for you, even though he does that at work most days?"

"Hey, I'd feel guilty but he enjoys it."

She hummed a response, "And I'm sure you're good at other things."

"Really? How good in bed do you have to be to get dinner? I thought you were giving me credit, but that seems like a low bar."

He had only been listening with half an ear, but that made him perk up. Wait, what...?

Marie laughed, "I said nothing about that, but, well, I guess it depends how much you value dinner."

He wasn't certain, but this didn't seem like the first time this had come up as a joke. It had to be a good sign, if he was talking about it, that meant it was still a possibility, right?

He sat a bit closer to Tallen in the truck, a hand on his thigh, fingertips moving back and forth, life warmth beneath soft denim. An intimate touch, he knew, that Tallen accepted, pressed into, with a grin.

Perhaps there was hope, after all.

Tallen dropped him off at the side walk with a kiss through the open window. "I'll be back in a few hours, with food."

"...you, stay the night?" he didn't always, often enough to keep things in the apartment now. It depended on Tallen's job, if his bosses needed him first thing

(his job)

(he said...his co-worker, it was-)

(...can see, he can-)

(his boss...it has to be...)

"Sure," Tallen said with a promising smile. He watched them drive away grateful for the time alone; he had a lot to think about.

A good plan that was rudely ripped away from him when he arrived at the top of the stairs to find a stranger at his door.

Frozen in place, a hand on the wall, he felt panic creeping in as it had not in a long while. He tried to grasp it, hold onto it, before it ran away from him. Who was this, a neighbor? He had no idea, never met his neighbors, rarely saw them, and they would have no reason to knock on his door. What could they possibly want?

The man, an older man, grey haired in a suit and wool coat, raised a hand to knock again; the frustrated look on his face said it was not the first time or even the second, and was no longer sure what to do. He felt trapped, cornered, knowing it was only a matter of time before the stranger turned his head, spotted him there and made the connection.

"Is this your apartment?" the surprise in the man's voice was clear, and confusing, "Do you live with someone else?"

His fingers curled on the wall, wishing there was something to hold onto. He didn't know how to answer, even if he could find the words; he did not know what this was about.

The man took a step forward, toward him, "I'm looking for Daniel Ellison. He had something delivered to this address."

...that's Tallen. He let out a held breath, looking at the man again, more curious now.

The man saw the change in his expression, the question vanished from his tone, "He does live here."

He managed to shake his head.

"But you do know where he is," the man took another step forward, his face naturally stern and serious, unsuited for the quiet pleading he was attempting, "Please. This is the first lead in years. I just want to talk to him."

It occurred to him then, even were he inclined to, he couldn't give the man Tallen's address. He didn't know it. And that was odd, wasn't it? After all the time they spent together, should he not at least know where Tallen lived, even if he never did visit there?

The man may have misinterpreted his silence, he stepped forward again, "I'm sorry. Let me introduce myself," and held out a hand, "I'm Harlan Ellison."

"...the uncle," the words were out of his mouth before he could think better.

"I see he's mentioned me," the man's face was carefully neutral, his hand remained extended, "And you are?"

His panic had faded and he swallowed what was left of his natural discomfort; he held out a hand, limp, not grasping but allowing it to be grasped, gritting his teeth to endure, "...Frost. Landon Frost."

Tallen's uncle frowned at the name, brown eyes blinking, "Wait...the room mate? From the group home?"

He nodded, pulling his hand back, wrapping the arm around himself, fingers curled in a numb fist.

The look was almost a pleased one, "True love after all, huh? I suppose that shrink owes him an apology." Harlan didn't sound disapproving, only surprised; so was he, and he wondered what Tallen had said or done that made his name so memorable.

"Do you mind if we do this inside? I promise I won't take up much of your time."

He couldn't say he liked the idea, but he thought for just this once, he would have to put it aside. This was Tallen's only surviving family, surely whatever he wanted here concerned Tallen; for that, if nothing else, he could endure.

He eyed the narrow line between man and wall on the way to his door, wondering how he was going to manage that while keeping his space. Unexpectedly, Harlan caught the glance and stepped out of the way. Grateful but he said nothing, just unlocked the apartment, leaving the door open at his back.

He turned the lights on, taking his time pulling off his coat, folding it up and laying it on the couch Tallen bought him. Embarrassment over his barren home was a distant concern, he'd never had a stranger over and he was trying to recall proper etiquette. Should he offer the man a seat? A drink? He had both those things now, thanks to Tallen. Or was that too familiar, or too much an invitation to stay?

When he turned again, Harlan Ellison was still by the door, a framed photograph in hand. It was the one on the small table where he kept keys and wallet and small things he needed to bring out with him each day. The photo was himself and Tallen, that Sophie had taken, framed, gave to him and ordered displayed; not a thing he would've thought of on his own, but was glad to have now that he did.

"Is this recent?" He nodded, watching Harlan's continued study, his careful expression, "He hasn't changed much, has he?" Then, quieter, with a touch of disappointment, "Looks nothing like his mother."

("Because your father was from far away, way across the ocean. And that's why you're so much more handsome than anyone else.")

"Maybe he's...like his father."

Harlan glanced up, surprised at the comment, "I suppose that's possible. Thing is, I always thought I knew who Daniel's father was. He didn't look like that, either." The photo was returned to its place, "I hope you don't mind. Up until a very short time ago, I wasn't even certain he was still alive."

He thought the man sounded relieved, beneath the carefully neutral mask. It made him glad to see.

"I suppose that confirms, you do know each other," a pause, "So, perhaps I can do this through you instead."

He waited, tension winding up his spine.

Harlan pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket, holding it out, "Can you give this to Daniel?"

Cautious, he accepted the offering, turning it over in his hand. Tallen's other name was printed neatly on the front, he could feel several folded papers inside.

"Its a bank account," came the answer, "Daniel's mother set up a trust fund for him. It was supposed to pay for college, give him a head start after. He didn't have access to it until he was twenty-one, so he never knew about it. I've been trying to give it to him for the last several years."

He tried to look up, to meet the man's eyes, to see what was behind them. Years, he said, years and he kept trying anyway.

"There is no sensitive information there, he'll have to go to the bank to set that up. I've been to the local branch already, explained the situation. There's a business card in there, they're expecting Daniel to come. And they can let me know that its done." a pause, his mouth a grim line, "You won't have to worry about remembering any of this. I wrote a letter, just in case he slammed the door in my face."

This was the part of the conversation where he needed to contribute. He nodded his head, trying to find words, "I'll...give it – to him."

"Thank you," and there was gratitude there on his face, just for a moment, before the man's eyes shifted away. "My room should be ready by now, I suppose I should go. Thank you for your time, Mr. Frost. I wish you both all the best, I mean that."

He watched Harlan Ellison turning around, walking away, and it was wrong. Family, family was important, wasn't it? Tallen talked little of his family beyond the first time, but he knew, could see that it bothered him still, a wound that had yet to heal. Was this a chance, perhaps, to do something about it? Should he let it pass, or did he owe it to Tallen to try?

"...wait," at the last minute his voice croaked out, stopping the man in his tracks, "He... Tal – Daniel, he is...will be, back. Soon. If you...can wait. Here." he would hate that, every minute of it, but he would endure.

Harlan turned back around, that carefully neutral expression slipped back over his face like a well worn mask, "I'm not sure that's a good idea. Unless you tell me he wants to see me."

He didn't think so, but the uncle that Tallen described wasn't one that would go out of his way; if he knew otherwise, might he feel differently? "You came – came...all here."

"I have a conference in Sacramento, it wasn't hard to arrange a stop over for a night." A pause, "I came for Jennifer. Because she would've wanted me to."

Jennifer. That must be Tallen's mother, dead long ago, murdered before his eyes, a barely remembered event that altered the course of his life. And this man as well, her brother; Tallen had said otherwise once, but Harlan wouldn't be here now if he didn't care, right?

"...he doesn't know," he spoke his thoughts aloud, "thinks you don't...care."

Harlan frowned, "And what do you mean by that exactly?"

His mind worked to find a way to explain a complicated situation in as few words as possible; Harlan Ellison's suddenly unwelcoming look wasn't helping matters. "About...him, what happened – to him, then."

"What happened to him?"

It was frustrating, "His...mother, her – when she, died."

"Yes?"

"...yes," was he being unclear? He would not have thought so, but he'd been wrong before. "He thinks you don't...care, what happened. That they don't – know...what, who-"

"Who killed her?"

"Yes," finally, a break through, so reliving he almost wanted to smile.

He didn't, but Harlan did. A hand rose to cover it, eyes closed and head shaking. That wasn't a look that matched a smile; that wasn't a good look at all.

"God. He's still telling that story."

He'd made a mistake; Harlan's expression had slammed closed entirely, "But...I-"

"No," cold and final, "This is exactly why I can't do this."

He didn't know what he could say to win him back, if it was possible or even advisable. He bowed his head in defeat; at least Tallen would never know how he failed him.

"No," again, more forceful, and Harlan turned around, marched forward, closer, so sudden that he stumbled backward in response, hitting up against the floor to ceiling window, heart hammering in his chest.

"Let me ask you something," his voice was tight with suppressed anger, "What sort of person do you think I am? You keep saying he doesn't know I care? So I seem like someone who cares, who does go out their way to do what I need to? I have to assume I don't seem like a cold, callous monster, not if you were trying to get me to stay."

His mouth worked but there were no words; he had no clue how to respond to that.

"I loved my sister. She was Daniel's mother four years, he doesn't remember her. She was my only sister for thirty. If someone had killed – had raped and killed her, you think I wouldn't dedicate the rest of my life to making sure someone paid for it?"

Yes, of course, who wouldn't think that? And wasn't that why Tallen was so-

...wait.

"...if?"

Brown eyes caught his, held, "Jennifer had a heart condition."

...what?

"Its something she was born with. We knew she wouldn't have a long life, we just didn't know when. She was advised not to get pregnant, but when it happened anyway she was determined to go through with it. She got lucky. I guess she must've thought she'd get lucky a second time."

"...what?"

The anger had retreated, what was left was a deep sorrow, "She'd called me, that day. I think she was going to tell me."

"...sure?"

"I'd tried to return her call, when I couldn't get a hold of her I went over. I'm the one who found her. I think I would've noticed if I walked into a crime scene." A bitter laugh, "Daniel threw such a fit about it, an autopsy was done anyway, just to be certain. So yes, we are."

He leaned against the window, willing his legs to hold him upright; there was a cold hollow in his chest, "But he – he said..."

"I was there when – I was hiding at the time, but I saw..."

"...said – he..."

"...I remember I saw her fall down."

("I have no home to go back to, everyone's dead, everyone but me.")

"I know what he says. I know he wasn't in the house when I got there. Back door was open and he was gone into the woods."

"Some men came, one day. I didn't know them, never saw them before."

("Everyone thought they were fishers, at first, and they pretended.")

"It took the police most of the day to find him out there. And a longer time to catch and subdue him."

"They were...looking for something. They didn't find it."

("My father kept trying to tell them but they wouldn't listen, and then they got angry.")

"They had to bring him to the hospital to be restrained and sedated. A four year old. He wouldn't stop clawing at his face, they were afraid he'd put his eye out."

(tears slipping down and over a swollen, ropey scar)

("they made me ugly,")

"His story has changed a few times, we were able to whittle parts of it away. He doesn't speak of himself as a victim anymore."

"I was fine, nothing happened to me. They never even knew I was there."

"A medical examination seemed to eventually convince him he wasn't tortured."

("It was just...a lot, all the time. I was always hurt. I don't remember it all.")

"A rape kit did the same for that. As awful as it was to put a child through that."

...what?

"But not this. The murder story, that idea, no one could ever shake him on. Whatever was said, whatever you could show him, he wouldn't let it go."

"Same thing, every time. They ask me why I'm here, I answer and they don't like it. I'm not going to say the lies they want me to."

"This idea of a murder, a murder he saw-"

"Yeah, well, I disagree, and I was there-"

("I saw it.")

"- that he should've been able to stop, somehow, and its all his fault."

("If you don't run, then I killed you. I killed you, and I can't...I can't live with that, Frost, don't make me live with it.")

"...guilt?"

"In part, maybe. But there was a lot more to it than that, that had people a lot more concerned."

"...what" his voice came out a squeak. He didn't want to know; he had to ask.

"Do you know why his appointed counselor agreed to a rape kit? It wasn't because anyone thought it happened, but what he was saying, his descriptions, were so graphic, realistically so, that no one was sure anymore. And he had all these other stories, too. It stopped after a while, when he got older, he never seemed to remember having done it but it left an impression on the rest of us. Have you ever heard a child talking about mutilation? About genital mutilation? Describing it? What people smell like burning? Things I'd never heard of, never would've thought of, to do to someone." A hand passed over the man's eyes, he took a deep breath, "Can you imagine what that was like, for me, to live with? Daniel wasn't the only one in therapy."

The cold hollow grew to encompass his throat, he might've expected his breath to fog. His numb arms wrapped around himself, "Is that-" disconnected words, coming from far away, "that why – you hate him?"

("...calls me an animal. He certainly turned me into one.")

"I don't hate Daniel, I never did. He was hard to live with, I won't say I wasn't glad to get him out of my house, but I never hated him. What I hated..." a long pause, while the man looked him over, "You are the room mate from the group home, right? So you know how things work there? I seem to remember Daniel insisting you were being mistreated."

It was nothing he liked thinking about. "You...remember?"

"I was sympathetic, but I wasn't in charge," he said, "I regret that I ever called them, but I didn't know what to do. I wasn't prepared to take care of a child, much less one with post traumatic stress disorder, for who knows why. I thought they could tell me what was wrong with him, but they went for the simplest explanation possible and wouldn't move from it. You want to guess what that was?"

He was quiet, breath stuttering out.

"Must have happened at home. Must've been the mother, she must've exposed him to awful things. And why not? It wasn't like Jennifer was alive to defend herself."

("He's a worthless human.")

("Do you know what he's made me do?")

(...your fault. You did this, it was you.")

"They dragged my sister's name through the mud, and there was nothing I could do about it. Whatever I said, they didn't want to hear it. Jennifer, she was a good person, a good mother, she'd never do the things they accused her of."

("Knock it off! Fuck! Hold him down...Tallen! Tallen! Fuck, can you even see me right now? I'm not trying to hurt you, dipshit... Hey, Cutie-pie? Yeah, I'm talking to you. Calm your boyfriend down. I can't fix him while he's freaking out.")

His legs gave out, sliding down the window until he hit the floor. His eyes were open but everything was a blur, he couldn't process it.

(he's peaceful in sleep, relaxed...reach out, run fingertips down his cheek, along his jaw, to softer lips. He smiles before his eyes open, pine needle green and so happy to see you...it will be a good morning)

(restless, twitching if not tossing and turning, a small body taking up so much space...reach out, a hand on his shoulder and he is awake, eyes wide, jerking away, pushing back...apologies would come later, as always)

("I'm sorry.")

"...sorry."

("I never meant to hurt you.")

"...sorry."

A sigh, "No, I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything, but I thought you should know. You care about him, right?" Footsteps, two, closer, "He cared about you, back then. That's why I remember your name. He never bothered making friends, then out of nowhere he didn't want to be separated from you. I thought it was a good thing, but I was the only one."

"-not some self destructive fuck up who can't deal, can't move on, ruins everything because I'm too stupid to figure out how to do anything else."

"I always thought that was why he disappeared. I'm not surprised to find him with you." Another footstep, singular, "Is he okay now? Daniel, is he doing better?"

He tried to focus, black slacks and shiny leather shoes, a business professional; he tried to think

(...its not the same, something's missing...he's holding back...)

("can see everything just, slipping away from me. Like one day soon, I'm going to wake up and it'll be too late. I won't be able to do anything but watch it all fall apart.")

"-just want you to know, you won't get hurt. Not by this."

"...better," he said, because it was true.

Harlan Ellison's expression was pleased, "Good. Glad to hear it. Keep doing what you're doing, then."

...but what am I doing?

(you did it...it was you...)

Should I -

("This was your fault, not mine.")

"Here," reluctant, the man reached into a pocket, producing a business card, "I'm staying at this hotel, only for the night. If Daniel wants to see me, he can come." the card was placed on the floor, by his foot. "I won't be hurt if he doesn't. Hope Jennifer forgives me, but we've never been good for each other."

("You can't trust him...you know what he's made me do?")

"Yes...thank you," was that his own voice? He couldn't be sure.

("I never meant to hurt you.")

"I just want you to know, you won't get hurt."

"Thank you, then, for your time."

("It is, they made me ugly, so everyone knows-")

"They're kind of like...I don't know, good luck charms, I guess."

"Enjoy the rest of your evening."

("It wasn't like that, it was never – she didn't matter to me. At all. That was the point.")

"When I was gone. There wasn't...anyone else. Just you. Only you. Wanted you to know that."

(red on white and dim empty green...your fault, you did this, it was you...)

(he hunches over, head in your lap, blond hair matted in sweat, the hand left intact curls into a fist, glass fragments embedded in the skin leaks blood trails down scraped, swollen knuckles. The sound he makes, caught between a sob and a scream, raw agony that rattles you, this broken mangled cry. You don't know what to do, not for the angry explosion that proceeded it, nor for its defeated capitulation, its all too much, to powerful and you don't understand why, how and why it ever got to this. You put a hand on his trembling back, a spot you think unharmed, hope it does some good)

"Frost?"

Hands on his face, and he jerked away from it, hitting his head on the glass, heart pounding in his throat. He forced his eyes to focus, prepared for Harlan Ellison's severe features, and how would he even ask why the man came so close?

It was Tallen.

That was a shock itself, though a welcome one. His hands reached out, grasping Tallen's wrists before he could pull away; thin layer of skin over delicate bone, a pulse pumping steady, real, not an illusion. He started to wonder where Tallen came from, how he got here so quick; out the window at his back it was far more dark than he remembered it being.

"Fuck, Frost, are you okay?" those hands came back to his face, strong fingers, a familiar welcome touch. Pine needle eyes watched him with such concern. His grip slid upward, over Tallen's forearms, brushing near invisible blond hairs, muscle, foreign heat from multiple burns.

"How long have you been like this?"

His mouth worked, sound came slowly, "I – I don't...how long – were you...?"

"About two hours."

"...oh," fingers continued their journey, past the elbow, biceps, more muscle, more warm bare skin, so much bare skin

(green eyes just over the top of dark glasses, panicked for just a second; gloved hands touch the front of his long coat, lingering at a button, as though considering, then shakes his head)

("No. No, I'm – I'm fine.")

and not enough.

("So much for going slow.")

"Is this...is this because I left you alone?"

"No," he injected as much force as he could, which wasn't much just then, "No, it – it just...happens."

Fingers reached broad shoulders, clutching, pulling, closer, always closer

(don't leave me...please, don't leave...)

until Tallen wrapped those strong arms around him, enveloped in a body that fit so well against him; so comfortable, grounding. He leaned against this man that he still loved more than anything, soaking up the heat and strength, the here and the now.

He spotted the hotel business card, still on the floor; he shifted himself over until he was kneeling on top of it.

---

"Here," he waited until he felt settled, after dinner, curled up together on the couch, before handing the envelop over, "Its yours."

"Mine?" Tallen frowned at the name written where an address might be, turning it over, ripping it open.

He considered a moment, "It was...here."

Tallen unfolded a hand written letter from the bundle of papers, the frown deepening, eyes moving back and forth. He stretched a foot out, against Tallen's jean clad thigh, a point of contact, and waited anxiously.

Displeasure gave way to surprise, "My god."

"...what?"

"I – I have a trust fund," his voice was awed, "Its from Harlan. My uncle. The letter, I mean. The money was my mother's. He says he tracked me down through the sofa purchase. That he's been looking for me for years."

"That's good," he offered a smile.

"Yeah, I'll say. If this is right, there's a bit of money in it. Not that I really need it, but..." green eyes found his own, holding for a meaningful moment.

(but me...always the provider...)

"Just have to go to the bank and finalize it. And of course, Harlan already set up the appointment." Tallen's hand wrapped around his foot, pulling it closer into his lap; he was unusually reluctant, "Come with me?"

"...yeah. If – if you want," for all the help he would be.

"I might," Tallen set the papers aside, fingers trembling ever slightly. He leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands, torso expanding with a very deep breath.

He sat up, crossing the short distance between them to drape himself over Tallen, offering comfort as he received it. His fingers sought bare skin, soft, unmarred; stroking the nape of a neck, up into blond hair, scratching a sensitive scalp.

Tallen looked up and over at him, "Sorry. Sorry, I just..." another deep breath, exhaling into a humorless laugh, "I wasn't expecting this today. Or ever."

Blond hair, like autumn leaves between his fingers, "Is it – bad?"

"Yeah. I mean, look at this," he gestured to the envelop, his former name printed on the front, "No address. This wasn't mailed, it was hand delivered. That means Harlan, or someone he paid, was actually here."

Quiet, he leaned closer, feeling a pulse, Tallen's heart beat thrumming against his body.

"You didn't see anything, did you? Older guy, maybe?"

(…)

"...was here, before me."

Tallen nodded, satisfied, "Good." Then shook his head, "I don't like thinking of you running into him. Or me. And that could've happened, so easily. Still could, for all I know, now that he knows where I am."

He considered it, running a finger down the side of Tallen's face, from temple to the corner of his mouth, "...would it be so – bad?" The hotel card was in his pocket now, he could feel its weight like a boulder, "Do you...would want to – see him?"

"No. No I wouldn't."

(…)

"...you're still – angry, at him? About...your mother?"

Another deep breath, Tallen's hands scrubbed over his face and up, finding his own hand and holding on, "I don't know. Not about that so much anymore. I know now there wasn't a whole lot he could've done to catch those men. They were already gone. But he never gave a shit about me. I didn't even realize how much until I got a real family. Nyx, Trick, you."

"You...resent him?"

"I don't think about him anymore. I don't need to. And I like it that way."

(…)

His other hand traced the burn that looped over Tallen's shoulder, fingertips following the line of heat on his clavicle

(broken chains...freedom from the past)

(...feels like blood)

"...well, he – he didn't stay."

"Hmm?"

"If – if he wanted, he...could've, stayed. Left – number. He didn't."

Tallen caught on, "Right. You're right. If he wanted to force a meeting, he had a good excuse. I wouldn't have come out for the money, but he didn't know that. He wouldn't have left this all here if he planned to come back."

He nodded, "You are not...not good – for each other."

("Do you know what he's made me do?")

"So that means, its over," he looked relieved.

(…)

(...no, its not)

"I remember-"

"I'm finally, completely free."

"-I saw her fall down."

(...never was)