Vance.
She loved Vance. She loved him more than anything she'd ever held or seen in her whole life. He was smart, funny and he clearly loved her. She didn't need anything more than him (no matter how pretty Thad's smile was). She worshiped his missing eyesight and daring scar, even though it came from sadness. Beauty often comes from sadness. She loved how he always seemed to rescue her, even when she didn't need it.
But.
He was changing. He wasn't the sweet homeless boy she'd taken in. The one who'd been loathe to hurt people (well, there was that girl he murdered...) and ...
Well, actually, maybe she hadn't known him so well.
She'd taken him in and it had all been so desperate because he was always leaving. She'd foolishly started to want to have a baby with him, and she'd never even wanted to have a baby before ever! The dark shadows lurked on the sidewalk, and her eyes looked up at the early morning stars.
Vance had been waiting eagerly for Finch to come back home. He opened the door before she even had her keys out.
"Finch?" he called out, seeing her just down the curb. She smiled at the sound of her name.
"I'm here," Finch replied, skipping the rest of the way. She kissed him. "Miss me?"
"Terribly," Vance said, kissing her back as he hugged her tightly. He sniffed her. "You smell like ink and antiseptic."
"All part of the job description. I run a clean shop, and the customers pay for it," Finch grinned, leaning their foreheads together. "You smell good. Clean and showered."
"I didn't say I didn't enjoy it," Vance teased, kissing her neck, pulling her inside with a laugh. "God, it's good to be home. Got some texts. Your mother is doing better."
"I'm glad. I'm going to try and see her tomorrow," Finch told him, stomach growling. There hadn't been time for dinner. "You- You look happy. To be here."
"I made dinner," Vance said. "Just a pasta bake. I wasn't sure when you'd be home exactly. Still warm in the oven." He was anxious with her now. He felt tall and broad and clumsy. He'd put on muscle and if possible more height. "I am happy. Aren't you?"
"I am, I am," Finch breathed, perching on a bar stool at the kitchen island. "I just, I've been thinking. Feeling guilty, really, about what happened with Thad. I mean, I want him out. I don't like him at all, and I don't like that people keep making decisions for me because that's what they did to my mum and look how that turned out. But I feel-" Like I don't know you anymore. Like I'll make you miserable.
"Talk to me, bird," Vance said, pulling the pasta from the oven and switching it off. He poured them both some tea and sat across from her to hold her hand. "Are you feeling guilty for kicking him out? He doesn't belong here. This isn't his flat. Just because an accident happened, didn't give him the right to move in."
"That's true. I agree, and I don't want to live with him, exactly, but I feel bad. He doesn't have a place to go," Finch said, drawing random shapes on the table with her finger. "And you were so violent about it-"
Vance flushed, tucking his chin.
"He's a criminal," he muttered. "Bloody hell, I'm a criminal, Finch."
"I know you are. You behaved like one," Finch said, looking away. "I hardly recognized you."
Vance inhaled sharply. "That bad?" he asked, reaching for her hand. He licked his lips. "Finch-"
"Yeah?"
"I need someone to keep me right," Vance said. "This job. It- it can crush you. Moriarty. Being him or her. I know your mum - understand her. It consumes you, and you lose yourself to the name."
"Yes, I know. Even when I didn't know what she did, I knew the toll it took on her. But, I don't know. Seeing you that way, how you didn't even stop when I asked you to. It made me," Finch sighed, and rolled her eyes. "Question you. Wonder how well I know you at all, actually."
A crash came from the back of the building.
Vance tensed up, head raising like a dog with ears perked.
"What was that?" Finch asked, eyes wide.
"Dunno," Vance said, hopping off his stool to reach for a kitchen knife. "Stay here."
He headed through the main bedroom (or lesser depending on how one looked at it) and found nothing amiss. Until he flicked on the lights to the courtyard. Broken glass lay around a huddled figure. A too familiar huddled figure.
"Damnit," Vance swore.
"I've got a gu- Oh for fuck's sake," Finch hissed, lowering her own weapon. "Thaddeus!"
Thaddeus sat up slowly, rubbing his head.
"Ow," he complained, looking pitiful with blood dripping from a cut on his forehead. "You forgot some of my stuff."
"And you can' use a door?" Vance snapped at him.
"You're not very good at being a burglar," Finch said, rubbing at her chest with her free hand. "I'll go get the first aid kit."
Vance scowled down at the not-burglar and sighed. He tamped down on the raging fit he wanted to have and instead, yanked the guy up and brought him inside.
"Take off your jacket and shake the glass outside," he said, picking the knife back up.
"Do you think anything is broken?" Finch asked, sitting the kit down next to Thad. "Dizziness? Headache?"
"Only my heart," Thaddeus laughed. Vance smacked him (gently) as he passed to put up the knife.
"Behave," Vance growled.
"So feisty," Thad said, wiping the blood from his eye. "Just a cut or two. Scraped m'hands."
"It doesn't look like it need stitches," Finch said, taking his chin in her hand, turning his face. "You can patch yourself up and get your belongings."
Thaddeus pouted, but he reached for the kit.
Vance reappeared. "At least do for it for him," he said. "With his luck, he'll only injure himself worse."
"I'm not doing it for him. He's a grown person, if he can muck his face up, he can certainly fix it," Finch said, crossing her arms. "And then go away because we were having an important discussion that I wasn't through with." Before she lost her nerve...
"By all means," Thad said, reaching into the box. "I'm not here."
"You were questioning whether you knew me at all," Vance said, crossing his arms. "Because I roughed up someone who for the second, now third time is insinuating himself into your life and was causing you distress. If we were on the streets, I would've just thrown him out the door."
"Only because you wouldn't've had a door," Thad said, swiping at his cuts.
"Admittedly, he's not helping his case any," Finch replied, as though Thad weren't even there. "You just- You just seemed so..." Bossy? "Do I? Know you? Because you seem different. Even he said it-" She jerked a thumb to Thad.
"Said what?" Vance said, bristling.
"You're bossy, mate," Thad clucked his tongue, leaning into the dresser mirror to place a plaster. "You ain't her sweet lover no more. Kitten's grown claws, grown up like tiger daddy."
"I just have never seen you- I mean, even when that bloke mugged me, you didn't- I dunno, it's like, I'm just confused. I mean, I mean, concerned. About us-" Finch blushed, and scowled at Thad. "You don't have to be here for this."
"Dunno, I might be helpin'," Thad said.
Vance's face was blotchy with red and pink. "I-I'm-"
"You're a crime lord," Thad responded. "You're holding a world in your hands and it's hella terrifying." Like flicking a switch, Thaddeus was sloe-eyed and shark-grinning. "You lose yourself, become a machine. A killing, possessive, instinctive mess. And one day, some pretty bird wakes you up with blood on your hands-"
"Stop it," Vance snapped. "Her Mum can't anymore. It's mine now, and I can't mess it up."
"Stop it both of you," Finch said, taking Vance's hand. She threw a mean look at Thaddeus, pulling Vance towards the door, towards her room. "This is not a conversation for anyone but the two of us. We don't need his opinion."
Vance followed her, feeling the fight go out of him. He tucked Finch against his body in the middle of her room.
"He's right though. This is changing me, and we barely knew each other before," Vance said, clutching her as though she's fly away. "I'm in London proper now, with your Mum off the job. For fuck's sake, I've had to learn three languages since we've met. I've been to nine different countries, had so many names, and jobs and Finch, my hands are covered in blood!"
"I know. I know, I mean, I knew all of that, too, when we started, but it's been-" Finch clutched his back, twisting her fingers into his shirt, holding him against her. "It's been like, we've just been trying to enjoy the time we have. And we're not functioning. We don't know. But- but I know that I'm important to you. And I love you more than anything I've ever loved before. I don't want to lose you. Especially to yourself."
"Maybe we should go back, do things proper," Vance whispered. "Dates, and courting, and all that. I'll tell you my stories, and you tell me yours. We'll learn the important stuff - like how you take your eggs?" He laughed, pressing his nose into her hair.
"It might be a good idea," Finch agreed, but her grip on him didn't loosen even a tiny bit. "But- I want to keep doing this part, too. I like you here, with me, when I get home from work. I like it when we're in bed together. When we-" She blushed, hiding her face. "And when we sleep together. I like us."
"I like us too," Vance breathed. "Don't hide your face," he said, tipping her chin back up to look at him. "You didn't let me hide.." He smiled at her. She made him feel attractive when no one else ever had. Mary had made him strong, smart, and clever, but Finch had made him desirable.
"That's because you're beautiful," Finch said, stroking a hand lovingly over his scarred face. "You're the most beautiful person."
Vance leaned into her hand. "You made me that way," he said, leaning in to kiss her. "Before- well, some girls didn't mind.."
"Didn't mind that you're incredibly handsome? That I still don't know why you picked me when you could have anyone?" Finch asked, bumping their lips together. "Even if we start over, I still love you. I'm- I'm in love with you."
Vance's breath hitched. His brows furrowed and heart fluttered. He took her hand from his cheek, pressing it against his chest.
"Really?" he asked, incredulous.
"Really," Finch said with a sweet, earnest nod.
Vance descended on her with a fiercely possessive kiss, whirling her off her feet as he hugged her tightly. They were left breathless as he sat her back down to nuzzle her nose.
"I'd thought you might-" he croaked. "Move on."
"I don't know if I could. You're, um. The only one I've ever had. I don't know how to move on from that. Erm, I mean, boys in school, they didn't like me much," Finch stammered, kissing his strong jaw. "You rescued me. From being lonely."
Vance licked his damp lips. His good eye had dilated with pleasure. He pulled away slightly, holding up a finger as he grinned. He went to flick the lock on her door, then hurried back to sweep her up, carrying her into the loft.
"Lock wouldn't do much, would it," he stated. "Ah well, the pervert can listen in, because I'm going to show you how much I missed you, love, and how much ya saved me from a short, lonely life."
"I'd like that," Finch giggled, nudging her way against his throat to press a kiss there. "I'd like that a lot."
Vance wriggled out of his shirt, then pulled down the zipper of Finch's hoodie. He kissed her sternum through her tee as he worked her arms out of the sleeves. "Work gear," he murmured. "Smell of ink. Deduction. Sherlock teaches me that." He laughed, nuzzling down to her stomach, pushing her shirt up and kissing her pale skin.
"He taught you that? And how many girls are you out sniffing for ink?" Finch asked teasingly, his lips tickling her bare flesh. "Should I be jealous?"
"Terribly jealous," Vance teased, deftly unbuttoning her jeans. "All those wild police women. He made me sniff swatches of fabric, silly duck." He nipped her belly, licking over the place and smoothing his hand over it. He had an obsession with that slice of pale, pale skin.
Finch sucked in a breath, gasping, her skin turning goose-pimply. His tongue made her shiver. "You've been all over and I've just been here, wasting time. What else have you learned?"
Vance laughed, low and sweet. "How to miss you," he said, pulling down her jeans. "How to run, like a dog. Learnt how to say pretty words to people, make 'em believe pretty lies. I don't like lyin', though, Miss Finch. Not one bit. It's changing me," he whispered, bringing her jeans over her feet and stroking up her lightly freckled legs. He dropped a kiss to one knee.
"I'm scared of you changing," Finch admitted shyly, biting her lip. Her red curls tumbled over pale, pale shoulders as she propped herself up to look at him. "I need you too much."
"Don' let me change too much," Vance said, looking up at her. "Kin' you do that for me? Remind me who I am?" He stroked up to her hips, round and soft. "Proper speech and fightin' with fists and guns and mad minds. Kin' you hold my sanity?"
"I'll try," Finch replied, tugging him in for a kiss. "I'll try very hard. You'll- You'll always come back. You promised."
"I promise, dead, alive, broken, healin'," Vance said, kissing her and kissing her. "I'll come back to you every time. Ain't no cell in the world that can hold me. I can pick the pocket of anybody and free m'self."
Finch's hands tugged at Vance's shirt in between kisses, exposing his broadened chest, her mouth moving down his shoulders. "You're- You're so- And- I missed you-"
"Alrigh', alrigh', eager girl," Vance practically giggled as he pulled off his own clothes. He had a few new scars here and there, but he didn't mind. His beauty was beneath him, carved out of curves and peach skin so soft he wanted to- he bit just over Finch's breast, sucking a mark as he tugged her underwear away, moving his fingers boldly over her.
Finch made a noise that was not a gasp and not quite a hiss, blushing deeply at his teasing words and practiced movements. "I am eager. I've been here, being accosted by that person, all alone-"
Vance pushed his fingers inside her with a growl.
"All alone?" he said, nipping at her lips. "All alone with that rat." He pumped his fingers. "Has he touched you?"
"Y-Yeah, once," Finch said, recalled a kiss from just a few hours earlier. She pulled Vance closer to her, kissing him again as if to erase the memory from her skin. His fingers were so talented. "V-Vance-"
Vance growled, shoving his jeans down and rushing to press his hard, hot cock inside Finch's wet cunt, pulling her hips so he was sheathed quickly inside her. "Mine," he said, kissing her, tangling his fingers in her hair. "Mine."
"Ah-Ah! Yes!" Finch echoed, lost in a sea of new sensations, her legs wrapping around his body, driving him harder inside of her. "Oh, oh, Vance. Vance-"
Vance panted, leg half caught in his jeans, rocking deep inside hot-wet-soft. He petted Finch's body, stroking down over her breasts, playing with a nipple before stroking down her stomach. Always just a bit softer than the average skinny-bint. She was burning hot as he rode the waves of pleasure. He pressed with his hand, knowing now she enjoyed it.
He sucked at her neck, leaving a mark that would be highly visible.
Finch cried out in ecstasy, sex-frizzed curls framing her face as she came, mouth open, panting to air. She continued to rock with his thrusts, riding out her orgasm with natural, perfect movements. Vance wasn't far behind, moaning his release as she milked him of pent up emotion,
Shaky arms lowered him over her sweaty body. He nuzzled at her jaw, moving for her lips. Vance kissed her lazily, nipping at her lips. "Love you," he whispered.
"Love you," Finch whispered back, pressing open-mouthed kisses anywhere she could, still trying to catch her breath. "Love you, love you, love you."
"Love you, love you, love you back," Vance giggled. "If I'd known this were waiting for me, I'd been home a hell of a lot sooner." He kicked his leg slightly to remove his stuck denim. He reached for Finch's blanket, pulling it up over their drying skin, bundling her close. "Sweet baby girl, I've been a rotten lover for leavin' you."
"You have," Finch replied smartly, cuddling into him, feeling safe within the twinkle lights and books and sex-scented sheets. "You shouldn't do it anymore."
"Not gonna," Vance promised. He hummed. "Where'd 'e touch you?"
"Kissed me," Finch said, already drowsy. After all, she'd worked all day and it had been early in the morning when she'd come home. "Earlier. In the shop."
"Good, then 'e deserved that smack to the face," Vance huffed. "I'll stop feeling guilty over tha'un. You fallin' sleep on me?"
"Don't want to. Want to stay up with you and do that all again," Finch complained, nudging into his arms, her naked leg wrapping around him to push them back together again. "Keep me up all night."
"Nah, nah," Vance said. "Flip about."
He hadn't lost a bit of hardness. He was still aching to come again. He barely had time to think, much less wank. Finch grinned lazily, and turned as he asked her to. Vance reached around between her legs, angling himself so he slid up and inside her again. His own come easing the way. He let out a delicious groan in her ear.
He rocked slowly, holding her stomach and pressing it with each thrust.
Heat spread through Van's chest and groin. He loved how Finch looked, but for someone like him, the way she felt...
"Yeah?" he asked, voice shaking.
"Yeah," she replied, her voice as breathy as his, as if his simple question was the most important she'd ever answered.
Vance pressed a wet kiss to her shoulder, moving his leg between hers, opening her up to get a better angle with his hips. Over and over slick sounds in the small space interspersed their panting breaths. 'Love you's and 'God yes's murmured. Vance's grip on her grew tighter as the heat in his stomach grew and his balls drew up.
"Umf, Finch, I'm, I'm-" he gasped, jerking his hips in stuttering thrusts.
"Yes," she encouraged, turning her face so she could nuzzle into him. "Please, come for me."
Vance didn't stifle the howl as he came, burying his face against Finch's neck and hair as he shivered, hips moving slowly.
"Mmph, mmph," he whimpered, panting. He kissed any inch of skin he could reach, keeping her wrapped tight. "Love you."
"Love you," Finch replied softly, gasping in his arms. "Love you so much."
***
BLERHG.
Spencer threw up his attempt at toast.. again. His sides burned with the heaving, as he panted. He was glad he hadn't tried his medicine again until the usual breakfast rejection. He slogged back to the kitchen after brushing his teeth.
It was awful. He was weak, tired, dizzy.
Abby had been there. Mostly. He hadn't let her fuss with him too much. He hated being weak in front of her and Brandon. His hands shook as he got a glass of water from the fridge. He drank it carefully.
"Should probably be in bed," Brandon sighed from the doorway, leaning against the frame like it was the only thing holding him up. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was a mess.
"I'm fucking sick of bed," Spencer snapped. "I'm fine." He grabbed his pill, forcing it down. "Shouldn't you-" he waved his hand. He didn't know. "Be at a meeting or something."
"Went before work, cheers," Brandon said in an equally snappish tone. "Shouldn't you, y'know, be at a hospital or something?"
"Have an injection in my arse scheduled in the morning, thanks," Spencer said, crossing his arms defensively. "How's the-" He almost spat AIDS. "How are you feeling?" he asked voice softer.
"Peachy," Brandon sneered, passing Spencer to go in search of something to drink. Something non-alcoholic. Stumbling to the refrigerator, he settled on some juice. "How's the girlfriend?"
"I-" Spencer said. "Not sure. Accidental almost-suicide and an hiv-positive sort-of lover cousin doesn't make for boyfriend material." He sighed, pulling out a chair at the table. "Plus I'm tired. All the time. I think she's going to leave."
"Did she say that she's going to leave or are you being a paranoid brat?" Brandon asked, hopping up to sit on the clean portion of the counter, sipping at his juice. His head was throbbing.
"I'm not being a paranoid brat," Spencer snapped. "She's clearly uncomfortable here. With me. With what I do. Who I am. I can practically hear her thinking 'not normal!' and wondering whether I'm ordering her or asking her."
Brandon rolled his eyes, leaning his head against the refrigerator. "Puh-leeze. She's fuckin' stupid in love with you. She wouldn't shut up the entire time you were in hospital."
"She talked to you?" Spencer asked, eyes wide behind his glasses.
"No, but she talks to herself when 'no one' is here. It's actually sort of obnoxious," Brandon mumbled, closing his eyes, insensitive to the situation.
"Are you actually fucking serious?" Spencer swore, mouth agape.
"Yeah, she goes on and on," Brandon said dismissively, not realizing his error.
Spencer smacked his hands on the table, shoving out of his chair. "You fucking bastard!" he panted. "Do you have any idea, any idea how-how much-" Breathe. "Talking to people who aren't there - almost killed- killed-" He couldn't finished. He felt like he was running out of air again, the medicine hadn't had time to kick in. He swayed, the table barely keeping him aloft.
"Sit down, you moron," Brandon said, pushing down off the counter, strong hands grabbing Spencer under the arms, trying to get him to settle back in the chair. "Won't do if you stop breathing and pass out on me."
Spencer smacked at him. "Mum almost died!" he wheezed. "For fuck's sake, I thought you loved her."
"I do love her!" Brandon replied defensively, looking horrified that he suggested otherwise. "'Course I do. What's that got to-"
"With talking to people who aren't there?!" Spencer said, hand on his chest. He could breath. His chest just ached. "I don't know, how about it nearly kilt her!"
"But that's- that's not what I meant," Brandon said, looking horrified. "I wasn't talkin' about your mother, I meant-" He shrugged. "It wasn't the same."
Spencer put his face in his hands, curling in on himself.
"Wish I could take Finch's heart, your blood, and Mum's head," he whispered, trying not to let the tears show. Brandon hated when he was weak. "I'd be dead and you'd all be okay."
"Gonna ask the wizard to send you back to Kansas while you're at it?" Brandon joked, this time settling on the floor, back against the counter he'd been sitting on. He looked up at Spencer. "You'll just have to remember us when we're all gone."
"I can't do it, Bran," Spencer whispered. "I still don't even know why I took the damn pill."
Brandon huffed out a breath, scrubbing a hand over his face where light blond stubble had started to grow. He'd stopped caring about himself while Spence was ill. "You have a deathwish? You're a know-it-all idiot who had to prove something?"
Spencer smiled despite his red eyes. He swiped a hand under his glasses. "And you all fuckin' left me in hospital. I guess I understand Mum best of all, really."
"Hey. She went to see you," Brandon said, his lips turning down in a sulk. "And Finch was there. She texted me all the time." Brandon cleared his throat, looking away.
"I was unconscious," Spencer pouted. "Besides, when was the last time you went to get your T-cells tested?"
"Missed the last appointment," Brandon muttered, avoiding Spencer's eyes. "Worked too late that afternoon. I had to reschedule."
"Come with me tomorrow," Spencer said, head dropping back to stare at the odd spot on the ceiling. Likely from a decades old experiment.
"Can't. I've got work. I'll go next week," Brandon replied, pushing himself to his feet. He tossed his hair like a pony, shaking his head from side to side. "I've got an appointment and everythin'. Don't worry about me, Spencer."
Spencer reached to grasp his wrist.
"Then I'll go with you," he said, rolling his head to the side. "If I don't, I swear on me Mum, I'll call yours and make her go instead."
"You wouldn't dare," Brandon said, but he wasn't sure.
"I'm sick, I haven't kept down anything in days, and I've got cyanide in my blood," Spencer drawled. "I'm literally poison, mate. Fuckin' try me."
Brandon looked down at his wrist in Spencer's hand, giving it a bit of a twist. "Why would you want to come with me? Everything I do repulses you."
Spencer turned in his chair, looking at Brandon properly.
"Where the hell did you come up with that?"
"Puzzle it out, genius," Brandon snapped, tugging his hand away. He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to hide the trembling fingers.
Spencer's hand felt cold. Brandon's skin had been hot, clammy.
"It's the addiction, Bran," Spencer sighed. "I think you're better than it all." He turned to stand, looking closer. He was reading the lines in his cousin's body. It wasn't always as instinctive as it was for him as it was for his dad. He wasn't always on. "You're the one thass leavin'," he said, holding a hand across his stomach.
"Yeah. I'm the one leavin'. You're the one taking suicide pills," Brandon argued back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm not addicted. I'm just-" Lost.
Spencer reached back for Brandon's wrist.
"No," he said. "I see it-" He touched Brandon's cheek. "Here." Then Brandon's elbow. "Here." Then the corner of his mouth. "Here too. The pill was a mistake, but it gave Mum more time."
"You almost died. Your mother is a charming woman, but I think she'd agree with me that she'd rather you safe than dead," Brandon said softly, feeling tingly where Spencer's fingers had been, the ghosts of touches. "What do you see?"
"Sleeplessness," Spencer said, touching his eye again. "Worry." He stroked the corner of it. "Thinness. Medicine - not helping. Worried you're sicker than anticipated," he added as he touched Brandon's elbow. "Not eating. Nausea? Understand that." Spencer touched the edge of his mouth. "Bitterness. Quiet. Holding secrets. Jealousy." He tilted his head. "Jealousy?" he said, as though he weren't expecting it.
"Shut up," Brandon said, pulling Spencer in for a kiss, his large calloused hands holding Spencer's face between them.
Spencer mmph'd and grasped Brandon back. He kissed back hard, not having been touched - kissed - since. He had to tug away to gasp air, but pushed back to kiss Brandon again. He almost fell. Brandon steadied him, holding him close.
"You should be in bed. You're sick," he stated, though it was obvious.
"Bed's empty," Spencer gasped, leaning his head on Brandon's chest. "Abby works today."
"I'll stay with you. Until you fall asleep," Brandon promised, using the counter to hold them both up.
Spencer nodded, both of them swaying as they went back to his room. Its smell had changed since Abby moved in. He noticed it, hoping Brandon wouldn't. He pulled his cousin down to the bed with him, curling in to his chest. He preferred to be the 'big' spoon, but he was feeling afraid right now. Brandon didn't protest, he merely started petting Spender's hair in steady, even strokes.
"There's a strong probability that I could seize, have continued apnea, or even run the risk of developing mother's heart problems," Spencer mumbled. He sniffed hard.
"Well, you wanted to be sick with us. I suppose you could say you got your wish," Brandon sighed. "Don't cry. You're a strong lad, I'm sure you'll bounce back."
Spencer hit Brandon on the chest. "Not crying over being sick," he whined. He snuggled closer. "Cryin' because I know how Mum felt. Feels. She should've gone bigger."
"That's not how she is, though. She's not flash and a pop, not really," Brandon replied, sneaking a kiss to the top of Spencer's hair. "That's all Moriarty, that is. Your mum, she likes to sneak off. That's what my mum always says. Moriarty might've blown up buildings but your Mum just silently ran off, without even telling anyone something was wrong."
Spencer lifted his head. "I found her though," he said, ghost of a smile. "Found her." He leaned up to kiss Brandon through his tears. He hated crying.
"Yeah, you did," Bran agreed, kissing Spencer gently. "You saved her. None of them can say that."
"Mnot a baby," Spencer grumbled against Brandon's lips. "Stop thinking it. Mnot cryin'."
"I'm thinkin' that you were brave. Braver than I'll ever be," Brandon said honestly. Soberly. "You're getting all worked up, and you'll choke yourself out if you don't stop panting."
Spencer snuggled back down against Brandon's chest. He took several deep breaths. Each one hurt, but it settled him down. "If you leave me, I'll find you," he sighed. "I'll find you, and punish you."
Brandon stiffened slightly, skin tingling at the promise and the threat. He had been considering leaving, just because he knew he was a bad influence on the kid. He shook his head. "Not goin' anywhere right now. Can't afford it."
"Good," Spencer said. "Because I can' breathe right now. And I have to have a shot in my arse."
Brandon started to giggle. Spencer giggled too, until he ran out of breath and started coughing. He let out a pleased sigh and clung to Brandon. "Mma sleep," he mumbled.
"Yeah, go to sleep," Brandon said, tugging some blankets up over them, settling Spencer back on his chest like a baby. "You need the rest."
"Hmm," Spencer responded, already halfway there. His nose wrinkled a bit at the food-alcohol-musk smell of Brandon mixing with the familiar scent of lavender. (At least there wasn't pot.. usually.)
"Should probably be in bed," Brandon sighed from the doorway, leaning against the frame like it was the only thing holding him up. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was a mess.
"I'm fucking sick of bed," Spencer snapped. "I'm fine." He grabbed his pill, forcing it down. "Shouldn't you-" he waved his hand. He didn't know. "Be at a meeting or something."
"Went before work, cheers," Brandon said in an equally snappish tone. "Shouldn't you, y'know, be at a hospital or something?"
"Have an injection in my arse scheduled in the morning, thanks," Spencer said, crossing his arms defensively. "How's the-" He almost spat AIDS. "How are you feeling?" he asked voice softer.
"Peachy," Brandon sneered, passing Spencer to go in search of something to drink. Something non-alcoholic. Stumbling to the refrigerator, he settled on some juice. "How's the girlfriend?"
"I-" Spencer said. "Not sure. Accidental almost-suicide and an hiv-positive sort-of lover cousin doesn't make for boyfriend material." He sighed, pulling out a chair at the table. "Plus I'm tired. All the time. I think she's going to leave."
"Did she say that she's going to leave or are you being a paranoid brat?" Brandon asked, hopping up to sit on the clean portion of the counter, sipping at his juice. His head was throbbing.
"I'm not being a paranoid brat," Spencer snapped. "She's clearly uncomfortable here. With me. With what I do. Who I am. I can practically hear her thinking 'not normal!' and wondering whether I'm ordering her or asking her."
Brandon rolled his eyes, leaning his head against the refrigerator. "Puh-leeze. She's fuckin' stupid in love with you. She wouldn't shut up the entire time you were in hospital."
"She talked to you?" Spencer asked, eyes wide behind his glasses.
"No, but she talks to herself when 'no one' is here. It's actually sort of obnoxious," Brandon mumbled, closing his eyes, insensitive to the situation.
"Are you actually fucking serious?" Spencer swore, mouth agape.
"Yeah, she goes on and on," Brandon said dismissively, not realizing his error.
Spencer smacked his hands on the table, shoving out of his chair. "You fucking bastard!" he panted. "Do you have any idea, any idea how-how much-" Breathe. "Talking to people who aren't there - almost killed- killed-" He couldn't finished. He felt like he was running out of air again, the medicine hadn't had time to kick in. He swayed, the table barely keeping him aloft.
"Sit down, you moron," Brandon said, pushing down off the counter, strong hands grabbing Spencer under the arms, trying to get him to settle back in the chair. "Won't do if you stop breathing and pass out on me."
Spencer smacked at him. "Mum almost died!" he wheezed. "For fuck's sake, I thought you loved her."
"I do love her!" Brandon replied defensively, looking horrified that he suggested otherwise. "'Course I do. What's that got to-"
"With talking to people who aren't there?!" Spencer said, hand on his chest. He could breath. His chest just ached. "I don't know, how about it nearly kilt her!"
"But that's- that's not what I meant," Brandon said, looking horrified. "I wasn't talkin' about your mother, I meant-" He shrugged. "It wasn't the same."
Spencer put his face in his hands, curling in on himself.
"Wish I could take Finch's heart, your blood, and Mum's head," he whispered, trying not to let the tears show. Brandon hated when he was weak. "I'd be dead and you'd all be okay."
"Gonna ask the wizard to send you back to Kansas while you're at it?" Brandon joked, this time settling on the floor, back against the counter he'd been sitting on. He looked up at Spencer. "You'll just have to remember us when we're all gone."
"I can't do it, Bran," Spencer whispered. "I still don't even know why I took the damn pill."
Brandon huffed out a breath, scrubbing a hand over his face where light blond stubble had started to grow. He'd stopped caring about himself while Spence was ill. "You have a deathwish? You're a know-it-all idiot who had to prove something?"
Spencer smiled despite his red eyes. He swiped a hand under his glasses. "And you all fuckin' left me in hospital. I guess I understand Mum best of all, really."
"Hey. She went to see you," Brandon said, his lips turning down in a sulk. "And Finch was there. She texted me all the time." Brandon cleared his throat, looking away.
"I was unconscious," Spencer pouted. "Besides, when was the last time you went to get your T-cells tested?"
"Missed the last appointment," Brandon muttered, avoiding Spencer's eyes. "Worked too late that afternoon. I had to reschedule."
"Come with me tomorrow," Spencer said, head dropping back to stare at the odd spot on the ceiling. Likely from a decades old experiment.
"Can't. I've got work. I'll go next week," Brandon replied, pushing himself to his feet. He tossed his hair like a pony, shaking his head from side to side. "I've got an appointment and everythin'. Don't worry about me, Spencer."
Spencer reached to grasp his wrist.
"Then I'll go with you," he said, rolling his head to the side. "If I don't, I swear on me Mum, I'll call yours and make her go instead."
"You wouldn't dare," Brandon said, but he wasn't sure.
"I'm sick, I haven't kept down anything in days, and I've got cyanide in my blood," Spencer drawled. "I'm literally poison, mate. Fuckin' try me."
Brandon looked down at his wrist in Spencer's hand, giving it a bit of a twist. "Why would you want to come with me? Everything I do repulses you."
Spencer turned in his chair, looking at Brandon properly.
"Where the hell did you come up with that?"
"Puzzle it out, genius," Brandon snapped, tugging his hand away. He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to hide the trembling fingers.
Spencer's hand felt cold. Brandon's skin had been hot, clammy.
"It's the addiction, Bran," Spencer sighed. "I think you're better than it all." He turned to stand, looking closer. He was reading the lines in his cousin's body. It wasn't always as instinctive as it was for him as it was for his dad. He wasn't always on. "You're the one thass leavin'," he said, holding a hand across his stomach.
"Yeah. I'm the one leavin'. You're the one taking suicide pills," Brandon argued back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm not addicted. I'm just-" Lost.
Spencer reached back for Brandon's wrist.
"No," he said. "I see it-" He touched Brandon's cheek. "Here." Then Brandon's elbow. "Here." Then the corner of his mouth. "Here too. The pill was a mistake, but it gave Mum more time."
"You almost died. Your mother is a charming woman, but I think she'd agree with me that she'd rather you safe than dead," Brandon said softly, feeling tingly where Spencer's fingers had been, the ghosts of touches. "What do you see?"
"Sleeplessness," Spencer said, touching his eye again. "Worry." He stroked the corner of it. "Thinness. Medicine - not helping. Worried you're sicker than anticipated," he added as he touched Brandon's elbow. "Not eating. Nausea? Understand that." Spencer touched the edge of his mouth. "Bitterness. Quiet. Holding secrets. Jealousy." He tilted his head. "Jealousy?" he said, as though he weren't expecting it.
"Shut up," Brandon said, pulling Spencer in for a kiss, his large calloused hands holding Spencer's face between them.
Spencer mmph'd and grasped Brandon back. He kissed back hard, not having been touched - kissed - since. He had to tug away to gasp air, but pushed back to kiss Brandon again. He almost fell. Brandon steadied him, holding him close.
"You should be in bed. You're sick," he stated, though it was obvious.
"Bed's empty," Spencer gasped, leaning his head on Brandon's chest. "Abby works today."
"I'll stay with you. Until you fall asleep," Brandon promised, using the counter to hold them both up.
Spencer nodded, both of them swaying as they went back to his room. Its smell had changed since Abby moved in. He noticed it, hoping Brandon wouldn't. He pulled his cousin down to the bed with him, curling in to his chest. He preferred to be the 'big' spoon, but he was feeling afraid right now. Brandon didn't protest, he merely started petting Spender's hair in steady, even strokes.
"There's a strong probability that I could seize, have continued apnea, or even run the risk of developing mother's heart problems," Spencer mumbled. He sniffed hard.
"Well, you wanted to be sick with us. I suppose you could say you got your wish," Brandon sighed. "Don't cry. You're a strong lad, I'm sure you'll bounce back."
Spencer hit Brandon on the chest. "Not crying over being sick," he whined. He snuggled closer. "Cryin' because I know how Mum felt. Feels. She should've gone bigger."
"That's not how she is, though. She's not flash and a pop, not really," Brandon replied, sneaking a kiss to the top of Spencer's hair. "That's all Moriarty, that is. Your mum, she likes to sneak off. That's what my mum always says. Moriarty might've blown up buildings but your Mum just silently ran off, without even telling anyone something was wrong."
Spencer lifted his head. "I found her though," he said, ghost of a smile. "Found her." He leaned up to kiss Brandon through his tears. He hated crying.
"Yeah, you did," Bran agreed, kissing Spencer gently. "You saved her. None of them can say that."
"Mnot a baby," Spencer grumbled against Brandon's lips. "Stop thinking it. Mnot cryin'."
"I'm thinkin' that you were brave. Braver than I'll ever be," Brandon said honestly. Soberly. "You're getting all worked up, and you'll choke yourself out if you don't stop panting."
Spencer snuggled back down against Brandon's chest. He took several deep breaths. Each one hurt, but it settled him down. "If you leave me, I'll find you," he sighed. "I'll find you, and punish you."
Brandon stiffened slightly, skin tingling at the promise and the threat. He had been considering leaving, just because he knew he was a bad influence on the kid. He shook his head. "Not goin' anywhere right now. Can't afford it."
"Good," Spencer said. "Because I can' breathe right now. And I have to have a shot in my arse."
Brandon started to giggle. Spencer giggled too, until he ran out of breath and started coughing. He let out a pleased sigh and clung to Brandon. "Mma sleep," he mumbled.
"Yeah, go to sleep," Brandon said, tugging some blankets up over them, settling Spencer back on his chest like a baby. "You need the rest."
"Hmm," Spencer responded, already halfway there. His nose wrinkled a bit at the food-alcohol-musk smell of Brandon mixing with the familiar scent of lavender. (At least there wasn't pot.. usually.)
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