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[Jul. 22nd, 2008|11:11 pm] |
Title: Back Against The Wall Part Two
Pairing: James Hart/Matt Sanders
Ancillary Pairings: Brandan Schieppati/Alex Varkatzas, Brian Haner/Zackary Baker, Jimmy Sullivan/Johnny Seward, Jacoby Shaddix/Mick Morris
Summary: After a heart wrenching case that ends in tragedy, can James Hart, lawyer, and Matt Sanders, juvenile, keep the fire that they’d started going with merely words across a piece of paper?
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All stories with relevance to real people are NOT coincidental, and are called fanfiction. I mean no ill will or harm toward the people involved in such stories and only end up using them as stencils for my creative outbursts. I mean no disrespect, and it's all in fun.
A/N: Second part of Back Against The Wall. Dedicated to ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) avengedbeckfold and kisskisskiss3 as always. ♥
James picked up a legal pad the day after Matt had gone, pulling it into his lap at ten at night, looking down at the yellow paper that was glaring up at him, and his mind was buzzing. It had nothing to do with work and everything to do with…
Matt,
How do I even start this anyway? I’m not used to writing letters. He stared at the paper for about an hour, asking the same question over and over and worrying on his lip as he cradled the pad of paper in his lap before he started to write again.I can’t ask you how you are, because I don’t want to know if you’re sad, or lonely, or miserable. I only want to know the good things.
I miss you like crazy, really. I’ve been forcing myself into work, and I’ve kind of become a little antisocial. I go to work, come home, and think of you. He couldn’t help but softly call himself a sap under his breath as he reread the words. He crossed the arm he wasn’t using while writing over his chest with a sigh. I’m so sorry this happened. I almost feel like I failed you, like I could have gotten you off had I done something differently. God, I miss you.
I miss the feel of your hands on my hips. I miss your scent. I miss your dimples. I miss your breathing beside me at night. He smiled a bit as he penned the paragraph carefully, putting all the love he could muster into the words. Over our short time together, I got so used to it, and now that it’s gone it feels like a part of me is gone. A part of me is gone when you’re not here.
Do you think of me at all? I hope you do. I really hope that maybe I can bring you a little bit of happiness, though I don’t want to be arrogant and say that I would, or I do, but I’ll just leave it as ‘I hope’. He chuckled a bit as he wrote the word, ‘hope’, putting as much of the feeling as he could into the word, bending over slightly and shutting his eyes with a secret smile.
I hope (there I go again) they don’t treat you too badly in there. I’d hate to know that you’re being mistreated, that you’re being hurt. If I could, I’d do everything I could to protect you, but we’re not together. Well, we are, but you know what I mean. He didn’t want to think about Matt being hurt. He couldn’t bear the thought anymore. He chewed his bottom lip and glanced at the digital clock by his bedside, laughing softly under his breath.
It’s now five in the morning and I have work in an hour. I’ve been working on this letter all night, thinking about it and thinking about you. I’m sure you can tell the passing of the hours with how my handwriting changes.
I miss you, Matt.
All my love,
James
The autograph was carefully crafted, with a long, looping J and a flourish for an S, the three letters in the middle barely distinguishable, a wave of unceasing strokes. He had to smile as he put the pen down, putting it lovingly into an envelope and sending it as soon as he’d finished it.
***
Matt received James’ first letter after three days, three long, painstaking days, and when he opened it the yellow paper blinded him for a second before he adjusted and quickly ran his eyes over the words. He smiled at them as the dimples came into play for what seemed like the first time since he’d been incarcerated.
His fingers played over the blue lines that were dyed into the paper, before his eyes settled on the words, reading them greedily, reminding him of exactly what was waiting for him once he got out. He pulled out his own notebook, eager to write back once he finished. He sat cross-legged in his bunk and began chewing on his pencil. He had to start somewhere.
James,
Hey, you. He laughed at the silliness of that opening, shaking his head and debating erasing it for about twenty minutes before leaving it, chewing harder on his eraser. He had to write something else. I miss you. It seemed too small of a statement for how much his heart ached, how much he just wanted James there with him. He gnawed on his lip as he tried to figure out what else to say. I’m so bad at these things. Communicating in general, really. But you knew that, huh? He laughed a bit as he passed his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting the grime from the jail around him, and he grimaced. I miss the way you taste. I don’t know why I say that other than all I can taste is dirt, and I want you. He sighed as a single tear slid silently down his face and landed on the paper, and he laughed softly, shaking his head and rubbing at his nose with his hand.
I don’t know what else to say other than I miss you and I love you. It took Matt three times of writing and erasing those three words before he was happy with how they came out. He sighed a bit and shook his head. I’m gonna end this now.
Matt
His scrawl was messy, barely legible as he signed his name at the bottom of the paper. It was basically just a bunch of pencil marks, but Matt was happy with it as he folded it and sent it along.
***
The letters went back and forth a lot like that. Matt asked about his cases once in a while, and James was glad to talk about them as much as he could, considering all of the confidentiality that came with a court case. He’d laugh, smile, and he’d even cried once as he read Matt’s letters, all being ended with the words ‘I love you’.
After about three weeks, though, the letters stopped on Matt’s side. James sent three and didn’t get responses from any of them.
He instantly got nervous, naturally. His imagination kicked up, thoughts of anything from Matt getting injured in jail to him losing interest flashing through his mind. It was like a horrific broken record, and he couldn’t shut it up.
He sat at his desk at work one day, staring at a legal pad. He was supposed to be doing his work, but all he could think about were they nights that he’d stayed up just to write Matt a letter that meant nothing and everything at the same time. He was easily recalling the anxiety he felt every time he waited for a response, and the fact that it was still buzzing in his stomach.
He felt nauseous and let his head slip into his hands, his eyes growing heavy as his mind started to race, thoughts coming at him like bullets. They ripped through him just as painfully, and he couldn’t focus very well on them before he lost his train of thought and drifted off, mercifully.
In his sleep, the thoughts weren’t so vicious, a little softer and he even found himself smiling just slightly at the fanciful images. He thought of the future, when the two months was up. He thought of smiles, laughter, of everything he’d been missing since that day that Matt was pushed into that penitentiary.
God, he missed him.
He shot up when he heard his phone ringing, and he almost knocked his chair back. He looked around, bleary-eyed before grabbing his phone.
“Hart,” he mumbled into the phone, hating how sleepy he sounded. He shook his head, trying to make himself wake up.
“James, go home.” It was Brian and his matter-of-fact voice, and James felt his stomach flop sickly.
“But Brian…” James protested, licking over his lips, and he heard his boss scoff.
“You’re no use to me if you’re a fuckin’ wreck, Hart,” Brian pointed out, and James grumbled, shaking his head and straightening out, opening his mouth to speak, but he was cut off. “And don’t even feed me that ‘I’ll do better’ bullshit. You’ve been a mess for a month.”
“I know,” James said penitently. “I’m sorry.”
“I know why, man, so you don’t need to apologize to me,” Brian replied with a sigh, and James could almost see him tipping back in his office chair, probably playing with a pen or something, or maybe he was staring blatantly at Zacky’s ass. Since the trial, the secretary had skipped firms, and was now Brian’s personal ‘sexatary.’
“I know, but still,” James pressed, and Brian scoffed.
“James, why do you think I’m giving you clear-cut cases? I’m not stupid enough to give you anything critical until after Matt comes back,” Brian explained, and James’ stomach flipped the other way when Brian said Matt’s name.
“He hasn’t written back in over a week,” James admitted in a whisper after a moment of tense, expectant silence, and Brian’s sigh permeated even the airwaves.
“Any idea why?” Brian’s voice was concerned, curious even, and James bit his lip, shaking his head before he remembered that his boss couldn’t see him.
“Nope.”
Brian sighed once more before he repeated himself. “Go home, James. You’re really no use to me when you’re wallowing.” Before the attorney could protest, the DA had already hung up the phone. He groaned slightly and ran his fingers through his haphazard hair and shook his head.
After about five minutes of consideration, or rather just sitting there staring into nothing, he decided that Brian’s idea was a very good one. He wanted to get out of there. His office suddenly seemed rather small.
He sat up before standing up, grabbing his jacket and sliding it on, shrugging into it and making his way to the door. He nodded mutely to Val, who was looking upon him with sympathy he turned a blind eye to.
He made quick work of the distance to his car, the time it took him to get out of the firm was short, and soon he was settled in his car, his head on the steering wheel. There was only one problem with Brian’s rationale: he didn’t want to be home. Being home always reminded him of Matt, especially of the last few days they’d spent together.
Ghosts of passion, soft kisses and Matt’s sweet smiles haunted him night after night, and the further he buried his face into the pillow, the more vivid the images became in the dark. He loathed his memory for the thoughts, the teasing mentions of something, for all he knew, he might never have again. He thought it was downright cruel. His longing had turned to hate, more toward himself than anything. He wasn’t sure he could hate Matt for something he didn’t do.
This was his fault. He hadn’t been good enough to get Matt off the hook.
He started the car angrily and backed out without even looking behind him.
He made it onto the street easily, his eyes hooded from a nearly brokenhearted anger, irrational though it was. His knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel.
He let the engine idle at a stop sign and he shut his eyes, knowing that there was no one coming from any of the other three signs. He let his head fall onto the wheel, and he let out a breath in a quick burst, willing himself back to calm.
Oh, whom was he kidding? He hadn’t been calm in over a month.
He hit the gas pedal and shot through the intersection, anger still on his mind. Unfortunately, someone else had done the same, thinking the street was clear, and instead of hitting thin air, the Ford F-150 collided with the passenger side of James’ little Civic, a dull crunching sound of metal on metal echoing through the suburban area he’d been driving through.
He hadn’t even had time to react before pain ripped through him, his car was folding in on him and suddenly it was stilled, his body seeming to go into some kind of shock for a split second as the movement of the vehicle stopped. He heard voices outside his window, but his eyes were focused on the dashboard, hazy and confused, his grip still tight as it could be on the wheel.
He could barely breathe, the steering wheel was crushing his ribs; his arms suddenly felt like they were on fire, he couldn’t move them, but he was still… very much alive, and his only thought was of Matt, and how it would have been for him had he gotten out of jail to find James dead.
He vowed that he wouldn’t dwell on anything and keep himself alive, if not for himself, for Matt. He also thought, ironically, that the injuries would make the time go by faster.
It was only after the paramedics tore into the car and got him into an ambulance did he realize he was saying that out loud, over and over. He could barely breathe, and he knew he had a couple of cracked ribs, but he was still talking, babbling what was probably nonsense to everyone but him.
There wasn’t much the doctors could do once he got to the hospital other than give him a brace, some heavy-duty painkillers and tell him to take it easy. He hadn’t expected much more. Moving was slightly awkward, but he didn’t care.
He was able to get home just before the sun went down, which was ironically the same time he would have gotten home had he left work at the right time. He checked the mail idly, hoping against hope that there was one from Matt.
He dropped every other piece of mail when there was.
He ripped it open, and through all the other scrawled words he only read five: I’m sorry and I love you. Relief flooded his aching chest cavity, healing it momentarily as he clutched the letter in his wounded hand. How could James have ever doubted his Matt? |
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