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[Jul. 26th, 2008|01:52 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. ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) avengedbeckfold
Chapter One
After five minutes of just clutching the letter to his injured chest, James sat down on his couch and smoothed the letter out, suddenly thirsty for answers to his questions, and an alleviation of his doubt as he read. He got both.
James,
I’m sorry I haven’t written in the past week or so. There’s a simple and rather stupid explanation for it. I got into a fight. I know, surprise, surprise. It was with my cellmate. He instigated it, and even hit me first. I’m not just being a juvenile with that. Anyway, instead of arresting you around here they toss your sorry ass into solitary confinement.
When I got your letters, I… well, I wish I could haven written you back right away. I can tell you were worried about me, and I’m sorry about that too, but I can tell you I didn’t start that fight, and the only reason I fought back… okay, there was no reason for me to fight back, but you know me. I never learn my fucking lesson.
Anyway, I hope you’re okay. I miss you, and love you.
Matt
James laughed a little to himself, but not because it was funny, but because he should have known Matt would get into that kind of trouble. After all, that had been the reason he’d been incarcerated to begin with. He wondered what his lover had been thinking when he wrote it, and what kind of state of mind he was in. It seemed rather clipped and to the point, more so than he was accustomed to. Maybe he just wanted to get it out as soon as possible. Yeah, that had to be it.
He let his breath out as he shut his eyes, leaning back on the couch and letting his head fall back. He inhaled sharply and winced, a shot of pain reminding him of his desperate stupidity, and he groaned slightly.
He sighed and let his head roll back on the couch, shutting his eyes before forcing himself from his seated position. He slowly made his way into the bathroom and stripped, the brace coming off last before he turned the water on.
He slid under the spray and sighed, his head falling back as he wet his hair, the warm water relaxing his tensed muscles. Now the pain he felt internally, emotionally, was physical too. Wasn’t that just wonderful. He pushed his sardonic thoughts aside with a sigh as he poured shampoo into his cupped palm and began to run it through his hair.
He didn’t stay too long in the shower, just long enough to loosen his muscles and wash. He came out, drying off idly as he made his way back into the living room. He figured he should write back. In fact, it was a nagging urge that he hadn’t been able to place before.
He pulled on a pair of pajama pants and a Metallica shirt he had stolen from Matt without his knowledge, and embarked on his journey to write Matt back. He figured he only deserved it. He skipped wearing the brace for the moment; he figured he’d only need it if he was doing something semi-strenuous physically, and writing wasn’t one of them.
He sat down slowly as the rest of his movements were, settling down and reaching for the legal pad he’d used to write every other letter. It was on a table on the edge of the couch, which meant it was in reach when he sat there.
He picked up the pen and put it to the paper. He took a deep breath, thinking of what to say, before just writing the obvious opening to a letter.
Matt,
It was a start, and he smiled a bit despite it just writing his lover’s name. He fingered a slight hole in the Metallica shirt, and was comforted by the fact that it had already been there when he’d stolen it. Matt had put that hole there from wearing and loving the shirt too much. He really was a sap, he decided as he was poised to write more.
I’m glad you told me what was going on. I was worried something had happened. Oh, hell, wasn’t that an understatement, he thought to himself as he wrote, his flowing handwriting slightly marred by his physical ramifications. First, I just want to let you know I’m not disappointed in you for what you did. It’s human nature to fight back. He leaned down over the legal pad and sighed. It was true; he probably would have done the same if he had been in Matt’s position. It was natural to fight back when provoked.
I’ve been thinking about you a lot, even more since you haven’t written back. I guess that’s not really a good thing. He gnawed on his lip as he eyed the sentence, but then decided to explain before it worried Matt more than it should have.
I got into an accident today. Don’t worry, nothing serious. Just a few cracked ribs and a lot of bruises. Oh, yeah, that would go over well, he mused, shaking his head. But really, I’m okay. I’d be better if you were here, but there’s only what, two weeks left, right? He smiled at this possibility. He couldn’t wait to have Matt with him again. I miss you like crazy. It’s lonely without you, and I’m glad you’re out of solitary, because that must have been hell for you too.
He sighed and shook his head, biting at his lower lip as he stared at the paper. Since when was he bereft of eloquence? He gingerly crossed his legs Indian-style, his wet hair falling in his face.
Everything I’ve said still stands. I miss the way you taste. I can’t find anything else that tastes like you. Not that I’d want to, of course. He smiled a bit as he penned the paragraph, pausing for what seemed like a moment but it was more of an hour. Hell, I just miss you period. I’m waiting anxiously for the day that we can be together again. I love you, so much. His smile didn’t disappear as he wrote this, and paused, deciding that was sufficient for the letter he was currently writing.
All my love,
James
His signature never really changed, though it was a little more lopsided tonight as he finished in a flourish. He licked over his lips before folding it lovingly, each crease utterly perfect as he took his time on it. He grabbed an envelope from the same place he had the legal pad, sliding the letter in and turning it over to address it.
James didn’t care if it was two in the morning. He pushed himself up from the couch again, slow movements taking him to the mailbox, sliding the carefully crafted letter into the outgoing mail slot, sighing a little and going back to his apartment. He collapsed on the couch and ended up falling asleep sitting up.
His cell phone going off woke him up at five in the morning. He groaned and groped for it, finding it dancing annoyingly on the coffee table. He snatched it up.
“Hart,” he mumbled tiredly, this time not caring just how exhausted he sounded.
“Hey, James,” came the voice of his boss, and he raised an eyebrow. “Just calling to let you know you have the day off. I heard about the accident and I just want you feeling better, ‘kay?”
“’Kay,” James mumbled, too tired to comprehend what Brian was saying. “He wrote me last night.”
“Good, man, that’s good, now maybe you can be normal once you heal up,” Brian replied, and James smiled just slightly. “Get some sleep, man, you sound beat.”
“Am. Night Bri,” James murmured into the phone, slamming it shut without waiting for a response. He threw it across the room listlessly, hearing it thud dully on the ground somewhere to his left, eyes too heavy to look when it went. When he found that he was sitting on the couch, he shook his head and forced himself from it, slowly walking into the bedroom, falling down on his bed.
“Oh pillowy softness,” he murmured as he buried his face in the pillow. He could still very faintly smell Matt’s scent on it, and he smiled, burrowing his face further into the cloth, inhaling deeply to fill his entire head with Matt’s smell.
His dreams were decent. They were teasing, of Matt naturally, but it was what would happen in the future, once his lover got out of jail and back into the world with him. He couldn’t wait.
The dreams were anywhere from vivid, where he could almost feel the trailing kisses against the column of his throat, to hazy, where all he could hear was Matt’s voice, murmuring beneath him just loud enough for James to hear.
They were about sex, about love, about fights. They were even about hatred, breaking up and making up. They were all potentials for the future, just waiting to be put into action. They were shadows and highlights, teasing his unconscious mind just enough for him to smile or frown in his sleep.
They made him grip the bed and tear up in his sleep, a single tear sliding down his face when he heard the echoing of Matt’s voice saying ‘I hate you.’ He couldn’t stand that, even in his wildest dreams. Before this happened, yes, he could have handled it, but now that he knew Matt was capable of loving, especially him, he never wanted to go back to that place of hatred. He never wanted Matt to hate him, and he never wanted to hate back.
He slept until nearly one in the afternoon.
***
Jacoby was in his room at the rehabilitation center, holding a letter from his son, and he smiled. It was from his youngest boy, Jagger, saying how much he missed his daddy and hoped he got better so that he could be available to play. He had tears in his eyes. He wished he could write back and tell his youngest son that yes, he’d be there to play as soon as possible, and he would, but right now he was too emotionally stunned to do anything more than stare.
He’d gotten one from Miakale a few days before that had made him cry. His son had wanted him to be at his first tee-ball game. He had gotten a play-by-play on how his older son had hit a home run out of the park and he’d missed it because he’d fucked up and gotten addicted to alcohol. He hated it where he was, but he was determined to stick it out for his boys.
Not to mention he had Mick beside him. Sometimes he wondered whether he was just there for comfort’s sake or if he really cared enough to go through with it. It didn’t matter to him, though, most of the time. Mick was there, for him, and honestly that was what mattered.
He finished the letter and shut his eyes, two tears sliding down his face, one from each eye created a wet trail down his face, and he let out a sigh. He had no roommate and for that he was glad. He preferred going this alone anyway, and he could only imagine that his roommate would want to make ‘friends’ with him, and he wasn’t up for that.
He wanted to be in, get out and get on with his life. He wanted his boys back, and if this was what it took, so be it. He was willing to go through anything for Miakale and Jagger. He didn’t want them to have the same childhood he had and he had a feeling that if they stayed with their mother, that would happen.
He wasn’t sure about Kelly’s new boyfriend, but he didn’t like the fact that there was another man fully there for his babies. That was his job. He was their father, plainly stated. He owed it to them. |
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