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She already missed the warm reminder of Fletcher behind her, at her back; but that part of her was subsumed in the ice that seemed to have frosted over her heart. It would have been easier - way easier - if she had hated both of them. Or rather, if she had only hated them, and not simultaneously loved and hated them so that everything was a tangled mess in her mind.

Lacey's fingers curled around the bottle of pills. She was watching Malaise, because looking at Fletcher right now was dangerous in a way that she didn't want to consider because there were too many painful connections between medication and pills and Fletcher. And besides that, Fletcher had already agreed to her terms; it was Malaise that hadn't said anything, Malaise who was still, after all this, trying to run away.

She wanted to throttle him. She wanted to kick him.

She wanted to kiss him until he couldn't remember the fact that he had left them.

Fletcher's voice came out abruptly, panic stricken and desperate. Lacey's head jerked slightly, almost looking at him, but she needed to hear Malaise first, and then it finally - finally came. It was there, that promise. Reluctant and grudging and probably out of a sheer desire to not have those pills be thrown away, but it was still a promise nonetheless.

Some of the fight went out of her. Not all of it; that would never happen, because she was born a fighter and would die a fighter, but at least she could hold onto the knowledge that Mal wasn't going to run anymore - at least not soon, and if he ran eventually, well...

She'd cross that bridge when they got to it. And also cut off his balls in the process.

Lacey gave Mal a lethal look before crossing the room to get to Fletcher. She curled a hand in the front of his shirt and tugged him down at the same time that she stood up on her tiptoes, pressing a firm kiss to Fletcher's lips before pulling away.

"I know," she said, "Breathe."

She let go of him and turned to look at Malaise.

"Are you going to behave now?"

She hadn't looked at him when he'd spoken, but she was walking towards him now that Malaise had agreed to stay. "It's not mine..." He said again softly as her fingers curled into the front of his shirt and right that moment there wasn't a single part of him that expected the kiss that followed her tugging him down to her level.

It was startling, puzzling, but with it came a measure of calm and relief that helped ground the redhead back to the situation. He'd frozen at the brush of her lips, but with her voice came the reminder to breathe, and that first breath seemed to rattle him straight down to his toes.

Where the pills came from was answered by the other man unprompted, and Fletcher turned his head to look at him, a question written in the line between ginger brows. He couldn't remember a time where any of the pills in Mal's possession actually had a prescription attached with his name on it, and there were perhaps a dozen different things they could have been for given he couldn't see what the pills looked like. They sounded large, whatever they were, so more than likely pain management...

But. Why did Lacey have them. How had Lacey found him? She was the other man's emergency contact. Or at least she had been back before everything else had gone bad.

Frowning, he glanced between the both of them. "What happened?" Then to Mal, "Are you hurt?" There was genuine concern there, and Fletcher stood away from the wall, stepping closer. Pain didn't eliminate love or the foundation they'd built. It didn't erase emotional habits or concerns. It just complicated them.

Taken off-guard by Fletcher's genuine concern in spite of everything, Malaise nearly took a step back, a flash of something almost-but-not-quite fear in his vivid blue eyes. "Yes, yes, I'm fine, " he assured the redhead with a kind of half-smile quickly put in place, waving him off. "Thrown around by a monster a bit - don't ask. Bit bruised and cracked, but assuming Lace didn't just rip my goods off, I'll be in peak shape in no time."

Even saying that, the headache was creeping back up on him, and he laughed a little to mask a wince as he sat down. "Any change you'll come back wearing a nurse outfit? - no?"

For all the joking, he wasn't entirely sure where he fit in this, either. He'd been gone, of his own volition, and he imagined this was a bit what a teen felt like coming home after they made a big stink about running away. Not quite the same thing, and he'd never actually gone back when he'd left, but Malaise imagined the sinking, sheepish feeling in his gut was something that imagined wayward teen would share. He wrapped his arms around himself, then unwrapped them, pushing his hair messily away from his face.

"I... should give you my new number. Yeah?"

Again, not an apology - but it was said like one, even if it wasn't.

"Did yours change?"

nurse outfit query.

Lacey wanted to scream.

She also wanted to take the glass she was pulling down from the shelf and throw it onto the ground and watch it shatter into a thousand pieces. Possibly she also wanted to see Malaise have to walk on Legos for the next ten years, or something equally as terrible.

But she was not going to show any of that. She was neither weak nor prone to fits of outburst, and she was not going to start now, no matter how much she felt something inside of her clawing its way up her throat, trying to get out, trying to let go.

Lacey stood at the counter, quietly seething, and then equally as quietly letting it out again. She'd rested her hands against the edge of the counter for a few minutes, listening to the muted voices of Fletcher and Malaise from across the wide, open concept space, but didn't quite hear what they were saying and wasn't sure she wanted to, anyway.

She hadn't heard footsteps, mostly because she had been yelling back and forth inside of her mind for a few minutes, but all at once there were familiar fingers tugging at her arm, and she found herself being turned around and drawn into an embrace she hadn't asked for. Fletcher's arms were around her, his head against hers, and for the first second or two, Lacey stood there, stiff and annoyed.

But then, because she needed the contact, she let herself relax into it, little by little. Lacey made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat.

"Probably the ******** not," she said flatly. "But like I said - it's either this, or you all go ******** off to who knows where, and that ain't happening, so we're stuck with this."

She had lifted a hand to rest against Fletcher's side. It slid up now, fingers curling in his shirtfront, and Lacey pulled him down for a kiss. It wasn't anything hard or frenzied or messy; just a firm press of lips. But it wasn't anything chaste either, Lacey's mouth opening against his to make it something deep and slow and searching.

She pulled away after a moment, and that too had been needed. Lacey tugged at his shirt with idle movements, knowing that even though they were half blocked by a row of cabinets, Malaise was across the room. And also not caring, because the physical contact was necessary on a level that couldn't be explained in words.

"Don't do anything stupid," she warned, but it was meant more as you can talk to each other, but don't let him ******** you or us up again.

He was tense and cautious while she remained stiff but as she relaxed he did too, letting go some of the coiled worry and dread that had settled in the bit of his stomach since Malaise had appeared with her in the door way. And it wasn't because Fletcher didn't want him there—even if a part of him did believe that, still hurt and raw and too damn vulnerable to even know how to react around him—he just didn't want to get his hopes up again just to have it all come crashing down around their ears a second time.

He was certain he wouldnt survive that.

But there was a part of the bassist, a big part, that ached to have Mal's arms wrapped around the both of them again. To put it all back together and be like they had before.

Lacey's kiss had him humming against her lips, arms tightening as she deepened the kiss, and that too helped to calm him. A well needed reassurance that however angry she was at them, at the situation, she wasn't turning him away. He kissed her back gratefully, like she was the air he needed to breath. A reassurance that he was doing his best, and would continue to do his best.

When it was over he gave her another comforting squeeze, brushing his lips against her temple as she tugged at him, and glancing up at Mal where he sat on the couch. Don't do anything stupid. It was such a simple request that Fletcher didn't know how to honor.

Shooting her a wary smile he let her go so he could head back to the couch, hands moving awkwardly again to knot his fingers together as he sank down beside the other man. Close enough reach for, but not enough to accidently touch.

His phone was over on the keyboard still.

Malaise was a little too aware of how close Fletcher was sitting, and the urge to just flop sideways and allow his head to roll dramatically onto the redhead’s shoulder was very real - the old act, as if nothing had ever happened. He wasn’t sure if Fletcher would reject the taste of normalcy or not - Malaise wasn’t sure what he would’ve wanted him to do in either way, so he let pandora’s box lay beside him, opting instead to turn idle hands to grasp the offered water and pill before him. “Bit hard to take what I haven’t got, “ he said lightly, flashing her a smile as if they didn’t all know that it had never stopped him before.

There was an urge to grab her hand again, terrible and ironic really - Malaise really didn’t want her to go. She was the one that’d dragged him back here, set the boundaries in place, kept the order. They weren’t okay, no, but they’d established something of a pecking order, and he knew where he stood with her right now. She was angry, unafraid of show it, and in a sick way he was glad for that.

Fletcher was harder, because Fletcher was different. Malaise didn’t know what he was getting into now with him, didn’t know what to expect or what to do or where he’d been besides Lacey and overdose.

Swallowing a bitter pill seemed easier - and he drank the entire glass as though thirsty, trying to do what he did and compose some semblance of words to say.

--------------------

Baby blues had turned up to watch Lacey’s face as she handed Malaise the water and the pill, trying to read past the unhappy expression on her face and failing. Of the three of them she was the strongest, they all knew that, but even she had her breaking points, and Fletcher had seen that point before, he never wanted to see it again. He’d hated himself for putting that hollow look in her eyes. For falling apart when she’d needed him most, and damn near destroying what remained of the world they’d built together. That guilt still chased him.

He’d expected her to take a seat with them, between them, so the three of them could talk more. Instead she was leaving them alone, laying out ground rules(one of which brought a rush of color to otherwise pale cheeks) before just turning and heading for the stairs, and a look of almost blind panic crossed freckle kissed features as he watched her retreating backside as she headed up to her room. In the silence that followed her head her bedroom door shut.

And now they were alone. Left work work out the months of distance, the rejection, all of it. Fletcher wet his lips as he stared down at his hands in his lap, the fingers of his right hand picking at a hangnail on his left, tugging at the skin until he’d pulled too hard and the tiniest halo of red formed at the base of is nail. It made him wince, and he brought his hand up to suck the taste of blood away, nipping at the bit of skin before pressing against the small wound with the pad of his thumb.

What the ******** was he supposed to say? He didn’t have a clue. Not a damn clue. There was plenty he knew he’d wanted to say over the months apart. Angry things, heartbroken things, hurtful things. At the beginning, he’d begged the other man to stay, and now here he was again and Fletcher didn’t know if he wanted to kiss him or punch him in the face. Maybe both.

But the silence was stretching on and on, and the weight of it would crush them if one of them didn’t break it soon. Swallowing, Fletch looked up at the man beside him, features too raw and and too vulnerable but he’d never been good at hiding how he was feeling. “How hurt are you really?”

--------------------

Wasn’t it unfair that Fletcher was the one that had to break the silence?

He thought that to himself, aware of the fact that there was another wound left on the redhead on his account, physical stemming from emotional. Some part of him was sickly gratified that even with the closeness with Lacey, he still mattered that much. And to think they didn’t celebrate when he was gone.

Malaise glanced at Fletcher, fidgeting a little, idly scratching at old scars on his wrist the way he tended to when he was - not self-conscious, that wasn’t the right word, but something close to it. Hard to place. “I, uh, well the damn thing cracked a rib - bruised a couple of others. Mild concussion. Worse things have happened to people at better parties, I suppose .” Would the joke fly? Probably not. “Bet I’m the first to get checked by a monster elephant, though - there’s some strange stuff happening in this city.” He gave a kind of chuffing laugh. “And that’s coming from ME, I mean - “

Easier to ramble about a literal elephant rather than the proverbial elephant in the room. Oh the irony. Malaise was itching to take that one and write it down, but it didn’t seem like the time. “In short, unpleasant, but I’ll live.”

He wondered if Lacey would kill him for smoking in here - but then, he’d done it before, back in the day, and she’d already grabbed him by the balls today, so ******** it. He went ahead and tugged one out.

--------------------

Brows knit as he listened and there was a moment there in the middle where he wondered what exactly Malaise had been taking but he remembered a few stories he’d heard from some of the other folks in rehab, strange s**t that had happened to them or around them, and it made him reevaluate his initial assumption. Maybe it had been an elephant, somehow. Maybe Malaise was telling the God’s honest truth about what had happened. He was right, strange s**t happened here. But even if he wasn’t. Even if how wasn’t exactly how the singer remembered it, that wasn’t the part that really mattered.

What mattered was the broken rib and the bruised ones surrounding it, the concussion. Fletcher’s gaze flicked down to the man’s chest, like he could have seen the damage through layers of clothes and skin and flesh.

“Good. I mean...not getting hurt, but it not being worse than it could have been.” He really meant that. Despite the urge hurt him himself, of hoping he’d been in as much pain without them as they’d been without him. It was a different kind of pain.

His gaze shifted again to the pack of cigarettes as Malaise pulled it out and he watched familiar hands tap a smoke from the pack, remembering the way the smoke clung to skin and hair and how it tasted on that split tongue. Something flickered across his face, nostalgia and pain and want all in one and he turned his head away, dropped his gaze back to his lap as he tried to swallow down the lump that was starting to form in his throat.

--------------------

Malaise’s lips curled, and before he could help it: “You didn’t have to amend it; either way would’ve been valid.” Probably an ill timed joke, especially since it was laced with truth. He took a long drag of his cigarette, not enough to level him out, but enough to do something - and that coupled with the slow, creeping comfort of the pill soothing him was enough to do it.

Okay or not, with Fletcher looking away, he tested the boundary and let his head drop sideways. “I know the whole thing sounds like a drug trip, “ he remarked, waving the cigarette in the air. “Lacey thought so too. I was on the news though. Don’t know if you watch it or not. Whole unnecessary thing.”

Surely Fletcher would tense or push him away. God, don’t just accept it and let him stay. - but please do. Please let him stay. Just a minute more.

--------------------

He did tense, flinched even, as Malaise’s head tipped to the side to rest on his shoulder and Fletcher battled with conflicting urges to jerk away and lean in closer. Neither seemed right and he just sat there frozen and indecisive with hands stilling in his lap and shoulders rigid. Blue eyes staring ahead at the spot on the soft carpet about six inches from his toes.

“I haven’t been, no.” He hadn’t honestly touched the television since he’d been released. “I’ve been a little preoccupied with settling back into…” Life. He didn’t say it though, unsure if Malaise even knew about the overdose and his stint in rehab, and if he didn’t he wasn’t sure he wanted him to know.

“And writing,” he added instead, after a second or two. “I’ve been writing a lot.” He wanted to work on an album. There were notebooks he’d been keeping in the clinic filled with songs and lyrics he’d been itching to piece together, and now that he had everything set up he could get to work on it.

--------------------

It was inappropriate, but again, that had hardly stopped Malaise before. And a lack of a rejection might as well have been an invitation. He shifted a little, settling more comfortably against that shoulder, well aware the redhead was more rigid than he’d ever been with Malaise before. To be expected, but it was almost like Malaise was trying to settle in just the right way to tease it out of him. Or piss him off.

“Your routine, “ he offered softly instead before taking another long drag of the cigarette, his fingers shaking more than they should have been. More than he realized, even, or cared to realize. “Fair.” Malaise didn’t let on what he did or didn’t know. Hardly seemed like he was in a place to remark on it.

His brow arched. “Writing? Really? - music, or - ?” It was an open invitation to talk more. If he wanted to.

--------------------

Routine worked. It certainly seemed less dramatic, and Fletcher nodded. “Yeah.” But even just that had him half suspecting the other man knew. It wasn’t much for proof, but why settle into a routine if it hadn’t been broken to begin with, and it’d been months, almost a year, since the singer had left them.

He flicked a look down at Mal, gaze taking in the cigarette in a shaking hand and there was a measure of comfort that came from know that this wasn’t easy for him either. He might have been able to hide it better, but not completely. Taking a deep breath, Fletcher tried to force himself to relax a little bit and wound up drawing in bit of smoke with it. Sharp and familiar, it made his chest tight to smell it.

But at least they were talking. That was something, at least. “Music, yeah.” And journals as well, which he thought were helping, but he hadn’t even shown those to Lacey yet. She knew he had them, but not what he’d written in them.

--------------------

“You’ll have to show me.”

It was a stupid thing to say, he realized a little late, and he didn’t exactly tense or backtrack, but instead shut his eyes and exhaled in a measured way between his teeth. “Or something.” And it was a lame out, but at least it offered Fletcher an out from something born of too much familiarity of a man that’d ripped himself out of the picture forcibly.

He did miss seeing Fletcher’s compositions.

“I’ve been writing too, “ and he didn’t know whether or not it was really kosher to talk about himself, but since when was he ever kosher? “They shot me an advance to write some garbage autobiography - not getting anywhere fast with it, but, you know.” Piece like that was harder. All explicit. Less left to linger behind the lines.

This would all be easier if he just apologized. An ideal place to start. Malaise was perfectly aware of that. But apologies were truly a gateway drug, and to go down that road…