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 Posted: Mon Sep 03, 2018 1:38 pm
 
Harland was curled in a ball under his old leather duster, shoulders rising and falling gently. He was hiding in the jailhouse, wherever Alistaire'd let him sit; a drunk had recently accidentally killed himself with hangfire trying to shoot Harland, and he'd run into Alistaire while trying to flee.
He'd been about to explain everything, and his words had slowed, and he'd fallen into a slumber. Hours had passed, in all likelihood, but he was starting to stir and a look of fear flickered across his gunmetal green eyes.
His shoulders fell as he remembered the predicament he was in, and he looked for Alistaire, unsure if the other was still around after he'd somehow fallen asleep. He didn't remember when he'd last slept, and being near Alistaire was the only time since he'd fled that he felt remotely safe enough to rest his head. Life on the run had not been good.
"Tá brón orm," Harland mumbled under his breath. He sat up and put his head in his hands, "Tá brón orm, mo chroí. I never meant t'involve ye, Alistaire..." he whispered, unsure if Alistaire was even in the room with him.
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Posted: Mon Sep 03, 2018 6:37 pm
The townspeople were vexing.
Alistaire did not want to be recognized. He did not want to be made a spectacle. He wanted to do his job, do it well, and be done with it all - which was what his normal, every day life generally was. In spite of his accomplishments, he was not exactly the most popular of men around town, and this suited him just fine, because Alistaire did not do what he did to make friends.
It didn't win him any favors, but he was so damn good at what he did that it didn't really make a difference. This was all he needed, and all he wanted, and he was perfectly content with that.
Almost. Except for one small, unexpected, frustrating detail that he could not seem to control no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he attempted to convince himself to just walk away. It never worked the way he wanted it to, which was aggravating on a level that he couldn't quite put into words.
The detail in question was currently hiding in the back room of the jail, huddled in what was technically a closet that was a little too small for any prisoners to reasonably be kept, but large enough to fit a trundle bed for whenever Alistaire needed to stay overnight. It wasn't a very comfortable space, but it was adequate and served its purpose.
The purpose of which who was now slowly waking up, because he'd fallen asleep not five minutes after he'd staggered in, damn him.
Alistaire was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. He was trying very hard to keep a level head, but it wasn't working, because where Harland Leander Belle was concerned, nothing in Alistaire's mind seemed to work properly, and he didn't know why. Considering his thoughts too much made his head spin, and his pulse quicken, and the fear that stemmed from any possibilities made him push things away on instinct.
Mo chroi. He wanted to run away from that phrase, but everything else kept him rooted to the spot, his heart hammering hard against his chest as he watched Harland unfold himself from the corner from where he'd been leaning.
"Don't make too much noise," he said quietly. "Are you feeling all right?"
It was a stupid question; of course he wasn't, but Alistaire asked it anyway.
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Posted: Tue Sep 04, 2018 5:52 pm
The relief on Harland's face as his blurry vision fixed on Alistaire was nearly palpable. He knew exactly why his thoughts fell apart and his usually-sharp mind could do nothing but fixate so long as Alistaire was around. "Better 'n I'd expect," Harland finally got out, his throat hoarse. He spoke at a hush, his usually warm and lilting voice shy in the small room. Although he'd straightened up, he still stayed under the leather jacket, like it was keeping him safe.
"Was a man deep in th' drink," Harland said, "gone an' shot his ainsel an' all tryin' t' shoot me." He ran a hand through his less than clean hair, reached up to the base of his neck and undid the bit of leather that held it away from his neck.
"An' afore that," he paused, at length, "One o' the bandits was tryin' t' rob a man who mistook me for the bandit, an I had no choice..." Harland nearly fell apart, his shoulders slouching forward and gaze lowering to the floor. He grimaced, briefly, under his tangles of red hair, thinking of the bodies. "That's two, then, two who'll wait for me at the mouth o' hell itself," he added.
What could he do? Could he, perhaps, be pardoned? It was too late to turn the tide in his favour with any usual gesture. Would he have to leave the town? For a while now, he'd been hiding out, too afraid to be seen and too heartsick to leave. Lately he felt that he'd rather die than never see Alistaire again. They'd worked side by side, they were the good guys, fighting the tides of bandits and outlaws for so long in the Lonestar state.
Harland tried to bring any of this into words, tried to motivate himself to look up, and he couldn't. His fist tightened around the leather that had previously held his hair up, knuckles white under the dirt and blood. He couldn't unsee the anger, the death: it just kept replaying in his mind, over and over.
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Posted: Wed Sep 05, 2018 7:46 pm
He knew that face. Knew it almost as well as his own, and probably more than that, because Alistaire didn't even really know himself anymore. But Harland knew him. Harland knew things about him that Alistaire had told no one, that Alistaire had kept hidden and buried inside of himself for years and years with no intention of ever telling anyone.
Until now.
He took a sharp breath at Harland's words, his eyes flickering. Some of Alistaire's already rigid posture stiffened, just a little more, but he said quietly, "I...heard about that, yes. Happened just a short ways from here, out by Mrs. Baxton's place, right?"
He didn't want to say he'd heard about it because the men had come storming over, demanding the arrest of one Harland Leander Belle for murder and conspiracy and robbery. It had turned Alistaire's already frozen heart to ice; he had not shown any of it on his face, but his entire soul had felt as though it had cracked into pieces.
But then Harland had shown up at the jail door just as he'd been about to leave for the night, and...here they were. Stuffed into this small, terrible room that was too small for both of them and the bed. Harland had slept on this bed before, when he'd had a long day and didn't want to go back to his home, resting while Alistaire had kept watch.
It had worked, the two of them. It had meant -
No. He wasn't going to think about that.
He pushed away from the doorframe, walking over to Harland, and with great effort, reached out, gloved fingers moving to pull Harland's hand away from his hair with the lightest of touches.
"First things first," he said. "We have to get you out of here. We'll go to my place. The jail isn't safe; they know I'm here, and they know that you might come back here. Can you stand?"
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Posted: Thu Sep 06, 2018 5:45 pm
In agreement with Alistaire's question, Harland gave a single half-nod. With a shuddering breath, and a distant glazed look at the floor, Harland mumbled, "I can still smell the blood, an' the spilled ale that night.." He'd smelled blood before, absolutely, but not like that. It was different when they thought you were a hero. It was okay, in a way, then; it was different when your hands ran red and the townsfolk wanted to hang you for it.
Harland had loved Alistaire for as long as he could remember, and kept it in his heart, buried as deep as he could keep it. He was sure that he wasn't so good at keeping the secret from Alistaire himself, but at least Alistaire had forgiven him that, had always treated him fine despite it. Hadn't treated it like as much of a failure as he'd expected. He was always content to fight at Alistaire's side, to drive out evil, to push back against the forces of darkness that lived in bandits and outlaws and murderers.
The room was small, sure, and a little suffocating, but it was so familiar that it was better than anything else he'd had lately. "Mostly I hid, in alleys, bushes, an old shack..." and then he made his way here, back into the lion's den, to see Alistaire. He'd grown fairly convinced he was going to die for the misunderstanding, and if he had to die he at least wanted to see Alistaire one last time, tell him it was a lie, tell him he'd never do any such thing.
Harland shut his eyes as Alistaire pulled his hand away from his hair. "I can, yeah, but... are ye sure? Last person I want t' drag int' hell's is you, I cannae bear that weight on my soul," Harland said, looking up finally at Alistaire, his gunmetal green eyes bloodshot and face covered in blood and dirt. Alistaire, from this angle, was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He needed Alistaire.
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Posted: Fri Sep 07, 2018 10:59 am
He didn't want to hear that. Didn't want to hear about how Harland had had to keep himself buried into some backwoods forest, skulking in the dark, because he'd been caught up in something that was threatening to drag him into its depths. Harland was not bad; he was not evil, he was the direct opposite of this, so much so that sometimes Alistaire felt as though he was staring into the bright blue sky because of it.
This was not fair. This was not how things were supposed to have been. It should have been Alistaire that this had happened to, not Harland, with his pure heart and his gentle soul and his way of making Alistaire's life interesting and worthwhile with hardly any effort at all.
His fingers were shaking a little against Harland's fingers. There was a basic and frightening urge to draw him close, to pull him near and wrap arms around him to keep him safe and warm and he wanted it so badly that it almost left him breathless.
But he couldn't. He couldn't.
Alistaire shook his head a little, his hair grazing his cheeks. "You're not dragging me anywhere, Mr. Belle," he said. "I'm walking this way purposefully. You should know by now that I don't do anything unless I want to do it."
Except he wanted what he couldn't have. What scared him to death and yet made his heart happier than it had been in years. Harland's eyes were fixed on his, face grimy and messy, and yet he still was the best thing that Alistaire had ever seen. Those eyes of his almost broke Alistaire's resolve as it was.
He swallowed hard and took a single step back.
"Stand up, Mr. Belle. We're going for a walk."
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Posted: Mon Sep 24, 2018 5:34 am
It was hard for Harland to think through the exhausted haze. Although he’d slept, a little, it was hardly restful sleep. Could he redeem himself somehow? What about a new town? It would be hard to make it far enough out of Texas… and what would he ever do about his heart, anyway? Sure, he could appreciate women as lovely creatures, but it wasn’t love. Love, in its true form, he felt for Alistaire.
He would have been content to live out his life just standing by Alistaire’s side, even if it didn’t amount to much more, as it was more than he’d expected.
Harland braced himself and pushed up to his feet obediently, silently, shrugging his shoulders deeper into his duster and tugging the collar up with grimy hands. He was a sight, and mostly he felt sorry to be so unacceptably gross and sad around Alistaire.
“I’ll go wherever ye tell me to,” Harland said, quietly. “If they kill me, just know it was never your fault.”
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