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 Posted: Thu Jan 10, 2008 11:39 pm
Who: Fiach and Brad
Where: .NET Hackers Shop
When: Evening
Brian A. Moore
Brian Ardal Moore, 64, passed away January 10, 2021, at his home in Durem.
Brian was born February 16, 1957 in Ulster, Ireland, to Bevin Kassidy and Andrew Forbes.
He was a decorated serviceman in the police forces in Ireland and will be remembered most for the work that he did for children in need. Brian's best work was done with teens who were recovering from drug addictions, and it was in efforts to further his pet program that he and his wife, Edana, moved to Durem just a few short years ago. Together they had two children, Abigail and Albert, both of whom have since returned to Ireland.
Brian spent most of his time drawing and listening to music, spending quality time with loved ones, or volunteering at the local shelter for troubled teens. A man with a golden heart, it is doubtful that anyone that knew him will ever forget him. His wife said that though she didn't always agree with what he did, she was proud of him for everything, and was happy to stand by his side. Edana went on to say that Brian's last words were not only of love and hope, but also regret. She said that he was filled with sorrow for not relocating a boy he had come to think of as a grandson, and hoped that someday, the boy might understand why Brian did what he did.
Brian is survived by his wife of 43 years; his daughter Abigail, his son Albert; brother Flynn; grandsons Austin, Bevan, and Evan; granddaughters Lucy, Maeve, and Matilde; nieces Mairsil and Ina; nephews Alexander, Caolan, Ciaran and Gale. Along with many other nieces, nephews, aunts, and uncles.
His body will be returned to Ireland, where his family will hold a funeral for him. Brian's one wish was to be returned to the land he came from, and so his ashes will be placed in the ground at Ulster.
With trembling hands, Fiach read and re-read the obituary that he had stumbled across in the newspaper. His eye sight grew blurry as he fought back the tears that threatened to fall upon the piece of paper. Having to resist the urge to tear the paper up, he allowed it to fall from his grasp and onto his desk. The obituary displayed itself proudly, and even without it in his hands, Fiach's eyes continued to traverse its familiar words.
"He was filled with sorrow for not relocating the boy he had come to think of as a grandson". No matter how many times Fiach read those words...he couldn't quite believe them. Not without growing angry at himself for never taking the time to thank the old man properly for what he'd done. Instead, he'd been bitter and angry towards him, rarely showing his gratefulness. Always muttering and complaining about the work and the classes, the man made him take on.
If it hadn't been for Brian...Fiach knew he would have died back in Ireland. He'd have died that night in Briana's bed. Rather than taking the old man for granted, he should have taken more time for him!
His already bandaged hand smashed against the desk as Fiach's anger tried to display itself. Though his hands shook, and his vision quavered and hovered in a tint of red, he tried to fight it back. Tried to hold back the memories and the feelings that tried to burst out.
His troubled mind skittered from topic to topic as he thought over how the anniversary of the wreck was today, and the man's obituary was in the news today. Between his fights with Sionce, Emile, and Adalia...and the news of the hacker droids, Li'tae's delight in toying with him...Fiach had reached his wit's end.
Uncertainty brewed in his mind as he pondered over booze, finding a dealer, or just offing himself. He'd made a promise. He ought to keep it. Right?
With unsteady feet, Fiach made his way into the kitchen. Fumbling half blindly for the bottle of whiskey he'd bought only recently before returning to his desk. The bandaged hand flipped idly through the list of phone numbers, and Fiach wasn't even sure who he was looking for. He had no one to trust, no one to call. All he knew was that he was drowning in his fears and anger, and he needed help.
Not entirely sure which one he pulled out, he set down the bottle, half fell into the chair, and dialed the number with a numb mind. Blinking in surprise as the tears began to swell at the corners of his eyes, and at the sound of the gruff voice that came on over the line.
"This is Brad."
His mind swirled even faster as Fiach started to panic. Why had he called Brad? He barely knew the man! He shouldn't...couldn't...trouble him with his problems. He couldn't be a burden to anyone!
And even as he thought that, Fiach's eyes caught sight of the obituary once again, and it was with a hollow, stuttering voice, he managed to finally squeeze out, "This...Its Fiach. i-I just..." Pausing as his voice caught, he shut his eyes trying to get rid of the sight of the obituary, and its damning words. Only seeing his past several mistakes play out in the darkness of his mind, he continued on, hoarsely, "I...don't know what..to do." Why was he telling the man this? If he wasn't going to burden him...he should just hang up the phone. Hang up right now, before he said anything he shouldn't!
It was with a sigh, that Fiach finally opened his eyes, stared at the bottle, and finished, "I think...I need help..."
Praying that Brad wouldn't yell or curse at him, call him a stupid fool, or otherwise berate him for calling him and interrupting anything he might have been doing, Fiach stared at that bottle. Knowing that even if Brad did yell at him...it would have to be better than drinking himself senseless, or any of the other alternatives he'd pondered.
It just had to be better than those!
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Posted: Fri Jan 11, 2008 10:19 am
Brad knew the day was going to be strange when it started, but he had no idea what was in store for him.
He was rudely awakened by a 140 pound woman bouncing on his chest like a child on Christmas day, flinging his covers off and making him recoil with the cold and indignity of it all. He really had to remember to lock his door while that she-devil of a sister was visiting. She had made it up to him with a breakfast of crepes and boiled ham (one of his favorites), before announcing they were spending the day together, whether he liked it or not. Brad, at the mercy of his sister with a full belly, could only agree.
The Italian male was one of habit, and no visitor on the planet could make him wear a shirt while in his own home, not even the threat of a pouncing younger sister. He had hooked his cell phone to his jeans (despite a death-glare from her), as it was his last connection to work while she had her claws in him, and he wasn't about to miss a call...it just wasn't in his nature. As he was preparing pop corn for a movie she insisted he had to see, the small device rumbled and nearly made him jump out of his skin. He had put it on vibrate so she couldn't attack him and tear it off, and was able to click it off his belt loop and flip it open before she could do so much as crow in protest.
"This is Brad," he gave his standard 'professional' greeting.
Silence. Well, that was weird. He was about to repeat himself when the voice on the other end finally came to life, forcing him to snap his mouth shut and turn his back so his sister couldn't see his reaction. Fiach? What the hell? Brad was both confused and surprised, unable to do much more than click his jaw while his brain tried to make sense of what was happening. The young man spoke again, and Brad suddenly felt cold, a white numbness wrapping around his spine. Fiach sounded bad, real bad...not at all the shy and aloof boy he knew, but older, worn, and...
...in need of help...?
Concern burned in his mind, but he had to be mindful with his angry, flailing sister in the background. He padded to his laptop to pretend like he was looking something up, flashing the phone towards the screen. He pointed at the number on the bottom of the cell, staring at Nigh pointedly. The Hacker was quick to do an information search, his confused bubble indicating that it was from the store Fiach worked at. Returning the phone to his ear, he said quietly, "I'll be there in ten minutes." He moved to his sandals, slipping them on, intoning, "Stay where you are."
He kept the phone to his ear, just in case the youth needed someone there...in case he needed anything really. Brad slipped on a button up shirt, casting a look at his sister as he started to move towards the door. He wasn't sure what to say to the growling woman; he certainly couldn't tell her it was Fiach, or that something was wrong. Luckily, she provided an exit for him, far enough from where he stood that her voice hopefully wouldn't carry to the phone.
"You're going to work?" his sister whined from the couch, "Jeez, I can't even get a day with you?"
"Something came up," he replied with near relief, preparing to leave.
"Can't be bothered to think of others, can you." An exhasperated sigh. "Fine, you owe me."
Brad smiled tightly. Better she think ill of him rather than jeopardize Fiach's well being. "You know me," he replied, closing the door in his wake.
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Posted: Fri Jan 11, 2008 6:20 pm
Fiach stared ahead dumbly as soon as the word "help" had left his mouth. Had he actually just asked for help? From Brad no less? Half hoping the other man would simply chew him out, laugh at him, or tell him he was just being silly, he couldn't help but hold his breath and wish Brad would come help him. While he wasn't sure how he needed help, or even what Brad could do to help him...Fiach just knew that he needed something. Anything was better than breaking the hearts of his sister and his best friend. Even if it meant having to confront his demons. He just...didn't want to face the ghosts of his past alone, and an inadvertent sigh of relief and dread escaped from his lips as he heard Brad say, "I'll be there in ten minutes. Stay where you are."
Too dumbstruck to really respond, Fiach merely nodded his head mutely before realizing they were on the phone and Brad couldn't see him. Summoning up his voice long enough to mutter, "...o-okay..." before reaching his free hand up to clasp his head. Staring at the cradle of the phone in horror as it fully dawned on him that he had just given a cry for help, and someone had answered. Rubbing at his temple, the thought of talking to someone suddenly becoming too daunting to feel real, he realized his head was starting to pound. The thought of moving around was becoming less and less appealing, and his body began to feel like lead. Was this what Adalia had meant when she said that someday the stress would catch up to him?
Realizing he was still on the line with Brad, he frowned into the empty shop. He wanted to say something, to apologize for calling, to tell him not to worry and never mind, but it was all he could do to not start to cry. Staring at the bottle on the desk, his free hand reaching out to grasp it, as Fiach pondered just downing the bottle and having done with it, or just dumping it down the drain. Too caught up in his own little world to really hear anything that had gone on at Brad's end of the line, aside from vaguely registering that there were voices.
Standing up as he tried to decide what to do with the bottle, a memory of the old man came into his mind, unbidden. Unable to contain himself as he tried to bat the image off, Fiach let out a low growl and muttered underneath his breath, "I don't...want to remember..." His attention focused more on combating the phantoms, than in remembering that he was on the phone with a man who was likely concerned about him to begin with. The images of Brian and Edana flowed into his head as his hand loosened about the bottle. The old man was telling him that he couldn't drink while in his house, not like that, not anymore, not and live with Brian and Edana. Fiach had blamed her for the trouble that he'd gotten into that day, and glowered at her as she poured everything out.
Raising the loosely held bottle to his eyes, he realized they really had been doing it for his own good, and he let himself slide down to the floor, back against the coolness of the metal desk. As he heard the bottle fall on its side, he didn't care if it broke or not, too busy fighting the hot tears that threatened to spill over at any second. Refusing to let them fall as he formed the words to apologize to Brad, angry at himself for feeling so weak and helpless, "I'm...sorry I called you...I didn't mean to..."
Fiach felt guilty for involving Brad in his personal life, even if it was accidental. Yet, even wishing he hadn't called the man, he couldn't help but hope that he'd get there soon and help him piece himself back together.
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Posted: Thu Jan 17, 2008 6:51 pm
Brad nodded at Fiach's shaky confirmation, but he wasn't as astute to realize he had done so without any vocal return. He nearly jogged down the hallway in the building to the elevator, making it out and to his truck before the man on the phone spoke again. Dark eyebrows lifted in confusion, but Brad had a feeling Fiach wasn't speaking to him; there were demons around the youth, that much was apparent by his words. It worried the older man somewhat, but he maintained his silence, pulling out of his parking spot and out into the street, turning towards the store.
He actually jumped a little when he heard something fall, but his jolt of fear was alleviated when Fiach talked again. Brad had been afraid the boy had gone and done...well, something stupid. He smiled in the faintest at the cracked voice. It'd be hard to pinpoint why, but the older man was proud that the other was hanging in there. There was something wrong, obviously, but that Fiach had reached out and hadn't let go...Brad didn't know why, but the pride was there, and it lingered in his voice. "Five minutes," he replied gently, "and I want no apologies, not to me, okay? I'm coming because I want to."
That might scare the younger man, but Brad wasn't going to walk on eggshells just yet. He felt honesty - no matter how brutal or fair - would be the best policy until they were in each other's company. That way he could ensure that he said what he meant, and there was no misunderstanding, and no actions would be taken that couldn't be undone. No secrets, no hidden agendas, just a frankness and earnesty that Brad often carried; it seemed to him that Fiach had enough secrets, demons AND skeletons for a few blocks of the city. He pressed down on the gas pedal at that thought, hoping to shave a minute or two off if he could skim some yellow lights.
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Posted: Thu Jan 17, 2008 7:27 pm
His vision began to swim as the tears continued to threaten to spill down his cheeks, memories of the old man and how harsh he had been towards him, how neglectful he had been to give the man his thanks for saving his life plaguing him as he clutched the phone tightly in one hand. The hand that had been bandaged clutched his head as he curled up tightly in on himself, he wouldn't cry. He couldn't cry. He'd sworn he'd never break down like that again after he scared Adalia with his tears that night. So why was it so hard to keep the tears and pain at bay?
Even as he curled, an abstract thought wound its way into its head - the sleeves on his button up shirt were rolled up. Glowering at the negligence of the sleeves being up, he was about to fumble them back down and try to button them into place when Brad spoke again, jolting him out of his minor panic at the discovery.
Confusion flitted its way across Fiach's already tightly drawn face at the sound of Brad's voice. It sounded...almost as if the man was proud when he spoke. His hand squeezed tighter in on itself, and he winced at the pain in the bruised knuckles. Why would this stranger be proud of him? He was weak and pitiful, he didn't deserve any help...and the fact that Brad was willing to help him scared him. Why would this man want to come and help him? He'd done nothing for Brad except act afraid of him, and try to run and hide during their few meetings. It was a confusing line of thought, and as if to try to banish it, Fiach shook his already hurting head, frowning when all it did was make his head pound even harder.
Though there was a tightness in his voice, a strain as he continued to try to fight back against the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume him and send him into a tail spin, Fiach also couldn't help it as a small bit of gratitude wound its way into his words. "I just..." He paused for a brief moment, trying to form the words to tell Brad how he didn't deserve the help, or how he didn't understand why the man was willing to help him, but all that came out was an almost relieved, "...Thank you."
Fiach didn't know why, but for some reason...the simple fact that Brad wanted to come help him...was enough to cause a small bubble of hope to begin to form in the darkness of the memories that threatened to consume him.
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Posted: Thu Jan 17, 2008 8:18 pm
The drive didn't last much longer after Fiach's thanks, remaining silent other than a soft noise to acknowledge the man's words. He'd worry about a 'you're welcome' if and when the younger man didn't kick him out or change his mind. Brad parked to the side of the shop, mindful enough to mention to the phone still tucked between his jaw and shoulder, "I'm here."
He said that mostly to allow Fiach time to compose himself or otherwise prepare for company. A hand lifted to hold onto the phone, preparing to click it shut as he stood at the door. Brad felt the strangest pit of nerves in his stomach, uncertain of what he was going to find, or if he'd find anything at all. Would Fiach flee at the mere sight of him? The older man knew that Fiach wasn't his biggest fan, in both his temperment or his drunken banter (he'd felt like such an pompous jerk the morning after that incident). He may just tell the architect to go away, or worse, in so many words...but he'd never know if he didn't open the dang door.
With a faint sigh between his teeth, Brad gave a courtesy knock before opening the door. He stuck his head in first, but it was no use right away; he'd been blind mere moments before, and he'd have to adjust. Letting himself in, he closed the door behind himself, finally closing the phone and pushing it into his pants pocket.
Brad appeared somewhat rumpled. He didn't realize it, but he'd misjudged a button on his shirt, and the few buttons that he did manage to hook through were a spot above where they should have been. His hair was disheveled, but that was hardly unusual, as to have it brushed 'nicely' would likely mean trying to get it to comply in the opposite direction of its natural fall. Dark brows were furrowed in concern over his indigo gaze, which roved through the store as his pupils returned to their normal size, his face drawn with a faint line of worry on his otherwise neutral expression.
He wanted to say something, but it was best to wait until further invited. Instead, he rubbed his eyes - just in case Fiach was standing right in front of him, which would be just his luck - one hand sliding from his face to run through his hair in a tell-tale sign of anxiety.
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Posted: Thu Jan 17, 2008 8:35 pm
The panic really began to set in once Fiach heard Brad utter the words, "I'm here." It was like a giant pit had just opened in his stomach, and he felt vaguely like he might just vomit. Nodding numbly into the phone, he let it drop from his grasp as he hit the 'talk' button to turn it off, lifting his empty, shaking hands in front of his face as he took several deep breaths to try to calm himself. Failing at the idea of a calm, the knock gave him such a start he thought he was going to give himself a heart attack. Maybe if he just stayed hunkered down at the side of his desk the older man wouldn't see him and just leave...
Hearing the door open and shut, Fiach's heart sped up until he figured Brad could likely hear it all the way across from the room. It felt like it was thundering up and into his ears, and the nausea grew even worse as he sat there, holding his breath, frantically thinking of a way to pretend everything was all right. Staring at the phone at his side, though, he knew that was impossible, and he closed his eyes to steady himself before slowly rising to his feet. Though he stumbled slightly and had to reach out to the desk to make sure he didn't fall, he managed a weak, self depracating laugh, realizing that it likely sounded hollow and fake as he said, "I...um. Its...nice to see you?"
Reaching his hand up to scrub through his hair, he caught sight of how shaky he was...and the still rolled up sleeves. Paling visibly, he fumbled the sleeves down, making a pitiful attempt to button the cuffs with his shaking fingers and failing miserably. Sighing as he surrendered to the fact that buttoning up something small when you could barely keep yourself steady enough to stand...was likely not going to work out well. Hoping that Brad would just ignore the frantic effort at hiding his wrists, his face again scrunched up as he attempted to hold back the tears that seemed to strive ever harder to fall at the man's arrival.
Realizing he looked horrible and pitiful, he took in Brad's appearance and was unable to prevent a small strained laugh from leaving his mouth. The knot in his stomach untying itself just a little as he was able to find some semblance of humor in the situation, "I...I'm sorry I made you have to rush to get dressed...I didn't...I didn't mean to worry you..." Dropping his gaze downwards again, he felt like a fool for bothering this man. He hadn't had a right to, and the fact that Brad looked as though he'd rushed to his aid only made him feel worse.
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Posted: Thu Jan 17, 2008 8:48 pm
His eyes were adjusting, moving towards the sound of the voice that came from...Fiach? God, he sounded wretched! Brad managed a faint smile, scrambling for something to say in reply. Good to see you too? That seemed...a little cruel, given the situation. This was not the way he ever wanted to see the shy but intelligent man; on some level, regardless, he was glad it was him that Fiach had called. No matter how he felt about the younger man, he felt humbled that Fiach had turned to him, whether he meant to or not.
The laugh brought him back to himself, and the next words spoken confused him a little. He glanced down at his outfit, looking over it before he noticed the mismatched buttons. The man uttered a soft, bemused bit of laughter before shrugging, "At least I remembered to button them at all, huh." The joking was good, but it wasn't solving anything. Brad had to buck up his uncertainty and doubts, if not for the young man across the room, than at least for his own dignity as a man.
He walked across the floor, his sandals making a whispering sound against his feet as he did so, the half smile from the previous laughter still intact. He momentarily considered staying on the other side of the desk, but noticing that Fiach had dropped his gaze made him change his mind. Brad moved around the desk, approaching the young man slowly, extending a hand to light upon the other's shoulder.
The smile didn't fade, although his eyes were far more serious than his expression would suggest. "Now," he said as un-gruffly as possible, "please talk to me." When it came right down to it, Brad was a no-nonsense type of guy, and this seemed like a good time to make sure that beating around the bush or otherwise delaying the inevitable wasn't going to help either of them. He kept his voice as kind as he could, and given the fact that he normally sounded grumpy or put out, it wasn't too hard to change to something more positive and encouraging.
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Posted: Thu Jan 17, 2008 9:08 pm
Fiach felt worse when Brad jokingly mentioned remembering the buttons at all, and felt his hands tighten even further as he struggled within himself. Now that Brad was actually there, Fiach had absolutely no idea what to do, or what to say. He wished the entire night would just disappear, and he could forget that any of this had happened. Knowing full well that had he taken any of the other ways out...he really wouldn't remember tonight, and his eyes briefly flicked towards the bottle that lay on the floor as he briefly entertained getting drunk anyway. Maybe he could say he was just drunk...didn't know what he was doing?
Hearing the man walk towards him, Fiach tensed and his eyes widened. What if Brad caught sight of the scars, or asked him to start talking? What should he do, what should he say? Was there a way he could possibly make this whole thing go away? Seeing the hand stretch out towards his shoulder, Fiach couldn't help himself as he jumped and shuffled a half step back. Having to remind himself that this was Brad, and not a shadow of his past, he sighed in frustration at how he was acting. He shouldn't be so jumpy, so panicked!
Finally managing to mostly fight the tears that kept wanting to fall away, his felt them well up at the corners of his eyes once more as Brad asked him to talk to him. He felt so pitiful, so weak that he wanted to just cry, and over something as stupid as an old man's death! Regardless of everything else that had piled up on him lately, it was still no excuse. Glancing down at the newspaper that lay on his desk, he lifted it gingerly, noting with some surprise when a wet spot quickly appeared on the page, followed quickly by another. Folding the news so that the old man's obituary was all that was noticeable, he silently handed it to Brad before turning his face away, trying to hide the tears that had begun to fall.
"I...the old man...he...died."
His fists tightened against his sides as he realized how absolutely lame and horrible that sounded. Hopefully, Brad would just ignore the fact that there was obviously a reason behind his freak out, and just think him stupid, before leaving in a huff. Fiach was suddenly sure that an angry Brad would be better than anything else.
At least then he'd have someone agree with him that he was just being stupid. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so horrid.
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Posted: Thu Jan 17, 2008 9:21 pm
The man almost withdrew his hand when Fiach got jumpy, but it seemed that the other man was struggling enough with himself that Brad shouldn't give up on reaching out. He either hadn't seen the scars or simply wasn't commenting on them just yet, choosing instead to look upon the face of the youth in front of him, who seemed so very old in that moment. Brad didn't know what to do, if Fiach wouldn't talk. He'd come here to help, and if he suddenly refused help or refused to open up...what could he do?
And then the tears started to fall as a newspaper was offered up to him with no explanation other than some man had died. He accepted the paper with his free hand - still clasping Fiach's shoulder - skimming the obituaries until he thought he found what the younger man was referring to. A man who helped troubled youths...lived in Ireland...
...he was filled with sorrow for not relocating the boy he had come to think of as a grandson...
Crap.
Brad let the paper drift from his hand back to the desk, looking at Fiach without knowing what in the blue blazes to say. He'd been expecting something dire, but not the whole can of worms! His mouth moved to ask questions, but the words never came; questions of the man, Ireland, what his troubled past could be or why he left to begin with. All the better, he supposed, as Fiach seemed to be expecting the questions and pulling into himself to avoid them.
And so, Brad did the most logical thing his shocked brain could do, and used the hand on Fiach's shoulder to pull the youth into a hug. Strong arms curled around the other, who stood as tall as he did, his embrace neither vice-like nor uncomfortably loose. He finally found his voice, muttering, "Let it out, Fiach." Yes, letting out those tears would be a good place to start, but he was half expecting Fiach to...to break his neck or flee or shove him away or...anything but actually allow the man he probably hated hug him. He truly felt this was the best course of action...but coming from a man who had denied all feelings up until a few weeks ago, it was hard to trust his own judgement.
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Posted: Thu Jan 17, 2008 9:35 pm
Fiach felt so needy and alone, even though Brad was right there. He knew that he should say something more than what he had, to accept the help that had been so kindly offered to him, but at the same time taking that leap was a difficult one. A leap that Fiach still wasn't sure if he was ready to take or not. Even if he never spoke to Brad of it again, never spoke of it to anyone again, that temporary leap of faith would require a trust and need that scared the boy nearly out of his mind. Regretting the tears that streamed down his cheeks, even as Brad read the article and kept his hand on his shoulder. He wished he could just take this night back, or that he'd gone with one of the other, easier, alternatives.
Keeping his face turned away as he struggled to hide everything though it was all slowly coming onto display, a fact that the man despised more than anything, he barely reacted as Brad pulled him into an embrace. At first startled, Fiach merely stood there, tensed, ready to run and hide, or at least break loose, before the man muttered at him, and Fiach felt the last remains of the barriers he'd so carefully been erecting against such a show of emotion begin to break. Unable to prevent his arms, leaden as they felt, from moving, they slowly raised up and wrapped around Brad, clutching at him almost as if Brad was the only thing keeping Fiach up at that moment. Hiding his face neatly against Brad, Fiach tried to stop crying, tried to stop needing. Hating himself for needing this stranger, for the fact that Brad really was the only thing right then keeping him from one of those terrible choices he'd given himself earlier.
He wanted to be angry, to curse and shout, to get into a fist fight with someone, break a few bottles, get drunk, get high, anything other than expose himself like this to a man he barely knew. The tears fell faster as he struggled to find the words to talk, or the control of his limbs to push away from Brad. Barely able to do one, he finally managed to croak out, "I'm sorry...so sorry for calling you. Its so stupid...but I just...I just needed someone. I didn't know who to call...and then you answered your phone...ah...I'm so sorry!" By the end of it, Fiach wasn't sure if he was apologizing to Brad, to the old man, or even to himself. All he knew was that he felt miserable and sorrier than he thought he'd felt in a long, long time.
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Posted: Thu Jan 17, 2008 9:55 pm
If the call hadn't shocked the man out of his mind enough, Fiach's reaction did. Brad was actually stunned, so much that it was good he had already put his arms around Fiach, for he found himself frozen by the sudden show of emotion. The words, the terrible, broken words that left the youth's mouth hurt him in a way he hadn't allowed in a long time, forcing his arms to move and tighten just a little more. Sure, holding a man, in the middle of a shop, that he didn't know, who was crying, would normally send him running for the hills, but...this was Fiach. Ever since he'd met the young store worker, things as simple as a coffee break and a visit to the bar had been a new experience.
"Hey," he said in a mix of gruffness and half-hearted joking, "I said no apologizing to me. I'm here because I chose to be. You didn't drag me here and I'm not trying to get away, so...just...let me help you, okay? Even if this is all I can do. I swear I wont bite." His thumb drew unconscious small circles on Fiach's back, trying to soothe him. It was like trying to soothe his sister, and he wasn't sure he would have reacted much different if she had suddenly burst into tears. Having someone so outwardly independent admitting that they need help...it was a big deal, and Brad couldn't be bothered to worry about appearances now.
The man must have meant a lot to Fiach, for him to lose his cool and call Brad. He could figure that much out on his own. It must have been a heavy straw upon a fully laden camel's back, and any lesser being may have not been strong enough to reach out. The least he could do now was be strong for Fiach. It really didn't matter that he didn't know the younger man very well, or that it was possible that the other man wasn't fond of him; Brad was, in most cases, a very gentle and neutral creature. Taking a step into the personal life of another was a little scary to him, but it was a risk he was willing to take for the other's well being.
"I'm glad you called me," he said quietly, not sure if it was the right thing to say, or if there WAS a right thing to say. He just didn't want Fiach regretting it, when Brad himself did not.
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Posted: Thu Jan 17, 2008 10:14 pm
Even with Brad's reassurance he needn't apologize, Fiach felt as though he owed the man a thousand more. The fact that he knew he was clutching the older man as tightly as he was, made him wince and want to pull away, but the need to have that constant assurance that he wasn't alone kept him from doing so. He'd interrupted Brad's night, to ask for help...help that he wasn't accepting very well in the least. That fact alone made him feel even worse about his decision, and he felt his grip on the other loosen just a bit. It was a scary thing trusting someone with your emotions, and having a stranger be the one with you when you broke was even scarier.
When the older man mentioned that he wasn't trying to get away, the tears slowly started to subside, and a small laugh managed to escape from Fiach's mouth. "With the grip I have...I'm not entirely certain you could get away if you tried..." It was a lame attempt at a joke, but it was all he had to give, to try to somehow lessen the fact that he was crying into the shoulder of a man he barely knew. Or that he was likely clutching the poor man to death as if he were some little girl. That thought managed to anger Fiach just enough at himself that he was able to draw himself up a little bit more as he let out a great sigh.
For now, he was able to stop crying, but he wasn't sure if he wouldn't start up again. The old man's memory was strong and brought with it most of his past - and past he had hoped he'd left behind well enough that it would never bother him again. Relaxing a little as Brad tried to soothe him, he found himself surprised when the other man said that he was glad that he'd been called...and even more surprised to find that he was truly glad that Brad had come. Even if the situation at hand was more than a little embarrassing.
Loosening his grip about the older man enough that he could start to pull away, Fiach kept his face turned away from Brad's, unable and unwilling to look the other in the eyes. He didn't know where to start, to explain why he broke down, and he was sure the other man was curious...even if he wasn't asking any of the questions he wanted to. Clearing his throat, he decided that maybe if he started with just who the old man was...and the real reason he'd taken him in...would be a good start.
With shaking hands, still refusing to look anywhere but the ground, Fiach rolled up the sleeves of one arm, revealing the scar from his attempted suicide and, if one looked closely nearer to the crook of his elbow - the small, pinprick scars from repeated drug use. There weren't enough to be obvious, in fact, to those with no real knowledge of drugs...they might just think he was a repeated drug donor. "The old man...Brian...he...saved my life by bringing me here. When I...said that I was a trouble maker..." His hand tightened on the sleeve he'd rolled up as his voice broke and he had to pause to gather himself once more, "...I didn't just mean by getting into silly fights every now and then."
He didn't know if Brad would recognize what the pin p***k scars indicated, and he knew he'd likely wind up elaborating, but for now...he just hoped that maybe this would help the other man understand. At least just a little.
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Posted: Sat Jan 19, 2008 5:49 pm
The small attempt at a joke made Brad smile just a touch, loosening the hug to let Fiach pull away. He retained his silence, and held no judgement or otherwise open expression on his face while he watched the young man struggle with his inner demons. His hands dropped from the other's shoulders as the youth started to fiddle with the sleeves, the older man's indigo eyes lowering out of instinct as he did so.
Brad's hands never returned to his side, instead cupping Fiach's elbow so he couldn't pull away. His dark brows furrowed as he observed the displayed scars, a small frown on his face. He wasn't familiar with track marks, or even the 'proper' types of attempted suicide scars, and so there was no shock or horror to be seen over his concerned face. No, he was smart man, and was able to piece together what he had read on the obit and Fiach's situation quite well. Still holding onto Fiach's arm, he lifted his other hand and, more like a familiar friend than a total stranger, took the younger man's chin between his thumb and forefinger.
He wore what Fiach probably thought of as his 'scary' face, lips pursed and his brows furrowed to the point he could have been mistaken for angry. "Promise me you wont do that again," he said calmly, although his voice was low. He was shaken by the thought of Fiach...trying to kill himself... "Promise me. And when you feel the need, you call me, and we'll go do something...fun, humiliating, I don't care, until you don't want to hurt anymore. Do I have your word?"
The man tried to smile, but it was hard. He was making a demand of someone he didn't really know and, in a way, binding himself to him. It didn't surprise him or upset him, however, as it felt like the right thing to do. Brad needed a friend, and god knows Fiach needed one; through different circumstances, they would both get what they needed, if the younger man would agree to his terms.
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Posted: Sat Jan 19, 2008 6:53 pm
A small semblance of relief had touched Fiach's face when he felt Brad's arms loosen about him, and slowly drop away. Even though he was revealing a small part of his troubled past to this stranger, it was a relief to not have that persistent reminder that Brad was there, and holding him up in more ways then one. It made him feel weak and terrified all at the same time, and Fiach felt his eyes widen in fear as Brad grabbed his elbow. His initial response was to jerk away, ever so slightly, because he was afraid of what the older man might do.
Many things ran through Fiach's head in the short time it took for Brad to take hold of his chin, and his eyes opened even wider as his breath began to come in the short, ragged breaths of alarm. The look on Brad's face didn't help any, the man looked angry, and considering they were the same size...that made Fiach wish he hadn't tried to open up. That he'd picked one of the previous alternatives, and just let his promise to Adalia drop to nothing. In his alarm, he attempted to take a step back, desperate to get out of Brad's reach, and almost missed what the older man was saying to him.
The fears and worries swirling around in his brain mixed readily with the fight he had with Adalia, the promise that he had made her, as Brad spoke words of a similar tune. Why did people ask the impossible of him? It was impossible to say that he would never try to commit suicide again, never want to hurt himself again. The urge to lash out against what was being asked of him was strong, and without consciously knowing it, Fiach realized that his free arm was reaching out to grasp the hand that held onto his chin, to yank it away from him. To somehow deny what was being asked of him.
It was with a wide, frightened gaze that Fiach finally managed to gasp out, almost as if pleading with the man before him, "I...I...can't! I can't make that promise!" All the while, his brain was spinning around wildly as he shouted at himself mentally, 'Not again! Not again! I can't make that promise again!'. He hoped the mental argument he was having with himself didn't show on his face, and that the older man wouldn't take poorly to his trying to rip from his grasp. All Fiach wanted to do was run away, hide, and pretend that this had never happened. That he'd never wanted help and to tell himself that he wasn't worth the help in the first place.
And unknowingly, that last part was muttered out loud, barely audible, but spoken nonetheless.
"I'm...not...worth it..."
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