Welcome to Gaia! ::

The whole mess had gotten media attention, but not as much as Malaise would've expected anywhere else. Some news networks were foaming at the bit to get their exclusives and finally something exciting this was their big break! Back in DC now, even now that he was relatively hot s**t, yeah, there was the usual paparazzi and s**t that tagged along almost anywhere he showed his face, but as for the city itself - the whole thing felt like it was reported with less of a shout and more of a sigh. Like this again? really?

That more than anything told him that for once, Malaise hadn't been the one to ******** himself up. Unless you counted the decision of going to the party in the first place with the intention of getting ******** up and laid, but he hadn't gone home with the hot redhead or the girl in the cabbage dress in the end, the real tragedy. Thankfully the doctors had slipped him something for the pain at least. Made this all a little more tolerable, getting a little ******** on the up and up and knowing he could probably take some of the s**t home with him. Hardly worth it, though. His side hurt something awful, fractured rib and all kinds of ******** internal bruising from whatever the ******** it was that'd hit him. Hit his head a little on the way down, even, so here he was for them to keep an eye on him or whatever.

Annoying, but he'd deal. At least he could call somebody to look after his boys. Somebody else would have to bring some s**t in tomorrow so he didn't leave the hospital looking as gross as he felt. All doable, though.

Thing was, ******** as he usually was, he'd kind of forgotten all about his emergency contact. Malaise thought s**t was all squared away, and there he was, scribbling away in his notebook about the mess that night with his face washed clean, nibbling on a cube of Jello because honestly ******** it.

Malaise, assuming the clack of heels on the polished, sterile floor of the hospital room was a nurse coming in to check up on him, was too engrossed in what he was doing in his notebook until she spoke up and made herself known.

At least he had the decency to look surprised, his pen pressing too hard into the paper and leaving an impressive blotch behind. (He always used pen for writing lyrics; pencil was too weak, too impermanent he'd always said. Yes, you could always see the mistakes in pen, but in his mind, the mistakes were what made the finished product. Couldn't erase s**t in life, shouldn't be able to on paper either. The more people got to know him, the more fitting it seemed.)

There was a moment when he smiled, his teeth flashing and every inch of him just radiating delight to see her, because god he'd missed her, he missed them all, and he looked about two seconds away from sobbing in relief before he shut it off, slammed something like annoyance down in its place like cards on the table - and then just as quickly switched again, realizing that was too much, to his more typical, sly smile, hoping she hadn't caught anything else there and banking on the fact that this was Lacey and she wouldn't say anything even if she had.

"Nice to see you too, " he said cheerfully, leaning back against the pillows and chuckling slightly. He half-regretted it because it made his side ache, but then, he didn't hate the ache either. "When I'm feeling a little more up to it, feel free." He winked and shut his book too loudly in a quiet room. "This one wasn't my fault - really, I swear - it's going to sound like it's my fault, but it really isn't."

How long had it been exactly since he'd last seen her face to face? - had she always looked so good, or had she done it out of spite? Done her make-up with more impact before she came to maximize the 'you ******** up when you walked away' vibe when he saw her?

Wasted effort if it was. However she looked, he would've felt like that. ******** up was kind of his calling card, and she should've known that getting into it with him. How anyone who really knew him expected anything less from him still boggled his mind.

"Again, " he said in that light, teasing voice, absently patting the bed beside him in an invitation he doubted she'd take. Still, he offered. "Gonna need a little more time on that one - or a few more painkillers, " which wasn't the worst idea, in all seriousness, although he doubted Lacey would see the fun in it.

He sighed, sinking a little further back against his pillows, and he hid a winced with a grin - well, mostly. He let the wince slip out a little. Let her think he was playing it up a little and be annoyed - or endeared - endeared by her annoyance, maybe, annoyed by her endearment. Malaise was interested to see which way she would go.

"I went to some music and arts festival, " he explained, waving his hand in the air as he spoke, medical bracelet swaying with his motion. "Which logically you'd think would lead to me ******** myself over, but I never even got a drink in. Someone did something, maybe to the air? - anyway, everyone got ******** up and started hallucinating, I think, " he was still a little hazy on the whole 'false lifetime' thing. "Then someone let these monsters out, which, as it turned out, were very real and super capable of fracturing my rib. Then there was another monster and some people in costumes, I get a little hazy there, but... apparently it was some terrorist movement? Or that's what the police told me."

As if just remembering, he made a grab for the gem shard he'd ended up with. "Oh, and I ended up with this weird little trinket. I don't really know what it is, but it feels strange. Probably should've given it to the cops, but, well. That's how my night went to s**t. So, how are you?"

Beckoning her like a dog or not, the look Malaise gave her was very deliberately dog-like in nature: the slight cant of his head to a side and the softening of his gaze in response to her ice. Not to be confused with a kicked puppy, no, that was more Fletcher's territory (arguably more genuine and remorseful). It was more like a son of a b***h who'd gotten caught with his face in the garbage, and how could you really be mad at him for being who he was, didn't you still love him anyway?

"Ah, I see, " he said simply in response, letting his hand linger there and coaxing a smile that looked deliberately tight around the edges. He supposed that was what he deserved anyway.

It said something that his gut response to any mention of rehab his body immediately stiffened, lips briefly setting in a thin line before he laughed. Laughed even if Fletcher's name was sitting in the pit of his stomach like a hunk of ice. It felt like he was choking on the cold. "Don't believe me? ********, can't blame you. I wouldn't either. But I'm telling you. Turn on the news. Check your phone. It's the hot story of the minute. Well, relatively warm. Apparently terror attacks are something of a norm in these parts, go figure."

That said, the point came back to: "What happened to Fletch?" What did you do to him were the words that longed to pour out, but that would've been a mistake - and frankly, if anyone should be asked, guilty as charged, right?

It was short-lived, but at least Malaise got to have his moment of living it up as a smug b*****d, his grin cocky and his chin held high, a playful spark in his vibrant blue eyes. "Told you so." Even so, there was no real barb to his words. There was something boyish about it, like he was stopping just short of tugging her pigtails.

The first jab made the spark in his eyes waver, dampening it immediately. But Malaise held on, flashing her a rueful smile as he adjusted himself on the bed. "You're probably right." He said it lightly like it was a joke. They both knew it wasn't. "That is kind of my calling card."

The second turned any light straight to mud, and he didn't look at her after that, instead staring down at his wrist as he scratched idly at it - harder than he had to, or had any need to, irritating pale skin. Red on white with black. Fitting for him.

"Is that what you came for? To remind me what a piece of s**t I am? - mission accomplished then. Thank you."

He hadn't been there.

It was probably better for Fletch he hadn't been. Probably better for everyone.

"You can go now."

Was Fletcher okay? That's what he wanted to ask, but the words just couldn't come out.

He loved her honesty. Refreshingly crisp and clear.

He ******** hated her honesty. Harshly cold and biting.

"And what else is new?" he droned back, trying to reflect the ice back as though it would do anything to keep it at bay. "I know it. You know it. We all ******** know it. So what the ******** are you doing here then?"

Then, she said Leon, and his head dipped beneath the water. "******** off!" he snapped, snatching his hand roughly out of her grasp. He hated being restrained. Almost as much as he hated Leon. "Don't ******** call me that, and don't ******** treat me like I'm a ******** infant! I'm the goddamn adult here, if I wanna ******** it up, who the ******** cares?! Not like I'm your problem anymore!"

Still, even if he didn't say it, something in his face changed when she said Fletcher would be okay. He shut his eyes, something settling in his chest, exhaling softly and pushing his hair too roughly away from his face. "Is his number the same?" He doubted she'd answer. He'd still try it anyway, regardless of what she said.

Malaise had - and he couldn't remember exactly when he'd done it, or why. No, he knew why. Because she was reliable. Because he was blacking out more, and back then, Fletcher had been too. She wasn't falling into the same holes they were, no matter how much he might've tried to tempt her, sway her.

Malaise was bad for her, for all of them. He knew that. I'm doing my best, he'd told her once, wiping his nose and trying to act like he believed it was true. There was no best when you were s**t to begin with. Can't polish s**t. Can't clean it up. Can't fix it. It's just ******** s**t.

He hated being so emotional. It was frustrating that his eyes were burning, and even more frustrating when she was right. "I won't be, " and he tried to sound frigid instead of hot. "Your problem. Today was a mistake. You won't ******** hear about me or my s**t from now on, so go the ******** ahead and leave. I did leave, and I didn't look back, and you shouldn't either. Or are you that sad you can't ******** get over me?"

With that, he slumped against the bed - he didn't realize when he'd risen - and shut his eyes. He didn't answer the last question. He didn't expect she'd stay, and he really didn't want to have to watch her leave.

I know you.

"Then why the ******** are you still here?"

The words spilled out of him with vitriol he hadn't expected. Malaise swallowed hard and fought to calm himself down. It was not easy - the reminder that there was someone mere feet away that loved him, or had, and understood him, even the worst parts. and that despite all that, he couldn't just say I miss you and that was the one thing she didn't know, and it was because of who he was to begin with.

Instead, he cracked his eyes open, peering at her through his lashes as he gave a long sigh. "Lacey. Baby." He didn't deserve the term of endearment. Maybe that's why he used it, sounding every bit as exhausted as he felt. "What do you want from me? Honestly? - an apology? For me to say I was wrong? - that I miss you? What? What do you want me to say?"

It wouldn't fix anything. Least of all him. If she knew him, she had to know that.