The Message
Title: The Message
Pairing: Boyd Gordon / Brooks Laich
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: A fictional byproduct of a twisted, twisted mind.
A/N: Hey, look, a fic! Yeah...that's all I got.
“What are you afraid of, Brooksie?”
His voice was quiet, hushed, like someone speaking up in a crowded but silent room - hesitant to break the status quo. Hesitant to be the first one.
I shrugged off the question. I wasn’t afraid of anything, nothing scared me. Fearless, that’s what my mother had called it; dumbass reckless was my father’s take, and most of the time I was pretty sure he was right. Still, I embraced it - took pride in it, the fact that I was always the one to volunteer for the stupid daredevil stunt or first in line for the roller coaster that looked like it could fall apart at any moment.
Afraid? Not me.
“I don’t get scared,” I replied firmly.
Boyd wasn’t convinced. His mouth twisted into an odd curve like he was preparing to laugh out loud - or scream obscenities into the wind. At least I imagined that’s what he would look like; he was never one for hysterical bursts of laughter or random screaming fits. Calm. Even.
“Fine,” he said, his voice sounding as tired as he suddenly looked. “Fine, you’re not scared. Never. What was I thinking? Go jump off a bridge, leap out of a plane, see what I care. Go on. You’re not afraid of any of that.”
“Boyd…”
“Admit you’re scared, Brooks!” he yelled suddenly. “Just admit it so we can deal with it and move on already. I’m not going to drag your ass through this entire relationship, so drop the macho act.”
There was a deafening silence. I swallowed hard and attempted a weak smile. “It’s not an act,” I said, trying to make my voice sound light, teasing. I was still shaking - Boyd didn’t yell. “I’m the most macho guy you know, right?”
“Don’t,” he murmured with a shake of his head. “It’s not funny, don’t joke. You don’t talk to me - you won’t talk. I don’t think I’m asking a lot, Brooksie. I say that…I put myself out there and you…I just, I don’t know what else I can do.”
I stared at him dumbly, unblinking, unable to move or speak or do anything to stop what I knew what was about to happen. He was waiting for me to respond. He wanted me to respond, needed it. And his need to hear it was outweighed only by my own desire to say it…to say anything at all.
Come on. Say something, damn it. Say…anything.
The silence dragged on and on. Seemingly infinite silence broken only by a sigh, then the soft rustle of fabric, the faint whisper of footsteps across the floor as he walked away from me. The click of the door opening sounded like a gunshot piercing the air; the sound of it closing felt like one. A self-inflicted wound.
I moved through the fog toward the bed, barely seeing where I was going and barely feeling the mattress beneath me when I arrived. Everything numb, in slow motion and hazy, too hazy to see, to feel. Staring at the wall I focused on breathing in and out, reminding myself to breathe in and out, to maintain. And after a minute of hearing nothing but my heartbeat and the sound of my own breath everything came into focus.
What the fuck was I doing??
Lunging across the room with a quickness that surprised even me I grabbed my cell phone off the desk and hurriedly dialed Boyd’s number. One ring, then two. I laughed, almost manic laughter as I heard the ringing a third time and a fourth, knowing that I wouldn’t have answered either if the roles were reversed. A fifth ring. The soft, unassuming voice telling me I’d reached voice mail…a tinny beep…
“I’m not scared,” I said aloud, my voice trembling a little more than I would have liked. “I’m…I’m fucking terrified. We’re so far past just being scared, I don’t…Boyd, you’re the only one I’ve ever been terrified of or nervous around. I think that’s a good thing, I don’t know. You make me feel…alive.”
I laughed sharply, exhaling. The words sounded hollow and empty even to me and I knew I meant it - so little in the face of so much. “That sounds dumb, I know,” I continued. “I don’t think I care, though, because you do, you make me feel alive. I never know what’s coming out of your mouth or when, and I love that about you. It kills me.”
Come on, get to the point…quit babbling. Say it.
“I love you, Boyd,” I blurted out. “I fucking love you, of course I do. And I hate that I made you doubt it and I hate that I have to tell you in a message that you’ll probably delete but…”
I trailed off. It was quiet on the other end; too quiet, and I realized with a start that I’d been cut off. The phone was determined to work against me - or perhaps work for Boyd, preventing him from knowing what I’d just said, protect him from this madman before he babbles again.
Out of time. I laughed dully at the irony and pondered when the last time had been that I’d laughed, really, truly laughed at something that had amused me instead of just covering myself.
It was with Boyd. You know it was.
I shook my head, trying to force the little voice to the back of my mind, trying to ignore it as I numbly returned to the bed, tuning it out as I ordered room service - but I knew it spoke the truth.
Slumping backwards on the bed I sighed and rubbed my face vigorously over and over. Erase the memory of the hurt in Boyd’s eyes, the paralyzing fear I’d felt when he said…when he said that…the equally paralyzing fear that had rushed through me the second he had walked out the door.
Then the message. So many times I played it over in my head, wondering how much had gotten through - racking my brain to try and remember hearing a click or a dial tone that would mark time. How much would he hear? Would he listen at all or just delete it immediately? And if he didn’t hear, if he’d refused to listen…would I have the courage to say it again to his face?
Oh, god…
Time slipped away. I didn’t know how long I lay there trapped in my mind - a dangerous place to be even on the best of days was now a minefield of emotions and memories. The only indicator that any time had passed at all was the sharp knock on the door to announce the arrival of my dinner. Not feeling the least bit hungry, I launched myself up anyway and staggered to the door, feeling drunk and dizzy from too much introspection.
And because of the stupor I was in, it took me almost a minute to realize that I was faced not with a hotel employee, cart laden with whatever I had ordered - but with Boyd.
Boyd. Standing in the doorway in front of me, phone pressed to his ear, face expressionless. Gone was the snap of anger that had occupied his eyes only moments ago - or maybe it was hours - but what remained was unreadable, unrecognizable. Everything was hidden so well, always hidden, except for the things he wanted you to see. And those were often the most important things.
“Boyd…” I started but stopped as he brushed wordlessly past me into the room. The door clicked shut and he turned to face me, still listening intently - to what, I didn’t know. I couldn’t be sure.
Finally he let the phone drift away from his ear and held it in his palm, staring at it quietly before slowly snapping it shut. I jumped a little at the sound but continued to watch every action, every motion and movement by him to try and glean some sort of clue as to where he was. He had heard it, I knew that. But...
“How much did you hear?” I questioned desperately. “My message, how much did…you listened to it, right?”
“I heard some of it,” he replied evenly.
“How much?”
Glancing up slowly he met my gaze and tilted his head to the side, shrugging. “You tell me.”
“I…”
“Tell me what you said and I’ll tell you if I missed it,” he added.
“I…said I was terrified,” I murmured, staring down at my shoes.
“What?"
“I said I was terrified,” I repeated loudly.
“Was that all?” he prompted, still so calm, so cool and quiet. So very…Boyd.
“I said that you…you make me feel alive,” I said with a sigh, avoiding his gaze again. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw him smile but whatever it had been disappeared by the time I looked him in the eye again. “You scare the shit out of me and I love it.”
“I scare you.” There it was again, the hint of a smile, a slight twitch that to anyone else would have been incomprehensible. Not to me. I felt myself growing braver, remembering how strongly I’d felt about the things I’d said - all the things I’d said.
“You do,” I said with a nod. “But it’s good, I need to be scared.”
He raised his eyebrows and nodded back. “True. So was…was that it? That I scare you?”
Inhaling deeply I took a step toward him and shook my head. “No. The most important part…I should have told you before, Boyd.”
“What was it?” he asked, finally a slight tremor appearing in his voice. “What did you say?”
“I shouldn’t have left it in a message, Boyd,” I said as I took another step.
“What was it, Brooksie?” he repeated impatiently. “What was it, tell me. Say it.”
“I love you, Boyd.”
For a moment neither of us moved; we barely breathed. I stared at him, imploring him to believe me, pleading with him silently to give me another chance and let me say the words every day, every hour, every minute.
“Say it again,” he whispered.
“I…love you. More than you know,” I whispered back.
Tentatively I reached out a hand and rested it on the back of his neck, watching his face as he closed his eyes briefly, the long, dark lashes hiding him from me for a split second. When he opened them again his lips curled into a soft smile, knowing and peaceful.
“Yeah, I know,” he murmured. “I heard you say it in a message once.”
Breaking into a grin I shook my head in mock annoyance and leaned in for a kiss that seemed to go on forever and yet not last nearly long enough. As he pulled away his arms twisted around my waist and he continued to smile contentedly.
“You’re going to delete that message, right?” I asked after a moment.
“Oh, no,” he laughed softly. “I’m hanging on to that for as long as possible, believe me.”
“Why??” I protested, tightening my grip on him. “Blackmail?”
He shrugged. “No, I just want a record of it in case you ever forget.”
“Not possible,” I said as I pulled him into me once more. “Not in a million years.”
<>
Pairing: Boyd Gordon / Brooks Laich
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: A fictional byproduct of a twisted, twisted mind.
A/N: Hey, look, a fic! Yeah...that's all I got.
“What are you afraid of, Brooksie?”
His voice was quiet, hushed, like someone speaking up in a crowded but silent room - hesitant to break the status quo. Hesitant to be the first one.
I shrugged off the question. I wasn’t afraid of anything, nothing scared me. Fearless, that’s what my mother had called it; dumbass reckless was my father’s take, and most of the time I was pretty sure he was right. Still, I embraced it - took pride in it, the fact that I was always the one to volunteer for the stupid daredevil stunt or first in line for the roller coaster that looked like it could fall apart at any moment.
Afraid? Not me.
“I don’t get scared,” I replied firmly.
Boyd wasn’t convinced. His mouth twisted into an odd curve like he was preparing to laugh out loud - or scream obscenities into the wind. At least I imagined that’s what he would look like; he was never one for hysterical bursts of laughter or random screaming fits. Calm. Even.
“Fine,” he said, his voice sounding as tired as he suddenly looked. “Fine, you’re not scared. Never. What was I thinking? Go jump off a bridge, leap out of a plane, see what I care. Go on. You’re not afraid of any of that.”
“Boyd…”
“Admit you’re scared, Brooks!” he yelled suddenly. “Just admit it so we can deal with it and move on already. I’m not going to drag your ass through this entire relationship, so drop the macho act.”
There was a deafening silence. I swallowed hard and attempted a weak smile. “It’s not an act,” I said, trying to make my voice sound light, teasing. I was still shaking - Boyd didn’t yell. “I’m the most macho guy you know, right?”
“Don’t,” he murmured with a shake of his head. “It’s not funny, don’t joke. You don’t talk to me - you won’t talk. I don’t think I’m asking a lot, Brooksie. I say that…I put myself out there and you…I just, I don’t know what else I can do.”
I stared at him dumbly, unblinking, unable to move or speak or do anything to stop what I knew what was about to happen. He was waiting for me to respond. He wanted me to respond, needed it. And his need to hear it was outweighed only by my own desire to say it…to say anything at all.
Come on. Say something, damn it. Say…anything.
The silence dragged on and on. Seemingly infinite silence broken only by a sigh, then the soft rustle of fabric, the faint whisper of footsteps across the floor as he walked away from me. The click of the door opening sounded like a gunshot piercing the air; the sound of it closing felt like one. A self-inflicted wound.
I moved through the fog toward the bed, barely seeing where I was going and barely feeling the mattress beneath me when I arrived. Everything numb, in slow motion and hazy, too hazy to see, to feel. Staring at the wall I focused on breathing in and out, reminding myself to breathe in and out, to maintain. And after a minute of hearing nothing but my heartbeat and the sound of my own breath everything came into focus.
What the fuck was I doing??
Lunging across the room with a quickness that surprised even me I grabbed my cell phone off the desk and hurriedly dialed Boyd’s number. One ring, then two. I laughed, almost manic laughter as I heard the ringing a third time and a fourth, knowing that I wouldn’t have answered either if the roles were reversed. A fifth ring. The soft, unassuming voice telling me I’d reached voice mail…a tinny beep…
“I’m not scared,” I said aloud, my voice trembling a little more than I would have liked. “I’m…I’m fucking terrified. We’re so far past just being scared, I don’t…Boyd, you’re the only one I’ve ever been terrified of or nervous around. I think that’s a good thing, I don’t know. You make me feel…alive.”
I laughed sharply, exhaling. The words sounded hollow and empty even to me and I knew I meant it - so little in the face of so much. “That sounds dumb, I know,” I continued. “I don’t think I care, though, because you do, you make me feel alive. I never know what’s coming out of your mouth or when, and I love that about you. It kills me.”
Come on, get to the point…quit babbling. Say it.
“I love you, Boyd,” I blurted out. “I fucking love you, of course I do. And I hate that I made you doubt it and I hate that I have to tell you in a message that you’ll probably delete but…”
I trailed off. It was quiet on the other end; too quiet, and I realized with a start that I’d been cut off. The phone was determined to work against me - or perhaps work for Boyd, preventing him from knowing what I’d just said, protect him from this madman before he babbles again.
Out of time. I laughed dully at the irony and pondered when the last time had been that I’d laughed, really, truly laughed at something that had amused me instead of just covering myself.
It was with Boyd. You know it was.
I shook my head, trying to force the little voice to the back of my mind, trying to ignore it as I numbly returned to the bed, tuning it out as I ordered room service - but I knew it spoke the truth.
Slumping backwards on the bed I sighed and rubbed my face vigorously over and over. Erase the memory of the hurt in Boyd’s eyes, the paralyzing fear I’d felt when he said…when he said that…the equally paralyzing fear that had rushed through me the second he had walked out the door.
Then the message. So many times I played it over in my head, wondering how much had gotten through - racking my brain to try and remember hearing a click or a dial tone that would mark time. How much would he hear? Would he listen at all or just delete it immediately? And if he didn’t hear, if he’d refused to listen…would I have the courage to say it again to his face?
Oh, god…
Time slipped away. I didn’t know how long I lay there trapped in my mind - a dangerous place to be even on the best of days was now a minefield of emotions and memories. The only indicator that any time had passed at all was the sharp knock on the door to announce the arrival of my dinner. Not feeling the least bit hungry, I launched myself up anyway and staggered to the door, feeling drunk and dizzy from too much introspection.
And because of the stupor I was in, it took me almost a minute to realize that I was faced not with a hotel employee, cart laden with whatever I had ordered - but with Boyd.
Boyd. Standing in the doorway in front of me, phone pressed to his ear, face expressionless. Gone was the snap of anger that had occupied his eyes only moments ago - or maybe it was hours - but what remained was unreadable, unrecognizable. Everything was hidden so well, always hidden, except for the things he wanted you to see. And those were often the most important things.
“Boyd…” I started but stopped as he brushed wordlessly past me into the room. The door clicked shut and he turned to face me, still listening intently - to what, I didn’t know. I couldn’t be sure.
Finally he let the phone drift away from his ear and held it in his palm, staring at it quietly before slowly snapping it shut. I jumped a little at the sound but continued to watch every action, every motion and movement by him to try and glean some sort of clue as to where he was. He had heard it, I knew that. But...
“How much did you hear?” I questioned desperately. “My message, how much did…you listened to it, right?”
“I heard some of it,” he replied evenly.
“How much?”
Glancing up slowly he met my gaze and tilted his head to the side, shrugging. “You tell me.”
“I…”
“Tell me what you said and I’ll tell you if I missed it,” he added.
“I…said I was terrified,” I murmured, staring down at my shoes.
“What?"
“I said I was terrified,” I repeated loudly.
“Was that all?” he prompted, still so calm, so cool and quiet. So very…Boyd.
“I said that you…you make me feel alive,” I said with a sigh, avoiding his gaze again. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw him smile but whatever it had been disappeared by the time I looked him in the eye again. “You scare the shit out of me and I love it.”
“I scare you.” There it was again, the hint of a smile, a slight twitch that to anyone else would have been incomprehensible. Not to me. I felt myself growing braver, remembering how strongly I’d felt about the things I’d said - all the things I’d said.
“You do,” I said with a nod. “But it’s good, I need to be scared.”
He raised his eyebrows and nodded back. “True. So was…was that it? That I scare you?”
Inhaling deeply I took a step toward him and shook my head. “No. The most important part…I should have told you before, Boyd.”
“What was it?” he asked, finally a slight tremor appearing in his voice. “What did you say?”
“I shouldn’t have left it in a message, Boyd,” I said as I took another step.
“What was it, Brooksie?” he repeated impatiently. “What was it, tell me. Say it.”
“I love you, Boyd.”
For a moment neither of us moved; we barely breathed. I stared at him, imploring him to believe me, pleading with him silently to give me another chance and let me say the words every day, every hour, every minute.
“Say it again,” he whispered.
“I…love you. More than you know,” I whispered back.
Tentatively I reached out a hand and rested it on the back of his neck, watching his face as he closed his eyes briefly, the long, dark lashes hiding him from me for a split second. When he opened them again his lips curled into a soft smile, knowing and peaceful.
“Yeah, I know,” he murmured. “I heard you say it in a message once.”
Breaking into a grin I shook my head in mock annoyance and leaned in for a kiss that seemed to go on forever and yet not last nearly long enough. As he pulled away his arms twisted around my waist and he continued to smile contentedly.
“You’re going to delete that message, right?” I asked after a moment.
“Oh, no,” he laughed softly. “I’m hanging on to that for as long as possible, believe me.”
“Why??” I protested, tightening my grip on him. “Blackmail?”
He shrugged. “No, I just want a record of it in case you ever forget.”
“Not possible,” I said as I pulled him into me once more. “Not in a million years.”
<>