Co-Dependent Vince/Eric Fic 2/?
Pairing: Vince/Eric
Rating: Some swearing, that is it.
Summery: Something happened while Vince was gone and Eric isn't and isn't sharing.
Author Notes: This is my first fic and I haven't quite worked out plot kinks so if you have any thoughts about pacing or devlopment or really anything, please share.
E still has that panicky desperate feeling that rose up inside when Turtle mentioned bodyguards to Vince, that feeling that no matter how deep a lungful of air he takes, it still won’t be enough, because Jesus, he can’t fucking breathe, he hasn’t been able to breathe in a month and half and now Vince is there and worry for him, worry about him is taking up extra space under his diaphragm and he can’t getting enough fucking air.
It’s good to have work. As soon as he could he had started getting scripts delivered to his hospital bed and making phone calls and now he is pushing all his time, everything has left into Vince’s career. E feels bad because he knows he’s worrying Johnny with the weight he’s losing, he had to go shopping before Vince came back because his too-big clothes made him look young, and he really fucking needed the to be taken seriously right now, he needed fucking control more than he had ever needed it is his fucking life.
That’s why he won’t take the pills Turtle offered him weeks ago, when his sleep deprivation got so bad that even the guys couldn’t ignore it, but honestly insomnia is okay; E gets much more work done these days.
Like today, that call had been a fucking miracle and the invite to dinner to discuss a script had been the second coming and not eating just gave him more time to talk and saved him from embarrassing himself by needing to talk with his mouth full, and he has gotten through the meal and agreed to look over the papers and he was sure his companions hadn’t noticed how his hands started shaking at the sound of breaking glass when that waiter dropped his tray.
***********************************
Crash---
The green glass of a beer bottle nicked his ankle as a shard flew up from the bottle that had been thrown at his feet.
“Hey, you, Eric fucking Murphy”
***********************************
And there had been another crash, this one next to his head as another bottle was smashed against the wall next to his head. The hand anchored in his hair had yanked his face away at the last second and the uneven concrete bit into his knees and fuck fuck fuck his arm hurt and his heart was pounding too loudly for him to distinguish more then rage and derision from their voices.
***********************************
But that was over and he should be fucking over it too. He had kept it, the panic, the nausea, in check in public, he could fucking be in control here too and he has to be because Vince is back and he is giving E that pleading look he gives that E has yet to ever really say no to because he can’t remember a time when he didn’t love Vince so much that he would fucking move the earth without a lever to make him happy. So E bit his lip until his teeth nearly pierced the skin, because he couldn’t fucking handle the taste of blood on top of the sound of breaking glass still ringing in his ears. He has enough control not to bit his lip off, that’s a start.
E stops pacing sits down in the living room slash study that he has taken over since he got back home and picks up the box of scripts on the floor next to the coach that he defiantly isn’t sleeping on when Turtle asks, and ignores the way the digital clock on the wall seems to be accusingly shining 12:48 at him and does his fucking job.
***************************************
It’s 2:24 when Vince wakes up restless, and it isn’t even jetlag, though Europe is hours ahead, no it’s something else buzzing around in the back of his skull and Vince tries to catch it, tries to lure the thought out by not thinking about it, but it doesn’t work and he can’t sleep anyway, because E is clearly a little broken and freaked out and Vince is E’s best fucking friend in the whole damn world and how has he been helping?
E had come back from the dinner meeting better and yet somehow so much worse. He had seemed more relaxed as if the meeting had reaffirmed him in someway but there was also this new frenzy, pushing him forward like looking back had somehow gotten worse sense he had slid past Vince and out the house. Vince had looked away from the hasty wind of E’s quick nod and greeting and muttered “Work” to see Johnny and Turtle exchanging a look, one full of trepidation and concern.
When Vince had demanded, “What?” they had just shaken their heads and exchanged another glance but the room was quieter after that and eventually Johnny left and Turtle followed after quickly, leaving Vince with his worry and his anger to sleep fitfully only to wake and pad to the kitchen with idle hunger.
His path is cut short by a glow emanating from the hallway that joins the one he is in on the way to the kitchen. Vince feels a frown wrinkle his brow as he turns towards the light and a little way down the hall, he finds the cracked door to one of the downstairs living rooms.
Inside he sees E and he takes a second to just stare because Jesus, he missed E. This one of the shoots that E hadn’t come with him, he had visited two weeks in but had to return and hadn’t come back and Vince squashed the hurt cause E had never said he would and clearly something had happened and really all he wanted now was to study the curve of E’s neck as his head bent to the script he was reading, the little downy tufts of red hair that snuggled against the nape of his neck, and the straight line of his nose, rising from the dark bruise like patches under his eyes, and protective hunch of his back and fuck but E was clearly not fucking okay, Johnny.
Vince stepped into the light softly and tapped the door but E still jerked, then he held oddly still his face tight, almost grimacing he began to rub his shoulder again.
“E” Vince offered softly almost whispering and E turned his eyes on Vince and he was nearly begging with eyes and Vince just wants him to not to have the fucking tense pinched look of trepidation on his face so he says “Okay, E. It’s okay.”
And E nods and tries to force a smile even though his facial muscles aren’t playing ball and Vince knows, he knows deep in his body, that it isn’t.
So instead he moves to safer ground and offers “I gonna grab something from the kitchen wanna come?” And E pauses and nods and follows after Vince, his steps a little heavier then normal.
In the kitchen Vince rummages idly through cupboards, watching E more than searching and finally grabs a box a cereal and heads to the refrigerator for some milk and he shakes the box at he was he passes him seated at the island and E just shakes his head. Vince frowns at him because E just picked at his lunch and Vince just found most of his dinner encased in Styrofoam in the fridge so he’s gotta be hungry.
E just shrugs and sleeve of his T-shirt flaps oddly and Vince can’t imagine why E is wearing Turtle’s shirt before he realizes that he recognizes it as one of E’s and Jesus fucking Christ, when did E loose so much weight? He stares until E shifts uncomfortably and looks away so he turns his attention to his cereal and finishes it instead of staring at his damaged friend. It tastes like cardboard covered in wood polish and he’s glad when he’s done and when looks up after he dumps the bowl in the sink he is gladder to see E looking calmer, head resting on his hand and eyes staring at his with a soft warm affection.
He rounds the island and gently takes E by the bicep and guides his unresisting body and E relaxes into Vince warmth because he so grateful to Vince for not pushing and he missed him and his hand is warm and he didn’t grab that arm and he just so fucking tired. So tired that he doesn’t protest when Vince nudges him into his own bed, just lies down and allows Vince to tuck him in like some pussy because he feels a lot better with Vince back and maybe he can stay asleep now and waking up in a bed won’t be like then anymore.
Vince leaves E curled under the covers of his bed looking like he gonna fall asleep in a matter of seconds and tries not to think about the shiver of tension the rippled through E when he lay down, or about the fact that he didn’t actually utter a word tonight or about the weight loss or the stress or the overworking or about how about an hour later Vince hears quiet footsteps making their way downstairs from E’s room.
Rating: Some swearing, that is it.
Summery: Something happened while Vince was gone and Eric isn't and isn't sharing.
Author Notes: This is my first fic and I haven't quite worked out plot kinks so if you have any thoughts about pacing or devlopment or really anything, please share.
E still has that panicky desperate feeling that rose up inside when Turtle mentioned bodyguards to Vince, that feeling that no matter how deep a lungful of air he takes, it still won’t be enough, because Jesus, he can’t fucking breathe, he hasn’t been able to breathe in a month and half and now Vince is there and worry for him, worry about him is taking up extra space under his diaphragm and he can’t getting enough fucking air.
It’s good to have work. As soon as he could he had started getting scripts delivered to his hospital bed and making phone calls and now he is pushing all his time, everything has left into Vince’s career. E feels bad because he knows he’s worrying Johnny with the weight he’s losing, he had to go shopping before Vince came back because his too-big clothes made him look young, and he really fucking needed the to be taken seriously right now, he needed fucking control more than he had ever needed it is his fucking life.
That’s why he won’t take the pills Turtle offered him weeks ago, when his sleep deprivation got so bad that even the guys couldn’t ignore it, but honestly insomnia is okay; E gets much more work done these days.
Like today, that call had been a fucking miracle and the invite to dinner to discuss a script had been the second coming and not eating just gave him more time to talk and saved him from embarrassing himself by needing to talk with his mouth full, and he has gotten through the meal and agreed to look over the papers and he was sure his companions hadn’t noticed how his hands started shaking at the sound of breaking glass when that waiter dropped his tray.
***********************************
Crash---
The green glass of a beer bottle nicked his ankle as a shard flew up from the bottle that had been thrown at his feet.
“Hey, you, Eric fucking Murphy”
***********************************
And there had been another crash, this one next to his head as another bottle was smashed against the wall next to his head. The hand anchored in his hair had yanked his face away at the last second and the uneven concrete bit into his knees and fuck fuck fuck his arm hurt and his heart was pounding too loudly for him to distinguish more then rage and derision from their voices.
***********************************
But that was over and he should be fucking over it too. He had kept it, the panic, the nausea, in check in public, he could fucking be in control here too and he has to be because Vince is back and he is giving E that pleading look he gives that E has yet to ever really say no to because he can’t remember a time when he didn’t love Vince so much that he would fucking move the earth without a lever to make him happy. So E bit his lip until his teeth nearly pierced the skin, because he couldn’t fucking handle the taste of blood on top of the sound of breaking glass still ringing in his ears. He has enough control not to bit his lip off, that’s a start.
E stops pacing sits down in the living room slash study that he has taken over since he got back home and picks up the box of scripts on the floor next to the coach that he defiantly isn’t sleeping on when Turtle asks, and ignores the way the digital clock on the wall seems to be accusingly shining 12:48 at him and does his fucking job.
***************************************
It’s 2:24 when Vince wakes up restless, and it isn’t even jetlag, though Europe is hours ahead, no it’s something else buzzing around in the back of his skull and Vince tries to catch it, tries to lure the thought out by not thinking about it, but it doesn’t work and he can’t sleep anyway, because E is clearly a little broken and freaked out and Vince is E’s best fucking friend in the whole damn world and how has he been helping?
E had come back from the dinner meeting better and yet somehow so much worse. He had seemed more relaxed as if the meeting had reaffirmed him in someway but there was also this new frenzy, pushing him forward like looking back had somehow gotten worse sense he had slid past Vince and out the house. Vince had looked away from the hasty wind of E’s quick nod and greeting and muttered “Work” to see Johnny and Turtle exchanging a look, one full of trepidation and concern.
When Vince had demanded, “What?” they had just shaken their heads and exchanged another glance but the room was quieter after that and eventually Johnny left and Turtle followed after quickly, leaving Vince with his worry and his anger to sleep fitfully only to wake and pad to the kitchen with idle hunger.
His path is cut short by a glow emanating from the hallway that joins the one he is in on the way to the kitchen. Vince feels a frown wrinkle his brow as he turns towards the light and a little way down the hall, he finds the cracked door to one of the downstairs living rooms.
Inside he sees E and he takes a second to just stare because Jesus, he missed E. This one of the shoots that E hadn’t come with him, he had visited two weeks in but had to return and hadn’t come back and Vince squashed the hurt cause E had never said he would and clearly something had happened and really all he wanted now was to study the curve of E’s neck as his head bent to the script he was reading, the little downy tufts of red hair that snuggled against the nape of his neck, and the straight line of his nose, rising from the dark bruise like patches under his eyes, and protective hunch of his back and fuck but E was clearly not fucking okay, Johnny.
Vince stepped into the light softly and tapped the door but E still jerked, then he held oddly still his face tight, almost grimacing he began to rub his shoulder again.
“E” Vince offered softly almost whispering and E turned his eyes on Vince and he was nearly begging with eyes and Vince just wants him to not to have the fucking tense pinched look of trepidation on his face so he says “Okay, E. It’s okay.”
And E nods and tries to force a smile even though his facial muscles aren’t playing ball and Vince knows, he knows deep in his body, that it isn’t.
So instead he moves to safer ground and offers “I gonna grab something from the kitchen wanna come?” And E pauses and nods and follows after Vince, his steps a little heavier then normal.
In the kitchen Vince rummages idly through cupboards, watching E more than searching and finally grabs a box a cereal and heads to the refrigerator for some milk and he shakes the box at he was he passes him seated at the island and E just shakes his head. Vince frowns at him because E just picked at his lunch and Vince just found most of his dinner encased in Styrofoam in the fridge so he’s gotta be hungry.
E just shrugs and sleeve of his T-shirt flaps oddly and Vince can’t imagine why E is wearing Turtle’s shirt before he realizes that he recognizes it as one of E’s and Jesus fucking Christ, when did E loose so much weight? He stares until E shifts uncomfortably and looks away so he turns his attention to his cereal and finishes it instead of staring at his damaged friend. It tastes like cardboard covered in wood polish and he’s glad when he’s done and when looks up after he dumps the bowl in the sink he is gladder to see E looking calmer, head resting on his hand and eyes staring at his with a soft warm affection.
He rounds the island and gently takes E by the bicep and guides his unresisting body and E relaxes into Vince warmth because he so grateful to Vince for not pushing and he missed him and his hand is warm and he didn’t grab that arm and he just so fucking tired. So tired that he doesn’t protest when Vince nudges him into his own bed, just lies down and allows Vince to tuck him in like some pussy because he feels a lot better with Vince back and maybe he can stay asleep now and waking up in a bed won’t be like then anymore.
Vince leaves E curled under the covers of his bed looking like he gonna fall asleep in a matter of seconds and tries not to think about the shiver of tension the rippled through E when he lay down, or about the fact that he didn’t actually utter a word tonight or about the weight loss or the stress or the overworking or about how about an hour later Vince hears quiet footsteps making their way downstairs from E’s room.