Hundred Proof (3/?)
..Title: Hundred Proof (3/?)
..Author: oakapea
..Rating: PG-13
..Pairing: eventual Ryan/Colin
..Summary: Angels come in all shapes and sizes, and it looks like Ryan has found one of his very own… at least, until Colin gets his next assignment…
"So…"
"So."
"You're quite tall."
"Yep."
"You must be, what… six five? Six six?"
"Around there."
Colin bit the inside of his cheek, drawing a deep breath. His eyes were trained on Ryan's, staring him down. Out of the two of them, the injured man seemed to have less composure, and a muscle twitched in his cheek every few seconds. The Canadian's face was completely blank, and he prepared himself before speaking again.
"Your feet are quite large," he deadpanned. Ryan didn't break eye contact to glance at the offending appendages, sticking from underneath the bottom of the covers he was still under. Colin spoke the truth; he had noted that the other's feet were at least a foot long (no pun intended, I swear) and rather hirsute when he was checking more carefully for injuries.
"So they are," Ryan said, tilting his head in acknowledgement.
"Your nose is also quite… pronounced," Colin continued, the barest hint of amusement in his tone. He watched triumphantly as the other man tightened his lips, apparently starting to get the gist of what Colin was implying.
"Oh, yes," he said, shifting to a slightly more lewd position, hand slipping south suggestively. Colin broke eye contact deliberately, raking his eyes across Ryan's body before meeting his gaze again. The slight blush on his cheeks didn't escape the man, nor did the goofy, triumphant smile on his lips.
For a long moment they stayed frozen like this, and Ryan's flamboyant grin began to falter. Colin said nothing. Agonizingly slowly, the man rose a solitary eyebrow.
Ryan's eyes widened, and within a second his face had turned from mildly pink to scarlet. 'Victory!' Colin thought, smirking. He allowed himself a short chuckle while he watched the other break into laughter, both unable to keep a straight face any longer.
'This feels vaguely like schadenfreude, but it's not really sadism, is it?' the Canadian wondered, smiling as Ryan began to calm down. It was a new hobby of his, to make his 'patient' lose control; they had become fast friends in the past two days. 'The bruises are starting to change color,' Colin noted, dropping himself lazily onto the end of the bed. Ryan peered at him through a haze of tears, chuckling.
"You're impossible," he said, shaking his head.
"Never fear, my facetious little friend," Colin said patronizingly, patting Ryan's crossed legs absently. "I admire your valor in the face of certain demise, but you made a foolish mistake and were lucky to emerge as a survivor." Their eyes met, and one corner of Colin's mouth twitched. Ryan opened his mouth to reply, wiping his eyes absently, but the growling of his stomach startled them both.
"You know, you can actually tell me that you're hungry," Colin said sternly, standing. The other looked at him guiltily, but within a minute the Canadian sighed and extended a hand. "Come on," he conceded, helping Ryan carefully to his feet and supporting his weight. "Let's find you something to eat."
"I feel like a cat when you say it like that," he complained, nevertheless allowing Colin to maneuver him through the flat. It was a short distance from the bedroom to the living room/kitchenette, but by the time Colin had deposited Ryan on one of the kitchen chairs at the island, the man was wincing.
'He's still in pain,' Colin thought, wincing as he surveyed Ryan. The man's face was slightly pinched, and one of his large hands was pressed against his ribs. Shaking his head to clear it of the sudden wave of guilt, Colin opened his fridge.
"What do you want?" he asked nonchalantly, poking about the interior. The cool air rushed through his luscious golden tresses… er… slightly thinning… not quite golden… strands of hair. Not hearing a reply from the other, Colin straightened, worried. His back ran into something warm before he could stand all the way up, and he turned his head quickly.
"Surprise," Ryan chuckled, glancing at the shocked Colin for a moment. He turned his gaze quickly back to the refrigerator, grabbing a hunk of cheese before standing and sauntering to the island.
"You can't be healed miraculously," the Canadian protested, still shocked from seeing Ryan moving on his own. "You were just in pain a second ago-"
"I was born to be an actor," he interrupted, sprawling into his chair once more. Colin eyed him suspiciously, checking to see what Ryan had grabbed only as an afterthought.
"Wait! Don't-!"
Eyes wide, Colin watched as Ryan took a hearty bite from the cheese. After chewing thoughtfully for a moment, Ryan turned his blank stare from the chunk still in his hand to Colin. It was almost like a scene from some macabre movie; their eyes were riveted on each other, and the only sound in the room was a sudden, determined swallow.
"Oh god," Colin breathed, covering his face with a hand. "I should have warned you-"
"You did," Ryan said, amused out of all things. He placed the cheese as far away from himself as possible on the island before running a finger along the inside of his mouth, grimacing. "What the hell is that nightmare of a food, anyway?"
"Mascarpone," Colin said weakly. "It's-"
"Like solid cream cheese, I got it," Ryan laughed, waving a hand. "It wasn't too terrible." His eyes roamed the room for a moment before coming to rest on the still miserable-looking Colin. "I've swallowed worse."
"Oh, shut up!" the man snapped, turning away to hide his crimson cheeks. He stared at the front of the fridge for a moment, entertaining the idea of refusing Ryan food. The thought was discarded after a moment, and he opened a nearby cupboard with a sigh.
Placing a bag of bagels, a jar of Nutella, a small bag of powdered sugar, and a few utensils on the island, Colin gave Ryan a reproachful look. "You're lucky I'm still willing to feed you," he muttered, grabbing a bowl.
"Sorry," Ryan said, voice surprisingly timid. Colin glanced up, hand hovering over the bowl with a fistful of cheese. Ryan's eyes were trained on the counter, and he looked miserable.
"I'm… Ryan? What is it…?" the man asked, dropping the cheese with a metallic thud into the bowl. He came around the side of the counter, carefully laying a hand on Ryan's shoulder. The other flinched at his touch, and Colin was quick to back away, willing him to meet his gaze. "Did I say something wrong?"
"I did," Ryan mumbled, playing with his hands.
"What are you talking about?"
"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable-"
"You didn't!" Colin was quick to interrupt. At a glance from Ryan, he shifted uneasily and shrugged. "Well… I'm just shy, Ry; you don't have to worry if I blush!" His eyes searched those of the other, and he was frightened by what he saw there. 'Your eyes haven't been that empty since I saved you… what happened to make you apathetic about your life that night?'
"Okay," Ryan said, voice small. He looked away, standing stiffly. "I'm going to go to bed."
"Goodnight," Colin called softly, wanting to go after the retreating figure, but knowing that he shouldn't.
"Goodnight," was the blank reply.
o:O:o
'Go to sleep, Mochrie,' Colin told himself, shifting on the couch. 'It's nearly witches' hour, for god's sake; stop thinking about it!' Even as the man told himself this, he knew it was to no avail. Shaking his head sharply, he sat up, reaching for the phone on the coffee table. His fingers dialed the number he had long ago memorized, and he pressed the receiver to his ear impatiently.
"Grâce d'Epargne," a brisk voice said, and Colin's eyes narrowed, recognizing the speaker. 'That's right, isn't it; the secretary resigned…'
"A bit hard to be stiff in French, isn't it?" he snapped, keeping his voice low. There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then a sigh.
"Colin," the voice said, the thick accent destroying the name. "Comment allez-vous?"
"You know perfectly well how I am," Colin said, hand gripping the phone tighter. "Assigning me to a gang war last month, a drug addict the next, and then screwing the time up so badly on this one that my mark almost died before I got there?" His voice was devoid of anger, but every emphasized word was bit off and sharp.
"I thought 'ou would be 'appy," the voice said, sounding regretful. "Ou're almost en ange gardien, no?"
"That doesn't matter if people are going to die because you're… testing me," Colin said, allowing anger to seep into his voice. "You have a damn farrago of anges already. Don't taint what we do for business reasons." With that decisive note, the man dropped the phone back onto its cradle, eyes narrowed.
'Damnit,' he thought after a few moments of silence. 'Grâce d'Epargne needs to come under new management-'
A heavy footstep caused Colin to break off mid-thought, hand shooting to the box under the coffee table that held his high school yearbooks-and his guns. A quick moment of breathless scrambling and he was cocking one of his more decorative handguns, the burnished surface gleaming in the darkness. He didn't think there were even any bullets in the weapon, but he held it expertly, hoping it'd be enough to deter any of the gardien that may have been deployed.
"Don't move," Colin snapped when there was another footstep. He rose deliberately, sidestepping to the nearest lightswitch. The man reached out with one hand, other still training the gun on where he heard the intruder last. The light flickered on, and Colin shut his eyes tightly. 'Shit.'
"Colin?" Ryan asked, a small measure of terror evident in his voice.