RPS/F - Beautiful Disasters (Ari Gold/Robert Downey Jr., George Clooney, Shia LaBeouf)
a) I saw the trailer for HP and the Half-Blood Prince. I won't lie, it looks good. HBP is my favorite book because it actually talks about Slytherins for a change. Biased what?
b) Wyatt Cenac continues to infringe on my Jon and Stephen love. Make it rain!
c) Unless you've been under a rock recently, you know that Shia got busted for DUI. I had to write about it. Really. I was biologically compelled.
Entourage/Real People Fiction (Except for those bits that are true).
Ari Gold/Robert Downey Jr., George Clooney, Shia LaBeouf
Rated Ari for language.
For anywherebeyond and sparky77
Beautiful Disasters
In his forty-odd years on the planet, Ari Gold has yet to take a phone call between two and five in the morning that didn't involve drunken stupidity, bail, dead hookers, more drunken stupidity, drugs, the FBI, Angelina Jolie being pregnant, Angelina Jolie being pregnant again, more dead hookers, more drugs, Gary Busey, rehab, or some version of all of the above.
Ari's gotten better about not being a slave to his clients though, now, he only picks up if the phone rings more than thirty times in a row. Tonight - okay, to be technical, this morning -- Ari picks up his Crackberry on the fourth ring. He doesn't know how he knows, he just knows he has to take this call.
Shia LaBeouf's name flashes on the Blackberry LCD screen as the phone chirps and Ari's heart stops for a moment. Something is really really wrong.
"If this doesn't involve rehab, dead hookers and Bob-" Ari rails automatically, wincing when Mrs. Ari kicks him in her sleep.
"Ari? Ari, it's me." Shia's voice is loud, too loud. He's practically shouting, and Ari can hear sirens in the background.
"Golden Goose, what's wrong?" Ari gets tangled in the sheets as he clambers out of bed. This is going to require shoes, he just knows it.
"Ari, I think I'm in trouble." Shia's still shouting, but his voice sounds small. He sounds worried, and afraid. It makes Ari's nuts contract. This must be really bad.
"Whatever it is, I'll fix it," Ari promises. In the darkness of the walk-in closet, he tries to put his head through an armhole in the shirt he wore yesterday. Fucking clothes.
"I don't think-"
A deep voice interrupts Shia. "Sir? Sir, you need to put the phone down and come with us."
"Ari, I have to go," Shia says.
"Go where?" Ari snaps. "Shia?" The call's already been disconnected.
"GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!" Ari yells, flinging the phone across the room. It hits the wall, bounces on the floor of the walk-in and chirps weakly.
"Ari?" his wife's voice calls. "I've told you about having phone sex with George in the middle of the night."
You cannot go to war unprepared. Only stupid people go to war unprepared, like the President. Ari Gold is not stupid; he goes to war in a three-piece Brioni suit and Ferragamo shoes, with Lloyd on call and George Clooney at his side.
George is still in his pyjamas, but George in his pyjamas is still better than most people dressed up like Iron Man. Speaking of Iron Man, Ari would really like to call Bob right now.
"Ari, Shia's in surgery," George says, decidedly not white knuckling the armrest of Ari's Mercedes. "Surgery takes more than twenty minutes. How are you going to save Shia by getting us killed on the way to Cedars?"
"He's hurt," Ari says matter of factly. "We should be there."
"We will be there," George promises, "I'd just like for us to get there in one piece. You can't ride to the rescue if you total the horse."
Ari slams on the breaks instead of going through the red light like he usually does. He feels like he's aged thirty years in the last ninety minutes. First, there was the call from Shia, and then there was the call from George, and then there was the call from Matt while Ari was on the way to get George to go get Shia to make sure that Ari was doing what he was already fucking doing.
Ari's heart is going to climb out of his chest and choke him to death if he doesn't calm down. He flinches when George taps him on the shoulder. "Green light," George says easily, pointing ahead.
Anybody who doesn't know George would think he's completely relaxed, but Ari can see the tightness around his eyes. Ari floors it again, and in his rearview mirror he can see several black cars with tinted windows placidly following along behind.
Shia's been playing chicken with the law for ages now; it was only a matter of time before Ari was going to need to call out the big guns.
This is why the entire law firm of Wolfram & Hart is caravanning behind him.
Ari descends upon the Cedars-Sinai emergency room flanked by George, eighteen lawyers, six bodyguards and a partridge in a pear tree. Within fifteen minutes he makes three nurses cry, threatens two doctors and assures at least one surgeon that if he doesn't take care of Shia, Ari will buy the hospital just to come back, cut off said surgeon's nuts without anesthetic, and then put them in an envelope as the surgeon's severance package.
Shia doesn't even come out surgery for another two hours, and by then Ari's made enemies of 48% of the hospital staff, but Ari doesn't care about the staff, he cares about his Golden Goose.
Shia's hardly in his room before Ari swoops in. "Are you okay? You look all fucked up! I thought you hurt your hand, why does your face look like that? Has it always looked like that? Why did I sign you if your face looks like that?!"
Shia blinks at him groggily. He's got scratches on his face and his eyes don't seem to focus all the way. At least they gave him the good drugs. "Ari?"
"Yeah, it's me, Golden Goose," Ari sighs, rubbing his forehead. "Your mom is around here somewhere."
"I already saw her," Shia says. "She's kind of pissed off."
"I meant George," Ari corrects. "He might be off cleaning up some mess I made."
Shia's stern look doesn't quite materialize; it's definitely the drugs. "What did you do?"
"What did I do?" Ari asks incredulously. "What the hell were you doing driving drunk? Have we taught you nothing about responsibility, Shia?!"
Shia blinks. "Responsibility? Is that a rhetorical question?"
"NO, IT IS NOT A RHETORICAL QUESTION!" Ari shouts.
Shia winces.
Ari sighs. "Are you okay?"
"My hand is kind of fucked up," Shia admits. "And my knee. And my truck."
"And your career," Ari snaps.
Shia doesn't respond.
Ari scrubs at his face. "I'm glad you're okay."
"Um, Ari? There's something else."
"Something else besides a DUI?" Ari says incredulously. "Did you fucking knock up one of the nurses during surgery? I can't take your ass anywhere, can I?"
"Um, no," Shia hedges, "but did I mention I was driving home with Vince Chase's girlfriend?"
Ari feels the earth move. "Please tell me that's a joke."
Shia just smiles sheepishly.
"Fuck me," Ari sighs.
"I'm sorry?" Shia offers.
Ari scowls. "Not yet, but you will be."
"Ari, are you going to come out of the bathroom anytime today?"
"No, George."
"Please?"
Ari hates it when George says please; it makes him feel weird, like his heterosexuality is shrinking. "I don't want to," Ari sulks.
"At least think about it. For me?"
"No, George, not even for you. At least not today. Maybe next year."
Ari can hear George's sigh through the woodwork, but he's decided. He didn't mean to lock himself in the bathroom with three bottles of Kaopectate, it just sort of happened.
He's been up since o-dark-thirty dealing with Shia. And Shia. And more Shia. And then he finally got to come home to change and take a shower, and possibly a sedative, and then he changed his mind. Life is way better in the bathroom. There's a plasma screen, and a toilet, and for the right price he can definitely get somebody to climb up the side of the house and bring him food.
He'll have to come out eventually, the missus will see to that, but right now Ari needs to have a moment. Just him and a half-empty bottle of Kaopectate. And maybe some Tums.
Ari's not worried about the accident; the lawyers will take care of that.
He's not even really worried about the DUI. Okay, that's a lie, he's sort of worried about the DUI, but since it's a misdemeanor and not a felony DUI (which is what he thought it was originally), he's not even thinking of that. That first bottle of Kaopectate helped.
What Ari's worried about, what has him slumped in the bathtub with his sock-clad feet over the side, is that Shia is clearly on a downward trajectory. Ari laughed off Walgreens. And the stupid smoking warrant. But this? This is fucking serious.
For some reason, Ari thought that he and George and Matt and Don and everyone else would be enough to right the wrongs of Shia's childhood. He thought that they could make things better, but there's no rehab for a fucked up childhood. You either get through it or you don’t. Ari thought Shia was on the other side. Apparently he was wrong. Maybe this is blowback.
A familiar voice cuts through Ari's self-pity session. "Ariel Hiram Gold, if you don't open this door I'm going to start posting your sex photos on MySpace!"
"Ari's middle name is Hiram?" Ari can just hear the curiousity in George's voice.
Ari scrambles to get out of the tub and almost kills himself sliding on the ceramic surface; most household accidents happen in the bathroom.
Ari flings open the door to Robert Downey Jr. telling George, "-there was this one time at the Oscars that-"
"Do not finish that story," Ari threatens.
Bob's wearing a tee shirt and jeans. The tee shirt is tight on his biceps; Ari can't help but notice that.
There's also an army helmet on Robert's head; Ari hasn't seen that in a while.
Or the riding crop in Robert's left hand.
"Ari," Bob's grin is blindingly wide. "What's wrong, compadre? I heard you were giving George a hard time."
Ari scowls at George. "You called him?"
George shrugs. "Matt did. Desperate times and all that."
"The desperate times are over," Ari says perfunctorily. "Can I have my crop back now?"
George's face twists into a rictus of horror. "Okay, I think we may have officially hit too much information."
"Oh, please," Bob and Ari parrot.
"Do you really want me to start talking about Brad?" Robert asks breezily.
George frowns. "I'll just be downstairs."
"You do that," Robert says, waving George off with the riding crop.
Ari exhales loudly through his nostrils after George leaves. The army helmet is cocked to the side of Robert's head; he looks good in it, he always did.
"I feel weird having you in my bedroom," Ari announces. "At least without handcuffs or something."
Robert's wandering around, poking at things with the end of the crop. He looks up from studying Ari's dresser. Thankfully, Ari keeps all pre-Mrs. Ari photos in his downstairs office. "Oh, really?"
"I mean the one I share with my wife, asshole."
"I'm just an asshole today?" Bob says inquisitively. "Ari, do you need a hug?"
Ari glares, but his heart isn't in it.
"You do, don't you?" Robert drops the crop on the bed. "C'mon," he says, crossing the room to where Ari's shifting from one foot to the other. "I won't tell if you won’t; the women can't kill us for keeping our clothes on."
Ari freezes when Robert touches him; he's not allowed to have this anymore. There are rules. Ari made them. He knows what Bob does to him, to his head, to his heart, to his sanity. He melts completely anyway.
Robert's warm, and the perfect height, and he smells good. He smells like being clean, like being on the other side of almost ruining your life.
"He's all fucked up," Ari says into the side of Robert's neck. "Shia's all fucked up. I thought he would be okay, but he's not."
Robert's goatee tickles the side of Ari's neck when he speaks. "Ari, you can't save people. I thought you knew that by now."
"Fuck you," Ari says dispassionately, pulling back without letting go.
Robert looks him in the eye. "I thought you had qualms about fucking in the wife's bed."
Ari scowls again. "That's not what I fucking meant, Downey."
Robert winks. "You keep sweet talking me, and you really will have some explaining to do."
Ari wriggles away and goes back to the bathroom. He still has a bottle and a half of Kaopectate to go. The plastic bag rattles as Ari digs out a fresh bottle. The crack of the plastic seal soothes Ari's mind more than his stomach.
"I'm really going to start worrying about you in a minute," Robert says from behind him.
Ari glances over his shoulder after he takes a swig. Stomach relief for all his worries. Right.
"I'll be fine," Ari says, "it's Shia you should be worried about."
"You can't take care of him until you take care of you."
Ari waves the bottle irritably at Robert. "I am taking care of me, Iron Man."
"No, you're worrying about everybody else. You need to let people take care of themselves. Shia isn't going to change until he's ready."
"He needs to be ready now," Ari points out.
"You sound like the studio."
"I am the studio!" Ari snaps. "I am the motherfucking rainmaker! Did you not get the memo? I tell him when to fuck, when to piss and when not to fuck up his life! Why did he not listen?"
"Because he's a human being."
"Bullshit!" Ari could really use the crop right now to make his point. That's what he bought it for. Well, for that and sex, but mostly to make his point. He'd completely forgotten Robert had it.
Robert shakes his head. "You are not in charge of Shia, Ari. I know you want to be."
"He's too young; he can't take care of himself."
"Age doesn't matter here, you know that." Ari bristles when Robert snatches away his Kaopectate. "Do you want me to talk to him? Will that make you feel better?"
"No. Yes." Ari sits down on the edge of the tub and looks down at the tiling. He's got a hole in his sock. He's so fucking tired of watching the people he loves explode all over everything. He thought he was done with this when he let Robert marry someone else. "I just -- I don't know how to fix this."
"You don't want to fix it; you want to fix him." Ari looks up when Robert's green Nike stops an inch from his toes. "Like you wanted to fix me."
"No," Ari retorts, "I wanted you in fucking rehab, there's a difference."
Bob shrugs. "Maybe he needs rehab too."
"You think?"
"That's his decision to make."
"And what the hell am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
Robert takes off the army helmet and settles it on Ari's head. "Go out there and clear the front. Defeat the enemy. You're Ari fucking Gold, for fuckssakes. Do you really need me to tell you what to do? I mean I know you liked it when we played Drill Sergeant--"
"Shut up," Ari says lightly.
Robert nudges Ari's shin with his shoe. "C'mon, Ari. Get up."
When Ari gets to his feet, Robert grins and Ari has to look away to stop from grinning back. "Something else you wanted, Downey?"
"Not unless I get to use that crop on you."
Ari pretends not to consider this. "Maybe next time."
Robert grabs him by the collar as he brushes past, knocking the helmet slightly askew. "Don't forget that I'm here if you need me," Robert says, his breath warm against Ari's neck.
Ari snorts when Robert lets him go. He crosses the room to snatch up the crop before turning back to Robert. "Just because we got married in Vegas that one time doesn't mean I have to listen to you."
"Of course not," Robert agrees, stepping within crop-distance of Ari. "But you do anyway. At least that's what I thought that crop was for."
"Yeah, well, that was before. Now it's all about keeping your pasty ass in line."
Robert laughs. "Since when has my ass been pasty?"
"I haven't seen it in a while, I'm guessing."
Bob hooks his fingers under the waistband of his jeans. "I could show you, if you want."
Ari pushes the crop into Robert's chest to hold him off. "Stop flirting with me, I have to go save the world now."
"I'll give you a rain check then."
Ari smirks. "You do that."
-end-
b) Wyatt Cenac continues to infringe on my Jon and Stephen love. Make it rain!
c) Unless you've been under a rock recently, you know that Shia got busted for DUI. I had to write about it. Really. I was biologically compelled.
Entourage/Real People Fiction (Except for those bits that are true).
Ari Gold/Robert Downey Jr., George Clooney, Shia LaBeouf
Rated Ari for language.
For anywherebeyond and sparky77
Beautiful Disasters
In his forty-odd years on the planet, Ari Gold has yet to take a phone call between two and five in the morning that didn't involve drunken stupidity, bail, dead hookers, more drunken stupidity, drugs, the FBI, Angelina Jolie being pregnant, Angelina Jolie being pregnant again, more dead hookers, more drugs, Gary Busey, rehab, or some version of all of the above.
Ari's gotten better about not being a slave to his clients though, now, he only picks up if the phone rings more than thirty times in a row. Tonight - okay, to be technical, this morning -- Ari picks up his Crackberry on the fourth ring. He doesn't know how he knows, he just knows he has to take this call.
Shia LaBeouf's name flashes on the Blackberry LCD screen as the phone chirps and Ari's heart stops for a moment. Something is really really wrong.
"If this doesn't involve rehab, dead hookers and Bob-" Ari rails automatically, wincing when Mrs. Ari kicks him in her sleep.
"Ari? Ari, it's me." Shia's voice is loud, too loud. He's practically shouting, and Ari can hear sirens in the background.
"Golden Goose, what's wrong?" Ari gets tangled in the sheets as he clambers out of bed. This is going to require shoes, he just knows it.
"Ari, I think I'm in trouble." Shia's still shouting, but his voice sounds small. He sounds worried, and afraid. It makes Ari's nuts contract. This must be really bad.
"Whatever it is, I'll fix it," Ari promises. In the darkness of the walk-in closet, he tries to put his head through an armhole in the shirt he wore yesterday. Fucking clothes.
"I don't think-"
A deep voice interrupts Shia. "Sir? Sir, you need to put the phone down and come with us."
"Ari, I have to go," Shia says.
"Go where?" Ari snaps. "Shia?" The call's already been disconnected.
"GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!" Ari yells, flinging the phone across the room. It hits the wall, bounces on the floor of the walk-in and chirps weakly.
"Ari?" his wife's voice calls. "I've told you about having phone sex with George in the middle of the night."
You cannot go to war unprepared. Only stupid people go to war unprepared, like the President. Ari Gold is not stupid; he goes to war in a three-piece Brioni suit and Ferragamo shoes, with Lloyd on call and George Clooney at his side.
George is still in his pyjamas, but George in his pyjamas is still better than most people dressed up like Iron Man. Speaking of Iron Man, Ari would really like to call Bob right now.
"Ari, Shia's in surgery," George says, decidedly not white knuckling the armrest of Ari's Mercedes. "Surgery takes more than twenty minutes. How are you going to save Shia by getting us killed on the way to Cedars?"
"He's hurt," Ari says matter of factly. "We should be there."
"We will be there," George promises, "I'd just like for us to get there in one piece. You can't ride to the rescue if you total the horse."
Ari slams on the breaks instead of going through the red light like he usually does. He feels like he's aged thirty years in the last ninety minutes. First, there was the call from Shia, and then there was the call from George, and then there was the call from Matt while Ari was on the way to get George to go get Shia to make sure that Ari was doing what he was already fucking doing.
Ari's heart is going to climb out of his chest and choke him to death if he doesn't calm down. He flinches when George taps him on the shoulder. "Green light," George says easily, pointing ahead.
Anybody who doesn't know George would think he's completely relaxed, but Ari can see the tightness around his eyes. Ari floors it again, and in his rearview mirror he can see several black cars with tinted windows placidly following along behind.
Shia's been playing chicken with the law for ages now; it was only a matter of time before Ari was going to need to call out the big guns.
This is why the entire law firm of Wolfram & Hart is caravanning behind him.
Ari descends upon the Cedars-Sinai emergency room flanked by George, eighteen lawyers, six bodyguards and a partridge in a pear tree. Within fifteen minutes he makes three nurses cry, threatens two doctors and assures at least one surgeon that if he doesn't take care of Shia, Ari will buy the hospital just to come back, cut off said surgeon's nuts without anesthetic, and then put them in an envelope as the surgeon's severance package.
Shia doesn't even come out surgery for another two hours, and by then Ari's made enemies of 48% of the hospital staff, but Ari doesn't care about the staff, he cares about his Golden Goose.
Shia's hardly in his room before Ari swoops in. "Are you okay? You look all fucked up! I thought you hurt your hand, why does your face look like that? Has it always looked like that? Why did I sign you if your face looks like that?!"
Shia blinks at him groggily. He's got scratches on his face and his eyes don't seem to focus all the way. At least they gave him the good drugs. "Ari?"
"Yeah, it's me, Golden Goose," Ari sighs, rubbing his forehead. "Your mom is around here somewhere."
"I already saw her," Shia says. "She's kind of pissed off."
"I meant George," Ari corrects. "He might be off cleaning up some mess I made."
Shia's stern look doesn't quite materialize; it's definitely the drugs. "What did you do?"
"What did I do?" Ari asks incredulously. "What the hell were you doing driving drunk? Have we taught you nothing about responsibility, Shia?!"
Shia blinks. "Responsibility? Is that a rhetorical question?"
"NO, IT IS NOT A RHETORICAL QUESTION!" Ari shouts.
Shia winces.
Ari sighs. "Are you okay?"
"My hand is kind of fucked up," Shia admits. "And my knee. And my truck."
"And your career," Ari snaps.
Shia doesn't respond.
Ari scrubs at his face. "I'm glad you're okay."
"Um, Ari? There's something else."
"Something else besides a DUI?" Ari says incredulously. "Did you fucking knock up one of the nurses during surgery? I can't take your ass anywhere, can I?"
"Um, no," Shia hedges, "but did I mention I was driving home with Vince Chase's girlfriend?"
Ari feels the earth move. "Please tell me that's a joke."
Shia just smiles sheepishly.
"Fuck me," Ari sighs.
"I'm sorry?" Shia offers.
Ari scowls. "Not yet, but you will be."
"Ari, are you going to come out of the bathroom anytime today?"
"No, George."
"Please?"
Ari hates it when George says please; it makes him feel weird, like his heterosexuality is shrinking. "I don't want to," Ari sulks.
"At least think about it. For me?"
"No, George, not even for you. At least not today. Maybe next year."
Ari can hear George's sigh through the woodwork, but he's decided. He didn't mean to lock himself in the bathroom with three bottles of Kaopectate, it just sort of happened.
He's been up since o-dark-thirty dealing with Shia. And Shia. And more Shia. And then he finally got to come home to change and take a shower, and possibly a sedative, and then he changed his mind. Life is way better in the bathroom. There's a plasma screen, and a toilet, and for the right price he can definitely get somebody to climb up the side of the house and bring him food.
He'll have to come out eventually, the missus will see to that, but right now Ari needs to have a moment. Just him and a half-empty bottle of Kaopectate. And maybe some Tums.
Ari's not worried about the accident; the lawyers will take care of that.
He's not even really worried about the DUI. Okay, that's a lie, he's sort of worried about the DUI, but since it's a misdemeanor and not a felony DUI (which is what he thought it was originally), he's not even thinking of that. That first bottle of Kaopectate helped.
What Ari's worried about, what has him slumped in the bathtub with his sock-clad feet over the side, is that Shia is clearly on a downward trajectory. Ari laughed off Walgreens. And the stupid smoking warrant. But this? This is fucking serious.
For some reason, Ari thought that he and George and Matt and Don and everyone else would be enough to right the wrongs of Shia's childhood. He thought that they could make things better, but there's no rehab for a fucked up childhood. You either get through it or you don’t. Ari thought Shia was on the other side. Apparently he was wrong. Maybe this is blowback.
A familiar voice cuts through Ari's self-pity session. "Ariel Hiram Gold, if you don't open this door I'm going to start posting your sex photos on MySpace!"
"Ari's middle name is Hiram?" Ari can just hear the curiousity in George's voice.
Ari scrambles to get out of the tub and almost kills himself sliding on the ceramic surface; most household accidents happen in the bathroom.
Ari flings open the door to Robert Downey Jr. telling George, "-there was this one time at the Oscars that-"
"Do not finish that story," Ari threatens.
Bob's wearing a tee shirt and jeans. The tee shirt is tight on his biceps; Ari can't help but notice that.
There's also an army helmet on Robert's head; Ari hasn't seen that in a while.
Or the riding crop in Robert's left hand.
"Ari," Bob's grin is blindingly wide. "What's wrong, compadre? I heard you were giving George a hard time."
Ari scowls at George. "You called him?"
George shrugs. "Matt did. Desperate times and all that."
"The desperate times are over," Ari says perfunctorily. "Can I have my crop back now?"
George's face twists into a rictus of horror. "Okay, I think we may have officially hit too much information."
"Oh, please," Bob and Ari parrot.
"Do you really want me to start talking about Brad?" Robert asks breezily.
George frowns. "I'll just be downstairs."
"You do that," Robert says, waving George off with the riding crop.
Ari exhales loudly through his nostrils after George leaves. The army helmet is cocked to the side of Robert's head; he looks good in it, he always did.
"I feel weird having you in my bedroom," Ari announces. "At least without handcuffs or something."
Robert's wandering around, poking at things with the end of the crop. He looks up from studying Ari's dresser. Thankfully, Ari keeps all pre-Mrs. Ari photos in his downstairs office. "Oh, really?"
"I mean the one I share with my wife, asshole."
"I'm just an asshole today?" Bob says inquisitively. "Ari, do you need a hug?"
Ari glares, but his heart isn't in it.
"You do, don't you?" Robert drops the crop on the bed. "C'mon," he says, crossing the room to where Ari's shifting from one foot to the other. "I won't tell if you won’t; the women can't kill us for keeping our clothes on."
Ari freezes when Robert touches him; he's not allowed to have this anymore. There are rules. Ari made them. He knows what Bob does to him, to his head, to his heart, to his sanity. He melts completely anyway.
Robert's warm, and the perfect height, and he smells good. He smells like being clean, like being on the other side of almost ruining your life.
"He's all fucked up," Ari says into the side of Robert's neck. "Shia's all fucked up. I thought he would be okay, but he's not."
Robert's goatee tickles the side of Ari's neck when he speaks. "Ari, you can't save people. I thought you knew that by now."
"Fuck you," Ari says dispassionately, pulling back without letting go.
Robert looks him in the eye. "I thought you had qualms about fucking in the wife's bed."
Ari scowls again. "That's not what I fucking meant, Downey."
Robert winks. "You keep sweet talking me, and you really will have some explaining to do."
Ari wriggles away and goes back to the bathroom. He still has a bottle and a half of Kaopectate to go. The plastic bag rattles as Ari digs out a fresh bottle. The crack of the plastic seal soothes Ari's mind more than his stomach.
"I'm really going to start worrying about you in a minute," Robert says from behind him.
Ari glances over his shoulder after he takes a swig. Stomach relief for all his worries. Right.
"I'll be fine," Ari says, "it's Shia you should be worried about."
"You can't take care of him until you take care of you."
Ari waves the bottle irritably at Robert. "I am taking care of me, Iron Man."
"No, you're worrying about everybody else. You need to let people take care of themselves. Shia isn't going to change until he's ready."
"He needs to be ready now," Ari points out.
"You sound like the studio."
"I am the studio!" Ari snaps. "I am the motherfucking rainmaker! Did you not get the memo? I tell him when to fuck, when to piss and when not to fuck up his life! Why did he not listen?"
"Because he's a human being."
"Bullshit!" Ari could really use the crop right now to make his point. That's what he bought it for. Well, for that and sex, but mostly to make his point. He'd completely forgotten Robert had it.
Robert shakes his head. "You are not in charge of Shia, Ari. I know you want to be."
"He's too young; he can't take care of himself."
"Age doesn't matter here, you know that." Ari bristles when Robert snatches away his Kaopectate. "Do you want me to talk to him? Will that make you feel better?"
"No. Yes." Ari sits down on the edge of the tub and looks down at the tiling. He's got a hole in his sock. He's so fucking tired of watching the people he loves explode all over everything. He thought he was done with this when he let Robert marry someone else. "I just -- I don't know how to fix this."
"You don't want to fix it; you want to fix him." Ari looks up when Robert's green Nike stops an inch from his toes. "Like you wanted to fix me."
"No," Ari retorts, "I wanted you in fucking rehab, there's a difference."
Bob shrugs. "Maybe he needs rehab too."
"You think?"
"That's his decision to make."
"And what the hell am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
Robert takes off the army helmet and settles it on Ari's head. "Go out there and clear the front. Defeat the enemy. You're Ari fucking Gold, for fuckssakes. Do you really need me to tell you what to do? I mean I know you liked it when we played Drill Sergeant--"
"Shut up," Ari says lightly.
Robert nudges Ari's shin with his shoe. "C'mon, Ari. Get up."
When Ari gets to his feet, Robert grins and Ari has to look away to stop from grinning back. "Something else you wanted, Downey?"
"Not unless I get to use that crop on you."
Ari pretends not to consider this. "Maybe next time."
Robert grabs him by the collar as he brushes past, knocking the helmet slightly askew. "Don't forget that I'm here if you need me," Robert says, his breath warm against Ari's neck.
Ari snorts when Robert lets him go. He crosses the room to snatch up the crop before turning back to Robert. "Just because we got married in Vegas that one time doesn't mean I have to listen to you."
"Of course not," Robert agrees, stepping within crop-distance of Ari. "But you do anyway. At least that's what I thought that crop was for."
"Yeah, well, that was before. Now it's all about keeping your pasty ass in line."
Robert laughs. "Since when has my ass been pasty?"
"I haven't seen it in a while, I'm guessing."
Bob hooks his fingers under the waistband of his jeans. "I could show you, if you want."
Ari pushes the crop into Robert's chest to hold him off. "Stop flirting with me, I have to go save the world now."
"I'll give you a rain check then."
Ari smirks. "You do that."
-end-