fic
Fic. Not a stupid AU or crossover for once. Involving Bolger, Rick, the third anniversary of the fire and Bolger's ability to cope, or the lack thereof. Implied sex. I hate rating things. It's terribly tame other than the implied sex. XD
[YGO is not mine, although I at least give Bolger the attention he deserves. XD]
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The third year is nearly the same as the first two; with him spending the day working too hard and then drinking too much once the sun goes down. Wrapping himself around Rick's lean body in the back of a town car when Rick coaxes him out of his office and murmurs about how it's probably for the best that he go home (which may make it different enough from the first year when they didn't even make it out of the office) and somewhere through the haze of alcohol there's the sensation of strong hands and warm skin and the slight scent of Rick's aftershave while the dark wraps around him and sensation blots all thoughts of that night three years ago from his mind.
And the next morning while Bolger is nursing his hangover and trying not to be sick from the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen Rick walks into the bedroom (shirtless, his hair still damp from the shower) and asks, quite bluntly, "What happened three years ago?" The question more than enough to cause Bolger's tongue to stick the roof of his already dry mouth as he struggles to answer, to avoid, to say something quick and distracting that has nothing to do with the question Rick just asked because, oh god, he doesn't want to think about it. It's why this keeps happening, year after year and if he buries it deep enough it will only manage to dig its way out and torment him on the anniversary. Or so he hopes. It's been working so far.
But Rick simply waits, leaning against the doorframe as quiet and patient as ever, until Bolger has to look away. His head pounding to the point where he burries his face in his hands and manages to unglue his tongue enough to mumble, "Could you get me some water, please? I feel like I've been run over."
"I'd think you'd be used to it," is the quiet reply and Bolger feels the bed shift slightly from Rick settling in beside him. "It's been the same routine three years running now. What happened, James? I don't know anything about you before...."
"I started the company. I know. I want it that way. Can't the past stay in the past?"
There's silence for a moment, although Bolger is all too aware of the fact that Rick hasn't left yet. Hasn't (stubbornly won't) walk away and eventually one of those calm, steady, hands slides across his shoulder then up to cup his cheek. Trying to get him to look up. To face this. To....
"It's not in the past though, is it?" Rick's breath is warm against his ear, close enough to make him shiver slightly. "It's close enough to torture you still. You can trust me, James. Please. I...."
"I hated that name." The words come out as a bitter snap and he finally lifts his head enough to meet Rick's eyes. The look on his face obviously enough to make Rick pull away some and on a distant level he immediately regrets it. "Or... Jamie, I guess. I hated people calling me Jamie. After...." He's rambling. He knows he's rambling and he gives his head a slight shake even though the motion gets the rhythm section locked in his skull hammering away even worse than it already was. "You're old enough to remember the quake. Right?"
"I'm not... from Domino originally, but I sort of remember it on the news. What?..."
"I lived through it. My father died. My mother and I were in what wound up becoming Satellite." He takes a few shaky breaths, forcing himself to calm. To slow down the rambling rush of words that want to escape even as his head feels like it's about to split open. "I'm from Satellite."
"Things like that don't matter anymore," Rick murmurs in response. Low and soothing. "The bridge is done. People are getting past that. You... got out illegally, I assume." It's not a question, the answer is obvious. The bridge has only been in place for a few months now. "It's not that big a deal."
"It is. Because I killed someone to get out. And I can't ever forget it."
Rick says nothing (because there is no proper response to that sort of revelation, Bolger knows this) he simply sits there for a moment. Still and silent with a strange sort of compassion in his eyes that makes Bolger want to scream. Voice barely above a whisper when he asks, "Was it Security?" and the laugh that burbles its way out of Bolger's throat in response is tight and high-pitched and a little bit wild. The suddenness of it making Rick flinch back some.
"I wish it was something that easy."
"Being a cop-killer would be easy?"
"Easier than this." He scrubs a hand over his eyes a few times, almost tempted to make himself a drink. A little hair of the dog to clear away the cobwebs and the ghosts still haunting his head. Except if he does he knows Rick will frown and point out that he has meetings this afternoon and with the company's finances being the way they are he certainly can't risk showing up even a little bit under the influence. So instead he grumbles something about coffee and staggers his way towards the kitchen, not particularly caring at the moment that he's still naked. It's not like there's any chance of him being peeped at through the windows while living in a penthouse apartment and Rick has already seen all there is to see. Although by the time he reaches the kitchen and is squinting at the coffeepot he finds himself wishing he'd paused long enough to grab his glasses at the very least.
Then Rick is beside him, glasses in hand and a robe draped over his arm and Bolger sighs as he accepts both. Avoiding all eye contact while he covers himself and gulps at the too hot coffee. Letting the scalding heat and the bitterness and the caffeine shock some sense back into his system while Rick simply waits. Quiet and expectant. Carefully adding sugar and creamer to his own cup and Bolger stares at him and wishes the other man would just go away. Wishes he could take back every thoughtlessly blurted statement he's made this morning. Wishes he would quit doing this year after year after year....
"Do you want to talk about it?" Rick asks when the silence becomes too tense and edgy to bear anymore and another one of those tight, frantic, chuckles escapes Bolger's throat.
"Would you actually respect my wishes and quit asking if I said 'no'?"
"Would you stop doing this if I did back off?" Rick shoots back with a forcefulness that is unusual for him. "Three years now, James. I've been working with you since the start and every year now it's... this...." Rick's hand flaps vaguely in the air, gesturing at their mutual state of undress. "Every year. The same day. And I'm getting tired of being used. You have two choices. You can tell me what happened or...."
"Or?"
"Or I quit." The words are simple and cold, spoken with a shrug that isn't quite careless enough and Bolger wants to laugh and snap back: "no you won't." Because he knows Rick won't. Rick is almost as invested in this company as he is.
"Blackmail doesn't suit you."
"Wallowing doesn't suit you, James."
[YGO is not mine, although I at least give Bolger the attention he deserves. XD]
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The third year is nearly the same as the first two; with him spending the day working too hard and then drinking too much once the sun goes down. Wrapping himself around Rick's lean body in the back of a town car when Rick coaxes him out of his office and murmurs about how it's probably for the best that he go home (which may make it different enough from the first year when they didn't even make it out of the office) and somewhere through the haze of alcohol there's the sensation of strong hands and warm skin and the slight scent of Rick's aftershave while the dark wraps around him and sensation blots all thoughts of that night three years ago from his mind.
And the next morning while Bolger is nursing his hangover and trying not to be sick from the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen Rick walks into the bedroom (shirtless, his hair still damp from the shower) and asks, quite bluntly, "What happened three years ago?" The question more than enough to cause Bolger's tongue to stick the roof of his already dry mouth as he struggles to answer, to avoid, to say something quick and distracting that has nothing to do with the question Rick just asked because, oh god, he doesn't want to think about it. It's why this keeps happening, year after year and if he buries it deep enough it will only manage to dig its way out and torment him on the anniversary. Or so he hopes. It's been working so far.
But Rick simply waits, leaning against the doorframe as quiet and patient as ever, until Bolger has to look away. His head pounding to the point where he burries his face in his hands and manages to unglue his tongue enough to mumble, "Could you get me some water, please? I feel like I've been run over."
"I'd think you'd be used to it," is the quiet reply and Bolger feels the bed shift slightly from Rick settling in beside him. "It's been the same routine three years running now. What happened, James? I don't know anything about you before...."
"I started the company. I know. I want it that way. Can't the past stay in the past?"
There's silence for a moment, although Bolger is all too aware of the fact that Rick hasn't left yet. Hasn't (stubbornly won't) walk away and eventually one of those calm, steady, hands slides across his shoulder then up to cup his cheek. Trying to get him to look up. To face this. To....
"It's not in the past though, is it?" Rick's breath is warm against his ear, close enough to make him shiver slightly. "It's close enough to torture you still. You can trust me, James. Please. I...."
"I hated that name." The words come out as a bitter snap and he finally lifts his head enough to meet Rick's eyes. The look on his face obviously enough to make Rick pull away some and on a distant level he immediately regrets it. "Or... Jamie, I guess. I hated people calling me Jamie. After...." He's rambling. He knows he's rambling and he gives his head a slight shake even though the motion gets the rhythm section locked in his skull hammering away even worse than it already was. "You're old enough to remember the quake. Right?"
"I'm not... from Domino originally, but I sort of remember it on the news. What?..."
"I lived through it. My father died. My mother and I were in what wound up becoming Satellite." He takes a few shaky breaths, forcing himself to calm. To slow down the rambling rush of words that want to escape even as his head feels like it's about to split open. "I'm from Satellite."
"Things like that don't matter anymore," Rick murmurs in response. Low and soothing. "The bridge is done. People are getting past that. You... got out illegally, I assume." It's not a question, the answer is obvious. The bridge has only been in place for a few months now. "It's not that big a deal."
"It is. Because I killed someone to get out. And I can't ever forget it."
Rick says nothing (because there is no proper response to that sort of revelation, Bolger knows this) he simply sits there for a moment. Still and silent with a strange sort of compassion in his eyes that makes Bolger want to scream. Voice barely above a whisper when he asks, "Was it Security?" and the laugh that burbles its way out of Bolger's throat in response is tight and high-pitched and a little bit wild. The suddenness of it making Rick flinch back some.
"I wish it was something that easy."
"Being a cop-killer would be easy?"
"Easier than this." He scrubs a hand over his eyes a few times, almost tempted to make himself a drink. A little hair of the dog to clear away the cobwebs and the ghosts still haunting his head. Except if he does he knows Rick will frown and point out that he has meetings this afternoon and with the company's finances being the way they are he certainly can't risk showing up even a little bit under the influence. So instead he grumbles something about coffee and staggers his way towards the kitchen, not particularly caring at the moment that he's still naked. It's not like there's any chance of him being peeped at through the windows while living in a penthouse apartment and Rick has already seen all there is to see. Although by the time he reaches the kitchen and is squinting at the coffeepot he finds himself wishing he'd paused long enough to grab his glasses at the very least.
Then Rick is beside him, glasses in hand and a robe draped over his arm and Bolger sighs as he accepts both. Avoiding all eye contact while he covers himself and gulps at the too hot coffee. Letting the scalding heat and the bitterness and the caffeine shock some sense back into his system while Rick simply waits. Quiet and expectant. Carefully adding sugar and creamer to his own cup and Bolger stares at him and wishes the other man would just go away. Wishes he could take back every thoughtlessly blurted statement he's made this morning. Wishes he would quit doing this year after year after year....
"Do you want to talk about it?" Rick asks when the silence becomes too tense and edgy to bear anymore and another one of those tight, frantic, chuckles escapes Bolger's throat.
"Would you actually respect my wishes and quit asking if I said 'no'?"
"Would you stop doing this if I did back off?" Rick shoots back with a forcefulness that is unusual for him. "Three years now, James. I've been working with you since the start and every year now it's... this...." Rick's hand flaps vaguely in the air, gesturing at their mutual state of undress. "Every year. The same day. And I'm getting tired of being used. You have two choices. You can tell me what happened or...."
"Or?"
"Or I quit." The words are simple and cold, spoken with a shrug that isn't quite careless enough and Bolger wants to laugh and snap back: "no you won't." Because he knows Rick won't. Rick is almost as invested in this company as he is.
"Blackmail doesn't suit you."
"Wallowing doesn't suit you, James."