FICS IV
ETA: Eeeep... Thought I'd made this post private like the other four. *blush*
Oh well, guess that's okay. Just keep in mind these are incomplete and likely to remain that way for a while.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“The Stake” - 9/
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chris wondered what time it was; he thought they must have already been talking for hours. Would some good come of it, like the psychobabblers always said? Doubting that, his mouth twitched with a bitter smile. Still hunched forward, and with Toby’s hand on his back, he acknowledged he must be as bad Toby that way, though, because he couldn’t seem to leave well enough alone, either. “What if I had done it, Toby?” he said. “Would you love me then?” Toby’s hand had been rubbing his back gently. Chris felt it still then, and guessed that was his answer.
After a brief, stark pause, Toby said, “Probably.” The sad and fatalistic note in his voice was hard to miss.
Chris nodded again, feeling the same thing as a familiar companion. Yes, Toby would love him even then, and hate himself for it. How long would it be until that self-loathing turned outward, until he hated Chris for making him feel those things and go through all this turmoil? He sighed and felt Toby’s hand fall away from his back. Even without the murders -- *those* murders - between them, Chris knew that was how it had to play out. That was the rest of his punishment. Of course Toby would tell him pretty lies about that, too.
He shook his head and sat up straighter, knowing that wasn’t fair. After all, Toby was fooling himself as much as anyone, with all this talk about them somehow making a life together. Toby was too smart, too honest deep down, not to know it was nothing but a pretty daydream.
“What do you want to know?” he said as the silence grew too deep. It wasn’t the comfortable and easy quiet times they had both gotten used to. This felt closer to that time before Operation Andy when the silence in this pod had felt like a living thing, a living thing armed with a thousand razor-sharp shanks. He’d really thought they were past all that, too - hoped they were, anyway. Which just showed how much he did want to believe in that soap bubble daydream of Toby’s.
“I don’t know.” Toby shifted around to look at him. “Why were you in a gay bar?”
“What?” He had to have misheard that.
“What were you doing in a gay bar?”
Nope, that’s what Toby had said, all right. “I was getting advice on the latest spring fashions. Jesus, Toby, what the fuck do you think I was doing there?”
With a put out look on his face that matched the huff, Toby said, “I beg your pardon, I didn’t realize I was only allowed to ask the questions you want to deal with.”
Chris glared back him, not seeing why they had to go over all this again. “Why does it matter?”
“I didn’t say it matters, Chris, I just want to know.”
Yeah, so he could get in a snit, probably. Chris sighed, moving around until his shoulders were pressed against the glass. “I’d just gotten into town, I was bored and wanted some company.”
Title: Lines of Communication
Author: Riley Cannon
Subject: B/K, S3 AU
Disclaimers/warnings: Tom Fontana and HBO own the rights; I only borrow them for purposes of non-profit smut, angst, and sap.
Summary: Another response to the “Playing God in OZ” challenge at the Twisted Sisterhood List. This one picks up S3, after Chris has been discharged from the infirmary and asked Sister Pete to set him and Toby up for her victim/offender program.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
“LINES OF COMMUNICATION
~~~~~~~~~~~
“He wants me to what?” Toby looked over at Sister Pete, certain he must have misunderstood her.
But no, she looked at him very seriously and said it again. “Chris Keller wants you to take part in the victim/offender program.”
“With him.”
She nodded. “He seems sincere.”
Toby’s snort of laughter was derisive. “He seemed pretty sincere when he was breaking my arms, too.” *And when he was making me laugh and telling me I wasn’t alone - and he positively oozed sincerity when he kissed me and told me he loved me.* “No, I won’t do it.”
“It might help, Tobias.”
“How? How is it going to help to, to make myself vulnerable to him again?” It was hard enough having him so close every night, invading his space - invading his dreams.
“Don’t you want to know why he did it?”
“I don’t care why he did it. I don’t want to hear anything he has to say.” ‘No, you’re not alone. I love you, Toby. I know what I did was wrong. I am sorry, and I do love you. It’s all I’ve been thinking of, kissing you again. I did what you asked!’ It was lies, all of it. Toby didn’t dare let himself believe otherwise. “I won’t do it, I won’t play whatever sick game he has going now.” Because that’s all it was, that’s all it could be.
Sister Pete nodded, picking up a folder. “All right, I’ll tell him you’re not interested.”
“No, I’ll tell him.” It would be a pleasure, especially if there was something real, some genuine contrition motivating Keller. That would be immensely satisfying, to hurt Keller every bit as much as he had been hurt.
Of course, that’s what he’d thought that day in the storage room, driving the shank into him, feeling that powerful body struggling against him, weakening as his life’s blood seeped out. That was supposed to have made everything go away only it hadn’t, quite, and Toby shook his head, banishing that memory.
“Tobias?”
He blinked, focusing on Sister Pete again. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
Sister Pete settled her glasses on her nose, giving him a thoughtful look. “You’re awfully preoccupied. Is there anything you want to talk about?”
“No. Everything’s fine. Well…” He shrugged. Yeah, as fine as anything could be, considering he was in prison.
“Is Chris bothering you? Would you like him moved out of your pod?”
Toby shook his head. “He hasn’t done anything else. He won’t.” Toby couldn’t explain his certainty that he was in no danger from Chris, that the hours spent locked up with him were probably the only time he was completely safe in Oz. He didn’t even want to think about what that implied.
Sister Pete raised her eyebrows, skeptical of his answer - or his motives in wanting to keep Chris close. He was glad she didn’t pursue it, though, because it was all pretty murky to him, too.
~~~~~~~
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re up to now, Keller, but I am not falling for it,” Toby said, silently adding, *And put a goddamned shirt on*, as Chris crossed his arms over his bare chest, leaning back against the wall. He was so tired of that, the other man constantly flaunting his body like he really thought that was going to get him somewhere now.
“I’m not up to anything, Toby,” Chris replied reasonably, gaze following Toby as he limped around the cell. “We need to work things out. This is a way to do that.”
Toby stopped his pacing, fixing Chris with an incredulous look. “We do not have things to work out. There is no ‘we.’ When’re you going to get that through your thick head?”
That earned him a wounded look. “I’m trying to make things right, Toby.”
Toby rolled his eyes; he might as well be arguing with a rock. “What part of, ‘No, I won’t do it,’ is giving you a problem?”
The petulant look only deepened. “Why won’t you let me fix this, Toby?”
*Quit calling me Toby! Quit acting like all that happened was a lover’s spat, and…and like you can make it up to me with flowers and a night out dancing!* That’s what Toby wanted to scream at Chris. He settled for sitting down, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. “There is nothing you can say or do that is going to make things up to me.” He raised his head to look at Chris. “You lied to me. You betrayed me. Even if you are genuinely remorseful it doesn’t make a fucking bit of difference. I don’t trust you. I can’t trust you ever again.”
“Toby…” Chris looked at him and for a moment Toby thought he saw a flash of hurt in his eyes, but the other man looked away too quickly to be sure. “Yeah, I guess not,” Chris said in a more subdued tone of voice. He reached for a t-shirt and pulled it on, leaving the pod without another word.
Toby watched after him, wondering why he wasn’t feeling any sense of victory.
***
“Lights out!”
Chris sighed quietly as darkness came at last. The last four hours locked up in here with a cold and silent Toby had been a bitch. Funny, it used to be the nights were what he dreaded, never getting a decent night’s sleep because Toby was forever having nightmares or going through some crisis - yeah, and because his own bad dreams, his conflicted feelings over the other man were keeping him awake. Now, even though sleep was still elusive at least the darkness let him escape that baleful, accusing gaze for a few hours.
Hard to believe now those eyes had ever smiled at him, had ever looked so warmly and earnestly into his while Toby told him he loved him. That for one small moment there he’d felt so good, like maybe he wasn’t a worthless piece of shit. He couldn’t be, right, not if Toby loved him?
He shifted around on his side, wondering which fuck-up took precedence - that he’d gone along with Vern’s Operation Toby in the first place, or that he’d forgotten it *was* just a con somewhere along the line and falling for the mark? Or being dumb enough to suppose Toby could ever get past it and forgive him, love him again?
Yeah, had to be that last one, he thought, rolling onto his back again. That kind of thing didn’t even happen in fairy stories, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to happen here in Oz.
Anyway, it probably wasn’t even love, this thing he felt for Toby. Love was supposed to feel good, right? And yeah, sometimes this did…*had*…felt sweet. Those times when Toby had smiled at him, sometimes when they’d touch, that one incredible moment when they kissed. Christ, nothing had ever felt that good. But - Chris rolled onto his side again, springs creaking in the silence of the pod - the rest of the time, when Toby looked at him like he wished Chris would just drop dead, it felt worse than anything he’d ever known.
It was no more than he had coming to him. He knew that, but…
Sighing again, not so quietly, he rolled over once more, unable to find any spot that was even sort of comfortable - and caught his breath, trying to keep very still as Toby’s voice called down, “What the fuck are you doing? Keller? I know you’re awake.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Chris said, annoyed at the defensive note in his voice.
“Well quit doing it anyway and go to sleep.”
“Fuck you,” Chris grumbled into his pillow.
Right on cue, there came that little huffy sound. “Yeah, in your wildest dreams.”
“Shut the fuck up, Beecher.” He was tired, he didn’t want to do this right now.
“I’ll shut up when I want to.”
Chris sighed again, wondering *why* he was so in love with the little prick. “Nobody ever told you silence was golden?”
“I’m a lawyer - we get paid for talking.”
“Yeah, and you must’ve really raked it in if you charged by the word.” *Now just be quiet and leave me alone.* All Chris wanted was a few hours of peace, time to gear up to face another day of Toby’s bitterness.
“Thought you wanted to talk,” Toby said, not about to grant him one second’s worth of a reprieve. “I knew it was just another scam.”
“It wasn’t a scam.” *Just fucking let it be, Toby.*
“So what is it you wanted to say?” Toby persisted.
“Nothing. I didn’t wanna say anything.” Nothing Toby was ever going to want to hear, nothing that was ever going to make a difference. And who fault was that? “I get the point, Beecher. Will you just let it be?”
“Oh, gosh, pardon my manners. I wouldn’t want to make you *feel* bad,” Toby returned, a nasty tone in his voice that made it clear he wasn’t remotely close to letting this go. “Maybe you envisioned us sitting in Sister Pete’s office, getting all gooey over each other as you explain how breaking my arms was just your special way of saying how much you care.”
“Tob - Beecher, will you just shut the fuck up?” Chris pleaded, feeling desperation boiling through his veins. “I didn’t imagine anything. I didn’t have a plan.” And that was only a little bit of a lie. He hadn’t imagined anything that was going to hurt Toby, not this time. “I just wanted….” Fuck this. What was the point?
“You just wanted what?”
“Just to fucking talk, all right? To tell you why…” Oh fuck. He heard his voice start to break and clamped his jaw shut, biting down on his lip for fear of betraying his feelings. How he felt didn’t matter, he knew that, it was a lesson he had learned the hard way. Toby was the only who mattered here. Why was it so hard to get that through his thick head?
Feeling too frustrated to keep still, he bolted from his bunk and paced over to the pod door, stopping there. He leaned against the cool Plexiglas, longing to be free of this place, to climb on his bike and ride so fast and so far that all his fucked up life could be forgotten. That wasn’t ever going to happen, though. There weren’t any second chances, and there sure as hell weren’t any storybook endings. He’d had this one incredible chance handed to him when for once in his misbegotten life he might have had something good, something to cherish and be proud of - the love in Toby’s eyes. That had been his prize in the Cracker Jack box. And he’d pissed all over it.
There wasn’t any way to fix that, to make it all go away.
And he wished to Christ whoever’d shanked him had done a better job so that he would have bled out his life there in the dark, on the storage room floor.
***
Toby looked at the other man, reading the tension in the taut lines of his body, braced over against the door. Mission accomplished, right? he thought, searching for a way to twist the knife just a fraction more - automatically dodging away from the memory of a shank in his hand, of driving the blade into this man’s flesh.
“You want me to guess, play twenty questions?” he said. “Go on,” he sat up, resting his back against the wall, “tell me the heart-wrenching sob story you were going to come up with to justify everything. That’s *got* to be good for some laughs. Let me see, he went on after another moment, getting no response, “I bet I can do it myself. Mommy never loved you and daddy used you for a punching bag, and poor little Chris just *never* got one single break in his sad, sad life. Boo hoo hoo.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Chris ground out, voice low and dangerous as he turned glared back at him. “What the fuck do you want from me, Beecher? You want my blood, is that it? Did you have a fucking orgasm when you heard somebody’s stuck a knife in me? Or were pissed off ‘cause you didn’t get to do it yourself?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh well, guess that's okay. Just keep in mind these are incomplete and likely to remain that way for a while.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“The Stake” - 9/
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chris wondered what time it was; he thought they must have already been talking for hours. Would some good come of it, like the psychobabblers always said? Doubting that, his mouth twitched with a bitter smile. Still hunched forward, and with Toby’s hand on his back, he acknowledged he must be as bad Toby that way, though, because he couldn’t seem to leave well enough alone, either. “What if I had done it, Toby?” he said. “Would you love me then?” Toby’s hand had been rubbing his back gently. Chris felt it still then, and guessed that was his answer.
After a brief, stark pause, Toby said, “Probably.” The sad and fatalistic note in his voice was hard to miss.
Chris nodded again, feeling the same thing as a familiar companion. Yes, Toby would love him even then, and hate himself for it. How long would it be until that self-loathing turned outward, until he hated Chris for making him feel those things and go through all this turmoil? He sighed and felt Toby’s hand fall away from his back. Even without the murders -- *those* murders - between them, Chris knew that was how it had to play out. That was the rest of his punishment. Of course Toby would tell him pretty lies about that, too.
He shook his head and sat up straighter, knowing that wasn’t fair. After all, Toby was fooling himself as much as anyone, with all this talk about them somehow making a life together. Toby was too smart, too honest deep down, not to know it was nothing but a pretty daydream.
“What do you want to know?” he said as the silence grew too deep. It wasn’t the comfortable and easy quiet times they had both gotten used to. This felt closer to that time before Operation Andy when the silence in this pod had felt like a living thing, a living thing armed with a thousand razor-sharp shanks. He’d really thought they were past all that, too - hoped they were, anyway. Which just showed how much he did want to believe in that soap bubble daydream of Toby’s.
“I don’t know.” Toby shifted around to look at him. “Why were you in a gay bar?”
“What?” He had to have misheard that.
“What were you doing in a gay bar?”
Nope, that’s what Toby had said, all right. “I was getting advice on the latest spring fashions. Jesus, Toby, what the fuck do you think I was doing there?”
With a put out look on his face that matched the huff, Toby said, “I beg your pardon, I didn’t realize I was only allowed to ask the questions you want to deal with.”
Chris glared back him, not seeing why they had to go over all this again. “Why does it matter?”
“I didn’t say it matters, Chris, I just want to know.”
Yeah, so he could get in a snit, probably. Chris sighed, moving around until his shoulders were pressed against the glass. “I’d just gotten into town, I was bored and wanted some company.”
Title: Lines of Communication
Author: Riley Cannon
Subject: B/K, S3 AU
Disclaimers/warnings: Tom Fontana and HBO own the rights; I only borrow them for purposes of non-profit smut, angst, and sap.
Summary: Another response to the “Playing God in OZ” challenge at the Twisted Sisterhood List. This one picks up S3, after Chris has been discharged from the infirmary and asked Sister Pete to set him and Toby up for her victim/offender program.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
“LINES OF COMMUNICATION
~~~~~~~~~~~
“He wants me to what?” Toby looked over at Sister Pete, certain he must have misunderstood her.
But no, she looked at him very seriously and said it again. “Chris Keller wants you to take part in the victim/offender program.”
“With him.”
She nodded. “He seems sincere.”
Toby’s snort of laughter was derisive. “He seemed pretty sincere when he was breaking my arms, too.” *And when he was making me laugh and telling me I wasn’t alone - and he positively oozed sincerity when he kissed me and told me he loved me.* “No, I won’t do it.”
“It might help, Tobias.”
“How? How is it going to help to, to make myself vulnerable to him again?” It was hard enough having him so close every night, invading his space - invading his dreams.
“Don’t you want to know why he did it?”
“I don’t care why he did it. I don’t want to hear anything he has to say.” ‘No, you’re not alone. I love you, Toby. I know what I did was wrong. I am sorry, and I do love you. It’s all I’ve been thinking of, kissing you again. I did what you asked!’ It was lies, all of it. Toby didn’t dare let himself believe otherwise. “I won’t do it, I won’t play whatever sick game he has going now.” Because that’s all it was, that’s all it could be.
Sister Pete nodded, picking up a folder. “All right, I’ll tell him you’re not interested.”
“No, I’ll tell him.” It would be a pleasure, especially if there was something real, some genuine contrition motivating Keller. That would be immensely satisfying, to hurt Keller every bit as much as he had been hurt.
Of course, that’s what he’d thought that day in the storage room, driving the shank into him, feeling that powerful body struggling against him, weakening as his life’s blood seeped out. That was supposed to have made everything go away only it hadn’t, quite, and Toby shook his head, banishing that memory.
“Tobias?”
He blinked, focusing on Sister Pete again. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
Sister Pete settled her glasses on her nose, giving him a thoughtful look. “You’re awfully preoccupied. Is there anything you want to talk about?”
“No. Everything’s fine. Well…” He shrugged. Yeah, as fine as anything could be, considering he was in prison.
“Is Chris bothering you? Would you like him moved out of your pod?”
Toby shook his head. “He hasn’t done anything else. He won’t.” Toby couldn’t explain his certainty that he was in no danger from Chris, that the hours spent locked up with him were probably the only time he was completely safe in Oz. He didn’t even want to think about what that implied.
Sister Pete raised her eyebrows, skeptical of his answer - or his motives in wanting to keep Chris close. He was glad she didn’t pursue it, though, because it was all pretty murky to him, too.
~~~~~~~
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re up to now, Keller, but I am not falling for it,” Toby said, silently adding, *And put a goddamned shirt on*, as Chris crossed his arms over his bare chest, leaning back against the wall. He was so tired of that, the other man constantly flaunting his body like he really thought that was going to get him somewhere now.
“I’m not up to anything, Toby,” Chris replied reasonably, gaze following Toby as he limped around the cell. “We need to work things out. This is a way to do that.”
Toby stopped his pacing, fixing Chris with an incredulous look. “We do not have things to work out. There is no ‘we.’ When’re you going to get that through your thick head?”
That earned him a wounded look. “I’m trying to make things right, Toby.”
Toby rolled his eyes; he might as well be arguing with a rock. “What part of, ‘No, I won’t do it,’ is giving you a problem?”
The petulant look only deepened. “Why won’t you let me fix this, Toby?”
*Quit calling me Toby! Quit acting like all that happened was a lover’s spat, and…and like you can make it up to me with flowers and a night out dancing!* That’s what Toby wanted to scream at Chris. He settled for sitting down, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. “There is nothing you can say or do that is going to make things up to me.” He raised his head to look at Chris. “You lied to me. You betrayed me. Even if you are genuinely remorseful it doesn’t make a fucking bit of difference. I don’t trust you. I can’t trust you ever again.”
“Toby…” Chris looked at him and for a moment Toby thought he saw a flash of hurt in his eyes, but the other man looked away too quickly to be sure. “Yeah, I guess not,” Chris said in a more subdued tone of voice. He reached for a t-shirt and pulled it on, leaving the pod without another word.
Toby watched after him, wondering why he wasn’t feeling any sense of victory.
***
“Lights out!”
Chris sighed quietly as darkness came at last. The last four hours locked up in here with a cold and silent Toby had been a bitch. Funny, it used to be the nights were what he dreaded, never getting a decent night’s sleep because Toby was forever having nightmares or going through some crisis - yeah, and because his own bad dreams, his conflicted feelings over the other man were keeping him awake. Now, even though sleep was still elusive at least the darkness let him escape that baleful, accusing gaze for a few hours.
Hard to believe now those eyes had ever smiled at him, had ever looked so warmly and earnestly into his while Toby told him he loved him. That for one small moment there he’d felt so good, like maybe he wasn’t a worthless piece of shit. He couldn’t be, right, not if Toby loved him?
He shifted around on his side, wondering which fuck-up took precedence - that he’d gone along with Vern’s Operation Toby in the first place, or that he’d forgotten it *was* just a con somewhere along the line and falling for the mark? Or being dumb enough to suppose Toby could ever get past it and forgive him, love him again?
Yeah, had to be that last one, he thought, rolling onto his back again. That kind of thing didn’t even happen in fairy stories, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to happen here in Oz.
Anyway, it probably wasn’t even love, this thing he felt for Toby. Love was supposed to feel good, right? And yeah, sometimes this did…*had*…felt sweet. Those times when Toby had smiled at him, sometimes when they’d touch, that one incredible moment when they kissed. Christ, nothing had ever felt that good. But - Chris rolled onto his side again, springs creaking in the silence of the pod - the rest of the time, when Toby looked at him like he wished Chris would just drop dead, it felt worse than anything he’d ever known.
It was no more than he had coming to him. He knew that, but…
Sighing again, not so quietly, he rolled over once more, unable to find any spot that was even sort of comfortable - and caught his breath, trying to keep very still as Toby’s voice called down, “What the fuck are you doing? Keller? I know you’re awake.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Chris said, annoyed at the defensive note in his voice.
“Well quit doing it anyway and go to sleep.”
“Fuck you,” Chris grumbled into his pillow.
Right on cue, there came that little huffy sound. “Yeah, in your wildest dreams.”
“Shut the fuck up, Beecher.” He was tired, he didn’t want to do this right now.
“I’ll shut up when I want to.”
Chris sighed again, wondering *why* he was so in love with the little prick. “Nobody ever told you silence was golden?”
“I’m a lawyer - we get paid for talking.”
“Yeah, and you must’ve really raked it in if you charged by the word.” *Now just be quiet and leave me alone.* All Chris wanted was a few hours of peace, time to gear up to face another day of Toby’s bitterness.
“Thought you wanted to talk,” Toby said, not about to grant him one second’s worth of a reprieve. “I knew it was just another scam.”
“It wasn’t a scam.” *Just fucking let it be, Toby.*
“So what is it you wanted to say?” Toby persisted.
“Nothing. I didn’t wanna say anything.” Nothing Toby was ever going to want to hear, nothing that was ever going to make a difference. And who fault was that? “I get the point, Beecher. Will you just let it be?”
“Oh, gosh, pardon my manners. I wouldn’t want to make you *feel* bad,” Toby returned, a nasty tone in his voice that made it clear he wasn’t remotely close to letting this go. “Maybe you envisioned us sitting in Sister Pete’s office, getting all gooey over each other as you explain how breaking my arms was just your special way of saying how much you care.”
“Tob - Beecher, will you just shut the fuck up?” Chris pleaded, feeling desperation boiling through his veins. “I didn’t imagine anything. I didn’t have a plan.” And that was only a little bit of a lie. He hadn’t imagined anything that was going to hurt Toby, not this time. “I just wanted….” Fuck this. What was the point?
“You just wanted what?”
“Just to fucking talk, all right? To tell you why…” Oh fuck. He heard his voice start to break and clamped his jaw shut, biting down on his lip for fear of betraying his feelings. How he felt didn’t matter, he knew that, it was a lesson he had learned the hard way. Toby was the only who mattered here. Why was it so hard to get that through his thick head?
Feeling too frustrated to keep still, he bolted from his bunk and paced over to the pod door, stopping there. He leaned against the cool Plexiglas, longing to be free of this place, to climb on his bike and ride so fast and so far that all his fucked up life could be forgotten. That wasn’t ever going to happen, though. There weren’t any second chances, and there sure as hell weren’t any storybook endings. He’d had this one incredible chance handed to him when for once in his misbegotten life he might have had something good, something to cherish and be proud of - the love in Toby’s eyes. That had been his prize in the Cracker Jack box. And he’d pissed all over it.
There wasn’t any way to fix that, to make it all go away.
And he wished to Christ whoever’d shanked him had done a better job so that he would have bled out his life there in the dark, on the storage room floor.
***
Toby looked at the other man, reading the tension in the taut lines of his body, braced over against the door. Mission accomplished, right? he thought, searching for a way to twist the knife just a fraction more - automatically dodging away from the memory of a shank in his hand, of driving the blade into this man’s flesh.
“You want me to guess, play twenty questions?” he said. “Go on,” he sat up, resting his back against the wall, “tell me the heart-wrenching sob story you were going to come up with to justify everything. That’s *got* to be good for some laughs. Let me see, he went on after another moment, getting no response, “I bet I can do it myself. Mommy never loved you and daddy used you for a punching bag, and poor little Chris just *never* got one single break in his sad, sad life. Boo hoo hoo.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Chris ground out, voice low and dangerous as he turned glared back at him. “What the fuck do you want from me, Beecher? You want my blood, is that it? Did you have a fucking orgasm when you heard somebody’s stuck a knife in me? Or were pissed off ‘cause you didn’t get to do it yourself?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~