G03:Ch39: Collide...
Finn pulled up to the seedy, boarded-up house on West Ginger St, the vision of Val’s bruises still heavy in his mind, and he cut the engine. It didn’t look like there were any lights on in the house, but he knew better than to think it was empty.
On the stoop he jammed his finger on the doorbell and he heard it ring distantly, and he waited.
“Who is it?” crackled a voice on the intercom.
“Finn.” There was a slight hesitation before he heard the lock release with a long, annoying buzz, and he let himself in.
The long, narrow hallway that met the door was dark and dank, with peeling and cracked wallpaper, and wooden floors that badly needed waxing. It smelled of stale smoke and musty furniture in the stagnant air, and Finn could detect the faint odor of marijuana. The overwhelming scents made him want to breathe with his mouth open.
He saw a muted light coming from the back of the hallway, and he strode toward it, coming to face a poorly shut door leading to the basement. He opened the door and charged down the stairs into a yellow haze.
To his left was an old bar set up as a drug table, where a few drug-addled women stood doing lines off of the marble surface. In the corner, bodies were strewn across the floor in drunken and drugged stupors; Finn’s lip curled in distaste. Ben had certainly graduated up from running illegal gambling rings.
On his right was a smaller room, although the entire basement was open-plan, and a few men were playing cards on an old, rickety card table with the chips stacked so high it would impress a Vegas high roller. Finn couldn’t remember the walls having been so severely defaced before, but it looked as though Ben allowed his “customers” to do what they pleased. Barely anyone gave him notice as he stepped down into the center of the room; they were all either too high or drunk to notice or care.
Ben emerged from a small, enclosed room, one that had most likely been remodeled from a closet, and he walked towards Finn, his thin lips pulled back in a half-honest grin.
“Hey, Man, good to see you ba…” he started to say, before Finn’s right hook connected with his nose. Ben covered his face with his hands as his glasses went flying, and he doubled over. “What the…!” he said, his voice muffled.
Finn took another jab at his ribs, feeling victorious when he connected with bone.
The room quieted momentarily at the scuffle and those that were coherent enough stared with slack-jawed expressions. Finn shook his hand out of habit, but he was too angry to feel the sting.
“That’s for Val, you son of a bitch,” Finn said through gritted teeth as Ben began to gasp for air.
Ben looked up and the side of his lips twitched upward into a malicious grin, and Finn took another jab at him, hitting into his stomach.
“And that’s for messing with my email.”
Ben coughed violently, bent over in a small huddle, and a few of the wiser addicts made their way up the stairs for the door, having seen too many fights with drug lords end in a trip to the police station.
Ben’s coughing suddenly turned to maniacal laughter.
“All this over an email and a couple of stupid sluts?” he asked through raspy laughs. “Bros before hoes, man!”
Finn made for another punch but Ben was quicker this time and he sidestepped out of the way, his left leg kicking out swiftly against Finn’s kneecap, bringing the bigger man down with a sharp yell.
Finn rolled in time to miss another swift kick from Ben that was aimed for his stomach and he lurched to his feet, blocking a fist that was sent for his side. He grunted and sent another forceful punch into Ben’s stomach.
“What the fuck, Ben?” he asked through gritted teeth. “What the hell do you get for messing with Claire?” He remembered what Val had mentioned just as he’d left the bar. “Or Colton?”
The name sent a flare of anger into Ben’s eyes and he kicked out wildly, making Finn jump back from him. Ben lunged forward and his knuckles connected with Finn’s lower lip.
“Colton!” Ben hissed, as he grappled Finn into a hold. Finn saw his eyes had turned wild, even psychotic. He disregarded the wriggle of fear that settled into his stomach.
“What about him?” Finn demanded, panting.
Ben gripped him harder. “He doesn’t deserve to live,” he growled. “Much less be happy about it.” He threw his knee up into Finn’s stomach and Finn groaned.
“What… the hell… are you talking about?” he gasped, trying desperately to twist his way out of Ben’s hold.
“That jackass wasn’t there!” Ben said shrilly. His eyes were wide and wheeling, his mouth twisted into a chilling sneer. “He didn’t have to see what his bastard of a father caused!”
Finn stopped fighting and looked up at the man holding him, and Ben continued talking, his features contorting with rage.
“No one pays attention to the person driving the eighteen-wheeler! No one cares whether or not he lives! They just worry about the family that hit the truck! No one notices that the driver is stuck in his seat and can’t get out. No one sees him crying and tell his kid to run for it before the tank explodes!”
Finn listened, a sick heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he began to put two and two together.
“The Walkers were all over the news! The poor tragedy that left their twelve-year-old son alone… but no one ever heard about the nine-year-old son of a trucker who had to bounce from foster home to foster home because he was orphaned!
“And then, as if that weren’t enough, he had to go and follow me here, and end up with the girl I’d wanted to fuck for years…!”
His words were cut off by a sudden pummel by Finn.
“You sick fuck!” Finn spat at him, wrenching himself from his hold. “Sounds to me like he lost his family, too, you bastard, so why the hell are you pulling this stupid mind-fuck shit on him now? What the hell do you get from it?”
Ben’s laugh spluttered from behind the blood that was dripping from his nose. “What do I get from it? Why should he be happy? I get redemption,” he stated. His features had turned ghoulishly happy at the word and Finn shook his head.
“You’re fucking crazy!” he said, pushing him away. He slicked the back of his hand across his chin where his lip had bled, looking down at him with disgust.
Suddenly the house seemed to shake with a loud bang and shouts from above stairs. Those that had remained to see the fight through, all jumped in alarm and made for the small doorway that led to the outside. Ben lunged upward, rage contorting his features.
“You called the fucking cops?” he spat. He turned quickly, intending to push through the scrambling druggies towards the exit.
The surprise at hearing the cops breaking in upstairs had momentarily shocked Finn; he hadn’t thought to call them before arriving, although now it seemed like something he should have done.
Noticing the piece of scum was about to get away, Finn did the only thing he could think to slow Ben’s progress: His foot swung out and tripped him, sending Ben crashing to the floor, and he kicked him hard in his side. “Stay down, you asshole,” he growled.
Everything became a blur as the police flooded the basement. Several men went after the fleeing addicts, while another slammed Finn to the floor and cuffed him from behind. He didn’t fight the cop at all, smiling slightly to himself as he saw Ben cuffed and pulled roughly to his feet. The cop that apprehended Ben searched him one-handedly and found a bag of cocaine in one pocket, a bowl in the other, then hauled him up the stairs amid blistering curses and raging denials.
The cop that had tackled Finn pulled him up by his shoulder harshly and searched him, too. He found nothing, but Finn knew he wouldn’t be released until it had been determined that he had nothing illegal in his system, and he complied when the cop pushed him towards the stairs and out the door of the rickety house.
Just as he was being handed into the squad car, he heard the most incredible sound he could have heard:
“Wait! Wait! That’s my boyfriend! That one, right there!”
Finn’s head snapped up and he saw Maritza running towards one of the policemen, and pointing at him. The policeman regarded him and motioned for him to be brought over.
“This is your boyfriend?” the man asked her. She nodded vehemently and the man looked at the cop who had his hand on Finn’s arm. “Did he have anything?”
“No, sir,” came the reply. The cop nodded and Finn felt his hands released from the handcuffs behind him, and suddenly Maritza’s arms were around him, holding him tightly.
“Maritza…” he said belatedly, his arms wrapping around her. He pulled her towards the fence, away from the commotion, and he watched with bewildered amusement as Ben was forcibly shoved into a squad car. He was spewing profanities and shouting. The door was slammed in his face and the rest of those that had been present down in the basement were being apprehended as well. Only when Maritza stirred in his arms did he remember she was there. He scowled down at her, and she smiled back.
“You called the cops?” She nodded. “What did you think you were doing?” he demanded crossly. He felt her finger caress his injured lip gently.
“Rescuing you, of course,” she answered playfully. Her words brought a small laugh rumbling from his chest.
“So I’m your boyfriend now?” he asked, still hesitant to release her from his hold. She looked at him calmly, her eyes warm, and her smile radiated all around him.
“I’m afraid so,” she said quietly, and she giggled into his mouth when his lips crashed - carefully - against hers.
*****
Claire unfolded herself from the small couch where she’d been watching TV with a light groan. The room still spun dizzily whenever she moved too suddenly, but at least the medication the doctors had given her had removed some of the sharpness of her nausea. Moving no longer sent her running for the nearest toilet.
She reassembled her shirt, tugging it down against her hips and over the small, barely noticeable bump she was beginning to acquire in her waistline, before moving to open the door.
When she’d heard the knock, she had been expecting Val. Instead, who she saw on the other side was a surprise.
“Colton!” she gasped. He stood casually, dressed in jeans and a long sleeve shirt under a sweater, his hair pulled back with a bandana around it like he’d worn it when he was younger. He looked incredible, and she realized with a start that it had been nearly two weeks since she’d last seen him. And she was now consciously aware that she probably looked like crap. She tried to smile. “What are you doing here?”
“Can I come in?” he murmured in his low accent. She’d noticed he wasn’t smiling like she was expecting him to and it made her suddenly nervous. She stepped back to allow him room to come in and she shut the door behind him.
He walked in several paces, then turned to her stiffly, his expression painstakingly neutral as always. She grabbed the remote and clicked off the television. The silence was deafening.
“How are you feeling?” he asked softly. She could see no other intention behind his question, but all the same she felt suddenly wary of him.
“Um, a little better,” she said breathlessly.
He nodded, not taking his eyes from hers. “Still sick?” he queried.
She hesitated, her gaze slipping from his. She didn’t want to lie to him, and she knew she’d have to tell him sometime… she just hadn’t found the right way to say it yet. She didn’t want to burden him with the news now. She might scare him away once and for all if she did.
“Look,” she said, trying to be evasive. “If you’re worried about classes, I know I’ve missed a lot…” she broke off when she saw him shaking his head.
“That’s not why I’m here,” he said calmly.
“Then why are you?” she blurted out. His very presence made her tense. She wanted to run to him, to have him shelter her and hold her and tell her everything would be all right. Why was he being so distant? Her eyes itched with the urge to tear up, and she bit her nails into her palms to distract herself. She would not allow these stupid hormones to make her weak.
He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back, perching casually against the back of her sofa. At length he said: “You’re pregnant.”
The air left her lungs in an audible whoosh. “How did you…?”
“How did I know?” he asked quickly. Menacingly. His tone brought her up short. “Mitchell told me.”
She spluttered. “Mitchell? How did he find out?”
“He was at the clinic. He overheard.” A muscle in his jaw jumped tensely, a telltale sign that he was more agitated than he’d let on. She could only imagine…
“Colton, I… I’m sorry,” she said, unsure of where to start. He interrupted her.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to find out you’re going to be a father from your boss?”
She took a fortifying breath. “I never meant for you to find out like that…”
“Well when did you intend for me to find out, Claire? It’s been almost a week.”
“I just… I don’t know…” she stuttered, blinking furiously against the torrent of tears that threatened to spill.
“I am the father, right?” he asked pointedly, his expression fierce.
“What?” she exploded. “Of course you are! How could even say that?”
He pushed off from the back of the sofa and threw his hands in the air, turning from her. It was the first true form of emotion she’d seen from him all evening. “Well, I don’t know Claire, it’s not as if you’ve been exactly forthcoming with this! What was I supposed to think?”
She stamped her foot, the tears breaking free now. “Oh, Colton! It’s not like it’s been easy for me, you know! I just found out, too! I’ve been trying to get used to the idea, as well as stop feeling sick…”
She swallowed, trying to remain in control of her emotions and failing miserably. He’d turned to face her and her resolve broke.
“I can’t sleep,” she whispered shakily. “I can’t eat. Everything makes me nauseous. Up until a couple days ago I couldn’t even eat a piece of bread to feed this baby,” she cried. “The doctor said I’m losing too much weight - that it was a miracle I hadn’t miscarried…” She covered her face with shaking hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
Colton was at her side in an instant, wrapping her into his embrace. He tucked her head into his shoulder, his hand smoothing the back of her hair. The back of his throat ached to see her so miserable.
“Shh… Kitten…” he murmured, kissing the top of her head, feeling her shoulders shake in his arms. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have upset you.” It was still such a strange sensation for him to see her cry so readily - he could only assume it was the hormones people so often spoke of.
He could feel her trying to gain control of her emotions and he kissed the soft tendrils at her temple, the sensitive skin behind her ear. She turned into his kisses, raising her lips to his jaw.
And she was a magnet.
His lips locked on hers of their own volition. He kissed her sweetly, tenderly. Gently. His lips moved over hers, plying them open with the tip of his tongue, and he could taste the salt from her tears. His hand splayed in the silken tresses of her hair, and she moaned softly into his mouth, igniting the flames of desire wicking their way through him.
His breath sawed in and out of his lungs and he deepened the kiss. She matched his eagerness exactly, her hands gripping his sweater, and he very nearly growled with satisfaction. He so badly wanted to lift her up and carry her to the bed, to make love to her, to bury himself within her warmth.
The idea appealed to a very predictable part of him and he fought against the fog of desire, pulling back softly, breaking his lips from hers with every ounce of will power he possessed.
She made a small moue of protest and he breathed a shaky laugh, kissing her briefly at the corner of her mouth. His hands framed her face and he bent his forehead to hers.
“Ahh, Kitten,” he said, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath and let it out through parted lips. “You do something to me,” he said, his voice low and gritty and lovely.
She watched him swallow and she let go of her breath, noticing she, too, was shaking just like he was. She turned her cheek into his warm hand where his thumb was softly stroking across her skin.
“You do something to me, too,” she whispered.
And he kissed her again.
This one was even gentler than the first, and yet with the way his arms held her close, the way his touch feathered over her skin, it was like he was praising her. And when his lips trailed up her jaw and started down her neck; when he whispered, “God, you’re so beautiful,” on a velvet hush against her skin; she believed him.
When at last he eased his lips away from hers, both of them breathing ragged again, she laid her head against his chest contentedly. Neither of them spoke, not wanting to damage the moment. His hand cradled her hair and she snuggled deeper against his chest, reveling in the feel of hard, warm muscle beneath her cheek.
With a heavy sigh, he dropped a kiss onto her hair and he eased her away so that he could look at her.
“Did the doctor tell you how long it’s been…?” he murmured, his deep blue eyes searching hers hesitantly. She could tell he didn’t want to set her off again.
Claire nodded. “Eight weeks.”
Colton blew a low whistle and she knew he was doing the mental math. Eight weeks pregnant meant she’d conceived on that very first night with him.
“What did you do?” Claire asked suddenly. “When Mitchell told you, I mean,” she clarified.
His lips turned up in a lop-sided smile and he chuckled softly. “Became a statue for a bit,” he said honestly. “I couldn’t act my way through that one.” His fingers were toying with hers and he seemed mesmerized by their entwined hands. After a moment he raised her knuckles to his lips and kissed them softly. Claire’s heart was nearly jumping out of her chest.
“I think it was more or less a test,” he said slowly.
“A test? What kind of test?”
“To see if I was lying to him before.” His thumbs danced in circles across the back of her hand. “To see how I truly felt about you.”
She felt a rush of heat creeping up her neck at the close-proximity of the subject of the conversation. Maybe now would be when he would finally admit his feelings towards her…
She wet her lips. “What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t tell him anything,” he said sincerely, and she felt her hopes deflate the teeniest bit. “It’s better that way,” he continued, oblivious to her dampened spirits. “They’ll go through the works of an investigation and be done with it.
“Which leads me to what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said slowly, a small, boyish smile lighting his features. She looked at him quizzically and he continued. “He mentioned there was a way to sort of sway the investigation in our favor.”
She shook her head, not understanding. “What’s that?”
“Well… Mitchell said they tend to wash the whole investigation thing if there’s a commitment involved.”
She stared blankly at him for a moment, then realized what he was saying. She laughed once. “A commitment? As in, like, the middle ages?” she giggled.
He laughed, too. “I said the same thing,” he said. His eyes smiled down at hers briefly, then: “I thought we could dress up the backyard at my place if you wanted, maybe even rent one of the pavilions in the park next to the creek… that way people could just cross the bridge from my place into the park.”
Claire blinked at him dumbly, her smile still ghosting about the corners of her lips. “What are you talking about? What party?”
“For the wedding,” he said easily.
She drew her hand from his grasp slowly. “What wedding, Colton?”
He gauged her for a second, then spoke quietly: “I’m asking, Claire.”
“You’re not asking!” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t hear you saying ‘will you marry me’! I don’t see you down on one knee!” She crossed her arms. “Not that those things would matter, anyway, because that’s a stupid reason to get married!”
She had backed up a few steps in her outburst, and he closed the distance between them, settling his hands on her shoulders.
“Claire, you don’t understand. If the investigation goes through and they find out I’m the father - which they will - then I’m finished. My reputation as a teacher will be ruined.” He ducked his head to look into her eyes. “I’ll have lost everything.”
She stared at him with cold fury in her eyes. “‘Everything,’” she quoted. She shook his hands from her. “Since when is your reputation ‘everything,’ Colton? Besides, that’s a crap excuse to marry someone!”
She turned away from him, anger and hurt spiking dangerously through her veins. Her hands were shaking and she doubled them into fists at her sides before he could see.
His voice rose to match hers. “C’mon, Claire, you know that’s not the only reason!”
“Then what’s the other reason?” she challenged.
He floundered for a moment, his jaw tensing. He swallowed. “You…” he started.
Claire held her breath as he took a step towards her. “You… and the baby,” he said slowly, approaching her cautiously. He placed his palm against her abdomen. “I mean… you’re carrying my baby, Claire.”
His eyes were deep and fathomless as he looked at her. She swallowed tightly as she looked up into them, already forgetting the reason she was mad at him. It was as it always had been with him - all he had to do was look at her and her mouth went dry, her heart raced against her rib cage, her pulse beat furiously to keep up with the river that was pulling her to him, tugging her under the current.
It was then that she realized with slamming force how deeply she had fallen in love with him. Far deeper than she’d ever thought was possible.
She ducked her head so that he wouldn’t see the depth of the emotion in her eyes: He could always read her so well. She drew a shaky breath, her hand joining his on her stomach.
“Colton…I,”
“Please, Claire…” he pleaded softly. “It's my responsibility...”
Right then, if she could force the screech of a needle being pulled off a record, she would have. Everything crashed around her.
“What?” she said quickly, looking up at him again. Her voice came out nearly a hiss and she saw how it registered on his face. “‘Your responsibility?’” She stepped back from him, breathing hard. “It’s not the fifties, Colton! You don’t marry people nowadays to take ‘responsibility!’”
He shook his head quickly. “Wait, that came out wrong…”
“I don’t care!” she flung at him. “You’re making it sound like you’re expecting a dowry along with the pretty house-wife!”
He laughed once, the sound nervous. “No, Claire, wait…”
She walked to the door and tugged it open roughly. “I want you to leave.” Her eyes were cold and unforgiving.
“Claire,” he said, his voice tinged with impatience and panic all in one. “Please… this is a mistake.”
He watched as her throat worked and she squeezed her eyes shut. When she spoke again, her voice was laden with unshed tears. “Well then maybe I’ll learn from it this time,” she said coldly.
It felt as if she’d cut him at the knees.
“Claire,” he choked out, trying to shake the desperation from his voice.
“I want you to leave,” she stated again, the forcefulness losing all heat in the wake of her tears. Colton closed his eyes tightly and swallowed. When he didn’t move to leave she stamped her foot against the floor. “Get out!” she cried.
Unable to think of what else to do, he did as she asked. Humbled by his own behavior, he paused just outside the door after she’d slammed it in his wake, his mind reeling after what had just happened, and his heart squeezed painfully as he realized the truth:
In the matter of twenty minutes, he’d lost the one thing that mattered to him most.
==============================================
I know a lot of you are upset with me right about now... but I'm not sorry... not one bit! :D
I am sorry, however, that it took me a bajillion years to post this. But if it comforts you to know, it is 2:45am my time and I have to be up for work in four hours. Yay. I tried sleeping earlier and couldn't because I was stressing about this. DEVOTION!! I has it.
DANCING AND FEASTS ENSUE FOR wanderingjasper !!!! Ben's coke-den would not be nearly as resplendent if not for her incredible handiwork on the cocaine lines / piles / rolled dollar bill / etc. She helped me tremendously... thank you again, Jasper!! ^_^ And also, thank you for not looking at me funny when I asked for help on sim-drugs... cause... yeah. We should all have friends that don't look at us weird when we ask questions about drugs. :smiles:
.... I've lost all train of thought. I also think I'm seeing double. Or maybe triple. So I should possibly go back to sleep.
WARNINGS: Foul language (it's Finn... we all know his favorite swear word, right?), violence, drugs, gambling... uh... yeah. Just consider yourself WARNED for this one, mmkay?