[FIC] lay it out
This is infinitely harder than he expected it to be.
He doesn't look at Henry as he speaks, knows he'd lose his nerve, already tenuous at best, if he did. Sits on the couch with him in his apartment, rubbing his hands together and staring down at them as he speaks, voice forcefully even and neutral as he tells his story - starts at childhood, because in a way it all began then, talks about his home, his parents, Josh, Elle, everybody else, about the good and bad all together because Henry needs context before Alex can get into everything else. He needs to make everything clear to Henry, lay it all out so that if Henry decides to cut him out then and there, at least he'll do it knowing everything.
He progresses from there to the fateful night out on Toluca Lake, the boat, the fight, Josh's death. It's then that his voice wavers, chokes for the first time, and he has to pause briefly to make sure it'll be back under control when he continues.
The effort's shot to hell when Henry speaks up then, a soft "You loved him," and he says it so easily like he knows it for a fact, like he was there.
"Yeah," and Alex voice shakes with the word until he clears his throat, smiles a wry kind of thing, "I do. ... I did." And then I killed him.
He continues from there, the delusions (and the confession to not being a soldier, which hits harder than he thought it would), the stay in the hospital, the nightmares and everything that happened in Shepherd's Glen. His voice gradually becomes less and less steady and nothing he does can control it, the fear and anxiety of this reveal starting to creep to the forefront and dig their claws deep in him, the pain of digging up old wounds and bad memories getting to him. At some point he's started shaking, only notices when he blinks and realizes his hands are trembling, and blinking makes him realize there's tears in his eyes because it makes him notice how damn blurry his vision is suddenly. He's so fucking vulnerable, so weak and he hates it but it's necessary, Henry needs to know what he's getting into because he means too much to Alex not to clue him in. Clue him in to why he hesitates around water, why he limps, why it means so much when Henry does little things for him, why he doesn't talk about family and can't stand the reminders, why - well, why Alex is.
By the end of it he's got his head hung, trying to hide his expression from Henry, shoulders drawn tight around his neck, hands clasped tight together. He's swallowing through a throat that feels too tight, constricted, he can't breathe normally and he's trying to get himself back under control but the fear of the silence between them and what it might mean when it breaks is too much -
there's a hand over his, and Alex looks up, startled, looks up at Henry through tear-rimmed eyes. Henry gently unlocks his hands, taking one of Alex's in both of his own, doesn't speak, just runs a thumb over his knuckles. His hands are warm and Alex swallows again, hard, looking away again but slowly, cautiously wrapping his fingers around Henry's, like he's afraid he'll change his mind. Some part of him is.
The silence continues and Alex wishes to God it'd break (maybe he should leave) but suddenly there's a small tug on his hand and Alex is following it without thought. He doesn't realize what it is until he's leaning against Henry and arms are moving around him, holding him close. He blinks, utters an unbidden noise that's tiny, startled and more broken-sounding than he wants it to be. This is the complete opposite of what he's used to. Usually he's the one holding another, acting like the port in the storm, a shield against the world, and now the situations completely reversed and it says so much more than words ever could and everything crumbles apart. His arms wrap around Henry with a sudden snap of movement, clinging to him tighter than is likely comfortable but Alex can't watch his strength, not when he's burying his face in the older man's shoulder to muffle the sobs that finally force their way out past the ruins of his emotional wall along with the tears.
Henry doesn't say a thing, just holds him, and that's more, much more, than enough.
He doesn't look at Henry as he speaks, knows he'd lose his nerve, already tenuous at best, if he did. Sits on the couch with him in his apartment, rubbing his hands together and staring down at them as he speaks, voice forcefully even and neutral as he tells his story - starts at childhood, because in a way it all began then, talks about his home, his parents, Josh, Elle, everybody else, about the good and bad all together because Henry needs context before Alex can get into everything else. He needs to make everything clear to Henry, lay it all out so that if Henry decides to cut him out then and there, at least he'll do it knowing everything.
He progresses from there to the fateful night out on Toluca Lake, the boat, the fight, Josh's death. It's then that his voice wavers, chokes for the first time, and he has to pause briefly to make sure it'll be back under control when he continues.
The effort's shot to hell when Henry speaks up then, a soft "You loved him," and he says it so easily like he knows it for a fact, like he was there.
"Yeah," and Alex voice shakes with the word until he clears his throat, smiles a wry kind of thing, "I do. ... I did." And then I killed him.
He continues from there, the delusions (and the confession to not being a soldier, which hits harder than he thought it would), the stay in the hospital, the nightmares and everything that happened in Shepherd's Glen. His voice gradually becomes less and less steady and nothing he does can control it, the fear and anxiety of this reveal starting to creep to the forefront and dig their claws deep in him, the pain of digging up old wounds and bad memories getting to him. At some point he's started shaking, only notices when he blinks and realizes his hands are trembling, and blinking makes him realize there's tears in his eyes because it makes him notice how damn blurry his vision is suddenly. He's so fucking vulnerable, so weak and he hates it but it's necessary, Henry needs to know what he's getting into because he means too much to Alex not to clue him in. Clue him in to why he hesitates around water, why he limps, why it means so much when Henry does little things for him, why he doesn't talk about family and can't stand the reminders, why - well, why Alex is.
By the end of it he's got his head hung, trying to hide his expression from Henry, shoulders drawn tight around his neck, hands clasped tight together. He's swallowing through a throat that feels too tight, constricted, he can't breathe normally and he's trying to get himself back under control but the fear of the silence between them and what it might mean when it breaks is too much -
there's a hand over his, and Alex looks up, startled, looks up at Henry through tear-rimmed eyes. Henry gently unlocks his hands, taking one of Alex's in both of his own, doesn't speak, just runs a thumb over his knuckles. His hands are warm and Alex swallows again, hard, looking away again but slowly, cautiously wrapping his fingers around Henry's, like he's afraid he'll change his mind. Some part of him is.
The silence continues and Alex wishes to God it'd break (maybe he should leave) but suddenly there's a small tug on his hand and Alex is following it without thought. He doesn't realize what it is until he's leaning against Henry and arms are moving around him, holding him close. He blinks, utters an unbidden noise that's tiny, startled and more broken-sounding than he wants it to be. This is the complete opposite of what he's used to. Usually he's the one holding another, acting like the port in the storm, a shield against the world, and now the situations completely reversed and it says so much more than words ever could and everything crumbles apart. His arms wrap around Henry with a sudden snap of movement, clinging to him tighter than is likely comfortable but Alex can't watch his strength, not when he's burying his face in the older man's shoulder to muffle the sobs that finally force their way out past the ruins of his emotional wall along with the tears.
Henry doesn't say a thing, just holds him, and that's more, much more, than enough.