Split [alex/z][s/a]
Title: Split
Pairing/Character(s): Alex Greenwald/Z Berg
Rating: PG
Summary: But Z isn’t really addicted (she’s decided). She doesn’t do it very often, and she’s pretty proud of that. The few scars that are left are the one on her arm from about four months ago, the one Alex might even be aware of if he can read her as well as he says he can, and a couple hidden inconspicuously on the insides of her thighs. Alex has never noticed. Never said anything. And they’re not even odd scars, not really. They are what they are.
Warning: SELF-HARM/CUTTING. It's neither terribly descriptive nor does it go terribly far, but better safe than sorry.
Beta: panicmydear
Word Count: 1,219
A/N: for the 'self harm' square on hc_bingo card. Possible the second Alex/Z to exist...I feel like my characterization is slightly off but I don't hate it!
Z is only seventeen the first time she does it.
She’s fucking confused and the first thing she does is turn the faucet on as high as it can go and stick her arm under it, her entire body shaking. Her stomach drops and she licks her chapped lips and glances at the closed and locked door every couple of seconds. Even after the blood stops running (it only lasts for about three seconds, but Z is paranoid), she doesn’t turn off the water. The sharp, quick cut looks angry at her and she frowns, biting down hard on her lip. It doesn’t even hurt, not anymore.
Z snatches up a towel sitting on the counter and turns off the faucet, pressing the towel onto her soaking arm, directly over the cut. She lets it drape there and reaches for the pair of scissors she had used, feeling herself flush (with embarrassment and anger, maybe something else, she’s not sure) as she turns the faucet back on with her left hand and rinses the blood off of the blade.
Z lets out a shady sigh and slides down the wall near the sink counter, pressing the towel against her skin, harder.
--
She figures it was a one time thing. It’s not like it felt all that great, if she’s honest, and she didn’t really get any release from it, not the way people described. She’s old enough to understand that it’s a bad habit, and a stupid habit at that, and so she takes it as a grain of salt and vows to herself she won’t do it again.
--
“Ow.”
This time she doesn’t jump up and hurry to get the flush of blood off of her skin. She looks at it, observes it, and twitches.
She’s nineteen this time, and maybe it’s just because she’s so stressed and had no idea what to do with herself, but she lets out the same old shaky sigh and just stares. She’s just not sure what she’s looking at.
“Ow,” she murmurs again, and there’s a sudden knock on the bathroom door. She jumps, having forgotten she was in a hotel bathroom momentarily and has been in there a couple of minutes.
“Z?” calls a familiar voice, and she scrambles to her feet and turns on the water. “Are you okay?” Alex asks as Z rinses the blood off. The scar from two years ago has long since faded away, barely a memory and nothing no one’s noticed. She’s already trying to come up for an excuse in case someone sees this.
A disturbing pattern is developing.
“I’m fine,” she answers, and she laughs lightly - she’s always been rather good at acting on the spot, and that’s why she’s still here and still okay, honestly. She knows how to make people believe in her.
“You gonna take a shower?” Alex asks. He still sounds sort of worried, and Z grabs her toothbrush, figuring that’s a good excuse. It doesn’t make sense. She brushes her teeth, and her response is gargled.
“Yeah, I’ll be out in a few,” she manages, and Alex doesn’t say anything else but she can still feel his presence on the other side of the door, waiting for her.
She spits into the sink and rinses her tooth brush off and then the tiny pair of scissors that Alex always keeps for whatever reason.
Her stomach drops with a sickening guilt.
--
He doesn’t say anything, though - no one says anything - and it goes on, slowly developing, for a couple of years. Z’s still the same sarcastic, witty, hardheaded girl she’s always been and no one expects anything different of her except that she’s restless. And they know she’s restless because her life is not going in the direction she’d imagined - but they never expect that it’s what it is.
But Z isn’t really addicted (she’s decided). She doesn’t do it very often, and she’s pretty proud of that. The few scars that are left are the one on her arm from about four months ago, the one Alex might even be aware of if he can read her as well as he says he can, and a couple hidden inconspicuously on the insides of her thighs. Alex has never noticed. Never said anything. And they’re not even odd scars, not really. They are what they are.
--
“Happy twenty-first, Z.”
Z looks up at Alex and grins like an idiot, crossing her legs at the knee. He leans down and kisses her, running his fingers through her hair, and she sighs against his mouth happily. “What’d you get me?” she asks, and his fingers trail down her neck and over her arm, stopping at her wrist. He wraps his fingers around her wrist, gently, and lifts it - Z lets him, curious, and he kisses the skin just below her palm, where her veins are visible. A smile flickers on her face, and she’s extra fond of him today.
When they lock eyes, however, her stomach clenches.
His eyes are dark, and Z tenses, ideas bouncing off the walls of her skull, why is he so angry, so upset, so unhappy.
It hits her when he runs his thumb over the first scar, from when she was seventeen - so faded she has to squint to notice it, it could easily be a cat scratch (had she ever had a cat), and then over the second scar, a couple of inches below it, a bit more noticeable.
Maybe she wasn’t as ‘inconspicuous’ as she had once believed.
She swallows
Alex kisses her again, hard but not angry, and a sob rips through Z’s body, shaking her. She wraps her arms around Alex, and it’s awkward as he rests on top of her on the kitchen chair (in the back of her head she thinks that maybe the chair will break underneath them, but it’s a sturdy chair, and unlike her, it won’t break under the stress), burying his face in her hair.
“I’m so sorry,” he manages, and his voice is rough though Z’s sure he’s not crying. “I’m so sorry I never said anything until now.” Z clutches at his shirt, taking deep, shattering breaths - she’s trying to gain some kind of balance, she just doesn’t know how.
He slides a hand along her thigh and oh, he really did notice. She really does suck at hiding.
“How long?” he asks, and she kind of wanted to ask him the same question.
“It’s not-” she manages, shaking her head (Alex just holds on tighter), “it’s not something that’s…it’s not a habit. It’s just…a couple of times…bad situations. I don’t know. I don’t know, Alex.”
“This is why I’m here. And hey, I have something…something I want to promise to you.”
Z sits up straighter as Alex sits up, pushing himself up off of her, instead leaning against the kitchen table. Slowly, Z licks her lips, pulling her fingers through her hair.
“No matter what you choose, who you choose, or how you choose…I’ll always be your friend. And that sounds really stupid, and honestly, I know that, but. You’re really important to me and I want you to be happy, no matter what. And I think you probably feel similarly towards me,”-Alex pauses and Z smiles (he smiles right back)-“so hopefully, you understand that. That I just want you to be happy.”
Z nods. “I do,” she agrees, and her voice is breathy. “Thanks.”
Alex shrugs. “What else am I supposed to do? It’s a stupid little thing called love, dear.”
Z laughs and stands up to kiss him on the mouth.
Pairing/Character(s): Alex Greenwald/Z Berg
Rating: PG
Summary: But Z isn’t really addicted (she’s decided). She doesn’t do it very often, and she’s pretty proud of that. The few scars that are left are the one on her arm from about four months ago, the one Alex might even be aware of if he can read her as well as he says he can, and a couple hidden inconspicuously on the insides of her thighs. Alex has never noticed. Never said anything. And they’re not even odd scars, not really. They are what they are.
Warning: SELF-HARM/CUTTING. It's neither terribly descriptive nor does it go terribly far, but better safe than sorry.
Beta: panicmydear
Word Count: 1,219
A/N: for the 'self harm' square on hc_bingo card. Possible the second Alex/Z to exist...I feel like my characterization is slightly off but I don't hate it!
Z is only seventeen the first time she does it.
She’s fucking confused and the first thing she does is turn the faucet on as high as it can go and stick her arm under it, her entire body shaking. Her stomach drops and she licks her chapped lips and glances at the closed and locked door every couple of seconds. Even after the blood stops running (it only lasts for about three seconds, but Z is paranoid), she doesn’t turn off the water. The sharp, quick cut looks angry at her and she frowns, biting down hard on her lip. It doesn’t even hurt, not anymore.
Z snatches up a towel sitting on the counter and turns off the faucet, pressing the towel onto her soaking arm, directly over the cut. She lets it drape there and reaches for the pair of scissors she had used, feeling herself flush (with embarrassment and anger, maybe something else, she’s not sure) as she turns the faucet back on with her left hand and rinses the blood off of the blade.
Z lets out a shady sigh and slides down the wall near the sink counter, pressing the towel against her skin, harder.
--
She figures it was a one time thing. It’s not like it felt all that great, if she’s honest, and she didn’t really get any release from it, not the way people described. She’s old enough to understand that it’s a bad habit, and a stupid habit at that, and so she takes it as a grain of salt and vows to herself she won’t do it again.
--
“Ow.”
This time she doesn’t jump up and hurry to get the flush of blood off of her skin. She looks at it, observes it, and twitches.
She’s nineteen this time, and maybe it’s just because she’s so stressed and had no idea what to do with herself, but she lets out the same old shaky sigh and just stares. She’s just not sure what she’s looking at.
“Ow,” she murmurs again, and there’s a sudden knock on the bathroom door. She jumps, having forgotten she was in a hotel bathroom momentarily and has been in there a couple of minutes.
“Z?” calls a familiar voice, and she scrambles to her feet and turns on the water. “Are you okay?” Alex asks as Z rinses the blood off. The scar from two years ago has long since faded away, barely a memory and nothing no one’s noticed. She’s already trying to come up for an excuse in case someone sees this.
A disturbing pattern is developing.
“I’m fine,” she answers, and she laughs lightly - she’s always been rather good at acting on the spot, and that’s why she’s still here and still okay, honestly. She knows how to make people believe in her.
“You gonna take a shower?” Alex asks. He still sounds sort of worried, and Z grabs her toothbrush, figuring that’s a good excuse. It doesn’t make sense. She brushes her teeth, and her response is gargled.
“Yeah, I’ll be out in a few,” she manages, and Alex doesn’t say anything else but she can still feel his presence on the other side of the door, waiting for her.
She spits into the sink and rinses her tooth brush off and then the tiny pair of scissors that Alex always keeps for whatever reason.
Her stomach drops with a sickening guilt.
--
He doesn’t say anything, though - no one says anything - and it goes on, slowly developing, for a couple of years. Z’s still the same sarcastic, witty, hardheaded girl she’s always been and no one expects anything different of her except that she’s restless. And they know she’s restless because her life is not going in the direction she’d imagined - but they never expect that it’s what it is.
But Z isn’t really addicted (she’s decided). She doesn’t do it very often, and she’s pretty proud of that. The few scars that are left are the one on her arm from about four months ago, the one Alex might even be aware of if he can read her as well as he says he can, and a couple hidden inconspicuously on the insides of her thighs. Alex has never noticed. Never said anything. And they’re not even odd scars, not really. They are what they are.
--
“Happy twenty-first, Z.”
Z looks up at Alex and grins like an idiot, crossing her legs at the knee. He leans down and kisses her, running his fingers through her hair, and she sighs against his mouth happily. “What’d you get me?” she asks, and his fingers trail down her neck and over her arm, stopping at her wrist. He wraps his fingers around her wrist, gently, and lifts it - Z lets him, curious, and he kisses the skin just below her palm, where her veins are visible. A smile flickers on her face, and she’s extra fond of him today.
When they lock eyes, however, her stomach clenches.
His eyes are dark, and Z tenses, ideas bouncing off the walls of her skull, why is he so angry, so upset, so unhappy.
It hits her when he runs his thumb over the first scar, from when she was seventeen - so faded she has to squint to notice it, it could easily be a cat scratch (had she ever had a cat), and then over the second scar, a couple of inches below it, a bit more noticeable.
Maybe she wasn’t as ‘inconspicuous’ as she had once believed.
She swallows
Alex kisses her again, hard but not angry, and a sob rips through Z’s body, shaking her. She wraps her arms around Alex, and it’s awkward as he rests on top of her on the kitchen chair (in the back of her head she thinks that maybe the chair will break underneath them, but it’s a sturdy chair, and unlike her, it won’t break under the stress), burying his face in her hair.
“I’m so sorry,” he manages, and his voice is rough though Z’s sure he’s not crying. “I’m so sorry I never said anything until now.” Z clutches at his shirt, taking deep, shattering breaths - she’s trying to gain some kind of balance, she just doesn’t know how.
He slides a hand along her thigh and oh, he really did notice. She really does suck at hiding.
“How long?” he asks, and she kind of wanted to ask him the same question.
“It’s not-” she manages, shaking her head (Alex just holds on tighter), “it’s not something that’s…it’s not a habit. It’s just…a couple of times…bad situations. I don’t know. I don’t know, Alex.”
“This is why I’m here. And hey, I have something…something I want to promise to you.”
Z sits up straighter as Alex sits up, pushing himself up off of her, instead leaning against the kitchen table. Slowly, Z licks her lips, pulling her fingers through her hair.
“No matter what you choose, who you choose, or how you choose…I’ll always be your friend. And that sounds really stupid, and honestly, I know that, but. You’re really important to me and I want you to be happy, no matter what. And I think you probably feel similarly towards me,”-Alex pauses and Z smiles (he smiles right back)-“so hopefully, you understand that. That I just want you to be happy.”
Z nods. “I do,” she agrees, and her voice is breathy. “Thanks.”
Alex shrugs. “What else am I supposed to do? It’s a stupid little thing called love, dear.”
Z laughs and stands up to kiss him on the mouth.