Fic: Lives Are For Living. (15/35)
Title Lives Are For Living. (15/35)
Fandoms Torchwood/Being Human crossover fic.
Characters/pairings Andy Davidson/Tom McNair. Other Torchwood and Being Human characters will appear later on.
Word count: This part 2770 (Total posted 32,100 /65,000)
Rating This part PG (adult over all)
Contains Mentions of depression/anxiety. Mentions of past canon major character death. Mention of minor character death - not canon. In later parts canon level violence, graphic sex, Andy's homophobic mother. Spoilers for Being Human (UK version) up to series 5 episode 3, and for Torchwood up to Children of Earth.
A/N: Crossover with Being Human. Technically a CoE fix it as it's set in the same 'verse as Finding Ways To Smile Again (although that isn't apparent until about 2/3 the way through the story). Follows on from Break and Breakaway from Tom McNair's POV - which is where it breaks from Being Human canon.
Summary
After being pushed out of the police force following the events of Children of Earth, Andy Davidson tries to build a new life for himself in the deep in the Welsh countryside.
Tom McNair walked out off his old life after realising it wasn't what he needed.
A chance meeting would take their lives in directions that they had never expected and bring them love that they'd not thought they'd find.
Starts here: http://the-silver-sun.livejournal.com/214504.html
Meeting Tom was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time, Andy thought as he started to get their evening meal ready. The past three weeks or so could have been so much worse if it hadn't been for him. Admittedly if it hadn't been for Tom he'd never have been trying to get the copper piping out of the old cowshed in the first place.
He'd have still had to deal with the terrible news about Nikki and Jonah Bevan though and without Tom he's not sure what he'd have done. Got through it somehow on his own, he supposed, as there wasn't really wasn't any other option in the end. How long it would have taken before he'd felt like facing the world again or with dealing with anybody or anything was debatable. He hoped it wouldn't have been as bad as the weeks following his suspension for pushing over his DCI, at that point getting dressed or even getting out of bed, guilt and fear about what he'd done, what people would say or what he might do sapping any energy or enthusiasm he had for anything.
He knew that if he'd been alone at the farm Gwen would have come over and tried to help. He also knew that he would have pretended that he was fine because she'd got more to put up with than he had. If it hadn't been for the accident he wasn't sure that he would have talked to Tom either. Knackering his ribs had forced him to accept help and to admit that, physically at least, he wasn't alright. And somewhere between the pain, the exhaustion of a few nights with very little sleep and the painkillers which had made him feel even more spaced out he'd just found himself talking to Tom about it. That Tom had listened, had understood, had cared enough to want to try to help him meant more than he could say.
The sun was low on the horizon when Andy finally heard the door open and Tom come into the house. Although he had his back to his, Andy could tell there was something wrong when there was no cheerful 'good evening' or 'what's for tea then?'
“There you are,” Andy said, not caring how relieved he sounded. Standing by the range, he put the lid back on the saucepan he'd been stirring, before turning round. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”
There was a pause before Tom answered, sounding upset and unwilling to talk to him.“No, I were just busy, that's all.”
It was too reminiscent of when Tom hadn't been speaking to him, those days that had actually made him more miserable than even the bruised ribs had. "Whatever I've said I'm sorry," Andy said, sitting down beside him, his ribs still aching a little as he'd pushed himself harder that day with helping the solar panel installers. "Now are you going to tell me what I've done wrong?"
"You've not done anythin'." Tom looked away, but Andy still had time to see his eyes were red and puffy.
"Tom?" Andy felt nerves and worry starting to claw at him. What had he missed? If it wasn't him, what else was it? Had Tom been into town? Maybe the woman at the shop had said she didn't want any more carvings. That didn't seem likely though, they'd sold well, and even if she had Tom would have just told him and probably asked him if there was somewhere else he could try. It worried him that he couldn't think what it could be, that despite living for weeks with Tom in such close company that he didn't know him well enough to know what was upsetting him. "What's happened? Whatever it is you can tell me."
"I were so busy I forgot, didn't I?" Tom rubbed his eyes with a grimy hand. "It were a year ago the other night that me dad died. I'd meant to go back to where he's buried and make sure it's all tidy like and just tell him what I've been doing. How I've got a proper job like he wanted me to."
“I'm sorry,” Andy said, at a loss at what else to say, feeling guilty himself now that he'd not connected it to how upset had been when he'd asked about the tattoo just after they first met. “Why don't you take a few days off, just go back to...” He stopped realising that Tom hadn't said where it had happened. “To go wherever you need to go.”
Tom shook his head. “No. I'd feel right rubbish goin' there late. He wouldn't have minded me missing it, he knew all the stuff like gravestones and that where really for them whose left behind. He'd have just said, 'what's done is done, no point being all wet about it.' But that don't make me feel no better, 'specially not as it's sort of my fault in a way he got killed in the first place.”
Andy knew all to well the sound of grief and guilt talking, you couldn't spend the best part of ten years in the police force giving people bad news without hearing just about every variation of it. Tom's sounded all too like the kind of thing you got from people where they'd claim it was all their fault because they hadn't told whoever had died not to go to the shops or walk the dog, because if they wouldn't have been killed by a car that skidded on a patch of ice or a tree falling on them. You couldn't really reason with that kind of guilt, because while it was technically true there was no way anybody could have foreseen what would happen. They weren't ready to hear that though, because as terrible as the accident was, finding somebody to blame, even if it was themselves, was easier than acknowledging that sometimes truly awful stuff happens to people for no reason and there's no way you can foresee or prevent it.
Tom looked so miserable though that Andy knew he couldn't just leave it at that, couldn't leave him to suffer as he obviously had been doing, in silence. Not when Tom had sat and talked to him so many times when things had been getting him down and he'd had nothing to do but think and be too sore to move about and find a distraction. He patted Tom's leg, trying to mix getting his attention with some level of comfort, then said, “How about I get us a cup of tea and you can tell me about it?”
“There ain't much to tell. He'd hurt his leg, and I reckoned he'd be safest staying at this old hotel with some people we'd met when they'd needed our help with some stuff.” He rubbed his hand across his eyes again. “Only he weren't and maybe if I'd listened to him, if I'd let him just get over in the van liked he'd wanted, I've still have me dad.”
“You can't know that,” Andy said, wondering not for the first time just what sort of life Tom and his father had lived. If perhaps Tom's dad had been on the run from the law or from some criminal element. He wanted to think that it was simpler than that, that perhaps the late lamented McNair senior had just been a hippy type free spirit who thought a life on the open road free from obligations was the best life for him and his son. He wanted to believe it, but somehow he never quite could. It felt like there was something vital he was missing about the situation, but he just couldn't piece together what it was.
Tom sighed and then said unconvincingly, “I 'spose. But I still can't help thinkin' it, can I?”
“I guess not.” Andy gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I make us that tea.” When in doubt hot, overly sweet tea was the way to go. That and adding a generous slug of whisky to it, Andy thought picking up a bottle from one of the shelves and returning with it to the sofa.
After handing Tom his tea, Andy gestured towards the mug with the bottle. Tom nodded, still looking utterly miserable, so Andy added some to his drink before the same to his own.
Tea with whisky soon changed to just whisky drunk from the same battered cups as Andy didn't have the inclination to get up and make any more tea and Tom didn't seem to care either way. Silence at first had given way to conversation, the stories of his life with his dad, were by turns touching, sad and funny, and Andy knew that even if he hadn't been attracted to him before he'd definitely be heading that way now.
“You're the best friend I've ever had,” Tom said, sounding more than a little the worse for wear. “Don't think I ever really had a best friend before. It's nice. You're nice.”
“Oh Tom,” Andy said quietly. There was something heartbreaking in the way Tom said it, like he'd not even thought he'd ever have a friend. Tom made him feel protective in a way Andy hadn't really thought himself to be, even though Gwen had often told him he was. Not that Tom needed protecting, he was more than capable of taking care of himself, the fight outside the pub had shown him that. But Andy knew all too well that things didn't have to have a physical original to be hurtful or damaging. Tom seemed to have such limited experience of dealing with people, of
“I meant I've had a few friends, but not ones I could really talk to about things.” He picked at the frayed edge of his shorts. “I 'spose Annie was sort of like one, but she were always a bit like a mum too, I 'spose. I never had a mum, but Annie'd be tellin' me to help tidy up, eat my vegetables and makin' sure I didn't stay out too late. But there were things that me dad said you shouldn't talk to ladies about, an' she didn't like hearing about some of the stuff me and me dad used to do, so sometimes it were a bit hard to talk some things. It weren't her fault though.”
He sniffed wetly, rubbed his eyes and then finished the whisky left in his mug. “She'll have been gone a year too, well in a few months, her and little Eve. She were a lovely little thing, all smiley and funny. She'd have bin one soon. I'd have made sure she'd have had the best party ever. With cake and balloons and everything.”
Just when he'd thought he'd heard the worst, Tom came out with another revelation about life that was even more upsetting and depressing, Andy thought putting his arm around him. Between the drink and everything else he'd put up with lately, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from shedding a few tears as well. “I'm so sorry. Was she...” Andy swallowed hard, the question sticking in his throat. “Was she your daughter?”
Tom gave him a wide eyed, shocked look. “Of course not, I weren't married, were I? She were George and Nina's baby, but me and Annie looked after her when they died. She were like a sister I 'spose, a lovely little sister. I never had a family. I always wanted one. My dad said we'd find one one day, but it were a lie.”
It wasn't the time to point out that babies didn't only happen when people were married and Andy poured more whisky for them both. Part of him knew that they'd probably had more than enough, the other said that they needed this, that if this was what it took for Tom to open up about his past, if it helped him at all then it was worth inevitable hangover he'd have in the morning.
"Things weren't all bad, sometimes thing were good. Like Hal,” Tom continued, not seeming to have heard him. “I were friends, I think we were. I really liked him, well when he was off the blood um bloody stuff, yeah that what I meant, stuff.”
“It's alright,” Andy said, wanting Tom to know that he could tell him anything. “I'm not police now, am I? I'm not going to report him. So if you want you can tell me.”
“Nah, it's not like that, it weren't like what he did were exactly illegal. Well I 'spose it were,kind of sometimes, just depended on how it got it. It just made him into a right knob when he did.” Tom smiled, sad and fond at the same time. “He were just all weird the rest of the time, sometimes it were a bit annoying, but it were kinda nice sometimes though as well. So I do miss him. Just sitting on the sofa watching telly or working in the cafe, or just talkin' about stuff.”
Andy wondered why it had never occurred to him that Tom might be lonely at the farm. It seemed suddenly very selfish to have imagined that his own company would be enough. Tom was young, he should be out living his life, making all those stupid, wonderful, embarrassing memories that you could look back on when you were older and hopefully wiser, and realise that given half the chance you'd do them all over again. “You know you don't have to stay here, if you're lonely you could go out or something.”
“But I like it here with you, it's nice.” Closing his eyes, Tom settled against him, head resting against his shoulder. “You're nice. Friendly. You smell nice and friendly.”
Andy sighed, wishing that he circumstances were different. It was just his luck that by the time Tom started showing any affection towards him he'd be at the overly friendly, talking complete bollocks stage of being drunk. He'd be lying if he'd said having Tom leaning against him, his arm warm loosely draped across his lap, wasn't turning him on. He also knew that he'd be the worse friend in the world if he tried it on now. He'd be taking advantage of him, of his grief and loneliness, and that would be a pretty shitty thing to do even if Tom weren't drunk. The fact that he was, even though it hadn't quite got to the point where he was incapable, would make it verging on the criminal. “Come on you'd have some water before you go to sleep,” Andy said, reluctantly lifting Tom's arm off him, and getting up. “Or your going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.”
“I don't get them,” Tom mumbled, curling up on the sofa and closing his eyes. “I don't think it lets me, not like colds, don't understand colds. Dad said makes you stronger...and didn't drink before the moon, but it's after, so it's all alright.”
Definitely more than a little bit out of it, Andy thought a drunken laugh bubbling up, as he realised that now he was upright the room seemed to be a lot fuzzier and more moving than it had been when he was sitting down. Walking into the corner of the table as he went to get Tom some water, Andy put his finger to his lips and shushed at the can of cola that had been on it fell over and rolled onto the floor.
Still laughing at himself, Andy managed to get more water on himself than in the mug, before walking with exaggerated care back to Tom.
“I am so, so drunk,” Andy said, as he tried to put the mug on the table and missed. “I should have kissed you.”
Tom blinked and looked bleary eyed at him. “Why'd yer miss me? I haven't gone anywhere, have I?”
“No, I said...” Andy stopped, hating the fact that even now he couldn't say it. “I said I'd miss you if you went.”
Yawning, Tom closed his eyes again, and mumbled,“But I don't wanna go, wanna stay here with you forever.”
“And I want you to,” Andy replied, although the only response he got was a snore. Sitting down on the floor by the sofa, he looked at Tom and sighed. “Why am I so useless and pathetic that I just can't tell you that?”
part 16 http://the-silver-sun.livejournal.com/221453.html
Fandoms Torchwood/Being Human crossover fic.
Characters/pairings Andy Davidson/Tom McNair. Other Torchwood and Being Human characters will appear later on.
Word count: This part 2770 (Total posted 32,100 /65,000)
Rating This part PG (adult over all)
Contains Mentions of depression/anxiety. Mentions of past canon major character death. Mention of minor character death - not canon. In later parts canon level violence, graphic sex, Andy's homophobic mother. Spoilers for Being Human (UK version) up to series 5 episode 3, and for Torchwood up to Children of Earth.
A/N: Crossover with Being Human. Technically a CoE fix it as it's set in the same 'verse as Finding Ways To Smile Again (although that isn't apparent until about 2/3 the way through the story). Follows on from Break and Breakaway from Tom McNair's POV - which is where it breaks from Being Human canon.
Summary
After being pushed out of the police force following the events of Children of Earth, Andy Davidson tries to build a new life for himself in the deep in the Welsh countryside.
Tom McNair walked out off his old life after realising it wasn't what he needed.
A chance meeting would take their lives in directions that they had never expected and bring them love that they'd not thought they'd find.
Starts here: http://the-silver-sun.livejournal.com/214504.html
Meeting Tom was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time, Andy thought as he started to get their evening meal ready. The past three weeks or so could have been so much worse if it hadn't been for him. Admittedly if it hadn't been for Tom he'd never have been trying to get the copper piping out of the old cowshed in the first place.
He'd have still had to deal with the terrible news about Nikki and Jonah Bevan though and without Tom he's not sure what he'd have done. Got through it somehow on his own, he supposed, as there wasn't really wasn't any other option in the end. How long it would have taken before he'd felt like facing the world again or with dealing with anybody or anything was debatable. He hoped it wouldn't have been as bad as the weeks following his suspension for pushing over his DCI, at that point getting dressed or even getting out of bed, guilt and fear about what he'd done, what people would say or what he might do sapping any energy or enthusiasm he had for anything.
He knew that if he'd been alone at the farm Gwen would have come over and tried to help. He also knew that he would have pretended that he was fine because she'd got more to put up with than he had. If it hadn't been for the accident he wasn't sure that he would have talked to Tom either. Knackering his ribs had forced him to accept help and to admit that, physically at least, he wasn't alright. And somewhere between the pain, the exhaustion of a few nights with very little sleep and the painkillers which had made him feel even more spaced out he'd just found himself talking to Tom about it. That Tom had listened, had understood, had cared enough to want to try to help him meant more than he could say.
The sun was low on the horizon when Andy finally heard the door open and Tom come into the house. Although he had his back to his, Andy could tell there was something wrong when there was no cheerful 'good evening' or 'what's for tea then?'
“There you are,” Andy said, not caring how relieved he sounded. Standing by the range, he put the lid back on the saucepan he'd been stirring, before turning round. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”
There was a pause before Tom answered, sounding upset and unwilling to talk to him.“No, I were just busy, that's all.”
It was too reminiscent of when Tom hadn't been speaking to him, those days that had actually made him more miserable than even the bruised ribs had. "Whatever I've said I'm sorry," Andy said, sitting down beside him, his ribs still aching a little as he'd pushed himself harder that day with helping the solar panel installers. "Now are you going to tell me what I've done wrong?"
"You've not done anythin'." Tom looked away, but Andy still had time to see his eyes were red and puffy.
"Tom?" Andy felt nerves and worry starting to claw at him. What had he missed? If it wasn't him, what else was it? Had Tom been into town? Maybe the woman at the shop had said she didn't want any more carvings. That didn't seem likely though, they'd sold well, and even if she had Tom would have just told him and probably asked him if there was somewhere else he could try. It worried him that he couldn't think what it could be, that despite living for weeks with Tom in such close company that he didn't know him well enough to know what was upsetting him. "What's happened? Whatever it is you can tell me."
"I were so busy I forgot, didn't I?" Tom rubbed his eyes with a grimy hand. "It were a year ago the other night that me dad died. I'd meant to go back to where he's buried and make sure it's all tidy like and just tell him what I've been doing. How I've got a proper job like he wanted me to."
“I'm sorry,” Andy said, at a loss at what else to say, feeling guilty himself now that he'd not connected it to how upset had been when he'd asked about the tattoo just after they first met. “Why don't you take a few days off, just go back to...” He stopped realising that Tom hadn't said where it had happened. “To go wherever you need to go.”
Tom shook his head. “No. I'd feel right rubbish goin' there late. He wouldn't have minded me missing it, he knew all the stuff like gravestones and that where really for them whose left behind. He'd have just said, 'what's done is done, no point being all wet about it.' But that don't make me feel no better, 'specially not as it's sort of my fault in a way he got killed in the first place.”
Andy knew all to well the sound of grief and guilt talking, you couldn't spend the best part of ten years in the police force giving people bad news without hearing just about every variation of it. Tom's sounded all too like the kind of thing you got from people where they'd claim it was all their fault because they hadn't told whoever had died not to go to the shops or walk the dog, because if they wouldn't have been killed by a car that skidded on a patch of ice or a tree falling on them. You couldn't really reason with that kind of guilt, because while it was technically true there was no way anybody could have foreseen what would happen. They weren't ready to hear that though, because as terrible as the accident was, finding somebody to blame, even if it was themselves, was easier than acknowledging that sometimes truly awful stuff happens to people for no reason and there's no way you can foresee or prevent it.
Tom looked so miserable though that Andy knew he couldn't just leave it at that, couldn't leave him to suffer as he obviously had been doing, in silence. Not when Tom had sat and talked to him so many times when things had been getting him down and he'd had nothing to do but think and be too sore to move about and find a distraction. He patted Tom's leg, trying to mix getting his attention with some level of comfort, then said, “How about I get us a cup of tea and you can tell me about it?”
“There ain't much to tell. He'd hurt his leg, and I reckoned he'd be safest staying at this old hotel with some people we'd met when they'd needed our help with some stuff.” He rubbed his hand across his eyes again. “Only he weren't and maybe if I'd listened to him, if I'd let him just get over in the van liked he'd wanted, I've still have me dad.”
“You can't know that,” Andy said, wondering not for the first time just what sort of life Tom and his father had lived. If perhaps Tom's dad had been on the run from the law or from some criminal element. He wanted to think that it was simpler than that, that perhaps the late lamented McNair senior had just been a hippy type free spirit who thought a life on the open road free from obligations was the best life for him and his son. He wanted to believe it, but somehow he never quite could. It felt like there was something vital he was missing about the situation, but he just couldn't piece together what it was.
Tom sighed and then said unconvincingly, “I 'spose. But I still can't help thinkin' it, can I?”
“I guess not.” Andy gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I make us that tea.” When in doubt hot, overly sweet tea was the way to go. That and adding a generous slug of whisky to it, Andy thought picking up a bottle from one of the shelves and returning with it to the sofa.
After handing Tom his tea, Andy gestured towards the mug with the bottle. Tom nodded, still looking utterly miserable, so Andy added some to his drink before the same to his own.
Tea with whisky soon changed to just whisky drunk from the same battered cups as Andy didn't have the inclination to get up and make any more tea and Tom didn't seem to care either way. Silence at first had given way to conversation, the stories of his life with his dad, were by turns touching, sad and funny, and Andy knew that even if he hadn't been attracted to him before he'd definitely be heading that way now.
“You're the best friend I've ever had,” Tom said, sounding more than a little the worse for wear. “Don't think I ever really had a best friend before. It's nice. You're nice.”
“Oh Tom,” Andy said quietly. There was something heartbreaking in the way Tom said it, like he'd not even thought he'd ever have a friend. Tom made him feel protective in a way Andy hadn't really thought himself to be, even though Gwen had often told him he was. Not that Tom needed protecting, he was more than capable of taking care of himself, the fight outside the pub had shown him that. But Andy knew all too well that things didn't have to have a physical original to be hurtful or damaging. Tom seemed to have such limited experience of dealing with people, of
“I meant I've had a few friends, but not ones I could really talk to about things.” He picked at the frayed edge of his shorts. “I 'spose Annie was sort of like one, but she were always a bit like a mum too, I 'spose. I never had a mum, but Annie'd be tellin' me to help tidy up, eat my vegetables and makin' sure I didn't stay out too late. But there were things that me dad said you shouldn't talk to ladies about, an' she didn't like hearing about some of the stuff me and me dad used to do, so sometimes it were a bit hard to talk some things. It weren't her fault though.”
He sniffed wetly, rubbed his eyes and then finished the whisky left in his mug. “She'll have been gone a year too, well in a few months, her and little Eve. She were a lovely little thing, all smiley and funny. She'd have bin one soon. I'd have made sure she'd have had the best party ever. With cake and balloons and everything.”
Just when he'd thought he'd heard the worst, Tom came out with another revelation about life that was even more upsetting and depressing, Andy thought putting his arm around him. Between the drink and everything else he'd put up with lately, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from shedding a few tears as well. “I'm so sorry. Was she...” Andy swallowed hard, the question sticking in his throat. “Was she your daughter?”
Tom gave him a wide eyed, shocked look. “Of course not, I weren't married, were I? She were George and Nina's baby, but me and Annie looked after her when they died. She were like a sister I 'spose, a lovely little sister. I never had a family. I always wanted one. My dad said we'd find one one day, but it were a lie.”
It wasn't the time to point out that babies didn't only happen when people were married and Andy poured more whisky for them both. Part of him knew that they'd probably had more than enough, the other said that they needed this, that if this was what it took for Tom to open up about his past, if it helped him at all then it was worth inevitable hangover he'd have in the morning.
"Things weren't all bad, sometimes thing were good. Like Hal,” Tom continued, not seeming to have heard him. “I were friends, I think we were. I really liked him, well when he was off the blood um bloody stuff, yeah that what I meant, stuff.”
“It's alright,” Andy said, wanting Tom to know that he could tell him anything. “I'm not police now, am I? I'm not going to report him. So if you want you can tell me.”
“Nah, it's not like that, it weren't like what he did were exactly illegal. Well I 'spose it were,kind of sometimes, just depended on how it got it. It just made him into a right knob when he did.” Tom smiled, sad and fond at the same time. “He were just all weird the rest of the time, sometimes it were a bit annoying, but it were kinda nice sometimes though as well. So I do miss him. Just sitting on the sofa watching telly or working in the cafe, or just talkin' about stuff.”
Andy wondered why it had never occurred to him that Tom might be lonely at the farm. It seemed suddenly very selfish to have imagined that his own company would be enough. Tom was young, he should be out living his life, making all those stupid, wonderful, embarrassing memories that you could look back on when you were older and hopefully wiser, and realise that given half the chance you'd do them all over again. “You know you don't have to stay here, if you're lonely you could go out or something.”
“But I like it here with you, it's nice.” Closing his eyes, Tom settled against him, head resting against his shoulder. “You're nice. Friendly. You smell nice and friendly.”
Andy sighed, wishing that he circumstances were different. It was just his luck that by the time Tom started showing any affection towards him he'd be at the overly friendly, talking complete bollocks stage of being drunk. He'd be lying if he'd said having Tom leaning against him, his arm warm loosely draped across his lap, wasn't turning him on. He also knew that he'd be the worse friend in the world if he tried it on now. He'd be taking advantage of him, of his grief and loneliness, and that would be a pretty shitty thing to do even if Tom weren't drunk. The fact that he was, even though it hadn't quite got to the point where he was incapable, would make it verging on the criminal. “Come on you'd have some water before you go to sleep,” Andy said, reluctantly lifting Tom's arm off him, and getting up. “Or your going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.”
“I don't get them,” Tom mumbled, curling up on the sofa and closing his eyes. “I don't think it lets me, not like colds, don't understand colds. Dad said makes you stronger...and didn't drink before the moon, but it's after, so it's all alright.”
Definitely more than a little bit out of it, Andy thought a drunken laugh bubbling up, as he realised that now he was upright the room seemed to be a lot fuzzier and more moving than it had been when he was sitting down. Walking into the corner of the table as he went to get Tom some water, Andy put his finger to his lips and shushed at the can of cola that had been on it fell over and rolled onto the floor.
Still laughing at himself, Andy managed to get more water on himself than in the mug, before walking with exaggerated care back to Tom.
“I am so, so drunk,” Andy said, as he tried to put the mug on the table and missed. “I should have kissed you.”
Tom blinked and looked bleary eyed at him. “Why'd yer miss me? I haven't gone anywhere, have I?”
“No, I said...” Andy stopped, hating the fact that even now he couldn't say it. “I said I'd miss you if you went.”
Yawning, Tom closed his eyes again, and mumbled,“But I don't wanna go, wanna stay here with you forever.”
“And I want you to,” Andy replied, although the only response he got was a snore. Sitting down on the floor by the sofa, he looked at Tom and sighed. “Why am I so useless and pathetic that I just can't tell you that?”
part 16 http://the-silver-sun.livejournal.com/221453.html