I Would Do Things Differently

@au-ahead

An AU blog for the Winterlocked characters Lavinia Gardener, Ini-Herit of the Southern Isles, and Lyle Virgil.

32 posts

alternative-solutions

Charlie pursed his lips into a thin line, “It’s stupid of you to try and hide it from me.” He grumbled, pushing the needle into Ini-Herit’s hip a bit vengefully, injecting the anesthetic. “I’m going to try to get the bullet out. This is gonna hurt.” He warned, testing the sterilized tweezers as he poured the medical alcohol onto the open wound. His voice had already softened a little as he tried the injured man—he could never stay angry at someone for too long.

He lost track of time treating Ini-Herit’s wound—getting the bullet out, cleaning, medicating, and eventually closing the open wound. He was focused, a bit nervous as he never thought he would be in such a situation—performing a clearly dangerous medical section on his (gangster) friend.

"…It’s done." Charlie exhaled deeply after he properly bandaged his ‘patient’. He sat back, using the back of his hand to wipe off the sweat on his forehead—it was getting warm in the apartment as the sun was soon to reach its peak.

Ini-Herit bit back a groan of pain as Charlie put the needle in his hip. He'd always hated needles, but he supposed it was for the bed. Still, he took another deep drink from his flask.

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the dull pain of the man getting the bullet out of his hip. He supposed it was good that this had happened, due to the likelyhood of infection. But he still felt guilty for ruining the moment with his stupidity. He opened his eyes back up when he heard Charlie, sitting up with a groan.

After looking over the now bandaged wound, he gave the man a smile. "Zhank you, Charlie. Sorry for zhe trouble."

alternative-solutions

"You wouldn't let me pretend I didn't see it if it were me." Charlie rejected on instinct, "...would you?" The last part didn't sound so sure as it came out of his mouth. What did he know, anyway? A lot had changed; Ini-Herit was the son of a mobster, prince of the underworld... Maybe he would tell Charlie to ignore it and suck it up if it was him.

It was an unpleasant thought, and Charlie fought to keep it down.

"You have to at least let me get the bullet out..." He muttered and started fumbling the kit for needles, threads and syringe, "...lay on the table. On your side. You might..." He stammered, looking down, "...you might want something to numb you up..." Something like alcohol, which he was confident at this point that Ini-Herit had with him.

Ini-herit swallowed hard and nodded. "You're right. I wouldn't. If zhe roles were flipped I'd try to 'elp you." He watched Charlie, tensing up at the sight of the medical equipment. He'd always been uncomfortable around medical professionals, though the fact that it was an old friend made it easier.

He did as he was told, pausing before reaching into his inside coat pocket and pulling out a flask. He took a deep drink before laying down as he was instructed, staring ahead at the wall. "I was 'oping you wouldn't notice. It was stupid of me to get shot today. I've ruined zhis, 'aven't I?"

#w:charalie #au:1920s #ini #i'm listening to i choose you by #.sara bareilles #and feeling

alternative-solutions

Charlie came back with a complete emergency kit including threads and needles. He had used it once on himself for a cracked open forehead close to the hairline, properly disguised under the dark loose hair most of the time now--being a streetwalker could be a hustle sometimes. Minutes later he would be glad that he had had that experience when he knelt down beside the wounded man and identified the cuase of the injury.

"Where did you get this?!" His voice raised when he saw the fresh bullet wound, "You didn't just walk around with a bullet in your ass--you need to go to the hospital!" If there were any morning casualness left in him, it was destroyed the moment he saw Ini-Herit's wound, "--It's a miracle you didn't go into shock!"

Ini-Herit sighed, expression guilty as he refused to meet Charlie's eyes. "I got it zhis morning. We were running a shipment of moonshine and I was rushing. I messed up and got shot." He looked down at the wound, running a hand through his hair. "I can't go to zhe 'ospital. I was shot by zhe police and zhey would arrest me on sight."

He shook his head, shifting slightly. He felt ashamed of it almost, like it was a visible mark of how much he'd changed. "I'm fine, Charlie. Zhere is no need to worry. I've been shot in much worse places before. I'll live." He tried to sound confident and reassuring. "Can we just...pretend you didn't see it?" He asked, wanted to go back to calm happiness that they'd had.

#w:charalie #au:1920s #ini

alternative-solutions

It was far fetch to bet on Charlie's medical knowledge, but it wasn't completely groundless. The way Charlie's life operared, he was always looking for ways to help people and make others feel better, be it his own dysfunctional family or anyone he came across who might need help. He wasn't smart enough for medical school, so he got into nursing before he ran out of luck. An odd choice in the time and age in which nursing was still considered women's work, but it felt right somehow.

"Lemme look." He shot the Frenchman a glare that said 'do as I say or I would make you' in a rather motherly way and reached over to check on the blood stained spot. "It's not a scratch..." He muttered and looked up at Ini-Herit suspiciously, "It looks like..." He didn't finish, quietly got up and went to the bathroom for the first aid kit, "Take your pants off. It doesn't seem too deep but I'll need a better look."

Ini-Herit didn't fight Charlie, but it was clear that he was uncomfortable and tense. Disregarding the pain he was in-the only treatment the injury had received so far was a quick disinfection after the bleeding had mostly stopped and so the bullet was still settled inside of him-he worried about how his old friend would react. He didn't want to scare Charlie off, even though he knew that that would be the safest thing for both of them.

He hesitated for a long moment, debating the possible repercussions before pulling his shoes and pants off. He bit back a groan of pain as he set them down, one hand resting on the wound as he waited for Charlie to return, heart hammering in his chest.

#w:charalie #au:1920s #ini

alternative-solutions

The air seemed still. A comfortable sort of stillness as Charlie sipped on his water and watched (admired) the man on his couch. It had been a while since the last time he had company in his own apartment—Charlie had a policy of keeping his personal and professional lives separate, and most of the people he called friends were night owls like himself, the opportunity of having any of them in the living room under calming morning sunlight was fairly slim.

This was good. He thought to himself. Much better than the awkwardness he anticipated. He had even started to believe in the possibility of rebuilding the lost connection. Romantic optimistic.

He opened his mouth for follow up question when the glimpse of red caught his eye. “…Ini…” he frowned, putting the glass down on the counter, “…Is that blood?” He hurried across the room to where the man sat.

Ini-Herit tensed up at the question, though a tiny part of him was grateful that Charlie had noticed. Perhaps the other man had learned something about medicine during the years they had been apart; the wound needed treatment and the mob doctor had been killed during a recent raid, so he was left to simply ignore it as best as he could.

However, a larger part of him wanted to keep Charlie in the dark. He didn't want the man to worry, no matter how ridiculous it was to think that someone he hadn't known for years would worry about him. "I'm fine. Its nozhing. I must 'ave scratched myself sometime. Zhere is no need to worry."

His voice was tense and nervous, finding it hard to lie to his childhood friend. Something about the man made him want to tell the truth, despite the fact that lying had become most of his life now.

#w:charalie #au:1920s #ini

alternative-solutions

—You look nice with messy hair.

Charlie smiled, feeling his ears heat up a little as he raised the glass of water to hide the grin on his face. He was used to compliments to his looks, sincere or not, but he would easily exchange all the praises he got in the past years for one good word from Ini-Herit.

"So you’re saying my hair’s messy." he chuckled and teased, coming back to the living room and stared down at Ini-Herit in the couch. The man looked tired—exhausted, even. Charlie wanted to ask, but Ini-Herit was one step ahead of him.

"…You mean after I left the hotel?" he moved his weight from one leg to another, crossing his arms and took another drink from the glass to prolong the buffering period before he had to formula an answer as vague as possible, "It was okay. I got back all right, though I could’ve sworn the cabby overcharged me. …Time’s hard for everyone." he shrugged, "—You?"

Ini-Herit grinned and chuckled, a small flicker of discomfort flashing across his face. Chuckling hurt. Probably wasn't going to stop him though; being hurt had never stopped him from doing something before.

He nodded a bit, running his tongue across chapped lips. "I went back to my apartment and fell asleep in my living room. Nozhing too exciting, really." Part of him wanted to mention what he'd been doing this morning, but a bigger part of him didn't want Charlie to know.

What would he say anyway? I was helping with some illegal shipments of alcohol and was rushing because I wanted to come see you and I got sloppy and the cops found us so we had a shoot out and I got shot in the hip but don't worry I'm totally fine. That didn't precisely seem like a good conversation to have.

Sarah Addison Allen, Lost Lake

Ini-Herit could feel his heart stutter nervously in the time it took Charlie to respond. He wondered if he was home. He wondered if he wanted to see him. He wondered if maybe this was the wrong place. But then he heard the familiar voice call out and he relaxed, though he quickly...

Ini-Herit sat down on the couch, barely stiffling a groan. He waved off the offer of water; he favored a stiffer drink at the moment anyway.

"Charlie, you're fine. I can't criticize you for sleeping." He said, voice lighthearted and sweet.

"Besides, you look nice wizh messy 'air." It was said in a friendly teasing sort of way, though it was most certainly the truth. He liked the way Charlie looked when he was flustered and sleepy; it was cute and maybe the messy hair was kind of attractive as well.

"'ow was your night?" He asked. It was just small talk, though he was fairly certain what the man did after they parted ways.

alternative-solutions

He didn’t hear the first knock. The sound merely caused Charlie to turn in his sleep with a light frown on his face. What woke him was the light shinning on his face when he turned to face the window. The young man grunted and struggled to open his eyes. It was seconds later when he finally recognized the sound coming from his living room to be someone knocking on his door.

How strange; he didn’t usually have guests around this hour. Charlie thought when he saw the time on the clock near his nightstand.

—Ini-Herit. Memory came back to him at last, and Charlie jumped up from the bed suddenly wide awake. Could it really be… “—Coming!” he yelled to the door, couldn’t find any clothes nearby to put on that didn’t look like a hooker. Grunting in frustration, he wrapped the bed sheet around himself.

Rushing to the door, Charlie kicked aside the outfit he left on the floor from last night that still reeked of cigarette and lustful night. He looked through the peephole and felt his racing heart missed a beat when he saw the familiar blond on the other side of the door. He opened the door.

"…Hey." Charlie stared at Ini-Herit’s face for a moment, grinning, "—You came." he chuckled a bit embarrassed, "Sorry, I wasn’t awake. Come on in, make yourself at home. I’ll… go put on some clothes."

Ini-Herit could feel his heart stutter nervously in the time it took Charlie to respond. He wondered if he was home. He wondered if he wanted to see him. He wondered if maybe this was the wrong place. But then he heard the familiar voice call out and he relaxed, though he quickly stiffened back up again at the pain in his hip.

He grinned brilliantly at Charlie, blinking a few times at his attire. He chuckled and nodded, stepping into the apartment so much different from his own. "Its no trouble. I'm usually not out of bed until later, I just 'ad some errands to run and..." He laughed almost shyly. "I wanted to get 'ere as soon as I could."

He moved stiffly-though it was only barely noticeable-hand rested against his hip. He looked around curiously, taking in the sights-and smells-of the place where Charlie lived. As he waited for the man to find clothes and get dressed, he snuck a drink from his flask, tucking it away quickly.

alternative-solutions

+

That night, Charlie turned down a client’s offer of buying his night, finishing the business in the backseat of the car in a rush. His mind was somewhere else, even the client could tell.

"This is only half."

"So are you, Charlie. I’ll pay you full next time when you pay full attention."

He didn’t argue, just took the money and went home. It was enough to stop the landlord from complaining about his late payment, at least. Charlie slipped the money under the landlord’s door and went upstairs to his 1 bedroom apartment.

He stripped naked in the living room and hopped right in the shower, washing off the sweat and filth. It felt a little different today, however, when he smelled the lingering scent of cigarette and tasted the aftertaste of alcohol in the back of his mouth. There was something he didn’t want to wash away, but he forced himself to anyway.

Getting out of the shower, Charlie dried his hair with a tower carelessly, feeling his exhausted body finally giving up, his mind still fuzzy from the surreal encounter with Ini-Herit.

Had he made the right choice of leaving his address to the man? Would he come? Would he keep his promise, or was it just another dream Charlie had in a strange midsummer night?

Questions remained unanswered in Charlie’s mind as he fell asleep belly down in his bed, wouldn’t wake up until noon.

Ini-Herit lingered at the hotel room for about an hour, trying to process everything that had happened. Of all the things he'd set out to do last night, reuniting with Charlie had been just as likely as winning the lottery. Honestly, he'd rather have Charlie than the lottery; money was fleeting in a way that he hoped the man wouldn't be.

He finally made his way back to his own apartment, which was lavishly furnished and far too big for one person. It was more of a status symbol than a living arrangement, but his mother had bought it for him so he kept it.

He stayed up fairly late, entertaining himself with questions and fantasies as he watched the world outside his window. Always something happening on the streets...Part of him wondered what Charlie was doing, if he was still out working or if he'd returned home. He wondered if the man was thinking about him or if he'd brushed it off.

After some time, he fell asleep in his chair, still dressed in his suit. It happened fairly often and the chair was comfortable, but he always had a crick in his neck when he woke up.

He took a shower and changed, making himself look nice before leaving the apartment. He had a few errands to run before he could make it to Charlie's, but he rushed through them. Not always the smartest idea when your errands involve guns and illegal activities.

One shoot out-and one cursing out-later, he found himself trying to get a bullet out of his hip as he made his way through back alleys to Charlie's apartment. Coming up on the address, he decided to leave it, reattaching the cloth that covered it up.

He took a deep breath as he came up to the door, looking at his watch to make sure he wasn't late. Noon. He was fine. He hesitated for only a moment before knocking on the apartment door.

Pablo Neruda, “Rain (Rapa Nui)”

alternative-solutions

Charlie smiled, “Thank you…” His hand was still on Ini-Herit’s face. He was used to this kind of intimate touch; it was what he delivered for a living, after all. But there was something different about his touch for Ini-Herit. It was more personal, more meaningful, and more attentive.

He watched the man’s face closely, eyes scanning the Frenchman’s face to memorize it, imprinted the image in his mind. Seconds felt like years, like the years they lost, apart from each other. There was always something about Ini-Herit.

"You were my first…"

Words slipped his tongue, and Charlie pressed his lips into a line and turned away without saying anymore, going to the desk for a pen and a piece of paper. He jotted down his address.

"Here." He handed the paper out to Ini-Herit. "I work night, as you can imagine. If you came anytime between 9 AM and 2 PM, I will be there waiting for you."

Ini-Herit smiled softly at Charlie, expression sweet and sad. He had never looked at anyone else like that; adoring, fascinated, and as if the man was the grandest thing he'd ever seen. Sure, he'd had flings, but in his line of work that was all you ever had. You didn't date or marry or get close to people. It was a liability and liabilities were something that he couldn't typically risk having.

But Charlie wasn't a liability. Charlie was something else entirely.

The words made his heart stutter and he took a breath as if to speak, but his words were lost in the cigarette smoke that still lingered in the room. He nodded, taking the paper and looking it over.

"I'll be zhere as soon as I can. I can rearrange zhings and..." He paused, thinking about things that were planned for tomorrow. Nothing important enough for him to put off seeing Charlie. "I can come tomorrow."

alternative-solutions

—Stay.

Charlie froze at the word, like a well trained pup reacted to the command. He looked at Ini-Herit, and the wallet in his hand. He cocked his chin a little, pridefully. ”I can’t take your money, if you wouldn’t take my service.” he said, holding his gaze with Ini-Herit, frowning a little, “I’m a prostitute, not a beggar…”

That was harsh. Charlie met Ini-Herit’s eyes—those eyes, they would be the death of him, they always were—and felt tender again. It was as if Ini-Herit was scared.

"Look…" he shifted on his feet a bit awkwardly, "I… I’ll give you my address. You can come tomorrow, or another time, when I’m not working. Then we can talk…" Charlie smiled, going up to Ini-Herit and brushed his a strand of his golden lock behind his ear, "I want to know how you’ve been. I’ve missed you. I want to know what happened to you in the past thirteen years… Just… not now. Not like this."

He would be lying if he said the money wasn’t tempting. He wondered how many of his friends would tell him he was stupid, or out of his mind to turn down the easy money Ini-Herit was offering. But Charlie didn’t want that, he didn’t want Ini-Herit’s charity, he didn’t want Ini-Herit to be just another generous client of his. He wanted them to stand on equal grounds, and get to know each other as friends once again.

Ini-Herit looked down for a moment when Charlie said he wasn't a beggar. The money wasn't supposed to be charity; it was a gift for a friend. He wouldn't ague though, couldn't argue. He didn't want to make it seem like the man couldn't take care of himself.

He was simply...the best word he could find for it was scared. He'd walked away from Charlie once and it'd taken thirteen years to find him again. Thirteen years felt like eternity and he wasn't sure if he could bear looking him again so soon.

He knew it was stupid; Charlie wasn't going to abandon him and if he did...it was safer that way anyway, wasn't it? He brushed off the thoughts of abandonment and guilt as best as he could, meeting the man's eyes. He had to resist the urge to lean his face into the gentle touch, heart stammering almost painfully.

"I..." He started as if he was going to protest. His emotions were written clearly across his face, as they always were when it came to Charlie; he'd never been able to lie to him, even when they were boys. "Okay. I'll be zhere whenever you want me to be." There was a weakness to his voice, the statement a promise he'd broken thirteen years ago.

#w:charlie #au:1920s

alternative-solutions

"…" For a moment Charlie just looked at him, silently with much concentration in his eyes as if to stare into Ini-Herit’s soul. He knew nothing of this man, he realized, not what he had been through, who he was right now or what his life was like after thirteen years. It was a strange feeling—he recognized this man, his sensitive eyes and the way they looked at him as if to protect him from the world.

They were the same eyes of Ini-Herit he always knew. What was strange to Charlie was the way the man talked and carried himself with much firmness and sophistication, and every line on Ini-Herit’s face that was the proof of time and things that happened during that time when Charlie wasn’t around.

"—I was just messin’ with ya." He pulled away at last, chuckled and gave Ini-Herit a friendly pat on the shoulder, "I wouldn’t be able to charge you, for old time’s sake. And I don’t fuck people who can’t pay these days." he shook his head, purposely made light of it, "I’ve got bills to pay, a grocery list, and this month’s rent… Even standing on the corner where you picked me up costs me money, can you believe that?" He sighed dramatically.

Charlie took a deep breath and turned away so Ini-Herit couldn’t see his face when he went to grab his jacket. “If you aren’t going to fuck me, I should be somewhere else… I’m working, after all.” He threw his jacket on, chewing on his lower lip. He didn’t know how to make it okay, the fact that he was a whore and his friend turned out to be the son of a mobster. He didn’t know how to make a clear exit.

Ini-Herit bit his lip, weakly mirroring Charlie's smile. He saw the way the man just laughed and brushed it off like it was nothing. But it wasn't nothing. There was a thirteen year gap between them and he wanted nothing more to repair it, but he had no idea how. How do you pick up after such a long time?

When his friend went to leave, he froze up for a long moment as he debated what to do. Let him go or... He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"Stay."

There was a hundred different statements in the one word. It was a question. It was plead. It was a please don't go. It was a we can make this right. It was a I finally found you again. It was a I miss you. It was a please don't go back to that corner. But mostly it was I don't want to risk losing you again.

"I'll give you money. You don't 'ave to give me anyzhing. We don't 'ave to fuck. Just...stay? Stay zhe night 'ere. Please."

Now, Ini-Herit did not say please. Since he was seventeen, he'd never said the word please because his mother had taught him that strong people never begged. They asked and they received. But Charlie was worth please.

alternative-solutions

Charlie smiled, glancing at Ini-Herit from the corner of his eyes and let his lips curl as he leaned in for the flask. His hand rested on top of Ini-Herit's, another hand on the man's shoulder to support himself when he drank from the bottle in Ini-Herit's hand.

It was strong. Charlie pulled away and swallowed, feeling it burn down his throat. Yet he looked at Ini-Herit with unyeilding glare. It was not the first time he had alcohol. It was not the first time he broke the law in small ways here and there. Liquor and other substains were an inevitable part of his occupation whether he liked it or not. He didn't want Ini-Herit to see him as the innocent kid from their childhood that needed protection anymore. Because he's not that kid anymore, nor was Ini-Herit his knight.

"Now we're on the same boat." He said, voice hoarse from the burning sensation now settling in his stomach. He sighed, still leaning against the other man, "We are not kids anymore, Ini. We don't have to pretend to be coy and play prince. You find me attractive. I give you a reaction, so you would spend money on me. That's... I'm not offended. I'm flattered." He smiled and leaned in to peck on Ini-Herit's cheek, "--I find you very attractive too."

Ini-Herit found Charlie extremely attractive, but he felt weird about it. It was so hard not to think of the boy he knew, the pair of them all skinned knees and dirty jeans. It was strange for him to see the man now-tall, fit, and incredibly handsome-without seeing the boy with messy hair and a big heart. But he supposed Charlie was right.

They hadn't been kids in years-the burn in his stomach and the smoke that had settled against the ceiling were the easiest signs of that-and he should stop acting like they still were. There were no castles, no knights in shining armor. Just two men in a situation neither of them imagined they'd be in the last time they saw each other.

He echoed the smile softly, heart giving a flutter at the feeling of the peck. He took another drink before closing the flask, tucking it back away without looking. He was used to the burn, not knowing when the last time he went more than a day without it. His eyes closed for a long moment before opening back up and meeting Charlie's.

"We're not kids, but I've still been sweet on you since I was twelve years old and I want to protect you like I did zhen." He paused for a moment. His voice was still smooth and easy, barely affected by the alcohol. "You are absolutely stunning, Charlie, and if you were anyone else I'd fuck you in an instant and 'ave no issue wizh it. But you're not. You're you and I don't..."

He was still quite flustered by Charlie's closeness and it was fairly evident on his face and in his body language. He didn't know how to phrase what he was trying to say. He adored the man and found him drop dead gorgeous but...he didn't know.

#-sigh- ini u have a potty mouth #au:1920s #i'll find you

"I am your Ini, I promise. I ‘ave been since I was twelve and I will be until the day I die." He gave Charlie a soft, hopeful smile, silently hoping that he hadn’t just ruined it all.

It was better to tell the truth and protect him, right? That was what needed to be done, even if...

Ini-Herit had half expected Charlie to protest, given that it was a felony arrest in a fancy metal flask. Apparently not though, a fact that he was grateful for. Maybe if he was alright with smaller crimes, he would learn to push aside bigger crimes. What a fine-if slightly selfish-thought that was.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, rather startled by Charlie's sudden closeness. It made it feel as if his shirt was too tight, flustered by the way he could practically feel the man's heartbeat; an inch or two closer and he probably could.

He gave him a smile and nodded, swallowing hard as he tipped the flask towards him, allowing the man to guide it but not letting go of it himself. "Watch yourself. Its pretty, uh..." He temporarily lost his train of thought, forcing himself to stay focused on Charlie's face. He ran his tongue across his lips, finally finding the rest of the thought. "-strong."

Ini-Herit didn’t laugh. He was caught somewhere between guilt and shame. He felt as if he was weak for being part of this, weak for being a killer and a criminal. He’d spent the better portion of five years saying how he wanted to be a hero and how he was going to join the army or...

"I am your Ini, I promise. I 'ave been since I was twelve and I will be until the day I die." He gave Charlie a soft, hopeful smile, silently hoping that he hadn't just ruined it all.

It was better to tell the truth and protect him, right? That was what needed to be done, even if it would likely scare the man far far away. Though, that was the reason it would keep him safe. Put Charlie first. Don't drag him into this. Don't weight him down with your sins.

He frowned at the question, looking down at the man. "I'm not trying to fuck you, Charlie. You grew up to be a very 'andsome man; anyone wizh eyes can see zhat."

Ini-Herit took several deep breaths before walking over to where his coat hung, reaching into the pocket and pulling out a flask. He gave a small, mildly guilty smile before taking a drink. "Sorry. You don't mind, do you?" The alcohol helped put him at ease usually, dulling the race of his mind.

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