It was uncomfortable to admit, and unbearable to look her in the eyes as he did. His eyes dropped as he spoke, unwilling to hold her analyzing gaze. Regardless of the words that came out of his mouth, they sounded to his own ears like a record repeating ‘I failed Harris. I am failing Harris. I keep failing Harris.’ It was all what the nightmares came back to, really. He’d taken Harris with him to the hospital, he’d left Harris alone in the waiting room, he hadn’t been able to get Harris off of the ship, he hadn’t been able to break them out of the basement, he hadn’t been able to stop them from cutting him. From breaking him. And now he was afraid of doing the breaking.
He coughed, choking back a laugh at the first words out of her mouth. Nothing about the last few months of their lives was ‘understandable.’ He pressed his lips together, nodding tightly at her request. Not say the first thing that popped into his head. he could probably do that. Though even when he thought about it, he wasn’t sure that his second thought would be any better or more acceptable than the first. She kept talking, and at first he wanted to nod and agree, yes they did that. He dragged along Casey or his dad usually when they went places, and knew they’d be okay. If anything happened, one of them could physically restrain him if need be. Until she decided without his input that she didn’t like that solution. He could see why, it did make things difficult, and he could see how it might turn into a problem, if he was afraid to go anywhere alone with Harris. But pointing it out didn’t change it. He still needed someone that could physically stop him if he needed them to.
Justin’s eyes snapped up to her when she asked for a worst case scenario. He broke her one rule almost immediately. “No, I’m not worried about Harris leaving or not forgiving me. I know he would forgive me, even when he shouldn’t.” The last scenario she gave seemed so oversimplified though. Not forgiving himself seemed so… inconsequential. As if he could just be mad at himself and carry on day to day, with Harris beside him, knowing that it could happen again and he could hurt Harris again, or worse. He looked sideways when he felt Harris shifting beside him, surprised when he started speaking. For a moment he was relieved, that Harris was okay with talking, and participating in the discussion, but that relief was almost immediately drowned out by anxiety and panic.
“No, it’s not that— They didn’t train me to respond with lethal force, they just gave me to physical ability to. The basement, TC, they conditioned me to respond with lethal force.” He paused, glancing at Liz. He sized her up for a moment before turning back to fully face her. “Full disclosure? I have been trained to kill. And I have. Twice during this— whatever, these last couple of months. When my dad and Vlad were getting out, I shot one of the men that had been torturing Harris. And on the ship from Australia to New York, I killed another man. He grabbed me, I kicked against one of the crates they were holding us in, and knocked his head open on the crate behind him. I was actually kind of proud of that one. I’m not anywhere near that good of shape to do that anymore. It’s also not the only time that I tried to kill one of them when we were there.” He dropped his hand from where it had frozen, distracted from petting Puck, and tapped his leg through his jeans. “I got stabbed here when I tried to put one of them in a chokehold with my legs. I don’t recommend it. But I have killed, and I’m not sorry. Every single person that I’ve killed deserved it, especially the bastards that did this to us. So that’s what I’m capable of, and what I’ve been trained for. So when you ask me for the worst case scenario, my mind goes to the worst thing that I’m physically capable of.” To his credit, his voice only shook a little over the last few words.
He flinched at Puck’s whine, and looked down to see him nudging at Justin’s hand. He went back to scratching the pup behind the ears again, keeping his eyes on Puck as he continued. “So barring the real worst case scenario? I guess, I wouldn’t forgive myself,” he said simply, debating whether or not he should elaborate. She’d already heard what he considered the actual worst case scenario, so his second worst case scenario couldn’t be that bad. “I couldn’t continue like everything’s fine, knowing that I had hurt Harris, that I was capable of hurting him again, with the possibility of it being worse the next time. I can’t subject him to that kind of situation. That kind of— constant fear, that something could happen to flip a switch in my head. I won’t.” What really would be the difference at that point, between Harris and someone stuck in an abusive relationship? The apologies and promises it wouldn’t happen again, the walking on eggshells trying not to set Justin off, the hope that things would get better and be okay, the feeling of needing to hide the bruises and tell everyone that he was fine, lying to any cops that might be called for noise complaints and telling them that he was safe and the bruises were from tripping on the coffee table. The thought alone made Justin feel sick, disgusted with himself, and it was a physical struggle not to pull his hand away from Harris’s. What kind of shrink was she anyway, to encourage and say it was fine? To leave him here with Harris, and not lock him up somewhere until she decided he wasn’t a danger to himself or anyone else? “I won’t let it get to that point,” he added in almost a whisper, more to himself than to either of them. I won’t stick around long enough for it to, he didn’t say aloud, but he heard the implication, even if they didn’t.
Again, Liz found herself wishing she had access to Justin’s previous therapists - to figure out better how he worked and what his core system was set up like. It was difficult to discover who a person is and who they want to be while in the midst of such trauma. She always felt like she was walking a minefield and only through trial and error on both sides of the therapeutic relationship would they ever find a way to heal. Her eyes drifted briefly when Justin called Harris on his over willingness to forgive but the other didn’t so much as bat an eye. Justin, however, was and she refocused her attention on him as he started to grow visibly agitated by what Harris had contributed. It was mildly surprisingly that Justin was so quickly able to pinpoint specifics on the agency vs TC and who was responsible for what, but definitely more so when Justin turned to face her and made actual eye contact.
She carefully kept a neutral hopefully understanding look on her face as he detailed the nitty gritty about the blood on his hands and she resisted the urge to make a note about that physically. She did make one mentally as well as the physical reactions if any that either of them had as the talk continued. She made a ‘go on’ noise as he paused after the ‘real’ worst case scenario and went on to talk about hurting Harris which in a way seemed to bother him on a more profound deeper level.
Before she could open her mouth to say anything, Harris’ cold blue eyes were on her, sizing her up in some unfamiliar way - it was only when he began to talk again that she figured out what this way. This was him willing to concede in any areas that he could sense or figure were beneficial to Justin. He was here to help his boyfriend, not himself, but she could work with that.
“I killed someone too.” Harris said flatly, eyes not leaving hers for a long moment like he was daring her to say something about it before he looked back at Justin, fingers tightening around Justin’s hand. “You can argue that it was self-defense, that it was a kill or be killed moment, and I could argue the same to you. At the end of the day, there’s blood on your hands and on mine. If you’re not afraid of me killing you when I snap - why are you afraid of you? You’ve never hurt me. Also fuck you for thinking I would just lie down and be your punching bag. I’ve been there, I’ve done that, I’m not letting anything get to that point again. I would get you help, Jay. I’d get Liz, I’d get Dairen, I’d fight back against that switch. Don’t you see? This isn’t you against you alone. I get it, I’m to be protected at all costs and what not but fuck that too. I’m not the runt outcast twin anymore. I’m not ‘a protected’ - ‘protectee’ whatever you guys would call us. So stop thinking for me. You’re my boyfriend and I love you, but you are no longer my guard. You’re no longer a guard. So stop with the bullshit expectations you have for yourself. You don’t need to be fine, you don’t need to be perfect, you don’t need to push you down to make sure I’m fine. I’ve got people here now too that are sharing that job with you. I know it gets exhausting, but you and Dairen and Liz and Vlad - you all get to tag team. And since we’re on equal footing here now - that goes for you too. I can tag out with Dairen, with your Mom, with Liz, with Casey, with everyone else that loves and cares for you. You’re not a lone wolf anymore. Unless you chose to be.”
In which case, Harris could make his own choices on what point that would push him to and deal with that when it came. For now he just deflated back into the chair and held a shaky hand out to the puppy. That was a lot of talking for him these days, and more backbone than he’d shown since the beginning of their capture. It took a lot out of him, but for now, he just hit the button on his phone that’d send music barreling some comfort directly into the ear furthest away from Justin and tried to keep that strength and composure close. It was always a bad idea to even indirectly mention Marty. It was like being haunted by a ghost that just lurked and caused emotional distress.
Liz let Harris explode again, surprised by the change in him, but willing to quite literally roll with the punches and focused her attention on how Justin took the little outburst.
When Dairen calmly stated that Liz would be arriving the next morning, Justin wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel. Was he supposed to be relieved? She was supposed to help, to make things easier and to help them approach something resembling normal. Or maybe he was supposed to be nervous. That was what Harris seemed to be. She would be prying into their heads, forcing them to not only relive traumatic moments but to deal with them head on. To fight the ghosts that kept them tied to the basement in New York. But he wasn’t relieved or nervous. He was almost. Numb. No, not numb. That wasn’t that right word. But he felt like he’d found something close to equilibrium. It wasn’t horrible and it wasn’t wonderful. It was just. Forward. If the word forward could even be applied to them any time presently. Whatever that numb equilibrium feeling was, it was the only thing he could attach to the impending meeting with Liz.
He wasn’t surprised when Harris was already awake, Puck curled in his arms, when Justin was finally able to pry his eyes open. He wasn’t sure hat time it was, but was half expecting for Harris to say they needed to rush to get dressed and become semi-presentable. But he just came closer and curled up against Justin without a word, and that was just fine with him. They could stay there all day for all he was concerned. But they couldn’t. There was a vaguely familiar face to meet with, and memories they’d tried to forget to spill out into the open air. And apparently food to eat. Justin had been getting back almost to his appetite before they’d been kidnapped, but today he just couldn’t. Maybe he was more nervous than he thought. Or that numbness was tinged with a bit of nausea.
At least they’d agreed to begin their meetings at the apartment, instead of relying on Justin and Harris to be able to navigate the streets to find her office or wherever she was staying, much less to navigate their way back. At his mother’s concerned look, Justin nibbled at a piece of bacon, but even that felt like too much, so he poured a cup of orange juice to sip instead. He was almost relieved when the knock came at the door, because it at least meant that his mother’s judgemental gaze would be directed elsewhere. “Hello Dr. Phelps,” he said in a strained, though polite voice. He nodded t their instructions, but he knew they wouldn’t stay seated long. He was counting on it, really. After walking carefully beside Harris, eyes watching Puck instead of where he was going, he found himself on the balcony in a chair beside Harris, one hand reaching over automatically to scratch Puck’s ears, his other squeezing Harris’s hand gently.
Justin wasn’t entirely sure how to answer the first question. The normal answer was to say they were fine, but they weren’t, and she wouldn’t accept the answer anyway. Before he could piece together an semi-acceptable answer, Harris’s words made his gaze snap to his face. It almost sounded…. regretful? But that wasn’t right. Justin shook his head at her question, not looking away from Harris. His skin prickle with a familiar fear that it took him a moment to place; it was the feeling he’d felt when he’d left with Casey for the first time, and when they’d gotten off the elevator, Casey and asked if Justin wanted him to have his dad check on Harris to make sure he was alright. The only time that a fear of Harris being a danger to himself had been voiced, even if in not so many words. Liz agreed to leave it at Harris’s confession though, and Justin wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing, but he just tried to grasp at that numb feeling he’d had before this started. He couldn’t remember that feeling at the moment. And then Harris was snapping, Liz was wide eyed, and Puck was scrambling away from him to seek shelter in Justin’s lap instead.
“Harris, жених, breathe.” He couldn’t say it was alright, or it was okay, or any kind of comforts that people normally said. They were lies, and cruel ones at this point when they’d both heard them too many times to be believed. So Justin just released Harris’s hand in favor of rubbing circles on his back. He offered a comforting smile when Harris looked up at him, trying hard to ignore the frantic writing going on across from them. Watching her making notes was more stressful that coming up with answers to her questions, knowing she’d have her own interpretations of anything they said.
At least, he thought that until she asked a question. And he wasn’t prepared to answer it, but he was damn sure Harris wasn’t prepared, so he just smiled briefly at Harris before looking up at her. “I can answer first, I guess. I think,” he paused, knowing what he wanted to say, what he needed to say, but finding it so much more difficult to form the words than he’d expected. He opened his mouth but shut it again, unwilling to voice the biggest issues he was having. He had bad dreams? What was he, a fucking five year old afraid of the dark? He knew it wasn’t rational, and that either of them would tell him that his nightmares were far worse than that of any five year old, and he shouldn’t shame himself for it, and whatever. But that was what it came down to: he was afraid of images in his head. Memories. Bullshit. He almost laughed when she asked what they wanted to do now, the same way that people had asked him after he graduated high school. Like there were a multitude of paths to choose from, and all they had to do was pick one and start walking. So he ignored that question and focused on the former, on the most debilitating thing he’d been dealing with.
“I don’t— There are flashbacks,” he finally said. “And it’s not that—“ he broke off again and tried to pull together what he wanted to say. “It’s not the flashbacks or the nightmares that are bad. I mean, they are, but I can deal with them. It’s that— when the fight-or-flight response hits, I guess, my natural reaction is to fight. And I’m— I don’t want to sound, conceited or whatever, but I am— was— a guard. A trained fighter. I can do some serious damage without even realizing it. I’ve taken a swing at my dad, recently, while I was in one of these flashbacks. I’m not afraid of the flashbacks, or the nightmares. I’m,” he paused, glancing sideways at Harris, and he wasn’t sure if it was easier or harder to admit things to him than it was to a stranger. He was supposed to be strong for Harris, able to keep him safe, but he also knew tat Harris trusted him, probably more than he should, even after having witnessed the flashbacks. “I’m afraid of myself, when the flashbacks hit me. I’m afraid of hurting someone— of hurting Harris.”
The weight of Justin’s stare was doing nothing to calm him down, in fact, it felt a bit like being chained up again — pinned by twin stares. It wasn’t like this was news to either of them. He was fucked up. Wasn’t that the whole fucking point of all this? Calling in the pro ‘cause he was too fucked up for either Justin or Dairen to handle on their own? Exhaling sharply as Justin commanded he breathe, he just folded tighter on himself now that the puppy was out of his lap and let Justin take over the next bit before he got in more trouble for snapping. Instead he let his eyes move away from both of them and out to the streets of Paris, finding that familiar bittersweet feeling of liking the distraction and being terrified that there were people so close to them they didn’t know.
Liz had seen Harris in so many different mind sets over the years. Her biggest regret was not pushing him more and challenging him to get a stable foundation right from that first year because god, would his life have been different. This felt like her fault. For failing him in therapy, for failing to get him away from his family, for somehow not fore-seeing the early doom of his twin. Her husband tried to talk her out of it, her own shrink had cautioned against flying out here, it was crossing too many boundaries - but how could she dare let him down again? Either of them? In all the states she’d seen him in — he’d never felt quite so unreachable before. There’d always been a spark in him and she fought for that tiny spark to get its time to shine, but she didn’t see it anymore. At least not here, not now.
Turning her attention to Justin, she made a point to set her pen and paper down and just listen to what he had to say. There was a sense of pride in him, greatly diminished than what she remembered from Australia, but still, she got the feeling he’d respond better if he felt less like a text subject and more like a colleague swapping ideas back and forth. For Harris, he’d felt safer on the science side, where he could see and understand the how’s and why’s and never minded feeling like a test subject - he was. It was going to be difficult to balance their two different styles without making one feel like he’s not being heard and the other that he’s being heard too much.
The sooner she got them into individual therapy the better, really, but she just nodded as he started off about flashbacks. That was to be expected. She kept quiet, let him puzzle out the root of what was really bothering and then they were both looking back at Harris who had been reluctantly brought back into the conversation he wanted no part of.
“That’s understandable. Most of the individuals I’ve treated or read about with combat PTSD share that same fear. It could manifest in a few different avenues so I’m going to ask you to be patient with me and resist saying the first thing that comes to mind. Sit with it a moment before you answer, please.” She glanced towards Harris to see if he wanted to chime in with anything, but he seemed content curled up as tight as he could be so she looked back at Justin.
“The short-term answer to this is keep a body guard with you, someone you trust to be able to intervene effectively - often people find having this person on speed dial gives them a sense of a safety net - just in case. In your instance, you have other former guards living with you - the amount of time needed to get to you and Harris would be rather minimal, right? The problem with that is that it further estranges you two. It typically makes the person who feels he’s dangerous withdrawal, if so and so can’t go to keep me in check, I can’t go and then you just stop going - you stop trusting yourself alone with Harris ever and what’s not a healthy way to have a relationship with someone. I’m going to ask you to do something uncomfortable if you’re able, but talk me through it. What’s the worst thing that you feel could feasibly actually happen? You have a flashback, Harris gets hurt - do you think he’d leave you? Do you think he’d not forgive you? Or would forgiving you be worse? Or is it you couldn’t forgive yourself?”
To her surprise, the boy in question shifted, before glancing blue eyes back at Justin briefly. “Feel free to correct me, but before we got …. you guys weren’t trained to respond to the unknown with fatal force. Especially you. Jer’s a walking death trap - whether he’s tripping himself, or you, or knocking you into something, or waking you up ‘cause he can’t sleep and made cookies - you wouldn’t have been conditioned to respond to physical stimuli with lethal force. So is this a guard thing or is this a product of being kept just out of arm’s length from me and suppressing months worth of rage and determination to rip down everyone who stood in the way of you getting to me?”
Despite having known - hell, he’d even made plans for it -(lists of lists of things to save for Liz to hear or deal with once she arrived) - her arrival still came as a shock. The bottom of his stomach swooped out, his heart hammered to the point he was afraid it’d be visible if anyone were to lift his shirt, but it was foolish. She was a friend. Not an enemy. Not TC. Exonerated by the list. Yet, there was that nagging fear in the back of his head that just because she wasn’t on the list didn’t mean she wasn’t TC - she just wasn’t high ranking TC. Still, there was no way to take back the permission he'd given for her presence here. And as much as he loved Justin and Dairen - they weren’t equipped to deal with his issues as well as their own and if they were being frank, him and Justin were hanging on by their fingernails. Sooner rather than later that small tether to sanity was going to snap. He needed to do this.
So he just took up his familiar seat by the window when Justin started to toss and turn, trying to convince Puck to curl up next to Justin and offer some comfort where he couldn’t, but the puppy was having no part of it. So wearily Harris gave up the fight, let the puppy curl up on his chest and just tried to breathe in sync with him as music swelled and fell in his ears. There was a peace and calm now in the deepest part of the night that he’d never really felt in the dark of the basement. Then again, most of his and Luna’s adventures or his conversations with his Mum had all happened in the dead of night so maybe he was just used to carving out that time when everyone else was asleep for himself.
His eyes burned every time he flicked his gaze back to check on Justin, having lost count awhile ago of when the last time he’d slept was and for how long. His brain and body were both so so heavy with exhaustion, but it felt wonderful. It slowed his thoughts, dampened his panic, forced him to be still when he wanted to fidget right out of his skin. It almost became a security, something he could depend on to force his darkest thoughts from becoming a reality because he was just too damn tired.
The only problem was that morning always came.
Sometimes with Justin white-eyed with panic and sometimes with just a sad smile as he took in Harris’ position and he’d crawl back into bed for awhile and let Justin hold him until they decided to go face the family or the family came to get them. More often than not, it was Dairen knocking at their door with promises of food for Justin and coffee for Harris.
This time Harris rose as the sun did, digging through the closet and drawers for the right thing to wear. Whatever that was. He wanted every scar covered, he wanted to hide and be comforted by the extra layers of fabric, wanted half-heartedly to ask for make-up to hide the circles under his eyes and the still-fading yellow bruises here and there. But there was only so much he could do and just ended up in a pair of lounge pants and a baggy hoodie with Puck scrambling at his leg because he wanted up again before Justin started to stir.
Scooping the pup up, he approached carefully, settling down once he was sure Justin was calm and alert enough and curled against his chest. He knew the first day was going to be intense. A lot of poking and prodding at them to get a sense of what troubled them and what needed her help the most urgently while knowing that the things they struggled with most would be the most difficult to voice. He already knew he’d be a mess after even if he didn’t manage to utter a word. She was going to bring up every awful thing he and Justin have spent the past weeks trying to bury and pretend never happened. He wasn’t ready to dig that all out. Was’t ready to face it or grieve it or whatever else it was that she thought they needed to do. But when would he be?
His only comfort was that in understanding how rough this would be on them - they’d agreed to have the meetings here for the time being. There was no way Harris would be able to walk the streets of Paris after being forced into remembering. Hell, he and Justin were probably going to instantly revert to how they were the day after. Wide-eyed and terrified.
To his complete lack of surprise, the table had toast, bacon, fruit, and eggs set out and it was to Dairen’s complete lack of surprise that Harris just took his coffee cup and folded onto his chair. Casey was already up, coo’ing a good morning at Puck and getting his food ready so Harris just watched them all until there was a specific knock on the door turning the coffee in his stomach to ice. He wasn’t ready for this.
Reaching out, he found Justin’s hand, desperately twining their fingers together and forcing himself to keep breathe as he heard Liz’s voice float through the corridor, greeting Dairen again and being introduced to Mama K before making it out to where they were. Her step faltered just a little at the sight of them, but her smile never wavered. She waved off offers of food or beverage from the Kleins and just headed towards the porch. “I’ll give you two a moment to get ready, but I’m ready to begin when you are.”
All business then.
Harris wasn’t sure if that was better or worse, but he just aimed a soft apology at Casey when Puck abandoned him in favor of following them towards the balcony, tiny little furry body darting between his and Justin’s legs, seeming almost more like determined to trip them rather than comfort them both at the same time. Taking a seat in the chair he’d chosen for his breakdown to Dairen - was that just the day before? - he pulled his knees up defensively, glancing between Justin and Liz as she got out her papers and journals and got situated.
“It’s good to see you boys again. How have you been holding up?”
Harris hadn’t yet decided if he was going to talk or not, so he stayed mum, bending with a slight grimace to scoop the excitable pup up and let him offer licks to the face and an excited squeak of a bark towards Liz before settling down protectively on Harris’ lap.
“We’re still here.” Harris offered finally, a little more dryly then he intended but immediately regretted speaking at all when both of them reacted to the words.
“Has that been a problem for you two? Do you often wish you weren’t here?”
It was so damn tempting to shut down there, to put up some kind of shield between her and his most vulnerable feelings, but what good would that really do them? The whole point of this was getting to that future Justin deserved and for some reason wanted with him.
“For me, it comes and goes.” Harris confessed quietly. “I haven’t tried anything and I’m still sober. So it’s just...a thought. A feeling, whatever. Can we leave it at that?”
“For now.”
“Don’t you have checklists or something for us? We can just mark down the damn boxes and then you’d know and we wouldn’t have to do this part.”
Her eyes were wide and he hadn’t realized how tightly he’d begun to clench until Puck made a discomforted sound and jumped down to take up residence in Justin’s lap instead. Forcing his hands to unclench, he mumbled an apology for snapping and settled back on the chair, glancing over at Justin to avoid flinching as her pen flew across the page.
“We can start on an easier note. Why don’t you two tell me what you want to focus on first? What’s the most concerning to you or the most debilitating in terms of holding you back from what you want to do? Do you have some ideas on what you guys want to do now?”
There was a certain kind of happiness caused by cuddling a fluffy and excitable animal that wasn’t really matched by any other kind of joy. It was the kind of joy that was contagious, exuded by the small fluff ball, that couldn’t help but be reflected by everyone around it. Which only excited the puppy further when Justin scratched its ears and taped its nose playfully. There really wasn’t much arguing to be done, and Casey must’ve realized as much, because he was taking the responsible part of leading Justin towards a pet store that they’d passed on the way to the bar. It didn’t take them long to stock up on the basics. Trying to get the puppy to hold still long enough for them to measure and find a collar that fit probably took the longest, but it was worth it when Justin set the puppy down in the middle of the toy aisle and let it run around excitedly to pick out what it wanted.
After almost falling face first into one of the piles of toys on the bottom shelf, it started jumping up on its hind legs and yapping at one of the toys hanging above it. Justin pulled down the brown and pink monkey, laughing in surprise when the puppy jumped and all but tore the monkey from his hand. He scooped the puppy up in his arms, and it still wasn’t letting go of the death grip on the monkey. Good luck to the cashier trying to ring the thing up. He and Casey picked out a couple other toys, tennis balls and chew toys, and one tug-o-war rope that Justin was determined to get the puppy to play with him. Justin just laughed and shook his head when Casey picked out a stuffed bear that was twice the puppy’s size. It took them longer than strictly necessary to pick out food and water bowls, with Casey focusing on things like practicality, and Justin wanting the cool looking bowls that, arguably, were large enough the puppy could probably bathe in. After they finally settled on everything, and the puppy was still happily carrying its monkey, it had been long enough that Justin started mumbling about Harris and his dad being worried where they were. The store was only about ten minutes from the apartment though. Maybe a few minutes longer with the additional baggage of not only groceries, but also a wriggly puppy and supplies. They spent a few minutes outside the store tearing the tags off of the collar and leash so Justin didn’t have to carry the puppy, but it still refused to let go of its monkey.
When they finally made it back, Justin pushed open the door and the puppy darted inside, bouncing excitedly before realizing it was tile and sliding about a foot into the entryway. His mother was just inside the door, and knelt down immediately to coo over the puppy. It finally released the monkey in favor of trying to climb on his mother, and he couldn’t help but laugh as it slid back onto the tile and couldn’t quite get its footing to try another attempt. He took the leash off and dropped it to the side along with the other bags in favor of kneeling down to pet the little fur ball. He looked up, ready to yell down the hall for Harris, when he saw his dad coming in from the balcony, a familiar, cowering head behind him. “Har! Hey, brought you a surprise!” He grinned, watching Harris kneel down to welcome the puppy that was half running half skidding across the floor towards him, smiling, really smiling, the brightest he had in so long. And yeah, it was a good decision, bringing the puppy back. Without question. It hurt, but in a good way, if that were a thing, watching Harris play with the puppy. So surprised, and happy. Actually fucking happy. Something about this, he wasn’t sure what, but something about watching Harris, surprised and happy, playing with a puppy that was just as surprised and excited about all the attention, gave Justin, for the first time since New York, a feeling of…. not quite calm, but something close to it. Acceptance maybe, or reassurance. They’d be okay. This would be okay. They weren’t incapable of happiness. They weren’t incapable of feeling things besides fear and pain. And if it took a tiny, excitable puppy to remind them of that, then that was a burden Justin was more than happy to bear.
“It’s a puppy,” Justin laughed. He rolled his eyes and reached out to smack at Casey’s shoulder. “The puppy’s paw was barely being squished and he helped out a little. Clearly the pup knows who he likes better though,” he added proudly as the puppy returned to try and climb on him again. He gently kissed Harris back, smiling when he pulled back. “So surprise? Of we brought home a stray. Couldn’t just leave the poor thing out there in the cold. Turns out there’s a pet store not too far from here, too. Me and Case stopped to get him food and toys and everything.” To make his point, he grabbed the monkey and held it out to the puppy, laughing when it practically tackled him to try and get the monkey back, and then running to hide behind Harris, as though Justin wouldn’t know where he’d gone and wouldn’t be able to steal his monkey from there. “What do you wanna name it?” He asked, not bothering to ask if they could keep it; the look on Harris’s face when he saw the adorable fluff ball made it clear that wasn’t a question.
There was a time once - and only once - Liz had given him a sheet with rows of smiley faces on it. Each of them had an expression and an emotion attached to them and it was supposed to help him figure out how to label the things he was feeling but he absolutely balked at that, offended and belittled that she actually believed he didn’t know what basic emotions were. Now though, he got it. ‘Cause there was all this buzzing energy and warmth that felt strangely out of place in his chest and he had no name for it. It was a lot but not a bad a lot. It’d been so so long since he’d last felt warm.
So finding that he could barely keep his eyes off the hyperactive fluff ball didn’t bother him. Justin got the rest of his attention as Harris drank up the smile on his face as eagerly as he did everything the pup did. And for the first time he forgot to be vigilant. He forgot to be suspicious of Casey, to feel judged and found lacking by Mama K, or to be on his best behavior around Dairen - it was just him and Justin and a puppy and it was perfect.
Playful surprise raised his eyebrows again as Justin proudly announced he and Casey had even managed to go to the store and get puppy necessities. That was not a thing he’d have expected from the fairly impulsive guards but he’d tease them for it later. For now, he just grinned some more and burrowed closer into Justin as the puppy tried attacking him for the monkey. “He’s so precious. Oh my God.” he couldn’t keep the coo’s back, feeling all shiny and ridiculous, but oh my god. He’d never had a pet — too much mess and noise his father had always said and yet he’d always been drawn to other people’s pets. Especially those that their owners would exasperatedly complain that said pets liked no one and didn’t like to be pet and then stand in shock and awe at the purring / sprawling animal that was currently falling all over Harris.
Now they had a puppy of their very own.
“Name?” Harris’ eyes went wide again at the expectation he was supposed to gift the puppy with a name. That was like, a really big deal. “I uh, I don’t know. Don’t we gotta wait and like see his personality and all that? Is it a him? Sorry for misgendering you if you’re not.”
He twisted carefully to apologize directly to the puppy and found himself melting all over again. The monkey seemed so big compared to him and it was just precious. “You’re so cute.” Harris cooed again, reaching out carefully avoiding the monkey to stroke down its back. “But you’re probably starving and dirty.” Turning back, he looked up at Justin and towards the several bags spilling all over the place in their haste to dump ‘em and admire the puppy. “Which one has puppy food in it? Probably needs water too. Did ya get shampoo and a brush?”
Who would abandon such a cute and utterly defenseless thing? Bubble deflated slightly, he turned towards Justin reaching out to link their free hands and squeezing a little. “D’you think he ran away? Is somebody gonna take ‘em back?” He was so in love already, he didn’t want to lose the puppy too.
For a second, Dairen watched Harris freeze and stare over the balcony, and he was sure that he’d finally gotten through to the boy. That, or Harris was struggling trying to understand Dairen’s logic. As much as Dairen hadn’t known him as well when he and Justin were younger, he still had gotten the obligatory invitations to his graduation with the announcement of his being valedictorian that all of the guards’ parents and their protected received. He wasn’t sure where in the contract it had been that everyone involved with the agency had to be friends, or at least in contact, but he had been there, usually drunk, for a considerable amount of it. Or some of it, anyway. He’d only gone to the graduation because Jeremy had been in the same graduating class, but it didn’t diminish the fact that Harris was a genius. That being said, for as brilliant as Harris had always been, Dairen struggled with trying to get him to understand things that made perfectly logical sense to him, when he wasn’t anywhere near the top of the intellectual scale. But then, maybe that was the problem. The things that made sense to him weren’t intellectually logical, they were street-smart logical. The kind of logical that came with knowing the outcomes and results of war, not chemistry equations and compounds. Maybe Harris just needed a bit more prodding and explaining to be able to understand that kind of logic, just like Dairen would need a hell of a lot of guidance to understand basic chemistry. Or something like that.
And maybe he’d finally hit the right equation. or variable, or whatever the fuck the chemistry equivalent of the right words in this situation was. Because when Harris turned back to look at him, it was with some kind of understanding. Dairen huffed out a short laugh and shook his head. “Boy, if you’d just explained that logic to me weeks ago, I could’ve saved us both a lot of headaches,” he said lightly. “Bravery isn’t the absence of fear. It’s doing the right thing, it’s fighting, it’s doing whatever you have to do, in spite of the fear. If you weren’t afraid of anything, you wouldn’t need courage to pull through. And if you didn’t have weaknesses, you wouldn’t need strength. Strength is overcoming weaknesses, not being void of them. This isn’t black and white. And you probably hate hearing that as much as Justin does, but it’s true. It’s all grey area. We all struggle, and you find the strength to pull through. We’re all afraid, and you find the courage to overcome it. Hell, I’m proof why you shouldn’t have set some higher standard for strength and bravery. You think I have both those things, but I’ve told you how often I’ve struggled. You watched me slip and fall. Five year chip down the drain. There’s nothing pure, or certain or doubtless about it. About me, or Justin, Cohen, no one. It’s all shades of grey, some darker than others.”
His shoulders dropped, like some weight had fallen off, and it had. The feeling that he needed to carry Harris, to watch and be certain, to protect him from himself, it fell off at Harris’s realization. At his wide eyes and awed words. It was still there, the need to protect him, but it wasn’t as dire. It wasn’t the kind of protect-him-because-he-won’t-protect-himself kind of feeling. He was starting to come back. He was starting to see some light, some reason to pull through. Or at least he was starting to see that he was strong enough to pull through. It was only a single step, but it was the most important one. “Yeah, you are,” Dairen agreed quietly after Harris repeated it a second time, louder, seemingly in awe of himself and his own strength. “About damn time you realized it too,” he couldn’t help but add with a warm, half-smile.
As Harris explained why he could now see how time healed wounds though, Dairen shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, it is cold,” he muttered. “And to be honest? If this was right after she’d passed, and the wound was still days, weeks old? I wouldn’t have said it like that. I would’ve given you the vague ‘time heals all wounds’ bullshit that everyone else told you. And I didn’t really mean for you to connect it back to Ellie now, but, yeah. People told me the same things after my brother and parents died. Time will make it easier, and it did. But not in the way you want it to. You get to point where you find out good news, or just a stupid story, and you want to tell someone, and theirs isn’t the first name you scroll to in your phone. That was when I realized what people meant when they said that I just needed time. I needed time to relearn that habit, to call someone else first, and not start to dial my brother’s number. He’s not any less my brother, and Ellie isn’t any less your sister. The memories are still there, the pictures, and everything. But the habits, the muscle memories, those change. And when those change, it’s easier to move on. People don’t tell you that right after someone passes away, one because it’s cold, but also because you’d fight it. You’d make it a point to scroll to her number first, before going back to Justin’s or Luna’s or Jeremy’s.”
As cold as it felt to say, Dairen was at least glad that it helped. It was the one part of tis unexpectedly close relationship that they both needed; to be able to be blunt, and tell each other what no one else would. Because as many times as Harris yelled at him over sleeping pills, or Dairen got pissed at him for repeating the same tired arguments for not sleeping or not fighting, they’d still end up right here, because no one else would react in the same way to the blunt honesty that was offered during their conversations, or would offer the same blunt honesty in return. Dairen listened, just nodding as Harris talked through what helped and what didn’t He didn’t have much to offer, more just hoping that making Harris go through out loud what helped would remind him when he needed grounding what he needed to do. He sat up a bit straighter, gesturing for Harris to continued when he asked for three requests. “Of course,” he said immediately to the first. “It doesn’t matter what situation you’re in, even if you’d never been a part of the agency and TC, self defense is never a skill learned in vain. I can ask him for— Diazapan? Yeah, no problem. Is that going to knock you out for a full eight hours though? Not that you don’t need it, just wondering if it’s a good idea to take it now or if you should take it tonight.” He raised his eyebrows at Harris’s lead-in to his last request, and almost laughed when he actually heard it. A smile broke through but he covered it quickly and nodded with mock seriousness, “I think I can manage that.” He let out a short laugh and stood up, crossing the few steps to Harris so he could pull the boy into a hug. As much as Harris might need Dairen to point out that he is strong, and that he’s allowed to be, maybe Dairen needed him for the opposite just as much, to point out that there were more ways to care about family than just his usual tough-love approach.
For so long now - shit, almost a year his mind had been in survival mode. There wasn’t room for much past how do I make it to sunset and how do I make it to sunrise. The answers to those questions he’d believed for a long time lay in a bottle, in forgetting, in numbing. There hadn’t been time - well, it hadn’t been safe to take the time - to process, to feel and began to heal. And he’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to use his brain again, to feel things click into place, to experience metaphorical lightbulbs go on as understanding starting to creep back in. Rationally, he’d come to understand a little after meeting Cohen’s family for the first time and Blythe’s despite her take on it - that the wiring in his head couldn’t be relied on exclusively. What he’d believed for the first decade or so of his life was normal, was family — wasn’t anywhere close to it. Yet, it still caught him off guard, even now, to realize that somehow his mind’d gotten wildly off track. It was a weird almost betrayal-like feeling especially because Harris so often put pressure and responsibility on himself for being educated and being a so-called ‘genius’ — he should know better than he did. It was a source of endless frustration for him and lately for Dairen as well since they started this whole rehab-esque thing. But he couldn’t help but return a wry little smile as Dairen chuckled and teased a little before going further into explaining bravery and strength in a way that included people like him.
Struck by the words, he snagged a piece of paper and the pen again to quickly scribble them before he forgot ‘em. They seemed like something he’d need to read over and over in moments of weakness and doubt.
I am strong.
Bravery isn’t the absence of fear. It’s doing the right thing, it’s fighting, it’s doing whatever you have to do, in spite of the fear. If you weren’t afraid of anything, you wouldn’t need courage to pull through. And if you didn’t have weaknesses, you wouldn’t need strength.
Strength is overcoming weaknesses, not being void of them.
This isn’t black and white.
It’s grey.
“I haven’t forgotten about that.” Harris said quietly. “And we’ll talk about it, when we’re both ready to. There’s a lot I want to say, but now's not the time. I do think there’s something to that though - your struggles - it makes the impossible seem just a tiny bit more attainable. Like if you could do it and struggle a little, it’s okay that I’m struggling a hell of a lot right now, does that make sense? Like, from your perspective it looks like a failure, but from mine, it looks an awful lot like hope.”
A soft laugh slipped past his lips as Dairen ribbed him about taking his damn time realizing that he did have some form of strength in him. It wasn’t an adjective that’d ever been applied much to him. He was short, petite, passive, and book-smart. That was pretty much the exact opposite of strong where boys from oh, 5 to 25 were concerned. Add to that a household run on fear and intimidation, and well, it was pretty much a damn wonder he ever came to see himself possessing anything resembling strength. Funny to talk about strength though, given he’d brought up the topic, and now needed to turn away, but Ellie was still hard to talk about. In some ways, it felt like a lifetime ago already, and some other ways, it felt like it’d just happened. “I know. Sorry, I couldn’t help it. She hasn’t been far from my thoughts since we’ve gotten here.” Though, the scrolling through his phone bit, that made him shift uncomfortably, a weird hot mix of shame and guilt flashing through him because that was sort of what drove him out here in the first place, wasn’t it? That muscle memory of needing to talk to his Mum despite knowing that she wasn’t who he’d believed she was. “Muscle memory.” he repeated. “That helps a little to understand the ‘why’s’ of some of the things I’ve been feeling lately. Makes it a little easier to just acknowledge the feeling for what it is and then let it go instead of trying to battle the shame and frustration. I like it. Like it more when it’ll start applying to … to all the other crap.”
In Marty’s case and really his Mum’s too - it hadn’t yet been weeks, let alone months, and he didn’t have that sense of clarity that he had about Ellie. It was a sort of an abstract thought like oh, if a+b=c then … but he still felt watched, trapped, played with and that wasn’t so easy to ignore. Hugging himself a little tighter, he forcibly reminded himself Marty was dead, TC was in shambles and being stamped out, they were in Paris, they were safe, and he was strong. There were too many things in his head, in his heart, in his soul, he’d stomped down, pushed down, blocked out, ignored that it was like he could just feel this incessant buzzing of them trying to burst free and he couldn’t let that happen.
It was probably time to cut the conversation off for now, to lick his wounds in private, and find some sort of center again. Everything felt turned inside out and topsy turvy but at least Dairen didn’t fight him on request one. He’d started to draft a whole comeback for why it was a necessity but he should have figured the guy’d make it mandatory. It wasn’t really a surprise that Dairen would question the sleep thing and have a goal way beyond what Harris was attempting but it did make him want to smile. “S’what I took before the airport. No. It’s not a sleeping pill. It’s immediate release anti-anxiety. Its got a sedating affect - that’s how it treats anxiety - it slows the mind, the heart, the lungs, at best it’ll allow my body the chance to give in to sleep once the agitation’s treated but it wears off fairly quickly.” Shifting uncomfortably again, he gave a little shrug of the shoulders as he tried to think of how to frame it without causing more concern. “I’d prefer trying to sleep while it’s light. It’s uh, as you said, pretty disorienting still.” And the last thing any of them needed was both him and Justin going out of their minds with nightmares and hallucinations at the same time.
The third one though - that one did catch Harris by surprise. Partially just for getting the words out at all, but more so when it actually got a full on smile from Dairen. You could have knocked him over when a short laugh followed so he couldn’t help but quip “What was that noise I heard?” before allowing the first real touch of someone other than Justin since they’d gotten back. There’d been brief careful touches here and there - mostly in changing bandages - but this was as close as Harris had allowed anyone to get and it took him a few tense seconds to relax into it.
It wasn’t familiar yet - the scent or the feel - not like Cohen or his Mum or Ellie - but it was unquestionably safe. And that was a lot more than Harris had most of the time. He gave himself a little bit of time to hide against Dairen, to let the other take on some of the weight he carried, as he trusted the other to be his guard while his own were flagging so low. Drawing back, he gave the other a small smile, like he could reassure him enough that he was going to be okay for the next little while with just a gesture.
“Thank you. This helped a lot more than I was expecting, honestly.”
He’d come out in pieces and was somehow now standing taller than he had in ages.
For now, anyway.
“I’ll uh, wash the mugs and meet you back in the kitchen?”
Dairen couldn’t exactly apologize for bringing up the incident that had finally helped get Harris and Justin out of the basement, and away from Marty. He’d known Harris wouldn’t take well to it being brought up. But he didn’t have anything to say to make it easier, and he knew better than to reach out while Harris was shaking and gripping the table like his life depended on it. He wasn’t Justin; he was someone that could be easily mistaken for Marty of one of the other TC agents when Harris was half-present-half-not like this. So he stayed silent, racking his brain for at least the hundredth time for the proper words to try and explain it to Harris. Killing someone, yes it was difficult, horrific, and terrible and all he rest of it. But that wasn’t the point he was trying to make. It wasn’t the dead body that Dairen wanted to bring back to mind. It was the strength that it took to overpower a man that had tortured him and shot Justin. The strength to choose his own life over cowering to the power that the man held over him. When push came to shove, Harris was strong enough to do what he had to.
Harris’s next words were back onto the topic of dancing though, so Dairen let it drop. “I hope he didn’t inherit my two left feet,” Dairen commented dryly. “At our wedding, Mary had wanted to do some complicated dance as our first dance, the tango or— no, foxtrot, that was it. I mean, it’s probably not complicated to you but, to me, it was like asking a cave man to do rocket science. After she figured that out, we ended up doing the most beginner level ballroom dance she could teach me.” The amount of times that Harris still insisted on no one doing anything for him that could be in any way construed as slightly inconvenient amazed Dairen. He’d have thought Harris would get it by now, that he was family, and to the Kleins, that meant a lot more than it apparently did tot he Kingsmans. Well, maybe Dairen hadn’t expected him to understand it in quite those terms, but it was an apt comparison in his own mind. “It’s not a hassle, and I’m going as soon as they’re back. Unless you want me to stay and talk longer.” He was sure to add the end, clarifying that Harris insisting that he stay just because he didn’t want to inconvenience Dairen wasn’t a valid reason that he would forgo leaving to buy a few puzzles. He thought for a moment about the request before answering. “I’ll buy a white board and a planner for you. I don’t think Justin would use one though, unless you were planning to keep up with it for both of you. But he’s more likely to use it for a day or two and then toss it aside. Maybe when he’s well enough that he can start exercising again, I’ll get him a fitness journal. He’ll be frustrated when he’s not at the same physical level he was before everything that happened, so tracking that progress until he gets back to that point may be beneficial. And something he’d more likely stick with.”
He was surprised when Harris returned to Marty, actually talking this time instead of suffering silently in his own head. Dairen just let him talk for a few minutes, uncertain if he would continue voicing all of his thoughts if he was interrupted. For a moment, Dairen mused on the fact that Harris’s logic that didn’t make sense to him, probably was about as logical as when Dairen tried explain his own thoughts aloud to Harris. It probably helped though, seeing how the same situation and variables could look entirely different depending on the eyes viewing them, or the experiences of the mind processing it all. “The fact that you didn’t know that me and Vlad were there makes it even stronger. If you’d known we were there, then you knew that’s all you had to do; one shot, and we would take care of the rest, and you’d be safe. But you didn’t know that. For all you knew, you’d have to fight off five, ten more agents, all of whom would be that much more angry and violent after you’d shot one of their own. But that didn’t stop you from doing it. Because you had to get to Justin. You had to give yourself and him the best chance of you both being found, no matter what came next. Harris, it wasn’t brave and strong because you knew it would lead to you both getting out. It was brave and strong because you didn’t. Because no matter what came next, you were willing to do whatever you had to, to stay together and stay alive.” Which likely made exactly as much sense to Harris as his logic had made to Dairen, which was zero.
Sitting back, Dairen picked up his now lukewarm coffee and took a sip. More complicated questions were coming, and not ones that Dairen likely had any right or ability to answer, but he could at least continue to give the counter side of the same facts in a different light. “I understand it in theory,” he said. “You’re right. That’s always how movies and books are. Just one snake’s head, so the speak. Chop it off, and the body dies. At the start of the war, a lot of people believed that. The thought was beaten pretty well out of us, though, through training. There was no single snake’s head. President or general or lieutenant or anything. It didn’t matter. The enemy was a multi-headed snake, and when you chopped off one head, three more would grow in it’s place. TC and the agency were never just one snake’s head, either. Even now, there are snake heads being chopped off. All behind he scenes, of course. Political head-chopping, so to speak. It will all be dead soon, every head, but if it helps you to see it as the one head that you chopped off. Or even as the entire group that kidnapped you as the head that we collectively chopped off, that’s alright too.” Except that as Harris paused to look down, and started again, it sounded like even chopping off that had of the snake didn’t kill it. Dairen had long since decided that listening was the hard part. Not because he was impatient or preferred to speak or anything, but because he didn’t know what to say. There was no response he could give, no words that would magically make it easier for Harris. It was just pain, playing on a broken record the same chords and tune, with tiny, varying alterations, but never enough difference that Dairen can insert something useful into the middle of it to break up the endless cycle of memorized turmoil.
“It probably is a Liz thing, but I’ll always be here to listen,” he paused uncertainly, still knowing that he should offer something, even if he couldn’t really offer much. Or maybe he shouldn’t; it was Liz’s job after all, but Harris was in pain and looking to him. “You’ll hate this answer I know, but you need time. More than that, but time will be a big part of it. Some things are just— muscle memory. Let me take a guess, that for at least a week after you were kidnapped, every time you woke up, you didn’t know where you were. You wondered why you weren’t in a warm bed, and why there wasn’t a body beside you. Right? Just like the first few times you woke up since you got out. Expected there should be a concrete wall behind you, and wondering why there wasn’t, right? Why you could move your hands and arms, and why the ground felt softer, until you were fully conscious and knew where you were. I hope you’re getting past that, and that it’s not a shock to wake up in a bed any more, but you just needed time, for you body to unlearn that. Your mind remembers things longer than your body does, though. But give it time, and it’ll unlearn everything too. Maybe you won’t forget everything, but you’ll forget his voice, and the memories will be distant ones that you’ll have to try and remember, instead of them constantly being right under the surface. It is over. But just like your body needing some time to realize that every morning when it felt weird and you expected to be in the basement, your mind just needs some time to fully realize that it’s over, and that his voice is just all in your mind. His voice is that concrete wall that you’re expecting to be there, but it’s not anymore. You just need something to remind yourself that it’s not. You have the actual physical reminder of a bed, of blankets and light and things that aren’t a cold, dark basement to remind you the wall’s not there. But, and maybe Liz will have to offer some suggestions, but you need something tangible to remind yourself that his voice, that he is gone. Is there any breathing exercise or something that Liz gave you that would help with that?”
To an outsider looking in — hell, even to Justin looking in — it never made much sense why he and Dairen had formed a kind of friendship of sorts. Mentorship? Whatever it was, it had its awkward and uncomfortable moments, but it was times like this one that made it one of the most important relationships he’d ever had. Dairen had a way of seeing and processing things differently than Harris did and sometimes granted, that drove them both crazy, but sometimes he needed the help to see outside of himself. And sometimes he just needed someone he could go to and word-vomit all the things he tried to deny, hide, and ignore away and know that in doing so he was still safe and not at risk of upsetting or losing any relationships. It was like a creative process of sorts, with Dairen being his rough first draft before he took it to Justin or Liz.
Briefly halting his pacing, he hugged his arms tighter around his middle and watched Paris buzz under him as he turned the thought over in his head a few times. It was a conundrum of sorts. Dairen and Justin swore up and down there was some kind of remarkable strength in him. Privately, he thought if they’d known how deep his despair went and how desperate he’d felt in those moments that they’d change their minds, but now Dairen’d offered an angle of it he hadn’t considered and couldn’t immediately dismiss. As low as he’d gotten (and admittedly still occasionally got) — he’d been ready to move sun, earth, moon — whatever it took to keep Justin from dying in that basement. There had been an unfamiliar feeling of steel chorusing through his body and while he could argue that was a heat of the moment thing, that didn’t negate the fact that he’d done it. He’d picked up a gun and he’d shot their worst nightmare and then put himself in-between Justin and more danger, ready to pick off anything and everything that came to threaten their independence and future again. And truth be told, if someone were to suddenly drop down on him right now - that steel would be back. Despite the fear, the paranoia, the despair — there was a quiet determination in the back of his head that simply knew he’d be ready instantly to fight to the death again - be it his or his would-be captors - there would be no going quietly. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.” Harris said finally, looking away from Paris to regard Dairen for a moment, belatedly realizing that he was searching for some kind of change. Like the fact he had been a killer and would willingly be so again would affect Dairen’s offers of safety and family and he’d lose some of that poorly concealed concern aimed his way so often these days. “I’d mentioned movies and books a moment ago and I think…I think I have it wrong in my head. It’s grey, isn’t it? Strength. And bravery. I felt like desperation, or hopelessness or despair would cancel it out. Make it null and void, but it doesn’t, does it? I wasn’t thinking very clearly but I still did it. I…I’d started to get us out. I thought … I don’t know why I thought it, but I had set a higher standard for things like strength and bravery. That it was pure and without anything like doubt or uncertainty or fear but that’s silly. If those kinds of stories were real, they’d feel both sides -all sides - too, wouldn’t they? The heroes. And the villains. And well, you. You and Justin. Cohen. And everyone else I’d looked up to.”
That whole realization left him a little winded and he turned his gaze back to the city for awhile before testing out a soft, “I was strong.” outloud, followed by an even quieter. “I am strong.” Maybe…maybe they weren’t that full of shit. Maybe he was strong to still be standing here, to still be trying despite well, everything. Maybe strength didn’t mean ease, or success, maybe it was just grit. His perfectionist side often narrowed things down to black and white and it skewed his understanding to a point that it’d begun to hinder him without his realizing it. Strength didn’t have to be successful to be valid. It just had to be. “I am strong.” he repeated, not at all surprised by the note of awe in his own tone.
It didn’t exactly crush or stop the flood of panic and pain that talking about Marty had brought back, but it did give him just enough ability to stand there and listen. It was tempting to bolt, to physically hide from any of this, but what good was that going to do, really? Eventually, he was going to have to talk about it and talking often started with just listening. If Justin hadn’t confirmed the boat thing with his own story, Harris would have thought it was just a dream. Well, and the whole ending up in New York when previously in Australia thing. There was nothing really concrete he recalled from that time anymore, it was just a haze of pain, nausea, dizziness and blackness. Vaguely he recalled a woman and stars but that was probably a fever dream or something. Shaking the thoughts off, he found he was able to relate to the disorientation waking up after the basement and the confusion that being free seemed to continually bring. Inwardly, he had to smile a little partially because the 20 minute checks were just a thing when Justin was gone apparently and mostly because they’d somehow gone from uncomfortably ignoring the fact he’d stumbled down from Justin’s bedroom in his clothes to Dairen just assuming they were happily sleeping in the same bed together and not batting an eye. “Merci.” he said quietly, once Dairen was done with his roundabout explanation. His fingers tightened on his arms but he was able to turn his back to the city and fully focus on Dairen.
“Everyone after Ellie died promised me with time it’d get better. And I’d demand how the hell could it get better because there was no changing the fact she was gone. I get it now. What they didn’t want to tell me. That the pain would fade because the wound would fade. I’d move on. Her memory would be sweet, but no longer … as consuming as it felt. It’d feel wrong to say to someone freshly grieving that the grief would fade because the all consuming importance the loss felt at the time would fade as life continued. It feels cold. But it makes sense.”
As far as Marty and his haunting beyond the grave — that made sense too. Marty’d personally made their life hell nearly daily for months - it’d take more than a few weeks for his body and his brain to accept a new routine. “Thank you for saying what no one else would. For making the concept of time being the best healer into something I could understand. It felt like a cop out. Like something people just said ‘cause they couldn’t say or do shit. But I … I get it now. I get how it could help with all of this.”
Breaking into a small smile at the mention of breathing exercises, he just shrugged and motioned to the patio with a wave of a hand. “I imagine I have about as much success with breathing exercises as you do. Grounding’s a big one for me. Just uh, taking in where and when I am with as many senses as I can manage. S’why I usually have the iPod with me, sound seems to work better than anything else. I don’t always trust sight or touch, smell only works when there’s something strong to smell, and well, taste. Taste is pretty useless in my opinion but I guess if you had like a ginger candy or something real strong that could keep you focused in the here and now.” As far as what he’d been trying to ask, for something tangible - “Maybe the Russian’ll help. French, when you guys learn it. Something that’ll jar my head as much as the music does.”
Falling quiet, he turned away from Dairen again, mind a little overwhelmed with how much he’d now been given to think about and process. Eventually, he turned back around and drew a little closer to the table. “Can I ask….” He shouldn’t ask. Dairen was already doing far more than Harris deserved but strong. So he plowed on. “Three things? When you talk to Vlad about physical therapy, can you maybe ask him if we could work self defense into it too as I build up to that? I know we’re safe now and there’s nothing to prepare for, but I’d still feel better knowing I could protect myself, even if it’s just from some pickpocket on the street or something. Two…I uh, I haven’t really been sleeping. Can you or Vlad help with that? Please? I think … I think I’d like to nap until Justin’s back if he’s still got the diazepam or anything. And lastly - this one’s the doozy so prepare yourself…” Harris couldn’t help but smile a little before finishing with a quiet, “I could really really use a hug, pretty please.” Ellie, Cohen, and even Blythe for awhile there had always been super tactile. So too, had Luna, Jer, Coral, Keaton, Ryder — there always was someone pulling him into a hug, or ruffling his hair, or demanding cuddles so it was strange to be in a dynamic now that touched only to patch up wounds. He hadn’t realized until recently that that lack of touch had made him feel more isolated and alone than he really was. So baby steps.
Dairen debated back and forth what to say. Harris wasn’t right, but saying as much might not be the best tactic. It was hard, just watching Harris disregard every brave act, every show of strength, every right choice he’d made, saying that it was due to someone else. At the same time, one of those choices and been shooting a man, and even though it was the right decision no matter which way he looked at it, Dairen knew it was eating at him. Hell, it could’ve been fucking Hitler on the other side of the gun and Harris would be beating himself up pulling the trigger. “Justin’s pushed you, and told you that you’re stronger than you believe you are,” he started carefully. “But you’re the one that proved him right. You’re the one that’s still sitting here, talking to me and trying to overcome all of the shit you’ve had to deal with. And I know you’ll hate me bringing it up, but you’re the one that got yourself and Justin out of that basement. That wasn’t Justin. Justin was shot and going to be left for dead if Marty had his way. You’re the one that didn’t let him have his way. And I know that’s hard to accept, but you did the right thing. You’re a lot stronger than you think you are. And a lot stronger than most people, after everything you’ve gone through.”
He felt like he was losing a game that he didn’t know he was even playing. There were words, probably specific phrases, something, that he was supposed to say. Breathing exercises to talk Harris through, or questions he was supposed to ask that would turn into some lightbulb moment and it would all make sense, to both of them. Except that he also knew, even if he could stumble his way into hat lightbulb-moment-causing phrase, it wasn’t going to make it much easier, or any faster of a recovery. Why was it that his sponsor always knew the right things to say? He’d always assumed it had been because she went through the whole getting sober process, and came out on the other end with some new, eye-opening wisdom, and that one day he’d find that. He never did. Even after several years of sobriety, he never found his moment of eye-opening wisdom to share with Harris. Never figured out how she came up with all those perfect words to say that made it all make sense. The words that would replay on repeat in his mind when he sat at the bar and stared at a glass for an hour or longer before he dialled her number. When was the moment he was supposed to learn how to do that? How to say the right words, so perfectly that if Harris ever found his resolve tested so strongly, that he’d just hear those words and pick up his phone instead of the glass?
Apparently he’d hit on something though, because Harris dove into the schedule idea without hesitation, already offering suggestions for how to get Justin on board. A small smile tugged at Dairen’s mouth and he nodded. “Probably a good plan. His attention span won’t hold for an entire novel. Actually, neither would his patience for having to stop and look up every other word,” he added. he drew a line down the middle of the page and started scribbling on the other side of the line an alternative schedule for Justin. He tore his eyes away, looking up at Harris in concerns hen his voice got quieter. He was practically in awe, and it wasn’t like Dairen had said anything crazy, at least he didn’t think so. “Of course you can,” he said like it was obvious. Which, to him it was. “I’ve seen people with worse injuries come back and do more. You can do some physical therapy with Vlad, build up the strength in your muscles again, especially your knee—and I’m sure we can get you back on the dance floor, and Justin back in a weight room. Or on a dance floor, it’d probably be safer for him, but good luck convincing him of that,” he added with an amused smile. This worked. This he could do. Maybe he couldn’t figure out the right hopeful, airy words, but he could provide the practical part. The schedule, and the tasks that would lead to tangible progress.
It was kind of amusing, listening to the silence after Dairen’s question. He could practically see Harris’s brain working, shifting through and disregarding various ideas until he met Dairen’s eyes again, a decision made. “Sure,” he said easily, looking down to make another note. “It’s not lame. It’ll be good, you’re right. And it’s something that which you and Justin can dedicate as much or as little time to as you want. Unlike a movie, the puzzle won’t be a two hour time commitment, and also won’t be a time limit. You can just unwind, it’s good. When Casey and Justin get back, I’ll go into town and find a few puzzles. I don’t think there are any shops too close that will sell them.” He kept writing as Harris talked, but had to look up again at the reason for wanting to add main smoothies to the list. He bit back his instinctive insistence that he wasn’t bothering or inconveniencing anyone by wanting a smoothie, mostly because, as much as that was true, there was something to be said about giving some kind of control back to Harris and Justin when they’d been quite literally stripped of it for months. “Alright, that’s all fine. If any of it is too much, or if you think of anything you want to add, we can do that. I’ll get a dry erase board or something while I’m out that we can put on the fridge, or that you and Justin can keep in your room. Whichever you’re more comfortable with. I think it’ll help though, seeing it all written out, things that you can cross off a list every day and see that you did something.”
There were parts of himself that he’d only shared with Dairen. Thoughts that’d been too big for his own head and too something or another to share with Justin. Three minutes ago, he’d have said there was no line he wouldn’t cross with the other but there it was. Walls he didn’t even know he had flew up, while his mind desperately trying to keep its own wall it’d built against that whole thing from itself, but both were failing. He hadn’t been expecting anyone to ever bring that up casually. It was one of those things he thought would be spoken of once as it was a mandatory piece of information to exchange - the top of the snake’s been cut off - but he truly believed they’d never speak of it again. Ever. To anyone. So while hate was far from the mark, there was an unfamiliar warm feeling spreading through his chest as he shook his head, reaching out to grip onto the table with one hand as an anchor, the other pulling his legs in more, trying to curl up as small as he could while avoiding closing his eyes for any reason. There were puffs of hot air on the back of his neck, that smell in his nose, and the faint echoes of words that’d been branded onto his soul ringing in his ears.
Time went fuzzy for a bit there, but it seemed Dairen had gotten lost in his own thoughts too when his heart rate came back down and he was able to start picking out bits and pieces until he remembered they were in Paris. On a balcony. Safe. He kept his fingers on the table, alternating between pressing against it, tapping, and squeezing just to be really sure it was there and solid but he did manage to look up at the mention of dancing. It still made his breath feel short in an entirely different way to think of an empty dance floor and the hours of peace it could bring. “He’s danced with me before.” Harris said quietly, allowing the faint blurry memory of that to wash over him for a moment, before attempting to smile back. “He’ll dance with me again.” If only to keep a close eye on him and make sure he didn’t hurt himself until Justin’s overprotectiveness was satisfied.
The puzzle seemed like a better and better idea the more he thought about it. It was mindless enough to relax them at their worst but enough mental stimulation to keep the worst of their various mental issues away for a bit. And like Dairen pointed out, how much time they committed to it could vary along with them. “You don’t have to go tonight.” Harris tried to protest, a bit surprised the man was even offering. “If it’s a hassle, we can think of something else. I didn’t mean to…” he trailed off, already knowing it was pointless to protest. This family would probably go to bordering countries to get him something he needed and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that knowledge. It was more than he deserved but it wasn’t something he could return. It just was. “Thank you. For offering to go out and get us things and all of it. Maybe a white board for the kitchen and like a planner book for me ’n Justin? So when we have bad days we can have something tangible to look at and see what progress we’ve made? If that’s okay?”
Speaking of progress, his fingers curled a little harder against the table, his eyes dropping down to look at them instead of Dairen as he thought about what and if he wanted to say anything. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to see it like you do.” he said finally. “You see it as strong. But I didn’t know you and Vlad were there. For all we knew, it was inter-fighting between them. I just - I needed to get to Justin and I knew that I couldn’t be separated from him. That if they took me somewhere else - I’d never be found.” Pausing, he let go of the table, stretching out sore fingers and curling them back up a few times before looking up past Dairen to the sky. It was still weird to be able to see blue sky and clouds and feel the sun on his skin and doubly so to talk about such dark things in its light. “I don’t know much about you, really.” Harris started quietly. “I don’t know if you understand. But it builds up in your head, this idea that if he was just gone, it’d all go away. We’d get free and we’d be fine. If you think about it, most books and movies end with the bad guy being beaten and then either end there or flash forward to a happy ending. I think, I think I’d built it up in my head too much. I thought…it’d be over once he was dead. I needed him dead because if he wasn’t, there would always be the chance of history repeating itself for the third time and I can’t handle that. I can’t - I can’t be taken again. I won’t be. Not alive. At that point it’s kill or be killed and I don’t - that part doesn’t bother me. It was him or me and he was like the pinnacle of all evil in my world up to that point, you know? I don’t regret it. And I’m not sorry for it. I just — he’s not gone.” Frustration started to leak into his voice and now he was able to drop his gaze back down, shame flushing his cheeks. “I know this is a Liz thing and that you can’t do anything but listen, but he’s - he’s gotten under our skin. Justin dreams about it nearly every night. I still can’t fucking shower. I hear him, I think I see him out of the corner of my eye, I can still feel his…” he broke the sentence off, nearly exploding from the chair in his haste to get up, to pace, to double check that they were alone and to really experience the patio with all of his senses. “He’s not gone and I just want him gone. I don’t want to spend another second of my life thinking one goddamn thought about him. I want to stop hearing him — the mocks, the taunts, it’s like my subconscious forgot it had a voice of insecurity all its own before. I still..I still feel trapped and I hate it. I hate it so much. Why couldn’t it just be…over?”
Dairen wasn’t sure what brought on the sudden burst of honesty and vulnerability, if it was the chat with their friends, or just the fact that Justin was gone for a the first time in a couple weeks, leaving Harris alone with his thoughts. Either way, he was warring with himself, whether this was a good thing or bad thing, Harris having this realization and questions right before Liz showed up. It wasn’t like Dairen could give him the kind of psychological sensitive or whatever words that he needed to hear, but Liz wouldn’t be able to give him answers. It wasn’t like Dairen could either, but these questions would inevitably come to him first anyway, with or without Liz, so maybe it didn’t make a difference. But what as he supposed to say? His soldier mindset kicked in, pushing him into survival mode, always pushing off dealing with emotions and repercussions later. He absently thought that maybe that was why so many on his old comrades suffered from PTSD, being too long in soldier mode and not being able to process what as happening until their brain had tried to suppress too much too fast.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting things the way they were, or with missing the mother that you knew,” Dairen said, weighing his words carefully. He fell silent, anything else that came into his head sounding useless and unhelpful. So he just listened. And the more he listened, the more he noticed how the things he had bene through, though they fell in the same lines, the same names and events along the way, he’d come out on an entirely different side of it all than Justin had. Justin’s reactions, his behaviors all seemed relatively expected from what Dairen had witnessed. Dairen wasn’t a therapist or psychologist in any way, but he knew PTSD when he saw it. He’d seen it enough after the war. That was the look that he recognized in his son, and it broke him a little more every time he saw it, and especially overtime he saw it rearing it’s head in a different way, like how he’d been acting that morning when they’d finally emerged from their room. But this, from Harris, Dairen was just at a loss and he didn’t know where to start or where to go. It wasn’t PTSD, at least not in any form that Dairen had bene a witness to it. Someone listening in without know the circumstances might guess paranoia, but was it really paranoia if he was right?
“Don’t get it confused, when I tell you to focus on the present, I’m not telling you to let the past go. You can’t do that, and I get it. Finding out something like that, it’s like—“ He broke off, trying to figure it out for himself. It felt like the first morning Harris had stumbled downstairs to meet him in shorts and Justin’s t-shirt, and Dairen had spent the rest of the day racking his brain, trying to piece together memories and figure out if he’d missed something so obvious for a long time. “It doesn’t just affect your present and your future. It’s also rewriting your past. And you have to deal with that. I just don’t want you to focus only on dealing with that. You have to find a way to balance that with what’s going on now. Don’t suppress it by only focusing on the present— you’ve seen what that does to Justin. But if you just dwell on the past, that won’t be any better. I don’t have any suggestions for how to balance the two. That’s something to ask Liz, but I know you need to find a way to. As far as trusting me and Justin, I don’t know. If you haven’t found us both trustworthy by now, then nothing either of us says is going to convince you otherwise.”
He paused, taking a drink of his coffee as he tried to consider what he was supposed to say next. How was he supposed to tell Harris to trust himself? Should he even say that? He hadn’t dealt with the same kinds of issues that Harris did, and with the way Dairen had grown up, trusting himself was fine. It was safe. “You’ve seen how Justin is, when he can’t rely on anything else, he trusts himself, and when he can’t do that, he doesn’t know what to do. I was raised the same way. So I honestly don’t know what to tell you. It felt like I couldn’t trust myself when I was first trying to get sober. Hell, I knew I couldn’t trust myself back in New York,” he muttered more quietly, eyes watching his fingers drum against the side of his mug. One month, as of a few days ago, since his last drink. He wanted to kick himself for giving up on years of sobriety, but he just pulled himself back and drew his eyes back to Harris’s. “I guess it was more that I couldn’t trust a part of myself. A certain instinct that always wanted to reach for the bottle. But the part of me that was stubborn, the part that fought in a war and survived, I could trust that part, if that makes any sense. Just, know that whatever instinct is there, to go for a bottle, or to cut off everyone else and hide away with your own thoughts, or to—whatever it is, the other part of you is stronger. That’s the part that survived months in a basement. That held on after losing Ellie and Cohen, that kept pushing on, and finding reasons to push forward after being betrayed by your guards. That part of yourself, you can still trust.” Maybe, Dairen wasn’t even sure. He hadn’t experienced PTSD to the extent that his comrades have. To a lesser extent for a little while after the war, sure, but he never really felt like he couldn’t trust himself, or like his own mind and body were waging a war against him. There was at least one thing he knew form personal experience though, that would still hold true for Harris.
“Time by itself isn’t going to help,” Dairen said, shaking his head. “It’s part of it, don’t get me wrong. But time, in and of itself, is just asking to be buried under your own thoughts and worries.” He set down his almost empty coffee mug and picked up the other apple, turning it over in his hands. He really wasn’t equipped to handle this, or to tell Harris how to handle it, but here he was, with a boy he’d all but adopted into the family looking at him like he was supposed to have all the answers, and he didn’t have shit. “If you ever think that—If worrying about Justin— if it comes to some point that that’s not enough of a reminder to yourself, come talk to me. Or if you don’t want to say it, give me some kind of—I don’t know, code word or something, and I’ll do whatever I can to get you out of whatever situation is going on, or just make you coffee and sit and talk, or sit in silence and read until you feel more grounded and in control. But I don’t want it to ever get to that point, so how about this.” He flipped through the dictionary until he got to the blank page at the end of the book and tore it out. “White-knuckling it through one day so you can fight with yourself to get a few hours of sleep, just to wake up and do it again playing on repeat for the foreseeable future isn’t going to help anybody. So let’s put together a schedule. It doesn’t have to be too intense or demanding, just enough to give you something to make it easier to get through the day. Let’s say, some time learning Russian? We can start with having a basic discussion in Russian, I’ll teach you, or Justin can, and then you can spend some time trying to read one of the Russian-translated books we brought. Justin can work on his French too. He needs the structure as much as you do.” Dairen started writing odd notes in no particular order. “We can add a few other things, as many or as few as you want. Maybe something physical too, helps relieve stress. I’m sure Vlad would be happy to help you with some physical therapy that would be beneficial. What’s something that you’d look forward to? We can schedule something at the end of the day, movie nights or listening to music out on the balcony or a crossword puzzle or anything, that you can look forward to. So anything that’s difficult to pull through, anything that your mind throws at you during the day, there’s something to look forward to at the end of it all.”
How was it not wrong if what he was wishing for as just a fantasy? Wherever she was now, there was no chance he’d ever see her again and even if by some miracle, she avoided prison and managed to find them, Justin would never allow her within touching distance of Harris. And he honestly didn’t know if he even wanted to see her again. But it was overwhelming to think about. To lose so much time debating between what was real and unreal and if her love fell on the side of ‘unreal’. He gave up on the apple in favor of sipping at the lukewarm liquid, trying to get himself grounded like Liz had taught him, focusing on the color, the smell, the taste and nothing else until he felt as much on solid ground as he could. It helped a little Dairen’d fallen silent too, apparently having an equal amount of difficult with Harris’ thoughts as he did.
Still, the minute reprieve gave him enough strength to look up and meet Dairen’s eyes when he started to speak again and now it was his turn to bite his tongue and just listen. His eyebrow rose a little when he started to provide some kind of metaphor of what it was like but ultimately was unable to and that almost made him want to smile. Though, he did bring up an interesting point. The brain was complex and at times reacted of its own will despite the fact it shouldn’t be able to act without Harris’ express intent. Though he did have to speak up once, partly because sometimes Dairen and Justin were so damn alike and partly because he couldn’t help himself. “I didn’t word that right. It’s not that I don’t trust you both. It’s the opposite. I mean, I’m out here telling you the things I try to banish to the furthest corner of my mind and it’s Justin I try to reach out to when I need help— the problem is I trust you guys like I trusted my Mum, like Blythe, like Keaton etc and I’m just…I’m scared. I’m scared to be wrong again. Apparently I can’t see the signs that someone is untrustworthy.” But god, did Harris want - no, need - them to be trustworthy.
Some time in between Dairen thinking and him starting to talk about relapse, his coffee ran out and he had to reluctantly set his mug down and just listen. It didn’t make much sense to him, having two parts and being able to trust the stronger. Maybe it’s cause he’d never been in a war but then Dairen was calling out what he thought Harris’ strongest parts had done and he couldn’t stop the flinch at the mention of the basement, immediately breaking eye contact as he continued to talk about losing his family, his guards, and that whatever had kept him going was worth trusting. “But that wasn’t a part of me.” he said quietly. “That was your son.” In every one of those cases, he’d done his best to just not fall apart and Justin’d done his best to get him the hell out of whatever dangerous situation they were in. He hugged himself a little tighter, familiar feelings of shame and guilt building to crash against the storm already raging inside of him.
Blinking back tears and unwanted memories, he forced himself to look up again, to listen to Dairen explain that time could be helpful or it could be harmful. He nudged his own apple towards Dairen as he picked up his own, hoping the other had a pocket knife and he could cut up pieces for them. Then the bottom of his stomach dropped out when he started discussing Harris’ … fuck, could he even put a name to it in his own head? It made it too real. But shame made his cheeks flare a bright pink as he fought the urge to squirm and take it all back. It was terrifying and mortifying to have someone talk about …about that but to his complete shock and amazement, he just offered further support and help. Another safeguard to add in his attempts (however weak they were lately) to stay alive. Harris literally didn’t even know what to say. He expected it from Liz but he hadn’t expected himself to ever say anything about it, much less get this kind of reply.
His eyes got blurry again if only because unexpectedly and probably completely unintentionally, he was stepping in to fill that hole Harris’d first come out here to vent about. It was stupid and childish and god, so naive, but he needed this. He needed to believe there was an adult who knew better than he did to just…care, and offer him advice and a safe haven. Maybe optimistically tell him it was going to be okay every once in awhile. Sniffling, he discreetly wiped at his cheeks and gave a little nod. He didn’t think it’d ever come to that point, but Liz had a way of digging into the most painful parts of his mind and he couldn’t exactly rule it out as a possibility in the near future until he began to find ways to deal. “I … thank you.” he settled on finally before making an involuntary small sound of pain as he ripped a page out of a book. It almost distracted him enough to not hear the words but the fact he thought Harris was getting a few hours of sleep nightly was kind of hilarious. And the idea of a schedule wasn’t…it wasn’t a bad one, really. Time’d lost so much meaning to them, it’d be nice to get some kind of semblance of it back again. His heart did that whole warming thing again as Dairen started the list with learning Russian either with him or with Justin before moving into books and it was just…a little overwhelming that for all of his gruffness and insecurity — he really knew Harris extremely well. “I don’t think Justin’d be willing or eager to read the same in French, but I can write down some alternative suggestions. Sports things, comedic things, comic books - shorter things he could read in chunks as his attention allows.” Panic flooded his system at the word ‘physical’ and he kind of wanted to balk and say he was fine. Justin needed the physical therapy, but Harris’ injuries hadn’t…”I could dance again?” he asked softly. “I mean, after we work up to it, I could…I hadn’t considered…didn’t think it’d be possible.” He’d just started to work on building strength up in his knee again when they’d been kidnapped and while he thought he was physically fine besides the scars - that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Muscles atrophied when they weren’t used and he and Justin had spent a lot of time prone and nearly motionless. As long as he wasn’t left alone with Vlad…it’d probably be okay.
His mind went blank as soon as the question was turned on him. Something good? Resting his chin on his bad knee, he tried to consider the options Dairen’d provided but movie nights as good as they’d sounded — it was too risky. It was too likely that if either he or Justin were having a bad day, feeling jumpy or scared or upset that they’d be set off by the littlest things and then have to act that out in front of everyone. So no movies. Music was interesting, because he relied on that heavily to get through his days and nights but the same thing applied. The wrong turn of phrase or beat could set off either of them. For a few minutes he was quiet, trying to remember what pastimes even where and then trying to figure out their relative safety in terms of triggers before he flushed again and peeked up at Dairen. “What if we had a puzzle?” he asked quietly. “Like those big ones. It’s mindless but it’s productive sorta. Any time someone needs a bit of quiet they could wander over and mess with it and at night we could all sorta unwind and maybe there’s music, or maybe there’s an audiobook or maybe it’s just silent depending on the kinds of days we’re having? Is that too lame?”
Drawing up the last dregs of his courage, he glanced at the meager list and looked at the apple and then back up at Dairen. “Um, maybe add in there some kind of… time spent in the kitchen. We’re still really out of practice with all of that and I can’t promise that it’ll help but I’d feel better knowing I could go in and make my own smoothie if I wanted one rather than having to war internally over being a bother and guilt about … well, everything it’d take to go and ask someone to make one for me. Please?” What else, what else. “Maybe rotating chores? Justin need tasks, especially if I’m wrapped up in a novel. Or having a bad day. Laundry, or washing dishes, or I don’t know. Whatever you guys feel we can handle that week or day or whatever. I uh, you’ve all done so much for us…it’d help I think us feel a bit more balanced and less like we’re taking advantage if we could give back some. That’s probably…that’s probably enough for now. It might take us a week or two to even work up to that, but … thank you. For caring and for listening to me and then..this. This is perfect.” He’d already felt some of the crushing weight of dreading tomorrow lift replaced with a new kind of anxiety but that was okay. He could deal with that.
When Dairen caught his son’s eye through the glass door, the younger nodding at the stairs without a word then turning to leave with Casey, he didn’t question it. Didn’t even feel the guilt that he had the first time Justin had left the apartment with Casey and sent him a text to check on Harris. He just waited the obligatory fifteen or twenty minutes to get up, so as to somehow pretend that he wasn’t playing the role of watchdog while Justin was gone, even though Harris had to know that he was. He wouldn’t blame Harris if he resented him for it, honestly. He knew how it felt, watching Justin go through the kitchen and bathroom cabinets, go through the closet, under his bed and through the various possible hiding places, ‘just checking’ as he’d always mumble after something happened that he thought might send Dairen back to the bottle. He’d resented that distrust, though never enough for it to actually become a self-fulfilling prophecy, though it came close once or twice.
It was different with Harris though, or at least Dairen liked to think that it was. Dairen always had the sense that Justin wanted to find a half-empty bottle hidden somewhere, just so he could shove it in his face and say that he’d always known his father couldn’t change. Harris, at least Dairen hoped, knew that he had support, and that Dairen’s constant checking on him wasn’t distrust, but more to remind him of that support. That and the fact that even though Dairen wasn’t at all familiar with the signs of depression or how to support anyone after the kind of trauma Harris and Justin had been through, he was still a bit uneasy about leaving Harris alone for too long with only his own thoughts for company.
So about twenty minutes after Justin had left with Casey, Dairen got up and made his way down the hall to check on Harris. He looked lost in his own thoughts, to the point that Dairen wasn’t sure that he even noticed the presence standing in the doorway. Checking his watch, Dairen decided to wait a bit longer to come back with an offer of coffee. Back outside, he returned to scanning through the local newspaper, picking out words he understood, and looking up a few others in the French-English dictionary on the table beside him. He’d made it through the sales ads, with a few that he circled for Mary, and had made it to the help wanted ads. There weren’t many, and mostly from places that looked too small to have even a company website. But it was something to read through, and he knew everyone was starting to go stir-crazy in the house by now. As much as there was something to be said for taking time to recover, there was also something to be said for getting out and breathing fresh air, doing something and having somewhere to go. Justin seemed to be in favor of going out, finding places to go, but Harris wasn’t, and Dairen couldn’t blame him. Still, being alone with his own thoughts was dangerous and painful, and being out around other people was stressful and panic-inducing.
Dairen sighed and set the paper aside, deciding that Liz would have to be the one to find some kind of middle ground for him, because Darien was at a loss. He checked his watch and was about to get up when he saw movement inside. His head snapped around and he started to get up, but stopped when the figure moving quickly towards the door was a familiar one. He relaxed back in the chair, and just watched Harris open the door, eyebrows quirking up in silent question before Harris starts demanding answers to an unspoken question. Instead of asking for clarification, Dairen just waited silently until Harris started speaking in complete sentences. He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees as he looked up at Harris, listening patiently to the explosion that he’d honestly expected weeks ago. Even though he’d expected it, it was still painful to watch and listen to, but Dairen remained stoic and patient as he continued.
When it seemed that Harris was done, his arms curled around himself and body seeming to deflate to half its size from when he’d appeared in the doorway, Dairen gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit down. I’ll make coffee.” He stood and waited until he was certain that leaving Harris alone on the patio was safe, before starting towards the kitchen. He paused, halfway through the glass screen door, and turned to look over his shoulder. “The only person that chose me was Agent Lacey. I don’t know what all was part of her grand scheme, if you want to call it that. But I wasn’t.”
Dairen turned and went into the kitchen, turning on the coffee maker and chooses the lightest roast coffee, hoping it wouldn’t be too jarring on the boy’s empty stomach. More as a hope than actual attempt, he also grabbed two apples from the bowl on the counter. He split the coffee into two mugs and balanced them in one hand to carry outside. He set the mugs down and put one of the apples beside Harris’s mug before dropping into the chair across from him. He stayed silent for a few minutes, sipping at his coffee and watching Harris, hoping he could at least breathe and calm himself slightly.
“What is it that you want?” Dairen asked finally. “If you won’t believe the answers, then what’s the point of asking her the questions? Do you need to talk to her? Do you need to just write out everything you’re feeling and want to say to her that you can’t? Do you think it’s going to help you to move forward, if you figure out why everything happened in the past? If you want the real story of what happened, I don’t know that anyone will ever know that except her, and like you said, you won’t believe anything she says anyway. I can go through Lacey’s notes with you, everything that he had and found. I can go through the agency files with you that I have access to. But if I’m being honest, I don’t think that’s going to do you any good.”
Sit and I’ll make coffee? Out of all the responses he’d expected or hoped for, an invitation to sit and talk more was the last thing he’d planned for. Did he want to? Part of him just wanted to run back to his room and solitude to try and numb out before Justin got home and realized something was wrong. Or more wrong than usual. The other part well, really liked coffee. And Dairen. So he shuffled to the chair, curling up there and beginning to wipe his cheeks and tune into the movement on the sidewalk as a distraction before Dairen spoke up again. Silently, he turned, listening as Dairen spoke but Harris wasn't sure he agreed with that. Agent Lacey may have chosen Dairen as his successor but that man would never have in a million years guessed Agent Lacey would be the one to take him of all people under his wing.
And Harris chose him.
His Mom could have hoped or planned for things going either way but it was his choice to trust, his choice to open up, his choice to listen. She couldn’t do that for him.
That finally allowed some of the building urgent panic to dissipate though he still desperately felt like crawling out of his own skin. That feeling grew worse when Dairen’s return came as a bit of a surprise and he startled before catching himself and flushing. Where was he even gonna go? Over the balcony?
He was so fucking crazy.
Sighing, he watched the coffee being set in front of him, completely unsurprised to see the apple set down too and just reached out to get at the warmth the cup provided and the comfort the familiar aroma had as he cradled it close to his chest. It was mercifully silent for awhile, allowing time for Harris’ thoughts to stop spinning and building and his breath to return to somewhat normal before the questions started to come.
Questions he honestly couldn’t blame Dairen for asking, but it didn’t make it any easier to answer.
He curled up tighter n the chair, eyes subconsciously flicking between Dairen and the door as he tried to really think before he threw more emotional vomit on the poor man. The thought of files and research and investigating on his mom made him flinch a little and he gave a little helpless shrug as he fought back down a wave of fresh tears.
“I want my Mum back.” Harris said as quietly as he could, ashamed and embarrassed about the desire. “I don’t know how to reconcile two decades of her being my best friend with the reality it was all just a ruse. I don’t know how to accept that. I don’t know how to make myself stop missing her, to stop wishing for her to show up and hug me and promise it was all a lie and she would never and that I'd get her back. I’ve never gone this long without talking to her. And I get for you and for Justin that’s hard to understand. But since I was a kid, it was me and her against the world, you know? Ellie for all her talents, had two left feet, so my Mom’s supposed love of dance got gifted to me. And when Piers turned his uh, let’s say attentions to me… it became our safe haven. We had ballet, and we had each other.”
Taking a small break to sip at his coffee and try to resist the urge to give in to tears again, he tried to re-ask himself the questions Dairen’d thrown at him. “It’s too much. This is my breaking point. I got through finding out our best friends were lying to us. And that everything about our closest friendships was not organic and that was a hard thing to swallow. Tarnished a lot of previously good memories and ruined our sense of invincibility and safety that all teenagers have. Started a paranoia that we had to be careful about everyone and everything in our lives. Then I lost Ellie and Cohen. And then Blythe betrayed us. Her friendship wasn’t just a lie in the sense of her being a guard, but it was a lie in terms of authenticity. She played me. Revealed Natasha’d been in on it too. And I apparently learned nothing because I repeated the exact same fucking thing with Keaton. I believed him, I liked him, I wanted to be considered part of his misfit family with Ryder and Alyssa and Kalen. I got played again. At this point, I’m not sure how to trust literally anyone else ever again, but then to drive that last betrayal literally home and say it was all my Mum’s doing? That I was born as a cover. That she thought I’d die before I’d become a problem. To be the reason that Ellie and Cohen are gone? It’s not that I want answers to my past as much as I just need something to be real. Everything I held on to, believed, shaped who I am now - that’s all been a lie. Everything’s been a game and that game’s only lead to death and I don’t understand. She picked Piers to have the cover of an invisible battered wife and brought children into that marriage knowing what would happen to them. It’s like we’re talking about someone else entirely. I spent years of my life trying to get her out of that hell. I was so scared she was going to die by his hand especially after I left for college. And she let me. Then she met you and everything I’d ever hoped for and needed for her suddenly happened. She left him. Was that to gain your trust and your...affections aren’t the right word, but you were emotionally attached then. To me, to her. It allowed her another cover to do whatever she was doing and you’d be as blind to it as I was. Did she target you because you were head of the agency and thus most important to distract or....did she genuinely care and need to make sure she left me with someone who’d be capable of protecting me? It would take me hours to explain every thought…all the hurt and confusion and ….horror, honestly. It’s just this constant … I don’t know what to explain it as. It’s just constant. Every thought, feeling, memory I have has been tainted now. Of everything and everyone. And you can say focus just on the present and try to let it all go but how can I? How can I trust you? How can I trust Justin? I can’t even trust myself. My own brain is fucking unreliable and I’m trying. I really fucking am because we all know how it ends if I try to go it alone.”
Drawing a shuddering breath, he picked up the apple just for something else to look at because this was all raw and too much and he couldn’t look at Darien directly right now.
“Everything’s been taken from me. My sister, my childhood, my history, my safety, my adopted families, my home, my sanity, my mum...and I know…I know all I can do is white knuckle it and hope that Liz has some way of making this better that’s not just fucking time, but that’s not good enough. That doesn’t work. That keeps all of you scared and on your guard and checking to make sure I haven’t…and I haven’t. For now it’s enough to remind myself that if I did, it’d push Justin to places I don’t want him to ever be in. That it’d be similar to me losing Ellie and I don’t want to ever put him in that kind of pain. And that keeps me … safe or whatever, but it doesn’t make it go away. It doesn’t make it hurt any less. I don’t function any better. So if you’ve got other ideas, please, please tell me. And please be real. I can’t lose anything else.”
It didn’t really hit him until the laptop closed that what he’d thought was an easy out for Justin was actually very true. Panic lurked just behind every heartbeat, his body had tensed for a fight his conscious mind didn’t know they were about to happen on, and his breaths came short and fast. There were words going on around him, but they were impossible to make out through the rushing in his ears. He knew where he was and what was happening — he was safe, on a couch, those touches were coming from Justin, his voice and Casey’s were dancing above his head somewhere, they were in Paris. Things were fine.
But the itchy restless desperation wasn’t letting up.
His skin was beginning to crawl and he had the endlessly frustrating urge to be alone fighting with the urge to never let go of Justin ever again. A few key words pierced through the fog descending on his brain (leave, groceries, wanna come), forcing his gaze to snap up to Casey’s before switching to Justin’s. There he found himself pausing, because everything in him was screaming that he didn’t want to go but he knew his fiancee. Justin needed a physical task to keep his mind busy. He couldn’t sit still long enough to read, or be soothed by a long playlist, and Harris knew without a doubt that if he so much as hesitated that Justin wouldn’t go.
So he resisted the call of his body demanding retreat, even held out against the impulse to curl in defensively on himself, and just stretched up to press a kiss on Justin’s cheek and get close enough to talk without feeling overheard or judged by Casey.
“I can’t go right now. But you go with Casey. You need to go as much as I need to stay and that’s okay. We both deal differently and I’ll be safe right here waiting for you to come back, yeah? You won’t be gone long. I won’t even have time to miss ya.”
Dropping his head onto Justin’s shoulder, he cuddled close for a few moments, but made it clear that if Justin didn’t willingly walk out the door, he’d do his best to push him out. Things had been strained between Justin and Casey and granted Harris’ probable irrational distrust of Casey wasn’t doing them any favors, but if this year had taught him anything — it was that being alone was the worst feeling in the world.
Every human needed connections, needed friends, needed family — and Justin was no exception to that.
Neither was Casey.
So he’d push and quell the shaking, ignore his brain, smile and tease and pass every one of Justin’s are you sure I can leave you alone mini-tests to give them both that.
Eventually, Justin agreed and after a bit more teeth-pulling over a grocery list and a few concerned glances passed around over his continuing disinterest in all things edible, the boys went on their way. Harris followed them out via the patio, lingering outside just long enough to blow a kiss and wave before retreating inside before they were even fully out of sight.
Trying to avoid notice and eye contact, he silently made his way back to their room, curling up on the made bed with his hood up and earbuds in. It was only in moments like this - alone and protected by his favorite comforts that he would let himself feel. Raw and uncensored.
To his own surprise, it wasn’t the basement that bubbled up, nor the horror that follows finding yourself an actual killer, not even grief — not today.
It seemed talking about friends and old times had made him nostalgic.
Today was about his mother.
Dimly, he’d come to the realization that this was the longest he’d gone ever not talking to her and it didn’t feel right. No matter how many times his brain tried to tell him he was a fool, she was no mother, his heart still cried out for her.
For so long, she’d been his candle in the dark. Ellie’d been his world, but she didn’t know. She didn’t know the parts of Harris that’d grown broken and dark under an impossible-to-beat hatred. She’d never sat on a wordless phone call, exchanging nothing but choked breaths and coughed swallows in a shared bout of grief. She’d never known the pure joy of a perfectly done routine done only for the joy of dancing.
So much of who he was had been Noémi’s influence. She picked him up, brushed him off, encouraged him to keep his head up, to keep being who he was, who was the only gentle touch he’d known… he could have been a bully. Or worse festered with more anger than he’d known what to do with and become an arsonist or worse.
But she instilled compassion, empathy, sensitivity in him and he’d never resented those parts of himself.
How could he now?
He could almost feel more than hear footsteps coming his way and wanted to roll his back to the door to hide the evidence of water on his cheeks, but he couldn’t make himself. Not yet. What if it wasn’t who he thought it was? What if they grabbed him?
So he just stayed put, giving his current handler a moment to make his assessment, but when they didn’t immediately turn and walk away, he glanced up. It’d been pretty blatantly obvious even to him that he was being monitored and not only in Justin’s absence. And to be fair, he couldn’t blame them. His mind was a minefield, his childhood questionable, and his coping strategies non-existent; he was quite literally the walking definition of ‘a danger to himself’. His only issue was constantly asking himself why did no one else see that Justin could use the same monitoring?
That’s mostly why he agreed on Liz flying out here.
There may be hope in the distant future for a mending or at least a peace between Dairen and Justin but it was not now. Justin’d not take kindly to the same kind of dynamic that had Harris allowing Dairen to see the most vulnerable parts of himself.
Not yet.
But he was just as troubled as Harris was — it just manifested in different ways. The nightmares, the violent outbursts, the hot and cold he ran with Casey and even his family.
He was just as much a danger to himself as Harris was. Only Harris had no idea how to help him. Not when Justin’s mind was wired not only differently but almost entirely opposite of his own and especially not when his own was so compromised.
But for now he just gave the man in the door a faint smile hoping to signal that he wasn’t ready for any kind of interaction just yet and looked away. His body remained alert, not completely trusting that he wouldn’t attempt to rush in or try to grab him or something else equally as irrationally, but after a moment, the footsteps turned and faded.
There’d probably be coffee the next time. A tissue. An awkward shoulder pat or two and despite his current low, the thought did tug a small genuine feeling of something warm in his chest.
He was still cared for.
Though…was that part of her plan?
Nausea made him bolt upright on the bed, thoughts beginning to race, unable to resist connecting a newly seen pattern.
She’d never left Piers. She’d never admitted his crimes. Not to any concerned parent, neighbor, teacher — but then she flies to Hawaii. She meets Dairen. She meets a man who puts Harris’ best interests in front of peace, money, … all of it. A man who offered --insisted -- to keep him protected despite his father’s wishes.
Then she buckled.
She sealed Harris’ trust and hope with that man.
His mind was a mess of rage, of helplessness, of that sickening guilty feeling after you realize you’ve been played, of disbelief, denial.
This was the one thing he’d been holding on to.
Had it been part of her plan all along?
Shoving off the bed, he started to pace, trying to keep time with his dueling thoughts. Each time he found support, he tried to pick it apart, only to fail again and again.
Time passed. He lost track.
But eventually he boiled over and recklessly charge out of the bedroom, on a mission, checking the bedrooms, the kitchen, the living room, before opening the patio door and meeting Dairen’s gaze head on.
“Where is she.” he demanded. Or at least, as much as one could ‘demand’ when your body was battling rage, grief, exhaustion, and a shit-ton of crying. Belatedly he realized that was entirely vague and needed clarification. “My mom. Where is she? I need to talk to her. I need…I need answers. I can’t trust the answers but if I have them then at least I can make the choice then whether or not to believe it, but I can’t —my head. It’s driving me more insane and none of us can afford that so just please. Can I write a letter? Talk on the phone? Bloody Skype. I don’t care. I just…I need to know.”
Feeling embarrassingly young and heartbroken, he deflated a little, wrapping his arms around himself and falling a step or two back. “I need to know what was real. If there’s fucking anything…like did she chose you? Was this all part of her grand design? I’m like a mouse who doesn’t know he’s in a maze despite the amount of times he’s run into a fucking wall. Jesus.”
It was all so clear now. Dairen sure was head of the agency, a real tough guy, a real useful guy — who also had a giant fucking void from the son he failed and a desperate need for redemption.
Harris had a giant fucking void from the father he never had and desperately needed to be saved.
What a fucking match made in heaven weren’t they?
How could he have been such an idiot?
He was so fucking weak. Pathetic. Stupid.
Piers, Marty -- they’d been right all along. They’d seen him for the mouse he was and taunted him. He’d been so fucking naive.
“It all...she...what do you do? What would you do? If you were here, right now, standing in my shoes. It’s all lies and deceit and betrayals and not real and I ... I am not okay. Please, don’t call Justin. Don’t tell him. I’ll be fine. I won’t -- I won’t do anything. I won’t worry him more. But it’s all - I’m all - forget it. Sorry. Stupid, it’s stupid. I’m - I’m sorry. Forget it. Dumb stupid naive...I don’t learn. Talking to her won’t fix any of this. Just gives her another chance to say what I want to hear and I’ll buy it ‘cause I’m desperate for .... fuck.”
He just wanted his Mom back. And she knew it.
“Now’d be a good time for Vlad to go childproof or mental-patient-proof anywhere I’d have access to.” he said dully, backing up until he hit the glass off the door and wedging himself between it and the wall as he folded down to his knees. “Just let me know when I can go lay down again.”
Justin was looking forward to the distractions that the kitchen offered, no matter how minor and short they would be. His skin still felt like it was buzzing, like static electricity that was waiting to discharge. Everything just felt slightly off, and he needed to move, to do something. If he stays in one spot too long if he focused inward too long, he felt like he’d go back. It was illogical, he knew. He was awake. Really awake, and he knew where he was. He knew Harris was the one dropping his hand to go and make breakfast. He knew the figures outside were familiar, friendly ones. Still, he didn’t really stop in one spot for very long, and when he did stop in front of the coffee maker, he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, back and forth. His fingers tapped restlessly against the counter, and he listened intently to the hissing and gurgling of the coffee maker.
To his credit, he didn’t jump when someone came up behind him. He knew where he was. He was just… unwilling to trust his own mind enough to stray further than the confines of the kitchen. But he was present here, now, and so was Harris. So Justin turned, leaning back against the counter and wrapping his good arm around Harris. He’d been forgoing the sling for a day or two, but his shoulder still rebelled if he moved it too fast or too far, so he had to concede to only let his hand rest on Harris’s arm, instead of being able to wrap him up completely. He took a deep breath, leaning his head down slightly to rest his cheek against Harris’s head. He didn’t realize he’d let his eyes fall closed until they were snapping open when he heard the glass door to the back porch sliding open. He raised his head from Harris’s, but didn’t bother pulling away when he saw Casey.
“Hey,” Justin greeted, his voice sounding surprisingly drained and worn out, despite having just woken up. He was about to ask since when they’d been doing weekly check-ins, because he hadn’t noticed, but he probably had missed a lot of things recently that would have made Lacey cringe and yell at him to be more observant and aware. Didn’t matter much now, or maybe it mattered more now. Hell if he knew, but he was too tired to even care. Catching up with Nate sounded good, though. Like something close to normal, even if he didn’t know what that really meant anymore. Looking forward to speaking with old friends counted as normal as far as he was concerned, and he couldn’t blame Alyssa and Ryder for wanting to catch up with them, considering the last time they’d spoken, he and Harris must’ve looked like petrified, skittish little animals. Besides that, talking and listening to their friends meant more time of not focusing on his own mind, and he was all in favor of that.
“It has been a while since we got to talk to them,” he said, looking down at Harris. “It’d be nice to catch up. What do you think?”
If there was ever one place he’d wish time would just stop, it was moments like this —when it was just him and Justin and he was wrapped up as close as he could be. For just a few brief moments, everything fell away. Past and future worries, nightmares, memories, all he could focus on was that the boy wrapped around him loved him. He was as safe as he could ever be. Those moments never lasted long though and this one was no exception, Casey’s gait bringing words along with it and Harris had to try very very hard not to balk or sigh. Why was it that someone was always asking something of them? Go here, do this, eat this, try harder, talk to Liz, get out of the house, — for some insane reason he’d pictured the vague concept of ‘rescue’ when he did think of it downstairs as peace.
It was anything but peaceful.
Naturally, Justin provided a neutral answer and an escape hatch and just for that he managed to get up the energy to open his eyes and return the look. He thought it’d be nice? To his own surprise, he felt his eyes start to prick and tucked his head back down against Justin’s chest as he tried to untangle what it was that was getting him all choked up. They’d had such a steady experience of despair, terror, anger, loss… that anything that fell outside those lines took him a bit to reconcile with a memory and a label.
Swallowing hard, he started quietly trying to explain before Justin’s expression clued him into the fact that was rapid French leaving his mouth and he had to shake his head a little and think a little harder about the words he wanted to say. “I miss it.” he said finally. “Like…I think, maybe I’m homesick in a way? For the chaos of living with everyone. Having different people to go to for different things at all hours of the day and night. Miss Jer and Luna and Keaton and Ryder. Even Nate. Everyone, really.”
In reality, he knew if they’d been dropped into that many people so abruptly after so many months of isolation, they’d have lost their shit, but maybe…maybe they’d also have gotten back on their feet faster. Everyone here was treating them with kid gloves now that they’d both quite literally lost their minds and it wasn’t helping. Justin and him were retreating farther and farther back into the isolation that felt so familiar and thus comfortable, to them now.
And he’d kill for some of Jer’s cookies about now.
“We can talk to them.” he said finally, wiping at his cheeks. “I’ll try to hold it together better this time.” His cheeks flushed at the memory and only drew away from Justin because the only thing worse than no coffee was burnt coffee and just busied himself filling mugs while the two boys hashed out the details of where and how and when.
It was only after Casey’s feet had left again and he’d taken a few sips from the ice/almond milk/ mostly coffee concoction he’d made that he spoke up again. Granted, his eyes stayed firmly on the drink in his hands, mind fuzzily trying to connect the pieces. “I think…for me, it was different than it was with your dad. I told myself I drank to sleep. Or that I drank to function when around other people, but I think a lot if was just… I was looking for companionship. Coral only ever talked to me when we were drunk or high, you couldn’t reach Luna unless you were on her wavelength with her and I get that took me too far a couple times, but I never felt alone. S’why I couldn’t kick it. Why I didn’t want to. What your dad saw as self-destruction…it was the only way we knew how to connect with each other in that kind of situation. Even if it was you or Nate or hell even Dairen kicking up a fuss about it — I was being noticed, hell, even cared for. Maybe not in the right or positive way, but … I don’t know. I just starting thinking that I missed them and that made me think about drinking and that …that all clicked. Like Luna and my Mum instantly got along the moment they met, but the three of killed a bottle of whiskey and then some that night too. She always drank a lot. Maybe in hindsight, she really did need the alcohol to be able to face me. To face what she’d done after Ellie…”
That was too complicated a mess to get in too and much too emotional to dive into right before chatting with old friends so he just forced the thoughts and feelings back, sipping more on his coffee to help him get a grip before looking back up at Justin.
“Just saying, that, if and when we get a group of friends again, then that’s the time to keep an eye on me. And that I don’t know how to offer Ryder or Alyssa comfort that doesn’t come in smoke, liquid, or pill form. That’s what was offered me -- how my Mum coped -- I can’t — “ he paused, blowing out a sharp exhale because this was the most he’d talked…in months, really. “Luna pushed hard for me to see Blythe as more than a betrayal and I wasn’t willing to. She’d cost me everything. But Keaton? My Mom? I don’t know how I feel about those. I’m still not entirely sure I believe what we were told. I don’t believe Keaton was on the same team as Max. I don’t believe he was heartless. There had to be a reason, but I don’t….I don’t think it was all fake. I know he loved Ryder. And I know I’m gullible and I’ve fallen for it before, but I don’t — I don’t think he was fake with me either. That’s a really convoluted way to say I kind of understand where Luna was coming from now. And I don’t know if Ryder wants to hear it. I don’t...I don’t know how to be a friend to anyone. Not anymore.”
Justin really didn’t care much what people said about denial and avoidance being unhealthy. No matter what Liz would likely argue with him, there was something to be said for distractions. When he had a goal, something in mind to focus on, it was so much easier to forget about the nightmare. To see the blood on Harris’s face and let the panic give way to concern. He carefully cleaned off the drying blood from Harris’s face once the bleeding had stopped, and wadded up the towel to throw in the laundry. “I love you too,” Justin said, leaning forward to steal a quick kiss. Justin just shook his head when he pulled back, uncertain really what to say to that.
Amazed him? Justin could’ve just seriously hurt him, and he hadn’t even been fully aware of it. “I don’t know why you’re so amazed,” he said honestly. “That could’ve been a lot worse than what it was.” At least Justin was fairly certain he wouldn’t hurt Harris in one of his flashbacks, as long as he recognized him. Maybe this nightmare had proven that. But it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t hurt somebody else, or that he wouldn’t hurt Harris if his fiancé caught him off guard, or if Justin was just too far gone to even recognize him. He balled his fist to keep his hand from shaking and stood up, walking to the closet to find a shirt. Focus. Small tasks. “Coffee sounds great,” he said, his words coming out slightly muffled as he pulled a t-shirt over his head.
Justin squeezed Harris’s hand gently and let his fiancé lead him down the stairs to the kitchen. It was surprisingly empty. Though maybe it shouldn’t be so surprising, Justin realized when his eyes flicked to the clock above the stove. It was almost ten-thirty. Justin peered around the corner and down the hall, to look out the glass doors at the back. he could see his dad sitting out there with coffee, and it looked like either Vlad or Casey with him. Justin couldn’t see more than a shoulder and upper arm from the angle. “We could warm up the, uh, pan chocolate, things in the microwave,” Justin offered, giving a small apologetic smile and hoping that Harris wouldn’t hold his butchery of the French language against him. “I’ll make the coffee.” That he could manage without burning the croissants or something. Coffee was easy. Simple task, good distraction. He could manage that.
There was a very long list of reasons why Justin consistently amazed him, and maybe he would write them all down and read them to him later, but for now he just held onto a little private smile. For someone who could wear arrogance like a cloak, it was always strange to see the little insecurities and doubts that lingered so close to his heart. But as far as the flashback went…Harris didn’t understand why Justin treated himself like a bomb about to go off. Maybe he could be dangerous in unexpected or unfamiliar places, but he knew with every fiber of his body that Justin would never and could never physically hurt him. Mind present or not, a part of him would know, and he’d refrain. That’s just the way it was. So he didn’t comment anymore on it, because there was no reason to. Justin wasn’t the type to believe in words, but in actions. It would take a few times of losing his shit but still protecting Harris to start to maybe consider the idea that Harris wasn’t in danger around him and until then, nothing he’d say would help.
Save maybe a dozen ‘I love you’s’.
Despite all the bravado and confidence he displayed for his boyfriend — he kept none of it himself and had to sigh a little in relief when the kitchen came up empty. He knew it was wrong to want to avoid just about everyone save for Justin and Dairen, but there was little room left in him to care. His focus had began to drift without his notice and jerked back as Justin started to talk, shattering the illusion of quiet and privacy they’d stumbled upon. Microwave? Oh. Right. Those were a thing and people used them. Shaking his head slightly at himself, he moved to collect two of the pastries from the collection still on the counter still having to reel in the desperate need to pull them apart and check them for tampering.
Carefully, he put them on a plate, wrapped them in a cloth, and slowly lifted them up to slide into the microwave with a little grimace. When he dropped back to the flats of his feet, he had to kick himself because leaving Justin to figure out the french microwave would have been hilarious, but just punched in for a few seconds, stopping it before it beeped and flipping them over, doing it one more time before carefully removing them and setting them aside. The coffee’d take more time so he moved over to where Justin was, mindful of his injuries, but still needing to be close as he tucked himself against Justin’s chest. He should probably have been productive and gotten out milk and sugar or honey or whatever Justin’d want in his coffee, but he was getting so exhausted trying to stay a few inches ahead of both their demons and keep their heads above water. Surprisingly, he was tired to the point, he didn’t even bother to lift his head when he heard footsteps, familiar now with each person’s gait and knowing it was Casey without physically needing to turn around and see it for himself and confirm he was alone and weaponless.
“Hey guys. How’s it going? I was just on my way to your room. Nate and I were doing our weekly check in and apparently Alyssa and Ryder are badgering him about video calling you guys again. Is that something I could interest you in? No pressure. They’ll totally understand if I ask for another time.”
The was a certain comfort in the darkness. A comfort that was equally as terrifying in how normal it felt. Justin was a regular visitor here, after all. So much so that when he returned, he wondered if he’d left, or if he was waking from dreams of escape. But this, here, it was almost comforting, in that he knew there would be pain, unrest, anger; but none of it was a surprise. None of it was to be feared. There was something there in the darkness. Always something there. And that was never a question. Never the unknown. Pain throbbed, muscles ached, footsteps echoed, and the darkness encompassed it all. Lights flickered against the wall, but now they had a reddish tint. The figures were impossible to make out, but at the same time became too real, too close. In a loud clunk, it all stopped. The sounds stopped and the flickering lights went out. The damp, stale smell in the air became more prominent, and a grunt came from somewhere beside him.
Justin’s hands pulled at the chains on his wrists. They didn’t release. They never released. He opened his mouth to yell out for Harris, unsure if words would even fall from his mouth. They sometimes did, usually not though. But he tried uselessly to yell at the men who he knew were moving towards Harris. Sometimes they came for him; he preferred those times. He could bear that easier. Stop, stop, STOP!! His voice didn’t work, but he tried anyway. The lights came back on, blood red this time, and in the middle of the room, Harris strung up. Too thin, ribs showing, but his skin was barely marred by a few scratches, as if they hadn’t pulled him up and done this the night before.
“Where is it? Where did he hide it?” The questions came, and as much as Justin tried to talk, yell, scream, no sounds came out. A thin line appeared under Harris’s rib cage, draining down in other lines until they stopped at the waistband of his tattered jeans. It looked almost black under the already red light. STOP!!! His voice failed again, and another neat, black line trailed over Harris’s too thin chest. He pulled at the chains again, panic suffocating his lungs. There was a rustle, and a whimper when the blade touched next, and Justin shot up, pulling at the chains again until his wrists finally came free, even as everything shifted.
The darkness was back, without the red tinted light, but his mind barely registered the difference. Harris was there, his face red in the blood those men had shed. Panic gave way to adrenaline now that his wrists were free and he lunged forward, swinging and missing the shadow of the man closest to Harris. “Get away from him!” Finally his voice was working again, as his fingers clamped around Harris’s wrist, jerking him back roughly against the concrete wall behind him, Justin defensive and ready for whichever of the men was going to try and take Harris away from him again.
Harris got a moment’s notice in the noise from the bed before Justin was yelling, causing his own heart to drop into his stomach as he tried to twist to see who’d come in without him hearing. Casey? Papa K? Someone worse? His eyes didn’t register anything other than a closed door, but he also didn’t get much time before he was being grabbed and shoved between Justin and the back of the headboard. His own panic had made his mind cloudy and Justin’d given him a scare and now he was trying to use what small sliver of his brain that remained functional and rational to figure out what the hell was going on.
If Justin was trying to drag him down into the basement — he was doing a damn good job of it. The pressure on his wrist, against his back, it was hard to keep himself present and believe they were in Paris in a bedroom and Justin was having a full-blown dissociative flashback.
This was all his st upped fault. He knew it as a bad idea to let Justin see. He should have gone straight to Dairen.
Think, Harris, think. What helps you? What did Ellie do the first time she found him hiding from invisible monsters? She drug him out and made him play tea party. That was not going to help here. Think brain, think. He shifted slightly, using Justin’s back as a prop to help hold the towel to his face and apply pressure as he reached with the free hand to grabble for the iPod that was never far from his side these days.
It wasn’t much but for him it made the line between here and there definitive. Sometimes it was the only thing he had, but it kept him grounded enough he could find his way back … eventually. So he just slipped the earbuds in one of Justin’s ears and hit play, hoping whatever it was would be jarring / loud / soothing enough to start to chip away at the dark concrete currently flooding Justin’s mind.
The other he leaned closer and started to talk. “Jay, it’s just me and you. I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re out. We’re in Paris. You’ve protected me. You just… you had a nightmare and now it’s okay, darling. Come back to me. Listen to the music, listen to my voice, ignore them, don’t watch. Feel me behind you, feel the beat of the music, find your heart and your breath and follow it back to where I’m waiting for you. Can you do that for me, Jay? Please?”
It was a selfish thing to want to lose himself in the floaty haze of drunkness, but he was growing so tired of failing to cope. Each day felt like he was just desperately trying to hold it together and failing miserably. If it wasn’t Dairen he was letting down, it was Mary. And if not Mary than Justin. The worst part was even if he retreated and refused to do anything - that was letting all three of them down and further increasing their worry and he just didn’t know what to do anymore. At least drunk he’d managed to mostly function like a normal human being last time.
That drew a bitter snort out of him that there even was a ‘well, last time I was reeling from being kidnapped and injured’ in his life. What had his life become? He was twinless, essentially homeless, a refugee, an orphan, and a college drop out. What a fantastic future he ended up having. His teachers were right-on about how fucking bright it was going to be.
Reluctantly, he spat out the mouthful of toothpaste he had, unable to really shake the habit of brushing a few times - just in case- before glancing up towards the mirror. It hadn’t gotten less strange to see the face in the mirror, he could hardly call it a reflection if he didn’t recognize it, but he hadn’t yet perfected the art of shaving without looking. And he had to shave. It was one of the first things that separated here from there when things got blurry.
Part of him wanted to ask someone to cut his hair, but the last pictures anyone had of him his hair was short and neatly done so it felt a bit like a disguise to keep it long. One more defense against getting recognized and grabbed again. So he just shoved it back and wet his face before starting the process of cleansing, lathering, shaving.
He caught his eyes closing a few times and tried to shake off the heavy drowsiness that followed him around closer and closer each day. He’d have to venture out for coffee after this, though even that had quickly lost its effectiveness. It seemed they either both laid there and stared at the ceiling all night, or Justin’d start to toss and turn sending him scrambling for the window seat before he woke up all haunted and trembling yet still trying to convince them both he was absolutely fine.
Maybe he was.
What the fuck did fine mean anymore anyway?
Bringing up a heavy hand, he started the process of line up, pull, rinse, tap, repeat. It was too easy to fall into a lull and the next thing he knew his head was jerking up and his jaw was stinging.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Adrenaline cleared his mind enough to delay the impulse to get out and get out now just long enough to grab a wash cloth and wipe off the sink before the fear and nausea drove him out.
It was enough to stumble into an unfamiliar room and see Justin’s darkened lump under the sheets to jar him back into the present and keep him there, but he was still shaking violently as he tried to hold the cloth with one hand and quietly dig through the bags the Kleins kept adding to of ‘essentials’ they might need.
Toothpaste, deodorant, shaving cream, various after shaves, body washes, shampoos, lotions, aspirin, a small medicine cabinet, - there had to be a styptic pencil somewhere. Each rustle made him flinch and increased his already ragged breathing, but he didn’t hear a noise from Justin after each pause so he kept going.
The search turned up empty, of course, so he fell back on his heels, barely breathing as he took the towel away and brought his free hand up to touch. His fingertips came back wet and that drew an involuntary low panicked whimper from him as he brought the towel back up and tried to figure out how to fix this before Justin woke up to find him covered in blood.
Dairen didn’t sleep the night before they were planning to leave New York. He’d spoken with Casey the day before, and planned for the flight to leave New York a few hours after Casey and the others landed, so he could get them settled safely there before meeting them at the airport to leave with them. At four in the morning he was still pouring over details of the plan, and picking apart different neighbourhoods in each of the three countries Justin and Harris had given him, as well as a few countries he added as back-up plans. He checked his watch again as he got up to make another pot of coffee, sneaking quietly past the couch where Vlad had been sleeping since they arrived back. They had agreed to open the flash drive at exactly seven am, leave the house by eight, and they would be on a plane by ten. The small part of his mind that ain’t consumed with running over every detail of the plan endlessly hoped that Casey had been able to sleep on the red-eye flight from Japan, or the second flight was likely to be miserable for him. By the time Vlad found him in the study at exactly 6:55, Dairen had a list of at least three homes he’d found for rent in each of several cities in each country that they could possibly be going to, with the phone number to contact the landlords, each of which Dairen had done as thorough a search of as he had time to. About the time that Vlad took the chair beside him in front of the computer, Dairen heard the alarm sounding from Justin’s room down the hall. “Now or never,” he muttered in Russian, though it was more to himself than to Vlad. He opened the flash drive, and started searching immediately for the list of names, countries and organisations that he and Vlad had written out. Every major organisation except for Interpol was on the list, and even then a few low level employees in different offices were still there. Vlad was writing down furiously each country, office and name that would be of benefit that didn’t turn up on the list. Of the countries they’d been planning to go to, only France didn’t show up on the list. Or rather, only one lower level agent showed up, and they were in the south of France. Likely more of a coincidence than an actual undercover operation there. It was their best bet, so Dairen was already dialling the number for one of the homes for rent just outside Paris’s city centre as he picked up Mary’s bag over his shoulder and dragged his own behind him out to the car. Vlad stayed in the study to send the list to the few names of higher level employees at Interpol that hadn’t shown up on the list while Dairen was ushering everyone else out to the car. As a last minute thought, he grabbed the bottle of sleeping pills from Vlad’s medical bag and stuffed them into his pocket. At least he knew that Mary hated flying and would want to be asleep for the duration, but he was hoping he could convince Harrison of the same.
Justin woke for the first time since they were rescued without dreams, nightmares or being confused about where he was. The alarm blared loudly and he reached out to shut it off, prepared to roll over and go back to sleep until the sounds of his dad and Vlad in the office down the hall reminded him what today was. He gently prodded Harris, leaning over to press a kiss against his cheek. “Ready to say goodbye to New York, babe?” It was bittersweet, but New York itself was more bitter than sweet as of late, and Justin couldn’t say that he was too upset to be leaving it behind. It made him nervous not knowing exactly where they were going, but he tried to convince himself that that was alright. He was failing, but he was trying. He had gotten better at getting dressed with only one usable arm, and his leg had healed enough that he could usually manage without his cane, until a lot of stairs or a lot of walking reminded his leg how much it still hurt. Still, he managed to at least help with one of the suitcases they’d already packed and had sitting by the door, and pulled himself into the backseat of the car, squashed slightly between Harris and Vlad. Justin could tell by the way his mother’s knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly that he wasn’t the only one on edge about the impending move, but shifted his gaze back to his dad as the man spoke, turning around almost completely to face them. “The only country on the list we had that didn’t have a large amount of TC or agency influence was France. Harris, if there’s any city or region you want to stay away from, just let me know. I’ve found a few possible cities and homes that we can rent, and I’ve checked out the areas and the landlords.” Justin reached over with his good hand to squeeze Harris’s gently. He didn’t mind going to France, besides the fact that he didn’t know the language, but he had Harris. What he was more curious about was why his dad still looked slightly uncomfortable, like he wanted to say something else. “What else?” His dad shot him a quick glare at the question, but Justin just shrugged, and his dad turned his gaze back to Harris. “I know we’ve had arguments over sleeping pills, and it’s completely your choice, I just wanted to give you the option. Mary doesn’t like flying, so she always takes sleeping pills before we go on a flight. If you think it would be easier for you if you’re asleep during the flight, I have some extra sleeping pills. You’ll be safe. Me, Vlad and Justin will all be there, and Casey is going with us as well. He’s meeting us at the airport.”
Harris had been dreading the sun coming up. For as unsafe and uncertain and temporary this house had felt - it was now absolutely a safe haven compared to going out on a commercial airplane and heading to who knew what country with TC nipping at their heels. If they’d been smart about it - they should have opened it using airport WIFI. It’d have given them the longest headstart and been nearly impossible to trace. Why hadn’t his brain been working two weeks ago when they first started this plan? Probably because it’d taken a full week for him to realize naps were a thing he could do. They weren’t always long nor peaceful and it seemed they could only happen in bright sunshine in anything that wasn’t a bed. The first time he’d been on the couch trying to read but his eyes had been burning so bad he couldn’t focus, so he’d actively tried to sleep. Pillow, blanket, spread out on the soft couch, but he could not get comfortable. So he tried the bed but that was worse. Then he figured it wasn’t what his muscle memory knew so he’d tried sitting up against the wall and only then was able to nod off for awhile. Waking up from there had thrown him through a hell of a loop though so he’d quickly tried to find alternatives and eventually realized the chair in Dairen’s study worked just about as well. So he would head there after breakfast, reading to calm both mind and body after eating until he’d doze off for an hour or so. At least for a few days until their looming departure got too close to ignore giving panic enough room to settle its claws in deep. That was the panic that had him now despite vaguely hearing the noise and knowing he should shut it off, but he couldn’t make himself move. Justin was though, kissing his cheek, asking questions and rolling away. How did he make it look so easy? It felt like there were actual boulders keeping him on the mattress. Up until the point the little voice in the back of his head started screaming, ‘they’re coming, they’re coming, they’re on their way, they’re almost here’ and that got him up and moving. He lost time between rolling out of bed and finding himself in the car between the door and Justin but he figured he must have been cooperative if they were on the road. Oh, fuck, they were on the road. His stomach twisted violently, his hand automatically reaching for Justin’s, as he struggled to remember to breathe. TC was coming, they were heading to the heart of New York City - in the one place that had to be under constant surveillance for them since word of their escape - this was a horrible horrible idea. That immediately got worse when the eldest Klein turned to inform them they were moving to France for the foreseeable future and of course they were. A slightly disbelieving bitter sound slipped past his lips as he drug this eyes away to look out the window before the eyes of strangers in the next car over made him turn back in toward Justin unaware of the low panicked noises he was making. There was nowhere in the world that was safe. How did they fight against those odds? His eyes started to burn as helplessness started to thread its way in-between panic and exhaustion, furthering hampering his ability to breathe. Why France. Justin’s voice cut into his thoughts, demanding more, and what? There was more? Painfully, he brought his eyes to Dairen and then just stared. Sleeping pills? How - what? His brain felt too chaotic to hold one thought for long so he just dropped it onto Justin’s good shoulder, trying to stop panicking long enough to make two goddamn decisions. “Batignolles-Monceau.” he said finally, then cleared his throat, and said it again, uncertain if it was even audible the first time. “It’s at the North-west edge of Paris. It’s the 17th arrondissement. If Noemi hears we’re headed to France, that’s where she and anyone who works with her would be looking for me. That’s where my - her - family is.” For another moment he was quiet straining to hear the sounds of Justin breathing over the hum of the car and the sounds of five nervous adults before giving a little shrug. “I don’t know.” He was full on shaking already and the skyline was still miles away. “I don’t know.” He’d been asleep for his last voyage over the Atlantic and that didn’t end so well for him. He looked up, losing the battle against the water building in his eyes as he searched for Justin’s opinion. “I didn’t stand a chance last time ‘cause I couldn’t defend myself but I don’t - I’m going to draw attention to us. I can’t relax. I might scream myself hoarse if I take those but I might do it wide awake too and I - I don’t know which is worse.” His head shook then, fingers tightening and releasing on Justin’s as his breath sped up. “I can’t do this. I can’t. I’m flipping out in the fucking car - how am I going to get through security and a metal detector - you can’t knock me out and carry me. If I freak out they’re gonna whisk me to private search and you’ll demand to come with and we’ll all get arrested. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Get a grip. Get a grip.” What could they do? What should he do? How did he make this work? He thought about calling Liz and begging her for help but what could she say? There was no quick fix. Hold on. “Did you - does anyone have any benzodiazepines? You talked before about getting me ’n Justin on ‘em.” He lifted his head, brushing his tears aside before remembering his audience, “Xanax, Ativan, Valium erm, your bottles’ll probably say alprazolam, lorazepam, diazepam - anything with a ‘-am’ they’ll slow down my brain, start working as a sedative, relax my muscles so I’ll stop looking like I’m having some kind of fit and can start working within 10 minutes. It’ll get us through the airport and then yeah, you can drug me. I don’t think I could do it another way, fuck. I’m sorry.”
Dairen nodded, turning back around and crossing the home in 17e off his list, as well as the one in 8e, since it looked like it was on the same side of town. “If it helps, I don’t think any of the rest of your family there is TC. There was only one person in France on the list, and they live in Bordeaux. There’s places I checked out that are in, ah, 5e, 6e and 12e. Do you know any of those areas? Any that you’d prefer over the others? All the places I found are on La Seine river.” Dairen turned back around, wishing he could offer some kind of option beyond sleeping pills to help Harris relax. He was already panicking and they weren’t even at the airport. At the name of the medicine, Dairen checked the bottle in his pocket, but it didn’t have any of those words on the bottle, so he relayed the question to Vlad in Russian. “Ok, we have diazepam. We’re about twenty minutes from the airport, So whenever you think you need to take it.” He took the bottle from Vlad and checked the back before passing it to Harris. “The directions are in Russian, but you just need to take one.”
Justin listened to the discussion about neighbourhoods and then about types of medications, staying out of both since he didn’t know anything about either. He knew the sleeping pills that Harris had taken before, and recognised the bottle that his dad pulled out of his pocket as one of the ones that he said he had a better reaction to than others. It still didn’t make him feel any better, and he covered Harris’s hand and the small bottle with his free hand when his dad handed it to him. “Are you sure you want to take it? You don’t have to.” He wanted to offer some kind of alternative. A promise that he would be right there beside Harris, keeping him safe and grounded the entire time, but he couldn’t really make that promise. They couldn’t go through security together, and that’s what Harris was worried about freaking out over. “Don’t be sorry, babe. Just want to make this as easy for you as possible.” He leaned over to press a kiss against Harris’s head, chasing away his own darkening thoughts. The thoughts that questioned why they were leaving without Dr. Phelps, why they hadn’t talked to her again before leaving, why she hadn’t thought of the very real and very likely possibility of PTSD, or whether she’d just thought he or Harris wouldn’t take it well if she’d said it out loud. “You’re gonna be alright, Har. We all will be. I’ll be right here beside you.”
Harris really really did not want to talk about TC right now. Especially in relation to family in France. So he ignored Papa K in favor of pressing closer to Justin until more questions were being asked of him and seriously? It was all he could do to keep breathing and even that felt like a battle he was losing more often than not. How did they expect him to drug up what little he remembered from his times in Paris? Then again, maybe Dairen did know what he was doing because it did help. Going back kept his brain from latching onto their very immediate future and it got a little easier to breathe. "5's a student area, busy all the time, but everything's accessible and affordable. 6's the most expensive part of Paris but quiet. 12 is a jock community, kinda. Lots of parks and live sports and that. Settles after dark unless there's night games, pretty quiet. We'd probably stick out in 6. So 12 or 5." He looked up at the name of the drug he was looking for and watched Mr. Klein check it before reaching out and taking it. He hadn't wanted to go this route. He knew himself and knew it was a dangerous fucking game to play. S'why he'd fought so hard against anyone trying to put him on anything, he knew he had the same destructive streak Luna did. Still, he just raised sore eyes to Justin’s as the man’s hand dwarfed his own, stilling him from bringing the bottle any closer. “I don’t see another way.” he said honestly. “There’s a good chance I’ll freak out even with this but it’d be a hell of a lot worse if I go without. Are you going to be okay? I know you want to stay alert but if you’re even a little nervous about being around that many people in a place we can’t escape or control - this is an option for you too.” They weren’t ready for this. Liz would probably have ripped Dairen a new one if she knew what he was planning. But they didn’t have a choice and this was his best shot at not fucking it up for everyone, so he pulled his hand back, glancing at the bottle to check the dosage himself. If it was 0.5 - one was not going to do him a whole lot of good in a hurry, he didn’t have the luxury of taking it every 6 to 8 hours over a course of time, but 2mg with his current weight, that might work. “It’s not going to be easy.” Harris mumbled. “Nothing easy about the airport, the plane, landing in Paris, living in a city - nothing is going to be easy for a really long time.” He still leaned into the kiss though, shaking out one of the little white pills and swallowing it dry. It still surprised him whenever Justin offered empty comfort, but he just leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek before looking back at Dairen to hand the bottle back. “Was Liz on the list?” He didn’t know how complete of a list it was - if it was just higher ups or an entire roster of known TC agents - nor did he really care. He just needed to know if he had to start looking for a French therapist that spoke enough English to help Justin or if he could make a phone call as soon as they’d gotten to the gate. He had a feeling he’d need the help.
Dairen nodded at the new information, looking back at the list of rentals he’d written out. “Jock community might be easier to blend into than a student area. At least three of us will definitely stand out in a mostly student neighbourhood.” He pulled out his phone and dialled the landlord’s number that he had for a two bedroom furnished apartment in 12e. He paused for a moment when he heard the French words in his ear, and ran his eyes over the translation he’d looked up earlier. “Bonjour. Vous parlez Ingles? Great, I’m calling about the vacation apartment you have for rent.” He’d probably butchered the French pronunciation, but as really just glad that the woman spoke English. If she hadn’t, he would’ve had to ask Harris to translate and help make the arrangements, and he didn’t think Harris was quite up to the task, as he glanced in the rearview mirror to see him and Justin having a discussion over the pill bottle. When the arrangements for the apartment were finally set, Dairen hung up the phone and glanced back at Harris at the question. “No, she wasn’t anywhere on the list, or anyone that she works with. As far as I can tell, there’s no reason to suspect that she has any connection to TC or the agency apart for knowing you two.” He turned back around when he felt the car slow down and turn, eyes catching on the airport terminal ahead of them.
Justin pressed his lips together and sighed slightly, but let Harris take the bottle and a pill into his palm. He shook his head at the offer, though. “Maybe I’ll take something on the plane.” It was a lie, but Harris would be asleep on the plane. He really couldn’t be expected to be anything less than completely alert when Harris would be unconscious on a plane full of people. “No, it won’t be easy. But we can get through it together. One part at a time. Let’s just get through airport security first. Then we’ll worry about the plane trip, and everything else after that.” He breathed a bit easier when he felt the returned kiss, as if some kind of confirmation of his own empty comforts. Still, it didn’t make him relax as much as he did when his dad said that Liz hadn’t been on the list. She was safe. Or, as close to safe as they could be sure of. “We can call her when we get there if you want,” he said gently, reaching up to run a hand through Harris’s hair. When he looked up again, they were at the airport. His mom was parking the car, and Vlad and his dad were ushering them out of the backseat. And not letting him grab any of the bags. “Just let me grab something. I’m not an invalid,” he demanded, glaring at his dad. “You can grab your cane. And don’t argue on that with me. I know you can walk without it, but altitude, air pressure and hours spent sitting in an airplane seat are not kind to completely healthy bodies. Your injuries might not be agreeing with you when we land, and you’ll probably need it.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out passport and ID’s and handing them around to everyone. “Your fake papers have your same first names, so you won’t mess that up, but remember your new last names. In case anyone asks. We’ll buy the plane tickets when we get inside.”
Harris startled slightly at the rough French in the car, but it still made a long forgotten part of himself stir. For a long time French had meant safety and home. He'd always been encouraged to be his most honest self in French-speaking areas - the dance studio, his grandparent's house, alone with his mom, but he could already tell he was going to have a hell of a time teaching a handful of Russians how to speak a romance language. "You should probably remember that phrase," Harris told Justin softly. "Parlez-vous anglais? Do you speak English, you'll need it a lot. I'll get a notebook in the airport, and write out all the basics for you guys. Enough to get us through the first few days at least. Also a french to english dictionary. You should all carry one. Je ne comprends pas is I don't know. I feel like I've taught you that one before." He looked back when Dairen answered his question about Liz giving a small nod of his head to show he'd heard before shrugging at Justin's offer. "Je ne sais pas." Slowly, he unfolded climbing out of the car and looking at the airport with no small amount of trepidation. He wished suddenly they’d stopped for clothes, feeling like the ragamuffin way he and Justin were dressed might draw even more attention their way but there was nothing to do about it now. Maybe they could buy some souvenir sweats or something. He looked away from the building at Justin's protesting and huffed playfully. "You've got me to hold onto, let them muscle the heavy stuff." He pointedly slipped his now barely shaking hand around Justin's good arm, giving it a light squeeze before taking their passports and papers, flicking through them to memorize their names and stories. "Oh hey, we're off to Paris to get married. You'll get to gush some more about being my fiancè," he teased before squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath. "Alright, come on. Let's do this before I can’t. Wait, shit it doesn’t look believable to be going to Paris with no bags.” Squaring his shoulders, he took a messenger bag and dropped it across his chest and back with a light curse before grabbing one of the roller bags. “If anyone asks, you got in a skiing accident and I’m going to politely make fun of you if anyone starts staring, alright?” Harris said quietly, adjusting the bag a final time before starting to take a few halting steps towards the door. One thing at a time. Walk in the door, don’t balk - don’t run - don’t scream. Okay. Then find Air France. He double-checked Dairen was within a few people of them before following Justin to the counter and greeting the teller with a heavy Parisian-accent. Somehow they got their tickets and got herded off towards security. Despite the drug in his system, he still felt himself beginning to panic surrounded by multiple floors of strangers all speaking at various volumes but somehow made it through the line, flashed his passport, laughed at the tease of him being an obviously nervous flier, and got their bags onto the belt. He had to separate from Justin to get waved through the x-ray machine and at least got to busy himself with collecting their things again while Justin took his turn before they were finally past the crush of people and just in time. He was beginning to feel his control slip, edges of his vision going a little blurry so he tugged Justin towards the bathrooms, afraid to even wait the few extra minutes until everyone had gotten through. The first door he tried was locked and he almost started crying right then and there but the one next to it opened and he barely noticed the disgusted look they were shot as he blew past her and her kids dragging Justin behind him. He slammed the door, fumbled to lock it, then drop the bags and double over. “Can’t breathe, can’t breathe.” he mumbled, choking while his body went haywire - heart working over time, a cold sweat starting to dampen his skin, lungs rebelling as he fought the urge to be sick. He wasn’t sure he had eaten anything but his body tried like hell anyway. So much for fucking diazepam. Realistically he knew mere seconds were passing as his body overwhelmed his mind, but it felt like years to weather. His cheeks were wet again when he came back to his skin about ten minutes later and felt a pressure on his chest that made him look down. It was only then he heard Justin’s voice, directing him when to inhale and exhale, it took him a few tries to match his rhythm, but the pressure in his chest and head lifted almost immediately once he did. He leaned back a little, not quite ready to talk as he closed his eyes again, focusing on the way they breathed. His head continued to pound, stomach doing lurches powerful enough to remind him of being at sea, but it got easier to ignore as they sat. “M’sorry.” he said finally, “But thank you.” He had no idea when he’d gone from throwing up bile to sitting but he was so so grateful that Justin’d never been the type to run way or be scared away by his crazy. “We couldn’t hide here until our flight by chance, could we?” he asked quietly with a soft little laugh before forcing his cloudy brain to try to think of a way to make it until boarding. “It’s so loud,” he said finally. “I - I can’t even hear myself think.”
Justin nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Parlez-vous anglais? Sounds better than my dad’s butchered attempt. I’ll remember that.” He let out a sigh, shaking his head at the offer. “I didn’t think this through entirely. I don’t know how easily I’ll be able to pick ups third language. But hey, immersion, right? Supposed to make it easier?” As he watched his dad and Vlad pulling suitcases from the bag, he smiled weakly at Harris, leaning down to press a kiss against his cheek. “Guess I can do that,” he said. “Besides,” his dad chimed in, making him look up. “If people see you with a sling and cane carrying all the heavy bags, and Harris just walking beside you not carrying anything, it’ll draw more attention, and not the good kind for Harris. You can check the bags at the counter so Harris doesn’t have to carry them further than inside the front door.” Justin gave a quiet grunt of agreement and took his passport from his dad, flipping it open to check his name and go over his story with Harris. Moving to France under the guise of being a national’s fiancé was definitely something he could do. “Gladly. Everyone we talk to is going to get sick of me rambling on about my amazing fiancé,” he teased with a bright grin. His smile fell immediately though at the soft curse harris let out when he put one of the bags over his shoulder. “Be careful. You won’t have to carry it too far.” He knew logically that he couldn’t take the bags from Harris. Besides the fact that it would make him even slower hobbling along, his dad was right. Harris would earn a lot of glares from other passengers if they saw Justin carrying everything with his sling and cane, since Harris’s injuries weren’t as readily obvious to other people. Even knowing that, Justin still hated it, but he just nodded at the explanation for Justin’s injuries and turned towards the terminal. Behind them, he heard his dad giving Vlad his cover story in Russian, something about being a diplomat, and traveling Casey, who had the cover of some government official set with the task of seeing Vlad to the embassy in Paris. He hadn’t asked what his parents’ cover story was. As an unrelated passenger, he shouldn’t know anyway. He kept to his story as they talked to the teller, and answered her side-eyed look when they asked for one-way tickets by rambling about wedding plans. It seemed to satisfy her well enough, and she handed over the tickets and directed them towards security. Getting through security required answering less questions, but it also required Harris to leave Justin’s side, which made him anxious more for Harris than for himself. He was glad that his cane wasn’t metal, so there wasn’t an issue about walking through the metal detector with it, and he was back by Harris’s side as soon as he was on the other side. “Babe, you’re alright, ‘m right here,” he muttered quickly as soon as he was beside his fiancé again. He had started to recognise the early signs—the quick, short breaths, the tiny beads of sweat that formed on his skin— though hadn’t yet figured out a way to intervene and keep Harris from going to into a full on panic attack, and today clearly wasn’t going to be the day that he figured out that trick, as Harris was already tugging him hurriedly away from the security checkpoint and towards the bathrooms. His cane dropped to the floor beside the bags as soon as the door was locked behind them, and he rushed over to where Harris was doubled over. He crouched down to where he could see Harris’s face, and gripped Harris’s arm with his good hand. His knee-jerk reaction was to pull Harris against his chest and just hold him there, but if Harris was having trouble breathing, he knew that would only make it worse. “Hey, babe, just breathe. You’re alright. Its just you and me.” He racked his brain for the instructions Liz had given him for talking Harris through a panic attack. Breathing exercises were the only thing he could remember off the top of his head so he started with that. “Breathe with me, ok? Can you do that? Inhale, count to three, exhale for three.” He moved his good hand from Harris’s arm to his face to wipe away the tears, and left his hand there against Harris’s cheek. “Babe, look at me. Just match my breathing ok. In for three, out for three.” He repeated the mantra more times than he could count until Harris’s breathing started to slow down to match his. “There, that’s it. You’re doing good. Just focus on breathing, listen to me.” There was a certain amount of effort that Justin had to put in to keep his voice calm and gentle, but he knew if he started getting panicked because Harris was, it would be that much more difficult for Harris to calm down. He shook his head at the apology and moved to sit on the floor beside Harris, wrapping his arm around Harris’s shoulders to pull his fiancé closer to him. “It's what I’m here for, babe,” he muttered quietly, pressing a kiss against the top of Harris’s head. He gave Harris a small smile at the question and shook his head. “Nah, probably not. My dad would conduct a one-man search party of the entire airport. But we can hide in a here for a little bit longer.” He wrapped his free hand around Harris’s, running his thumb back and forth over the back of his hand as he talked. “Then don’t. Hear me, just listen to me. I’ll be right beside you the entire time. I’m not going anywhere, жених,” he said gently. He was silent for a moment before reaching forward to pull the small bag towards him and unzipped the front pocket. “Or, when in doubt, music?” He offered, pulling out his old iPod. “Might not have a charge enough to last the entire flight, but it can last at least until you go to sleep on the plane, I’m sure.”
Harris went easily as Justin settled next to him, letting his eyes close as his nose nudged along his collar, eager to block out everything but his boyfriend. Fiancé. For a couple more frantic heartbeats, he listened to the tone of Justin's voice, rose and fell with his chest, and breathed to match the strokes on his hand, giving himself a few moments to come back. He was starting to feel slightly more grounded but was afraid it was a temporary solution and would disappear as soon as they stepped back out into the chaos. Justin moving followed by unexpected noise popped his eyes up and he stared in some surprise at the little device hanging from Justin's fingers. "Oh, you remembered." He'd tried to leave it in the bag, afraid Justin would start to feel shut out if Harris had it in his ears all the time, but he couldn't resist it now. Closing shaky fingers over it, he pulled it close, untangling the earbuds and sliding them in before hitting 'shuffle' and 'play'. Only then did he lean over, pressing a soft kiss to Justin's cheek, lightly squeezing the hand in his own. "I love you so much, you know? We can probably - I'll be okay." That was a tossup really but they were on borrowed time and much longer would have Dairen banging on the door and Harris really didn't want that, so he reluctantly separated from Justin so he could brace himself to help Justin back up to his feet before digging around for their mouthwash and staring at the door, feeling like opening was a much bigger hurdle than it should be.
Justin stayed silent, just as focused on trying to calm his own panicked heart rate as he was trying to calm Harris’s. But he was fine. He was okay, and he was calmer now, and they could make it until the flight. Justin let out a short breath, barely a laugh and shook his head a bit in disbelief. Like he would ever forget either the iPod or the fact that music and blocking out everything around him helped Harris try to stay calm and present, probably more than Justin did, but he was fine with that. He could at least be the one there to give Harris the iPod, and be the physical comfort beside him while the music helped him block out the rest of the world. “I love you too.” He reluctantly accepted Harris’s help standing to his feet. After sitting there and holding and comforting Harris, it didn’t seem like he should be the one letting Harris help him. As much as he preferred always being the one to be strong for Harris, Justin had to concede that at least for a little while, he could only be emotionally strong one and Harris had to be the physically strong one. It was something else that he was reminded of, after Harris had used mouthwash and Justin was tucking it back into the bag, that he couldn’t pick it up himself and carry it for Harris. Before he could though, Justin rested his fingers against harris’s cheek, tilting his head up slightly to face Justin. “You can do this. We can. Just one step at a time okay? We’ll just focus about making it from here to the gate.” He ducked down to press a chaste kiss against Harris’s lips before pulling back with a small smile. He opened the door, grabbing his cane form where it leaned against the wall so he could stand back and hold the door open for Harris to drag the bags out, and led the way towards the gate, throwing more than the occasional glance at Harris to try and judge how well he was handling the crowds. He reached over as much as he could with his bad arm to take Harris’s free hand and wrap it through his good arm, squeezing his hand gently before letting go.
Harris was almost a little amused by Justin's open disgruntlement about having to accept any kind of help. He was proud of his boy for how far he'd come in allowing him to help but it was nice to see a little bit of Justin's stubborn fire returning. He avoided all eye contact with the mirror, just turned back to grab the bag, but Justin was stopping him. He turned the volume down as his head was tilted up and watched Justin try to reassure them both. They could do this. How hard was walking after everything else they'd gone through after all? "From here to the gate." he echoed, then paused, digging for his tickets as he realized he hadn't looked to see what gate they were even headed to yet. A27 sounded far, but he kissed back, returning the smile before turning the volume back up and flipping his hoodie up before taking on the weight of the bags again. The weight of them helped a little as they started to walk, his brain immediately wanting to retreat again when confronted with so many people, but he just breathed through it, repeated 'just to the gate,' over and over until he felt Justin's touch, dragging him closer and linking them. The physical connection had him relaxing a little and he glanced around every now and again when the prickling on his neck got too bad to ignore and he had to check to make sure no one was following them or acting suspiciously before dropping his head again and watching their feet until they were finally stopping. He looked up once to make sure everyone was accounted for before letting Justin lead him to the farthest against the wall seats he could reasonably put them at and happily dropped their bags and then himself into a seat. He should probably have made Justin stop for something to eat or drink on their way here but he'd just wanted to get to where they were. "D'you um - do you want to grab anything before we go? Last chance for new york pizza, hot dogs, or philly cheesesteaks for awhile.”
Justin wasn't entirely sure that he breathed at all between the bathroom and finally reaching their gate. But then Harris was settled into the seat against the wall, and Justin dropped into he seat beside him. He could see the rest of their group, split into pairs, but each within close enough range. He caught his dad’s eye for a moment, and shrugged almost imperceptibly at the raised eyebrow the man shot him. His eyes found Casey sitting with Vlad, and he stifled the relieved grin that threatened to spread across his face. He went to check what seat numbers they had on the flight before remembering that he didn’t know what seat Casey would be in, so checking his own wouldn’t really help him that much in seeing whether or not he’d be able to catch up with Casey on the plane, or if they’d have to wait until they reached Paris. He tore his eyes away from scanning the crowd when he heard Harris’s voice, and slid an arm around his fiancé’s shoulders. “Don’t think I could eat right now if I tried,” he said with a slight smile. “But I’ll go get your something if you want. Any New York foods you’re really going to miss that you want one more time?” After that it seemed like time dragged by. At some point Justin wasn’t sure if the clock was broken or he was just too restless. A few minutes after his leg started tapping a fast, impatient rhythm against the floor, they finally started boarding. Justin stayed as close to Harris as he was able to as they went through he gate, showing their passports and tickets again as they were directed towards the plane. Despite his skiing accident cover, which no one had asked about anyway, Justin dropped his cane onto his seat in favour of using his one good arm to help Harris lift the larger of their bags into the overhead compartment, and slid into the seat beside Harris, immediately reaching to wrap his hand around Harris’s. “How’re you feeling? It’s easy from here. Don’t have to move through crowds, or talk to anyone.”
Harris relaxed slightly at the warm familiar weight over his shoulders and wasted no time in pulling his knees up to tip over into the crook of Justin’s side. He should probably be more on alert and acting like an actual adult, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. “No.” he said honestly, nudging more against Justin’s shoulder as he closed his eyes trying to block out the fact they were sitting just inches away from complete strangers on almost all sides. “Stomach’s still all twisty. And I never was big on most American foods. I’ll get you real Italian pizza one day.” Belatedly, he realized he couldn’t have sounded more stereotypically French if he tried and had to stifle a small giggle. For the rest of the time he pretended they were alone in the bathroom, alternating between focusing on the music and the way Justin’s chest rose and fell periodically having to consciously slow his own breathing. Up until he felt Justin’s heart rate start to increase as he got fidgeting and just reached out to still the bouncing leg with an amused eyebrow raise as he drowsily sat back up at the announcement boarding was going to begin. He kept close to Justin, tried to pretend the other people weren’t there, and let himself get herded onto the plane. It was harder than he expected to walk through the rows and didn’t even think to pause and ask, just dropped his small bag on the window seat before trying to gear himself up to lift the big one into the overhead. He was relieved to find another hand helping him ‘cause there was really no way he’d have gotten that up there on his own and winked slightly at Justin before swinging himself into the far window seat. He hadn’t even thought to ask, just assumed he’d be given the furthest from everyone seat and buckled himself in before Justin’s hand and scent were wrapping around him. “Mmmm…scared.” he settled on finally. “Don’t like this at all. Feel trapped. Slightly claustrophobic. How are you? You okay?” They didn’t get many more words out before Casey crashed their row. Harris didn’t know why he was surprised, of course Dairen would put him with them but still, he hadn’t been expecting it. He turned, trying to get some distance between them but Casey wasn’t taking a hint. He flinched away from the touch, releasing Justin’s hand so he could take the envelope and flick through it before realizing he was now the one with the bouncing legs. “Can I have, um - you know. Sleep.” he asked quietly. “You guys catch up. I - I need to - I’m - please.”
Casey had never been quite so nervous and he had no idea why. There was something tying his stomach up in knots about seeing Justin and the others again. So he got to the gate early, greeted the people at the booth in polite French before sitting down a careful distance away, taking mind to not fidget with his uncomfortable suit. Freakin’ foreign diplomat, what had they been thinking, why couldn’t he have been a bloody has been rockstar or something? It felt like it took years for him to finally see Agent Klein approach the gate with his wife and he quickly looked behind him for Justin & Harris, but there was just a tall hulking guy that met his gaze, gave a quick nod and headed his way. Oh, right. Russian dude. Casey’s Russian was shit so this would be kinda hilarious. “Bonjour.” he started off, gripping the guy’s hand and giving it a shake. “Casey,” he said quietly, touching his head before raising his eyebrows at the other and tilting his head towards him, “Et vous?” They were supposed to be meeting for the first time right? He should have read their cover more closely but still settled down, briefly meeting Agent Klein’s eyes before flicking back up to watch for Justin and Harris. He couldn’t help the small gasp when he finally did spot them, Justin with a sling and a cane and Harris looking like a small scared animal that’d topple right over if someone nudged one of his bags. It took all the self control he had not to jump up and tackle them both in hugs but there’d be time for that. Though time being the bitch it was seemed to slow down even more. He ran out of things to occupy himself, too used to chasing three children in adult bodies around, he wasn't quite sure how to occupy himself anymore. Eventually they began boarding and Casey was privately a little relieved to see Vlad had taken a seat with the Kleins. He hadn’t wanted to spend the whole flight glowered at. Though he hadn’t dared to hope for anything more. So it was a nice surprise to follow his ticket back to where Justin was currently cuddling his boy and drop down to flash them both a secret grin. “Bonjour! Parlez-vous anglais?” “Oui.” Harris said softly, before turning his gaze back out the window and oh, okay? His eyebrows drew together in some confusion before he clapped Justin lightly on the knee, needing to touch a little and be certain they were really there. “Fuck, I’ve missed you brother.” he whispered, flicking his gaze to the cold shoulder he was being given. “Both of you. Oh!” He dug in his carry on pulling out a thick envelope before storing his bag and nudging Harris with the envelope, since everyone was being distracted by the boarding and wouldn’t make note of them just yet. “I promised I’d give this to you the moment I saw you.” The blatant distrust in his eyes made Casey freeze and glance up, puzzled and slightly hurt at Justin as he offered it to the older man instead. “It’s not - it’s from the kids. They just wanted to say hi and that. Sent ya pictures. Small gifts. I’m not - “ He frowned deeper, glancing between the two of them. “M’not here to hurt you, H-“ he dropped the name off quickly, uncertain if his passport had said something else. Clearing his throat, he sat back, pulling a vaguely French accent out. “Love Paree! You two been before? It great. Very beautiful. I am Casey DuLac but you can call me Case. What your names?”
Justin couldn’t help but laugh at the offer. “Italian pizza. I’m gonna hold you to that promise,” he teased. Once they were finally settled onto the plane, he let himself relax slightly. He kept Harris tucked as close against his side as the airplane seats would allow, and carded his fingers through Harris’s hair in some attempt at comfort. “Just breathe, babe. It’ll be alright. Do you want to sit in the aisle seat?” He’d just assumed Harris would take the window seat, where he could more easily ignore the other passengers on the plane, but claustrophobia hadn’t quite occurred to him. Airplanes apparently were more of a double-edged sword than he’d anticipated. When Casey dropped into the seat beside him, he couldn’t suppress a slightly amused smirk. “Nice monkey suit,” he teased quietly. He tensed instinctively at the touch on his knee, but relaxed again almost immediately. “Missed you too, Case,” he muttered quietly. His excitement over seeing Casey again was stifled when Harris tensed, shifting away and doing his best to ignore the new addition the their row. “Babe, s’alright,” he muttered quietly, leaning over to press a kiss against Harris’s cheek. He heard the muttered half question and nodded, waiting until Casey was busy digging through his bag for something to reach into his pocket and dig out the bottle of sleeping pills his dad had handed off to him when they were dividing up luggage by the car. He pressed two of the pills into Harris’s palm, then directed his attention to the envelope being pushed towards Harris, before Casey apparently gave up and handed it to Justin instead. He gave Casey and apologetic shrug with his good shoulder and took the envelope, tucking it into his pocket to open later when it was just him and Harris. “It’s ah, it’s been an intense last few months. And finding out everything with the agency, you know.” He couldn’t give a better explanation just then as the seats around them started to fill, and he wasn’t even sure he wanted to give a more in depth explanation. Justin sighed, happy at the change of subject. “I’m Justin Garnett, and this is my fiancé, Harrison Lachance. I’ve never been to Paris myself. My fiancé is from there though, so I’m looking forward to seeing it.”
Harris quickly shook his head at the mention of the aisle seat, he quite liked having Justin between him and the rest of the world, thank you. The rest of the world didn't agree though and he just barely refrained from glaring at the kiss and the soft 'it's alright'. Nothing was alright. He took the two pills, unable to resist turning them a little, but the color and markings were all familiar so he just popped them in his mouth and swallowed, wishing they were an instantaneous thing so he'd be spared hearing Justin apologize for him. He slipped his hand back in Justin's, uncertain how one actually slept on an airplane, did he recline his seat back? Use Justin's good shoulder? He glanced back up at the sound of his name and then over to Casey briefly. "Enchanté." he said politely, before closing his eyes and settling back on Justin's shoulder, giving his hands a few anxious squeezes as the plane settled. He was afraid to sleep, afraid to stay awake, afraid of the plane, afraid of staying in New York - it seemed presented with anything his first reaction was now fear, but he concentrated on turning his music up to drown out the rest of the sounds, and counting off what he could think of in his head until the meds kicked in and he could nod off right where he was.
Casey flipped Justin off subtly at the jab but it made him want to beam from ear to ear. As much as hell as he knew they'd gone through, he couldn't help but feel pure giddiness and relief at having his sane best friend back. He tried to keep his distance as much as he could crammed in an aisle with Harris and let Justin do what he had to as he nodded a little. "S'ok. I understand. No pressure." His face fell a little at the mention of the agency but there was time for that crisis later. For now he smiled his way through polite introductions, taking care to not extend a hand out to Harris as he listened. "It's wonderful there. I'm sure you two will be very happy there. Beautiful place for a wedding," he teased. The flight attendant was hushing them though so he fell quiet to instinctually check out the plane himself, layout and people wise, unable to turn off the part of him that was always looking for threats but he didn't see anything that made him feel disquiet so he just waited until landoff had happened and Harris & Justin had done whatever they needed to to get through it before turning back to look at the pale bruised tiny version of his bestie. "M'sorry we didn't find you sooner." he whispered. "I know we all know why we didn't now but um, still. M'sorry."
Justin gave Casey an apologetic smile before turning his back on his friend to make sure Harris was alright. Or at least, as alright as he could be considering that Justin was pretty sure he was trying to hold off a panic attack long enough for the sleeping pills to kick in. He held his fiancé as close against as his side as the airplane seats would allow, and pressed a kiss against the top of his head, muttering words of comfort that he knew meant next to nothing, but it was more to the point that he was hoping the sound of his voice—the sound of anything familiar really— would help somehow. His words fell off when he saw Harris turning the volume on the iPod up, and he stayed silent until Harris’s breathing levelled out at a slow pattern that told Justin the sleeping pills had kicked in. He pressed another kiss against Harris’s head and sat back just enough to where he could turn his head to look at Casey without jostling Harris against his shoulder. “I’m hoping so. City of love and all that, no better place for a wedding, right?” he said half distractedly. He glanced around them, making certain no one had taken an odd interest in their group, but everyone was either asleep, reading, or staring at the glow of their plane-permitted gadgets. “Not your fault,” he whispered. “I know you had your hands full with the protected. Sorry about that, by the way. Can’t imagine what kind of trouble they managed to get you into.” He sighed, glancing down at Harris for a moment before directing the soft smile at Casey instead and leaned in towards him. “It’s not a cover story, you know,” he muttered quietly enough that he wasn’t even sure Casey could hear him. “Technically, yes, and the names, but. Really am hoping Paris is a good place for a wedding, though.”
Casey stayed quiet and alert while Justin took care of Harris until the other was knocked out against his shoulder. Casey almost wanted to ask if that was really the smartest way to do this - it left him a dead weight and unable to defend himself - but the images of how shaky he looked when they walked into the terminal and how sharp and tense he'd been to even Casey tipped the scale and he could see how it was necessary. It still made his nerves go up a little with a fierce determination to not let anything else happen to him. "No better place, indeed." Casey agreed, sharing the distraction as he kept an eye on the nearby passengers, but nobody had so much as blinked in their direction. Not that now would be the best time for a move anyway, it was a long flight with no exit. If they had been made, they probably wouldn't get approached until the airport anyway, so he tried to relax, sitting back in his seat and quirking an eyebrow as Justin leaned in close. "No trouble was worse than what we dragged them into," Casey said dully. "I'll miss Coral and Jeremy but it's probably for the best that Luna and I were finally separated." It was the worst time to say it with Justin looking up at him with the softest shyest look he'd ever seen on the man's face before both his eyebrows flew up. "Holy shit. Congratulations. I - you - really? How the - I'm not going to ask. Only you though, Klein. Get kidnapped and end up engaged. I'm impressed, truly."
Justin tried to relax, with the knowledge that they would be safe for a while and that Casey was there as well if anything did happen, but he still flinched instinctively when a voice came over the speaker, reeling off the flight time, weather patterns and that the flight attendants would be coming around later with drinks and food. Curling his fingers into a fist against his leg, Justin tried to focus instead on the familiar face beside him. “I’m sorry. I know— I think it’s for the best, you and Luna being separated, but still. I’m sorry.” He couldn’t count the number of times he’d bitten his tongue against telling Casey that Luna really wasn’t worth his time. Justin loved her, and she’d been fun to hang out with, but her presence had been more than slightly toxic, not only to Casey but Harris as well, and Justin wasn’t entirely sorry to be leaving her in New York. In hindsight, he’d only ever kept himself from saying as much before because he’d been afraid that if Casey didn’t have at least some hope of being with Luna, he’d have left, and gotten reassigned to another protected. He hadn’t been eager to either relive or extend the two year long absence of his friend if Casey was reassigned again, but Justin knew that was just him being selfish. He was sadder about leaving Jer and Coral behind, but they could call, and he knew Jer wouldn’t have wanted to live anywhere else but New York, and Coral wouldn’t want to live anywhere away from Jer. Justin relaxed, a brighter smile spreading at Casey’s words. He let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. “Takes a certain kind of talent, really,” he joked. “Weird circumstances, but hell what part of our lives isn’t a little weird lately?” His lips quirked up in an amused smirk, and his voice rose to a more normal level. “Don’t know many people in Paris, though. ‘M looking for a good best man. Know anyone that might be up for the job?” He hadn’t mentioned his first choice of a best man to Harris, but he didn’t think his fiancé would really be surprised.
Casey tensed when he caught the movement of Justin flinching, but hadn’t registered the same threat his mate has. The plane still seemed calm - routine - so …. oh. It was hard to look at Justin and not see guard. Head guard. Casey was used to looking to him for instruction and for example but he… he was just slightly better than Harris at hiding how shattered he really was. He’d been kidnapped for months, was barely physically functioning, of course he’d bear some deeper scars as well. Casey felt like an idiot for not having prepared himself for such a thing. He shrugged off the apology about Luna, it was a difficult thing for him to wrap his head around, and he was actively trying not to. He was pretty sure that the girl he’d been so head over heels for, the one he’d die for, had pretty much been entirely a figment of his imagination and that was a hard thing to swallow. His eyebrows rose as Justin’s voice did and just stared at him for a moment, before lifting a shoulder. “I have a mate, yeah. He’s out of town at the moment, but depending when the wedding he, he might be able to make it.” The fact that Justin was asking him had completely gone over his head and he started trying to think of logistical ways of getting Jer to France for awhile. “Another friend might um, be happy to come if he could bring some company with him?”
Justin couldn’t help but laugh at Casey’s confusion. He hadn’t expected that response, but it actually made him feel a bit better, to laugh and he was able to relax back against the seat more as he listened to Casey. He hadn’t thought he was being subtle in asking, but apparently he’d lost some conversation skills over the long months of having only shadows and his boyfriend to talk to. Still, he stayed silent, watching Casey scramble for an answer, and trying to guess who his friend bring company along would be. Probably Jer, wanting to bring Coral with him. Justin would love for their best friends to be there, and it might be possible, but it was difficult to think about, and he wasn’t sure if it would be safe, or if their friends would even feel safe going, regardless of how long they waited to plan it. It still felt surreal when he thought about the actual planning of it, but the day, the wedding and spending his life with Harris— that all felt like it was a given. There was no question of it happening, only the details were a bit foggy. “I was asking you, dumbass,” he muttered quietly with an amused smirk, trying hard not to laugh again.
Casey couldn't help but stare at Justin in some confusion. Why was he /laughing/ at a time like this? What had he said? He didn't think Nate and Justin were all that close, they tended to butt heads, so he could see how that was funny, but Jer was his baby bro! That was totally legit. His mouth opened to say so before it got stuck there as Justin ribbed that he was asking him. Casey. To be his best man. Oh. Oh, oh, oh. It'd just been a foregone conclusion in his head that it'd be Cohen. Justin and Cohen with silly Casey chasing in their shadow but now - oh. "Oh. I'd - um. Wow. Yes. I'd be honored to, really. Thank you. Yes." He blinked a few more times in surprise before giggling himself. "Oui, oui.”
Justin grinned at Casey, glad at least that he would be there standing beside him whenever the big day came. It felt almost bittersweet, but he tried not to focus on the city they were leaving behind. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be, and he wasn’t going to say it out loud, to Casey or anyone else, but it wasn’t supposed to be him standing beside Justin. It was always supposed to be Cohen, but if he focused on that, then it turned the happy engagement into something bitter and wrapped in wishes of a life they couldn’t have anymore. He spent the rest of the flight not thinking about New York or Cohen, or at least trying not to. He passed on the inflight meal, and only took the cup of water so Casey wouldn’t give him that worried look. Or maybe he was giving it to him anyway, Justin didn’t know. He just felt conspicuous, saying no to everything that was offered, like there was some judgement hanging over him. Meals his mother had made were one thing, but on a plane— whatever logic was there that said they wouldn’t drug or poison food that could reach any of the passengers didn’t quiet the part of his brain that said it was a possibility. Even the cup of water didn’t get touched more than when the plane hit turbulence, and he reached out to steady it on the tray so it didn’t spill. If his refusal to eat or drink anything gained concern or odd looks, he was pointedly not paying attention. He could rely on Casey to let him know if anyone on the plane looked to be a threat, he knew that. He was studiously paying attention to the strip of orange light peeking over the horizon out of the window and only looked around when the flight attendants came by, passing out immigration forms for everyone to fill out. Justin took two forms and nudged Harris gently, reaching over to shake his shoulder. “Babe, wake up. We’re about to land.”
Harris didn’t know at what point he’d dropped into an uneasy sleep. One moment he was reciting all the latin names for flowers he knew and the next he was being shaken and instinctively drew away from the touch, smacking against a wall, and ow, fuck. When did that get there instead of behind him? Wincing, he raised a hand to rub at his head, but wait, why was his hand unbound? Groggily, he started launching a battle with his eyelids, trying to keep them open, but it took a handful of tries to keep them open long enough to realize there was a wall in front of him, behind him, and beside him. And it was loud. Really loud. He spent a few moments trying to regulate his breathing, smother the panic, and wake his mind up. He knew it was a bad bad idea to panic but he didn’t know why. A few moments later made him aware that Justin was at his side, but it took a little bit longer to remember the plane. And the plan. He still felt like he could drop his head against Justin’s shoulder and be right out but he fought the drowsiness, mildly pleased he hadn’t screamed or cried while sleeping. Neither Justin nor Casey were looking at him in a way that’d suggested he’d done either at least, so he’d take it. Accepting the offered pen, he tried to get his brain to process French. All it really wanted was coffee, but he’d absolutely pass the fuck out before ever drinking it from a public place again. So he just carefully filled out his form before handing it off to Justin to copy and fighting back another yawn as he glanced around to make sure Casey and Papa K and everyone were right where they were supposed to be. “Tired.” he mumbled finally, catching himself as he went to lean down on Justin’s shoulder again and shook his head, sitting up straight on his own seat, suddenly painfully aware there was a stranger behind him. And in front of him. “Jay.” he mumbled. “How long.”
Casey tried to look away and give Justin some space. This was a weird environment. One that wasn’t really conducive for reunions but it was also hard to ignore all the little changes in the man now that he’d started noticing them. Casey was absolutely starving and eager to get the snack menu to order a little bit of everything that came prepacked and sealed. He didn’t wanna risk accidental food poisoning on a plane, but he couldn’t help the concerned look he shot Justin when he declined any food at all. Why wasn’t he eating? He was like…Harris-sized. Not very Justin-esque at all, but that was….officially none of his business at the moment and would have to wait until they’d settled somewhere a little more private. It was hard not to push though, especially when he ignored his water and Justin knew flights dehydrated even the healthiest person. He needed to at least drink if he wasn’t eating. But it wasn’t his place. Not yet. Just like it wasn’t his place to interfere or even watch the heartbreaking process of Harris trying to wake up and realize where he was. What hell had they been put through? Still, try as he might, he couldn’t ignore the small growingly agitated questions and thought a distraction might help. So he leaned forward and offered Harris a small smile. “Bon matin.” he said cheerfully. “I’ve been chatting with ze man for the flight. Very good catch and he tells me a congratulations is in order. I hope your marriage will be beautiful and everlasting.”
Justin instinctively wanted to reach out and grab Harris when his fiancé flinched back so fast that he hit the wall beside him, but he’d learned the signs by now. Enough to know that until Harris’s eyes held some kind of recognition and focus, any touch was likely to make it worse. “Babe, it’s me. I’m right here, you’re fine,” he whispered hurriedly. “We’re out of New York. Plane’s about to land.” When Harris finally caught his eye, Justin gave him an encouraging smile and dared to reach out, squeezing Harris’s hand gently before releasing it so Harris could fill out the immigration form. Justin took the pen, and copied the same information onto his own form. “Almost there. Then we can figure out where we’re staying, and you can sleep.” He wasn't sure if Harris was asking how long he’d been asleep or how long until they arrived, but he shrugged his good shoulder as he pocketed both of their immigration forms to hold onto until they got to customs, and waited until the pilot had finished his announcement before answering. “Flight was about seven hours. Think you were out within the first half hour. After we land, hopefully it won’t take us too long to get through customs. Hour or two tops, I think, if a lot of flights are landing around the same time.” Justin glanced sideways at Casey and nodded politely, finding it strange to go back to pretending he didn’t know Casey, but at the same time it almost felt easier at the moment. It was hard to wrap his mind around having more than one person that had expectations of him at the moment, so if the next hour or two of getting through the airport and customs meant only having to acknowledge that he knew one person, he felt guilty in how much he was fine with that. “Merci,” Justin said in return as he felt the plane dip, and soon enough people were moving and the fasten seatbelt sign was flashing off. He really did hate this part. His arm had gone slightly numb from Harris being asleep against his shoulder for the entirety of the flight, his legs were stiff, especially the one that had been stabbed, and on top of all of it, his brain was on high alert looking for threats now that they were close to landing, and all of it together was making his heart race and his breathing shallow. When they started to disembark, and he helped Harris get their bag down, and threaded his fiancé’s arm through his own as he hobbled along with the cane, he put on a smile and kept telling himself, just one more step. And one more. One more further than that, until they reached the line to get through customs. He wasn’t even sure if it was his pride or protective nature that forced a smile onto his lips as he glanced down at Harris, silently trying to be emotional rock that Harris needed to lean on to get through this part. He was only conscious of the fact that he was doing it, not only for Harris but also for himself, because the need to be strong for Harris was the best reason he had to keep holding himself together. Probably the only reason, if he was being honest.
Harris raised a hand to fuss with his hair, readjust it and the beanie covering the worst of it as he tried to shake some consciousness into his head. He’d been out for almost seven hours? That was…unheard of. No wonder he was so freakin’ groggy. He nodded weakly as Justin said they were close. Somehow he didn’t think the trip from here to their bed was going to be stress-reducing and sleep conducive but he wasn’t going to argue about it now. It was taking all he had to just appear unaffected. But he couldn’t swallow back the soft distressed noise Justin’s words prompted- an hour or two to get through customs? Seriously? Neither of them could stand in an airport for an hour and not lose their shit. There had to be another way. But shit. If there wasn’t, how were they - what could they do? Harris had his iPod that may or may not be dead but what did Justin have? Casey. His eyes moved to the other just in time to catch the man’s poor attempt to converse with him. Could they trust him enough for Justin to lean in on a crowd? Would he try to nudge Justin away from Harris? Or his Dad? They had to get in line right before Agent Klein and his wife. That was the only way either of them would even think about breathing. Problem somewhat solved, he tuned back in, barely remembering that a conversation had been going on but managed to echo Justin’s thank you as he reached out to link their hands together again as the plane began to circle and dip. He wasn’t ready for this. In fact, if they’d been smart they should have taken Vlad’s other bottle. As hard as they were trying to look natural - they were surely going to project the exact opposite. Still, he got up when he had to, gritting his way through the light headed dizziness to pull the bag over his head and grab the handle of their suitcase before following Justin’s lead off the plane and into vaguely organized chaos. It was a shock to hear French outside of his own head and his Mom and Alyssa but it helped in a strange way to ground him. This wasn’t New York. “This way.” Harris said softly, tugging at Justin’s arm a little to guide him towards Customs. He lost sight of Casey but didn’t much care, focused on finding Agent Klein who was bending to fuss with something he couldn’t see. Relief was faint but there as they passed and he heard them fall in step behind them. They could do this. It was just a line. A few questions. Some papers. Maybe a bag search. So long as no one tried to pat them down, they should be okay. He tried to tune out the chatter and hustle as much as he could, avoided looking left or right, just kept his eyes on the line to customs before eventually they had to stop. And wait. And wait some more. That got harder to ignore the stares of people behind them, in front of them, in other lines. His iPod died about ten minutes in and he was all too aware he couldn’t break into hysterics now or curl against Justin’s chest and beg him to be a shield. Didn’t mean he didn’t want to. But he stayed quiet, counting breaths, and doing his best to block out the world, gently running his fingers over Justin’s arm in time with his exhales and inhales until he had to start over each time they shuffled a few steps forward. Until finally it was their turn.
Justin was glad at least that harris had been able to sleep for the entire flight, though how restful it had actually been was hard to guess, since it had been drug induced. He squeezed Harris’s hand gently and offered an encouraging smile. “Hopefully it won’t take that long, but I’ll be right beside you.” He wished he’d checked how many international flight were landing at the airport around the same time as them, so he’d be able to better guess how long it would take to get through customs, but he couldn’t do much about it now. Getting to customs didn’t take too long, though it was a physical struggle to suppress a groan when he saw the winding line. Noting that several people seemed to be making bored small talk with the people around them, he chanced a glance over his shoulder at his dad and nodded politely, making a comment about the length of the flight. The small talk lasted for less than three minutes, in which they’d at least assured each other that everyone had made it through the flight alright, relatively speaking. The wait was the worst part, and not even for the overprotective side of his brains hat kept scanning the crowds for any eyes that focused on them for more than the curious second that carrying a flowery pink cane earned him. But no, aside from he initial sweep of the room, he knew that staring suspiciously around at the crowd and the border control officers would just be a cause to get them into more trouble. He had to keep shifting though, to keep standing. His dad had been right; eight hours on a plane without moving and the increased air pressure hadn’t done his leg any favours. Judging by the worried look one of the officers walking around was giving him, he was pretty sure that if they weren’t buried so deep into the zigzagged line leading to the counters he would’ve came over to offer a wheelchair or something, and was very glad that didn’t end up happening. His fingers tightened painfully around the cane, until finally it was their turn, and one of the officers directed them to counter 3. “Almost done, babe,” he muttered quietly as he put on a smile for the border control officer. He handed over his passport, and tried not to flinch at the searching look the man gave them as he checked their appearances against the photos. When the man started talking, Justin paled slightly and scrambled to remember the brief French lesson Harris had given him in the car. “Parlez-vous Anglais?” The man didn’t even glance up as he stamped the passports and repeated the question in English, though with a thick accent. “What brings you two to Paris?” It was the kind of casual question that other passengers asked politely, but that he would likely have them detained for tripping over. “A wedding. Sorry, I really should start working on my French, my fiancé being from Paris and all. He wanted to move back here, and have the wedding here, and how could I say no?” Aside from actually being very excited about the prospect of a wedding, Justin figured there was no reason to tamper his happiness about it. A cover story was so much easier to sell when it was true. “Congratulations. Beautiful place for a wedding.” Justin took back the passports, offering a smile and, “Merci.” He could breathe a bit easier once they got past customs and started the long track through the terminal towards the exit. By the time they reached the baggage claim, Justin’s leg was screaming and his hand was gripping the cane so tightly that his fingers were numb and his hand was shaking. He glanced over this shoulder, seeing his dad and mom trailing just behind them. He left it to them to get the checked luggage on their own and nodded towards a bench by the window, starting to lead Harris in that direction. “Can we—Sorry, I need to sit down for a minute.” The words were quiet, reluctant to even leave his mouth, but he knew it would cause more of a scene, and panic Harris if his leg collapsed under him, deciding it’d had enough and wasn’t going to help him hobble along anymore.
Harris glanced briefly at the eldest Klein once small talk started to pass between them, but couldn’t offer any words of his own. He didn’t trust his voice not to shake or crack. It was hard being aware of every limb, every muscle, every breath in his body and trying like hell to school it to something regarding exasperated patience and not flat out panic. Liz’s words came back in his head - the countdown - so he started doing that over and over. Five things he saw, four things he heard, three things he could touch, two he could smell, one he could taste. It kept his mind just occupied enough to make it through the slow shuffling until they were being guided to window three. Offering the man a tired smile, he held out his passport and watched Justin hand over their forms as he tried to remember to just keep breathing. Act normal. His eyes flicked over to Justin at the French question and was equally surprised when the agent switched to English. But he grinned sappily at Justin, reaching out with his left hand to accept his passport back so his ring would glint in the light, feeling only slightly ridiculous. “Voici ma maison.” he offered with a slight shrug, not at all apologetic for displaying patriotism for France. “Merci. Passez une bonne journée” He pocketed his passport, took Justin’s arm and walked around the counters and towards baggage claim, though the relief hadn't hit him yet. He figured it wouldn't until they were safely in the cab and certain they weren’t followed. For now, he just glanced casually for Vlad and Casey and the Kleins. He figured Justin’s pace had slowed to wait for them but then he felt the shaking and shot a worried glance over his boy but couldn’t see anything that said ‘fix me’ or ‘danger’ per se. It didn’t take much longer for Justin to point towards some windows and he just gave a small nod at the request, helping him over to the seats, though not daring to take a seat himself. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get up. “Just a little bit more.” He said quietly, careful to keep a soft accent on his words, just in case. “I uh…” He was pretty sure he’d saw a small first aid box in one of the bags, likely long forgotten about, but there was a possibility there’d be something that could at least take the edge off, so he rummaged for it, eventually finding it and popping it up and finding a still sealed packet with the expiration still valid. “Here, babe.” He ripped the packet open, holding it out for him to examine before shooting an uncertain look around them. “I can try to find a water bottle for you if you want?” He caught Agent Klein’s - Dairen’s gaze and subtly mimed a drink. Within a minute or so, the man was back, cracking the seal and taking a few sips of it himself before passing it along to Justin. Harris didn’t try to keep the gratitude out of his eyes, just watched Justin take the pills before turning to watch Vlad and Casey grab the last of their bags off the carousel. “Don’t push yourself.” Harris said quietly, “Wait until those kick in, then we can go. No hurry to be anywhere right now. It’s okay.” 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…. It was getting harder to stay calm knowing it was almost over. They could almost leave. He wanted to fucking bolt. But Justin's health came way before appeasing his broken mind so he just kept counting, shifting his weight and the bag every so often until he figured enough time had passed, he could try and help Justin up. “Just a bit longer.” he said again. “Would it help to lean on me rather than the cane?” He wasn’t entirely sure how they could make that work, but he would if he had to. He nearly forgot about the cab portion of the trip until he saw Dairen flag one down and then motion them over and oh. Oh. Oh, fuck. He did not want to get in a car with a stranger. Couldn’t they have rented one of their own? This was… fuuuuck. Justin needed to get off his leg though and that was literally the only thing that got him over to the cab, allowing Mr. K to take the bags off him and put them in the trunk before sliding in the back, sandwiching himself between the far door and Justin. He desperately wanted to avoid the stranger's gaze, flip up his hood, and hyperventilate himself to some kind of calm, but France. He looked over at the standard question, ‘where to?’ essentially and hesitated a moment to recall the address he'd been told. As calmly as he could, he greeted the driver, rattled off the address, and thanked him, managing to only curse on the inside when the man decided to strike up casual conversation. He gave vague answers, pointedly yawning in-between words so the guy would take the hint and stop but when that failed, he dropped his head to Justin’s shoulder, mumbling a soft apology and excuse about a long flight to finally get some quiet in the car. Now that he could focus, he realized he was shaking against Justin’s side and fought to still himself going back over the countdown a half dozen times before giving up and sitting up to look out the window. Paris was still…Paris. It was familiar in a way that was surprisingly comforting. He didn't feel safe, but there was a difference here. New York had felt looming, inescapable, deadly - like a constant shadow and weight all around them. Paris didn't feel like that. But it did twist the knife in his heart being lightly tainted by memories of his sister and mother that him fighting back sniffles, despite the small thrills his heart was giving off each time he saw something he remembered and liked. Tiny bakeries, museums he’d frequented, ballet companies he’d visited. It didn’t take as long as he’d feared for them to stop - traffic not being at its worst at whatever o’clock time it was at the moment and just converted the money for Agent K before climbing out to help Justin out. It felt surreal to look at a building and think about staying in it, but the men were moving around collecting bags and keys and papers while Harris stayed quiet and pressed to Justin’s side. He didn’t like being outside. He felt exposed and vulnerable, but going into the apartment complex didn't feel much better. Were they really safe here? Who was the lady behind the counter, who had the apartment next to them, who else had keys? Would the cab driver tell their location? They were fears he couldn’t bring himself to voice so this panic began to compound on top of the lingering grit and bear it panic that’d been building since he’d woken up. He’d known he could only ignore for so long, but he did his best to keep going anyway. He had to get Justin situated. Focus on one thing at a time. He got them over to the first soft horizontal surface he could find (the couch), propping his leg up on a throw pillow and gently removing his shoes before going to get ice for both it and his shoulder. A hand on his shoulder made him jerk, spilling ice all over the floor, Casey’s face was pale and alarmed but Harris couldn’t even hear his apologies. Ice. Knee. He dropped down, gathering what he could, and barely remembering to grab the charge cord for the iPod as he bolted away from their former friend. He mumbled apologies at Justin, avoiding any attempts at affection or touching, just got the ice situated before mumbling another apology. “M’ok. M’ok. Just need a minute. Stay. Rest.” He wanted to retreat somewhere dark with a lockable door but knew better than to leave Justin’s sight, so he just backed up to the corner without a window, plugged the iPod in before flipping his hood up and sliding down against the wall until he could hide against his knees and block out everything for a little while until his overstimulated brain could handle it. They were in Paris. TC knew they had the list. They’d run and made it - but they were being hunted. They were out of New York. Giddiness, relief, and fear all felt indistinguishable from each other circling around and around his brain making it difficult to breathe or focus. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…
Casey had single-handedly smuggled three essentially children out of australia around asia before settling in Japan and hadn’t felt a fraction of the fear and nerves he did now. There was something about the tension radiating from each member of their party that was contagious. Casey was arguably the most laid back agent on the team - or had been - so this sort of high-strung feeling was extremely odd to him. He breezed through customs - having a faux government cover had its perks - and was already waiting in baggage claim with Vlad by the time Justin and Harris started staggering their way to them. His heart lurched when he saw Justin lead Harris to some seats and took a half dozen steps to go help before remembering their cover and stalling out. It seemed Agent Klein had it covered anyway so he kept his eyes peeled for their bags, jugging what he could out to the curb, hailing taxis and waiting for the rest of the party to join them. After Coral and Luna’s constant chatter - the silence from Vlad was kind of suffocating, but Casey didn’t dare try to break it. Just kept an eye on the cab in front of the and a casual one on the cars behind and beside them until they were being dropped off and could finally leave their personas at the door. He wanted to rush and help Justin - but Harris and his Dad seemed to have it under control so he just hovered behind until he was asked to do things, easily sweeping a security of the place, before doing a more detailed one as everyone got settled, checking for anything suspicious, bugs, cameras, anything he could think of before finding Harris struggling in the kitchen. Without thinking, he reached out to help and jumped back with a curse at the reaction he got from that. Fuck. It was going to take awhile to remember he wasn’t - he couldn’t - that he had to watch himself around his friends. Harris barely seemed to realize Casey existed and how did Justin stomach that? It was nearly impossible for Casey to swallow and he wasn’t in love with the dude. Sighing, he trailed after the small man, letting him be until he saw the break happen and then just cursed and moved over to take his place, gently kneeling beside the couch and glancing between Justin and the Harris-shaped blob. “Do I just - what do you want me to do here?” Casey asked softly. “I can sit with you, get you some food, or water, or um, d’you want help up? Is he - is he ok left alone? I can um - he’d probably punch me if I went over there.” Not that it’d hurt, but he didn’t want to do anything that’d make Harris feel worse. “I don’t -“ he cleared his throat a few times, uncertain when it got so thick and hard to swallow. Probably around the time his brain had wondered why Harris hadn’t gone to a bedroom, or the couch, or somewhere soft most people who seek out comfort did and realized that the floor and the wall was as close to comfort he recognized these days and that - that was about his own breaking point. “I hope you dusted the sick fuck.” he mumbled darkly turning to look back up at Justin. “And if you didn’t I’ll help you do it.” he vowed. “Sorry. Hi. What can I do?”
Justin hated this. Mostly he hated his leg— the kind of irrational hatred that probably shouldn’t be aimed at any important limb. But right now it was making him vulnerable, when they’d just landed in a new country, currently on the run after selling out the organisation that had kidnapped and tortured him and his boyfriend. This was really not a time that he wanted or needed to feel vulnerable or be unable to protect them if anything happened. But being frustrated at himself wasn’t going to make him any capable at the moment, so he just put on a smile and took the pain killers from Harris. He started to shake his head, opening his mouth to ask Harris to just stay with him, but then his fiancé was motioning something, and Justin glanced up to catch his dad’s eye, dropping his gaze almost immediately. It only took a couple minutes though, and his dad was back, in front of him and holding out a water bottle from one of the airport shops. “Thanks,” Justin muttered as he took the pills and drank half the bottle. “Sorry,” he added quietly, giving Harris an apologetic smile. He knew Harris didn’t want to be sitting there, didn’t want to spend any more time in public than was strictly necessary, and Justin must look like hell because despite that, Harris was telling him there was no hurt to get out of the airport. He squeezed Harris’s hand gently, pulling it towards him to press a kiss against his knuckles. He only waited until he was sure that he could put weight onto his leg without it collapsing under him, but still shook his head at Harris’s question. “No, thanks but, the cane is fine. If I fall I don’t wanna take you down with me,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood. They had earned a couple odd looks from fellow fliers on their way out of the airport and Justin guessed that was what prompted his dad to pick up one of Harris’s bags as he gestured for them to follow him, his words a little too loud for the quiet hushed tones that most of their travel conversations had been conducted in. “You boys don’t look in good shape, and I think we’re heading the same direction. Share a cab with me and my wife, and we’ll make sure you get where you’re going safe, alright?” Justin nodded and gave the “stranger” a polite handshake as he thanked him and went through the ritual of exchanging alias names. It still seemed like it took too long, but finally Justin was sliding into the backseat beside Harris, his mom squeezing in beside him and his dad sitting in the front. He could practically feel the tension rolling off of the body beside him, and reached over to take Harris’s hand as he gave the address to the driver. “Not much longer,” he muttered quietly when he felt Harris start shaking. At least Harris was looking out the window, instead of trying to hide for it all and pretend they weren’t in Paris. That seemed like a good sign, so Justin decided some distraction might not be misplaced. “See anything familiar?” he asked quietly. “Anything you missed? Guess some things have changed since you were last here, huh?” The brief distraction didn’t need to last long, as Justin realised they were already pretty close to the address Harris had given. Then it was all bodies and movement and chatter as Harris helped his dad with paying the driver and his mother was already telling him to go inside, but he didn’t want to go in first alone. He waited instead for Harris, leaning heavily on his cane again. When he’d been sitting in the cab, it wasn’t bad. When he stood up though, it was like his leg suddenly remembered how badly Justin had injured it and decided to pay him back just as forcefully. His leg felt immediately better once he was off of it, and it was elevated, but he let Harris fuss over him, and rush around to get ice, though he could just see Casey from where he was sitting. He could see part of Harris form where he was sitting, but he couldn’t miss the sudden jerk or the ice that hit the ground. “Harris?” he called, sitting up straighter and leaning forward, but Harris was already up and rushing towards him again. “Hey, babe, it’s alright. Just breathe, it’s—“ he broke off, barely able to reach out and touch Harris’s arm for a split second before his fiancé was muttering apologies and retreating away from him. For a minute he didn’t even acknowledge that Casey had joined him. He just stared at the small figure in the corner, hood up and knees curled in as trying to shrink away even more from the other people in the room. Justin knew there was nothing he could really do to make this easy for Harris. Logically, he knew that. But he should be able to try. He should be able to sit against that wall beside Harris, pull his fiancé into his arms and try as much as he could to physically block out the rest of the world until Harris felt ready to deal with it. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even move from the fucking couch with his leg still throbbing. “Don’t think there’s any food here anyway. Didn’t exactly have time to stock the kitchen,” Justin answered quietly. He finally tore his eyes away from harris and gave Casey a weak smile. “He just needs some time to himself.” He didn’t like it, but letting Harris sit by himself was better than him getting more upset if Casey tried to talk to him. If Justin, or sometimes his dad depending on Harris’s mood, couldn’t be the one sit with him when he got lost in his head, alone was likely better than someone he wasn’t sure if he trusted. Trust didn’t even seem like the right word. He didn’t know why Harris wouldn’t trust Casey. Even after all he shit they’d been through, Justin trusted Casey with his life. But, he’d also been right there beside Casey and Nate after Harris and the others had been kidnapped the first time. Casey and Nate had both earned his trust for the rest of their lives at that point. Casey’s words did earned a short, humourless laugh from Justin though. “Which one?” He muttered. “Trust me, no one that was involved— at least no one that we saw or knew was involved— is still breathing.” He couldn’t help but still smile warmly at the threatening promise. “Give me a hug, you son of a bitch. I missed you.” Justin hugged his friend as tight as he could with one arm, and left his hand on Casey’s shoulder when he pulled back, squeezing it as though trying to convince himself that Casey was actually there in front of him. “Thanks for coming. ‘M glad you’re here.”
Dairen was on alert for the entire flight, through customs and the airport. He didn’t really relax until they got to the rented house, and the cab driver had left. Even then he couldn’t actually relax. Even though he knew logically that they wouldn’t just get to Paris and everything would be fine, it actually looked worse than when they’d left New York. Harris was curled up and trying to make himself invisible in the corner, and Justin was on the couch with various bags of ice pressed against his injuries. By tomorrow he would probably be fine, maybe a little sore, but Dairen was sure that it had mostly been the flight that had put too much strain on his body. And he believed that Harris would likely come around once he got used to the idea that they weren’t in New York, and they were safer there. Still, he hated seeing his boys in that state. “Dair?” The gentle voice made him turn around, and he saw his wife going through the kitchen cabinets. Cooking supplies and dishes had bene provided as part of the furnished rental, but she was frowning at him anyway. “The boys need food, and you do too. There’s nothing here. I’m going to go find a grocery store. Everyone’ll feel better once they have a good meal.” It was Mary’s go-to solution for most problems, and sometimes it worked. Dairen didn’t really think that this would be one of those times, but she had a point. They had six people in the house and no food. Better to try and find a shop now rather than waiting until everyone was starving or it was dark. “Alright, but I’m going with you. Just give me a minute.” He switched to Russian as Vlad came back inside with the last of the bags, to come up with a plan before he made his way into the kitchen. he shot a concerned look towards Harris, but addressed Justin and Casey. “Mary and I are going to go try and find a grocery store around here. I think I saw one just a couple blocks from here when we were in the cab. Vlad’s going to do a sweep of the neighbourhood, make sure everything’s alright.” Vlad’s exactly worded concern was something more like ‘make sure we weren’t followed,’ but Dairen didn’t want to put that possibility, n matter how slim it was, into anyone’s head. “Casey, can you stay here with them? There’s a gun in the black suitcase by the counter, just in case.” Once he got the okay form his son that they would be alright, he returned to Mary and took her hand, letting Vlad leave first before they followed, locking the door behind them.
Harris could feel eyes on him. He knew he was worrying Justin and probably scaring Casey but he - he just couldn’t do anymore. He’d spent months just trying to survive and now he had only to find he no longer had the coping skills required. He’d seen more people, walked further, slept longer then he had in months and now he was halfway around the world in a place that was saturated with now tainted memories. It hurt to remember Ellie, but this was his Mother’s homeland, his heritage, their shared safe place and now that was all… Harris wanted to hate it. All of it. The comfort he’d once found here shouldn’t be allowed to linger. This wasn’t home. This wasn’t safe. More footsteps, more eyes. He cracked his own but just dropped his head back down, uncertain if he felt relief or fear at the thought of them clearing out for a bit. If Casey was TC - this would all be over and have been for nothing the moment they stepped out into the hallway. He considered saying as much, but the darkest part of him now had control, and easily stifled the tiny flicker of fight left in him. If Casey was TC … that was it. Harris couldn’t fight anymore. There was no point, marriage or not. The house got quiet, but Casey didn’t move, phones didn’t ring, there was nothing but the soft exchange of words he couldn’t quite hear over the soothing rise and fall of his favorite ballads. He didn’t know how much time had passed. His mind had sunk far enough even the music wasn’t reaching it, but he came back up. He hit pause to listen for footsteps, but it seemed it was just the two boys and him still and now breathing a little easier, he couldn’t think of a single goddamn reason he was so far away from Justin when he didn’t have to be. So he pulled away from the wall, a soft pained noise slipping through his lips, but he just froze as Casey turned to look at him. The older boy seemed to get it though and turned away, pretending Harris wasn’t inching his way closer. It was stupid and illogical but he was only able to keep moving by focusing on the flat plane of his back until he settled by Justin’s ankles, reaching out to curl his fingers around it, and then dropping his head to his good calf, careful not to nudge the other, but just…needing to touch. He missed the days when he could have climbed up on the couch and tucked himself between the back and Justin’s chest, but … one day. For now, this was enough. But it didn’t ground him quite as much as he’d hoped. He still felt dizzy and out of sorts - he’d figured it was just him drifting in his own mind, but that didn’t seem to be the case. It wasn’t until a sharp pain twisted in his abdomen to even consider food. He was hungry, apparently. That’d make sense.
Casey had never wanted to see this again. It’d been hard enough to watch the kids struggle through surviving the first round but this…. how did anyone come back from the hell the two boys had gone through? All he could do was watch with sad eyes as Harris retreated and Justin seethed in his own helplessness before even recognizing Casey was there. “Alright,” he said easily. “We can give him time and whatever else he needs. You too.” He gave a short nod when Justin confirmed no one that was even remotely involved walked out of there and good fucking riddance. “Good.” he said softly before bending to squeeze his best friend as strongly as he dared. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. I missed you too, top dog.” He smiled down at the other before footsteps made him look up and he just glanced between the adults as Agent Klein laid out the game plan. Probably smart to get the necessities while it was still light out. He flicked his gaze to the boy in the corner, uncertain how he’d take it, but he didn’t so much as blink or flinch so Casey took that as consent. “Yeah, I’ll stay. Be careful.” He thought about going to get the gun just in case - but he didn't exactly trust Harris not to try to wrestle it away from him in some misguided fear so he just filed the knowledge away and hoped nobody came between him and the black bag. “So, Paris.” He started. “Never been. I speak Canadian French… d’you think that’s like the equivalent of speaking Americanized English in England? I probably sound like a redneck to them. A … mooseneck? What’s a Canadian redneck even called?” He mused outloud, no longer certain which of them he was trying to soothe, but he nearly jumped out of his skin when Harris started to move. The deer in the headlights look damn near broke his heart, but he just turned carefully away, trying to project no-harm, no danger vibes. “I get it.” Casey said softly, “You’re the last thing in his life that hasn’t turned on him in some way. His so-called guards are dead. HIs best friends are dead. Luna chose drugs. Joral each other… and I’m the only thing even remotely in the area that could work as a scapegoat. He was Luna’s bestie all summer - got to bear the brunt of all her anger at me, so … I’m not taking it personal. He can freeze me out if it makes it easier on him to have a target to focus all that on. Don’t uh - don’t take on any battles for me, alright? We’ll be okay.” Lowering his voice even more, “Unfortunate that Keaton and I were nearly doppelgängers though. Maybe I should shave my head. Yes, no?”
Justin tried not to let the distance and the silence bother him. He knew that Harris needed his space and just needed distance. Not necessarily space form Justin, just from everything. As much as he wished he could do something, accepting that sometimes he couldn’t was just something he’d have to get used. So he focused on Casey, and his smile wasn’t even forced when he heard the distantly familiar nickname. What was it Justin had called him before? He’d had a nickname for his friend, he knew he had. For some reason his mind was just having trouble picking it out. “Sorry. It should be over now, I hope. Couldn’t tell you over the phone, but we got it. TC’s little black book. Or at least that’s what I think it was. In any case, my dad and Vlad sent it to someone they trust, someone not TC or agency, and it should all be out in the open soon. It’s over, Case.” It felt strange to say it, even though it wasn’t the first time he’d say it aloud. He’d said it to himself, to his family, to Harris, and he’d yelled it at Cohen’s empty bedroom. It felt different though, saying it outside of New York. When they were still there, there was still a sort of dark cloud over them. Heavy and threatening. Now though, saying it away from the threats of TC, and outside of the jurisdiction of the agency, for the first time Justin was actually able to believe the words he was saying. Justin barely acknowledged the group leaving, other than to give his best attempt at an encouraging smile when he mother looked back over her shoulder before her husband shuffled her out the door. “Probably,” Justin said, turning back to Casey. “They’ll probably just call you a weird Canadian, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll call you a mooseneck,” he teased. His eyes shot up when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and he gave Harris a warm smile, only faltering when he saw the frozen, almost terrified look on his fiancé’s face when Casey turned to look at him. But then he was moving again, and Justin hated this. He really hated this. But there Casey was, just taking the fear and trepidation aimed at him and cutting Justin off before he even offered to try and talk Harris down from his distrust of Casey. Justin still had his bad leg up on the couch, and now Harris leaned against his good leg that hung off the side of the couch. Reaching out with his good arm, Justin squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. Judging from the way Casey was talking and Harris wasn’t reacting, Justin figured he must still be listening to the iPod. Even so, he spoke quietly. “Still, hopefully you won’t need to play scapegoat for very long. You’ve been here, through everything going to hell and back again. He’ll realize that. I got a lot of her anger towards you too, don’t forget that. I was the one she called when she wanted to do something crazy that you wouldn’t let her do, like go in shark cage, remember? And Harris has been on the receiving end of her anger before, too. We all know it can be… misplaced anger, I guess. He might need a target for now, but that won’t last too long, I hope. Once we settle in and start to feel safe, it’ll be alright.” He shook his head immediately at the question. “Those gorgeous locks? Don’t you dare,” he teased, then shrugged his good shoulder. “If you want to, go for it, but don’t shave your head or change anything for either of us. This kind of shit just takes time, and no amount of shaved heads is going to make time go faster.” Honestly though, his reasoning was more that harris would take it as the opposite if Casey was to shave so that he looked a bit less like Keaton. Changing in order to earn someone’s trust was something that Justin, at least, now immediately saw as a threat, thanks so much Blythe, the Australian guards and all of the agency. As much as Justin wouldn’t take it that way if it was Casey though, he wasn’t sure if Harris would see it the same way, or if he would be more skeptical about Casey changing something physically about himself in some attempt to more easily win his trust back.
Casey’s eyebrows went up at the admission. A black book? Names and what like...future plans? Or past plans? Anything that might incriminate them? "Over." he repeated. "Thank fuck." He squeezed Justin's good shoulder a little as he tried to let that sink in before chewing on his lip a moment. "So what... what's next? Do we just lie low and wait until we hear of like .... an upheaval in the states? Do we get like... normal jobs or something? I don't - I never really considered an 'after TC' life plan." he admitted dryly. "I like the sound of mooseneck. I think I'll add it to my twitter bio when I get to make one of those again. Wait, is twitter even still a thing or have we moved on to something else? Why am I asking you? You're hopeless." He carefully didn't follow Justin's gaze, just listened to the hesitant scooting noises until they stopped and the he only shifted to give Harris more space and Justin room to reach down and touch. He listened as Justin tried to hope for the best but he really wasn’t as upset about it as Justin was. Harris hadn't had a single good guard experience besides Justin - it was literally no surprise at all to be met with this kind of … self-protection. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It’ll be alright. D’you want me to give you some time with him before your parents come home? I can go make some tea. Something familiar and warm might do you both some good. Or do you want me to stay close until your parents come back? I’m good with either.” He hummed as Justin gasped over his curls and then gave a little shrug of his shoulders. “Just don’t feel like that laid back bohemian anymore.” he admitted. “I look in the mirror and see the dorky kid running after Luna and I’m not him anymore. I want to be a little more polished, a little more grown up - maybe not shaving it, but I’m ready for some kind of change. And I love you, but you could use a trim yourself, bro. You’re starting to look like … ah, crap. What was that called? The shaggy hair and the bright colors? Scene? Emo! You’re lookin’ a bit emo.”
Harris loosened his grip on Justin’s ankle slightly, moving to gently stroke over the skin instead - not entirely sure who was looking to soothe more but figuring it’d help them both. His head was starting to throb but he didn’t quite trust himself to go sans music just yet. It was all too new, too uncertain, he wasn’t certain they were safe yet. What if France was just better at hiding its officials or they hadn’t registered with the TC black book or something? What if - no. No. Stop it. It’d be all over soon. Nobody would think to look for them here. In New York, yes, but if they weren’t there - nobody was really going to spend the time and money to look for them. There was nothing that officially tied them to the taking down of TC. It wasn't his or Justin’s names on the computer or the mail. Chances are his mother was dead as soon as word of their escaped happened so really - what would they want him with now? Marty’d been the one with the personal vendetta but to anyone else, he was just nameless faceless collateral. Not worth combing through Paris apartments for, right? Why was his mind that was supposed to be for logic having such a hard time grasping onto that? Blowing out a sigh, he opened his eyes briefly, checking on Justin and to see if anyone else had arrived while attempting to clear his mind. The acute anxiety was starting to fade. He still felt overwhelmed but he wasn’t sure that was going to go away any time soon. He knew he was hungry, and that he felt gross from being on the plane for so long, but he had no real desire to move or even attempt the whole getting oneself clean thing. Not here, not yet. Though he probably should have Vlad check to make sure he didn’t do any damage with the bags. He didn’t think he did but he also felt extremely disconnected from his body so his thoughts were probably not the best judge to go by. Later, though. For now he just dropped his head back down and hit replay, trying to picture the ballet in his head and hoping the colors and movements would further soothe his frantic mind.
Justin just shrugged his good shoulder. He hadn’t really ever thought of an after TC life plan either. Cohen had been the one that swore they’d finish it one day, though half the time Justin wasn’t even sure he believed it, as much as he wanted Justin to believe it whenever he’d wanted to walk away. “Ask Nate,” he muttered. “Probably kept up with all the new technology or whatever.” Twitter and social media sounded not only like a distant part of some other life, but kind of terrifying. How had they ever thought it was ok, posting things about themselves for the world to see? How easy had they made it for TC to stalk them? Justin stubbornly pushed the thoughts away. It didn’t matter now. TC wasn’t a part of their lives anymore. At least, in theory he knew that. In practice it might take him a while to accept. Just like he would have to accept that being in a room alone with Harris was safe, despite the fact that he didn’t have a weapon and only minimal physical mobility. He wouldn’t have to fight anyone. No one was coming in there. Even so, he shook his head at the offer. “They’ll be back soon, and you know how my mom gets. She’ll have a feast and drinks and everything,” he said with a small smile. It was true, honestly it was. And he knew logically nothing would happen, and Casey was only offering to go into the kitchen, which Justin would even be able to see him over the bar; it just felt. Strange. Like he his mind wanted to relax, to feel safe in the knowledge that TC would be dismantled soon, that they were safe, it was over and he didn’t have to be worried about anyone breaking through the window or the backdoor to grab him and Harris. His mind knew that. His body still felt like it was in fight or flight mode, though. Just waiting for the tiniest trigger. He was kind of proud of himself in a morbid way though, when he only flinched slightly at the sound of the lock sliding out of place, and the front door squeaking as it was pushed open.
Dairen was glad they were able to find a small co-op grocery store just two blocks away. Mary complained that she wanted to find a real grocery store, one with more than a single selection for pasta sauces, but that could wait for another day. For now Dairen just wanted to get enough to keep everyone in the house fed for at least twenty four hours, and they could worry about the rest later. Vlad was waiting outside the front door when they got back, and took the bags Mary was carrying inside for her. Dairen set the various bottles of soft drinks and juice on the counter and turned to look around for the boys in the living room. “Your mom will have food ready soon. How are you feeling?” The question was directed at Justin, but his eyes moved around the group that circled him. “Fine,” Justin muttered. “Is everything alright? Neighborhood, I mean?” Dairen nodded, and looked back to catch Vlad’s attention. ”Can you take a look at Justin’s leg? Make sure he didn’t pull anything at the airport.” “I’m fine!” Justin protested in angry Russian, though the angry look softened as he reached out to shake Harris’s shoulder. He motioned towards the earbuds, briefly looking away to swat at Vlad leaning over his injured leg before he looked back at Harris. “Do you feel okay? Physically, I mean. Do any—where you had the stitches or anything, does it hurt or feel like you pulled anything? Vlad can take a look, see if you need anything, or if you need any painkillers or something?” During the exchange Justin kept trying to push Vlad away, and the muttered something about his leg just needing to rest but it was fine. Dairen couldn’t help but sigh and shake his head, turning to look at Casey. “Stubborn as ever. Good to see some things don’t change.”
Casey smiled slightly as Justin just huffed about how his mom was rather than admit he didn’t want to be alone. Apparently some things would never change, but there was some comfort in that. He left his hand on Justin’s shoulder, glanced down at Harris briefly just to make sure his presence wasn’t causing undue distress or harm but he seemed okay. So he kept up teasing Justin about his hair until the door opened and light chaos broke out. He looked up when Justin started asking about the neighborhood before shit went international and he lost the thread of conversation. He backed up when Vlad started poking at Justin and Justin started getting to be his normal nightmare patient self and just laughed as he ruffled Justin’s hair and stood up. “Stop being such a pain in the ass, Klein. I’m gonna go help Mrs. K.” He didn’t think Harris would let himself be checked out under his gaze and wasn’t going to wait for Justin to let those pieces click into place. He knew when he’d outstayed his welcome though it was really nice to see at least one family had survived in tact through all this. He stopped to give the woman a brief hug that he hadn’t been able to at the airport and sigh a little in relief. Between Mrs. Lacey and her - he’d never really hurt for a mother figure the way Luna had, and wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to repay such a kindness. “You don’t look a day over 30,” Casey quipped as he pulled back, “Is that a new hair color? It’s wonderful.” he teased, giving her a wink as he set out to help put the groceries up and set the table and do all the small things to keep himself busy but importantly - useful.
Harris felt Justin twitch and reluctantly looked back up, going tense himself as he spotted people walking in but he now knew those hulking shapes better than the sight of just about anything else and relaxed back down. He was still feeling vaguely groggy though he had no idea if that was a result of lingering panic or a side effect of the sleeping pills. Justin’s Russian was loud enough to break over the music but he didn’t look up until he was being slightly shaken and made an unhappy grumbling noise before he looked up. He glanced towards Casey and up at the adults before doing as asked and removing one of the ear buds to allow Justin’s words entry. His eyes moved from Justin’s down to where Vlad was trying to look at Justin’s leg so he just reached out, grabbing Justin’s hands to keep them from interfering before giving a little shrug. “M’okay.” he said instinctively before he paused and actually let himself take inventory. Was he okay? It’d become second nature to block out any pain or discomfort and now he found himself struggling to process it. “It’s sore? But I’m…I think I’m okay?” He knew he’d probably be pretty purple tomorrow - not enough protection between the bag and his blood vessels, but that was - there’s nothing to be done for that. He also knew the long cut on his back would be a bitch and prove difficult to heal but he’d rather let it scab on its own again then watch Justin cycle through all his anger/shame/guilt/worry thing again. Hell, if he could - he’d stay covered for the rest of forever just to keep those shadows from touching Justin’s face ever again. But the Russian wasn’t so easily convinced and if he was at all concerned, Justin would never be able to rest, so he submitted once Casey left, gripping slightly onto Justin’s hands before letting one go to start to tug the back of his layers up. He didn’t get very far, but by now that exhale of air and quick command had become familiar to him. He could add ‘don’t move’ to the list of Russian he knew and just groaned, dropping his head onto Justin’s knee, trying to remind himself where he was and that it was okay. He could hear the Russian come back, the sounds of his bag being unzipped before he was gritting his teeth as the adhesive holding the gauze to his back was ripped off. The familiar metallic scent made him gag lightly - threatening his hold on reality but there was a cold spray suddenly spreading over his back that helped startle him into staying present. Saline, probably, to wash out the airport germs. That was smart. He made the mistake of glancing behind him to see if that was all he was going to do and caught sight of little clear strips being measured out. Oh. Soft French slipped out as the older man quickly tried to pinch and seal the cuts back together in the places it’d broken. That could be why he was feeling a little fuzzy and groggy. Hindsight reminded him it was not the brightest idea to let a seat back irritate the hell out of still healing skin for 8 hours then slide it against a wall, but then, Harris had never been all that smart outside of his books. As far as he could gather from the Russian flying over his head, he was pretty sure he didn't need stitches again. At least, so long as this held and he didn’t do anything stupid again. It was harder to ignore both the Russian man and his own injuries when he was turned around and the same treatment was given to his front. Saline. Strips where the bag had broken through the fragile scabs and new gauze. He should probably change his undershirt but that required taking off everything and finding new clothes and he had absolutely no desire to do that. It was too cold. So he just thanked the Russian, waited a handful of seconds after he left before turning to look up at Justin, uncertain why his eyes were swimming again, but finding he was all choked up. As much as they'd wanted to leave everything in New York and start again - it wasn't going to be that easy, was it? His gaze moved past Justin to where Vlad was washing his hands, and Casey and Mrs. Klein were laughing and briefly to Agent Klein before finding Justin’s again. “I’m trying.” he promised softly. What was it like for Justin? To be here, to have his boy, his best friend, his parents all safe and at his fingertips? Was he relieved? Did he feel safe? What did it feel like to trust everyone in a room? “I love you. I’m here. And I’m trying.” he whispered again, though who he was trying to offer strength to now was up for grabs. He'd felt this strange disconnect before. Like the real world was going on just over there but he was permanently placed outside it. He’d had Luna then, and the only cure they’d ever found for it was a bottle of whiskey. He'd kill for one now - if only to drown out the tiny shameful part of him that hated Justin a little. It wasn't his fault his family was alive. Wasn't his fault his best friend was the only loyal guard in the whole damn outfit. Wasn't his fault he got the long straw. But it was easier to beat himself up over the small twinge of dark anger that it was to look at the scene and accept he’d never get his version. His Mom was gone, Ellie was gone, Cohen and Blythe and Natasha, and Keaton and Luna - he just wanted his own family. His own safety. His home. But it didn't exist. This is what he had. These were the people left and they were in a city haunted by old memories. One way or another he'd have to find a way to keep surviving. If only just to spare Justin from ever experiencing a fraction of what he was feeling. Justin deserved this. The family, the friends, the fiancè, nice things - Harris wasn't going to ruin that.
Justin wasn’t convinced by Harris’s apparent belief that he was fine, especially when the statement sounded more like a question, and he switched to Russian briefly to ask Vlad to check Harris’s bandages. He hated seeing Harris in pain, and he knew this part was uncomfortable to say the least. The bandages always stuck to the scabs, and ended up breaking at least one or two, no matter who carefully they were pulled off. Carrying bags and having his back pressed against an airplane seat for hours couldn’t have helped any either. So Justin just reached out for Harris’s hand, squeezing it gently and trying to look supportive and not guilty over every wince of pain that crossed his fiancé’s face. He barely registered his dad backing away, presumedly to go help in the kitchen. Justin kept his eyes firmly on the top of Harris’s head, but he couldn’t help seeing the shocks of red against bright white bandages out of the corner of his eyes as Vlad removed the gauze. As soon as Harris turned his head back to look, Justin reached out instinctively with his bad arm, only stopping for a moment when a shock of pain reminded him why that was a bad idea, but he ignored it and rested his hand against the back of harris’s head, turning him away from the sight. “Hey, babe, you’re doing great. Just look at me, ok? He’s almost done.” He muttered empty words of comfort that he must’ve said repeatedly a hundred times over the past few days, nodding but not really responding to the Russian that Vlad was throwing his way, reassurances that it wasn’t too bad, and it looked worse than it really was, and he wouldn’t need stitches again. When Vlad had Harris turn around so he could give the same treatment to the cuts on his chest, Justin edged his leg off of the couch so he could lean over the side of the couch and repeat the same quiet assurances in English. He earned a glare from Vlad when he moved his leg, but he didn’t say anything, so Justin took that as permission. Finally he was done and moving away and Justin offered Harris a weak smile. “I love you too. I know, you’re handling all this so well. I know you think you’re not, but— it must be hard for you to be here, but you are here, and we’re getting through this, together.” He leaned down to press a soft kiss against Harris’s lips, the kiss lasting a moment too long to be considered a quick peck, and maybe he should be more conscious of who else was around, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. “Je t’aime,” he muttered quietly
Justin when he pulled back, offering a small smile before he tugged gently on Harris’s hand. “C’mere, sit with me for a bit? It’ll be a few minutes at least before they have food ready.” He dropped Harris’s hand long enough to push the pillow that he’d been propping his leg up on out of the way before reaching out for his fiancé again. He wasn’t sure if he could even tell at the moment whether his body was hungry or not, and even though he knew he should eat, he just wanted to ignore everyone else in the house and hold Harris for a while. It had been such a long and stressful process getting from New York to Paris, and he just wanted a second to breathe, not to listen to everyone telling him what they should do, or that they should come and eat. He just wanted that familiar feeling of having Harris in his arms that always felt so grounding, like he had a place that he belonged and was needed, regardless of what continent he was on.
Mary felt helpless, and not in a way that she needed her husband or her son or anyone else to take care of her, but in a way of not being able to take care of them one of the few times that they needed her to. She had been there on the sidelines through all of it, through the agency and TC, and Australia. She’d been watching form the outside, because Dairen told her it wasn’t safe to be there on the front lines. Now though, it felt like watching them all come back from a war, broken and beaten, and she didn’t know what to do to make it any easier to get through. On top of all of it, there was the new face that she still didn’t quite know how to judge. Not that harrison was a new face; he’d always been there. He was Ellie’s brother, and Blythe’s protected. She’s always seen him around in New York, he was just usually attached at the hip to one of those two, not to Justin. Even in Australia, she hadn’t quite been sure how to peg him. She knew her husband cared about the boy, and that Justin loved him— hell he was engaged to him. Mary just couldn’t quite pinpoint why. She just watched them both constantly worry and stress over him, and do little else. To be fair, she hadn’t spent much time around him, though to also be fair it wasn’t for a lack of trying. The boy seemed to be almost afraid of her, and she couldn’t come up with a single reason why. She’d seen he way he shrank away from Casey though, and at least she wasn’t alone in that boat. Mary offered Casey a warm smile when he joined her in the kitchen, hugging him tight. He was at least one face that she was familiar with seeing around, and knew why he was always around, and why he and Justin were friends. It was much easier to understand and latch onto. She laughed at the words and reached up to brush a piece of her hair back. “Oh, these lovely grey streaks? It’s all the rage among stressed out mothers these days,” she teased. She started unpacking groceries and picking out what she needed to start cooking, passing everything else off to Casey to put away while she set a pot to boil water. When Dairen joined them a few minutes later offering his assistance, she passed him the cutting board and mushrooms to start chopping. This should could do. Maybe it wasn’t what everyone needed to completely get back to normal, but this part, food and some semblance of family normalcy that came with eating meals together, she could manage this part.
Harris looked up at Justin, sniffling slightly as the older man talked though the words quickly pulled the water down his cheeks. It was hard to be here in ways Justin could never understand, but at least he was trying to offer acceptance and affection. Harris leaned into the kiss, still finding himself caught off-guard every time he remembered they could touch and then again when the touch actually happened. It was still such a surreal feeling. For a moment, the swirling mess in his head quieted, his only focus was on Justin and their mouths until he pulled away. “Je t’aime.” he echoed. Sore eyes focused on their hands and Justin’s soft tugging before looking up at the couch. It seemed like such a long way to go. But it wasn’t like Justin could come down to him though he probably would try if Harris so much as thought about asking so he gave a little nod, gritted his teeth, and tried to move his torso as little as possible as he straightened his legs. Even the slight change of altitude made his head spin, but he made it onto the couch and immediately folded into Justin’s body the way they’d discovered worked for them now. Instantly some of the rigid tension that’d gripped his muscles since they left New York began to give. If he still had anything that resembled a home - it was here, right here in Justin’s arms. His breathing started to slow to a more even pace as he listened to Justin’s heartbeat, blocking out the rest of the world for a little while. It probably wasn’t healthy or a thing that’d be encouraged, but Harris was pretty damn sure it was essential for both of them to keep moving. So he dug out his other earbud and pressed it gently into Justin’s ear, securing his other as he flipped through Justin’s collection looking for something that wasn’t too heavy nor too sad and finally gave up and just hit ‘shuffle’. The words weren’t so important right now, but dropping another wall between them and reality - that was. For a little bit, he’d let himself forget. The basement, Paris, his family - he just wanted a blank mind. He didn’t want to think anything, feel anything, remember anything - just wanted to know he was as safe as he could be and loved.
Justin pressed a kiss against the top of Harris’s head, pulling his fiancé as close as both their injuries would allow. Everything was spinning, and nothing felt solid anymore, but he could breathe, and was able to just enjoy the familiarity of here. The here that was Harris wrapped in his arms, tucked against his chest, the here that grounded him, whatever part of the world that here happened to land on. He barely paid attention to song playing or the soft noises of chatter and pans clattering; actually he didn’t really tune into the sounds of anything until his mother’s voice broke through all of the white noise to tell them that dinner was ready. Justin didn’t move for a few seconds, wanting to hold onto this, onto Harris, but there was time. They had plenty of time, right? So he reluctantly pulled back, leaning down to press a chaste kiss against Harris’s lips before pulling away completely, plucking the earbud out and reaching for his cane. Sitting at the large table with food set out in the middle felt uncomfortably formal. Sure, he’d been eating at the table with his family since they got out of the basement, but even then it hadn’t felt so. Stiff. His mother had been rushing around, and his dad had been talking in harsh Russian to Vlad. Now it just felt, weirdly silent. “What’s that?” Justin asked by way of breaking the silence. His mother let out a harsh sigh, but he ignored it, reaching for the spoon to get some of whatever was in the large bowl in the centre of the table. “Mushroom risotto,” his mother answered, and Justin was only slightly nervous to try it, as he was pretty sure his mother had never made that before. “So, uh. What’s in the neighborhood? I guess you found a grocery store, about how far away is it? Anything interesting around it?” His mother looked disappointed, but just shook her head. “We found a small co-op. They didn’t have too much, but we were able to get the essentials. We’ll find an actual grocery store soon, I hope.”
Harris knew rationally that he couldn’t stay tucked in Justin’s lap forever, but the rest of him demanded to know why not. It was safe and warm and was just them. Slight movement in the corner of his eye made him startle before the unexpected voice burst their bubble. He wanted to sigh or protest or plead for five more minutes, but he didn't want to come off as difficult or ungrateful. He appreciated they went out out of their way to take care of them. He knew Justin nor himself could handle doing even basic shopping and cooking and the like and not everyone had a family that would step up and do it for them but he wasn’t ready. Mentally, he hadn’t completely gotten a grip yet barely having made it to allowing touch stage but how could he ask for more time? On the outside, all he was doing as sitting, and he could see how offensive and frustrating that could be watching from the outside when dinner was growing cold and bellies hungrier. So he sucked it up, carefully keeping the music in one ear as he gingerly stood up, before turning to watch Justin. It was merely habit - there was little he could do if Justin stumbled or fell, but he felt better at least being aware and ready. Justin had no problems though and they made it to the table all too soon. Which all was still so strange to Harris. The only “family” meals he could recall were with the Lacey’s and they were hardly a formal bunch, and to make it worse, it still hadn’t gotten less overwhelming to see that much food laid out in one place. His brain had trained his stomach that such things weren’t for him so his hunger fled as he took a seat, all too aware of his distance from Justin and his own presence, wishing to be anywhere but where he was. There were too many eyes, too much food, too much he hadn’t had any control over, and after his previous realization - it felt a bit like a slap in the face. Family meal times were for real families. He had no place here. He shouldn’t be sitting here. Rising panic twisted his stomach in knots, bringing nausea to the table, as he forced his gaze away from the table at Justin’s uncertain question. Risotto? The mush had looked unrecognizable to him but then, most things did now. So he took a moment to look around and place the rest of it as well - bread, salad, some kind of fruit maybe, or vegetable perhaps - things that should look normal but didn’t. He watched as the food passed around the table, slowly filling plates up, uncertain if he was watching to ensure nothing was slipped or just merely fascinated by how strange this all felt. He’d gotten absorbed enough in his observation that Justin quietly saying his name and nudging some of the food towards him completely took him by surprise. Right. He was supposed to be eating now, he’d completely forgotten. Cautiously, he looked down at the bowl being offered to him and then back up to Justin’s face uncertain what he was even looking for, but not finding it. Part of him wanted to push away, to declare he wasn't hungry, to flee - but who would believe him? The last thing he could remember putting his mouth was his almond milk with a dash of coffee. And that was sometime before the whole opening the case thing. So concerned about making a bigger scene than he already was, he portioned out a bit of the rice and potatoes onto his plate just to make the eyes on him move away though he turned his own on Justin to watch as he took his first bites. Nobody’d at the table had gasped or jerked or choked or keeled over so that was probably good news but it was a habit too deeply ingrained now to stop.
Casey had no idea how the guys were doing it. Just one missed meal or snack was enough to send him raiding the nearest cabinet or fridge to shovel food in his mouth until he felt better and judging by their current state - they’d missed a hell of a lot more than one meal. Yet neither seemed to be all that eager or desperate to make up for lost time. And that was strange. Really strange. Casey’s mouth opened but for once his filter decided to do his job and shut his mouth before he said something incredibly insensitive. He just didn’t understand what’d happened. Why wouldn’t they dig in with two bare hands? Instead Justin looked constipated while he tried to hold an awkward conversation which didn’t really take any notice off his slightly green and confused boyfriend - fiancè - who looked a bit out of place. Selfishly, Casey’s stomach decided fine, more for him - it wasn’t like he’d had a real home cooked meal in months either - so he gleefully helped himself, barely pausing to make sure nobody was going to say grace or that the food wouldn’t scald him before scooping it into his mouth. His tongue chided him that he maaaaybe should have held off a few more minutes but a happy noise broke through all the same. “Ohmygosh.” Casey mumbled. “This is so so so good Mrs. K. Thank you.” He looked briefly towards Justin at the second question, before glancing back at the adults, and then at Harris when Justin’s voice broke through again. He remembered similar things happening when they first got to Australia - Justin’s frustration that Harris would rather drink than eat and in hindsight Luna’d been the same way. But it’s not like they ever had some big heart to heart about it so he had no idea what to offer besides perhaps a glass of wine to at least get some calories in the boy. Justin’d probably punch him for even suggesting it though so he just tried to be helpful, pushing more things towards their end of the table and then glancing up at Agent Klein. “I’d like to go out after dinner, just to see, where the lights are, where the lights aren’t - the general vibe of the street,” his eyes moved over to Justin, “Was there something you were looking for in particular? A bakery or clothing store or something - I can keep an eye out for it.”
Justin felt so strange to be sitting there, surrounded by people, food and mostly just quiet. He was grateful for Casey’s voice breaking through the silence, even though the guard side of his brain was immediately torn. On the one side, his instinct was to check the food first, but Casey was a guard too. The other side was grateful that Casey had tried it first, whether because he knew the signs to look for or because Justin would immediately be able to tell if anything was wrong by watching his reaction to the food. He didn’t seem to have any reactions though, and Harris was just watching. Still, Justin tried a small bite of the food first out of protective habit before turning to Harris, nudging the bowl of risotto towards him. “Harris? Should try and eat something, you want some risotto? Or there’s salad. I can check the kitchen and see what else there is, if you don’t want this.” His mother wouldn’t be happy about it, but right now Justin was more concerned with the fact that Harris hadn't eaten in somewhere around twenty-four hours. But Harris just scooped some of the food onto his plate and Justin gave him an encouraging smile. He didn’t want to say out loud to Harris that it was safe, he’d already tried it, just for the fact of making an already difficult meal even more awkward, though he did make a point of taking a large bite of the risotto and reaching over to squeeze Harris’s hand gently. He was pulled back into the fact that there was a conversation going on at the table when Casey spoke again, and he hesitated at the question. What was a polite way of saying that he didn’t give a damn what was in the neighborhood, he just was just fishing for any kind of small talk that would make the meal less painful? He shrugged his good shoulder and went back to pushing the risotto around on his plate. “No, nothing really in particular. Just curious. Should probably find a clothing store soon, though. Look like I’m drowning in potato sacks wearing my old clothes,” he tried for a lighter tone, but it fell short, and he picking at a piece of bread by way of distraction.
Mary wanted just a nice family meal. She didn’t think that was too much to ask, really. But Justin was tense and wouldn’t take his eyes away from Harrison, and Harrison as just watching dishes being passed around like he was watching a tennis match. She did smile at Casey’s words though. “I’m glad you like it. There’s plenty more, so don’t be shy.” She turned to give the same comment to her husband but, having been married to her for so long, he beat her to it. “It’s wonderful, and yes I’ll get seconds, just let me finish this plate.” Satisfied she turned back to Justin and Casey’s conversation, eyes drifting momentarily to Harrison, but she didn’t really know if she should comment on his meager eating habits. He already looking like a frightened puppy that would bolt at the first sign of even the slightest attention being put on him. “You do need new clothes. I’ll look it up tonight and see if I can find a store nearby. Here, do you want some corn?” She turned a smile towards Harris. “You know, when he was little he used to think corn was a kind of bean.” “He called them corn beans,” Dairen interjected from beside her with a laugh. Justin predictably rolled his eyes as he reached out to take the corn from her. “I was four,” he answered. Happy that the discussion was at least going relatively well, Mary sat back, finally taking a single bite of food herself before turning her gaze instead to Vlad. he’d almost finished the risotto on his plate, so she nudged the bowl towards him and glanced at Dairen. “Offer Vlad some more. We have plenty to go around.” Dairen picked up to bowl, passing it to Vlad as he recited her words in Russian. A choked laugh sounded form across the table and she looked up to see Justin coughing into his napkin before waving off her concerned look, an oddly amused smile on his face that she couldn’t quite place a reason for.
Harris went a dark pink again as Justin quickly offered to run and get him whatever he wanted. He didn’t want -that was the problem - but he hurried to take something just to get Justin to relax again. A few more minutes passed, conversation now passing around the table instead of bowls, and Harris didn’t even realize he was waiting for the other shoe to drop until he felt the squeeze on his hand and looked over to see Justin’s reassuring smile. Right. Safe. It was still a strange awkward thing to pick up a fork and use it to push some of the warm mush into his mouth, but he managed a cautious bite, rolling it around his mouth in as he tried to convince himself to swallow, listening to Justin and Casey as a distraction. The lump went down and he smirked, pointedly holding out an arm towards Justin and the hoodie rolled up a dozen times to find his hands, but he also couldn’t imagine wearing anything else. Pants that fit somewhat better would probably be good though. He was a little afraid of giving a show every time he stood up. Or tripping. Noting eyes on him past Justin, he briefly met Mrs. Klein’s gaze before it flicked back to Justin in surprise. A corn as a bean? A soft giggle slipped past his lips before he could stifle it, though his hand immediately flew up to muffle the noise as he looked over at the eldest Klein in delight. Corn beans! He raised a mildly disbelieving eyebrow as his fiancè insisted he was four and that made it okay but nodded all the same in a ‘mmmhmm sure babe, ok’ kinda way. Everything lightened and brightened for a moment until Justin was coughing into his napkin and Harris’ whole body froze. He pushed his plate away, scooting forward to get his hands on his boyfriend and throw a mistrustful glance around the table to see if anyone else was affected before he realized Justin was laughing. Or well, trying not to laugh. Confused, he let his hands drop and scooted back, willing his heart beat to return to normal and his brain to just shut the hell up for 15 minutes.
Justin tried to relax, he really did. This was supposed to be normal, right? Family meal, conversation that mostly consisted of embarrassing stories, Harris even giggled. This was normal. Justin’s body just wasn’t quite adjusted to what normal was supposed to feel like yet. Which was ridiculous when he thought about it, because he was fine and relaxed the last couple days in New York. They were safer here than they'd been there. He knew that, logically. But physically his body felt on edge, like he was ready for any trigger to send him into fight or flight mode. Still, he was able to give a mock glare to Harris at the teasing, patronizing look, before he broke into a smile. He did choke out a laugh at his dad’s non-translation of his mother’s request, barely registering Vlad’s slightly surprised look before he just nodded and agreed. His smile fell quickly though, and his body was back on edge when he saw Harris’s reaction, and shit— he hadn’t meant to scare him. Justin reached out to grab his fiancé’s hand, squeezing it gently as he leaned over to mutter so his mother wouldn’t hear him, “Sorry, my dad just surprised me, he didn’t quite translate exactly what my mom asked him to. He put Vlad on clean-up duty.” He pulled back, giving Harris a sheepish smile and mouthing ‘I love you,’ as if it made up for almost giving Harris a heart attack. He squeezed Harris’s hand briefly again before dropping it to reach for his fork again, stabbing at the mush on his plate. How the hell were they ever supposed to get to normal? None of this felt normal, even though Justin knew it was supposed to. It just felt like they’d been thrown into some cheesy sitcom and told to play the part of a loving, happy family, under the ill-informed impression that it would eventually turn into reality.
Harris felt his cheeks flaring a bright red and couldn't bring himself to look up from his lap even as Justin grabbed his hand and leaned in close. Unknowingly, he swayed in closer grounded by Justin's presence even through his own embarrassment and shame. He nodded slightly at Justin's explanation before flicking a brief look at Agent Klein before Justin was swaying away and he looked over half-tempted to ask him to stay close. It was a dinner table, not the basement, but Harris couldn't stop expecting threats and harm. "Je suis désolé." he whispered. He folded his hands in his sleeves, dropping them into his lap as he was let go, uncertain how Justin had the stomach to attempt eating again but he'd always been much braver than Harris. Part of him wanted to ask to be excused, but he couldn't be out of Justin's sight, or actually alone - what if there was someone now waiting in the bedrooms or the bathroom or the living room just waiting for them to separate? The other part wanted to stick around and help with clean up but he knew the noise and the slight chaos of trying to find where everything went in a new place and people bumping into each other would set him off again, but he didn't want to just .... it was so much easier when it was just him and Justin. He felt like he was taking advantage - being offered food, picking at it, and then letting someone else clean up after him. That was a rude thing to do. He was rude. He was bad. His eyes started to fill, remembered words circling around and around his head. Bad, lazy, burden, pretty, broken, Justin's plaything - Marty's voice in his head was the last straw and he couldn't find a volume loud enough on the iPod to drown him out. But he tried, he tried to stop listening, he tried to keep his cheeks dry and to draw as little attention to himself as he could. He didn't want to ruin dinner (but that's what he did, didn't he) so he stayed until plates started being cleared and he did take his and Justin's, scraping off the leftovers with red cheeks and putting them in the sink before he retreated back to Justin's side, tucking himself against his shoulder and trying to just breathe. He was okay. He was safe. Justin put a ring on his finger - he wasn't going to change his mind. Probably wasn't. Might. If Harris - "Need a few minutes," he whispered desperately trying to drown out his own thoughts. "Me 'n you. S'too loud in my head. M'sorry for ruining dinner. For embarrassing you. For being bad. Don't leave, please. I'm sorry." They hadn't really talked about it. Well, any of it, but especially the things that'd happened when they were separated. Harris didn't know the kinds of things they told Justin. He knew Justin thought he was dead so maybe they hadn't - maybe - why couldn't he stop thinking?
Justin wanted the dinner to be over. His mother kept talking, addressing either dad or Casey as she named off all the places they just had to go since they were in Paris. Justin wasn’t really paying much attention. He forced himself to finish at least most of his food just so she wouldn’t question or push him, then he reached over for Harris’s hand. “Hey, babe, are you ok?” Justin muttered quietly, leaning closer. He was silent, but not just silent, it was the kind of silence that Justin’s body had started associating with fear and the immediate need to do something. It wasn’t just the post panic need to breathe kind of silence that Justin knew to stay quiet during. Justin could see the tears filling, and could practically hear his mind spinning and twisting and not stopping. “Do you want to go find one of the bedrooms and sit down for a while? We can watch a movie or something.” He was reluctant to let go when Harris started to move, grabbing their plates and following Justin’s parents as they started to clear the table. Justin stood to follow, limping slightly, but he left his cane behind anyway, preferring to have his arm free when Harris needed him. That didn’t take more than a minute, and Harris was curled back against his chest, and Justin wrapped arm around his back. “Hey, it’s alright, ‘M right here,” he muttered quietly, not really sure what had sparked this, and very much hoping it hadn’t been Justin’s bad choice of trying to hide laughter by coughing during dinner. He pulled back slightly at harris’s rambling explanation though and stared at his fiancé. “Come on, let’s go find a room, ok?” He said, needing the few seconds it would take to relocate to run those thoughts through his mind. It didn’t make any sense. But he just focused for a moment on getting them away from the crowd where they could sit down and talk. “We’re gonna go find one of the bedrooms and rest for a bit, alright?” he called doe his shoulder. When he looked back at the group, he saw his dad already staring at concern at Harris curled against his side. “Take whichever room you want,” his dad said, still not taking his eyes away from Harris. Justin turned back to Harris, curling protectingly around him, shielding him from his dad’s concern eyes without really having a reason for it. “C’mon, you’re alright, just walk with me, ok?” He led the way down the hall of multiple closed doors. The first one was a bathroom, but the second one had a bed and a small dresser, so Justin guided Harris inside, pushing the door shut behind them, and led him over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Hey, look at me,” he muttered, raising his hand to the side of Harris’s face. “You don’t need to be sorry for anything. You didn’t embarrass me, or ruin dinner or do anything bad, ok? I’m not going anywhere, жених. I love you.” He leaned forward to press a kiss against Harris’s lips, as if proving the statement. “I’m not going anywhere,” he repeated when he pulled back. He pulled Harris back against his chest, wrapping his good arm as tightly around his fiancé as he dared, conscious of the freshly bandaged cuts. “Just breathe, babe. You’re alright. ‘M right here. If you want to talk about whatever it is, we can. If you don’t want to right now, that’s ok too.” he knew that was important, the escape hatch. He was afraid of pushing too much and Harris getting freaked out and pulling further into himself, but he wanted to know what had sparked this, what had bene going through Harris’s head during dinner.
Harris hadn’t realized how lost in his own head he’d gotten. The words in reality were a lot quieter than the ones in his head and he found himself blocking most of it out until he’d stumbled his way back to Justin’s chest. How many different ways could a person panic? It wasn’t like he was on the edge of a panic attack like he had been in the airport but he wasn’t - it felt kind of like that, actually. Less about where he was and the danger that he was tempting, but his brain wouldn’t stop and everything was getting too loud and too much. Was he going to be like this forever? Was this just who he was now? Someone who got easily overwhelmed and shut down until his boyfriend could get him breathing again? Fuck, he really was pathetic. Vaguely, he was aware Justin was talking and they were moving and he could feel eyes on him but he didn’t dare look up to see who it was. He didn’t know if it’d be worse to see pity or exasperation and wasn’t going to risk finding out. Justin didn’t give him a chance to anyway, curling more around him, and this - this was a little easier. All his senses were starting to be taken over by the same comforting thing and he just needed like five more minutes of it and he could probably function again. But Justin wanted to walk and so he somehow coordinated his feet to move and got from one place to another until Justin was easing him down onto something almost too soft to be comfortable. Look? Harris didn’t want to. But Justin’s touch was soft and nudging so he raised his gaze enough to meet Justin’s before flicking it around, taking in the still yellowing bruises and dark splotches on his skin. They looked like hell, didn’t they? “M’-“ Another apology was on his lips but Justin was already there, preemptively cutting it off and trying to absolve his guilt. But he did fuck up and he did ruin dinner and the way they were all looking at him after proved that. Still, he let Justin kiss him before giving a little nod. He didn’t know a lot of things and trusted even less but that he believed. Justin wouldn’t leave his side willingly. Not now. Though the traitorous part of his brain corrected that quickly to a not yet. Did he want to talk? Most him wanted to shrug it off, say he was sorry a hundred more times and then let it go. But he didn’t understand how Justin was managing to function so much better than he was and maybe there was something Justin could teach him so he didn’t fall apart so often. “You should put your leg up.” He said softly, glancing down. It hurt to lay down and hurt even more to try and get back up but Justin’d been nearly unable to walk just hours ago so he gently nudged his boyfriend until he scooted up the bed and rested against the headboard and then gingerly followed himself. He sat as close as their bodies would allow but tucked his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, though he didn’t pull away when Justin reached out. He’d let the other play with his hair or put an arm around him or do whatever he wanted to do, he just needed the tiny bit of self-protection to find the strength to verbalize some of what was going on in his head. “I don’t know where or how to start,” he admitted, hugging himself a little closer and belatedly pulling out the ear buds, tucking them back into his hoodie though, he really should probably have kept them in. “I know they say your mind can be your greatest enemy or your best ally. I know that you and I are fundamentally different. You - you’re a solider. And I’ve been fighting my head since I was a child. So I get why - why you can power through and be there and worry and …function. But I don’t get the how.” He fell silent for a moment, trying to piece together his own fragmented thoughts. “I know it takes time and I know you’ll be patient and I know you’re eager and willing to help but I - “ he trailed off, uncertain of the point he was heading towards. “I don't know. I don't know the words to put what I’m feeling or what I’m thinking into a way you can understand. I feel scattered? Like I’m not all here and I’m not put together right and scared and distrustful and overwhelmed. The smallest things are too much and I - I don’t know. I hear you when you say we're safe and that we're out and it's over. I hear you say you love me and I hear you say that I’m not bad. I also hear you say you're okay and know that's a lie. You can’t be okay. We’re not okay. I don't know how to be okay. If I didn’t make it out of that first container, or from Ellie & Coh’s murder, or from my entirely orchestrated childhood - where am I now?” He paused, wiping off his cheeks and curling up a little more, “The obvious answer is I’m here, with you, on a bed in Paris. But then I fuck up and I’ve got everyone from Piers to Natasha to Blythe to my Mom to Marty and his sidekicks and more in my head telling me things and how can so many people be wrong? And they're not. Not entirely. Sure, they've all lied but they've all told the truth at some point too. Who am I to decide that just the negative bits are lies? Marty used to say touches could be replaced. Marks can fade. Even scars. But memories - memories are forever. He told me you could kiss every spot he's ever touched me a hundred times, but I’ll still remember that touch. And that was why damage to the brain was far more satisfying than damage to the body. There's no ice pack for doubt, no ibuprofen for shame, no defenses for the words he said. Those aren't lies. I keep expecting to blink and end up back there, I see him in the corner of my eye even though I know he’s dead. I killed him. But he's right. I don't remember which time it was. I just know that they let go. Nobody was restraining me and Marty told me to go to the door, so I did. He told me to turn the handle and I hesitated. I could have flung that door open and I could have ran and found a phone or a neighbor or someone to help you, but I was certain that if they didn't shoot me in the back first, they'd shoot you the second I crossed the threshold and that anyone I ran into on the street was probably TC. Logically, I know now there wasn't really a choice - that wasn't an actual way out - but he twisted it up so much in my head I started to believe it. He said it my decision, to stay or to go. I let go of the door. I chose to stay. I chose what happened to us.” Harris felt a thousand miles away, like he was reciting something that'd happened to someone else. “He told me to go upstairs. I did. Then he told me he won. His goal was never to kill us - they'd have sent an assassin for that. We’d have died in our beds under everyone's noses. They brought him in particularly because he specialized in psychological torture. And because he had a very personal bone to pick with Noèmi. He said I'd get out eventually - probably without you- but definitely with him even if he was dead. Promised that he'd get me to a point where I would no longer be certain of my own thoughts. If they were his or mine. Reality or fantasy. Because I couldn't have both. Fantasy meant you, meant family, meant being loved because if you knew the reality - you wouldn’t be able to love me anymore. And he’s right. I don't know if that's his thought or mine. He wanted to break me and I am. I’m broken. But you're still here. He was so certain you wouldn't be. I mean, it's early, and I’ll try to be good. But I don't understand why you'd want to stay. I kept us there. I - I made several horrible decisions. I’m a liability and a burden and rude and bad and you - you say you love me that I give you a future, but you - you deserve so much more than me. Your family does too. I make them uncomfortable. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Justin didn't really want to pull away long enough move to where he could put his leg up, but Harris was right, and arguing the point wasn’t going to get them anywhere. So he shifted back so he could rest against the headboard, taking one of the pillows and tucking it under his leg. Justin reached out to put an arm around him before realising Harris wasn’t really in a mood or mindset to curl against him, and moved his hand to card through his fiancé’s hair instead. He stayed silent, knowing better than to prod and poke with questions at this point, and just waited until Harris felt like talking. He shrugged his good shoulder at the statement. “The how is because for more than a decade, I was compartmentalizing. It was the first thing they taught us. You’ve known about all of this for less than a year, but me, Cohen, Casey, Nate— we were living two lives since we were ten. Separating my mind, emotions, all of it from what I know I logically need to do is second nature by now. It’s not healthy, I’m sure, but I don’t know how to not look forward at the next step to keep us alive and safe and figure out exactly what I need to do to get us there.” He couldn’t quite see Harris’s face from where he was leaning against the headboard, so his eyes followed the path of his fingers gently twisting locks of hair around. “Depends how you define okay, I guess. If you mean normal, hell if I know what that means anymore. If you mean mentally healthy and perfectly stable, no we’re not. But we are okay in the sense that we’re out. Physically we’re healing, we’re not collecting new injuries every other day, and we’ve got people right down the hall that would do absolutely anything to keep us safe. We’re not perfect, we’re not to whatever point we were at before, but we’re better off than we were a week ago.” It sounded like some after school special to his own ears, but he didn’t know what else he was supposed to say. It was all fucked and— what? What was the other option than picking up and moving forward as well as they could? Giving up? That wasn’t an option. Justin wouldn’t even entertain it as a option. His eyes snapped up to the side of Harris’s face when he started talking again though, and fuck he hadn’t expected any of that. His blood went cold at the retelling of Marty’s words, and Justin could hear the words of one of his idiot goons echo in his mind again, ”Your boy’s being so good for us. If you squint a certain way, he even looks like a girl.” Justin opened his mouth— he started to ask, but snapped his jaw shut again. He knew he couldn’t handle it if— fuck. Just at the thought of the possibility Justin wanted to fly back to New York. He didn’t care that they were dead, he wanted to tear their bodies apart and burn them. Justin didn’t realize until he was listening to Harris talk again that his hand had fallen away, and he reached out again to rest his hand on Harris’s shoulder. It took a minute before he trusted his voice again. “I think it would’ve been easy. To believe him, to believe that he would’ve let you leave. You could’ve opened the door, and if they’d shot you or shot me, still told yourself that you had to take that chance at leaving. But you knew there wasn’t a choice then, and you know now. There wasn’t a way out. Walking away from that door was harder, but you made the choice, and that choice kept us alive. Not the choice for everything they did to us, but you made the choice that we could live and make it out of there. Who knows what would’ve been there if you’d opened the door. If it hadn’t been a brick wall it would’ve been a gun. But we’re alive, right now. And if you’d opened that door, maybe we still would be, but maybe we wouldn’t.” He leaned forward so he could look at Harris easy, and slid his arm around Harris’s shoulders. “Don’t do that, okay? Don’t be sorry. You’re not a liability or a burden or bad or any of that. He was so sure I wouldn’t be here— well there’s your proof already. He was wrong. He was lying, and I’m not going anywhere. Don’t regret or beat yourself up over any decisions you made in there, because we’re alive, and from here we can heal and build a life. If either of us had made any different choices when we were there, sure maybe it would’ve been easier, but it also could’ve been a hell of a lot worse.” He wasn’t sure if he was reminding Harris or himself. Overtime blame started getting thrown around, even when they were just throwing it at themselves, Justin’s mind kept playing over his own words before they left for the hospital that day. ”I have to go back to the hospital for a follow-up. Wanna come with me? Alyssa gave me directions to a dance supply store near there. We can go after we leave the hospital, if you want.” Justin couldn’t even bring himself to say it out loud. He knew how it would go, either Harris would realize it was his fault and blame him, or more likely, he’d try and say it wasn’t his fault and he couldn’t have known, but there was nothing that could be said that would absolve that guilt. He’d outright bribed Harris to go with him—to be kidnapped, end up on that boat then in the basement. But saying it out loud wouldn’t change it. It wouldn’t make it easier get past. So he just leaned over, pressed a kiss against Harris’s cheek and then just leaned there, not willing to pull back and look Harris in the eyes. He focused on just forward. Moving forward, keeping Harris in one piece; it was the only way to calm his own mind from running a hundred miles a second. “He was wrong about something else too. The fantasy that he built up— that’s not fantasy. Me, and my family and being loved— that’s your reality. He can’t take that away. He never had the power to. I love you, and see this?” He moved his hand to tap the ring on Harris’s finger. “This means that’s not ever changing, and you’re stuck with me,” he said in a lighter tone. “Maybe we are broken, both of us. But we got out with all the pieces. Just gotta figure out how to put them together again, and we’ve got plenty of time for that.
Harris still didn't understand. He could compartmentalize shit in the basement, shit after the basement, shit before the basement and that still didn’t make it any easier to sit through a freakin’ family meal. The feeling of fingers in his hair made him turn a little from staring at the bed to look over at Justin before having to look away while fighting back the urge to cry again. How do you compartmentalize when everything’s a lie? Then again, put like that - was it really compartmentalizing? Justin was just ignoring himself in order to do what needed to be done. Harris wasn’t that strong. Even when he tried, it took all of someone fucking sneezing to send him spiraling. And now he felt even more like shit ‘cause here Justin was doing everything he could to keep them alive and safe and Harris was just…a mess. Though, he had some logic there. Arguably, they were better than they were last week. But arguably they were a lot worse too. ‘Cause time away from live-or-die situations meant time to process live-or-die situations and Harris was pretty sure this was the very tip of a very large iceberg neither of them had any real desire to conquer. Had it been the right choice? If he’d opened that door and been shot - would Justin have been let go? He’d be the last bargaining chip. They wouldn’t have killed them both. Justin’d been adamant that he wouldn’t have found life worth living without Harris but would he have? Between his parents and Casey and Nate and Jer and Coral? Why didn’t Justin’s words alleviate any of the stifling guilt in his chest? Briefly he met Justin’s gaze when the other ducked close enough before he shut his eyes, resisting the urge to both argue back and shrug the arm off. He didn’t deserve comfort right now, didn’t deserve being touched like he mattered, not when he - not like this. Was that enough? Just being alive? Then again, there it was again. A basic fundamental difference. Justin saw tomorrow as a chance to heal and go up from here and Harris saw it an impossibly long 24 hours to grit his teeth and buckle up for. Getting through a day took effort, and stamina, and so much more that he just didn’t have anymore. How was that hopeful? He’d been told over and over since he put his sister in the ground that it’d get better, it’d get maybe not easier, but bearable but that was a lie too. Time wasn’t going to heal this, it’d seemed to quite enjoy doing the opposite. He did flinch slightly away from the kiss, heart stuttering when Justin announced he’d been wrong about something else, but the words just made the water finally trail down his cheeks again. “Didn’t he?” Harris tossed back quietly, opening his eyes again at the touch to his finger, uncertain how it was even possible to still feel new and different kinds of pain. “He didn’t have to come after you or your family to take that away. All he had to do was make me even consider that maybe I don’t deserve it. That I shouldn’t be or couldn’t be - “ his voice broke, turning to look away as he shook his head. Those messages had been engrained long before Marty came along, but that wasn’t here nor there, not really. “I get what you’re saying. And I appreciate it. You love me and that’s - that’s not necessarily reliant on what I have or haven’t done or do and don’t deserve. Logically I get that. it’s your choice and you’re picking me. We've had this talk before and I'm sorry to bring it up again. M’just…” What? What was he? What was he trying so hard to get Justin to understand? What had his whole freak out been about? “Scared.” He settled on after a few minutes. “I’m so scared. Not just of TC, of Casey, of your parents, of our friends, of the future, of the past, but mostly…mostly i’m scared of me. I feel like someone's taken my Etch-a-sketch of a life and shaken it. You say we have all our pieces, but I don’t. I don’t. I don't know what to fall back on. What I'm trying to get back to pre-all this. El’s gone. My mother’s not just gone but was actually just a figment of my imagination. Cohen’s gone. Natasha, Blythe, Keaton all fooled me. Luna’s gone. Dance is gone. Alcohol is gone. All I have are thoughts, thoughts that I can't act on because I don't know what to believe anymore. I can't trust myself. I don't know what’s the truth from the lies. And to top that off, I’m a constant ticking time bomb. I don’t know when or what will set me off, but I can be certain that something will. That my brain’ll just take a hike or go into overdrive and I’ll panic or I’ll dissociate and what’ll happen to me if you're not there? I'm caught in this state of dependent … I don't even know. Paranoia? Distrust? Disbelief? I want to believe that I’m safe here. But I can’t. Not when I can't feel safe in my own skin.” He shouldn't have said that. He knew his boyfriend and he knew how helpless he felt whenever Harris brought up his own mental issues because that's the one thing he wasn't trained for so he just hiccuped and turned, tucking himself into Justin’s good shoulder because he could hold Harris and feel like he was at least shielding him from the worst of it. That Harris could give him.
Justin tried not to frown, not to pull away when Harry flinched at the brief kiss on his cheek. As well as he knew Harris, and knew how he acted, what most of his body language meant, some of it was still getting lost in translation, and he knew it was because of so many months of being unable to touch. Now he had trouble deciphering some of Harris’s reactions when Justin touched him, as being because of some feeling of being undeserving of the attention, or because he was actually really uncomfortable, like he’d very clearly been when Justin had kissed him back in New York. It was worse even, because of what Marty had said to Harris, of what his asshole henchmen had said to Justin, that now there was a third possibility, that the negative reaction was because of some flash of a memory from of them touching Harris. It was the kind of subtle knowledge he knew he’d understand and relearn again, and be able to decipher, but it was frustrating because he’d been able to read Harris that well before, and had been familiar with the subtle differences of every reaction, to the point he hadn’t even thought much about it. He’d just known it the same way he still understood the silent looks that could hold an entire conversation. For now though, not knowing the reason, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do to make Harris feel more comfortable, so he just dropped his hand to rub circles over Harris’s back and stayed silent as Harris spoke again. He hesitated for barely a moment before shifting slightly so he could reach up and wipe the tears on Harris’s cheeks. “It doesn’t matter what he said. None of it does. You deserve a family, and to be loved— You deserve everything in the world. You don’t need to apologise. We’ll have this same conversation a hundred times. As many times as we need to. Because I love you, and you deserve to be happy, and I’ll be here to tell you that every day for the rest of our lives.” His hand returned to carding through Harris’s hair. It was strange now, the abnormal length was starting to seem normal, though it still felt very foreboding at the same time, like both of their long hair and scraggly appearances still chained them to that basement. It made sense when Harris said it like that, and Justin wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to say to help make it any easier. Who was he to sit here and tell Harris that it would get easier, while he had his family downstairs? Granted, he knew his dad considered Harris as much of a son as Justin,
Justin but that didn’t necessarily make up for losing the family that harris had grown up with. “Then we’ll find new pieces, or make them. Together. Dance isn’t gone. Sure, Vlad might not be too crazy about you straining yourself right now, but after your body heals, you can dance again. And Luna isn’t gone. Not completely. You can call her, and she can fly here to visit. She can fly here for the wedding,” he added with a hopeful smile. If he was being honest, it made him uneasy. He knew Harris and Luna had been best friends, and Justin knew it was just him being overprotective, but he was ashamed to admit even to himself that he was glad she stayed in New York. Harris was struggling enough without her skipping into the room pushing a bottle of vodka or tequila into his hands. It was made even worse because Justin didn’t know what to say about anything else Harris was saying. His knee-jerk reaction was to say that when it seemed like too much, that he couldn’t trust himself, to trust Justin, that he’d be there. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Dependent whatever, and some part of Justin knew it wasn’t healthy. But what was wrong with wanting to be there for Harris, to protect him and give him someone to lean on when he felt like he couldn’t stand on his own? “I know you don’t like me saying it, but you’re stronger than you think you are. I believe that, and you keep proving it. You’re here, and it’s hard on you, and you’re struggling, but you’re getting through it. If I’m not there, you’re strong enough on your own. You know how to talk yourself through it when your mind, when paranoia or panic or whatever tries to take over. If you have to deal with it on your own, you can, but you don’t need to. I’m not going anywhere.” Wasn’t that something about human evolution? Being social creatures? Sure, people could get through things on their own, but they didn’t need to. And Harris didn’t need to. Just because he was strong enough to struggle through on his own didn’t mean that he needed to. Still, it gave Justin another thought that he didn’t really want to voice aloud, but felt like it should be said. He wrapped his arm around Harris, resting his chin against the top of Harris’s head, partially because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see the kind of reaction Harris would have to his words. “But, there’s always— I mean, I know meeting with Liz in New York didn’t go well, obviously. But if you wanted to talk to someone, a therapist. Either her or we could find someone here. That’s an option if you want to. And this isn’t me trying to get out of difficult conversations, or saying that I don’t want to hear this, or that I can’t handle it or any of that. I want you to be able to tell me all these things that are bothering you. I want to have these conversations. I’m just worried that— I don’t know what I can say other than I’m not going anywhere, and I love you. So if talking to someone that’s trained would help you work through— everything— then maybe it’s worth at least thinking about.”
Harris settled against Justin with a soft defeated sigh, letting the other take over, and hoping he had some kind of touch or magic words to soothe the hurts he couldn’t. At the very least it was nice to have a hand moving through his hair and hear the gentle reassurances that Justin fully planned to spend the rest of his life right here being whatever it was that Harris needed him to be even if he couldn’t fully believe it just yet. Where could he dance once he was healed? In the living room? There was no way he was going to be able to either a) find a company that’d take him in or b) be able to mentally handle being out in a company of strangers. That was assuming he could even keep up with people his age and there was a very strong possibility he couldn’t. His heart twinged again at the words but he just raised a shoulder. “Casey’s lost her.” he pointed out gently, “He wouldn’t be here if there was hope. He’s her only salvation. Without him, she’s completely untethered.” Sighing a little, he brought a hand up to rub at his face, willing the tears away. “To be honest, she was always kind of …. I didn’t feel so far away from Ellie when I was with her. Obviously, she’d say and do the complete opposite than El would have but - I could close my eyes and pretend. Probably wasn’t fair of me to do but I was just an audience to her so she wasn’t alone so it was a mutually using friendship. She won’t come to the wedding. She’ll send a wildly inappropriate gift and an apology with a ‘weddings just aren’t my thing’, but thank you for trying to make me feel better.” If he cared to think about it more, he’d probably realize they had a bond based purely on self-destruction and being kidnapped together. It was easier to spiral out of control with someone else as opposed to people expressing worry, and telling you not to. After all drinking together wasn't drinking alone so it was socially acceptable. Listening to Justin say that he could handle it and he was proof of it right here right now made him want to laugh, but he didn’t want to hurt his fiancé. So he just nuzzled against his good shoulder, hoping against hope that Justin was right. If push came to shove and he was left alone while his brain malfunctioned, that he’d be okay. Chances were he’d at least be in the apartment so there was little that could really happen to him. Talk to someone else? Another stranger? “I think I’ve had enough of people messing with my mind for now, thanks.” he said shortly. He could see why Justin suggested it and why it made sense, but how could he trust anyone to sort through his head and tell him what was and wasn’t right when he no longer knew? “I love you too. But no. I’m not talking to anyone else. I mean, maybe your Dad once he stops tiptoeing around us, but no. No strangers. Not again, no.” He pressed a little closer as Justin’s arms wrapped around him with another miserable little noise. “I feel gross.” he mumbled. “But he just redid my bandages. Why’d we let him do that?” He wasn't sure if it was the heavy conversation literally weighing on him, memories raising too close to the surface that he wanted to scrub off, or just the layers of grime that came with flying - but he was uncomfortable and almost willing to consider trying to shower again. A knock came before he could work out the nerve and he just tightened his fists on Justin’s shirt, but didn’t try to stop Justin from saying ‘Come on’ or said person from entering. The voice made him tense all over again but he couldn't help the bitter scoff from slipping out of his mouth. “Worried about what?” Harris tossed back dryly. “S’not like we’re going to jump out the window if you leave us alone too long or something.”
Casey had had his fair share of awkward dinners, but this one went immediately to the top of his list. He was arguably the mother hen of the guard group - but it was a necessary skill he’d developed after years of Luna neglecting her basic needs so it was nearly impossible for him to sit there and watch Justin and Harris struggle. It took him nearly sitting on his hands to keep from moving to the other side of the table, and a cold glare from Harris to keep his tongue in check. It was just so hard to see them like this. They’d feel so much better if they would eat, relax, and heal. But neither seemed to be able to relax and it was strange to see Justin eat so daintily. He could remember more than once the dismayed noises that both Mrs. Klein and Mrs. Lacey would make after a training session and finding their kitchens nearly bare. It almost seemed to be a point of pride, how much Cohen and Justin could put away, each almost daring the other to go one step further and now - now it seemed to take all Justin had to swallow a spoonful of potatoes. it didn’t take long for the awkward meal to spiral though and now his heart just hurt watching Harris struggle and eventually end up folded against Justin before being excused away from them. He couldn’t imagine what it’d be like to have essentially solitude for a third of a year and then be suddenly dropped back into normal life and expected to function. So he stayed quiet for the most part, knocking Mrs. Klein out of the way to do the dishes and pack up the leftovers and once again thank and praise her for cooking before exchanging uneasy looks with Agent Klein. It seemed to almost be a mental rock, paper, scissors, but he eventually won and headed off towards the bedroom, gently knocking and waiting to hear an okay before cracking the door open and sticking his head in. “Hey. Was just coming to check on ya. Everyone’s pretty worried. D’you guys need anything? Anything I can do?”
Justin knew Harris was right. he knew it from the moment Casey agreed to leave Luna and come with them. He’d been crazy about her as long as Justin had known him. If there was even the slightest chance she could be the person he needed her to be, the person Justin was pretty sure he’d convinced himself that she was, then he wouldn’t be in Paris with them. He was even almost relieved when Harris pointed out that she wouldn’t be at the wedding. There was still the chance that she would come just for Harris, but even that chance was slim, and Justin wasn’t sure any of them would want to see who she became when she wasn’t surrounded by guards and close friends for that long. Justin was almost scared for Harris to be around her at that point, not just for the destructive influence she had, but also just because he wasn’t sure Harris could handle seeing her that far gone. Justin wasn’t sure if he could handle seeing her that far gone himself. They’d never been as close as she’d been to Casey or Harris, but he’d kind of adopted her as his slightly insane younger sister. It was better this way he knew, it was just hard to wrap his head around. Their friends were on the other side of the world, and no matter what they told themselves, they would stay there in New York, while he and Harris would stay in Paris. “Ok, that’s fine,” Justin muttered, turning to press a kiss against Harris’s forehead, and wrapping his arm around Harris’s shoulders to pull him closer once Harris closed the distance. “You don’t have to talk to anyone you don't want to. I’m here, and my dad’s here.” He wasn’t sure what either of them could say to make this entire thing easier for him, but hopefully just time would help. Justin’s lips curled up into a wry smile. “Cause you were bleeding. Kind of a good reason to change bandages. But there’s no short supply of them.” He hesitated slightly, but this was a new place. It wasn’t about staying alive anymore, it was about recovering, and finding ways to heal and move on. “Do you want to try a bath or a shower? Vlad can rebandage your cuts, or I can.” The knock on the door drowned out the end of his sentence and he looked up, before glancing back at Harris briefly, making sure he was alright before calling out for whoever it was to come in. He reached over for Harris’s hand, squeezing it gently when he felt his fiancé tense beside him. He started to say that there was no reason to be worried, but Harris beat him to it. Justin couldn’t help flinching at the words, or the way his eyes widened and darted to stare at Harris. It was an offhanded comment, he knew that. There was probably no reason why it should make panic alarms go off in his brain, but it did. He didn’t want to worry Casey or make a scene of it though, so he just leaned down to press a kiss against the side of Harris’s head and pausing there long enough to whisper so Casey wouldn’t hear him. “Har, don’t even joke about that. Please?” He pressed another kiss to Harris’s cheek before he pulled back, trying not to look like he was already half way into panic mode when he looked up at Casey. “C’mon in. We’re— yeah, no reason to worry. Just needed to get away from all the chaos in the kitchen.” he couldn’t honestly say that they were fine, but he also knew he wasn’t going to be able to say that for a while. He also didn’t really want Casey to leave. Even though it felt strange to talk to someone else after being closed off, it was supposed to be normal, right? Hiding away from everyone and shielding themselves from the rest of the world, even the people sharing the apartment with them, wasn’t normal. Conversations and friendships, those were normal. “You can fill us in. I think we missed a lot over the last few months.”
Harris couldn’t put a name to the feelings threatening to overwhelm him even if someone’d had a gun to Justin’s head. For every bit of relief there was more anxiety for every soothed feeling there was more hurt and a lot of anger and he didn’t know where that was coming from either. He’d been angry after the first time too but that …. that almost ruined them and so he told himself that wasn’t going to happen this time. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake, but here he was. His insides went cold at the mention of a bath or shower, but he didn’t know how to answer. He wanted to just say no. But it’s not like he could go his entire life without ever showering again. But there was also no way he could shower and then let himself be touched by anyone other than maybe Justin and that’d bring up more anger and worry and fear for the both of them and he just - he was so tired. Too tired to control his own tongue, apparently, ‘cause Justin was going rigid at his side, asking him not to joke and who was joking? He looked up at Justin vaguely confused. The only reason they’d come and knock like this was if they thought they posed a danger to themselves or each other - they were peeking in to see if he’d cracked and done what apparently even Justin was afraid he’d do. “I’m sorry.” Was it part of the way they were wired differently? Why Harris’ will to live had given out well before Justin’s? Was it part of being a guard and pushing through at all costs? Was he just too sensitive for his own good? Had Justin told them? He didn’t think he’d said or acted in any way that would send red flags up or alert them to how dark his mind had gotten but … his hold on reality was shaky at best and maybe he had. It was his turn for his eyes to widen and look up at his boyfriend as the invite sunk in. If the point of coming in here was to avoid what was out there, why invite out there in?! He stayed silent, watching Casey move, try to find a place to sit and ultimately take a seat by Justin’s feet. He hugged his knees a little tighter to his chest, watching Casey's fingers reach out and grip around Justin’s ankle before his gaze darted up at the mention of Luna and Jer. He bit his lip, knowing that unlike him and his track record that Justin’d cared about Jer since the beginning and hadn't ever stopped or double crossed him. It had to be difficult to be away from someone he’d built his whole life around so he leaned back in, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw and wondering where it was his voice fled to whenever they weren't alone.
Casey hadn’t expected /that/. His eyebrows rose first at the sharp words and then further at Justin’s immediate reaction to them. He’d lacked the height and bulk that Justin and Cohen had and was hopeless with computers so it wasn’t Greerson or Copeland that’d taken him under to show him the ropes, but Collins. He knew people. And Justin was scared shitless which was obvious to anyone with eyes and would be of course justifiable given what he’d just gone through, but given the fear came not when he walked in but after Harris’ nonchalant remark - there was a lot more to this story. Unfortunately he didn’t see how he’d get his best friend alone for twenty minutes to ask about it so he settled for just shooting him a concerned look and raising an eyebrow, silently asking if he needed back up - if they should be keeping a closer eye on Harris and his access to anything potentially harmful. It was clear the youngest wanted no part of him, but Justin wasn’t okay, and Casey wasn't comfortable leaving either of them alone just yet, so he settled on the only available spot. Once there, he couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and touch, still so shocked that after so long Justin was really here, in one physical piece, even if he was scrambling to reassemble his mental and spiritual ones. “That’s understandable,” he said finally, deciding that looking only at Justin was probably the safer way to navigate this but he could feel the cold observation he was under. He nodded at Justin’s suggestion, before shifting, apologizing when he felt the bed jerk and Harris apparently startling before pulling out his slightly beat up old school camera. “It’s not going to hurt anyone. I promise. I just…thought you might like to see what Luna and Jer got up to. Everyone was kind of fractured and split up and it…I dunno. It seemed to help them, having a way to document their days whether they were talking to you guys or to Ryder or Alyssa or Nate or their uh, their parents. Sorry. They filled up a bunch of memory cards.” He powered the camera on before offering it to Justin to share with the skittish boy tucked into his side. “We went east while Nate and them went west. I didn’t trust the agency. Not when we’d put them through so many hoops and somehow still got played by Keaton. Sorry, I - “ He darted a glance at Harris but the small boy seemed to find the camera much more interesting than glaring daggers at him. “Anyway. I had to get them out of the country and I didn't have the personal finances or means to do that and I'm not a computer genuis to hack identities or fake ids or that so I took a chance. I got a hold of my Dad. I guess yours got there first and um, he was ready and surprisingly willing to help. He got us on a helicopter which - getting Coral and Jer on one was no easy feat. Keeping Luna from jumping out of it was even harder, but um, he’d worked with locals and set us up in a safehouse, not too far outside a town. It was busy enough to discourage anyone from attacking us, but not - not like Paris that'd be overwhelming to them. We were by the beach, which everyone seemed happy about, the owner of the house had several stringed instruments that he was more than happy to explain to Jer, they do this weird form of yoga that's less bendy and a lot more slow, but Coral loved it. For the most part, they were okay. They wanted to go home, they were worried about you guys, and Ryder & Alyssa and Nate but … maybe it was blessing being so close to a military base, or maybe … I don't know. But I thought it might ease your minds a little to know they were okay. There's a lot of very strange food they tried. There's a bunch of videos and pictures of that. And sake.”
Justin smiled softly, turning his head just enough to press a kiss against the top of Harris’s head. He focused on Casey’s voice, almost glad that it was just a voice call instead of a video call. He missed Casey, but wasn’t sure either he or Harris could handle seeing the group at the moment. “That’s good to hear,” Justin said, relaxing a bit. “Ryder and Alyssa are alright. We talked to them and Nate already.” He hesitated at the question, glancing down at Harris uncertainly before answering. “It’s close to being over. Close enough that you guys can come home, yeah. Soon. And by that I mean, if you guys were able to get on a plane sometime in the next twenty-four hours, that would be great, because we’re not going to be staying here much longer. Just, too difficult. Too many memories, you know.” Justin kept his eyes on Harris, watching for a reaction as he continued, wishing again that they had talked before about exactly how this conversation should go, because he wasn’t sure if Harris wanted to talk at all, and he knew that if they got anyone else on the phone they would demand to hear Harris’s voice. “Are Luna and Jer around? Think we could talk to them for just a minute?”
Harris’d tuned out, fingers playing idly with the headphone wire while trying not to sink too far into his own head. It’d been a long crazy couple of days for them and while he was no longer a stranger to dealing with his insomnia uncaffeinated anymore, it was somehow different knowing coffee was just downstairs and off-limits. His name being screeched through the phone pulled him out of the haze though, first looking around in the room in some confusion before dropping his gaze to the cellular device. “Darling?” he asked quietly, voice coming out much rougher and softer than he’d intended. He cleared his throat like that’d help and sat up a little, unbelieving of what he was hearing. She was babbling faster than he could keep up - especially because it felt like all the air’d just gotten kicked out of his chest. It more than caught him off guard how badly he wanted her here, for her to understand without him having to ever voice a word, for any pill, liquid, or powder she might have to make him feel vaguely functional again, or better - to forget, if only for a few hours. She always brought out his most destructive side but she was somewhere far away and that just made his eyes fill and start spilling over. “Luna.” He begged nonsensically, unaware he was on speaker on that end until he heard hiccuped sobs that weren’t his own. “Jer?” Instantly his mind flooded with soft and warm and quiet. Jer’d been the only one who didn’t try to push or shape him in anyway - he’d just always been there to hold Harris when he wanted it, to dry his tears, or let him sit quietly on a counter to watch him bake. He was the literal definition of comfort and now he was sobbing too, though trying to use the sleeves of his too big sweater to muffle it. “Miss you guys.” he got out eventually, feeling small and alone and so very far suddenly.
When Harris stopped Justin from opening the scrapbook,needing a minute to collect himself, Justin considered putting it away. This might not be the best time. This might’ve been a really bad idea. But then Harris was flipping through the pictures, and he wasn’t crying, he wasn’t freaking out, so Justin was going to call that a good sign. Justin smiled a bit, eyes drawn to the memories that he barely even remembered. “Yeah, it is. Think Coh had to steal your book and hide it to get you to even come over for the group picture, didn’t he?” At least he remembered vaguely Cohen threatening that he would; Justin hadn’t really been paying attention, though he couldn’t remember why. Probably watching Jer like a hawk making sure he didn’t step on a crab or something. It was so strange to think about, that— how long had it been? A month later, maybe two?— they would end up dating, after not even saying a word to each other that day on the beach. He’d started getting used to the oddities that were Harrison Kingsman at that point, like the fact that he would spend the entire beach day with his nose in a book instead of in the waves with everyone else. Those things that made him Harris, and Justin hadn’t acknowledged much past the fact that he was Ellie’s odd-but-in-an-endearing-way brother that was cute in the same way that he acknowledged all of his straight friends were attractive, but hadn’t thought much more about him. “Lot changes in not much time.”
Justin hummed his agreement at the statement, eyes shifting from Coral’s bright smile to his own face, almost unfamiliar to him now. “You know those movies, or shows where they find a picture of some distant relative from like a hundred years ago, but they look exactly like the present day person? Kinda feels like that.I know, logically it was me, it was us, at some point but— it doesn’t feel like it.” He laughed a bit and reached out to tap his finger against the picture of Luna and a very embarrassed Harris. “I remember that. Luna kept giving you a hard time about not taking your shirt off. She was really determined. Think she was disappointed to find out you don’t play for her team?” He asked jokingly, turning his head just a bit to press a kiss against Harris’s neck. He turned back to look at the photos again, only pulling back slightly so he could look at Harris when he closed the book. “I’m sure they’re alright. My dad would’ve found out and would’ve told us if they weren’t.” Though Justin couldn’t say that he didn’t have the same worries. He hadn’t talked to Jer in months. Did they know that he and Harris were okay? They couldn’t, or they would’ve been trying to call, right?
“Nothing is the same,” Justin admitted. “Yeah, babe. It makes a lot of sense. You don’t need to be sorry. I don’t think there’s no right or wrong way to act here. Just thought, you know, even if it’s a different life to us now, we have these pictures. Something to remember, whichever lifetime that was.” Moving his hand from Harris’s shoulder up to card through his hair, Justin pulled his boyf— fiancé closer to press their lips together. when he pulled back, he didn’t move away, his fingers playing through Harris’s hair. “We can call them, if you want. I know it’s— a different lifetime that we shared with them really, but why don’t we call them? We can talk to Luna and Jer and everyone, and can make sure they’re alright.” He pressed another chaste kiss to Harris’s lips before he pulled back and stretched across the bed to reach for the burner phone that he’d end up tossing before they got on the plane, before realising that he didn’t have any number to reach Casey or anyone else. So he dialled the only number that was in the phone. “Are you actually calling me from upstairs?” His dad’s voice answered. “Yeah, do you have Casey’s number? We want to call him.” After his dad recited the number to him, Justin hung up and punched it into the phone, holding it out to Harris before hitting send. “Only if you want to.”
A small smile played on his lips as Justin tried to recall what’d gotten Harris up off the towel and he nodded a little. “Got tag-teamed by him and El.” he recalled quietly. A soft scoff left his mouth as he tried to remember exactly what words had been used. “C’mon, H. For me. I wanna have your face in my summer memories too. You’re part of me and so you’re part of this, it’s just a picture, c’mon. I won’t make you play volleyball later, how ‘bout that?” He was quiet for a few moments as Justin went over the pictures too before smirking a little. “Now we’re century old vampires?” he teased. He shifted a little as he pointed out the picture of Luna trying to undress him and gave a little shrug. “I was a lot smaller than you guys and I had bruises I didn’t have a good lie for. I was … self-conscious I guess.” His nose wrinkled at the thought and he shook his head. “Nawh, I don’t think she ever wanted to sleep with me. We got along in a very different team-sense.” He tried, startling a little at the soft touch on his neck. When was the last time he’d felt that?
He watched Justin respond, trying to find the pacification or lie in his eyes as he agreed with Harris’ half bitten off words but he didn’t see anything. So he deflated, melting into the touch once Justin started playing with his hair and returning the soft kiss before his eyebrows flew up. Call them? As in - Luna them? When they’d been taken, he’d been barely on speaking terms with anyone. Did they want to hear from him? Their attempt at a conversation with Ryder and Alyssa hadn’t gone very well. But that was also visual and this was just a phone. Maybe it’d feel like less pressure and less exposure. He did really miss Jer and despite their differences - Luna too. So he gave a little nod. “Okay.” He was half-certain Agent - Darien would veto their request, but Justin was just punching numbers into his phone and then holding it out to Harris.
“What do we say?” Harris asked quietly. “Surprise? Hi. We’re alive.” Anxiety started spreading through his veins again so he pushed the book off his lap so he could fold up, clumsy fingers trying to work the almost-dead iPod, spending one last moment debating the pros and cons of hiding a little bit longer from them before hitting the green button and watching Justin with wide eyes.
~~~
Casey had known the moment Harris didn’t answer his phone that any control Luna’d had would snap. If Justin’d come back - she might have be able to be reigned in and focused to search for Harris but to lose them both…there was nothing anyone could do. They’d all foolishly thought that was it - that was as bad as things could get - none of them had been prepared for the Australia guards to do what they did. Casey’d never get the look on Ryder’s face out of his brain or Alyssa’s screams from his ears, but there’d been no time to plan. They had to get the kids out so Casey’d grabbed the Americans while Nate took the Australians and they bolted. Things were too up in the air and Casey didn’t know who or what to trust anyone so he never call in. He didn’t reach out to any agency contacts, just laid low, paid who he needed to and got them on the first plane the hell out of there. Hawaii and Australia had only proven that being in rural areas made them sitting ducks so he headed for one of the most populous areas he knew of and moved them around several of Japan’s islands for weeks before he finally started settling down on one. They’d had their current ‘home’ for about five weeks now and he’d taken to calling Agent Klein almost daily asking for updates on Justin & Harris, on Nate. After so long it’d become a habit and he honestly hadn’t known what to do when the man came back with they’re safe and home. He’d been stunned for the better part of the day and he knew that they had to play things on their time. He’d seen first hand how being kidnapped had affected them before but he still wasn’t ready for the unknown number and Justin’s voice in his ear for the first time in four months. “Oh you crazy motherfucker.” Casey breathed out, tears building in his eyes, but he just walked out to the patio, shaking his head as a happy laugh burst out. “I missed you. I’m so glad you’re okay. Welcome home! I’d have called sooner but your Dad said to give you time. You guys doing okay?”
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