Author's Note: Hey, hi, hello, it's been a while since I posted, well, anything. I finished my graduate program and graduated Dec. 14th with a Master of Science in Clinical Mental Health. I start work at a private practice early next year, once I get alllll the paperwork dealt with. In the meantime, I want to get back into posting and talking with y'all. I haven't stopped writing at all, just couldn't find time and energy to post.
If you're interested in this series, Chapter 1 is here so that you can start from the beginning. :)
Without further ado, here's chapter 8:
Chapter 8: Confrontation & Calamity
(Chapter 7: Conversations)
Ian returns to the McCartney’s house mid-day Sunday. Paul, Aisha, and John arrive at the same time, ready to help Ian remove his limited belongings from the house. Ian has agreed to immediately move in with Aisha and John. They had worked on cleaning the apartment all day Saturday, moving furniture around and swapping out a few pieces from Ian’s storage unit. As much as Ian hated the fuss that went along with the moving, he couldn’t help but admit at the end of the day — curled up in his own, favorite armchair once again — that it felt good being amongst some of his things again. And in a household that seemed to actually want him there.
Now, though, he’s staring up the walk at the front door to the McCartney’s house. He knows he has to go in there, knows he has to face Abby. He can see her at the door already, staring out at Ian and his gathered posse.
“Do you want us to come in with you?” Paul asks softly.
Ian shakes his head, not taking his eyes off of Abby. “No, I need to do this myself. Just … um, stay close? In case … something goes wrong?” He turns halfway and offers his friends a wobbly smile. “I got this.” He laughs halfheartedly. “I talk people down for a living. Why is this one so much different?”
Paul steps in close. “This one hits home, Ian.” He reaches out and squeezes Ian’s arm. “You’ve got this. We’re right behind you.”
Ian takes a deep breath. “Okay. I can do this.” He turns and glances up at the house, where Abby has now opened the door and is glaring down at him. “I’ll let y’all know when you can come up.” He squares his shoulders and starts what feels like a death march up to Abby.
Abby stares at him the whole way, seething anger apparent in her eyes and her body language. Ian forces himself not to bow under her withering glare. He finds that it gets easier, the closer he gets. She’s angry — incredibly angry — and as Ian approaches, the level of her anger seems more and more ridiculous. She kicked him out. She threw him out with nowhere to go. She hasn’t answered any of his texts or calls, nor has she even bothered to reach out to find out if he has been okay.
Ian finds himself getting more and more frustrated with each step he takes. It’s as if the twenty-four hours spent with Aisha and John has jump started the self-preservation instinct in Ian’s mind again. Ian is suddenly aware of how shitty Abby has treated him, and how much he hates Dennis’ perpetual horniness. Ian feels used, and he’s finally tired of it.
He reaches the door and stops.
Abby doesn’t move.
“Can I come in? We need to talk.” An eerie calm settles over Ian. He can do this. He is doing this.
Abby raises an eyebrow. Her gaze flicks over Ian’s shoulder to the friends Ian knows are there to support him. “Wanna talk about why you decided to bring you friends with you?”
“Inside, Abby. This doesn’t need to be something the neighbors watch.”
Abby stares him down. When Ian neither flinches nor caves, she rolls her eyes. “You’re just going to be difficult about this, aren’t you?”
“I just want to talk in private,” Ian says, his voice level.
Abby huffs. “Fine.” She shoves the door open and steps back.
Ian follows her inside. He quickly clocks Dennis rising from the couch off to his left. Abby retreats to lean against the side table, the one with the huge glass vase of faux fall flowers in it.
Ian takes a deep breath. “There’s … not really an easy way to say this.” He glances between Abby and Dennis. “I’m done. This … this isn’t working. It hasn’t been working for a long time, but after Tuesday …” Ian focuses on Abby. “We’re over. I’m moving out today. That’s … why they’re here.” He motions in the direction of his friends.
Abby sneers. “Oh, can’t take consequences, can we? Bastard.”
Ian swallows. “There’s no need to belittle me anymore, Abby. I’m not putting up with this.”
Abby’s face takes on a horrific mockery of amusement. “Fuck you, Ian,” she spits. She jabs a finger at him. “You are such a pathetic excuse of a man. Can’t take anything we dish out, can you?” She flicks her hand at Dennis, who has inched a bit closer. “Can’t be there for Dennis when he needs you, can even take a night off from your friends to spend an evening with your partners.” Abby shakes her head. “You’re a fucking disaster of a partner.”
Ian forces his breathing to stay even. He can’t let her get to him. He has to hold strong. “Abby. Stop.” He glances at Dennis and then back to Abby. “As for being there for either of you — I’ve never been anything but there. Every time one of you wants a part of me, I’ve given in. And I hate it. I hate it so much. I don’t want to be used anymore. I’m done.”
“Done? Oh, no, honey. You are done when I say so.” Abby takes a threatening step towards Ian. “You don’t get to walk out of here just like that. You’re a part of this household, like it or not. I will not let you leave.”
Ian raises an eyebrow. “You have no say over what I do or do not do.” He sighs. “I’m getting the others. We’re packing up my clothes. This is over.”
“You are not leaving!” Abby screams at him. “Fuck you, you bastard! This isn’t over. It’s over when I say it’s over. Hey! Come back here!”
Ian turns slowly away from her. “We’re done, Abby.” He takes two steps towards the door, ignoring Abby’s enraged shriek.
He doesn’t see her grab the vase. He doesn’t see the thing flying through the air at him.
He does feel the collision of something hard and unforgiving with the back of his head.
Ian stumbles forward, his vision swimming. He hits the floor before he even realizes that he’s falling. Ian blinks once, twice, and manages to make out Abby’s boots approaching.
The last thing he sees before he blacks out is Abby’s boot aiming for his forehead.
Paul, Aisha, and John are standing nervously a few yards from the door when they hear Abby shriek. Then there’s a heavy thud. Paul is on alert instantly, his head whipping towards the house. He hears Abby start screaming obscenities, and realizes that he can no longer see Ian’s figure in the doorway. Paul is moving before his conscious mind catches up to the fact that there’s a threat. It’s only when he hears hurried footsteps behind him that he stops abruptly.
Paul spins around. “Wait here,” he commands.
“What if he’s hurt?” John argues, mutiny in his eyes.
Paul considers him. “I need to assess this. Crisis negotiation is my forte.” He gives John a half smile. “Yours is emergency medicine. Let me get this under control and then you can come in. Do you have a med kit?”
John nods. “In my car.”
“Get it.” Paul turns to Aisha as John jogs to his car. “Be ready to call the cops if I can’t get this under control.” He takes a deep breath. “Or an ambulance.” He glances back up at the house. “Hopefully, I’m wrong.” Paul nods to himself. “Wait outside, out of sight, until I give the all clear, alright?”
“Okay.” Aisha nods.
“Thanks.” Paul turns and strides quickly to the door. Through the glass of the screen door, he can see enough.
Ian is on the floor, unmoving. There’s a heavy glass vase with a crack in it lying by his head and a pool of red slowly growing next to his neck. Abby is towering over Ian, alternating between screaming at Ian and kicking him. Dennis stands off to the side, looking shocked, but not moving to stop Abby.
Paul winces.
“Get the cops here,” he barks in Aisha’s direction. “And an ambulance.” He swings the door open. “Abby McCartney, step away from him,” he orders.
Paul rarely wishes that he had his gun on him on his days off, but this is one of those days. He doesn’t think that this woman is going to listen to him, and his opinion is confirmed when Abby turns wild eyes to him.
“Fuck off, Paul. Fuck off,” Abby snarls. “This is none of your fucking business.” She kicks out at Ian again.
Paul charges forward. He wraps his hands around Abby’s arms and manhandles her backwards away from Ian. She shrieks and starts fighting him, kicking and trying to scratch his arms.
“Stop,” Paul barks. “Stop this right now. This is not going to get you what you want.”
“Fuck you! How the fuck do you know what I want? Get off of me!” Abby lunges forward and tries to bite him. Failing that, she starts screeching for Dennis. “Dennis! Help me! Help! Dennis, you fucking imbecile!”
Paul sees Dennis make an aborted step forward. “Think about this very carefully, Dennis.” Paul keeps his voice even, calm. “While I’m not here in an official capacity, I am a federal officer. Your wife here is already facing charges of assault and assault of a federal officer. Do you really want to deal with charges of obstructing justice and assault on a federal officer?”
Dennis, the mild mannered sleeze that he is, considers for only a moment before taking a step back.
“Good. Sit yourself down on that couch and don’t move.” Paul waits a beat for Dennis to do as he’s told. Then he turns back to Abby, who is now screaming obscenities at Dennis, Paul, and Ian — who is, upon a quick look over his shoulder — still unconscious.
Paul swears. He needs to get John in here, now. He can’t wait. That’s one of his best friends laying there, and he needs help. Fuck Abby and fuck protocol. “John! Aisha! Get in here!”
The door swings open seconds after Paul calls for help. Paul feels himself relax just a fraction. He’s still fighting with Abby — who is now cussing out John and Aisha and using some very racist phrases — but Ian … Ian’s the one who needs help right now.
“Aisha, keep an eye on Dennis. John, please, help Ian.” Paul turns his attention back to Abby and tries to wrestle her back even further from Ian’s prone form.
John grabs the med kit from the car and races back up the path to the house. He can hear Abby’s shrill voice screaming. Aisha is peering into the house while on the phone with emergency services. She turns wide, horrified eyes to John as he approaches.
He’s on the floor, she mouths to John.
John curses. He steps next to Aisha, shading his eyes from the sun as he tries to get a good look inside.
Sure enough, Ian is laying on the floor just to the left of the door. He’s not moving. John can just make out a vase lying next to him — a heavy, glass thing that doesn’t look like it shattered at all. John winces. That’s not good. He knows enough about injuries and physics to know that when something shatters on impact, it absorbs more force. When it doesn’t shatter … well, Ian is going to have one hell of a headache. John hopes that’s all he has.
A shriek catches John’s attention and he glances up. Paul is forcing Abby backwards away from Ian. She’s fighting Paul with all her might, cursing and kicking at him. Dennis moves to help his wife, but something Paul barks at him has the man backing down.
Then John hears his name. He doesn’t hesitate. He swings the door open and steps inside. Aisha follows, still on the phone with EMS.
“Aisha, keep an eye on Dennis. John, please, help Ian.” Paul says. His voice is steady. He’s trained for this type of thing. But there’s a tiny waver on the please that reminds John that none of them are impartial in this situation.
John doesn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees next to Ian. He blocks out Abby’s cursing. This isn’t his first rodeo with domestic violence. He’s been here before, looking after one partner while the cops fight with the abuser. It’s just that this time, the man on the floor is someone John knows, someone he cares about. John takes a deep breath and shuts off his emotions. He doesn’t have time to feel right now. Clinical observation takes over as his emotions and the screaming fade into the background.
Ian is face down on the floor, crumpled in an awkward position. There’s blood seeping from a tw0-inch gash in the back of Ian’s head. John quickly presses two fingers to Ian’s pulse point while his other hand opens his med kit.
Pulse: fast but otherwise strong. Good.
John sets about dealing with the cut on Ian’s head. He needs to stop the bleeding — head wounds bleed too much. He hears Aisha call over her shoulder that Abby was kicking Ian before Paul got her away from him. John nods his understanding and refocuses on the blood.
Once he has that under control, John slowly rolls Ian into the recovery position and begins trying to bring him back to consciousness. After a moment, Ian’s eyes flutter open. They’re distant, unfocused, but mercifully, his pupils are the same size. Lower likelihood of severe brain trauma, John notes in his mind.
“Ian? Hey, you with me?” John reaches down to squeeze Ian’s hand. He just means to check Ian’s reflexes, but Ian instantly latches onto John, curling his fingers tightly around John’s hand.
“J-john?” Ian croaks.
“Bingo,” John jokes. He slips into his cheerful persona — the one he uses with trauma survivors, the one that distracts them from what they’ve gone through, makes them smile even the tiniest bit. “You got me.”
Ian’s lips quirk ever so slightly, and John beams down at him.
“Can you tell me what you’re feeling right now?”
Ian swallows. His eyes glaze over as he clearly tries to focus around the chaos in the room — there’s sirens in the mix now, as the cops and ambulance are pulling up the street. John sees the moment that Ian’s own training kicks in: triage self-injuries, assess the situation. “Head … hurts. Where’s Abby?”
“Paul has her. Dennis is on the couch, Aisha’s watching over him. You’re safe.” John squeezes Ian’s hand.
Ian squeezes back and nods minutely. “Why … so loud?”
“Cops are here,” John replies. The door opens and John glances up. “And the paramedics. They’re going to fix you right up.”
Ian’s breathing picks up. “Don’t leave?” he asks, fear in his eyes.
John makes eye contact with one of the medics — Bradi, a woman he’s worked with before. She nods an assent as she kneels down on the other side of Ian. “I’m right here, Ian,” John says softly. “Right here.”
Ian nods. “Thank you,” he whispers.
Then he and John both turn their attention to Bradi and Mike, who quickly take over Ian’s care. John and Ian answer the medic’s questions, and John tries really hard not to think about how right Ian’s hand feels in his.
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John leads Ian back up to the apartment after texting Aisha to let her know he has Ian. When they reach the apartment, Aisha is waiting for them with the door open. She darts out and throws her arms around Ian, pulling him into a hug. He stiffens for a split second, before relaxing into her hold.
“Jesus, Ian, you scared the hell out of me,” Aisha mumbles into Ian’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Ian whispers.
Aisha pulls back and glares at him. “What the fuck were you even thinking?”
“Easy, Aisha,” John says, gently herding the two of them into the apartment. “I’ve already chewed him out.”
Aisha glares at him. “Well, it’s my turn now.” She turns back to Ian, but John stops her with a hand on her arm.
“Love, leave him be.” When Aisha turns questioning eyes to John, he shakes his head slightly. “He’s hurting,” he says softly.
Aisha huffs, but her shoulders relax. “Fine. Did you eat your bagel?” she asks, her tone softer than before.
Ian shakes his head. “We were talking.”
“Well, let’s get that into you. Come on,” Aisha motions the two of them to the couch. “Sit,” she orders Ian.
He goes willingly, collapsing onto the couch. “Ouch,” he hisses.
Both John and Aisha turn concerned expressions to Ian. “What’s wrong?” John asks.
“Muscles are mad,” Ian mutters. He pushes himself back up. “I need to stretch or I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
Aisha glares at him. “You’re insane. Go.” She motions at him to move.
“Can I … do you mind if I shower? It’s cool out there but I … kinda worked up a sweat?”
Aisha narrows her eyes. “You, sir, are absolutely a disaster.” She shakes her head. “Yes, go shower. You can use John’s stuff in there.” Aisha watches Ian disappear down the hall.
John’s eyes also follow Ian down the hall. He notes the way Ian is walking, favoring his left foot. “He hurt himself,” John whispers to Aisha.
“A ten mile run? Yeah, I would assume he did.” Aisha purses her lips and turns to John. “Now, want to tell me why you wouldn’t let me give him what for about all this bullshit?”
“He’s hurting, Aisha,” John says quietly. “He’s trying to decide about leaving Abby and Dennis, and he’s scared.”
Aisha tilts her head. “He’s actually considering leaving?”
John nods. “He is.”
“Hallelujah!” Aisha curls her legs under her on the couch. “Finally.”
John gives Aisha a reserved smile. “He has nowhere to go, love. He fully moved in with them, put his shit in a storage unit, and then let his lease expire on his apartment. If he leaves … he has no where to go.”
Aisha nods slowly, clearly considering what John has said. John holds his breath, hoping that she will come to the same conclusion he did. After a long moment, her eyes light up.
“John, we have a guest bedroom, and bathroom!” Aisha’s excitement is palpable. “He could totally stay here … either for a while, until he finds a place or for however long he needs.” She pauses. “Right?”
John smiles at her. “That’s what I told him … mostly accidentally.”
Aisha gives him a teasing smile. “Oh you are so gone,” she whispers.
John glares at her. “Aisha!” he hisses. “He’s here.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Her wide grin belies her words. “But you are.”
John rolls his eyes. “I cannot—”
“I know. And I know you won’t, not until he’s well on the way to healing from this.” Aisha reaches out and squeezes John’s wrist. “For what it’s worth, I think you two would be good for each other.”
John’s eyes widen. “Aisha, stop.”
Aisha’s smile softens. “I will.” She glances around the living room. “I wonder if we can convince him to bring more of his stuff here than he has at the McCartney’s.”
“It’s going to be hard to convince him to come here, period.”
Aisha nods. “He’s an independent motherfucker. He’s going to want to do it on his own, but … he needs to learn that he doesn’t need to go it all on his own.”
“Yeah. That’s going to be tricky.” John sighs. “I think he knows he needs to leave them. But I think he’s scared of being on his own. And probably a little scared of telling Abby. He … he said he’s sometimes afraid she will hit him.”
Aisha’s head snaps around, her eyes widening. “What?”
John nods. “I was about ready to hit something when he said that. He … shit, he doesn’t deserve that kind of fear from someone who’s supposed to love him.”
Aisha snorts. “That bitch doesn’t love him. She just wants to use him, for money, sex, handyman services, and honestly? I think she likes the prestige of dating an FBI agent.” She shakes her head. “And Dennis? That … bastard just wants a piece of Ian’s ass, and I fucking hate that. He deserves so much more.”
“He does,” John agrees.
The two of them lapse into silence. After a few moments, Ian limps into the room. He’s dressed in the pajamas from earlier, and John has to keep from grinning wildly about the way Ian looks in his t-shirt.
Ian gives the two of them an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that, I just felt kinda gross.”
“You’re fine, Ian,” Aisha says. “I am worried about that limp, though. What did you do?”
Ian glances down at his feet, his face turning a delicate shade of red. “Blisters. I … um, haven’t run that far in a while. My feet weren’t used to it.”
Aisha huffs. “Ian Maynard, you have no business running that far in the middle of the night.” She glares at John when he puts a hand out to calm her. “I know John already chewed you out, but honestly? You cannot do shit like that. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
Ian gives Aisha a lopsided smile. “I know. I’m sorry. I just … needed to think.” He limps to an armchair and sits down. “I needed to think about … everything that’s happened in the last few days.” He sighs. “I … I need to leave them. Abby and Dennis. I just don’t know how. Or where … where to go. I don’t … I don’t know how to do this. I’ve … usually it’s someone else doing the leaving. Not me.” He stares up at them, and John can see tears in his eyes. “I don’t know how to do this.”
John’s heart aches for Ian. He looks so broken and frightened sitting there, and John knows that’s not how Ian usually looks. The man is a formidable force when he’s in work mode, tall and lean and dressed in his usual armor: dark wash jeans and a dark button down with a tan vest. He wears his gun on his hip, visible to the world even though he rarely uses it. He doesn’t need to: confidence radiates from him. He can command a room just by stepping through the door. For all the insecurities John knows that Ian has, the man can be a powerful force when he wants to be.
Now, though, Ian is curled in on himself, eyes pointed at the floor and hands nervously clasped together. His one leg is bouncing incessantly. He’s anxious, broken, terrified. John hates it.
John can’t resist standing slowly and walking over to Ian. John squats down to be eye level with Ian, and rests a hand on Ian’s unmoving knee. He’s learned better than to try and still stimming movements when someone is in distress — unless they are actively harmful. Ian needs to get his anxious energy out, and the leg bouncing is safe.
“Ian, you’re going to get through this. You are not alone. You’ve got us, and Paul.” John squeezes Ian’s knee gently. “We’re going to get you through this.”
Ian brings his gaze up to meet John’s. He studies John for a long moment. “I don’t know where to go,” he repeats, his voice forlorn.
“Here,” John replies. “Aisha and I talked about it. We’re in agreement. We want you here.”
“We do,” Aisha says, coming to sit cross-legged next to John. “You need some place safe to stay, we have space.” She motions to the room. “Hell, you can even bring some of your stuff here, make it more you. A chair or two, your own desk. Whatever you need.”
Ian blinks at them. “I can’t impose on you,” he whispers.
John shakes his head. “It’s not an imposition, Ian. We asked. We want you here, Ian. We want to help out.”
“And before you get any ideas in your head, this has nothing to do with looking for a third,” Aisha says. “This is about helping a friend get out of a bad situation.”
Ian glances back and forth between the two of them. “I don’t … I don’t know what to say. I don’t … it feels wrong to just move in here. But … I have nowhere else to go.” He wraps his arms around himself and squeezes tightly. “I don’t want to have to stay with them until I find a place of my own.” He smiles ruefully. “I realized … spending the night here … I don’t even miss them. Either of them. It … it was nice … sleeping on my own. No one pawing at me, no one trying to get me to do anything.” Ian stares down at his feet. “I miss having my own space, but I hate living on my own,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
John squeezes Ian’s knee. “Ian, you can have that here. The guest room would be yours. You can retreat there anytime you need to. But we’d be here too, and you can come out and join us whenever you need to.”
“Whenever your mind is too much,” Aisha adds gently. “I would never try to pressure you, Ian, but this … could be what you need, even for a little while — however long you need to stay.”
Ian sniffs, and it’s then that John realizes he’s crying. A few tears have spilled over and are tracking slowly down Ian’s cheeks. John wants to reach out and brush the tears away, but he knows that’s far too intimate of a gesture.
“Hey, it’s alright,” John rushes to assure Ian. “It’s okay.”
Ian blinks back tears. “I’m sorry. It’s … you both care.” He swallows hard. “I don’t know … if Abby even cares anymore. Dennis …” Ian huffs an ugly laugh. “Dennis just cares whether or not he can have sex with me.”
John bites back a curse. He hates the way Dennis treats Ian like a sex-toy, and hates the callous way Abby ignores Ian’s needs.
“You deserve to be cared for, Ian,” John says softly.
Aisha nods her agreement.
“It’s been so long since someone actually cared,” Ian whispers. “I’m not … even sure I can remember when.” He clears his throat. “Maura cared,” he says, referencing his ex-girlfriend from when he was eighteen. They were together three years, before she ultimately cheated on Ian — throwing him out like trash, according to Aisha. “For a while, at least.”
Aisha raises an eyebrow. “Maura?” she scoffs. “From what I remember you telling me, she treated you with the bare minimum of respect and care.”
Ian considers Aisha’s words. “I guess … I don’t really know any better.” He shrugs. “It was Maura, and then I dated a few people, and then … Abby. Dennis came into the picture a little later.” He hugs himself tightly again. “Maybe I just … don’t deserve to be loved?”
“Ian James Maynard, you stop that right now,” Aisha growls. “Absolutely not. You deserve to be loved and cared for and treated with all the respect and care in the world.” She sighs. “That’s the religious trauma talking.”
Ian gives her a sideways glance. “I don’t know.”
Aisha huffs. “Well, I do. I know damn well what you deserve.” She stares at Ian, and then glances over at John.
John widens his eyes at her. Shut up, he attempts to communicate telepathically. She smirks, and glances back at Ian — who is thankfully paying no attention to either of them.
“I want to say yes,” Ian says slowly. “I do.”
“What’s stopping you?” Aisha asks.
He turns eyes suddenly full of trepidation towards both of them. “Abby’s going to kill me.”
Aisha glances at John. “Metaphorically?”
Ian blinks. “Probably…”
John tilts his head. “Ian, how scared of Abby are you?”
“I’ve never see her as violent as she was Tuesday night, when she kicked me out.” Ian unwraps his arms from his waist and stares at his hands. “I wouldn’t have thought her capable of that level of anger. I … I thought she was going to hit me.” He blinks up at John, giving him a wobbly smile. “I doubt she would actually kill me. But … hell, I don’t even know.”
“We’ll go with you,” Aisha says abruptly. “I’m sure Paul would come along as well. We’ll come with you to tell her.”
Ian studies Aisha. “I need to do it myself.”
“You can. We can wait outside.” John smiles at Ian in what he prays is a comforting manner. “Just to be there, to give you that support. And then we can help you get your stuff out of the house.”
“There’s no weakness in asking for help,” Aisha says. “And that’s doubly true when you’re worried about the possibility of violence.”
Ian’s eyes are wide and wary as he stares between the two of them. “I can pay rent,” he murmurs. “I can. I’ll pay rent, I promise. And I can pay for groceries. I’m … I have the money. I could afford and apartment. I just … I want out. I realize the more I think … I need out. I need to get out.” His voice raises in pitch and speed. “I will do chores. I’ll clean. I can. I won’t get in your way. I promise, you won’t even know I’m here. I won’t —”
“Ian, slow down. Breathe.” Aisha reaches out to gently squeeze Ian’s arm. She waits for a moment until Ian’s breathing calms down a bit. “I’ll let you pay for rent, and help with groceries and chores — but only because I know you’ll worry yourself to death if I don’t.” She ducks her head, catching Ian’s gaze. “But there is no paying the entire mortgage, or the grocery bill, or cleaning the whole damn apartment. We split things around here, from money to chores to space. If you’re contributing, then you are required to be in the house space.”
“We want you here,” John adds softly, trying to keep the emotion of how much he wants Ian here out of his voice. “She won’t rest until you’re somewhere safe.” Neither will I, John adds silently.
Ian sighs. He’s silent for a long moment, clearly considering his options. Then he nods. “Okay. I … yeah. Okay.” He glances up at John and Aisha from under his eyelashes (and John nearly swoons). “If … if you’re sure. If you … if you really mean it. I’ll … yeah, I think I’d like to. Stay here. With you.” His gaze flicks to John, lingering for a half-second longer than John is used to. “Both of you,” Ian adds, very softly.
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John does his best not to speed as he drives down the streets. The last thing he needs is to get pulled over and leave Ian stranded and alone. John can’t be certain, not without talking to Ian and seeing how he reacts, but he suspects that Ian isn’t in the best mental state right now. Who the hell goes on a random ten mile one way run at three in the morning. The neighborhood that John and Aisha live in is decently safe, but no where is perfect in the dark of the early morning. John knows a bit about Ian’s struggles with his mind — religious trauma and some pretty nasty negative self-image. Aisha has told him some, and Ian himself has disclosed some. And based on how he was acting in the ER? John’s got a good idea that Ian isn’t quite healthy at the moment.
The thought of Ian’s health makes John curse and press the accelerator a bit harder. Ian is also in no physical state to be running right now. He’s just out of the ER for dehydration and low blood sugar, and is running on shit sleep and shit eating habits for going on four or five days now. The last thing he needs is to throw his body into a stressed state by running for ten miles straight. And something in him was willing to turn around and do ten miles back? John shakes his head. Ian is not thinking clearly.
John slows his truck down as he approaches the intersection where Ian said he was. John is hoping that Ian will still be there. When his headlights shine off of a bright green t-shirt, he feels himself relax a little. At least Ian had the intelligence to wear something bright. John pulls his truck to the sidewalk and unlocks the doors.
Ian waves at him and opens the door. “Hey,” he says softly as he climbs into the truck.
John waits until Ian is settled before shoving a bottle of orange juice into his hands. “Drink this.” John tosses the bagel at Ian next. “And eat this.”
Ian raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
John huffs. “Ian Maynard, you have no business running on no food and no sleep. Your blood sugar was ridiculously low just a few hours ago, and you decide to do this?” John shakes his head. “Get something into you, and then we’ll talk about this stunt of yours.”
Ian sighs. He twists the cap off the orange juice and takes a sip. “It wasn’t a stunt,” he says softly.
John glances sideways at him. “Then what, exactly, was it?”
Ian shrugs. “I … I couldn’t shut my mind off. I can’t sit still when that happens. It drives me nuts. I have to move. I have to move, and running … helps me focus, I guess. Or something like that.” He takes another sip of the juice. “It drowns my brain out,” he finishes quietly.
John takes a turn that will lead them back to his apartment. “You could have been hit by a car, or attacked.”
Ian is quiet for a long moment. “I … I know,” he finally whispers.
John whips his head around and stares at Ian. “Did you want to get hurt?”
Ian swallows hard. “Not necessarily. I just … kinda don’t care? When my mind gets like that I can’t stand it. I have to move. I have to run. I don’t really think about what else might happen.”
“That’s fucking self-harm, Ian,” John growls. “That’s not healthy.”
Ian huffs a sad little laugh. “I know. I … I know. I try not to. Really. It’s only been a few times. Like … five, I guess.” He shrugs. “I don’t usually have someone care enough to come find me.”
John curls his fingers tightly around the steering wheel. “Do Abby and Dennis know when you do this?”
“Sometimes. I’ve come back a few times and Abby gets pissed that I woke her up. Dennis … doesn’t usually care either way.”
John resists the urge to hit something. He’s not sure who he’s more mad at — Ian for so easily disregarding his own health and safety, or the willful ignorance of the McCartney’s.
“Fuck, Ian. You could get hurt, and no one gives a shit?”
Ian stares hard at his orange juice. “I mean, I’m sure they care…”
“Doesn’t sound like it,” John snaps.
Ian huffs. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”
John glances over at Ian. The other man is staring out the windshield, a dark expression on his face. “What do you mean?”
Ian sighs. “I needed to run because I needed to think clearly.” He studies his hands. “About … everything. Paul … I know he and Aisha want me to break up with Abby and Dennis. Paul talked to me about it a bit. He said … well, basically that they’re being abusive and manipulative.” Ian picks at the label on the bottle. “I needed to think,” he repeats softly.
John wants to prod Ian, to get him to say what he’s thinking. But he knows that he has to be patient. If he presses too hard, Ian will spook and clam up.
“Did you come to a conclusion?” John asks as gently as possible.
“I came to the conclusion that I’m scared,” Ian whispers into the night. “I … John, I have nowhere to go. I moved out of my apartment, put all my stuff in storage, and moved in with them. I have to find a new place to live, if I leave. And … as much as I kind of want my space right now … I’m afraid to live alone.” He’s silent for a moment, but John can tell he’s not done. “I … I don’t like living with just my thoughts.”
“You could stay with us for a while,” John blurts, without even thinking. He blinks, surprised at his own words. As he sits in the shocked silence from Ian, though, John realizes that he means it.
They have the space, for sure. Their apartment has three bedrooms — one is a shared office, and the third is their guest room. They rarely have guests, and even if they did, their couch is huge and capable of holding a grown person. The guest bedroom has a bed and a decent sized desk in it, so it could easily hold Ian and some of his personal items. They have two bathrooms. And honestly, John thinks Aisha would love knowing that Ian was safe.
John does not think about how he will feel about having Ian that close. His feelings don’t matter here, what matters is that Ian feels comfortable and safe.
“I mean it,” John adds after the silence has stretched on too long. “Aisha would love to have you around, and … frankly, I would enjoy the company as well.” John slides his gaze to the side, only to find Ian staring back at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.
Ian catches John’s eyes. He snaps his mouth shut. “I … I can’t impose?” It comes out far more like a question than a statement.
“It’s not an imposition if we offer,” John says. “Besides … Ian … I haven’t said too much but Abby and Dennis? They … Paul’s right. They aren’t treating you like you deserve.”
Ian makes a wounded noise. “I don’t know about that,” he whispers.
John pulls the truck into his parking spot and puts it in park. He turns himself to face Ian. “What does that mean?”
Ian stares at John with the beginnings of tears in his eyes. “I don’t know if I deserve … the attention that you and Paul and Aisha keep telling me that I do.” He pulls his eyebrows together. “It’s … John, it’s just that, well, I’ve never … felt like I ….” Ian sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Aisha would call it the religious trauma, I don’t know what to call it. It’s just that … I’m grateful? To Abby and Dennis? For caring at all. And taking me in. And not throwing me out?”
John forces himself not to shout his next words. “Abby did throw you out, Ian. She definitely did that.”
Ian gives John a lopsided smile. “Yeah, I get that. I … that’s … really what made me think. I … sometimes she scares me, but I never expected her to fully throw me out.”
“What do you mean she scares you?”
“She … yells a lot. Gets in my face? She’s never hit me. But sometimes I wonder.” Ian shrugs.
John swallows the urge to scream. “Ian, you should never be afraid that your partner is going to hit you.”
Ian snorts. “I know this. I would tell anyone who’s dealing with domestic violence that. I have told people that before. It’s just that … John, what’s wrong with me that I’ve never applied that to myself?”
John feels his heart crack a little as Ian looks back at him with wide eyes. This time, John gives in to his impulse and reaches out to squeeze Ian’s arm. “You know why. It’s so hard to see from the inside what’s really going on. It didn’t happen right away, right?”
Ian shakes his head. “They were good to me, at first. Really, things started changing when I moved in.”
John nods. “It happened slowly. It didn’t come out all at once. And … that verbal abuse? It’s so much more subtle and hard to recognize sometimes.”
“Yeah I … I mean, sometimes, it feels like Abby is just telling me what … what my own mind says all the time? So of course it’s true, you know?”
John does understand, in a way. He’s watched Aisha battle her own mind when it came to her gender and her past. “Our minds can trick us like that,” John says gently.
Ian gives John a small smile. “I was thinking, while I was running, that I … I don’t want to live in fear of being kicked out again. This … this really opened my eyes, I guess.”
“What do you want to do?”
Ian shakes his head. “I don’t know? I honestly don’t know. It’s complicated. I have to … find somewhere to live. I have to move out. I … it’s so much.”
“Ian, I was serious when I said you could stay with us. If you need me to ask Aisha, I will. And if you need it to be temporary as you search for your own place, you can.” John hesitates, unsure of whether or not to say what’s on his heart. “Ian … you deserve to feel loved, safe, happy.”
Ian blinks at John. Then he scrubs a hand across his face, smearing a few stray tears across his cheeks. “I don’t know about that,” he says softly.
John squeezes Ian’s arm again. “I do.” He smiles gently at Ian. “Let’s get back upstairs, and then we can talk some more, okay? It’s getting cold out here, and you still need to eat your bagel.”
Ian laughs softly. “Okay. Okay, that sounds good.” He smiles sadly at John. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Ian. I … I want to see you happy. I mean that.”
Ian studies John with a strange look in his eyes, and John wonders if he’s said too much. But the next minute, Ian’s smile grows a bit happier and he nods. “Okay.”
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Ian spends the remainder of his time in the emergency room alternating between sipping apple juice and dozing. Aisha and Paul stand out in the hallway for a while, tossing around ideas about helping Ian to understand how unhealthy his relationship with the McCartney’s is. John is left to keep an eye on Ian, a job that he takes to with no prodding. He pulls a chair up beside Ian’s bed and settles down.
Ian seems to not want to talk, and John is fine with that. There’s something comfortable about silence with Ian that doesn’t bother John the way it bothers him with others. It’s like silence with Aisha — something comfortable and calming and familiar. John scrolls through his phone with an occasional glance up at Ian. John tries not to let himself stare too long at those long eyelashes and waves of hair. Now is nowhere near the time to give into that tiny budding crush. Ian is struggling and is in no way shape or form available. Besides, John won’t risk damaging Aisha’s relationship with her best friend. He’s content to be a friend to Ian — if that’s the closest he can get, he’ll be okay.
Eventually, Ian’s labs and blood glucose tests come back in normal range, and Ian is released. All three of them have to argue with Ian for another five minutes until Ian is fully convinced to go home with Aisha and John. Ian fights valiantly, but ultimately his exhaustion sinks in and he just nods wearily.
“Fine. I don’t really care, I just need to lay down,” Ian says with a sigh.
“Then you’re coming to ours,” Aisha says firmly, taking Ian by the arm. “C’mon, let’s get you home where you can rest.”
Ian mutters something about not having a home, but John pretends not to hear it. Aisha side-eyes Ian, but says nothing. Paul just sighs softly and bids the three of them goodnight. He promises to call Ian the following afternoon to get him sorted, and John knows he means to make sure that Ian doesn’t spend another night in his car.
Aisha guides Ian to the car and slides into the back seat with him, passing the keys to John this time. The ride back to their apartment is quiet. Ian drifts off to sleep with his head rolled back on the seat within minutes of leaving the hospital. When they get back to their apartment, Aisha nudges Ian gently to wake him. He startles awake abruptly, eyes wide and panicked. John is certain Ian is about to lose it, but then his gaze lands on John. He relaxes instantly.
“Sorry,” Ian murmurs. “I thought … I just … sorry.”
Aisha pats Ian’s shoulder. “You’re okay, Ian. You’re safe with us.”
Ian offers her a small smile, and slips quietly out of the car.
Aisha sets Ian up in their guest bedroom, handing him a pair of her own flannel pants, as she is a bit shorter than John, and one of John’s t-shirts.
“Feel free to get up and raid the fridge later, Ian,” Aisha tells him. “You didn’t eat much, not really, and I know you have a deficit to make up.”
“Thanks. I’m … I really just need to sleep,” Ian replies quietly, already snuggling under the blankets. “I’m just really tired.”
Aisha smiles at him. “I bet. Sleep, then, and we’ll see you in the morning. Neither of us have shifts tomorrow, so you can sleep in and we’ll still be here.”
Ian nods. “Thanks, Aisha. I … I mean it.”
“I know you do, Ian.” Aisha studies her friend for a moment. She wants to broach the Abby-and-Dennis problem, but noting the way Ian is curling under the blankets, she decides against it. He’s tired, and frankly, so is she. “Sleep well.”
With that, she turns the overhead light off and retreats to find John.
Aisha shuts the door, leaving Ian in the warm glow of the bedside lamp. He stares at it for a moment, wanting it off but too tired and too cozy to reach out of his cocoon to do anything about it. He sighs and tucks his head into his chest. God, it feels good to be fucking alone.
Ian pauses mid-sigh. That can’t be right. He’s been alone the last several nights, and he hated it. He hated the feeling of desolation that enveloped him as he curled up in the back seat of his car. He hated the darkness of the parking garage. He hated how cold and alone he was. He hated … well, everything about it. And yet … for all that, if he looks real close at himself, Ian realizes that he never really wanted Abby or Dennis. Even as he cried himself to sleep those nights, he didn’t long for Abby’s arms or Dennis’s warmth.
Ian huffs and rolls over, pulling the covers up over his head. What the hell is wrong with me? Gone for several days and I didn’t even miss my partners?
The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes it’s true. He didn’t miss Abby’s strong grip around his waist, trapping him. He didn’t miss Dennis’s too-warm body — or the hands that always seemed ready to grope and grab at Ian’s own body. He didn’t miss the overcrowded bed, or sleeping on the edge with not enough blankets. At least in his car he had the emergency blanket all to himself.
Ian peeks out from his blanket nest, peering at the soft new-apple green of Aisha’s guest room. It’s calm in here. Ian can hear himself think for the first time in … ages, really. He takes a deep breath, noticing how his lungs fill with air in a clean, calm way. His lungs have felt clogged by Abby’s perfume and Dennis’s cologne for so long, he doesn’t remember when he last felt free to breathe. Aisha’s perfume is gentle, like a summer lilac, and John … John just smells fresh.
Ian sinks into the mattress, letting the softness of it soak into his tired, aching bones. His pain has flared so badly the last few days, from the stress of everything and the stiffness of the car seat. The soft sheets and mattress and blankets are so soothing and all of it is just his. God, he missed having a space that was just his.
He never liked living alone before, his demons were too loud and the apartment was too quiet. But with Abby and Dennis, it’s as if he has no private space. The house is Abby’s and Dennis’s, the kitchen is Abby’s, the living room is Abby’s, the bedroom is Abby and Dennis’s — come to think of it, Ian realizes that most of his personal items are in storage. He has no space in the house. The guest room is for guests. Ian is required to sleep in the main bed, unless he gets too anxious or restless — which has been most nights, lately. Ian doesn’t remember the last time he slept comfortably through the night.
But here, he feels safe. He feels like he has space to breathe. And he knows that he’s not truly alone. Aisha and John are just down the hall — probably talking about him, but that’s okay. They mean well, and he knows they aren’t bitching about him, like Dennis does.
Ian closes his eyes with a sigh. He’s safe. He’s safe, and he can rest. He can sleep. He can settle in, let his bones recover, let his mind wander, let his breathing even out …
Except he can’t.
Five minutes later, ten, fifteen … an hour passes, and Ian’s eyes finally pop open again. He huffs and sits up, rubbing his eyes.
“Fuck,” he mutters to himself.
His mind is running, spinning, dancing around what Paul said to him this evening, what Abby screamed at him several days ago, what he knows Aisha and John are whispering about him in the dark. He feels that familiar tug of anxiety in his blood, that swirling, nauseating, growing, churning monster that threatens to overtake him completely.
He needs to move.
Ian tosses the covers back with a sudden violence and rockets to his feet. He needs to move. Pacing won’t be enough. He needs … he needs to run. Ian yanks on the zipper to his go bag and rifles through it until he finds his running shorts and shoes. He grabs a random t-shirt and frantically starts to change.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ian knows that this is a bad idea. He knows that, but every time the urge to run strikes him, he gives in. It’s happened before. Sometimes the anxiety crawls up his veins — he can feel it’s little legs digging into him, inching along. He hates the feeling. The only way to get it to go away is to run — as fast and as far as he can.
Ian knows night running in Philadelphia is not the best idea he’s ever had. But John and Aisha live in a fairly safe neighborhood. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he tugs on his shoes. He heads to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. If for some reason John or Aisha were to check on him, they might get worried not finding him. Ian sighs. He’s not used to having people care about him. Neither Abby nor Dennis seem to care — if they even know that he’s been gone. Ian can be silent as the night when he wants to be — it’s a learned response from his childhood. He’s used to sneaking around so that he doesn’t get caught.
Ian spots a note pad on the small desk in the room. That will do. He grabs a pen and scribbles down a note: went for a run, be back soon. Text if you need me. He tucks the note under the lamp next to the bed, and then quietly opens the door.
The hallway is dark and quiet, as is the living room and kitchen. Ian makes it to the door, wondering briefly how he’ll get back in. He knows Aisha has a spare key, but where she hides it is beyond him. For a moment, he considers turning back. But the anxiety is still crawling inside of him. Ian shakes his arms violently, trying to get the feeling to recede. He needs to move. With a soft huff, Ian opens the door, slips through, and locks it behind him. He’ll figure out the getting back in thing later. Right now, he needs to move.
John wakes up sometime around three in the morning. He doesn’t usually wake up in the middle of the night, but after lying there for a moment, he realizes that he’s worried about Ian. The night hadn’t gone the way it was supposed to, at all, and John hopes that Ian is sleeping. He tries to convince himself not to worry, but something continues to nag at him. Finally, John rolls his eyes and slides out of bed. If he’s going to just lay here worried about whether or not Ian’s blood sugar dipped again, he might as well check on their guest.
The first thing John notices upon slipping into the hallway is that Ian’s light is still on. Curious, John opens Ian’s door slowly, peering around it and expecting to see Ian curled up in the bed. Instead, he finds an empty bed. The covers are rumpled, as if Ian had attempted to sleep, but he’s nowhere to be found.
John jerks out of the room, peering down the hall at the guest bathroom. The door is open and the room is dark. Ian isn’t there. John steps into the guest room, looking around, half expecting to find Ian curled up on the floor or something bizarre like that. Instead, he spots a note on the side table. John feels his heart sink. Did Ian run away in the middle of the night? He snatches the note up and skims it.
“Jesus,” John breathes. “He fucking went on a run? It’s three am.”
John fumbles for his phone, pulling up Ian’s number. He hits the call button and waits impatiently, hoping Ian will pick up.
“Hello?” Ian sounds out of breath, and John wonders how long he’s been gone.
“Ian? What the fuck are you doing?” John hisses.
“Running?” Ian replies, sounding nervous.
“I got that from your note. Why are you running at three am?” John growls.
There’s only the soft panting of Ian’s breath for a moment. “I … I needed to think. About … everything.”
“Ian … Christ. Alright, fine. Where are you? Did you go to the gym?” John prays that Ian isn’t out running in the streets.
Silence. “No.” Ian sighs. He rattles off the intersection that he’s at.
“Fuck, Ian, that’s ten miles out. What the … what … shit.” John huffs. “Listen, I’m coming to get you. Stay there. I mean it. Stay there.”
“John, I’m fine. I’ll … I’ll head back.”
“Ian. You are not covering twenty miles by foot in one night. The fuck — no, I’m coming to get you and you need to stay put. Stay.”
Ian laughs softly. “I’ve done it before, John.”
Something in the way he says it -- sadly, without pride — gives John pause. “You — you have done this before?”
John can practically hear Ian’s shrug. “Yeah. What, you think Abby’s going to pick me up in the middle of the night?” Ian scoffs. “Hardly.”
John isn’t quite sure what to do with that bit of information. “We are talking about this when I get to you. Stay there and stay safe. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, got it?”
Ian sighs. “Okay.”
John hangs up, mumbling under his breath about Ian’s stupidity.
“What the hell is going on?” Aisha’s voice startles John. He whirls around to find her standing in the doorway.
“Ian has decided to go on a run,” John says, voice flat. “I’m going to get him.”
“He what?” Aisha’s eyes widen. “He … went on a run?”
John nods. “Said he needed to think.” John shakes his head. “The idiot. He could have crashed his blood sugar. Jesus. I need to change. Can you grab me some juice and a bagel or something?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it. Fuck, idiot.” Aisha turns and heads to the kitchen while John jogs to their bedroom the change into jeans and a sweatshirt.
When John returns, Aisha has a bottle of orange juice and a bagel with cream cheese in a bag. “Here. Do you need me to go with you?”
John shakes his head. “No, I’m wide awake now. Besides … I don’t want to crowd him.” John pauses. “Unless you think you should go? Since you’re closer to him?”
Aisha shakes her head. “I think he needs you.”
John blinks. “What does that mean?”
Aisha raises an eyebrow. “I’m not an idiot, John. I know how you look at him.”
“Shit, Aisha—”
Aisha grins teasingly. “It’s fine. Actually, I’ve thought for a long time you two would work well together.”
“Aisha, I cannot come on to him right now. The guy is traumatized.”
“I know you can’t, and I wouldn’t suggest it.” Aisha steps into John’s space. “But he needs someone who cares right now. Someone who cares beyond just checking in on a friend. You won’t say it, or show it, but somehow, he’ll know that you care.” Aisha sighs and rolls her eyes at Johns confused look. “Listen, Ian assumes that Paul and I help out because we have to. ‘That’s what friends are for,’ he’s literally said that to me. But you? You’re an adjacent friend.”
John shakes his head. “I’m going to pretend I know what that means.”
“It’ll make a difference, trust me.” Aisha leans in to give John a kiss. “Be careful and bring that idiot home safe.”
John nods. “I will.” He huffs as he turns around. “Stubborn bastard.”
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Aisha locks the apartment door behind them as John helps Ian down the hallway towards the exit. The two of them move at Ian’s pace, which is a slow, halting one so foreign to Ian’s usual purposeful stride. Aisha can tell Ian is trying his hardest to keep it together, but one look at his pale, pinched face tells her all she needs to know: he is not feeling well. John keeps one arm wrapped around Ian’s waist as he guides Ian through the doors and to Aisha’s car.
Aisha snags the keys from John as soon as he unlocks the car. “I’m driving.”
John glances at her, surprise on his face. “You two are closer. Ian probably wants you back here.”
Aisha gives the two of them a wry grin. “Yeah, and you’re the EMT. If he goes down again, I think we’ll all feel a lot better if you’re back there with him.”
John nods, conceding her point. “Ian?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Ian mutters, his words slurring just a bit.
John makes an unhappy face at Aisha, then gently prods Ian into the car. Once everyone is settled, Aisha turns the car on, backs out of their parking spot, and they’re off to the hospital. They ride in silence for a few moments, and then John’s training kicks in. He doubts Ian would admit to being a victim of domestic abuse in this situation — he’d claim that he wasn’t hit so it doesn’t count. John has been on enough domestic violence calls that he knows the line between hitting and hurting is nothing but a mark in the sand.
“Ian? How are you feeling?” John keeps his voice soft, comforting, non-confrontational.
Ian rolls his head to look at John. “Okay, I guess. Dizzy.”
“With the dehydration, I’m not surprised.” John curls his fingers around Ian’s wrist. “Your pulse is still pretty fast, too.” He studies Ian for a moment. “Ian, you know I have to ask. What happened?”
Ian stiffens, a slight enough movement that most people would have missed it. John’s done enough of these interviews to clock the change in body language. Ian side-eyes John, then glances away. There’s guilt in his eyes, guilt that breaks John’s heart. From what he’s heard and seen about the McCartney’s, John is pretty sure that Ian has done nothing worthy of the heartbreak on his face.
“Ian, you can’t keep this inside all the time.” John lightly squeezes Ian’s wrist. “We’ve got your back, Aisha and I.”
Ian studies John. “I told you,” he murmurs. “I … I pissed Abby off.” He shrugs again, glancing out of the window. “She got mad and … told me not to come back … for a few days.” He gives John a wry smile. “It’s my own fault.”
John shakes his head. “If you’re living with Abby and Dennis, they shouldn’t be kicking you out of the house, no matter what you did or didn’t do.” John takes a slow breath. “What was it about coming to see us that made Abby mad?”
“She just … she doesn’t like it when I spend time with anyone other than them.” Ian sighs. “And I … phrased it wrong. I said I wanted a night off, and that … made her mad.” Ian scrubs a hand across his face. “I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
John has something to say about that — namely that Ian’s phraseology is the least of the problems with this situation — but he can tell Ian isn’t in a space to receive that right now. Instead, he opts for another question.
“Where have you been staying, then, for the last few days?”
Ian glances at John, with more fear in his eyes than John expected for such a simple question. He’s not sure why Ian looks so frightened — how hard is it to admit that he was staying in some random hotel in the city? Or even a rental apartment or something like that — no matter how much money Ian had to spend, it’s not like John’s going to judge him for that.
Ian sighs. “I didn’t have my wallet,” he whispers. “I didn’t … I didn’t have my credit card or … anything.” He blinks up at John, begging him to fill in the blanks.
John does. “You … Ian, have you been staying in your car?”
Ian nods, but says nothing. His gaze drops to his hands, and he refuses to glance up, even when John curls a gentle hand around Ian’s arm.
“Ian, what the fuck?!” Aisha half-shouts from the front seat. “What — you’ve been in your car? We totally could have put you up! No wonder you look like shit. Have you even eaten anything? What—”
“Aisha,” John says, a warning in his tone. “Not right now.”
Aisha glares at him in the rear-view mirror, but quiets with a huff.
John turns back to Ian, who has curled in on himself. It looks like he’s expecting to get chewed out even more. John’s heart breaks for Ian. He’s had a soft spot for Aisha’s friend ever since he met the brown-haired agent with eyes that pull you in and won’t let go. Frankly, John doesn’t like to look to closely at the way he feels about Ian — the man is in a relationship that’s closed at best and … not ethically non-monogamous at worst. John usually stuffs those questions down deep inside, and he does so right now. Ian needs a friend, nothing more — no matter how much John longs to pull him into a slightly-more-than-friends hug.
Instead, John squeezes Ian’s arm. “Hey, it’s okay, Ian. We’re just … we’re just worried about you. That … living in your car … you shouldn’t have had to do that.”
Ian peers over at John from under a shock of hair that has fallen over his eyes. “I didn’t want to be a bother,” he whispers.
John sighs. “Ian, you could never be a bother,” he says, letting a touch of emotion creep into his voice. He clears his throat. “I know Aisha agrees.”
“I do. We are having a conversation later.” She huffs. “But I’ll put that off. We’re here. Let’s go.” Aisha throws the car in park and then turns around to look at Ian. Her face softens upon seeing his expression. “Oh, Ian.” She reaches out and drops a hand onto his knee. “Hey, we’re going to get you feeling better, and then we’ll deal with … all the rest of this.”
Ian gives Aisha a small nod and an even smaller smile. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Aisha squeezes Ian’s knee. “Let’s go.”
John slides out of the back seat, then helps Ian climb out. Ian is decidedly more wobbly than he was getting into the car. He’s clearly dizzy, and clings to John as they inch towards the entrance to the ER.
They eventually make it into the hospital, but get stuck in triage. The emergency department is bustling, and the three of them are shoved into the waiting room. Ian is stable, so they are left with a promise that someone will call them back when a bed clears. Aisha is understandably frustrated, but used the time to sneak off and call Paul. She hopes that if she gets him to come, Ian might open up to Paul. Aisha and Ian are close, but Ian trusts Paul in a way that doesn’t quite match his trust in Aisha. John agrees to stick around to keep watch over Ian.
Ian slumps into a chair, drops his head into his hands, and seems to fall asleep. John keeps a careful eye on him. He is equally frustrated at the slow pace of the hospital but fully understands what goes on behind the scenes. As much as he wants Ian to be seen, he knows there are others who have more pressing needs.
At least, right up until Ian goes limp again, elbows sliding off of his knees and body slumping forward. John manages to catch him and lower him slowly to the floor, all while shouting for help. Aisha comes flying into the waiting room, only to be pushed out of the way as the triage team surrounds Ian. He takes a little longer to come back around this time, earning him an urgent bump up in order of importance. They transfer Ian to a stretcher and move him to a small private room in the emergency department.
Ian is decidedly out of it, reporting one hell of a headache and a lot of dizziness. He just lays back on the stretcher, one arm flung over his eyes, until a nurse finally gets an IV running with fluids and a “migraine cocktail”, as John knows it to be, for the headache. An aide brings Ian some apple juice, explaining that his blood sugar is low and that he needs to bring it up quickly. Ian is poked and prodded into get up and start drinking the juice. He squints irritably at Aisha when she helps him sit up, but dutifully starts sipping through the straw.
Aisha remains at Ian’s side when the doctor comes in to check on Ian.
“Ian is severely dehydrated,” Doctor Amara Patel reports. “His electrolytes are completely out of whack. We’ve got him on a saline drip, and I’ve ordered potassium and magnesium.” Amara glances at Ian’s half-finished apple juice and the packaging from his sandwich that John fetched for him. “His blood sugar is also very low. I see they’ve got you started on some juice and that you finished your sandwich. Good. I want them to bring you some more juice, based on your numbers, and then we’ll see how things are adjusting.” The doctor gives them all a smile. “I want to keep Ian here for a while, just to make sure he stabilizes and that there’s nothing else going on here.”
Amara talks to them for a few moments, answering Aisha’s questions and keeping a watchful eye on Ian. Once Aisha’s concerns are satisfied, the doctor leaves them with a promise to return.
Almost as soon as the doctor leaves, there’s another knock on the door. All three of them glance up and find Paul Moss standing there, concern written on his face.
Ian straightens up. “Paul?”
“Hey, kid.” Paul strides into the room, stopping next to Ian’s bed. “How you feeling?”
Ian gives Paul a wobbly smile. “Been better, honestly.”
Paul nods. “That sounds about right.”
“How … how did you get here?” Ian asks.
“Aisha called me.” Paul says, his tone careful. If Ian feels too pressured to talk, he’ll clam up.
Ian’s face shutters. He glowers at Aisha. “I don’t want to talk about it.” His words are harsh, but his tone wavers in a way that Paul — trained to pick up on these things — easily catches.
Paul turns to Aisha and John, ready to ask them to step out for a bit. Aisha manages to read his intentions.
“Hey, John and I are going to head down to find something to eat. We’ll bring some things back for you two.” Aisha smiles at Ian, gently patting his arm. “Talk to Paul. Please?”
Ian huffs. “I’m fine.”
Aisha raises her eyebrows at Ian. “Talk.” She grabs John’s hand the two of them slip out of the room, leaving Paul and Ian behind.
Ian stares up at Paul, his hazel eyes huge in his pale face. Paul studies Ian for a moment, noting how damn thin the kid is. He looks as if he hasn’t put on weight at all in the five years Paul has known him — he’s thin, pale, and sickly, in a way that Paul is certain he hasn’t always been. Ian used to be a healthy, vibrant young man. Paul had enjoyed watching him flourish in his position at the FBI, enjoyed getting to mentor Ian and later becoming his friend.
Then Ian — perpetually lonely Ian — had finally stopped the casual — failed — dating and started a serious relationship with Abby McCartney and her husband Dennis. Paul watched as Ian’s bright eyes dulled, his ever-present smile dimmed, and his joyful personality suffered. He had tried for a long time to talk to Ian about Abby and Dennis, but Ian always rebuffed him. Paul was determined not to be put off this time.
Paul grabs a chair and pulls it up to the side of Ian’s bed. He sits down and then looks up at Ian. Paul holds Ian’s gaze for a long moment, saying nothing, just letting Ian sit in the silence. Finally, Ian sighs and drops his eyes.
“It’s my fault, I swear,” Ian says quietly. “I pissed Abby off. I know better than to do that. I shouldn’t have argued with her. I should have just … I should have … I … oh, fuck.” Ian drops his face into his hands.
“If Shannon kicked me out of the house, because I wanted to go hang out with you for a night, what would you be telling me?” Paul’s voice is soft, non-confrontational.
Ian jerks his head out of his hands. “She wouldn’t!”
Paul smiles. “No, she wouldn’t. Why is that?”
Ian sighs. “She’s too nice.”
Paul snorts in amusement. “You’re correct, but that’s not what I’m going for here.” Paul leans back and rests his hands on his knees. “Ian, Shannon wouldn’t forbid me from seeing you because it is healthy to have friends and relationships outside of your primary romantic relationship, regardless of if it’s polyamorous or monogamous. You need friends, they support you.”
“I know,” Ian whispers.
“Then why are you acting like Abby throwing you out of the house is a perfectly normal response?” Paul’s tone remains gentle.
“It’s the way I said it. That I needed a break. I shouldn’t have said it like that. It … made it sound like I didn’t want to be around them.” Ian wraps his arms around himself in a way that Paul is familiar with. Ian is not just uncomfortable, he’s holding something back.
“Did you? Want to be around them?”
Ian shakes his head, eyes filling up with tears. “No,” he breathes. He dashes his hands against his eyes angrily. “Shit, I don’t want to cry.”
“It’s okay to need a break from your partners,” Paul says softly. He hesitates before asking the next question. “Why didn’t you want to be around them, Ian?”
Ian takes a shaky breath. He stares down at his knees. “I … I … I’m …” Ian huffs. “All they want from me is sex,” he finally manages, so quiet that Paul has to strain to hear it. Ian glances up at Paul, waiting for judgment.
It’s the answer Paul was expecting, but it hurts to hear it in Ian’s deathly quiet whisper. Paul knows Ian is on what Aisha calls the asexual spectrum — that Ian struggles with engaging in sexual experiences sometimes, prefers to be left out of them, even is repulsed by them sometimes. Why Ian ended up with two people who are fully invested in his sexual performances is beyond Paul — but he suspects it’s in part because Ian is just so hungry for love and affection.
Paul gives Ian a comforting smile. “And sometimes you don’t want to give that to them,” he fills in.
Ian nods. “A lot of the time, lately.” His voice is still near a whisper, as if he’s afraid Abby and Dennis will hear him all the way from their home, miles away.
“Why lately?” Paul asks.
“I’m just so tired. I’ve been working overtime to pay for the mortgage on the house, and that leaves—”
“You mean your rent?” Paul cuts in.
Ian shakes his head. “Nah, I’m covering the mortgage.” He opens his mouth to consider, but must catch the look on Paul’s face. “What?”
“You’re covering the mortgage on their house? The whole mortgage?”
“Yeah.”
“Ian, that’s … that’s ridiculous. What the hell?” Paul leans forward. “Ian, you should not be covering the mortgage on that house. You didn’t buy it. At most you should split it in thirds. At most. You didn’t purchase the house, you’re there renting, basically.”
Ian stares at Paul, wheels clearly turning in his head.
“Ian, is this why you’ve been working overtime lately?” Paul prods.
Ian nods. “Yeah. I … they … wanted … more? For groceries and everything? So I needed to make more hours.”
Paul sighs. “Ian …”
“This isn’t normal, is it?” Ian cuts him off, his voice quiet but tinged with an understanding that gives Paul hope.”
“No, Ian.” Paul shakes his head. “I can’t speak for polyamorous habits, Aisha would be better suited to tell you about those, but I can tell you that no one should be charging you the entire mortgage plus groceries and whatever else they’re making you pay.” Paul leans forward and rests a hand on Ian’s knee. “They’re taking advantage of you Ian.”
Ian stares back at Paul, tears pooling in his eyes again. He shakes his head. “No. No, I … but I … Paul—”
“Ian, a healthy relationship doesn’t kick one partner out because they needed a break from their routine.” Paul squeezes Ian’s knee. “A healthy relationship doesn’t make one partner pay for everything, especially at the expense of that partner’s health. A—”
“My health is fine,” Ian interjects.
Paul raises his eyebrows. “You’re saying that from the ER on a Friday night while an IV replenishes your electrolytes and fluid.” Paul huffs. “Ian, have you gained any weight since you were twenty-three?”
Ian blinks at him. “Abby hates when I start to get fat,” he says matter-of-factly.
“You’re too thin by far, Ian. You should not be at the weight you were when you started at the Academy.” Paul tilts his head. “That’s not healthy.”
“I need to stay thin for work, Paul, you know that.”
Paul raises an eyebrow. “Thin does not equal healthy. You haven’t looked healthy in ages, Ian.” Paul pokes his own midsection. “I’ve got quite a few pounds on you, and I’m pretty sure I could still outrun you, stamina-wise. My body has what it needs to work. I’m not sure yours does.”
Ian shakes his head. “I’m fine, Ian. Abby just prefers that I—”
“Look fucking anorexic?” Paul growls, a bit harsher than he intended.
Ian reels back like he’s been slapped. “I … I do not?” He tries for offended, but misses, ending up sounding uncertain.
“Kid, I could dead-lift you. That’s a problem.”
Silence falls around them as Ian contemplates everything that Paul has said in the past several minutes. After a bit, Paul sighs softly.
“Think about it, Ian. Just … think about what I’ve said.” Paul glances around the room. “Are … are Abby and Dennis coming to get you to take you home?”
Ian shakes his head so quickly that Paul is afraid he’ll get whiplash. “No! No, I don’t … no.”
Paul blinks at Ian. “Oh?”
Ian swallows, glancing away. “I, uh … I’m just …” He sighs. “I feel like shit, Paul. Abby’s just going to march in here yelling at me, and Dennis …” Ian shudders. “I don’t feel like dealing with how clingy Dennis is right now.”
Paul thinks that says enough about Ian’s relationship with the McCartney’s, but he chooses not to push Ian too hard right now. “Alright. Where are you going tonight, then?”
Ian looks utterly confused. “I don’t … know?”
“What was your plan before you fainted on Aisha and John?”
Ian shrugs. “My car, I guess.”
“Ian! You … you could have called me, you know. Before. When Abby kicked you out. Me, or Aisha. We … either of us would have put you up, no fuss.” Paul sighs. “Alright, fine. You get to pick, who do you want to put up with, me and Shannon and the kids, or Aisha and John?” Ian opens his mouth, and Paul interrupts him. “Neither is not an option.”
Ian considers. “I love your kids but … I don’t want them to see me like this.”
Paul nods. “Alright, Aisha and John it is.”
“What — I can’t impose. They might not — want me?”
Paul shakes his head. “Aisha and I talked when she called me. She’s more than willing to take you in for a night at least.” Paul purses his lips. “Listen, Ian. Think about what we talked about, please? Stay with Aisha and John as long as you need. Just … think about it.”
“What inspired you to start this project?” (Artist Statement)
As I surveyed my existing portfolio I was struck with how absent people of color were from my work. This had never been the intent, and this absence of diversity left me uneasy. Had I too fell victim to the media portrayals of beauty? Had the archetypes being generated in mass media co opted me into this sickness?
I had produced several very successful fashion shows in Seattle. I had done model scouting and held casting calls for one of the world's largest fashion weeks, Vancouver Fashion Week, yet here was my portfolio severely lacking diversity in the color and hue of whom i had chosen to capture and immortalize as beautiful.
Many questions arose like a torrential flood. Did i have an internalized bias against black skin? Brown skin? Was my bias against different hair textures? Nose sizes? Was I even conscious of decisions I had made by not explicitly pursuing models of color?
As a man of color, as someone obsessed with color, vibrance, hue, my unease propelled me to action. I would begin a project, wherein i would focus exclusively on photographing portraits of men and women of color. I would conduct interviews with my subjects, and explore issues of racial profiling, police brutality, cat calls, beauty codes, hair memes, color memes, intercultural dating, discrimination in employment, and black masculinity.
Staying true to my own identity as a man of color, a multicultural man of color, I chose t an approach in which all non-white cultures, indigenous and immigrant, black and brown, would be sought out. I was expressly interested in finding Native, Asian American and black heterosexual men’s voices. I did not limit my subjects to specifically those with US citizenship. I was interested in the experience, the existential milieu in which “others” find themselves in a sea of “whiteness” in America. What were the unique experiences that defined an Ethiopian woman’s relationship to racism in this country? What were those of black men with strong identity to their native heritage? Was the media myth of Asian Americans as the “silent minority” part of a larger discussion on oppression? How do different cultures respond to media depictions of them? How do they fight back against racism and caricatures? Are these images internalized? Was there a disconnect between the face in front of the mirror and the face that society saw? What was it for my subjects to look in the mirror and see a beautiful man or woman of color, a face full of confidence and pride, and then walk out the door to be met by a world that would see that same face as aggressive and manly ( in the case of my female subjects ) or frightening and a violent criminal ( in the case of my male subjects )? What was it to brush your hair every morning and feel blessed to have such beautiful hair, but then walk out the door to be harrassed by having strangers gawk at you or stare at your hair or ask to pet it like a dog? Were repeated encounters with images that were negative, subliminaly or overtly racist internalised in such a way that my subjects were not aware of how beautiful they were? Had these images impacted my subject in such a way that they had shied away from being photographed or pursuing careers in modeling or acting or other opportunities where physical beauty were an unspoken job requirement?
I wrote up a series of interview prompts and did in person interviews with willing subjects. I wished to draw out from my subjects their life experiences and their own reflections on what it is to be a person of color in the United States. As my project progressed, it became evident that there was much more to be drawn out from what I had gathered. My portraiture had turned me onto a desire to take steps towards the dissection of the historical of position of the photograph and image in African American history in particular.
"I pay attention to human situations in which individuals are uncomfortable with change, subtle power dynamics, and questions of belonging. I break these interactions and situations down to identify the focal points that illuminate underlying social and psychological issues. I use tactics of magical realism to place my figures in situations that are based in this physical reality but have something inexplicable and mysterious about them. The mysterious instant within a larger narrative leaves the pieces open for each viewer to interpret or identify with some part of their life. I see the body as the vital site where these situations occur. When we allow ourselves to really inhabit our bodies we can feel our responses to these uncomfortable situations in our postures, facial expressions, and body tissues. In my figures, I use external characteristics to invoke empathic body knowledge as an opening to the realm of the internal." - Aisha Harrison
