In The Shadow Of His Crown - Chapter 6
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For someone who so frequently pushes himself to the point of exhaustion out of sheer boredom, Colt is a deceptively light sleeper, so Murdock is sure to close the bedroom door quietly as he leaves in the early hours. It’s hardly chivalrous but it’s how their hookups go and there’s really no reason for change. Colt gets a string-free night of fun and Murdock doesn’t have to engage in emotionally complicated morning-after conversations.
As he has every time in the last few years, Murdock makes sure to swing by the kitchen, programming the coffee machine to activate around 8am. Whatever he can do to save the world from an improperly-caffeinated Colt.
Out in the corridor, Murdock’s almost to the door when a voice stops him in his tracks.
“Do you usually leave at this time in the morning?”
Grace’s room isn’t the closest to the front door but it has a direct line of sight. He’s standing in the doorway in his pyjamas, leaning against the doorframe. Hair scruffy, glasses askew with a firm frown on his face, Grace looks every bit the disgruntled teacher who’s caught a kid trying to sneak out.
After the initial surprise passes, Murdock turns, a smirk teasing at the edge of his lips.
Far be it from him to judge a book by its cover, but he’s always had something of an eye for others’ comfort with their own sexuality. Just one look and it’s crystal clear that while this ‘Grace’ may look like Colt, the two of them sit miles apart in that respect.
“Grace right? I hope we weren’t too loud.”
“You were. Incredibly,”
“I’d apologise but Colt wanted to forget his name so I had to-”
“I don’t want to know.” Grace raises a hand to silence him. The smirk lands. Knew it. “Always assume I don’t want to know.”
“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” A lie.
“You know he likes you right?”
That catches him out, the smirk dropping and his lips becoming a thin line.
“He likes what I do for him.” he corrects.
“Like being reliable.”
Murdock’s eyes are hidden behind his glasses so Grace can’t tell what’s going on in them but clearly he’s struck a nerve.
“Aren’t you a little know-it-all?”
“Am I wrong?”
They stare at each other a few moments in silence before Murdock gently nods his head in a mock bow.
“It’s been a pleasure.”
Grace watches him leave, staring at the door for a moment before sighing. Maybe now he’s gone, Grace can try to get some fucking sleep.
The following days continue much as before, with frequent hanging out, near daily walks, discussions, and Colt and Grace generally pretending that nothing has changed. It’s awkward to begin with, Colt clearly being very guarded. He doesn’t leave his room without his leather jacket on; clearly he’s using it as some kind of armour to protect himself from the things that make him feel emotionally unsafe.
Grace rubs at his temples. Shut up, shut up, shut up!
Since he’s come back, his brain just hasn’t stopped. Constantly chattering, turning over a hundred disconnected thoughts at once, drawing weird spider-like connections between everything he sees. All of it leads to realisations of things that he has absolutely no way of knowing, but without any doubt in his mind that he’s right.
It’s plagued him with near-constant headaches, pervasive disjointed thoughts, and sudden concrete conclusions that honestly scare him a little. Colt’s description of Ryland still rings in his head, particularly the part of the arrogance and always assuming he’s right. It’s something Grace very much doesn’t want to be.
“You’re overthinking again.”
Stream of thought interrupted, Grace startles turning to see Colt stood behind the couch watching him. How long has he been stood there? Grace didn’t even hear him walk in.
“It’s nothing.” He shuffles over making space for Colt to drop down onto the other end if he wants.
“Of course it is,” Colt takes the hint, dropping down on his usual side of the couch. They often end up on opposite ends like this. It’s become somewhat automatic for both of them to find their spot when they talk.
“It’s just...my brain won’t stop.”
Grace isn’t sure how else to explain it. Despite the constant stream of words pouring through his brain, he can barely grab enough of them to string into a sentence, never mind explain it to someone else.
“Can’t relate.” Grace glances at Colt to see him smirking. “Too many thoughts isn’t something I’ve ever really struggled with. My school reports were filled with words like ‘reckless’, ‘impulsive’, and ‘has no consideration of consequences’.”
It’s somewhat of a running joke between them that Colt is the dumb one. Not that Colt is dumb, he’s just not scientist-turned-astronaut smart. Colt started it and it was awkward to begin with but he genuinely doesn’t seem to give a fuck so Grace has kind of joined in. Only between the two of them though; if it was anyone else it wouldn’t be funny.
“So I really don’t want to cook tonight,” Colt does the majority of the cooking. Grace tries every once in a while but it’s been a few years since he last had to do it with any regularity. Plus his tastebuds are kind of shot after surviving on space food for a few years, “there’s an Italian place across town we could try out.”
“How would we even pay?”
Colt holds up a hand to stop the thought. “Don’t question it. I’m looking for a yes or a no.”
“That’s not-”
Grace freezes, glancing around the room.
Nothing’s broken, nothing’s out of place, nothing even moved but something’s changed. Everything is exactly where it was five seconds before; not one thing is different but there’s this awful shiver crawling down Grace’s back.
“Something’s wrong.”
“With Italian food?” Colt blinks, oblivious to whatever it is Grace is picking up on, “If you’re worried about the oil, I called ahead to make sure and they only use olive oil. No canola.”
“With the room.”
Grace keeps looking but can’t see anything different but the feeling of ‘wrong’ isn’t going away. What is going on with him? There’s nothing there, but his whole body is tense and it just feels off.
“Don’t you feel that?”
There’s confusion as Colt glances around the room, but after a moment his lips quirk as though he’s about to smile.
“Is it like you’re skimming?”
“What?”
“You know, when you’re reading and your eyes gloss over some of the words in a paragraph. Does it feel like that?”
“Yes.” Looking again, it feels almost exactly like that, like his eyes are just glossing over something but no matter how hard he tries to see it, nothing is changing.
All pretence is gone and Colt smiles, shaking his head as he addresses the room.
“Stop being a dick.”
“I’m not-AH!” Grace starts as something suddenly moves in his peripheral vision. Turning, there’s someone stood between him and the TV. Where in the heck did he come from?! He wasn’t there a second ago!
Short, dark, ashy blond hair, with scuffed jeans, a dark shirt, and a half-zipped white jacket; just like everyone in this Clubhouse he looks enough like the rest of them, but distinct enough not to be anyone else. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and there’s a slight smile pulling at the very edge of his lips.
Colt claps once, laughing as he pushes himself to his feet, closing the distance between them, wrapping his arms around the stranger and holding him tight. The stranger shifts, his arms moving to hold him back revealing brown leather driving gloves on each hand.
Heart pounding in his ears, Grace tries to ride out the sudden adrenaline spike as calmly as he can, taking deep breaths as his brain tries to catch up.
The stranger pulls back, patting Colt on the shoulder and holding out a hand expectantly.
“Let me see your watch.”
Colt grimaces, trying to hold his wrist away but the stranger just grabs for it and taps until the clock display appears:
36:09:2:4:23:19:04 … 05 … 06
“You’re getting old.” He’s smiling, clearly poking fun.
Colt jerks his wrist back, pushing the guy away with his other hand. “That’s not funny.”
“Who says I’m joking?” As he puts his hands back into his pockets, he glances over at Grace nodding towards him, “Who’s the new guy?”
Colt turns seemingly having forgotten in the last thirty seconds that Grace was even there.
“Right. This is Grace.”
He frowns slightly, “Grace as in-?”
“Don’t start.” Colt shakes his head. “I’ve given up trying to understand Six at this point.”
He looks at Colt confused, “You mean Courtla-?”
“Grace,” Colt cuts him off, talking to Grace as he indicates the stranger, “Meet Driver.”
They’re friends; between the immediate hug and the friendly back-and-forth, that much is obvious. Someone who visits often enough to feel the need to check Colt’s relativity clock, but doesn’t offer his own in kind. Cleanly dressed but not too clean, and gives an impression of being someone you don’t want to test the limits of.
Driver steps forward, offering a hand to Grace who moves to take it. The leather is smooth which means the gloves are cared for. They’re not just some accessory, he makes good use of them.
Dear god,Grace begs,will his brain not shut up for two minutes!
“That’s a unique name.” he says.
“No one ever remembers my actual name. Driver’s just easier.” he turns to Colt, “You were saying something about food.”
Colt is smiling as he watches them interact and when Driver asks, he fist-pumps in excitement.
“Fuck yes!”
The restaurant is nice enough. Locally owned with about twenty tables and a decent menu. Colt makes a point to ask the server about the oil again despite Grace’s protests. It’s not like it’s a life-threatening allergy, it just makes things taste kind of weirdly spicy.
The food is good, no unexpected spiciness, with Colt leading most of the conversation. He alternates between discussing with Driver and encouraging Grace to share about being a teacher. He has the energy of a kid whose divorced parents have agreed to get along for a meal on their birthday. Energetic, happy, with a mild undercurrent of fear that something could go wrong at any moment.
All too soon the meal is over, Colt paying with some credit card that he refuses to explain the origin of.
“We can keep this going,” he suggests as they cross the parking lot, “There’s this club two streets over that starts up about now.”
“Is that a good idea?” Driver asks, “After what happened last time?”
“That was a mistake. I’m seeing less of an all-out Holland-worthy bender, and more a middle-school teacher letting his hair down,” he gestures to Grace, “A little dancing, a little drinking. Some harmless fun.”
Driver and Grace share a look at each other. They’re three grown adults. If anything goes wrong they can always just leave. And between them they can probably make sure Colt doesn’t drink himself into a coma.
The club is very popular, the queue to get in seeming pretty long. It moves fairly quickly, getting to the front of the line in less than 10 minutes. Even with the high-demand to get in, there’s plenty of room to move around inside, Colt quickly disappearing to grab them all drinks.
The three of them stick together to begin with, enjoying their drinks while taking in the atmosphere. Grace feels very much out of place but when the beer he’s nursing starts to force his brain to slow down, he quickly gets over it. Colt doesn’t wait, hitting the dancefloor fast, dancing like no one’s watching, even singing along to the music. It’s pretty clear he’s come here before. There’s no anxiety, no fear, just fun and smiles and it’s honestly good to see.
It’s electric, bodies in almost every corner pulsing to the beat of whatever the song is. It’s been a while since Grace drank recreationally, and even longer since he hit a dance floor that wasn’t at a wedding. The first drink doesn’t draw him out there, but the second one definitely loosens him up. The first two drinks were smart, but the third is a definite mistake. The drums in the music pulsing directly in his head. Not drunk. Definitely not drunk; just older than he was last time he did this, with a less strong bladder,
“I’m going to the bathroom!” He shouts to be heard over the music and Colt gives a thumbs up.
A few moments somewhere a little quieter will do him some good.
His hand’s on the door, barely having pushed it open when his head erupts in searing pain, vision whiting out as he drops to his knees. Eyes watering, head swimming, Grace thinks he yells out but he can’t be sure.
Someone’s talking behind him but everything sounds like it’s coming through water. Grace braces himself against the door in front of him, though it keeps trying to move, while the other presses firmly against his mouth. The lovely Italian meal from earlier is fighting it’s way back up and Grace really doesn’t want to throw up right outside the bathrooms.
“Grace? Grace? Oh shit!”
Someone pushes open the door and a blurry blob drops in front of him. Grace hisses in pain.
“What the fuck?!” Colt’s voice yells over Grace’s head and he winces. It’s so loud. “Are you insane?! What the fuck were you thinking?!”
“Col’,” Grace manages to whine, “Loud.”
Warmness is slowly creeping down his face. Blood. Grace tries to hold it together but he’s struggling to keep himself upright now.
“Driver!” Colt yells and Grace’s head throbs again, “Driver, get over here!”
Something warm wraps around Grace’s shoulders while the blob in front of him disappears, vaguely hearing Colt hurling threats at someone. Another blob, this one in white, with gentle hands that hold Grace’s head in place drops into his eyeline again.
“It’s okay, Grace.” says Driver, “We’ve got you.”