#maybe he gets told that hes just more prone to lashing out and the fuzzy memories are from those moments. the truth diluted for him- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spacexxcase-blog · 8 years ago

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Breakdowns

Harris just didn’t understand. All he wanted was to give his brain a break. It’d been working overtime lately - firmly wedging itself directly over the line between here and there. He’d told Agent Klein in the study in New York that he felt split, half in and half out and that was only getting worse with each day that passed. From the sounds coming from behind him, it seemed that split wasn’t his exclusively. Silently, he pulled himself out of the bed, taking the extra blanket he’d brought in the night before and wrapping it around him before settling on the window seat and only then looking back at Justin. He felt awful for what he’d been putting his boyfriend through - really since they’d gotten out - but it was clear Justin wasn’t as unaffected as he’d like to convince everyone he was by everything. Harris didn’t have to use any stretch of his imagination to guess what was playing behind his eyelids, but he didn’t know how to soothe it either. Despite his best efforts, sleep had come in small bursts if at all, and he couldn’t help but think his brain was doing him (and it) a favor and sparing them both this. He had enough trouble during the day, neither he nor Justin needed the extra stress at night too. Guilty, he reached out for his Ipod, shoving the buds in his ears, hating to block Justin out but already things were going fuzzy and he needed to stay present in case Justin wasn’t when his eyes finally opened. Lord knew Justin’d earned it for how often he’d had to be there for Harris lately. Guilt and shame flared up in his stomach again, making him fight down another bout of nausea as his eyes closed briefly but he fought them back open. He had to watch for Justin to wake up ‘cause he wouldn’t hear it and the last thing he needed was to startle out of Justin’s hands yet again. At this rate, Justin was going to grow afraid of touching him at all and Harris didn’t want that. Frustration quickly overpowered the guilt and shame though they were never very far - it just got so irritating. He wanted to be fine. He wanted to bathe, he wanted to be soothed by Justin, he wanted Justin’s family to like him - not be burdened by him - he wanted to eat without every meal becoming a struggle of wills. But he didn’t know how to make any of that happen. He’d tried bathing with Justin at first, but the first splash of water against the porcelain had him bolting, his mind automatically retreating - it’d taken him over an hour to talk himself down and then go out to find Justin. And then a little longer after that to let him touch again. He’d thought maybe it was the other person in the bathroom that kept setting him off, so he suggested Justin waited in their bedroom while he tried by himself. That at least got him able to fill the tub but he couldn’t make himself strip or get in. He sat there and stared, sometimes here and sometimes there until Justin’d decide enough was enough and bring him back out and say it was okay. But it wasn’t. It was just water. What the hell was he so afraid of? Maybe the only option left was to have Justin force him. Just pick him up clothes and all and put him in the tub until he could convince his brain nothing was going to happen. He wasn’t sure that was a fair thing to ask but he didn’t know if there was another way. He’d freak out on Casey or even Mr. Klein though … they’d probably both be able to handle it much better than Justin would. Given the knot of anxiety that brain had tied his entire body into it, it didn’t surprise him to find he wasn’t developing an appetite. Add that to the defeat and shame from failing to do some basic self-care and the self-punishing thoughts that followed -berating himself for how much harder he was making this on Justin, etc - how could anyone put a bite of anything in their mouth? But then failing to do that just started the whole vicious circle over again because now it wasn’t just Justin he was disappointing and making life harder for - but his whole family. Both his parents tried to find ways and foods that would make it easier on everyone, but it got so nerve-wracking to sit at the table and know he was just going to let everyone down … again, that it became even harder to swallow anything. Given enough time and distraction, he found he could manage half a sandwich, some fruit, and his coffee he was pretty sure was being laced with protein powder through the afternoon, and half a smoothie before bed. It was more than his body’d been used to and it was enough to function, but clearly had everyone worried still. He just couldn’t win against his own head and he was dreading the day Justin sat him down and gave him the teary talk about having to watch Harris killing himself and not being able to handle it and what would happen to them then? Angrily, he wiped the tears he didn't deserve to cry off his cheeks and just looked back to his boyfriend, wishing he could go over and comfort, but he’d been prone to lashing out when jard out of his own head and he was the most passive of the two. He didn't want there to be even the slightest chance for Justin to hurt him and push the man further into his own self-anger and helplessness.

Justin couldn’t move. Metal cut into his wrists, his muscles strained, but he couldn’t move. “You can stop this all, just tell us what we want to know,” Marty’s voice chided him, laughing through the words, as though even he didn’t believe them. “Justin, Justin please. Just tell them,” a weak voice sobbed. There were chains, and blood. So much blood. It crisscrossed in rivers down his chest. So much of it. Too much blood. The torn remains of pants Harris was wearing were soaked through, and a pool on the stone floor edged it way towards Justin until it stained his feet, and still more poured out. That much blood couldn’t come from one body, could it? He could feel his mouth moving, his throat burning with the strain of screaming every answer and lie he could think of to just make them stop, but no words came out. There was nothing except laughter and sobs. Justin’s eyes shot open. They burned at the almost offensive brightness of the room, but he couldn’t bring himself to shut them again. His heart was racing and he was gasping for breath like he’d just run a mile. He hated how familiar it had become by now, though only really since coming to Paris. Maybe it had been the familiarity of sleeping in his old bed, or just the fact that for that short time his brain had been too exhausted to torment him throughout the night. Now though, he knew how this went. The first night he’d woken up, he’d reached out for Harris and had almost drowned in a new wave of panic when he wasn’t there. Since then he knew Harris would be awake and sitting by the window. He didn’t know if Harris just waited for him to fall asleep, then went to sit there, or if he got up when he noticed Justin’s restless sleep. He didn’t ask. At some point he should, but for the moment, he just wanted to pretend like he wasn’t trying to calm his body down from fight or flight mode. Harris needed him to be strong, to be okay, so he needed to at least pretend to be. After a minute he was able to release the muscles in his arms, dropping the sheet from stiff, clenched fingers. He didn’t know why today, for whatever reason, it took longer to get his breathing under control. His body was drained, almost in disbelief that it was actually daylight outside, because his body wanted to rest and recover for about forty-eight hours. At the same time his mind raged angrily against even the idea of closing his eyes again before it was absolutely necessary. He turned his head, checking to make sure Harris was sitting by the window, and forced a weak smile. He sat up gently, turning slightly away from Harris before tugging up the hem of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. He wasn’t even sure if it was a conscious effort, or if seeing the burn marks on Justin’s chest when he tugged his shirt up would bother Harris as much as seeing the cuts and bandages on Harris’s chest bothered him. It was another thing that he just didn’t ask, not because he didn’t want to know the answer, but just because it was another question that, in asking it, would highlight Justin’s weakness, and how strongly he felt the guilt over every mark and injury on Harris’s body. It already became abundantly clear when Justin was all too willing when Harris suggested he wanted to try taking a bath by himself. The justification in Justin’s head made perfect sense. Harris felt more comfortable doing that by himself, and that was fine. He wouldn’t voice aloud, or even admit to himself how relieved he’d been, because he wasn’t sure how well either of them would handle Justin helping him through getting the cuts on his back clean, or even just sitting to the side and actively trying to look anywhere but at the angry red streaks against his skin. When he turned around and looked back up at harris, his eyes flashed for a moment, and everything was just red. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe for a moment, not wanting to scare Harris, but fuck. There was just— blood. So much. The nightmares weren’t new; even the blood wasn’t new, but there hadn’t been that much before. He took a deep breath, stretched and clenched his hands, willing them to stop shaking as he carefully dropped his feet to the floor and pried his eyes open. Nightmares were only that. Focusing on them and freaking himself out wouldn’t accomplish anything. The only thing he needed to accomplish was going to his fiancé and making sure Justin hadn't scared him too badly with the latest bout of restless, nightmare-filled sleep. He could manage now to walk somewhat without the cane. Later in the day, if he’d been moving around a lot, it got harder and he’d have to use the cane, but for the first half of the day at least, he could usually manage without it. So Justin carefully got to his feet, limping slightly as he made this way over to Harris and dropped down onto the window seat beside him. “Hey you,” he muttered, reaching out for Harris’s hand. He squeezed it gently and leaned over to press a chaste kiss against Harris’s

lips. “G’morning, жених.”

Harris felt like it took ages for Justin to finally stop thrashing. It was actually kind of sad that he now knew all the stages of Justin’s nightmares cycles and could tell when he was about to wake up and when he was just enjoying a moment’s respite before diving back in. His hands clenched into little fists as he watched Justin’s chest rise and fall in a way that was all too painfully familiar before he was just lying there, trying to catch his breath. Tears burned at his eyes but he couldn’t keep crying - they weren’t his nightmares - it just broke his heart to see Justin struggle. He offered the same strained smile back once Justin finally sat up and glanced Harris’ way before looking away as he wiped himself off and tried to calm himself down. Tentatively, he turned the volume down, pulling out one of the ear buds and glancing down to give Justin some privacy until he felt eyes on him. Glancing up he met Justin’s gaze but his eyes were 1,000 miles away, panic still clearly squeezing at his chest, and he had to fight the urge to go over there and try to soothe it away. Justin had to come to him on his own time. Ironically, these mornings had given him a taste of his own medication and he got now why Justin was so anxious to get his hands on him any time he’d panicked before. Still, patience won out and eventually Justin shakily made his way over to his seat and Harris was all too eager to give him his hand and lightly squeeze it back, trying to keep the smile on his face as he was greeted. Justin tried so hard to be strong for him, the least he could do was repay the favor when it was needed. “Hey yourself.” He let himself be kissed, giving Justin a few quiet minutes to regulate his breathing and come back down, before glancing up at him. “D’you wanna talk about ‘em?” he always offered, despite knowing he’d turned Justin down every time he’d ever asked that question too. It was just…nice to be asked sometimes. “I’m alive,” he reminded. “You’re alive. And we’re going to be okay.” The words felt less and less true every morning he said them, but he had always been quite stubborn. It was just so daunting to know there was about 17 hours ahead of them filled with frights, and food, and failed attempts at being normal before this started all over again. He was getting exhausted - the scary type of exhausted that just wanted to stop even trying. But he could push that for now and just hold onto his boyfriend and try to be what he needed. “Love you.”

Justin hated this. He hated seeing Harris’s tears, knowing they were because of him. He hated the gentle way Harris would always ask if he wanted to talk about the nightmares, despite the fact that actually hearing them would make him cry even more if Justin were to ever accept the offer. He hated that every morning before he was even conscious, he was adding to the pain and struggles that Harris was already dealing with. But he put on a smile and shook his head like he had every morning. “Nothing to talk about,” he lied. Was it really a lie though, if they both knew it wasn’t true? It wasn’t like he was trying to deceive Harris. He knew that Harris knew there was something to talk about, just that neither of them actually wanted to. He squeezed Harris’s hand, taking a breath and letting his fake smile fall into something less, but at least more genuine. “Yes, you are. And we’re going to be fine, and that’s all that matters. Thank you, and I’m sorry for worrying you.” It wasn’t his place to make Harris worry even more. He was supposed to be helping Harris feel better and get through this, not making it harder on him. But here Harris was, comforting him and telling him they would be okay. As much as Justin hated to accept the comfort, because he was the one that should be comforting Harris, he appreciated it all the same. “Love you too. I’m gonna go get Vlad so he can change your bandages,” he said, leaning over to press a kiss against Harris’s cheek before standing up. It was just another part of the daily routine that they’d fallen into. Justin would send Vlad into their room to patch Harris up, while making some excuse to stay elsewhere in the house for the short time it took. Usually his excuse was getting some fruit and coffee or smoothies from the kitchen to take back for him and Harris to have breakfast, which became its own painful endeavour when Harris often didn’t want to touch anything besides the coffee, and Justin had to pretend like he wasn’t stressing over every meal about every food that Harris didn’t eat. His body wasn’t running on enough sleep, and it wasn’t running on enough food, and Justin couldn’t help worrying. Not that Justin could really say much; he wasn’t exactly the picture of health. He hadn’t gotten any actual restful sleep since they got to Paris, and he’d taken to picking at small amounts of food and mostly just drinking protein smoothies. They weren’t as difficult to get down as a meal, since he could just sip on one drink for an hour or two, and he could still tell himself he was getting all the vitamins and nutrients his body needed to function. When he found Vlad in the living room though, it wasn’t the daily conversation they always had, which lasted for about a minute before Vlad would leave to patch Harris up. He wanted Harris to come out there to him, and remove the stitches. ”It’ll be easier to clean him up out here, and once I get the stitches out the cuts will heal mostly on their own.” Sure it was logical, but the thought made Justin feel sick all over again. By cleaning him up, he knew Vlad meant that removing the stitches would involved at least a small amount of blood. He wasn’t the squeamish type. he’d never been. Being a guard, being Jeremy’s guard mostly, he couldn’t be. But all he could see were the scarlet streams covering Harris’s chest, pooling at his feet, more and more. A quiet muttered response left his lips before ehe ducked into the bathroom and leaned over the sink. His fingertips burned and his knuckles turn white with the force he was gripping the sides of the sink with. He took several shaky breaths, eyes fixed on the silver drain. Why was this bothering him so much today? He could handle this. He knew he could. Once he felt like he could breathe, he turned the tap on and splashed cold water over his face. One thing he liked was that the cold tap water here was actually cold. Ice cold, enough that it shocked him awake whenever he splashed it over his face. His hands were numb from the icy water instead of from his own worried shock, and he could breathe in deeper, his heart rate calming slightly. Grabbing the hand towel beside the sink, he wiped the water from his face and looked up, still surprised at the straggly mess that stared back at him. Was this who he was now? No more clean-cut, professionally dressed New York boy. He didn’t know if he still wanted to be that guy, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be this guy either. All he knew was that he was starting to suffocate. Everything and everyone around him was pushing him to a breaking point, and he needed to get out just for a little while. He dropped his eyes, replacing the towel and backed out of the bathroom, almost running into Casey as soon as he stepped into the hallway. “Hey, Case,” he muttered. A thought occurred to him and he looked up. “Remember that old warehouse you told me you found? Could we go out there today?”

Casey felt slightly out of place here. This arguably was a family thing. A very painful awkward family thing that he had no real right to linger in, other than well, Justin was his brother and he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else in the world right now. He’d hoped given a few days of peace that Harris’ defenses would start coming down and he’d be more open to Casey’s friendship but each day seemed to drag them both down more. They got quieter, isolated more, slept less, and fought more. Not with each other as far as he could tell, but dinner became a time almost all of them seemed to reluctantly drag themselves to because it’d play out the same way every time and never got less uncomfortable. Casey had spent most of his life watching Luna wage similar wars and he knew that Luna’d found a kinship with Harris - but he had no idea what help or advice to offer. He’d never ‘fixed’ Luna and didn’t know how to fix Harris now and felt like the worst best friend ever for it. He’d taken to going on walks after dinner inevitably exploded after everything was all cleaned up, needed away from the tensions, and hoping his absence would make things a little easier. It also gave him a chance to explore the city, to find little places he wanted to take one or both of the boys to - one day. Today he’d figured would be a day like every other and he rolled out of bed and into jeans and a t-shirt before going to sleepily stumble his way to help making breakfast. It’d only taken a day or so to realize why Mrs. Klein was so big on making food - it was oddly soothing. Baking or cooking had a recipe, there were directions, and an end product. It was neat, logical, and predictable. And productive - something came out of it and it helped ease his soul. So he started volunteering - first just to watch and clean up and then gradually started being given tasks and found he wasn’t actually horrible at it. He’d never really expanded his horizons beyond basic pasta, pizza, and sandwich making before. He was a lifelong bachelor and ate like one, but it was definitely fun and interesting to learn the basics from a woman who knew her way around a kitchen and then to google things that would challenge and interest them. If he wasn’t in the kitchen, he’d check in on Harris and Justin, either bringing a book of his own to read - mostly to watch Justin squirm impatiently - or with some kind of light task for Justin to help him with. If he knew it was a bad day - and he’d gotten to tell those within a step or two into their room - he’d bring the task to Justin instead of taking Justin to the task, but he was trying to eventually coax both of them out. Harris was more than welcome to do his reading in the living room while Justin tinkered with the faucet or something, but he figured there needed to be a couple more days of build up before that was possible. So it shocked him to run into Justin alone - looking more than a little manic - asking to go to the warehouse. Today? “Yeah, sure man. Whatever you need. D’you wanna eat breakfast first or like - now?” Something was up, and just like that any traces of sleepiness was gone, and he was eyeing Justin a little closer. “Is everything alright?”

Justin felt himself tense up again when Casey agreed so quickly to the request. Not because he doubted Casey or was afraid to leave, just because he hadn’t mentioned to Harris that he wanted to leave for a little while. It would be painful to have the stitches removed, but also the fact that he wouldn’t be able to hide in their room for at least the time that it took to do that. What if Harris freaked out that he wanted to leave? “Uh, I’m not sure. I need to talk to Harris first.” He wanted to scream that yes, now, now please. He was tense and agitated, and wasn’t sure he could get through another hour of faking a smile and acting like he was ok. He just needed to be far enough away from his parents and Harris that he could scream and break something without worrying them. Then he could come back and fake a smile, and be the strong one that held himself together. He just needed to not hold himself together for about five minutes. Maybe ten. Justin shook his head at the question, raising a hand to rub over his face. “‘M fine,” he muttered, knowing Casey wouldn’t believe it. But he didn’t need to believe it, he just needed to wait for the honest answer until Justin could scream it in a large empty space. “I just need to get outta here for a little while. I’m gonna go let Harris know.” He headed down the hall to his and Harris’s room, already dreading having to tell Harris that Vlad wasn’t coming in, and he’d have to go out. “Babe?” He pushed the door open, and promptly froze in the doorway. He wasn't sure if his mind was messing with him again, mixing flashes of the nightmare with reality. Angry red marks littered Harris’s skin, but there was no blood. Somehow Justin could still see it though, between the rows of black stitches holding together pinched, reddened skin. But then Harris saw him, and was scrambling to hide, and it wasn’t nightmares mixing with reality anymore, it was just reality. It was just the scars of Harris’s pain that Justin had as much of a part in as the men that sliced his skin open. He opened his mouth to apologize, but closed it when he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. He knew they’d been changing in different rooms— hell, Harris had even taken to changing in the closet to keep Justin from seeing his chest and back. But it hadn’t quite hit him that they were at this point, that Justin felt sick and Harris was panicking, just over him being shirtless in the same room as his fiancé. Justin wasn’t even sure if he felt sick because of the guilt over seeing the wounds, or because of the fact that Harris was panicking and trying to hide from him. “Uh, Vlad wants to take your stitches out today,” he muttered shakily. “He just—he can’t do it in here. He wants you to come out to the living room. Easier space to work with, I guess.” He wasn’t sure if he was speaking too quietly or too loudly. He couldn’t hear his own voice over his head spinning and blood pounding in his ears.There was something else. Something he was supposed to say. “Oh, uh. I was gonna go out with Casey, just for a little while, if you’re alright with that. But I can— I’ll stay while Vlad is taking out your stitches if you want me to.”

Harris went stiff at the soft ‘babe’ that was his only warning and not enough of one. He’d accidentally snagged the big gauze pad on his undershirt so it’d come off early but he figured it was fine ‘cause Vlad was just gonna tape another one on anyway, but now it left his back clearly exposed to Justin. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He tried to spin around, but he wasn’t quick enough if the winded way Justin was swaying in the doorway was any indication. His heart was racing, breaths coming a little rapidly as he shoved his arms in the sweater and quickly zipped it shut of his chest, watching with his boyfriend with wide eyes for a moment. “Sorry.” he whispered before the words Justin said after kind of rang in his ears, taking him a few moments to work out. Stitches? Vlad wanted to remove his stitches and Justin wanted to leave the apartment. With just Casey? They hadn’t been apart longer than the time it took Justin to get the ring from Cohen’s house. But they’d survived that. So he just gave a little shake of his head and reluctantly got to his feet, fingers clenched around his iPod. “No, babe. You can go - I’ll um, I’ll be okay. Just be safe, please? Don’t stay out too long.” He’d seen enough of Justin’s guilty horrified face to last him several lifetimes and didn’t want to add any more visuals to his nightly torment. Not when every morning had him waking up and looking at him almost like the time Justin thought he was a … no. He couldn’t go there. He was in Paris. He was fine. They were fine. He lingered a few inches shy of the doorway, uncertain if touching his boyfriend would do more harm than good while he was that pale and agitated. “Je t’aime. Please be careful, especially with your leg. Vlad’ll probably want to take the stitches out there when you get back.” Harris didn’t like the idea at all, but he knew Justin was a ticking time bomb any time he felt cooped up and suffocated, so what choice did he have? His boyfriend needed to go so … there was the door. Quietly, he followed Justin down the hall, but his feet stopped in the living room, despite his eyes following Justin as he picked up Casey, greeted his parents, and then left Harris alone. He shot an uncertain glance at Vlad before slipping the sweater off and straddling the chair that'd been set up, mumbling a small apology in Russian over the missing bandage. He’d had stitches before and getting them removed never failed to remind him of how the injury happened, but he couldn’t ask Justin to stay for that. Couldn’t tell Justin that one of his earliest memories was being in his Mom’s lap and watching her finish up a row of stitches and telling him, [i]Facile. Tout comme une chaussure de ballet, non? [/i]. He shook the thought off, and almost immediately regretted it when his mind was left undistracted at the first pulls against his back. He wanted to flinch, wanted to knock his hand away, wanted to protect his back at all costs - but somehow he had to stay still. He had to ignore each tug and each flash and taunt that’d threaten to take over his mind. He tried turning the music up louder, but while it was good at helping him distinguish between reality and flashback, it didn’t do much in the fact of actual physical sensation threatening to send him right back. And it didn't help anything that the only memories of injures he had that didn't involve Justin - were all of Noèmi. They couldn't let Ellie know, so it was always just the two of them, playing doctor, then hiding with cups of ginger tea until they felt safe enough to go back to their rooms. He wanted his Mom. He wanted the tea. He wanted to be held. He was so beyond pissed that’d all been taken from him, tainted yet again by TC, a lie he’d been so desperate to believe that he found himself even now wondering in the very back of his mind - what if? What if she grew to love him after that video was taken? What if he was useful and what if she didn't want him dead anymore? Could anyone really fault him for trying to look for any tiny shred of evidence that'd allow him that hope? A voice that sounded a lot like Justin’s immediately shot back - would it change things? Would her growing to be fond of him change the fact that she purposefully sought out a nightmare of a man and conceived his children just to make a TC cover? Did her belated concern negate the fact that she left him there for two decades? His mind was a firm no, but his heart still throbbed with a quiet “Mommy” and sent the first tears down his cheeks - ones that had nothing to do with being tortured. That came later when he felt the first trickles of blood roll down his back and he had to just endure the scene playing over and over in his head - the way Justin’d scrambled to come up with anything at all that'd make them stop, the moment it'd all become too much for him and he'd broke - egging Justin's desperation on with quiet pleas of his own to make it stop. The way they'd toyed with him and the very abrupt realization that his life was literally dangling - spared or taken by a sick fuck on a whim. He flinched away from a particularly sharp pinch, soft pleas leaving his mouth mixed with ‘I don’t know,’ ‘he doesn't know’ ‘we don’t know’.

Justin felt sick when he saw the stitched cuts on Harris’s back. He felt worse when Harris panicked and tried to cover up, putting his sweater back on, but the quiet apology made him feel like a complete dick. “Don’t, please. There’s nothing to apologize for,” he said quickly. He gave a jerky nod at the request. “Yeah, of course. We won’t be out too long. An hour tops.” His stomach dropped when Harris hesitated when he got close, and reached out for his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. He leaned forward to steal a quick kiss, wanting some kind of reassurance that they were okay, despite all of this. Fine, so most engaged couples probably didn’t panic and guilt-trip anytime one of them was shirtless in the same room together, but Justin wanted to believe that they were alright, despite the unconventional boundary they’d placed on themselves by unspoken consensus. “I love you too. And I promise I’ll be careful. I’m just gonna brush my teeth and put my sling on before Vlad yells at me for trying to leave without it,” he added in a lighter tone. It almost felt weird now, like he was going back on his own words that Harris didn’t need to be sorry for having his sweater off when Justin came in, but now Justin was grabbing his clothes as he did every morning, and ducking into the bathroom under the excuse of brushing his teeth. Which he needed to, but they both knew it was an excuse so Harris wouldn’t have to see his burn marks or gunshot wound. Pushing away the thought, he changed as quickly as his injuries would allow, and brushed his teeth before wrestling with the sling to get it comfortably in place and going back out to join Harris. He was glad for the distraction of seeing Casey when they made it down the hallway and found the other few inhabitants of the apartment. He quickly promised his mom they’d be back soon, took the protein shake his dad basically forced into his good hand, and turned back to Harris briefly, kissing him on the cheek and muttering a quiet, “I love you. I’ll be back soon.” Not for the first time, he wished he could be in multiple places at once. Harris needed him here, he knew that. But he felt like he was crawling out of his skin, and he needed to do something or he felt like he’d explode. Still, he felt incredibly selfish as he stepped out the front door with Casey. He made it as far as the elevator before he was looking back over his shoulder down the hallway towards their apartment. “I shouldn’t be leaving Harris. This is selfish. Let’s just go back.”

Dairen was at a loss since they got to Paris. Harris and Justin stayed holed up in their room as often and as long as they could get away with it, and barely spoke or ate or did much else when they did come out. Justin tried to act more okay than he really was. He talked more even than he had before to try and cover over Harris’s silence, and Dairen wasn’t even sure that he knew he was doing it. He was understandably worried when Justin said that he was leaving with Casey, the morning that Vlad wanted to remove Harris’s stitches of all days. Though given how Justin had actively tried to avoid looking at Harris’s injuries, even when he was first being stitched up and when Vlad had checked the stitches after they landed in Paris, he figured that was exactly why Justin was leaving this morning of all days. So he forced a protein shake into his son’s hands and made him promise to be careful, before turning his attention to Harris as he joined Vlad in the living room. he didn’t want to overwhelm the boy with too many people being around, so he stayed in the kitchen, just within earshot of the living room, as he helped Mary carry the plates and flatware to the kitchen table. As soon as he heard the soft familiar voice whimpering out quiet words he couldn’t make out, he was in the living room and dropped onto the couch in front where Harris was sitting. “Worst part’s almost over, son,” he said. Waiting until Harris saw him, Dairen reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. He peered around over Harris’s shoulder to see what Vlad was doing. Vlad was just finished taping the last bandage, so Dairen puled his hand back and gave Harris an encouraging nod. “See? Almost done. Just turn around so he can finish up. Then, I think Mary made breakfast, and got some Italian roast coffee yesterday. Actual Italian coffee from Italy, not the knock off American version.” It was the best he could think to offer, and he was upset with himself for not having something better to offer. He knew food wouldn’t exactly be a good bribe, but he was hoping a french breakfast might appeal more to him, and coffee at least would.

Casey was a little confused when Justin tensed up when he easily agreed to take him. Didn’t he want to go? Quietly, he listened as Justin hesitated, saying he had to ask Harris first. Then that he was fine. Then that he had to get out and was going to go tell Harris. “Okay, I’ll be here.” Given the way the fragile boy had only gotten well … more fragile lately - Casey wasn’t exactly holding his breath for permission. At this point Harris was pretty much afraid of his own shadow, so letting his boy go wander around a city - it was going to take a small miracle. So he went back to the kitchen, avoided Agent K’s protein shake station and optimistically put some coffee and cream into a travel mug as he waited for the little pow wow to finish. “Justin asked to go for a walk. Me and him.” Casey said quietly. “Depending on Harris’ permission, of course.” Did that sound bitter? He didn’t mean for it to. It was just frustrating to be cut off from his best friend because Harris no longer trusted anything or anyone. Justin needed help too but he wouldn’t let Justin go five feet out of his sight at any given time so now they were both drowning with an entire small army of people that just wanted to help them. To his complete shock, the door opened a few minutes later, Harris shuffling out to where Vlad was set up and then Justin trailing behind a few minutes later, kissing Harris … goodbye? Oh. Holy shit. Where they actually going? Alright. He picked up a bagel, thanked Mrs. K and waved at Agent K before getting Justin out of the door before he changed his mind. Apparently that was a bit too presumptive of him because it took to the elevator actually for him to hesitate. “No. No going back.” Casey said firmly, reaching out to turn Justin’s gaze to him. “Your Mom, Dad, and Vlad are all in there with him and they all care about him ridiculous amounts. They won’t let anything happen to him, okay? He’s in good hands. And so are you.” Sighing, he dropped his hand to Justin's good shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Look, if you really want to go back because you're scared or nervous about going out into Paris, then we’ll go back. But you’re struggling. You aren’t sleeping. You haven’t had a chance to say more than a handful of words to anyone and that's only over a very awkward and stressed dinner. You can’t bottle this up. You need help too and I’m here for you, but you gotta let me in. You gotta tell me how I can help, what I need to look for so that you can get what you need and be a healthier you to go back and take care of him and you, alright? It’s just a walk. Clear your head, stretch your legs, and spill what you need so you don’t look so much like a kernel about to pop, alright?”

Justin needed to go back. Harris needed him. Why had he decided that today, when Vlad was going to be painfully removing Harris’s stitches, was the day he needed to get out? He could get out tomorrow. Not today. Justin jerked when a hand was forcibly turning his face back to look at Casey. “I know they care about him, that’s not the problem. What if something happens? What if he freaks out? Or has a panic attack? They don’t know how to help talk him through it.” It wasn’t a far-fetched fear, either. He’d had daily panic attacks since they got out of the basement. Granted, since coming to Paris, his daily panic attacks and been limited to any time he tried to take a bath, and he knew Harris wouldn't attempt that without knowing Justin was in the next room when he needed him. It was probably ok, right? “I’m not scared or nervous,” Justin said defensively. “God, trust me after everything, I’m more uneasy about staying in a single, confined space for too long. Open air, horizon lines, I’m all for it. I don’t even know what being a healthier me means at this point. And ‘m not gonna pop, asshole, I’m not pregnant,” he added with a huff, glancing away from Casey when the elevator door slid open. He cast one more nervous glance down the hallway, but gave in and stepped into the elevator. He leaned against the back wall and let his head hit the wall. He wasn’t supposed to still feel this on edge, right? He was away from the commotion, form the pressures of being surrounded by everyone that had any expectations of him. Casey wouldn’t judge him, didn’t expect him to pretend to be okay or put on a show. Hell, if he wasn’t injured, he was sure Casey would have no problem with kicking his ass for putting on some performance acting like he was fine when it was just the two of them. But it still felt too close, too real. Like the elevator doors would open and Harris or his mom would be there in tears, demanding to know why he was leaving and needing him to not break, just for a bit longer. “How far of a walk is this warehouse you found?” He asked quietly, eyes watching as the digital number above the door changed the closer they got to the ground floor. “And is there anything I can throw or break?” He asked an afterthought. He remembered when he used to go to shooting ranges with Casey when he needed to let off some tension, but somehow pulling a trigger didn’t sound nearly as satisfying as thrown bricks through old, broken warehouse windows.

Harris lost track of time and location, past and present mixing and melding until he was no longer sure of much of anything. Was it over? Was it not over? Why wouldn’t he stop? They clearly didn’t know anything. Footsteps coming his way made his head snap up and for a paralyzing cold moment he watched Marty head his way ([i]not possible, not possible, you’re dead, I watched you die, didn’t you die?![/i]) until Agent Klein’s voice shattered the image. It took another few minutes for his heart to calm enough and his mind to peek out of its retreat to really register the man sitting across from him, but his words pulled a cold chuckle from him. This wasn’t the worst part. This was pretty much an everyday fucking occurrence, but okay. He felt the reassurances fall flat, just glanced down to focus on covering his shaking hands with his sleeves to wipe off his cheeks before he flinched away from the next tug on his back. “Fuck.” he whispered, mind immediately going fuzzy again, though his eyes snapped up to Agent K’s as he started to just babble. That…that helped. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the words, but watching them form then hearing their sound - that helped and so he watched him talk, trying to slow his breaths until he felt the tap on his shoulder that meant turn but he couldn’t move. He didn't want to move. No more. “Please, no.” Harris begged quietly. “Please stop. I need … I just…” A couple moments were it was just his heart beating and his lungs working gave him enough clarity to bring pained eyes back to eldest Klein. “Can you tell him I need a minute, please?” He tossed another apology over his shoulder, but quickly got up, putting as much space between him and Vlad as he could without leaving the living room before beginning to pace. He couldn’t get enough fucking air. He needed Justin’s voice. Needed his touch. Otherwise it felt like the attic and he wasn’t strong enough. His mind couldn’t go there. He jerked when a voice broke through his frantic thought cycle, turning to look at Mr. Klein as he talked, mostly comprehending the words now. “No. It’s not -“ he trailed off, turning to walk away for a few paces, struggling to find the words to explain what his issue was. “I can’t make it stop.” he said finally. “I can’t get him out of my head. Every time Justin manages to look at me, every time I breathe, every time I look in a mirror — it’s like it’s happening all over again. I can see it, I can smell it, I can hear it, I can feel it, and I’ve got one half of my brain saying yes this is reality and the other half going no, you’re out, this isn’t real. And even once that part takes over - every emotion, every memory, every feeling is ripped raw and it feels like it just happened for real.” He glanced towards Vlad’s chair with some amount of disdain. “I sit there and let myself get sliced with each stitch he pulls out, struggle between real or not real, and it doesn't matter ‘cause even when I know it’s just a stitch and I’m fine and I’m in Paris and we’re out - it still feels like - I still hear - “ he swallowed the rest of the words on his tongue, realizing just in time that Darien didn't need to know his son screamed louder when Harris being hurt than when he was hurt himself. “Fuck. Ok. Let’s just - we’ve gotta be done before he comes back.” He forced himself back onto the chair, keeping a fair amount of distance between his back and the chair, before glancing around. “Can you put your hand on my shoulder again, please? Justin touches and he talks and that helps. Just, keep talking? I … one of your books should be around, you can just read that if you'd rather. The words don't matter, just your voice, please. Like on the stairs.” He gave a small nod to Vlad, then physically sat on his hands to keep from batting his hands away and just gritted his way through it the best he could. If he kept his gaze on Vlad instead of his hands, it seemed to work better to keep him from wavering too much, but he was still far beyond comfortably agitated when he was finally bandaged up again and given the ok to redress and retreat. “Thank you. Spa-see-bah.” He apologized again in every language he knew, before Darien reminded him about coffee. Well, and breakfast, but coffee. So he shakily headed towards the kitchen, hoping against hope it'd be either empty or Justin’d be walking in now and instead stopped in his tracks staring at the spread on the table. That was - his mother used to - his eyes began to burn again as he took a handful of hurried steps away. He couldn't do this. Not now, not like this.

Casey barely refrained from chuckling. He knew it felt like life or death for Justin, but it was like ‘what if the sun rises’ ‘what if I sneeze’ - they weren’t life threatening conditions. “Panic attacks usually last up to twenty minutes tops. Then they stop. The body can’t sustain that level of fear forever. Even if they can’t talk him out of it, they can sit with him until his body lets go. Chances are he’s gonna get his stitches removed, then go straight to your room and curl up with a book until you and I get back. You know him. He’s not gonna go seek out anything that’ll freak him out while you're not there. He knows how to take care of himself.” Or … did he not? Justin’s panic from the night before made his stomach suddenly turn with unease. Justin was jerking out of his touch with a soft ‘asshole’ that brought the first genuine smile to his lips since he first saw them. There was his best friend. He stayed quiet in the elevator, watching Justin warily without looking towards him at all. Long mastered in the art of monitoring Luna without her direct knowledge of it. “Just a couple blocks. But yeah, it’s full of old abandoned junk for your destruction needs.” Worry flipped at his stomach and so he reached out again when they hit the ground floor, just after they got off the elevators. “Hey, it’s safe to leave him alone, right? Forgive me for asking it, but you - the way you reacted - is he a danger to himself? I can let Darien or Vlad know not to leave him unsupervised if you want me to.” Or if he’d rather, Casey’d march them right back up the stairs. He didn’t want to give Harris an opportunity like that - but it just seemed so - he’d survived so many extraordinarily things - it seemed crazy to go through all that and then … well. Okay.

Justin wasn’t comforted at all by Casey’s words. Did it matter if the panic attack only lasted twenty minutes if Harris did something irrational because he wasn’t thinking straight, and Justin wasn’t there to talk him down? Would he resent Justin for being gone when he needed him? Justin wouldn’t even be able to forgive himself if he wasn’t there when Harris needed him. But he knew the questions wouldn’t do anything to dissuade Casey, so he just stayed quiet and tried to remind himself that nothing would happen to trigger a panic attack while he was gone. Harris knew what things to avoid that would trigger a panic attack. Casey at least had that point right. But he was still uneasy as he nodded at Casey’s assurance that there were plenty of things for him to break. Right now he just wanted to run back to the apartment, but Casey apparently wanted to talk, and if that’s what he wanted, Justin was going to need something to break. Seeing Casey’s hand reach out out of the corner of his eye was the only reason that Justin didn’t flinch away at the touch. He still tensed at the question though, and dropped his eyes to the tiled floor. “I don’t know,” he said honestly after a moment. “You still have the phone you called us from Japan on? Can you just text my dad? I mean, if Harris wants to just curl up in our room and read, he’d get freaked out by someone hovering, but if someone could just check on him a few times.” he stayed silent as he listened to fingers tapping against phone keys. It seemed dishonest to say or even imply that Harris might do anything like what Casey was asking, but he couldn’t honestly say that the worry hadn’t crossed his mind. When he thought about it— actually thought about it, the logistics of it, the likelihood, the physical possibility of it— it seemed ridiculous to think Harris might. But how was he supposed to explain to Casey why he was still worried, when part of his mind still saw it as impossible? “When I panicked about the comment he made about—“ he broke off, waving vaguely at nothing, “The window. I’m not really— I don’t actually think he would,” he said carefully, starting to walk again just because he was getting restless standing still with his mind running circles. he waited until they’d gotten out of the building and turned down a side street where there were no other people walking. “It’s just that— how do I explain this? When I proposed, the first time, we were in the basement. It wasn’t some romantic, I’ll give you a future and we’ll live happily ever after shit. I said it because he was ready and willing to just give up entirely, and I had to give him anything to hold onto. But since getting out, its almost been worse in some ways than being locked down there. The physical side of the pain— hell, I’d take that any day over the mental side of it that we’re stuck with now.” He wasn’t making any sense, so he paused to try and work it out in his head in a way that he could say out loud, barely watching where they were going as his legs followed Casey automatically. Some part of his brain reminded him that he should be alert and aware of everyone around them, but the voice sounded painfully like one of his trainers from the agency, and he didn’t care to listen. “It’s like, when we were there, there was an ending. We could find a way to get out, and it was supposed to be over. Even if we didn’t think it would happen towards the end, there was a moment that could happen, some moment in an unforeseeable future that would end all of it. But even though it did happen, it didn’t end all of it. Marty, his asshole agents— they’re all dead, but they’re not really.” Just saying the name made him want to punch something, Harris’s words coming back from the first night in Paris when he told Justin that Marty had sworn even if they got out, he would come with them, and he was right. “They’re tormenting us both from the grave, Harris even more so than me, I think. It’s like even though our bodies aren’t down there, our minds still are, except this time we don’t have that possible moment that will end everything. There’s no hope for a big heroic rescue moment that will make everything okay. People can say it’ll get easier, we’ll move on, but there’s nothing as solid to cling onto as the possibility of getting out was. It was a tangible possibility, and we knew what it meant, you know? I don’t know what moving on is supposed to mean, and I don’t know how we’re supposed to know when we get there, or if we’ll get there. I guess I’m just worried because it’s not as easy since we got out as I expected, or probably as Harris expected. He was ready and willing to give up back then because at some point, the possibility of us getting out wasn’t there for him anymore, and right now he doesn’t even have that tangible possibility of something that will make it all end to even try to hold out hope for. So I’m afraid it would be too easy for him to fall back into that mindset that it’s not worth suffering through it when there’s no brighter hope or possibility to look forward to.” He could feel tears burning his eyes, and he clenched his jaw shut. He didn’t mean to spill that much; he didn’t know he’d needed to until he had someone to spill it to.

Dairen wished he could say something, do something to make it easier on Harris, but all he could do was mutter words of encouragement. “Just a few more minutes, then it’ll be over.” But even when it was halfway over was protesting turning around so Vlad could finish, and asking Dairen to translate for him. He relayed the request for a few minutes’ reprieve to Vlad, who just nodded and sat back, watching as Harris stood and started pacing. Dairen stayed quiet, figuring it would be best to give him a few minutes to try and work it through and calm down himself, but when he didn’t stop pacing, Dairen couldn’t help speaking up. “You’re almost done. The wounds can’t heal properly until he takes the stitches out. You’re doing great. It’ll just be another ten minutes or so, and you’ll be done.” But then Harris was finally talking, and Dairen wasn’t really following, but he stayed silent and listened. It wasn’t until he made the connection of stitches pulling against his skin and flashbacks to the basement that it clicked why he was having such a harder time with this than he normally did with Vlad just changing the bandages. “You’re not there. You’re never going back. What can I do to help—keep you grounded or something? Any way for me or Vlad to make it easier?” He was uncertain when Harris agreed to continue, but only because he wanted to finish before Justin got back. He didn’t say anything though, knowing it would be easier to get it over with than for him to focus on it for too long and panic. Dairen nodded at the request, shifting forward to sit on the edge of the couch so he could reach out and squeeze Harris’s shoulder. “You’re doing great, it’s almost done. You won’t have to worry about moving the wrong way and ripping any stitches, and you’ll heal faster once they’re out.” He repeated the same sentiments in Russian, knowing Harris would only catch a few of the words, but he did say that it was less about the words themselves, and he figured that Harris was just looking for something that drew a definitive line between the basement and now. Russian would likely draw a more distinct line, especially since Harris now had books in Russian and was trying to learn. As Vlad continued, Dairen continued in Russian, telling one of the many stories of the army medic saving his life during the war. Vlad chimed in on occasion with a detail that Dairen forgot, or a comment about him being a dumbass for getting himself injured. Finally it was over, and Vlad wiped the last trickle of blood away and taped the last bandage over Harris’s chest. Once he was sure Harris was alright, as he was reaching to pull his sweater back on, Dairen clapped him on the shoulder once and stood up. “You did good. Why don’t you go sit with Mary and try to eat something? I’m just going to help Vlad clean up here, then I’ll come and make some coffee.”

Mary was at a complete loss. Dairen was out buying groceries, supplies and anything else they needed for half the day, and the other half was spent checking in on Justin and Harrison. When he wasn’t occupied with either of those tasks, he was trading war stories with Vlad that she didn’t understand, or asking Casey for updates after he went to check on Justin and Harrison. If the boys would just come out and join them, it wouldn’t be such an ordeal. She tried to be understand, really she did. She didn’t know what they'd been through, but surely hiding away from everyone that cared about them and wanted to take care of them wasn’t helping. So she cooked. Constantly, and if more than half of it got eaten it was because Dairen or Vlad were making themselves sick from eating more than their fair share in an attempt to make her not feel bad since two members of the house barely touched the food. At least Casey appreciated the effort she put in to making sure everyone was healthy and well fed, and made her feel needed as she taught him the basics of cooking. At least one of her boys still made sense to her. Justin was a mystery. He wasn't the carefree, self-sufficient boy he’d been since a too-early age. He was now reserved, protective, always looking to Harrison— seemingly for permission whenever something was suggested. What would you boys like for dinner? A shrug and a look to Harrison. Would either of you like to come with me to buy groceries? A nervous glance sideways at Harrison’s panicked face, followed by an immediate, no we’ll stay in, thanks. How about a game, we can all play a card game together tonight? A look at Harrison, a silent conversation in which Harrison may have given a reluctant if-we-have-to or a firm no, but the resounding no was repeated aloud by her son. Mary didn’t understand it, but she tried to abide by the unspoken rule that this strange boy that never spoke ruled what happened or didn’t. So in an attempt to get some actual food in his stomach today, she found a proper french recipe for crêpes, and spent the morning making a couple batches until she found the best way to cook them. She had the crêpes out on the tables, with sliced fruit, honey and a few other toppings that were recommended in the recipe. She put on a bright smile when she heard Dairen’s voice form the living room, stating that Vlad was finished and that Harrison should come and eat. “I thought I’d try my hand at making a proper French breakfast—“ she broke off, her smile falling when Harrison started hurrying backwards. “I know my cooking isn’t the best, but you don’t need to be afraid of it,” she said, trying for a lighter tone, but she was getting frustrated at trying and failing to please the boy’s nonexistent appetite, and wasn’t entirely sure that that sentiment didn’t seep through in her voice.

Casey’s fingers fell away from Justin when he remembered how easily Harris flinched away and how they might not liked to be touched anymore. It had absolutely nothing to do with how his stomach was on the floor, watching Justin shiftily mumble about not being sure if Harris was a danger to himself or not. Fuck. “Yeah, I got it.” He fumbled the phone out, but what did he say? Harris would be fucking pissed if he ever found out about this, but what choice did Casey have? [i]I probably don’t have to even ask, but J wants to know if you’d please check in on Harris a few times while we’re gone. Not hovering, just - making sure he stays safe. Thank you - C[/i]. Repocketing the phone, he started following Justin before speeding up a bit so he could keep an eye out in front of Justin, opening doors, and fending off the general public before guiding him down a side street while his best friend casually tried to slay his heart. It was a weird thing that they’d kind of popped back up all ‘hey, we’re alive and btw we’re engaged’ but Casey’d figured it was a thank-god-we’re-alive thing more than a … light in a really dark tunnel. He glanced over at Justin when he decided it was almost worst to be out than in - that the mental stuff was so much harder to deal with and yeah, he’d started to get that watching the two of them. He had questions - dozens of them - but given this was the first time anyone but Harris had really got Justin talking, he kept them to himself for now and just gave Justin time and the space to talk out what he needed to. Quietly, he stepped down another road before reaching the warehouse and quickly unlocking it, pushing the door open with a soft “Ta-da!!” and flicking the bare lightbulb he’d replaced earlier so Justin could see what he was smashing. “It’s not much, but I hope it helps.” Turning over the words in his head, he moved to perch on the desk pressed against the wall the door was on, hopefully well enough out of the way to avoid any kind of flying shrapnel. “We kind of had a similar talk before. After Hawaii. You’d talked about how you felt like he was still in that container despite being in your arms, in your bed, safe. So what - what could he have done then to be present? What were you looking for then to signal a life outside? Maybe that’ll have some clues to help you figure out what your goals are here.” Casey was quiet for a moment, turning the same thoughts over in his head. “I think for the most part, everyone’s still really fixed on the physical. On your injuries healing, on gaining weight, on sleeping. Those are things we can do something about, we can help with those, what’s going on in your mind - that’s a solo battle unless you bring someone onto the battlefield with you. And for the record, I’m always up for a good fight.” But what could he do? “There’s no real clear definition of how you mark a full recovery from a huge trauma. For some people, it’s a return back to normal but for you and Harris that’s impossible. Um, so I guess the question becomes, what do you want? What would either literally or metaphorically put this behind you? Do you still wanna be married? I assume you asked with the intention of following through, but if you have doubts or concerns now - I won’t tell a soul. But I think your wedding could be a big milestone for you two. You’d be out in public, enjoying company, drinks, food, music, attention - those are things you can't do now. So working up to that, it’s something to hold on to. Something tangible.” Casey kicked his feet, trying to soften his question but he didn’t think there really was a way to. “Harris had been through a lot of shit. We all have, but arguably, he seems to uh, consistently get the short stick. If it takes him longer than you to drag himself back outta that basement - how's that gonna affect you? I’m not sure there's even an answer to that question yet. I just worry that you being you - hell I’m surprised you still have a sling on. You're usually done with it within a week. You rush through things, eager to be past the discomfort and back to your status quo, you put a lot of pressure on yourself to be better before your body is often ready. I imagine you're even more impatient with your mind, but if you’re out and he’s still in - I don't know, I was initially worried about him keeping you in and dragging you back down but now I’m wondering how that’d - if he’d feel worse not being able to keep up. Have you asked him about maybe talking to someone that's trained in all this?”

Harris hadn’t seen a crêpe since Alyssa had made them in Australia. But Ellie used to tease him about pancakes being one of his specialities because he’d learned from grand-mère how to make crêpes before he was even in school. His mother had never mastered the art, but now he couldn’t help but wonder if that was all just an act. Maybe she was perfectly capable of cooking after all. Fuck, maybe Harris wasn’t even related to the woman whose kitchen he’d stood in as a child, a proper hat on and sleeves pushed up - for once not even the least bit self conscious as she shared her family recipes. He used to make them for his Mom, on her birthday, on french holidays, whenever his dad was out of town or whenever he thought she needed a pick me up. Ellie, Cohen, and Blythe all texted each other and scrambled over on crêpe days, eager and excited. The note of frustration clued him into the realization he’d gotten lost in his head again so he flicked watery eyes towards her briefly before folding his sleeves over his hands and trying to remind himself to breathe. “It’s not you.” he said finally, breaking the long standing silence between them despite his better judgement, eyes staying firmly on the offending plates between them. “I used to make this almost every year on this date. It - it was the last thing I expected to see today. Please don’t - um. I appreciate the trouble you went through and the research but I don't - this part - I - “ Fuck. How did you come out and just say you wanted nothing to do with any memories of your dead sister or good-as-dead mother? “Please don’t make them again. Or um, no. I can’t ask - I just - I’ll stay in the room. Enjoy. Um. I’m sorry. I can’t - I’m really - I’m not hungry.” It wasn’t a lie. His stomach was in knots. He was damn sure nothing was getting down it right now. “I’m sorry.”

Justin felt at the same time relieved and sick when he stepped into the old warehouse Casey and led him to. It felt somehow easier to breathe being outside of the closed in space of the apartment with five other people, but he felt like shit as soon as the thought crossed his mind. He shouldn’t be glad to be away. Harris needed him, and here he was, running off and begging Casey to find him anything smashable to make him feel better. Actually the more he talked, he just felt numb. He didn’t even feel like breaking anything, he just wanted to breathe. He picked up a chunk of broken brick form the ground and turned it over in his hand, only tearing his eyes away to look up and cringe at Casey’s words. “Yeah, its exactly the same as what happened after Hawaii except I really don’t want to go through the hell we went through to get back to some semblance of normal back then.” He wasn’t sure either of them could handle another break or pseudo break-up like had happened in Australia. But then, Justin hadn’t really understood entirely where Harris was coming from. Now he did, but he also understood the other side of it. He knew where his dad and Casey were coming from, and why they hovered and worried and pushed them to talk. He knew what it was like being on that side, not knowing if he and Harris were even alive, or what was being done to them. It was an uncomfortable balance, wanting to scream that they could figure it out for themselves if people would just back the fuck off and give them some space, but also knowing that Casey and his dad had every right to be worried what would happen if they took even a single step back. Justin flat-out stating that he was afraid of Harris being left alone right now definitely wasn’t helping his case. His lips curled up into a wry smile at the words. “Yeah, I know you are. But the mental battlefield, it’s not really one that we can just bring on an army to help out.” He stayed silent, shaking his head once when Casey asked if he was having second thoughts about marrying Harris. “No, I still want to marry him. I asked again— an actual, real proposal— when we were in New York. Maybe you’re right. I guess that’s something we can work towards. And at some point we’ll have an actual date to put on it, and maybe that’ll help too.” He had doubts, but they weren’t his own doubts as much as he was worried about Harris having doubts, and his own mind creating all the scenarios in which Harris might have doubts about getting married. Did he even want to, or did he just feel like he had to say yes because Justin was essentially the only person he still had? Ellie was gone, Cohen and Blythe were gone, his parents had turned their backs on him. Did he actually want to get married, or was he just afraid of adding Justin and his family to that list? But Justin wasn’t even comfortable with those thoughts existing in his own head, much less saying them out loud just yet, so he stayed quiet and bounced the broken piece of brick in his hand as he listened to Casey. “Yeah well, last time I had a sling it wasn’t too bad. My shoulder still hurts if I move it the wrong way— and trust me, every way I could possibly move it is the wrong way. It was dislocated for about a week before they found us and Vlad had to dislocate it again before popping it into place. Apparently I blacked out for a minute when he did.” He couldn’t help the angry glare at Casey’s words. Before he responded, he turned and threw the broken brick at an old, broken window propped up against the opposite wall. The sound of shattering glass was more satisfying than it had any right to be. He turned back to Casey, the anger barely muted. “Yes, I brought it up, but he’s not comfortable with that, and I’m not going to force him to talk to anyone, and neither are you or my dad or anyone. However long it takes him, that’s not about me. It doesn’t matter how that affects me. He doesn’t need to ‘keep up,’ whatever the hell that means anyway. He’ll pull through it in his own time. The fact is that I’ll still be there right beside him, and if he needs to drag me back and keep me back with him in the fucking basement, then that’s fine. I deserve that. But I’m not going to try and force Harris to be okay and move on before he’s ready to.”

Mary wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do or say, but this was getting ridiculous. She had taken to cooking almost exclusively vegetarian meals, much to Vlad’s annoyance, but he at least ate meals regardless of what was actually cooked. Her face fell when Harrison asked her not to make crêpes again. She knew she wasn’t supposed to push. Dairen had mentioned to her more than once; don’t push, just let him work things out on his own, he and Justin could help nudge him towards eating and sleeping at least a little. But she couldn’t help it. This wasn’t healthy, and he had to know that. “Harrison, you have to work with me here,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “You won’t eat vegetarian meals, you won’t eat French meals. If it’s just crêpes specifically then tell me something I can make that you’ll eat. At least have something, even if you don’t want crêpes, there’s fruit, and I think we still have some cereal. Everyone is worried about you, can you at least try?” She knew it was probably the wrong thing to say, but nothing else she said ever helped. Nudging him for meals that he would eat never helped, asking for requests before she went to the grocery store never helped. She wasn’t even sure anymore if it was still the maternal feelings that she needed to help whenever any of the boys were struggling, or if it was now just outright frustration that no matter how many other people tried to help, Harris didn’t want to meet them halfway. Or even a quarter of the way or a tenth of the way. Mary getting past the point of frustration and wasn’t sure what he expected everyone else to do to try and help him when he was just standing still.

Casey tried to just sit and watch - take Justin as he was now - but he couldn’t stop his mind from marveling at the changes. It was just so constantly strange. He was still so much more reserved than Casey’d ever seen him, turning the brick over and over in his hand instead of running his mouth and dismantling everything in sight. To be honest, it was a little terrifying. Casey didn’t know this version of his best friend and he was more than a little nervous to say or do the wrong thing that’d hurt more than help. Maybe taking him out of the house had been the wrong call. He bit his lip, kicking his feet absently as Justin explained it was exactly the same as after Hawaii but he didn’t want to go through the same hell they did last time and that’s - that’s not at all what he was getting at. Fuck. He just thought it’d bring up little things like - grocery shopping, or doing laundry, or something that was normal but still something they wouldn’t even consider doing now that they could then tick off a list later. Something that’d distance them from the basement without being too taxing on either of them. He made soft listening sounds as Justin mused about the wedding and how it could help, especially if there was a date, but that gave him pause. “Maybe … maybe be careful about setting a date. It gives you something to look forward to and I get why you’d want it, but it could also be used and twisted to feel like a deadline in the darker moments, you know?” Casey suggested hesitantly. This was part of what he was apprehensive about. Justin and Harris were complimentative opposites and what Justin viewed as motivating, Harris probably would find constricting and anxiety-producing. But what did he know? He just knew how Luna thought and maybe he wasn’t giving Harris enough credit. Which was apparently the case as Justin turned and promptly finally started to lash out in the anger he’d been braced for. Glancing at the now broken window, he let Justin go until he stopped and then held up both his hands. “I wasn’t trying to imply that you would rush him. Nor that anyone would force him to do anything. There’s been enough of that and I’m not here to hurt him or you anymore. I just want to help you both. It’s just a bit of trial and error trying to figure out what does help. But we’ll get there.” Justin’s fierce dedication to Harris was…a little troubling, to be honest. The fact he was so willing to toss aside himself for Harris’ benefit would be immediate cause for eyebrows to raise under normal circumstances, but …. maybe that’s all they knew that. Just tossing themselves in the line of fire, desperately trying to keep the bullets from hitting the other and that - wow. Okay. He had to stop that thought there. “How can I help?”

Harris’ mind was clouded with memories and the instant clash of berating himself for each one, trying to stamp them ‘false’, ‘lie’, ‘do not cherish’ but how do you undo twenty one years of memories? His focus started to come back as Justin’s Mom began to noticeably lose her patience with him though. Did she think this was fun for him? A game? That he enjoyed watching Justin’s face get a little more pinched each day he couldn’t manage to do the most basic of things? And now they were back to the [i]tell me what you’ll eat and I’ll make it[/i] like there was some fucking magic food that’d just solve everything. His own patience snapped as she tried to pull the guilt card and took a step back, feeling slapped by her words before flicking a cold look up at her. “You think this is me not trying?” A dozen words popped into his head, burning on the tip of his tongue, but this was Justin’s mother. Mr. Klein’s wife. It was so so important that he not fuck this up. But, how fucking dare she. “Did you know that accepting a cup of coffee from hospital staff is how I got taken this time? They drugged an entire pot and knocked out some of their accomplices because they knew I’d wait to see someone else take a sip before I took my own.” He paused, trying to hold her gaze. “Do you know why I waited? It’s ’cause they drugged us in Hawaii. And I get it’s safe now. I get you’re not trying to hurt us. I get it. I just…I don’t…I couldn’t keep anything down on the ship. From what I understand I was restrained, sedated- I had IVs and I don’t even know what all was injected into me. The food and water in the basement was drugged. Tampered with. Inedible. You see this as some kind of….help. Comfort. It’s not. It’s a fucking minefield. It doesn’t matter what you put on the table. Regardless the small rational part of my brain that says I need to eat is completely overshadowed by experience and fear. I can’t convince myself its safe. You have no idea how hard it is to put [i]anything[/i] in my mouth. So don’t tell me I’m not trying. I’ve done nothing but fight and keep fighting since your husband showed up and helped us out of there.” He was starting to shake again and fought off the urge to laugh because fuck. Of all things she could have said. Not trying - all he did was try. Try to hold it together, try to be better, try to be good, try to not worry Justin, try to talk, try to eat, try to bathe. “You can’t understand what it’s like for me. Or for Justin. And neither of us would want you to. Nor expect you to. But that means you don’t get to pass judgement. You don't get to set expectations. You don’t get to accuse me of purposefully hurting the only people I have left in the world because of ….because why? Why would you think I’m doing this? Tell me. I’m curious. If you think I’m not trying, what the hell am I doing? Being selfish? Being dramatic? You know nothing about me. If you did - if you - you - not trying. Jesus fucking Christ. Do you know how much easier everything would be, if I wasn’t trying? You have… you have just no idea. Even just standing here, this close to you is a difficult thing. Knowing Justin’s out there alone with Casey and vulnerable is paralyzing, being sat at a family table is just another fucking reminder of everything I’ve lost…but I do it. For Justin. For your husband. I’m still here against all the odds because of them. So sorry, I frustrate you. Sorry I don't eat as much as you think I should, sorry for being offensive? But I’m not sorry that I’m doing everything I can to keep myself going. If you want to make that easier - just stop. Please.”

Justin hated Casey a little bit for saying it. No, that was a lie. He didn’t hate Casey. He hated himself for the fact that he didn’t consider that setting a date could feel like some ominous deadline to Harris, and that he’d feel worse if he thought he wasn’t doing better as the date drew closer. He hated that Casey knew that about Harris, and the thought hadn’t even occurred to Justin. He comforted himself with the idea that he would have thought about it, and backed away from setting a date before he actually said it out loud to Harris, but just the fact that he still had trouble seeing those small things from Harris’s perspective made him feel worse for being away. Being present and available was the only thing he was good at actually doing for Harris. He was shit at talking, and never knew when Harris was talking to get his opinion or just needed him to shut up and listen. But Justin just grunted his agreement with the words and picked up another broken brick, barely holding it in his hand for a split second before it was bouncing off the wooden siding of the warehouse. Justin was at the same time annoyed that his body was already feeling the small strain after such little exertion, and also grateful for the familiar burn in his muscles. As much as he understood Casey’s concern and need to help, Justin was tired of listening the more he talked. Everyone carried, everyone just wanted to help, they’d get through it. Every sentiment sounded the same, and Justin wondered morbidly if his empty promises in the basement had sounded the same to Harris. Did even the marriage proposal sound to Harris just like another of the empty, obligatory, hopeful words set on repeat? He wanted to laugh. He almost laughed. Until Casey asked how he could help. Then nothing was funny anymore, because as much as Justin loved his best friend, how the hell did he think he could help with what they’d been through? “You can’t help,” he snapped. Turning his back on Casey, Justin picked up another broken brick from the dusty warehouse floor and chucked it against the already broken window. The sound of it hitting the side of the window frame and knocking more shattered glass from the pane didn’t feel as satisfying as it did the first time. “I don’t even know what the hell that means anymore. Help. Like you and Vlad and my parents think some magic request for your help will solve everything.” Another broken brick hitting the wooden siding of the warehouse still didn’t make him feel any better. “I don't want your fucking help.” Another brick, and his mind didn’t calm. “I don’t deserve your fucking help!” Another, and he took comfort in the familiar ache in his muscles. He wished his right arm wasn’t in a sling— he could throw harder with that arm. “You all act like we’re both innocent victims torn apart by fucking TC.” His leg was shaking from the increasing amount of force he was putting into every throw, putting more strain on the leg than he knew he should. “I’m not, so stop fucking treating me like I should be helped.” He swayed slightly when he reached down for another brick, but he didn’t fall over, so he just kept going. He wanted that burn in his muscles that only came from pushing himself to his physical limits and then a little bit past them. “If you want to help, then help Harris. Not me.” He felt sweat prickling on his skin that, for the first time in months, had nothing to do with hot pokers or heaters being turned up to Sahara desert level heat, and it felt amazing. “He shouldn’t have even been there!” A brick bounced off the wall, and Justin watched it hit the ground, skittering across the floor to a corner. He’d said it once to Harris in the basement, but hadn’t said it since. Didn’t say it when Harris was blaming himself, and didn’t say it to his dad. “He shouldn’t have been there,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a quieter, hollow tone. He wasn’t sure if he’d pushed his body so much that it just gave out without letting his brain know, or if he was just so out of it that he didn’t remember making a conscious effort to move, but a moment later he was on the ground, legs folded awkwardly underneath him, his injured leg painfully so, but he made no effort to move it. And when the hell had he started crying? “I asked him to go with me to the hospital in Australia that day. I asked Alyssa about some dance supply store near the hospital and promised to take him there after we left the hospital. Case, I fucking bribed my boyfriend to go with me so he could be kidnapped and tortured, so don’t fucking ask me to apologize for wanting to help him more than myself.”

Casey came here expecting a blow out. He expected yelling, he expected anger, he expected destruction - it’s what Justin knew, it’s what he did. Though, it never got easier to stomach and somehow this was worse than all the rest combined. But he stayed quiet, watching Justin process what he said until he said the wrong thing that finally light the right match that got him going. He watched bits of brick fly, watched Justin struggle to throw as much as he did to talk until he finally said something that made Casey sit up straight. Not deserving of help? He barely dared to breathe as Justin continued to throw - both rocks and chunks of words that were almost meaningless in how little they told him - but he weathered both until the older man was crumpling into a heap and that was his cue. He slid to his feet, padded over to where Justin was but carefully sat just far enough to not brush against him at all. For a moment he was silent, giving Justin a moment to breathe, before he reached out slowly, with plenty of warning to readjust his leg before huffing himself as he sat back. “You’re an idiot.” he said bluntly. “I love you, but jesus, Justin.” How did he put this delicately? “This isn’t your fault anymore than it was Cohen’s that he got on his bike that day. If you don’t blame him for killing your fiancé’s twin - then you don’t get to blame you. Something horrible happened to the man you love. Something horrible happened to you. You are innocent. You are a victim. And yeah, it played out in a way that was unfortunate, but what if it hadn’t? Noèmi’d been welcomed into our safehouse. So was Keaton. And Kalen. Victoria and her family. If they wanted to - any one of them could have taken Harris alone. It was more important to keep their cover than risk that kind of exposure, but if the hospital sting had failed? A trip to Paris to see Harris’ family could have ended in a quote unquote plane crash and he might still be held somewhere and tortured. Keaton could have pulled him away from you in a heartbeat and disappeared without a trace, there are a dozen ways this could have gone because TC wanted him. And I - I shouldn’t say this, but he’s in pieces now. He’s hurting, he’s struggling, we can all see it, but he’d be so much worse off if you hadn’t been there. If you haven’t gotten him out of the house in a way that meant you got taken too. You aren’t to blame, Justin. You’re the only reason you still have a fiancé. That isn’t something to punish yourself for.” He was quiet for a moment, feeling near tears himself, but he didn’t want to make Justin feel anymore uncomfortable. “The only way I can help Harris is by helping you. So I’ll be your punching bag, I’ll take you here when you need to blow off steam, I’ll get or do whatever you guys need - just - stop blaming yourself. We didn’t know who we were working for. We aren’t at fault for believing the lies we were told. They were never safe under our care and I’m thankful as fuck that none of them are dead. I chose to hold on to that instead of the rest. It helps.”

Mary felt her body shift from frustrated to defensive to horrified to mortified in the space of about a minute. The words Harrison was saying were at the same time blurring towards in a dark cloud and still somehow each word was like a knife in his stomach. No, she hadn’t known. She hadn’t known any of it. But now it made sense, in the most painful way that it could. When he paused, she opened her mouth, not even sure of what she’d say, but he kept going and it snapped shut again. When he finally did stop, she didn't even have time to gather enough thoughts to form a sentence, an apology, anything. Dairen was there, muttering words she couldn’t hear and guiding Harrison through the living room to the glass door out to the balcony. Mary stayed rooted to the spot, just watching their figured until a larger one blocked her view. He was muttering something in Russian that she didn’t understand, but she looked down, reaching up to wipe at tears she didn’t know she’d been crying. She was shaking, and Vlad was still talking. When she managed to pull her head up to look at him, he was picking up the dishes fro the table and gesturing past her to hallway. She didn’t know what he was saying, but she could guess. Besides, she didn’t think she could hold it together long enough to help him clear the table. Her legs already didn’t feel sturdy enough to hold her up as she made her way down to the hall to hers and Dairen’s room. She didn’t know that the click of a closed door could sound like anything other than the simple thing that it was. But the sound was so much more than that. It was privacy, and it was permission. She crumpled as if the sound was a stage cue, back against the door, sobs racking her chest and knees pulled up to bury her face against. She wasn’t even sure if she was more ashamed of how much she’d pushed Harrison until he snapped like that, or because of how her mind even now immediately went to Justin. Was he hurting just as much as Harrison? How hard was it for him to just tuck that away, to pretend that he’s alright? And here she was just pushing and nagging, expecting them to fall back into normal routines of a daily life. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she chanted quietly under her breath to the empty room. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Dairen wasn’t eavesdropping. Quietly listening for the clatter of forks against plates and glasses being set on the table was not eavesdropping. Though he had to admit that it worried him slightly when he didn’t hear the usual sounds that accompanied eating a meal. He tucked the last of the gauze in the plastic bag that Vlad had been putting the stitches in as he tok them out, and tied it off, handing it back to Vlad to throw out. He was just drying his hands in the bathroom when a sound from the kitchen finally reached him, but it wasn't the kind he was expecting. Rushing back into the kitchen, Dairen heard the tail end of Harris’s rant at his wife. She was already crying and visibly shaking, and Dairen was torn. He knew he should be the good husband and make sure she was alright, but he knew for a fact that Harris wasn’t alright. Given that he needed to make sure both of them calmed down, but could only do that separately, he ranked Harris as a higher risk factor if left alone before he was calm and coherent. “Harris? Hey,” he started, moving carefully into Harris’s sightline for a moment before reaching out to grip his shoulder. He nodded his head behind Harris, gently tugging on his shoulder to turn him around that way. “Why don't you come outside with me for a minute, alright? Some fresh air will do you good.” They passed Vlad on the way, who gave Dairen a questioning look. He glanced back over his shoulder towards the kitchen for a moment before looking back up at Vlad. ”Take care of her. I need to get Harris calmed down,” he muttered quietly. He slid opened the glass door that led to the balcony, and guided Harris outside before sliding the door shut again and dropping his hand from the boy’s shoulder. He gestured to one of the chairs as he dropped into the other one. “Sit down, son, and just breathe for a minute. No one here’s trying to hurt you.”

Harris had shocked himself. Words were so hard to come by these days, but that just - they just exploded and he’d had no control over them. But he’d meant them. And it’d be a lie to say it hadn’t feel good to finally get it out there, despite the fact agitation was making him shake. It wasn’t the same dance he was used to — this wasn’t fear. His breath was coming in ragged bursts, body all coiled, and ready for …for what? A fight? Rapid footsteps put him instantly on the defensive but thankfully for everyone’s sake, he did recognize Justin’s Dad almost immediately. Warily yet resigned, he watched the older man get closer, half-braced for the expected back-hand but he was just gripping onto Harris’ shoulder and talking about outside instead. His mind swam confusedly for a moment - [i]what’d just happened[/i] - before exploding in panic. Outside? Like… no. Not without Justin. No fucking way. He opened his mouth to say as much, to plead for anything other than that but Dairen wasn’t heading towards the front door. So he snapped it shut, mind continuing to reel as guilt started to set in. He shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have said that. Justin didn’t want his mom to suffer or worry and he’d gone and fucked that all up. He’d upset her. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was such an idiot. Worthless stupid idiot. Lost in rapidly descending spiral of self-punishment, he didn’t register what was going on until his ears nearly exploded in sound. Puzzled, he stopped right where he’d been let go, all five of his senses being attacked and overwhelmed all at once. Squinting against the sunlight, he felt himself curling into himself, trying to fend off the noise but… that was a breeze on his face. He jumped when Dairen’s voice flooded the small balcony, glancing briefly over at the man, before dismissing the words to focus on glancing around himself instead. There was another balcony above them, but not at a distance that made him feel crowded or smushed and it was same with the ones on either side. Thankfully, they weren’t close enough to climb from one to another without being incredibly obvious with scaffolding or something so with immediate safety concerns set aside, he could shuffle a few inches more fully onto the balcony. Bringing his gaze first to the sky, he found himself mesmerized by both the color and the fluffy cloud shapes before a honk made him startle again and drew his attention towards the chaos at his feet. There were people and cars and buses and for a moment it was all terribly overwhelming and he was strongly tempted to retreat back into the safety of the apartment but then a bird’s call broke through his panic. It was easy then to look away from the crowds of strangers to search for a bird and he finally discovered it perched on a street lamp caddy corner from them. The bird chirped again, pulling a faint smile onto his lips, before he found his gaze drawn upwards again. When was the last time he’d really seen the sky? Why did it feel like such a big deal to see it now? Part of him wanted to shuffle closer to the edge, to wrap his hands around the rail, to look directly below them, to really feel the sunlight on his skin, but … maybe tomorrow. Today, it was enough to look over the city that used to be nearer to his heart than New York, to listen to the garbled French drift up to them mixing with horns and sirens, smell the odors that only a city could produce, and feel the wind in his hair. Realizing he was automatically cataloging everything made him smile inwardly, slightly relieved to find there was somewhere he could go without his iPod. If it broke or stopped charging or something - this - this worked just as well, if not better. To be honest, he could have lost hours just watching and listening and feeling, but he was painfully aware of the solid man sitting just to his right so he shuffled forward a bit more, lightly reaching out to touch the chair before walking around it to gingerly lower himself onto it, abruptly reminded that he hurt. He’d forgotten there for awhile, but the throbbing was back, tempering his awe and dragging him right back down again. Sighing softly, he pulled his knees up, careful not to hit his back on the chair before finally acknowledging the man briefly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset her. I shouldn't have said the things I did. I was careless, selfish - I - I’m sorry. I’ll …” he trailed off, uncertain how to navigate these waters. “I’ll fix it. I’ll make it better. I’ll - just - please don’t- “ He bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood, shaking his head at himself. These were Justin’s parents, his family, they weren’t going to wait for Justin to get home to punish him for Harris fucking up. The words came back now, [i]breathe son, no one's trying to hurt you[/i]. This wasn’t...this wasn't punishment. But should it be? This didn't make sense. “I don't understand.” Harris admitted quietly. “I think it’s um - it’s gonna take awhile to ….unlearn things? Please don't take it personally. I think there's um, a difference in thinking you could or would hurt me versus thinking you should. And that's uh, that's on me to fix. I’m sorry.”

Justin didn’t resist when Casey reached out to move his leg to where he wouldn’t be doing more damage to it. he just closed his eyes and tried to breathe, until Casey finally spoke and he laughed. He couldn’t help it. Just hearing Casey compare him blaming himself to blaming Cohen was ridiculous, as if he hadn't already done that. As if he hadn’t screamed at Cohen’s empty bedroom because the bastard just fucking left him there. “If that’s your best reasoning for why I shouldn’t blame myself, you should rethink that. Maybe it was his fucking fault. It was his fucking fault for getting on the bike, for taking Ellie. For leaving us to get steamrolled by the fucking agency that was supposed to be on our side. The lucky bastard at least got to die thinking his life meant something.” He didn’t mean it. Or maybe he did. He didn’t know anymore. A small part of him wanted to say that he wished he’d had that same pleasure Cohen did. That same confidence in the meaning of his life until it ended, even if it was a lie. Cohen was at least able to believe the lie until the day he died. But saying as much out loud would likely add his name to the suicide watch list, even though that would be stupid logic if it did. He knew it wouldn’t solve anything. It was just a nice thought that at least one guard got to believe the lie, and he almost wished it had never all blown up in their faces. Maybe then he could’ve believed the lie until the day he died too. But he didn’t get that option. “And you know what we get to live with? The fact that our entire lives were just setting up for Ellie, Pepper, Aiden, Jer, Luna, Harris and Coral to get kidnapped and tortured and killed by the agency. We never made a fucking difference other than making it easier for them to sit back and start picking them off one by one. We lined them up like fucking targets in a shooting range.” But Casey didn’t stop. He just kept going, with scenarios and what if’s that didn’t fucking matter. “You don’t get it. I don’t care what could’ve happened. The fact is that I bribed him to go to the hospital with me, I left him alone in the waiting room, and I couldn’t come up with a lie or a story or anything they wanted to hear fast enough when they had him fucking strung up like an animal in a slaughterhouse, and they just kept cutting at him with my knife.” He hated hearing it, because it was the same logic he’d told Harris to try and keep him from blaming himself. Any small change could’ve led to a much worse outcome, but now his mind was playing the same game he guessed Harris’s had done. What if a tiny change on his part could’ve led to them avoiding being kidnapped at all? What if he’d been able to think faster, lie better? if he hadn’t been so thick-headed and stubborn in the beginning maybe they would’ve taken him up to the attic instead. He didn’t know exactly what had happened, but he knew Harris was beyond traumatised by it, and Justin hated seeing him suffer through it. “Does it matter if we didn’t know?” He asked quietly. He dragged his hand over the ground, fingers searching until the closed around another broken brick which he immediately chucked at the wall. “Not knowing doesn’t change the fact that we were just leading them along like sheep to deaths. Keeping them safe and in a known place where the agency could just pick them off whenever they felt like it. if you can find anything that helps and makes you feel okay about all this shit, then I’m glad. But I can’t. There’s nothing okay about it. Nothing helps. Who the fuck even are we? Do you know? Cause all I see are obedient fucking soldiers trained and conditioned by the bastards that killed Cohen and Ellie, and tortured Harris to the point that I don’t even know if I’m going to get him back. Not completely. Not after everything they did.”

Casey quietly blew out a long breath as Justin started to laugh again. Nothing was getting through to him, not understanding, not logic, not common fucking sense and Casey was running out of ideas. Was this the point he was at with Harris? Just sitting by and watching as the other ran himself into the ground? He flinched when Justin started lashing out deciding that maybe some of the blame did lie with Cohen and really? Was he gonna go home and tell his fiancé that he blamed Cohen for Ellie’s death? Somehow he doubted it. “Your life does mean something.” Casey countered quietly. “The fact that the agency was corrupt doesn’t mean that the work you put in, and the things you did - weren’t genuine. You believed you were keeping Jer safe, you believed in your mission, and that - that doesn’t - you were the only friend that kid had for a long time. You kept him safe, you kept him focused, you encouraged him, bandaged him, he has a life because of you. You got him out of the container in Hawaii despite working for the agency. You kept him safe during the earthquake. You still did so much good and the fact that some asshole in charge was a two faced dick doesn’t take that away. It’s because of you he’s got a girl who loves him and a backbone to keep trucking on no matter what. His future exists only because of you. You and Nate are the only ones who get to get to be proud of what you achieved. You didn’t fail your charge and at the end of the day - that’s what it boils down to, right? Jer didn’t get tortured. He didn’t die. He was your responsibility and you didn’t fail him.” He frowned when Justin immediately pushed off the possibility that blame could have happened anywhere and just coincidentally fell with him that day and how did he argue back against that? It was honestly down to just shitty luck and wrong place wrong time. “What are you getting out of this, Klein? You wanna sit here and keep kicking yourself and put more distance between you and your fiancé until you can’t even look at him anymore ‘cause the guilt [i]he doesn’t want you to feel[/i] has completely ruined your relationship? This is not doing a goddamn thing for anyone. You can sit here and bitch and moan and cry over how you fucked up and how if you’d done this or done that than nothing would have happened, but it did. And it sucks. But the only option you have right now is finding a way to get back up on your feet and give you and your boy a future. That’s how you win. That’s how you get back at the agency. To them our lives was meaningless so make every fucking moment count. Stick it to them and be deliriously happy as often as you can.” Who were they? How was Casey supposed to answer that? “We’re victims of a cruel scheme.” Casey said shortly. “We were fed lies at a time we were incapable of critical thinking, we didn’t know how to doubt or to question, and they used that in their favor. We were brainwashed and completely convinced of a false reality. That is not our fault. And I’m not going to let the truth of where the agency originated or what its true purpose was change anything. At the end of the day I thought I was doing the right thing, I woke up and fell asleep with Luna’s well-being on the forefront of my mind, I did my job to the best of my ability - that’s all I could have done. Yes, I’m now a trained solider, but I am not a solider trained in deceit. I don’t know how to turn my back on my charge like Collins, Greerson, Copeland, Natasha, Blythe, Keaton, Kalen, and Vic did. We’re not them. We did not belong to the same team that they did. We were expendable good-guys but still good-guys. We were fighting the good fight. When we figured out things might be compromised we fell off the grid, we used our talents, and we got our mission completed. None of our charges died despite being kidnapped. Harris didn’t die under your watch. He suffered and he’s hurt and I’m sorry neither of you were spared that, but he’s alive. And he’s here, choosing a future with you when it would have been so easy to cut ties and walk away from all of this. Nobody could have blamed him for doing so — we all remind him of the worst moments of his life, but he’s still here. He still loves you. And I think that’s as much as you can ask from him right now. You have him alive and willing in your arms and in your heart - that’s already beating so many odds.” Bracing himself for the inevitable black eye, he shot a look up at Justin. “If you lost your Dad, your Mom, Jer, me and Cohen … how much you would you be right now? I don’t know what happened in the basement, but I know the shy nerdy hermit was gone before we even left New York. And if it were me, I’d be telling myself what’s a couple scratches compared to all that? But watching you struggle and beat yourself up and hurt because of it? That’d hurt worse than any cut. So pull together, Klein. I brought you here to let all this built up shit out, but not if you’re going to do so in a way that’s just going to destroy you both. So c’mon. On your feet.” He stood up, offering a hand to help brace him. “Do you hate me yet?”

Dairen just watched Harris’s amazement at being outside. Now that he thought about it, it was probably the first time that Harris had been outside and actually been able to relax. Back in New York, there had been the threat of the agency or TC. Getting off the plane and to the apartment there had been panic over being followed. Justin had gone outside willingly a few times, but Harris hadn’t been able to. He looked around wistfully, the only memory he had that could really compare dancing through his mind. It was his first time outside after arriving in the US from Russia. Leaving the airport he’d had the same fears as Harris, as well as more because of where he’d come from. He’d spent the entire flight memorising various English phrases, and carefully listening to the American accents of the couple that spoke in hushed tones across the aisle from him, muttering under his breath trying to imitate the accent. It had been stressful, but this feeling was one he was familiar with. Seeing the open sky for the first time and not being afraid of what could happen standing out in the open air. Hearing the various sounds that followed any big city, whether it was Moscow, New York or Paris. Even the differences in language didn’t sound much different when it was all garbled together and incoherent even if one knew the language. When Harris finally sat down, Dairen turned his gaze from the open sky to land on the fragile boy sitting across from him. He nodded at the apology, but his eyebrows creased together at the broken off sentence. “No one’s going to do anything. No one’s going to hurt you or kick you out or whatever your worst case scenario mind is dreaming up.” Harris’s explanation both made complete sense and no sense at all. Dairen turned the words over in his mind a few times. “You know, son, it works the other way ‘round too,” he said carefully. “There’s a difference between Piers hurting you and you deserving it. I don’t care what you did, what he thought you did or any of his idiotic opinions about what you did, there’s nothing you could’ve done to deserve the way he treated you.” He gestured back towards the glass door that separated them from the rest of the apartment. “Something else I know about you is that you don’t get that angry without a damn good reason. The last one I witnessed was over sleeping pills. So want to fill me in on the reasoning for this one?”

Justin didn’t agree with the logic, but if it made Casey feel better about working for the agency since they were kids, then Justin wasn’t about to ruin his rosy picture of it. He bit back the words that he hadn’t done shit. He’d been Jer’s friend and he’d learn how to bandage minor cuts and scrapes, but none of that would’ve protected him if the agency had really wanted him dead. He had to look up at Casey with an incredulous look at the comment about the earthquake before he remembered. “Right you weren’t there when the earthquake hit. You were in town with Luna. I didn’t get Jer out. I got stuck in the elevator with Ryder. He was with Kalen, a backstabbing TC agent. Kalen could’ve killed him, could’ve left him in the house and told us a wall or anything had collapsed on him during the earthquake. Hell, they were in the kitchen when it happened. He could’ve said the fucking knife block had fallen on him and stabbed him twenty times, and we would’ve believed it because Jer’s luck was always that bad. I didn’t save him. He wasn’t safe. He was lucky. That’s all we’ve ever been. Just lucky. And what the hell does that even mean? He was my responsibility. Yeah, my job was to report his every movement, let the agency know exactly where he was, move him when they said to, report every injury he got so they knew when he was vulnerable. Yeah I was fan-fucking-tastic at taking care of my responsibility.” He picked up another piece of brick and chucked it at the wall, repeating the motion with three more pieces until there were no more within his reach. His fingers itched to punch something, but his leg wouldn’t give him the momentum he needed to do it properly without hurting himself. Past that he wanted to throw something else, but would have to move to reach anything else to throw. His muscles ached with the refreshing pain that only came from anger pushing him too far physically. But it still wasn’t enough. It didn’t hurt enough and he wanted to keep pushing, but was also too stubborn to ask Casey to push some of the shattered brick pieces closer so he could reach them. He levelled an odd look at Casey when he asked what he was getting out of this, as though sure that there was a correct answer he was supposed to give, but not sure what it was, and equally as sure that if he did know, he’d say the opposite just to piss Casey off. “I’m venting. I thought that was the point of coming out here. Because I know Harris doesn’t want me to feel guilty. I know he doesn’t blame me. Saying this all to him would make hi feel worse, so I thought that was why you brought me out here. To break shit and say everything I need to because if I don't I’m going to fucking explode, but I can’t say it to Harris.” He shrugged his good shoulder and looked away, reaching out his good leg to kick and pull one of the shattered bricks closer so he could add to the now lessening pain in his strained muscles. “If you weren’t prepared for this, then you shouldn’t have volunteered as my verbal punching bag.” He didn’t say that if he was completely physically capable, he probably would’ve demanded a sparring match instead of yelling all of this. He wasn’t sure if saying that he’d prefer a physical punching bag to a verbal one would be helpful or hurtful at this point. “You think I don’t know that? What the hell do you think I’ve been trying to do since we got out of that fucking basement? I know the only thing I can do is figure out how to move forward. Believe me, that’s all I’ve been focusing on. Shut off everything else and just focus on what to do next. I thought this was supposed to be a break from the logical, get-over-it-and-move-on bullshit I’ve been playing over in my head since New York. My bad,” he spat. He wanted to laugh again. He wanted to ask if Casey even heard the words he was saying. We got our mission completed. Their mission to send their charges like lambs to a slaughter. Their fucking mission was to care for the turkeys and pigs that would be killed for the agency’s feast. Didn’t he get that? But Casey wanted to believe that his job had been more than that, so Justin bit his tongue and just let Casey go on about what an amazing job they had done as the precious little trained soldiers for the agency. He did hum his agreement when Casey said that no one would’ve blamed Harris for walking away. Hell, he’d started dating Justin around the same time that he found out about the agency. Around the same time that his life took a downward spiral. It would be way too easy for Harris to associate all of it with Justin. If it hadn’t been for him, if he’d never found out, if he’d always been able to stay in the dark, maybe none of this would’ve happened. It was illogical, but traumatized minds rarely made logical connections, and that was why Justin still had random moments of just amazement when he looked over to the body laying beside in bed, or curled up against his chest, and had no idea why he was still there with Justin. It was the same reason that he sometimes wanted to laugh when Harris said that Justin made him feel safe. He never did, but often it was a close thing. How could he feel safe with Justin when his life had been nothing but pain, loss, injury and traumatic memories since they started dating? But voicing the question aloud to Casey would just end in another lecture about Harris not wanting him to feel guilty, and he fucking knew that. He just sometimes also wanted to voice the logically illogical thoughts that played on repeat in his mind. He huffed out at annoyed breath at the words. He knew the shy, nerdy hermit was gone. He just hated that that was the case. Not because he had any trouble loving this version of Harris; he loved Harris whoever version of him that he was. He just remembered the shy, nerdy hermit version of Harris smiling when Justin would show up at his house with x-men movies and take-out food, or how his face lit up when Justin would ask about whichever book he was currently reading that was usually left on the coffee table, or the way Justin knew exactly what comments would get a smile, a laugh or a blush out of that version of Harris. He knew if that Harris hadn’t been left in the container in Hawaii, he was definitely still left somewhere in the basement. Hell, the version of Justin that made those comments just to see a blush on Harris’s cheeks, or knew which movies would make Harris cuddle against him and which ones would make him hide his face against Justin’s shoulder while Justin laughed and told him when it was safe to look again— that version of Justin was probably lost in the basement too. “I’m not going to destroy anyone,” he muttered. “Unless you find me an old mannequin or dummy or something to bring here. I’ll gladly destroy that. But no, I’m not going to destroy me or Harris or our relationship.” He wasn’t even sure how he felt about the excursion or the discussion. He felt a bit lighter and less tense, though that was probably from the physical exertion more than from saying everything that he had. Still, it did help to say it. It was hard to talk about with Harris, and he told himself that it was because he couldn’t really explain what it was like being a guard and then finding out that the agency had been double-crossing them the entire time, but the actual reason was closer to the fact that Harris needed him to be strong. What if he broke down? Would Harris try and be the strong one for him? Would it be a good thing for them both, or would it just make Harris feel guilty the next time it was all too much for him and he broke down in a panic attack? Who was supposed to help if they both broke down? Harris didn’t really like anyone else seeing him break down, so if Justin broke down at the same time, it would just be messy and upsetting and bad for everyone. The question tugged a reluctant smile to his lips as he took Casey’s hand to pull himself up. “Nah, you’ll have to try harder next time,” he teased slightly, but sobered as soon as he looked towards the door, knowing they’d have to leave soon. “Thanks for bringing me out here.”

Harris resisted the urge to sigh as Dairen echoed his wife’s words. No one was going to do anything. Yeah, sure, okay, for now - but inevitably that’d change. It always did. He hugged his legs a little closer at the nonchalant ‘son’ that was thrown out before startling a little at the name of his father leaving Dairen’s lips. Piers? He thought this was…oh. Huh. That all seemed like a lifetime ago but it was kind of a chicken and egg scenario wasn’t it? Did he continue to just happen to fall into hands that wanted to hurt him, or had his father known all along he was bad and just got the ball rolling? He looked back at the bird, watching it hop and sing like the distraction would work as a buffer against his own thoughts and feelings —it didn’t. “I wasn’t talking about Piers or at least I hadn’t intended to.” he said quietly, his gaze falling to his feet, despite the unease spreading though his body making him squirm a little. “It’s just um - there were consequences, you know? For not saying the right things, or not saying it fast enough, or not saying anything - I - studies show habits take 21 days to form. I just -we were gone for- there’s been a lot of violence. Recently and I guess, always. You’re the only adult besides Liz that ever tried to …” he trailed off unable to really find the words he wanted. “To change the narrative.” Was that too metaphorical? “Two adults in twenty one years that haven’t hurt and or lied to me - that I know of - can you see why its so hard to believe in what you say? You’re one peaceful voice countering a stream of arrogant loud creatively sadistic assholes.” Did that make sense? “It’s like you're standing there telling me the sky is really purple when for two decades it’s been quite literally beaten into me that it’s blue especially if I start to see hints of violet myself. So maybe I’m just seeing things and it is blue afterall. Maybe you’re sweet but colorblind and you just don’t know it yet. How can either of us know for sure?” He paused, echoes of judgements pounding in his brain. “Maybe it’s always been blue.” Weak, wrong, freak, disappointment, fag, [i]pretty[/i]. He folded up tighter, dropping his head onto his knees, mood swinging frighteningly low and only rapidly descending more at the soft question. Good reason? Was there ever a good reason for making an innocent woman cry? For a moment he considered silence as there was no defense for what he did, but if he didn’t say it - she would - and he’d have to repeat this talk after. “She made crêpes.” Harris said flatly, sitting up just enough to be heard. “I … I panicked, a little. The earliest memory I have of France is me ’n El standing on a chair that’d been drug up to the counter to learn how to make them from my grand-mère. It became a thing. A comfort thing. When my M- when Noém- she. When she was really hurt, or homesick, or on birthdays or national holidays or … whatever. I’d make them. Cohen and Blythe used to get so excited about crêpe days. I just um - it hurt. To see them on the table and that and I wasn’t … I wasn’t really ready for that and then she um, she asked me why I couldn’t just try.” The same painful outrage flared up in his chest again, but this time he bit his lip against the burning in his eyes. “Everyone’s worried, why can't you just try?” he repeated again, the exasperated accusation was going to be one of the phrases that got stuck on reply in the darkest corners of his mind. “I kinda lashed out and you heard…most of that, I’m guessing? It's hard enough to push all day and continuously come up short and know you’re scaring and disappointing the people who care about you but then to be completely dismissed and written off as not trying? Never been slapped like that before. I just — I wanted her to see that I haven’t stopped trying. I haven’t given up despite how tempting it would be to do so. I didn’t mean to upset her. I didn’t - didn’t really go into any details other than how they fucked with our food and how I’ve been repeatedly drugged and thus wary about food. I’m sorry.” He shot a wary glance over at the other man. “It’s her birthday.” Harris confessed quietly. “My - Noêmi’s. And I’m in France and there's all these memories and I miss her and I want her here and then that fucking video plays in my head again. It was her and M-“ he swallowed hard, still having to fight off a rush of panic just thinking of him, “Marty. Right after she had me and Ellie. She spoke perfect English. Talked about how her cover was even more set with her husband being completely besotted with Ellie and how ‘he’d taken a disliking to the weak one already and he probably wouldn't make it to elementary school.” His voice broke, the tears breaking their way down his cheeks. “She wasn't a victim. She chose Piers. She chose the abused wife life as the perfect cover for a TC agent. She put me and Ellie in that environment, purposefully, and left us there. She was banking on it killing me. There has to be something wrong with me. There has to be a reason because it just …it just… both of them? How much of a gullible idiot am I to not just be played by the agency but by my own family too?”

Casey sighed, mentally taking away a point from his side of the board. He kept swinging and missing badly here. Everything he said Justin managed to twist, sharpen, and hurtle back and Casey wasn’t honestly sure how much longer he could keep doing this without it causing more damage to Justin. This wasn’t venting, this was attacking, and there was a big difference, but he was helpless to stop it. Justin kept going, verbally, and physically, pulling more pieces of brick towards himself and hurtling them along with his words. “I didn’t say shut everything off in order to move forward. Ignoring it and pressing on doesn’t help anyone, you should know that better than anyone.” Putting his head down and pushing forward was exactly the power keg that’d spun Harris and Luna out of control in Australia. They weren’t given the time or tools to heal properly, always on the run, always on guard, always waiting for the other shoe to drop, their only hope to keep going was to drown out what they were feeling. “This is a venting session, but it’s also a wary best friend trying his best to knock some sense in your head so you don’t run around until you pass out again ‘cause you aren’t dealing with your shit. If I sat here and spat out one hateful hurtful thing after another, how long could you sit there without jumping in and trying to rewire and counter that kind of harm? You can get frustrated with me all you want, but I can’t just sit here and let you drown. I’ll just keep throwing words at you until you find something - anything - to grab onto. Something’ll gotta work. Eventually.” Casey couldn’t fucking do this again. Luna’d finally flung herself deep enough he couldn’t follow and he’d never found the right words to help her and if he lost his best friend the same way - just no. No. He wouldn’t let that happen. Not again. “You wanna break more shit? I’ll put myself on mute for like fifteen minutes if that’d help.”

Dairen wasn't entirely sure what to think about that. It had sounded like— at least the last time they’d had a similar conversation, it was Piers that had instilled those fears and knee-jerk reactions in him. but then, a lot had happened since then. He nodded at the explanation. “Sorry. I get it. There are certain reactions, expectations, that’ll take a while to unlearn.” Part of him wanted to point out there were two more adults that wouldn’t hurt him, but he wasn’t sure that Mary now fit that category, or at least would have to earn her way to it, and maybe the old Russian that stitched his skin back together and painfully treated injuries wasn’t the best example either. “I understand your example, but there is an issue with it.” He nodded to the open sky. “It is blue, and in your example, I’m the one that’s been saying that, while Piers, and TC, the agency, everyone else has been trying to tell you its not. Before they told you that, before they beat that into you, you could see it as blue too. Child-like innocence and all that, I don’t believe that you actually thought the same way they did, that you deserved the way they treated you or that you were wrong for being you, until they forced you to believe it.” He wasn’t good with metaphors, and was pretty sure the one about the sky had gotten lost somewhere. “Maybe I am colourblind. But the difference between me telling you the sky is one colour and them telling you its another, isn’t that I’m colourblind or that they are. It’s that I’m not asking you to see through my eyes; I’m asking you to stop seeing through theirs. If the only way they could convince you the sky isn’t blue or purple or whatever was by beating it into you, then they were always wrong, and you knew it. Or they wouldn’t have had to convince you.” He wasn’t even sure that he understood the metaphor anymore, or who was seeing the sky in which colour, but he hoped it made sense anyway. When Harris folded in closer on himself, Dairen left the silence, deciding it would probably be better if he waited for Harris to speak first instead of pressing the question. His first words when he did break the silence though, didn’t make much sense. As he continued, the pieces started clicking into place, until he said that Mary had accused him of not trying, and Dairen winced. “She doesn’t know everything,” he said quietly. He nodded as Harris continued. “You don’t need to apologize. She shouldn't have said that. I know that you’re trying. Justin knows, Vlad knows. She doesn’t know most of what you’ve been through. She hasn't been around when Vlad is changing bandages, and doesn’t know really about any of your injuries, probably. She sees Justin limp around with a cane and sling, but she doesn’t know the physical or mental scarring you’ve been through as well. And I’m not defending what she said. It wasn’t fair of her to say it. But I guess she’s also gotten used to dealing with me and Justin. I showed up in the lobby of a hotel fresh from war, and never showed her any of the pain or issues I was dealing with from it. Justin come out of the basement with you, and doesn’t talk about what happened, and doesn’t show any emotions over it besides some anxiety and worry over you. She doesn’t know how to deal with seeing someone struggle instead of choosing to bottle it up. Its healthier, having emotions and not hiding how you’re feeling about all of it. She just doesn’t know everything, and doesn’t know how to handle the little that she does know. I’m sorry, about what she said, and I’m sorry for not talking to her about taking it easier on you and Justin, about not pushing you as much as she did.” Dairen wasn’t sure what to say when he started saying it was Noemi’s birthday, even less so when he started recounting a video that had apparently been playing in the basement. When tears started falling, it felt like a knife twisting in his chest, and it occurred to him that maybe, just like Mary, he’d gotten too used to Justin and the other guards that preferred to bottle things up than to ever show even a hint of emotions or vulnerability. He stood up without thinking about it and dragged his chair closer to Harris’s. He sank back down into the chair, now close enough that he could loosely wrap an arm around Harris’s shoulders and squeeze his shoulder gently. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Whatever they thought, or whatever reason they had for having you and Ellie, that doesn’t change anything about you. if they thought you were weak or anything like that as a child, then they were wrong. And the fact that you’re sitting here right now proves that.” He hesitated, not really sure if Harris would be mad at him for saying it, but it had bothered him since the conversation with Noemi when she’d given him the flash drive. “You can hate me for saying it, but— that’s not family. Call them TC, the agency, backstabbers, assholes, whatever you want. But people that would do that, I don’t care if they’re blood or not— they’re not family. Maybe it’s a stupid cliche, but they’re cliches for a reason; family are people that care about each other and protect and love each other. If they don’t fit that description, they’re not family. Blood, last name, none of it matters as much as that.”

Justin just shook his head, not sure then what Casey wanted from him. Don’t vent and say everything he’s been thinking, or Casey says he needs to move past it, and don’t just keep his head down and move forward or Casey says that doesn’t help anyone. Either vent or bottle it up, those were the only options Justin knew how to deal with and Casey apparently didn’t like either of them. Coming out the warehouse was a fucking mistake. “I’m not going to run around until I pass out,” Justin muttered. He wasn’t planning on leaving Harris’s side long enough to run around enough to pass out. Just being gone this long was making him anxious. He threw his hands up— metaphorically at least, in actuality he only held one hand up in mock surrender, his other clenched into a fist inside the sling. “Fine, I’m done venting. You don’t have to rewire shit.” He kicked a piece of the brick out of his way as he started toward the door, but stopped and spun back around to face Casey. Because fuck this bullshit. He didn’t need Casey to fix him, he didn’t need him to give Justin anything to grab onto. As if the perfect words would just make everything make sense. Like it would make everything okay, and would suddenly give him some enlightened path towards moving on. “I’m not gonna fucking drown, okay? What do you want me to say? That I know it’s not my fucking fault? I know that, jackass. Logically, yes, I know it wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t have known, and there’s nothing I could’ve done once I knew what was going on. I get that. But that doesn’t make my brain shut up every time I see Harris’s bandages, knowing that he was cut and bleeding because I couldn’t answer their questions fast enough, or with the right answers that they wanted to hear. Knowing that I couldn’t stop them from taking Harris out of the basement to do god-knows-what to him in the attic doesn’t make it any easier when he has some trigger or flashback that sends him back there in a panic attack. Knowing that the fucking agency was corrupt from day one, before we were even there, and that we were kids and we couldn't have known— that doesn’t suddenly make it possible to look in a mirror and not feel disgusted with the face staring back because this person that Harris thinks he’s in love with isn’t even a person, just another fucking clone of a perfect soldier molded by the agency with the intention of sending him or Jer off to be killed whenever the agency decided it was their turn.” He stopped, taking a shaky breath and glaring at Casey. “You want me to say it wasn’t my fault? Fine, it wasn’t. Now what fucking difference did that make?” The words tasted like acid in his mouth. It was his fault. Logically, sure, Casey was right. But he should’ve known better than to take Harris to the hospital with him. He should’ve gone alone. Unnecessary endangerment, the agency would’ve called it. The fucking agency. But Casey didn’t want to hear that. Hell, he probably didn’t want to hear Justin’s version of giving up blame either. He shook his head at the question and turned back to the door. “No, let’s just go back.” They’d been gone too long already. How long had they been gone? As he stepped out of the warehouse, he tried to look up and judge by the position of the sun. Before the basement, he would’ve been able to tell the time to within a quarter of an hour. But it had been so long since he’d actually seen the sun that he couldn’t tell much difference between ten in the morning and four in the afternoon. He was almost glad that he couldn’t read the time by the sun’s position anymore. It was another skill instilled in him by the agency. The more of them that he lost or forgot, the better.

Harris glanced over at the other as he said there was a problem with his analogy. It is blue? His heart sank, the bottom of his world slipping a few inches, before he realized the man had gotten mixed up. Purple. He’d seen it as purple before he was chastised, threatened, hurt. That was…that was a really good point. Instinctively, he hadn’t been any different than any other child. He just was who he was, unabashedly. Could that be? He folded up a little tighter, eyes back on the ground as he mulled that over. Was he … deep down was there a foundation still in tact he could build off of? He’d been drifting, cut off without a family, friends, or past to even really call his own authentically - but as a toddler, as a child, he hadn’t had the skills then to judge nor self-restrain. Could it be the world failed him instead of him failing his world? The words sparked a very small very fragile flame of hope in his chest that he was hesitant to nurture in fear of it fading out again. The man pulled him out of his cautious wonder to further drive the point home, to ask him not to see himself from Dairen’s pov, but to just stop seeing himself through words of abuse. Which rationally, Harris could understand. His father had wanted nothing to do with him from essentially birth - what he said, the judgements he made, they weren’t without fault and he didn’t need to carry their shame any longer. Who he was - fairy, freaky, pansy, weak - just because Piers/Greerson/Marty had seen that as punishable and disgusting - not everyone would. Their judgements were not the end all be all he accepted them as. Justin had seen the same person, saw the same things and didn’t love him despite it - but because of it and that - that was something he’d probably need in writing and repeated to him a hundred times a month until it sank in, because whoa. Harris’ whole life had turned upside again but in the best way. “It’s okay to … “ he trailed off uncertain of where he was going with that and just flashed a cautious look his way when he started to explain about his wife. Despite his uncertainty, his shoulders did relax a fraction when Dairen offered him reassurances that he and Justin did know he was trying. “I don’t —“ he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. “I know Justin wants to protect her. To not have her worry. Or um….upset by the details of what happened so I was apologizing for that. For um, shattering the bubble she’d been kind of contained in.” For a moment he struggled against a wave of self-loathing and shame for not having the same pull-your-bootstraps-up-and-keep-going mentality the Klein males all seemed to have before he was left gaping slightly as the eldest told him it was healthier to do it his way. Was it? ‘Cause Harris was trying like hell to follow the example they set for him, but he just couldn’t do it. He got angry, he got scared, he got nauseous, he cried. Those were things he couldn’t control so was it actually healthier? Before he could ask the question, the older man was scooting closer, making Harris tense and his breath catch, but nothing more than an arm settling around his shoulders happened. He gave it a minute or two, barley breathing before flicking a shocked glance up at him. Nothing wrong? He could see the words forming, hear the sounds, but it was failing to comprehend in his head. They were wrong? Not family? Silently, he turned that over in his head, wiping his cheeks off, though he did tip over resting his legs against the man’s side and hiding a bit against his shoulder. It was a shock to be so close to someone that wasn’t Justin - he felt different, smelt different, and for a few heartbeats Harris’ mind processed that as danger and sent a wave of adrenaline crashing through his system making him shake from restraining the need to bolt, but he was safe here. “It’s easier to blame myself.” he admitted quietly. “To believe I was wrong, unworthy, unfit for a family than to … to be without one. Without Ellie, I’ve got … I’m just me. Piers took my last name in Hawaii, and my moth- she took everything else. Do you remember back in the kitchen so long ago with the egg casserole? I was so proud of my heritage - so in love with France - but I don’t want to claim anything that ties me to her anymore. So if I’m not the fairy, the runt, the disgrace, the dancer, le petit américain, half of a set - who am I? If everything I believed was a lie - where do I start? How do you keep going?”

Elle mérite ça. - she deserves it

je teux vous - i want you

Qui êtes-vous - who are you

je n’ai rien - i don’t have anything

je ne sais plus - i don’t know anymore

Casey barely resisted the urge to snap. No, he didn’t honestly believe that Justin was in any shape to run himself into the ground but it wasn’t a literal turn of the phrase. Justin was scared of Harris offing himself in his darkest moments and well, Casey was just as afraid of Justin’s mind and it’s ability to overrule Justin’s rationality at the best of times, but he couldn’t come out and say that. Clearly he’d already said all the wrong things and he was abruptly reminded of every talk like this that he’d ever tried to have with Luna - he was met with the same barely restrained irrational anger that was being snapped at him now. Only with you know, a lower voice. “You know one thing and believe another.” Casey said gently, not raising to the man’s impatient bait. “Just like Harris knows he’s safe in that house but still can’t believe it. You have this compass inside you that wants to always see the bad punished but what punishment is there for you then, huh? What do you think you deserve for not managing to escape a situation designed to torture and break you both? Go on, Klein. Say it. What should happen to you since you’re not a person, just a clone that couldn’t do the impossible - what do you want? Do you want Harris taken away? Do you want me to hit you? Do you wanna go feed starving children? What’s going to tip this karmic balance for you? Nobody’s going to want you to look in a mirror and hate yourself for being a good guard. If this was a CEO and we were all in the money business and instead of lives we had been protecting stocks and the CEO was engaging in insider trading and all the other corrupt crap that goes on in Wall Street - would you still blame yourself for your boss’ corruption? You aren’t tainted because the agency was. If every action you had was genuine and to protect and nurture your boys - than that’s all you have at the end of the day. You didn’t know and if you did - me, you, Nate, Agent Klein - we’d have torn that place down from the inside out or died trying - we are good people, Klein. You can look in the mirror and tell yourself that.” But Justin was done and wanted to go so Casey just breathed out a sigh and followed the man back out onto the streets.

Dairen wasn’t entirely sure if Harris heard him, or rather if Harris heard what he was trying to say through his stumbling over the metaphor. He looked cautiously hopeful, so Dairen figured that might be as good as he could hope for at the moment. He shook his head with a small smile when Harris finally spoke again. “No, it’s alright. I was the one that kept everything from her, and I shouldn’t have. She has a habit of saying too much when she’s trying to be helpful, and it comes form a good place, but I shouldn’t have kept her in the dark as much as I did about what happened. Then she wouldn’t have said that in the first place.” Or she might have, he wasn’t even sure anymore. Somehow it still shocked Dairen slightly that he knew his wife even less than he knew his son lately, and that had always been a pretty low bar to reach. Whenever Justin got back, and was with Harris, he’d need to go and talk to her, explain and try to find some common ground again. It was becoming slightly easier, seeing hugs as a form of physical comfort, probably because unlike his biological son, Harris welcomed it. It was his own fault, he thought with a pang of guilt, that Justin pushed away, had a stand-on-his-own mentality. He’d been conditioned that way form when he was a child with a drunk, harsh father. Seeing Harris hiding against his shoulder though and not pushing him away, he thought maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault. Piers had been worse than Dairen form what he’d heard, and had never tried for any kind of atonement. He brushed away the strange dichotomy and shook his head. “You were never wrong or unworthy of a family. You always had one. Ellie, Cohen. And now you’ve got this family. You’ve still got everything that makes you you. They can’t take that away from you— no one can. You can still be the dancer, the American with French roots. It doesn’t have to tie you to her or Piers or anyone.” He wasn’t sure how to answer the last question, so he stayed silent for a long moment before speaking. “You keep going because— what’s your other option? I lost my family, everything in Russia before I left for the US. Only thing I remembered, that kept me going, was something my brother had said. It was when I was going through boot camp, and I asked him the same thing. I wanted to quit, and I asked how he kept going, fighting in the war. Said he kept going cause his only other option was to roll over and die, and he wasn’t the type. I kept going after I lost him and my parents cause I wasn’t the type either. And I know you’re not either.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew it wasn’t the best advice. Just keep pushing forward, pushing through, because as long as he was pushing forward it meant he wasn’t giving up. But it stemmed from the same stubborn mentality that kept Justin bottling up everything and faking smiles and pretending to be okay. It stemmed from the same stubborn mentality that had first pushed Dairen to alcohol, and drove him back to it every day for sixteen years. The mentality that said pushing through was the only objective, and the [i[how didn’t matter. “I’ve screwed up a lot in my life though, back then and since. So I’m not the best person to take advice from.” He hesitated, before adding quietly, “It’s still an option, you know. Dr. Phelps. She’s safe, as far as I can tell. If you want to talk to someone who can give you healthy, actually useful advice, I can call her.”

Justin kicked out at a piece of rubble, not taking his eyes off the ground as Casey talked. He blanched at the words ‘good guard,’ but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to be called a good guard, for one thing. He didn’t want to be called a guard at all, ever again. “Yeah, you’re right,” Justin muttered, his voice distant. He didn’t want to continue the discussion. Logically, he knew Casey was right, but that didn’t make it any easier. It didn’t make him feel any better, knowing that they had saved their protected from those containers in Hawaii, because the fact that they were ‘good guards’ was the reason they were in the perfect position to be kidnapped in the first place. None of it made it any easier to make sense of in his mind, and he just wanted to forget all of it. he wanted to forget his training, to forget how to shoot a gun, to forget Greerson’s advice to train and workout when he was frustrated or angry. He wanted to forget what it meant to be a guard. But Casey was still right. The fat that he could fight, could shoot, trained— all those things were what he needed to keep Harris safe. To feel like they were safe from the agency. He just couldn’t untangle in his mind the parts of him that were a guard and the parts that were him. They’d become so intertwined and blended that it felt like losing half of himself—more than half if he were being honest— if he tried to forget what it meant to be a guard. “Let’s just go back. We’ve been gone too long,” he muttered, leading the way out of the warehouse. “Thanks, by the way, for bringing me out here,” he muttered quietly on the way back. Part of him also wanted to apologize, but he wasn’t even sure where the apology was supposed to begin. With using Casey as verbal punching bag, with going out of his way to let Casey know exactly how useless his job had been along with Justin’s, or with beaten himself up and refusing to admit that Casey was right. He wasn’t even sure if he was actually sorry for any of it though, so he kept the thoughts to himself.

Harris was surprised the other didn’t so much as blink as he moved closer. He could remember every awkward shoulder pat the other had given him and now look at him. He was mildly proud of himself for wearing down the weird walls Justin and his Dad both held against physical comfort within a family. He didn’t think he’d ever get Justin to a point he’d trade places with Harris but he was figuring there’d be a very manly bro-hug back slapping quick thing on the day of their wedding and that briefly boosted his lagging spirit. He glanced down, playing with the strange weight on his left hand as Dairen continued to talk, taking the blame for Mary’s ignorance. “Are you guys gonna be okay?” he asked softly. It was on the tip of his tongue to offer to give them space, but could they really? Even if they went with Casey - they weren’t ready to be on their own yet. Not until Justin had full use of all his limbs and would be confident in his ability to protect Harris. His heart throbbed when Dairen brought up Ellie and Cohen again and how he’d always had a family with them. Maybe he needed to be more clear with his use of ‘family’ and ‘parents’. Ellie was a given. They were two halves of a whole. And he’d give up anything to have her back right now. It was sweet that Dairen thought he had a place here and in a way he did and always would - with Justin and with him, but he was pretty sure Mary hated him and wanted better for her son and who could blame her? He was a wreck. Though, Dairen’s next words gave him pause. He was still him? It didn’t feel like that at all. In fact, the opposite seemed true, his entire sense of self had been stolen and shattered, along with his past, and his ability to trust his own mind. Could he ever dance again? Even if the cuts had magically not damaged any muscle, and he was able to gain the weight…he’d be stuck dancing in turtlenecks and passed over for every performance because his body would ruin it for the audience. Not to mention terrify the younger ballerinas. No. He couldn’t dance. “I’m only half-French by her blood. How’s that not tie it to her? Every memory, every meal, every word of the language I hear - it’s all tainted.” He fell quiet as Dairen did, watching the sky and the birds, still not used to the sight of rolling clouds. It was oddly peaceful to watch. What choice did he have? That was the question, wasn’t it? To keep going or to stop. Dairen’s rare sharing of his past drew him back from the depths of his thoughts, breaking his heart in a completely different way. Knowing words were essentially useless, he reached up to the hand around his shoulder, gently squeezing it briefly in a silent show of understanding and comfort as he considered the man’s belief in him. He didn’t want to let him down. But the ring on his finger was proof that he was that man. He’d wanted to die in that basement rather than endure anything else they had planned for him. That was always the thing that separated him and Justin the most though. Justin’d pulled away from his family, declared himself the only one fit to take care of himself, and created a proud headstrong independent to a fault personality. Harris hadn’t been wired in a way to put blame where blame was due, he’d internalized it. He took it out on himself, he believed the corruption, he let his self-worth and happiness get eroded away. He didn’t have pride. He had fear. But he didn’t want to give the man anymore of his broken mind to try and fix. Not tonight. So he just offered him a watery smile and had to admit he probably had a point. The Klein way - while keeping them going - wasn’t exactly the life Harris wanted to emulate for himself. Not that he’d say no if someone was to hand him a bottle of whiskey. He’d probably sleep then. And there were calories. And most importantly, forgetting. God, he wanted a drink. Several of them. “On the contrary.” Harris said quietly. “Someone whose never stumbled has never really learned. You’ve got wisdom because you’ve fucked up. You are a great person to ask advice from. Even if the advice is ‘don’t do what i did’ - it’s still valid and appreciated. All of this is. It’s easy to … to listen to the tiny voice in the back of my head that wants to say you’re just being nice ‘cause of my relationship with Justin, but you aren’t.” He’d continued to reach out and be there for Harris despite the rough patches he and Justin had gone through. He’d never really let Harris feel alone. “I know what happens to me matters to you. That you care. There aren’t many who can say that now so just - thank you. I know I don’t make it easy on you.” As far as Liz went … he wasn’t sure. He needed help that he couldn’t get from Justin nor Dairen. Justin needed help he couldn’t get from any of them. But he’d already asked Liz to fly cross country once and still had resisted treatment and flamed out - what was really going to be different this time? If anything, he was more angry, more distrustful, and more resistant to anyone trying to poke around in his brain. But that really wasn’t the question was it? Left to his own devices, he probably wouldn’t last a year. It’d be a race between his body and mind to see which would give out first. So the question wasn’t did he need a shrink, it was a shrink he knew or a shrink he didn’t? Would he feel less or more comfortable with someone with New York ties who had the benefit of knowing years worth of his shit already? Would Justin ever be comfortable with him seeing a stranger? He already knew how that’d go so he just sighed, frustrated tears prickling at his eyes as his stress levels shot right back up. It was basically a crossroad between rolling over and ploughing on and he wasn’t ready to make that choice. “You can call her.” Harris said finally. “But I can’t promise either of you it wouldn’t be a wasted trip. I don’t know if I can trust her. I don’t know if Justin can. But we can’t not try despite how appealing that sounds. I wanna give him a wedding, a husband, a future - but sometimes that want is drowned out by my head.” He paused for another moment, internally warring with himself, but it was important for him to know to brief Liz. “Most of the time, lately. If she wants to help and is willing, she might want to think about temporary relocating for a few months.”

Dairen was surprised by the question. It wasn’t something Justin would ask, always just assuming that his parents would be fine, and Dairen never questioned it any more than he did. He pulled back slightly from Harris to look at him and shrugged with a small smile. “‘Course we will. You don’t need to worry about us.” He hesitated, uncertain how to answer the next question though. Everything from France did tie back to his family, to everything they’d done, and there wasn’t really a way to separate those. “Everything from Russia reminds me of the war. My brother fighting, me joining the KGB. Even after becoming a US citizen, I still understood all the reasons behind our side of the war, still do, even if I don’t believe them anymore. And its painful, and really difficult. But I still love Russia. I’ve taught Mary how to cook a few Russian meals, and taken Justin to Russia a few times. Memories can be tainted but that doesn’t mean the entire country is, or that that entire part of your life is. Granted, it was about nine years after I left before I went back to Russia for the first time, and I don’t envy how difficult it is for you to be back here so soon, but try and separate it as much as you can. Pick out some things you remember liking about this place, things, food, places that you can learn to enjoy again, and start there. Or pick out new things, a place you remember passing by as a kid that you wanted to go to but never had the chance to.” Dairen was fairly certain that he was rambling more than helping, and just talking for the sake of talking, so he quieted and turned towards the scene over the side of the balcony. It had to be hard, and he wished there’d been an alternative to France, but it had been the best option to keep them safe until TC and the agency were out of their lives forever. An amused smile pulled at his lips at Harris’s declaration that he was very good at giving advice. “If ‘don’t do what I did’ advice is what you’re looking for, I’ve got decades worth. Don’t trust too easily, don’t put in the effort it takes to care about someone that’s not willing to put in the same effort to care about you, don’t take any authority figure at their word.” He paused a moment before adding, “And don’t accept a cigarette from a drifter named Carl. Mary thought I was on a five day bender and I never corrected her cause I still don’t know what actually happened.” It was a weird thing for Dairen, being thanked for caring about someone that he considered family, so he just offered a half smile and moved his hand from harris’s shoulder to ruffle his hair instead of answering. He sat back, trying to give Harris a bit of space as he talked through his reasons for being willing to talk to Liz. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he heard a quiet cough behind him. His eyes met his son’s for a brief moment before he stood up, reaching down to squeeze Harris’s shoulder as he started to leave. “I’m sure Liz will be willing to come out here. I’ll go call her now, it should be about nine her time.”

Justin stayed silent for the remainder of the walk back to the apartment, fingers tapping an odd rhythm against his leg, getting steadily faster as they kept moving. How long had the been gone? He still didn’t have a phone, and it would look like he was paranoid if he asked Casey to check. He wasn’t paranoid, he was cautious. When they finally got back, Justin started to make a beeline for his and Harris’s room, but stopped when he heard his name in a thick Russian accent. he tried not to glare as he stopped and turned to face Vlad with a questioning, if slightly impatient, hand gesture for him to say whatever he wanted to. What he was not expecting was to be told that there’d be a rather loud disagreement, that Vlad couldn’t say much about other than both his mother and Harris had ended up in tears and his boyfriend was now outside with his dad. Why had he left? Why and he thought that was okay? He knew he shouldn’t. He knew Harris needed him. He wasn’t even conscious of his body moving, didn’t feel the constant, mild pain in his leg, wasn’t even sure if he was limping or running. He was just there at the glass door, frozen in place staring at his dad hugging Harris. It took him a minute before his mind even processed the words Harris was saying, but he felt sick as soon as he did. He didn’t even know which emotion he felt the strongest, or what he was supposed to feel. Sick, hurt, guilty, they all warred in his mind until he coughed quietly, not wanting to listen to the conversation continue with them believing him to be absent. His dad patted his shoulder as he brushed by on his way into he house, and Justin wasn’t sure if he wanted to thank him or punch him, so he just did nothing, instead stepping out onto the balcony and sliding the glass door closed behind him. He dropped into the chair his dad had previously occupied and pulled it as close as possible to Harris, reaching out immediately to wrap his good around his boyfriend. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled against Harris shoulder, before pulling back just enough to press a kiss against his cheek. “I shouldn’t have left, I should’ve stayed here with you. I’m not leaving again, I promise. Are you okay? What happened?” He pulled back to look Harris in the eyes, his chest constricting painfully at the red, puffy eyes that looked back at him. He knew he probably shouldn’t say anything, that he’d be accused of eavesdropping even though really it had been an accident, but he couldn't really let the words he’d heard go by without asking for some reassurances of his own. “I kind of, ah, heard just the tail end of what you two were talking about, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. But, I just—“ he broke off, taking a shaky breath and moving his hand to the side of Harris’s face, eyes locked onto his thumb tracing over Harris’s cheekbone before meeting his gaze again. “You know that you don’t owe me anything, right? I mean, having a wedding, being your husband, having a future together— yeah, I want all of that, but only if you want it too.” The words brought back one of the cold thoughts his mind had replayed over and over in the warehouse, the tiny voice in his head questioning if Harris even wanted to marry him, or if he’d only said yes because he’d lost so many people already and maybe he was afraid that if he didn’t say yes, he’d lose the few that he had left. He dropped his gaze, swallowing hard and making a conscious effort to breathe, slow breaths, no panicking, no freaking out, no getting angry. “So uh, decided to talk to Liz after all? That’s, yeah, good. We should both talk to her, I think. It’s— it’ll be good. She’ll be good to talk to.” Justin was aware that he was rambling, but it was better than sounding hurt or accusing, which he was mostly certain he’d managed to keep his tone casual. It wasn’t his fault that his brain immediately wanted to lash out at his dad, or maybe it was. He tried to tell himself that maybe Harris just needed to hear it from more than one person before he’d agree that talking to her was a good idea. If his dad had said it first, Harris probably would’ve pushed back he same way he had against Justin, and if Justin had been the second one to suggest it, he’d have agreed. That’s all, he just needed to hear it from more than one source. Or he was just really shit at this, along with everything else, he didn’t know what to say to help Harris and his boyfriend trusted his dad’s judgment more than his. He tried to push the thought away, focusing his attention completely on Harris, but he couldn’t help the tiny part of his brain that put another tally mark on the list of shit he’d managed to completely fuck up recently.

Harris managed to give the other a small smile when he reassured Harris that his marriage would be alright. Good. The last thing he wanted was for anyone else to lose anyone. He was so so sick of loss. He hummed thoughtfully as the other mused about Russia and how its bad memories didn’t eclipse the love he had for his home country. Harris could see his point. Inevitably, he would have dragged Justin back here eventually. France had always been his safe haven and now he was angry with it for being just that. How ridiculous was that? It just seemed easier to rail against the country and everything his Mom had ever touched than muddle through the grey area and try to pick and choose which parts to believe and hold on to and which to dismiss as tainted lies. But maybe he could try. To be a little less angry, a little less resistant. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be just wandering about looking at strange new places to explore, but if the other got some comfort from picturing them doing as much, he wasn’t going to pop that bubble. The man had said enough to open up a faint beam of light. Harris wouldn’t call it hope just yet, but he planted the idea that maybe it’d be possible that they’d be okay here. That they could enjoy it despite it all. The smattering of fortune cookie-esque advice pouring from the other made another faint smile pull at his lips before a shocked giggle slipped past them. Was he talking about doing drugs?! Harris was so blown away and amused, a dozen questions already popping up in his head, but they’d have to wait for another time. There was heavier talk about head shrinks to get through first and then a cough sounding from behind them. His body went tense, but he couldn’t twist very far to see the newcomer, just frowned as Dairen stared to get up, squeezing his shoulder and mumbling about a phone call before disappearing and then forgot how to breathe until Justin was dropping into the chair so recently vacated by his elder. “Oh.” He breathed out in a rush, relief clear on his features as he watched Justin settle before he was being guided into a quick hug. “You’re back. You're okay.” Relief was still leaving him a little giddy so he didn’t quite understand why Justin was apologizing for a moment. He must look like shit if Justin was panicking more the longer he looked at him, but he couldn’t get a word in edgewise so he just waited the fretting out, until Justin mumbled about listening in to their conversation and oh. How much was the tail end? Harris hasn’t really said anything that should have Justin looking at him like this, should he? He leaned into the touch on his cheek, patiently watching as Justin tried to figure out what it was he wanted to say. Or ask. Why was he talking about - oh. “Jay,” he said softly, but the other wasn’t done and now he was watching him hang his head and try to act like he wasn’t bothered that Harris had fucking done what he wanted and caved. Slightly annoyed, he continued to stay silent, letting his boyfriend trip himself over on his words until he stopped and he took a moment to just breathe, before nudging his boyfriend and glancing back over to the sky. “Look, Jay. We’re outside. The sun’s out.” Shifting, he willfully ignored the pain flaring up as he settled down against Justin’s shoulder, wanting to stay close but also try to keep his focus while they talked. “You didn’t hear the whole story.” Harris said softly. “You’ve got a few sentences and you’re running with them but the meaning you’re attaching to them isn’t right.” Where did he even start? “I had a hard time with the stitches. You being there wouldn’t have - if anything, it’d probably have been worse on both of us. There’s just no way to not get mentally sent back. I was…half-here, agitated, in pain and your Dad’d bribed me with real Italian coffee to go in the kitchen. D’you know today’s my - Noemi’s birthday? I wasn’t gonna think about it. But then I walk in the kitchen and your Mom’s made crepes and then I get all confused and time wobbly again and this time its worse ‘cause it’s not some asshole in the basement - it’s my mom and I miss her and then I’m reminded she’s the worst thing to ever happen to me and then I’m angry and your Mom …snaps? I don’t - I don’t - I get it’s frustrating being on her side. But she got mad at me and that’d have been fine, I could have taken it but then she asked me why I couldn’t [i]just try[/i] and I lost it. I’m sorry. I was far too unraveled to be around anyone and I shouldn’t have - there’s no real excuse. I shouldn’t have said the things I did. I’m so sorry. I know you wanted to protect her and shield her from it and I - I selfishly needed her to understand why it’s such a struggle. I didn’t say much. Just that I was taken by someone drugging my coffee and that our food was tampered with both in Hawaii and down there and that really getting anything in my mouth is a success right now. She cried. I made her cry. I’m so sorry. I just - of all the things to say to me.” He sighed, briefly closing his eyes and turning a little more into Justin’s shoulder. “Your Dad says you know. That you both know that I do try.” His eyes started to burn again, but how could he possibly have any tears still left? “I try to sleep, I try to comfort you, I try to breathe, I try to forget, I try to eat, I try to bathe, I try to be good, I try to be better, I try to stay sane, I try not to worry you or anyone, I try to be what everyone wants … all I do is try. And I’m exhausted.” Swallowing hard, he sat back up so he could meet Justin’s eyes. “What you overheard, me wanting to give you a future but my mind … sometimes my mind drowns that out? That wasn’t a want thing, Jay. I do want that. I want to be part of your happy ending. It’s just - how can I put this so you understand?” His eyes fell down to his hand, catching on the ring, and remembering the feel of slick plastic sliding over too clammy skin. “You asked me as a hail mary to get some light into a darkness I was suffocating in.” He said quietly. “All I meant by that sentence is that sometime the dark takes over and I lose sight of the light for awhile. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to be your husband, or get married, or have a future together, it just means sometimes I lose the battle and I struggle with feeling underserving, unworthy, dirty, broken, … d’you get it now? It’s my head getting in the way and that’s part of why I agreed to talk to Liz. I tried to do it with just us. I tried to will myself better. I tried to put the things I know into practice, but I can’t do it.” Flicking vulnerable eyes up at Justin, he gave a little apologetic shrug. “To be entirely honest, I think part of me doesn't want to. I thought that feeling would go away once we got out. It hasn’t and it scares me sometimes. So that’s another reason why I agreed to talk to Liz. M’sorry. But mostly I just don't wanna be this for the rest of my life, however long it is. I don't want to be so afraid all the time. I don’t want to have to fight my brain through every second of every day and I don’t trust her. But I know her. The thought of walking into a room with a complete stranger is too much. I can’t do it. Not now. So it’s less I decided to talk to her now and more …. I’m trying to pick you and our future. I’m trying to come back to you. Just be patient with me a little longer, please?”

Justin repeated in his mind every reason that he shouldn’t have left. He’d been selfish, it was stupid, Harris needed him, he was a selfish bastard. The broken record playing on repeat in his mind was so busy berating him the it took him a moment to process Harris’s words. When he did, he followed Harris’s gaze, and sure, sun, outside. Why did that matter? That didn’t answer his questions or alleviate his worries. Except that it did slightly, when his brain caught up to his panic and reminded him that Harris hadn’t gone outside in Paris aside from a straight shot from the cab to the front door. In the two weeks since, he hadn’t set foot outside. Even before Paris, he’d only gone outside in New York to get to the airport, and when Justin had practically begged him to go out to the old diner overlooking the city. So maybe it did help him breathe a little easier, if only because, as bad as Vlad had made it sound, Harris at least felt safe and comfortable enough to go outside for the first time in two weeks. It still didn’t answer why Harris’s eyes were red, or why his dad was calling Liz though, so Justin stayed quiet until Harris spoke again. He winced as his mom’s words were repeated back to him, and yeah he could see why Harris snapped at her. Justin would’ve snapped at her if he’d heard her accuse either of them of not trying, probably worse than whatever Harris had said to her. His chest tightened and he gently tugged with his arm wrapped around Harris’s shoulders, pulling his fiancé closer against his chest. “Hey, baby, it’s alright. You don’t need to apologize. I know you’re trying. And you’re doing really good, okay? There’s no right way to pull through after what happened, but you’re doing the best you can. We both are, and we’re going to figure it out and pull through it together.” He dropped a kiss against Harris’s forehead and pulled back slightly when Harris moved to look up at him, fingers moving to twist through a lock of hair, unsure of how he felt about the fact that he was getting used to it falling to Harris’s shoulders. The claw clenched inside his chest loosened slightly at Harris’s words, but he dropped his eyes briefly in guilt. Yeah, it had been a bit of a hail mary, but it wasn’t like…. He’d asked again, done it right, and he’d meant it. He’d meant it the first time too, he just— hadn’t really intended to say it just then. His eyes flicked up to meet Harris’s gaze again and he gave a weak smile. “I get it,” he muttered. More than he’d like to admit, really. He just felt undeserving and broken for different reasons sometimes, but it all came to the same end, didn’t it? “And hey, anytime you start feeling like that, you can talk to me. And I’ll tell you a hundred times a day, everyday for the rest of our lives if I have to, until you believe it too, that you’re not broken or undeserving or any of that.” He hesitated slightly, but shrugged his good shoulder as if the thought was casual and not something he hated to admit out loud, “It’ll be good for both of us, her being here. I probably should talk to her too, instead of trying to just push through it.” Justin was sure there were some major issues he needed to work out with his dad, though he really wasn’t looking forward to it, and would gladly put off that conversation with Liz for as long as possible. He did appreciate that his dad cared, and he was glad his dad and Harris were close and that his dad treated Harris like family. He really did. So there was no good reason he should get pissed off when he knew the right things to say, or knew how to comfort Harris or how to get him to talk to someone. It was more just being pissed off at himself for not knowing those right things to say. But that sounded beyond idiotic even in his head, and it wasn't something that Harris needed to hear, at least not until Justin got over it. If he said it now, he’d just be afraid that it would make Harris feel guilty for talking to his dad or confiding in him, and with how few people Harris still had that he trusted, Justin’d be damned if he took one of those few away from him just because he was being a selfish bastard. He nodded at Harris’s words and gave him an encouraging smile. “I’m not going anywhere. However long it takes, I’ll be right here with you through all of it.” He leaned down to catch Harris’s mouth in a brief kiss, barely pulling back just enough to mutter a quiet, “I love you.” He pressed another quick kiss to Harris’s lips before pulling back and nodding back out at the open sky. “We have all the time in the world. And an amazing place to be while we figure out how to fit into it.” He paused, turning to look back at Harris. “Are okay with this? being in Paris? I know it’s— you know, we didn’t have much choice. But are you actually okay being here?”

Harris almost couldn’t believe it. He’d expected anger, frustration, disappointment, but this…what was this? He’d made Justin’s Mom cry and all he got was a kiss on the head and it’s gonna be alright? He didn’t have to apologize? “Are you really not mad at me or are you just trying to keep from upsetting me anymore?” Harris asked finally, unable to tell the difference himself. “She was so frustrated and she’s only had to deal with me for a few weeks - you’ve had months - you - you’ve got to fed up too.” That’d be the logical conclusion to draw wouldn’t it? He was letting everyone down, being difficult, [i]not trying[/i]. The burrow in his eyebrows deepened as Justin announced he got it. Harris had been trying to get him to understand almost since they met and now he got it? “It’s a bit of a catch-22 isn’t it?” Harris asked quietly. “If I’m feeling undeserving of this, of you, how am I suppose to bother you with insecurity? I get the sentiment and I appreciate it. I’ll try. Maybe … maybe there’s a way to … like a codeword. Something we can say that can signal not all’s going well in our brains without having to wage the war of should I bother him no I shouldn’t, will he worry if i say this every time.” The little bursts of surprise were nothing compared to Justin admitting it’d be good for her to be here and that he’d like to talk to her as well. Shock filled his features for a moment before he smiled slightly, proud and a little overwhelmed. “Yeah, it’ll probably do us all some good. I’m sure she’d be glad to talk to you and your family if they want to. It’s probably not an easy thing to deal with a missing child.” The kiss startled him slightly, still not used to casual affection but he smiled and settled back down against Justin’s chest. “Love you too. And I don’t know. That’s one of the things your Dad and I were talking about. It took him 8 years to go back to Russia. I don’t think I’ll ever go back to New York but I do think I would have wanted to come here eventually. As tainted as the memories are…this was always my safe haven. My Dad hated France and the French and particularly my Mom’s family so it was always … I was happy here. El and I both found our passions here - her with fashion and me with ballet. I think that’s a very long winded way of saying, yeah. I think it’ll take some time for the sharpest hurts to dull, for her memory to fade and the taint to lift, but yeah. I think we could be okay here, if you’re happy here.” He looked up at that. “Are you okay here? I know French is not your language.”

Justin wasn’t sure if the question came because Harris thought Justin should be mad at him, or because Justin had gotten so used to pushing aside feelings, burying anger and frustration that now Harris honestly didn’t trust his words, but it pulled a tight smile from his lips anyway. “I’m not mad, I promise. It’s my fault. I should’ve been here, and I wasn’t. I’ll talk to my mom later. She’s— I’m honestly surprised I didn’t snap at her first. I’ve done it before, over smaller things. She’s always set on looking on the bright side of things, that whole mindset of if you fake a smile long enough it’ll become a real one, and she gets frustrated if other people don’t do the same. But I’ll talk to her. And I’m not fed up. Babe, I know what you went through. I was right there with you. I know its hard, and I’m not going to get fed up with you.” He didn’t know how Harris could possibly think he’d ever get fed up with him. Hell, if Harris still hadn’t gotten fed up with Justin’s stubborn ass attitude, then that was a miracle in itself.m“You’re not bothering me, talking about insecurities or anything. Do you remember when I met Liz the first time? Over Skype, when we were in Australia, and I don’t even remember what we were talking about, but you just looked at me with this shocked look and said, ‘You love me,’ like it was some amazing realization? And it was because I’d finally outright stated, and maybe I need to say it more, when you feel bad, or undeserving or upset or anything, I still love you then. At your best, at your worst, and at every point in between.” He didn’t remember everything that had happened in Australia, at least not clearly. It was a blur mostly, like listening to a story someone else was telling him about a fictional character’s life. But that moment he remembered. The look on Harris’s face, and the shock in his words. He remembered that because it ��hurt. Justin knew he wasn’t good at saying what he meant, or expressing his feelings, but he’d always just kind of thought that Harris knew anyway. Justin looked at him thoughtfully when he suggested a codeword. That sounded so familiar, he was pretty sure they’d had a codeword at some point before, though he couldn’t remember what it was. It was a lifetime ago. But he distinctly remembered a similar discussion in Australia, after what Justin had come to term in his mind as The Fight. “Yeah, if you’d feel better with a codeword, that works. And we can talk through it, get away from my parents or anyone that’s around and talk just us. Or not talk, if we don’t want to,” he added, mostly just because he knew that if he ever used the codeword it would be because he would want to say as little as possible and then shut up about it. “Just knowing that one of us is having an issue with it will help. What do you want the codeword to be?” He shifted a bit uncomfortable at Harris’s shock and then proud smile, mostly because admitting that he should talk to Liz, and actually talking to her were two very different things. He was just as likely to sit in stubborn silence for the entirety of the allotted time he had to speak with her as he was to actually start talking. It was easier once Harris settled back against his chest and started talking about Paris. Justin hummed his agreement at the words as he spoke. “That’s good, I’m glad, and I hope you can be happy here again. I think you can be— I think we can be. There’s a lot more to this city than tainted memories. We’ll just have to find it.” He smiled softly at Harris’s concerned words. “Yeah, I’m alright here. I’ll learn. I wanted to learn French anyway, just never really got enough of a break from everything to really spend time practicing.”

Harris sighed softly as Justin explained. Right. He should have seen that coming. Justin wanted to take responsibility for everything and no amount of logic was going to get through to him. So he just listened as he detailed out how he’d clashed with his Mom before about similar things and that was worse, really. She was just …optimistic, maybe a little naive. When did that become such an aggravating thing to be? Had they really gotten so jaded? Honestly, if them from a year ago ran into them now, they wouldn’t recognize themselves, would they? Biting his lip, he resisted the urge to curl up smaller as Justin talked about being there and knowing exactly what he’s gone through and understanding. It was hard to trust that when every time their relationship had their downs, it was because of this very situation — Harris being unable to cope with the shit that kept happening to him. Did he remember Justin and Liz meeting? Australia was mostly a painful blur at this point but yeah, he remembered that bit. “It was an amazing realization.” Harris said quietly. “I grew up convinced I’d never be loved like that. It was this mix of my Dad’s whatever and my own homophobia. I didn’t think I’d ever let myself be with a man. And then you happened and then my world fell apart and I hit rock bottom and you were still there. I don’t know if you can understand just how much that meant to me. Despite everything I’d been conditioning into thinking, you’d done the impossible, you’d fallen in love with me - the unlovable one-…I’d say despite my faults but that’s not true. With my faults. Nobody’s ever loved me as determinedly and fiercely as you do. I’m still so shocked by it. Some days it doesn’t feel like there’s any of me left for you to love. Today’s one of those days. I don’t know what you see or how you see it or what keeps you so … committed but I’m grateful for it.” He stretched up enough to press a kiss to Justin’s cheek, needing to be closer than this, and getting so frustrated with their bodies. “I love you too. Really love you.” He recalled with a little smile. “S’the only thing that keeps me going sometimes. Which isn’t really Hallmark card material there, is it? Sorry.” This was the part that he was so uncertain and wary about. His mind and thus now his tongue weren’t quite fit for company. His own, or anyone else’s. “Probably shouldn’t be French given where we are. Um…. what’s Russian for ‘help’ or ‘break’ or…’yellow’? That’d be a fairly inconspicuous thing to mumble at random times, right? Vlad’ll really think we’ve lost it.” Settling down on Justin’s chest, he glanced over the city again, listening to Justin’s gentle encouragement and allowing the possibility to exist in his head. Paris was a big city and it was possibly safe as far as TC went and there were - thousands of places that he’d never been within it. They’d make new memories here. Move on. It wouldn’t always be like this. “I think we can too.” Harris agreed, barely daring to voice it outloud. “And you’ve got lots of time to practice now. Immersion’s the best way to learn.” He was quiet for a few minutes, still feeling vaguely disconnected, but for once the noise of the city wasn’t agitating him. It was a soothing reminder that no matter what happened, life went on. “I think I like it out here. We need a bench though. Can’t cuddle properly like this.” It was only then he remembered that’d Justin gone out with Casey and looked up to see if he could get a read on his boyfriend now that he wasn’t panicking about Harris. “Did you and Casey have fun? Everything go okay?”

Justin couldn’t help the almost amused smile that pulled at his lips as Harris spoke. He didn’t remember that time in Australia so fondly, but if it was a good memory for Harris, Justin wasn’t going to ruin it for him. He could probably twist it, rewrite the memory in his mind into a good one. It had been a sort of break-through in their relationship, after all. Just talking and actually communicating instead of bottling everything up came easier after that. Or, at least it seemed to for Harris. Justin still wasn’t sure when or if he’d get to the point of being able to spill his guts and every emotion he was feeling. They sounded stupid and had a very real potential of making Harris feel guilty or upset that Justin still felt guilty over different things. Justin swallowed past the lump in his throat, tearing his eyes away to look out over the balcony, sure that he’d tear up if he looked at Harris as he continued talking about how— whatever Justin was. Committed, that was as good of a word as any. Justin might have gone with stubborn, or desperately-clinging-to-the-only-good-thing-left-in-his-life, but if Harris wanted to call it committed, well it was less of a mouthful. “That’s not gonna change,” he finally muttered, glancing back at Harris with a soft smile. “I’m not going anywhere.” He relaxed, letting out a breath at the kiss against his cheek. It was grounding, in a way. They could do this. No matter how insane and impossible it felt like sometimes, they were together, and they could manage this. “Saying ‘help’ in Russian is gonna worry Vlad and my dad. Yellow works. Better they think we’re crazy than in trouble. It’s желтый,” he said enunciating the word carefully. He’d missed this, having Harris’s familiar weight curled against his chest. Even if the angle was awkward from sitting in the chairs and having to be conscious of Harris’s back and chest and Justin’s shoulder, it still made it easier to breathe. Enough so that it took Justin a second to process the quiet agreement, and a second longer to turn his head to stare at Harris, a cautious smile pulling at his lips, as though uncertain if he’d heard the words right, but he did, didn’t he? Harris had agreed with Justin that they could find a way to be happy, that they would be. “I can’t explain how amazing it is to hear you say that.” He ducked his head to steal a quick kiss, and pulled away a moment later with a grin. He hummed a happy agreement at the words, excited now about learning the language, even though he knew himself well enough to know that he would throw the french-english dictionary across the room at least twice, and learn every curse word in the French language, just so he could cuss out the language when he was having trouble learning it. He let out a soft laugh at the words. “Agreed. These chairs are not made for cuddling.” His smile faltered at the question, and he immediately opened his mouth to say that it had been fine, everything was good, it was fun and no problems, but snapped his jaw shut just as quickly. His own words from a minute ago replayed in his mind, the conversation in Australia, and Harris’s revelation— It went both ways. He knew that. He knew that Harris loved him despite his flaws, of which his anger issues were a major point, and more than that, he knew how much it had hurt, the knowledge that Harris hadn’t felt like he could confide absolutely anything in Justin. So he sighed, shrugging his good shoulder. “He took me out to this old abandoned warehouse. Throwing bricks at old broken windows is surprisingly therapeutic. Case took me out there to talk, I guess, and to let out some anger and frustration. Which I did, let out frustration on the bricks, windows, everything breakable. And then let out some more frustration on Casey. If he didn’t expect to be my verbal punching bag when he took me out there, after knowing me for so long, then that was his mistake. But, I was pretty hard on him,” he conceded quietly. he wasn’t even actually sure if Casey was mad at him or not. He probably should be, but Justin hadn’t really paid him any attention on the walk back, more focused on getting back to Harris.

Harris brought a hand up to lightly anchor in Justin’s shirt as he started mumbling reassurances that nothing had changed and he wasn’t going anywhere. Of course he wasn’t. Harris wasn’t going to let him. Not again. “zhel-tyy” he repeated slowly, tongue tripping over the constants. He tried it a few more times until he felt fairly confident in it and was cut off by a quick kiss. He squirmed slightly at the attention to his moment of optimism, but he wanted to try to believe it. Both Kleins had made a pretty convincing argument and logically, he knew they were right. It was just gonna take a little longer to convince his emotional side as well. Justin’s whole demeanor seemed to flip then, smiles and hums and near excitement that almost seemed foreign on his boyfriend’s face now. Which of course, naturally he ruined a moment later, but how was he supposed to know that best friend time had gone south? His body went tense at the mention of an abandoned warehouse and Casey taking him there - what the fuck for? Why had Justin let himself be taken out of the public eye? What if - oh. Well, okay. That was a good reason. His boyfriend did have a preference for destroying things rather than talking them out which was kind of hilarious considering the lengths he went to to get Harris to talk. He was quiet for a moment, warring with his own conflicting feelings about Casey, before looking up at Justin. “I’m not sure that’s fair.” Harris said finally, pulling himself upright, mindful of Justin’s injuries. Looking out over at the curious birds he took another moment to try and organize his chaotic thoughts before meeting Justin’s gaze again. “We aren’t the same as we used to be. My … we’ll call them flaws are all heightened. I’m more suspicious, more paranoid, more lost in my own head than I’ve ever been. It’d make sense that you’re angrier than you're used to, more defensive maybe, combative? Casey couldn’t have known what to expect. He doesn’t know what happened. I mean, look at the mess I’ve caused today. By your logic, your mother knowing me in Australia, none of this should be a surprise to her. We’re strangers to them, right now. They remember us one way and now we’re this way and it’s …. it’s gonna take awhile to reconcile the two. Maybe…I can’t believe I’m saying this, but maybe don’t push Casey away. He can help you in different ways than I can. And he’s here. Look at my track record, best friends haven’t been easy to keep. I want you to have that. So now, come on. Let’s go see if we remember how to work a kitchen without starting any fires. We owe peace offerings.” He stood up carefully, used to the dizziness that always followed the movement and held his hand out for Justin to take. “What’s Casey’s favorite food? And your Mom’s?” Cooking suddenly seemed really daunting, but they could do this. It was something normal. Something that wasn’t sitting in their room pretending not to remember. “Maybe we should just make peanut butter and jelly.” He suddenly recalled Justin's inability to make a salad and had to smile a little at the memory.

Justin couldn’t shake the oddly pleasant feeling of deja vu when he heard Harris repeating the Russian word. It struck him that this could be normal again. It was once, in the library in Australia, teaching each other their families’ respective languages. The idea seemed so foreign, like he’d forgotten that they’d done normal things, even when their lives hadn’t exactly been normal. Even in the middle of the chaos, they’d been able to find some sense of normalcy, at least for a few moments, and they could do that again. They didn’t need to do some overhaul of their lives all at once towards something normal. They could do normalcy in moments and build from there. When Harris spoke again thought, Justin pressed his lips together uncertainly. “We are different,” he said slowly. “But you and my mom, and me and Casey— That’s different too. My mom barely got to know you in the first place. Casey one me a lot better, since we were kids. I know, it’s not fair to expect him to understand.” Still, he’d thought Casey would at least understand something. He’d thought Casey would be just as upset and torn apart about the truth of the agency as he was, but it was like Casey didn’t even care. Justin wished he could have that kind of apathy towards it. Justin shifted uncomfortably at the best friends comment, but just nodded, dropping his gaze. It wasn’t his fault, but still, he hadn’t exactly been broken apart that Luna wasn't joining them in Paris, and as much as he knew she loved Harris, Justin was always overly cautious and scared of the influence she had on him. He hadn’t made a secret of it, but now they were here, in another country, and Justin had his family and his best friend, and Harris had. Well, Justin’s family and Justin’s best friend. All he could hope was that it would change at some point soon, and they could become one in the same. His family was basically already Harris’s family, and Justin was still pretty sure that if his dad had to choose a son, he’d pick Harris. “Is that the first step of you admitting that Casey’s kind of okay?” Justin asked lightly, putting on a smile as he looked back up to meet Harris’s gaze. If getting Harris to trust Casey again was going to be slow progress, he could understand that. But at least it sounded like a possibility. He laughed quietly at Harris’s words, but nodded. “Yeah, alright. You’re handling the actual cooking part, right?” he teased as he took Harris’s hand, though they both knew he was being serious. He was half surprised Harris was even making the suggestion of trusting him being in the kitchen at all, but he wasn't going to argue it. “Casey’s is probably bacon cheeseburgers. My mom’s, uh, some kind of pasta bake thing. My dad used to make it for her birthday, and let me pretend to help. But I think I remember how to make it.” At Harris’s hesitation, Justin shook his head and gave his fiancé a warm smile. “No, no peanut butter and jelly.” He raised their joined hands to press a kiss against the back of Harris’s hand, and tugged him gently into the kitchen. “It can’t be that hard. I can start on the burgers, and you can boil the pasta?” He suggested. His body was warring with his mind, knowing this was a simple task, he should do this, cooking wasn’t something impossible. But at the same time his body felt restless and he wasn’t sure why something like cooking apology meals seemed so daunting. “Come on, we can do this,” he said, not sure who he was trying to convince. We need to do this, some voice in his head added. Normalcy in moments. They could definitely do this.

Harris wasn’t entirely sure there was anything to get to know about him anymore. He didn’t feel like a whole person anymore. But they weren’t really talking about him right now, more about Justin’s confusing feelings on his expectations on Casey. Who may or may not be TC and left Harris very confused and uncomfortable about which way to nudge his fiancé. Who was now nudging him back. “You need more than just me.” Harris pointed out quietly. “You won’t talk to your Dad, and your Mom can’t handle it and Vlad’s well, Vlad so that leaves Casey. I don’t have much choice about it.” He hadn’t sold them out yet but that didn’t necessarily mean he wouldn’t. Harris was still very much in a wait and see mindset. But he unfolded himself with a little wince and nodded at Justin’s teasing question. He’d do the cooking, whatever it was they decided to make. In hindsight, they should have just gone to get flowers or something. Whatever they ended up making they’d be expected to eat and that’s how this whole morning blew up in his face. But he was pliant and followed Justin back to the kitchen, wincing a little to see breakfast still laid out all untouched. This was a bad idea. Even just being in the kitchen had his nerves racing and he didn’t know why. It wasn't like either he nor Justin had been tortured in one, but it also felt like … a foreign land almost. They’d been in the kitchen in New York just after but that was just to be handed gatorade and granola bars and fruit. It wasn’t with intent. So he busied himself with cleaning until Justin was declaring they could do this and just forced himself to start peeking in cabinets. “What kind of pasta dish was it?” He asked finally. There’d been more than one type of noodle bought recently and he realized with a sinking feeling it was probably because of him. An attempt to find which would ….which he’d choke down. Jesus. He wasn’t worth all this, but he still grabbed a few of the packages to set out for Justin to pick because he was nearly certain Justin didn’t know much more than ‘long noodle’ and ‘bow tie one’. While he picked a noodle, he went ahead and started to preheat the oven and get a pot of seasoned water boiling before going on the hunt for a frying pan for the burgers before pausing to check on his boyfriend. “What else is in the bake thing.” Oh, he needed a …a thing to put it in. Not a plate. What were they called? Pan? “I need a thing.” Frustrated by his own brain again, he paused in the middle of the kitchen, rubbing a hand over his face and reminding himself to breathe. He just felt so stupid recently, like he’d left his brain somewhere in Hawaii or New York and no longer had higher cognitive things like knowing the names for cookware. He found the still unnamed thing under the stove and grabbed a roll of aluminum foil to layer it with before going to collect the rest of the ingredients Justin half-convincingly remembered. “How long does a burger take to cook?” He’d never made one but water took forever to boil and he was afraid everything else would get cold. “Do you like stuff ‘em with cheese and herbs and that now? I think I saw that on a cooking show once.” He found he couldn’t look at them. It made his anxiety flare and mind start spiraling down into dangerous areas so he just moved back to check the water and ground himself in the moment. He was in a kitchen, he was with Justin, they were fine, he just needed to stay fine and [i]breathe[/i]. “Should we make a salad or something?”

Justin offered a weak smile. “You need more than just me, too. I know you have my dad, but. I’m sorry, about Luna staying in New York, and Ryder off, wherever they are. But Casey’s not a terrible choice when you need a friend too.” He knew it was going to be a while before Harris could really trust Casey, but it had to say something that he was willing to nudge Justin towards him. “Besides, he’d probably be easier to talk to when you need someone to listen to you complain whenever I’m being an insufferable ass,” he teased. “Though my dad would probably agree with you, but it’d still probably be easier to complain to someone that’s not related to me,” he added with a short laugh. He felt slightly better as they stood carefully, and he took a moment to get his balance before limping alongside Harris towards the kitchen. Even with the constant throbbing in his leg, it felt good to be moving, and to have a purpose to focus on, even if it was something as simple as make apology meals. He felt more than saw Harris’s flinch beside him, and his eyes fell on the dishes still laid out on the table. He started towards the table, but Harris was already clearing it off, and Justin’s sling wasn’t helping him at all, but still he took the plate of crepes from Harris’s hands, and helped clear everything away as quickly as they could. Because this was a new start, towards something normal. They could do this. “Uh.” Justin just stared at Harris for a moment at the question. Pasta, it was just pasta. He watched as Harris pulled out several different boxes of dry pasta, and scanned over the boxes. “Like the macaroni kind, but not macaroni. No really curved like macaroni— these ones,” he said quickly as his eyes settled on a box with familiar shaped pasta. “Penne,” he read off of the front of the box. He set the box aside and started putting the other back in the cupboard, not looking up as he answered Harris’s question. “Cheese, tomato sauce. And my dad always put some spices or herbs or something in the sauce, but I never knew what kind, so we can just guess at whichever ones you want to try.” He closed the cabinet and started towards the fridge. “What thing?” he asked, pausing to turn around. he expected to see harris digging through a cabinet, looking for whatever thing it was he needed, but he was just standing int he middle of the kitchen, looking increasingly frustrated. Justin quickly covered the distance between them and caught Harris’s eye before raising a hand to rest on his cheek. “Hey, what is it? Don’t worry so much, it’s ok.” He leaned down to press a gentle kiss against Harris’s lips, pulling back with a warm smile. “What is it you need? I think my mom put all the cooking dishes down here,” he said, carefully lowering himself down to pull open the drawer under the stove. Thankfully what Harris needed was down there, and he found it easily enough.Justin leaned over to press another kiss against his fiancé’s cheek before reaching up the grip the side of the counter to pull himself back to his feet. “Uh, I’m not really sure,” he muttered, making his way back to the fridge. “I’ve never cooked them in a pan, only on a grill. Should be about the same time though, right? Twenty minutes, maybe? Depends how thick they are.” He turned back to stare again at harris at the suggestion. “I’ve never tried,” he said, then turned to look back in the fridge, considering the ingredients they had. “But why not? It can’t be that hard, right? Just cheese and herbs, right? Yeah, I can do that.” There was something fun about the prospect of a new challenge. Not that just being in a kitchen wasn’t challenge enough, but he’d made burgers before. It was one of the few things he was confident that eh could make without setting it on fire. Well, even when he did set them on fire, charbroiled burgers were still good, so it was okay. He was set in his task, not really acknowledging anything else as he balanced the ground beef and cheese block in his good hand and carried them back over the counter and started fishing through drawers for a cutting board. It wasn’t until he had the cheese block unwrapped from the plastic, and was reaching for the knife block that he realized— he was reaching for the knife block. His hand flinched back instinctively, even though he couldn’t see the sharp blade tucked innocently into the pale wooden block. He shook his head and reached forward, grabbing the closest handle and pulling it from the block. He almost dropped it at the sight of the serrated edge, as for a moment the knife looked too familiar, and when he turned his wrist, the blade flashed red for just a moment— or maybe that was just his mind. He closed his eyes a moment and shook his head. It wasn’t his knife. And it wasn’t like he could ask Harris to slice the cheese for the burgers or for the pasta. So he took a breath and forced his eyes back open, sliding his arm out of the sling to use that and to hold the cheese block still and burying the blade in it before he could second guess himself again. He was jerked back at the familiar sound of Harris’s voice and turned around, knife still held in a death grip, as if afraid it would turn on him or Harris if he loosened his grip at all. “Sure, we can make a salad, if you want. I’m pretty sure we have plenty of vegetables.”

Harris had to wonder a little if Justin’s apologies were supposed to make him feel better or just remind him how alone he was. And selfish. Other than writing Luna off as a lost cause due to Casey’s presence, he hadn’t spared a thought for her. And thinking about Ryder meant thinking about Keaton and that was more than he could do right now. His empathy tended to run high at the best of times but he couldn’t …. he was enjoying the brief respite from grief the trauma’d given him. He didn’t want to poke that bear on top of everything because he’d really end up in that dark place that scared Justin so much. It was fine the way it was. Talking to Justin or Dairen. That’s all he needed for now. Especially with Liz on her way. He couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d have to talk to Casey alone unless Justin started to struggle more than he already was and Harris needed to get Casey in on it. But he just gave his boy a nod. Then again, he might be on something with the insufferable ass thing as he started to describe a macaroni that wasn’t macaroni and what the actual hell was he talking about? He glanced over at the exclaim and couldn’t help the less than impressed look on his face. “You think penne is macaroni-ish non-macaroni?” he repeated incredulously. His mind went to pieces briefly, trying to recall what even were Italian spices before Justin’s footsteps jarred him out of his thoughts. Subconsciously, he tensed but he made eye contact, giving Justin a little nod before allowing his hand to make contact. Don’t worry so much? Fuck, he needed his brain to work to worry. A slightly frustrated noise slipped out but Justin was just kissing him and pulling away to drop on the floor pulling another noise from him. “I could have done that.” His legs at least were functional. “It’s a glass…thing.” He said uselessly. “Like a …” He tried to gesture with his hands before giving up and just squatting down next to him to point. “That one.” They’d been after him before - teachers, doctors, friends - about how he needed to sleep and eat to function. And he’d thought they were all full of shit because he’d excelled for so long without much of either. Now it was apparently all catching up to him. But he got back up to his feet, managed to make normal conversation, and shake it off for the most part. He dumped the pasta in to start cooking before rooting through the spice cabinet to set aside ones he thought would go in pasta and ones for the burgers while Justin did whatever he needed to do the bloody globs of meat. How anyone manage to put that in their mouths and body was so far beyond him but he steeled his stomach and picked up the spices he’d picked, turning to put them within Justin’s reach and immediately dropped them. He didn’t even hear them hit the ground, eyes focused on the glinting metal in Justin’s hand. What the fuck? He stumbled back, but there was something solid and not moving blocking him from getting too far and he couldn’t get his eyes off the knife to check it out. A soft pained noise left his mouth this time, flares of phantom pain licking down his chest and up his back as he braced himself, uncertain about what was going on and why it was going on. Was Justin TC? Where was he? When was he? His head swam and it took him a few seconds to realize he was near-hyperventilating and that was bad. But the worst part was that, this was all pure instinct. His body would fight to survive but it wasn’t being directed by his mind. He wasn’t pleading, he wasn’t screaming, the most he'd done is jerk back. He really didn’t have much fight left in him. Dizziness took his legs out from under him and he slid down the cabinet, finally tearing his eyes away to focus on breathing. If Justin stabbed him, he stabbed him, there wasn't anything Harris could do about that. So just…breathe.

Justin probably shouldn’t smile when Harris was staring incredulously at him like he had the pasta identification skills of a five year old. Which, admittedly, he did, but that wasn’t the point. The point really was that it had been so long since he’d seen his fiancé look almost frustrated over something so simple— something that normal people got annoyed at, like Justin not remembering the name of penne (really, who needed to know the name of it anyway?) that he couldn’t help but smile. This was the kind of thing that should make Harris look at him like that, instead of looking at him so incredulously for going with his best friend to an abandoned warehouse to let out some anger because he was afraid Casey was TC. The latter shouldn’t have a specific look, because it wasn’t something normal people had to worry about. But he would gladly accept the incredulous look for something like calling penne macaroni-ish. He shrugged sheepishly, trying and failing to hide his amusement as he went back to gathering together the cheese and herbs to stuff the hamburgers with. He was starkly reminded that their situation wasn’t exactly normal by any means when there was a stuttering and fumbling over trying to figure out which cooking dish Harris was looking for. He bit his tongue against asking if Harris was alright. It was a stupid question, even if he didn’t mean physically or psychologically. Even if he only meant was he alright in terms of the fact that he was having trouble remembering the name of a casserole dish, which even Justin knew— granted, only because his dad used it yearly to make this same dish, but still. But Harris looked frustrated enough with himself, so Justin rationalised that he didn’t need someone else pointing out that things weren’t quite right. So when he stood back up, he reached out to squeeze Harris’s hand gently and kissed his cheek in a silent reminder that he was there, before they returned to their respective tasks. He had about half the cheese block sliced when he turned to ask Harris about the salad, his body instinctively jerking back when the only answer that he got was the drum of several plastic containers hitting the tile floor, and a horrified stare from his fiancé. His eyes widened and he started towards Harris without thinking. “Babe, what’s—“ he broke off when he realized that Harris wasn’t looking at him. Justin stumbled back, hurriedly dropping the knife into the sink before turning to the floor, left leg splayed out at an odd angle so he could crouch forward on his good leg towards Harris. “Hey, Har, it’s ok. I’m sorry— I wasn’t thinking.” He stomped on the instinctive pull to reach out for Harris and wrap his arms around him. It likely wouldn’t be a welcome gesture at the moment. Justin’s hands were shaking as he held his palms open in front of him, not even sure if the tight pain in his chest was from seeing Harris’s panic, or from knowing he caused it. That for a second, a minute, Harris hadn’t just looked like he was afraid of the knife— it looked like he was afraid of Justin. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “You’re okay. No one’s going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice broke at the end, both amazed and horrified that he’d done anything that made Harris think otherwise. “Just breathe, okay? Just look at me. You’re safe, it’s alright.”

Harris was rapidly spiraling between here and there and flat out panic and apathy. He’d never experienced anything quite like it before. It took a handful of gasped breaths for noise to rush back in and he started piecing together sounds as Justin talking. It took a few more moments for those sounds to become words and words to become comprehension, but it was nice just to listen as he tried to breathe and remind himself he was out. They were out. Nobody was gonna come at him with a knife again. Just thinking about it made him draw up tighter, hugging his knees to his chest and wedging his body as far into the corner as he could. Cabinet, concrete, it was hard to tell, but he flinched back all the same as he caught the movement of Justin spreading his hands out. Knife was gone. Where was the knife? He looked down like he’d find the handle buried in his solar plexus or something before looking back up as he was told to. Safe? Swallowing hard, he glanced around the kitchen, half-expecting large blurry bodies to be lurking behind him but they were alone. For now, anyway. He kept breathing, waiting for his mind to reset as the adrenaline began to fade not even realizing it was making him shake in its wake. Each breath seemed to pull him down though, leaving him feeling hollowed out and aching once he was firmly back in this time. It was too much. All of it. Everything. He couldn’t do this. What the hell even was ‘safe’? Not his family. Not his friends. Not a goddamn hospital. He was never safe. His eyes filled but he couldn’t do this, not here, not now. This whole thing was to make up for his last breakdown, he couldn’t fall to pieces again. This just solidified the fact that he really shouldn’t be allowed out of their room. He couldn’t handle basic human functioning. He wanted his ipod, wanted to put walls and locks between him and everyone else, but Justin was still kneeling there and Harris had no idea how long he’d be lost in his own head. “Sorry.” He was tired suddenly. So, so tired. He dropped his head against the cabinet, but he couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes, not while knowing there were dozens of knives just within reach. Hissing and sputtering above his head shattered his little safety nest and he threw himself forward instinctively, whether to hide behind Justin or protect him himself he didn’t know, just needed to be close and only turned to look behind him once he was pressed as solidly against Justin’s chest as he dared. Noodles. It was just the goddamn noodles. “Fuck.” he whispered, deflating again and just dropping his head against Justin’s shoulder as he tried to catch his breath again. It was harder the second time. He was too hyperalert, every noise had him on edge, and his shaking was only getting worse. It didn't take a genius to notice he was literally seconds away from a fullblown panic attack. “I need…I need like ten minutes. I’m sorry.” He pulled back, struggling to remember why they were even in the kitchen through the cotton ball his brain’d become. “Can you just um, take the noodles off the heat please, drain ‘em in the plastic thing with holes and I’ll be back. You can start the burgers. Ok? I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He pressed a shaky kiss to Justin’s cheek before getting slowly up to his feet, equal parts wary and dizzy before slipping out of the kitchen, intending to sink into the closet with his iPod until he could breathe but his feet paused outside of Vlad’s door. The airport was the last time he’d felt like this. He’d had…fuck, what was it called in Russian? He missed having a smartphone that could answer his every whim. But he ducked into their room, and quickly wrote a note with the help of his dictionary. [i]Can’t calm down. Please help. May I have something that ends in -epam, please?[/i] He hesitated, wondering if this was really the best choice but he had to somehow get through family dinner again and couldn't like this. So he drug up the last of his nerve, stumbled back into the hall and knocked. Frustrated tears were starting to build up again as he bounced from foot to foot, anxious energy making him want to bolt rather than stand here and face another stranger but the door opened eventually and he just thrust the note out.

Justin was at a loss. His hands were shaking, both from panic over Harris’s current sate, and adrenaline and his mind both screaming and pushing him to fucking do something because Harris wasn’t moving, he was just shaking and still looked terrified and Justin should know what to do, shouldn’t he? he knew enough not to reach out and touch until he was sure that Harris was firmly back in a consciously present mindset, but that didn’t give him any clue what he should do instead. He just kept muttering quiet reassurances over and over under his breath, in English first, then repeated the same sentiments in Russian, hoping that would help, even if Harris didn’t know what he was saying. But the only voices that spoke Russian to him were voices that helped, that cared about him. Justin wasn’t sure if it helped, but he was pretty certain it was the hiss of the stove instead that spurred Harris at least into some action, and Justin let out a breath, wrapping his good arm gently around Harris’s shoulders, and turning his head to press a kiss against his temple. “‘M right here, you’re alright. Я прямо здесь. Все нормально.” Justin repeated quiet reassurances that didn’t mean much considering the words ‘safe’ and ‘alright’ weren’t words either of them would trust for a long time, but he was pretty sure Harris wasn’t listening closely anyway. What was it Liz had said whenever Harris started to panic? Some kind of breathing exercise, right? “Listen to me, okay? Can you match my breathing. In for three, out for three.” At least, he was pretty sure it was three. It was either three or five, and five seemed like a long breath. But maybe that was the point. Shit, he really was bad at this. But it didn’t matter much apparently, cause Harris was pulling away, muttering about needing ten minutes, and Justin’s grip tightened instinctively around his arm for a brief second before he caught himself and let go. If Harris said he needed ten minutes, that was fine. Justin’s knee-jerk reaction was to stay with him, but he couldn’t— Harris just needed a few minutes. Could he calm himself down from a panic attack on his own? Justin wanted to kick himself as soon as the words surfaced. He’d survived twenty years without Justin obsessing over his well-being twenty-four seven. But he’d had his sister then, and Cohen. he mentally shook himself and pulled himself to his feet, his hands clenching to tamper down the instinctive need to reach out, to stop him from going off on his own. He would be fine. Even as he had the thought though, Casey’s words returned unbidden to his mind form when they were leaving the apartment, questioning if Harris was a danger to himself if left alone. And Justin’s inability to say for sure that he wasn’t. “Ten minutes,” he said to Harris’s retreating back, not sure if he was trying to reassure himself or remind Harris that Justin would be expecting him to come back, and if he was a second late he’d have his own panic attack and probably tear the apartment apart looking for him. His eyes flicked to the clock above the stove before he forced his limbs to move, following Harris’s instructions. He searched the cabinets until he found a strainer, holding it over the sink with one hand, and starting to pour the pot of water and noodles into it. He turned his face away from the steam, that rose out of it, before realising he wasn’t sure what to do next with the noodles. Did he mix the sauce into the strainer with it? Or mix it in the pot? Or did he just add the noodles to the baking dish thing and pour the sauce on top? Deciding to let Harris do that when he got back in— his eyes darted back to the clock— seven minutes, Justin set the pot and strainer aside and returned to the burgers. His eyes widened when he saw the knife still out. He’d forgotten about it. He hurriedly washed it off, glancing over his shoulder towards the door every few seconds, until it was clean and he shoved it back into the butcher’s block. After a moment’s consideration, he took the entire block and put it in one of the cabinets, pushed towards the back where hopefully it wouldn’t be pulled out for a long time. Justin turned back to the burgers, set on getting them formed and cooked as quickly as possible. Stuffing them turned out not to be too difficult He just formed half the amount of meat he normally would use, put some herbs and cheese in the middle, then added the other half on top of it. He wasn’t entirely sure it would hold together, but it looked good enough already. Eyes already set on the ingredients to make the second burger, he wasn’t looking as he reached out to drop the burger into the pan, and a sharp pain against his knuckles mad him jerk back. He stumbled back a step, clutching his hand against his chest and trying to figure out why he could feel his back searing in pain despite burning his hand. But it was all too hot. He shut his eyes tight, but it only made it worse. Darkness, flashes of light flickering on the wall. Harris, chained, bruised. He was burning—everything was burning. His back, his hand, his entire body felt like it was on fire. And the chains, wrapping his wrists. His body lurched forward, instinctively trying to break whatever was holding his arm back, but his entire body moved, crashing hard into the wall— concrete, plaster, it all felt the same— and still he couldn’t move his arm. Why couldn’t he move his arm? Then there were hands, cold inspire of everything else burning, and Justin jerked away, turning and prying his eyes open. Marty, Georgie, who was it? It didn’t matter, he was coming forward, and like hell if he thought he was going to burn Justin again. A hand wrapped around his wrist, and Justin twisted in the man’s grip, trying to punch with his other arm, but it still didn’t fucking move. Pain burst from his shoulder when he tried, and a second later it wasn’t moving at all. There wasn’t just something wrapped around it anymore, it was pinned against his chest. He used one free arm to drive an elbow back into the man’s chest. The man just grabbed him tighter, and Justin could feel his back burning hotter and hotter. He wasn’t even sure how the man was burning him, or with what, but his back was on fire, and the more Justin kicked and pushed against him, the tighter he held and the more it burned. He heard the man’s voice, but the fire didn’t lessen— didn’t let him make out the words, but they weren’t directed at him anyway. They were directed at Harris. More fucking questions. Justin ground his teeth together, jaw clenching painfully to keep from making a sound. Don’t make a sound, don’t show pain, for Harris. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t still struggle. He kicked behind him, twisted, tried to kick against the/ cabinets the knock the man into something behind him and lose his grip. Nothing worked and everything just burned.

Harris thought for a horrible second the man was going to say no. But apparently he looked as awful as he felt because it didn’t take long at all for a bottle to be pressed into his hands and he was quick to say his thank you’s before disappearing back into their bedroom. He shook one out, eyeing the color and markings, going so far as to sniff it like that’d help before reluctantly popping the pill and scrambling for his ipod. Seconds later familiar piano filled his ears and he drew his knees and hoodie up, blocking out everything for a few seconds as he waited for his heart rate to slow down and his lungs to start working again. It was slow at first, barely noticeable and then the first yawn pulled at his mouth as he felt the drug slowly wrap around his brain like a soft piece of fluffy fabric or something. Tense muscles began to relax and he waited a few more minutes to really let it sink in before he unfolded and started to make his ashamed way back to the kitchen. Opening the door was one of the more surreal experiences of his life - the music in his ears had blocked out the signs of a struggle and for a moment he was panicked - had he been wrong about Agent Klein? - but he recognized the look on Justin’s face and just hurriedly crossed the distance between them, pulling his earbuds out as he went. “Jay. Justin. I’m not hurt. They’re not hurting me. I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re in Paris. Je t’aime. Come back to me, darling. You’re okay. I’m okay.” He was just babbling at this point, hovering probably closer than was recommended but he just reached out, trailing a soft touch over Justin’s jaw despite Agent K’s warning glance. “Good. You gotta breathe now, alright? Just like you were telling me. In for five, out for five, don’t you scoff at me. Breathe. It helps.” It hadn’t occurred to him to falter, or pause, or panic really - Justin'd needed him so here he was, his backbone currently back and quite strong for the moment. He was vaguely aware of the grip Justin’s Dad had on him, but mostly his entire world was narrowed down to the panicking man in front of him. What had even happened to make him well…pull a Harris? He hadn’t ever seen Justin flashback before and he was more than entitled to of course, it just - surprised him. “Are you with me, Jay? Here. Music helps.” Selflessly he fished up the earbuds and slipped one into Justin’s ear, flipping it to one of his most played tracks before finally flicking an uncertain look at the eldest Klein before focusing on Justin again. “I’m okay. I’m right here.” he promised again.

Justin kicked behind him, pulling forward away form the man, but he wasn’t letting go. It was too hot, everything burned and it was getting harder to breathe. Words went over his head— questions directed at Harris, where was whatever they were looking for. He didn’t care, just had to not make a sound, not give up. One voice broke through though, a familiar voice that finally formed words— his name. Justin’s eyes shot open, staring in horror at Harris. Had they hurt him? Why was he coming closer? They would burn him too, why wasn’t he moving back? he stopped struggling as his own panicked thoughts broke through his mind. Harris was coming closer. He wasn’t chained— why wasn’t he chained? He stared wide-eyed at Harris, his words taking too long to make sense, but finally they did. But they didn’t make sense at the same time. If they were safe, why couldn’t he move? Why was he still chained? He pulled again against the man, and the grip tightened on his wrist painfully, making him glare down at the offending limb. But he couldn’t see his arm, only his fingers poking out of the end of navy blue fabric. The sling. His shoulder was dislocated. ”Calm down, son. You’re alright.” The Russian words broke through and he didn’t have to look behind him to know it wasn’t Marty of Georgie or any of the TC agents. He just looked back up at Harris, staring at him with the same sickening horror, but for a different reason. “Let go, I’m fine,” he muttered quietly, pulling again against the hands that held him. This time the grip lessened, and Justin bumped into his dad in his attempt to back away from Harris, who as telling him to breathe and putting an earbud in his ear, telling him to listen to music. “I’m here. I’m okay, just— don’t, please.” He shook his head, tripping over his feet as he backed away, fumbling to reach and pull the earbud out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated like a mantra. He jerked in surprise when his back hit the counter, but then he just pressed himself back against it. His gaze flickered over to his dad, who had a hand pressed to his ribs and was standing awkwardly to one side, all of his weight shifted to one leg, similarly to how Justin knew he stood when he was trying to keep pressure off of his injured leg. Why were they still there? He was dangerous, they needed to stay away from him, not come closer— what were they thinking? What would have happened if Harris had come into the kitchen before his dad? His dad was ex-KGB, he could hold Justin off easily, but even he looked like he’d have a few bruises to show for it. Harris was supposed to be the one to come in, not him. The thought alone made him want to puke. What would Justin have done to him? He needed to go— lock himself in a room where he couldn’t hurt them, but he couldn’t. He didn't even trust himself to try and walk past them to leave the kitchen. What would he do if they tried to stop him? What would he do if Harris grabbed him? He tucked his free arm across his chest and under his sling, holding it there tight as though it would keep him from lashing out. “Please, I’m sorry. Just don’t— I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry.” His voice shook and he wasn’t sure if it was shock, panic, fear or just the fact that his entire body was shaking.

Harris shot a grateful look at the eldest Klein once he began to catch Russian words. That usually helped jar him back more often than not. Kept him grounded in the present. Meanwhile, Justin was looking at him like he wasn’t quite sure he was believing what he was seeing and he really really hated that look. Though, he’d take it in a heartbeat over the growing horror that was flooding his face and pulling Justin out of their reach. Fuck. His own hands hovered in mid-air uselessly for a moment as Justin refused the music, trying to brush everything off, and get away from them. This hadn’t really happened before and what helped his panic attacks wouldn’t necessarily help Justin’s but they still…they had to try [i]something[/i] - Justin couldn’t just pull away ‘cause they’ve been there and done this and it ruins them. Still, they’d both had their autonomy fucked with enough his feet froze where he was at the ‘don’t please’, giving Justin a moment to pull himself together. Except Justin’s breathing wasn’t slowing his down, his gaze kept jumping around the room and well, frankly - Justin’s brain was even worse than his at calming himself down. Justin curling in on himself was the last straw that had him taking a few steps forward, reaching slowly into the hoodie pocket and setting the amber vial on the counter, before taking a few more steps so he was firmly in Justin’s bubble, though he hated the way the other looked caged in and uncomfortable. Frantic almost in his panic. “You won’t hurt me.” he said firmly. “The second you heard my voice, you snapped back.” Steeling himself to keep his hand from shaking he reached out, gently laying his hand over Justin’s uninjured bicep. “My hands are small, usually cold, and it’s a touch you know better than anyone else’s. You would have recognized me the same way I recognize you when you’re all wrapped up around me when I can’t breathe. Your subconscious maybe have hijacked control but there’s not one part of that brain that’d hurt me. I’m equally protected by you subconsciously and consciously, okay? You aren’t going to hurt me.” Glancing over at Papa K, he knew it was probably too soon too joke, but when wasn’t it too soon? It never stopped them before. “Him on the other hand, he can take a few punches and your subconscious is probably patting itself on the back a little for ‘em. Therapeutic for everyone, alright? Just…don’t push me away. We can’t do this apart, Jay. I need you, you need me. You will not hurt me. I know that. And I know you can’t so just try and trust me, alright? Can you do that for me?”

Justin couldn’t breathe, couldn’t register anything other the panicked thought that he needed to get away from everyone. His eyes widened as Harris actually moved towards him. Why the fuck was he doing that? He opened his mouth to protest, but his throat was tight, chest constricted and he couldn’t make any sounds come out. His jaw and hands all clenched, not taking his eyes off of Harris. He was hyper aware of every tiny movement of his body, from the instinctive flinch when Harris came too close, to the constant shaking that still refused to stop. He didn’t even glance as Harris reached into his pocket, nor at whatever he pulled out and put on the counter. Justin’s mind only registered the thought with the irony that if it was anyone else, he’d have been aware of exactly what they were pulling out, and if it was aimed at him, but Harris wasn’t a threat, yet still he continued to close the distance between him and Justin, who had proven himself to be a threat. His eyes stayed glued onto Harris’s, even as his brain tried to make logical sense of the words. His voice, his touch— sure, Justin recognized them this time, but that didn’t mean he would never be a danger to Harris. That didn’t mean that he’d recognize him next time— god, what if there was a next time? But Harris trusted him, and Justin was finding it slightly easier to breathe, even if he didn’t entirely believe Harris’s words. He wasn’t afraid of him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again past the lump in his throat. He glanced over Harris’s shoulder with an apologetic look at the joke. “I’m sorry, dad,” he said a little louder. His dad straightened up and shrugged, offering that proud smirk that Cohen used to joke was a Klein trademark. “For these couple of bruises? Son, I hate to break it to you, but if this is the best you can do, you’re slipping,” his dad said. Justin’s lips quirked up in a small, grateful smile before he looked back down at Harris. He raised his good hand nervously, as though not entirely trusting the limb, only letting out a breath when it rested gently against Harris’s cheek. “I do trust you,” he said carefully. I just don’t trust me, he didn’t say, though to his own mind the words hung thick and obvious in the air. It was more than slightly terrifying to admit even in his own mind. Whether it was against the agency, TC, anonymous threats, anything— Justin was only ever certain that he could trust himself to keep those around him safe, and now he couldn’t even do that. He pushed the thought away quickly, afraid of himself when he felt his heart rate speed up as that fear set in. Justin wrapped his good arm carefully around Harris’s shoulders, pulling his fiancé against his chest and burying his face against Harris’s shoulder. He stayed there for a minute until his breathing was back to normal, or at least close enough to it, before pulling back and looking sheepishly for his dad to Harris. “I’m sorry for— for everything,” he muttered, gesturing with his good hand around the kitchen as a whole. He froze, when his eyes caught on a mark on the back of his hand. Thin and red, the mark barely stretched more than an inch over the back of his hand. A fresh wave of nausea crashed over him, accompanied this time with a good helping of shame as he was starkly reminded that such a tiny thing had set him off. He hung his head, turning his wrist so they could see the mark. “I uh— I burned myself.” He nodded to the pan, where one burger was probably very overcooked on one side, and the rest of the ingredients sat abandoned off to the side. “Uh, dad, would you finish the burgers for me? I’ll just, uh— I’ll do something else. Away from the stove.” What exactly, he wasn’t sure, but he knew he couldn’t go near the stove again— not if there was a chance of the same thing happening again, this time with Harris within arm’s reach. He shuddered and tore his eyes away from the gas-burning machine, and looked back at Harris. “What can I help with?”

Harris kept a careful eye on Justin. He knew this was uncomfortable, that he was blowing past all the defenses and warning signs Justin was trying to erect but he couldn’t let this rift form between them. He literally would not survive if Justin froze him out now. That amount of pressure probably wouldn’t be beneficial to lay on him now so he just stayed close, patiently trying to show Justin that he was safe here. Nothing was going to happen. Eventually, Justin’s breaths started to slow down “It’s okay.” Harris promised, but Justin’s gaze was moving and he gave his own silent nod of appreciation at the man before turning back to his boyfriend. A shaky uncertain hand touched his cheek and he just rose one of his own to lightly cup it there. “So trust that I trust you for now. You’re the only thing I’m certain about.” Moments later Justin was folding and Harris was all too happy to tip forward and curl against Justin’s chest. This was still home and he had to find a way to make Justin feel safe there again. “For now just clutching to each other seemed to allow them both a chance to regain their breath and bearings At least until Justin pulled away again and this time held up a hand and mumbled about a burn. Shit. He reached out, gently wrapping fingers around his wrist to check the burn himself. It was minor, barely worth an ice cube and some wrap, but he still bent and pressed a kiss well above it. “We’ll uh, we’ll go set the table.” Harris decided softly. “Pasta’s just about done, just needs sauced. If you wanna mix garlic, oregano, basil, into melted butter, pour it over some sliced bread and bake it - you could double that as like garlic buns for the burgers. What would you like to drink??” He directed Justin towards the plates and just…had to keep his hands busy. busy hands, buy mind, right? Still, it was so quiet in the dining room, he flicked the iPod on before frowning a bit at the sound choices until he found something that calmed his nerves and began setting out plates and solver, trying to be on his best behavior

Justin flinched with the physical effort that it took not to snatch his hand away from Harris. It was so minor. Such a tiny burn it barely left a mark, and he reacted like someone that was— well, being a burned a hell of a lot worse by people that meant to do him a hell of a lot more harm. Regardless of how his dad played it off as not that bad, he shouldn’t have gone off like that. For a burn so minor it wasn’t even worth the effort it would take to walk to the sink and run cold water over it. Still, he forced a small smile at the kind gesture, despite part of his brain — the same part that wanted to lock himself in a closet where he couldn’t hurt anybody — wanting to yell that it wasn’t worth sympathy, it wasn’t worth a kiss, it wasn’t worth shit because his reaction had been completely unwarranted and dangerous. He was glad for the distraction of setting the table and nodded, pulling away to get a few glasses out of the cabinet. He started pouring out everyone’s usual choices of drink, or at least how he remembered them, but so many big things had changed he wouldn’t be surprised if something so minor as favorite drink choices had changed as well. After splitting a bottle of gatorade between two glasses for him and Harris, he started the task of making a couple trips to get them all to the table. After he finished, he looked up and wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved that Harris was listening to the iPod again. Part of him wanted to scream, another tinier part wanted to spill everything running through his mind in some vague hope that Harris could fix it all, and yet the largest part just wanted to get away. Hide, where he couldn’t hurt Harris, or where there was nothing that would burn him and set him off again. He touched Harris’s shoulder gently to get his attention, then nodded back toward the hallway. “I’m just gonna go tell Casey that food’s gonna be ready in a minute,” he said by way of an excuse. He hadn’t actually intended to go and talk to anyone. He just wanted to breathe. Even as he started down the hall though, his hands started tapping restlessly against his leg, and the urge to lock himself in a closet or their bedroom where he wouldn’t be a danger to anyone surfaced again. He wasn’t sure if he was more scared of something setting him off and Harris being the first person to find him, or of making Harris panic by locking himself in a room where he couldn’t get to him. With this thought in mind, he found himself stopping in front Casey’s room without really making the conscious decision to do so. He knocked, rocking back on his heels and debating if he should just leave, when the door opened. “I fucked up.” It wasn’t really what he was planning to say— he didn’t really have anything that he was planning for nay of this. “I mean, I know I fucked up this morning. I’m really sorry about that. But I fucked up again.” He waited, body on edge for Casey to say something, his good hand clenched in a fist and hidden behind him as though he expected Casey to see the minor barely-a-burn and know exactly what had happened and how insanely Justin had reacted.

Casey had fully intended on sneaking out after tensions had settled a little to see what’d so rattled Harris enough to bring him outside and leave an untouched breakfast still spread on the table. He’d just figured Justin needed to not see him for awhile but a sound followed by panicked voices drew him out. He’d honestly expected it to be Harris - it was always Harris- so for a long moment he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. Agent - Mr. Klein had Justin nearly wrapped up in a bear hug while Harris quietly tried to work his own brand of Justin-specific magic. It looked like things were mostly under control now and he didn’t want to risk further agitating Justin with his presence, so he went back to his room. To his own shock, a knock came just minutes later with Justin looking as wane and shaky as he’d ever seen him. So he just opened the door further, leaning on it with a projected air of nonchalance he’d perfected in trying not to scare Luna away in vulnerable moments. “Yeah?” He was quiet a moment, intending to ensure that Justin didn’t feel his apology was dismissed but really, he’d both said and done worse before. “Do you want to come in and talk about it?” Reconsidering that for a moment, he shrugged a shoulder. “Or stay there and I can stay here if that’d make it easier for you to breathe. You should probably start doing that at some point soon, bro.”

Justin winced despite the casual tone. He knew that tone, and that body language. It was the same way he’d watched Casey handle Luna with kid’s gloves when she was on the edge of one self-destructive act or another. He knew he’d gone off on Casey that morning, but had he really been that bad? “I’m sorry,” he muttered again, dropping his gaze to the floor for a moment before looking back up at Casey’s invitation. He ignored the offered escape and just shuffled into the room, dropping onto the edge of the bed and avoiding Casey’s gaze. He opened his mouth, but closed it again, not knowing what he was supposed to say. He turned his wrist, hiding the back of his hand where the barely-a-burn was against his leg. He knew Casey wouldn’t mock or judge him for it, at least not out loud, but he still didn’t want to say it. That he’d lost it over something so miniscule. So insignificant and he’d hurt his dad, he could’ve hurt Harris, or his mom or— Breathe. That’s what Casey said. Breathe. He could do that. Probably. After a few moments of shaky breaths, he raised his eyes to glance sheepishly at Casey. “I don’t know what happened. I just— one second I was fine. I was trying to cook, waiting for Harris to come back to the kitchen, then— Fuck, I don’t know. But my dad was there, and I was fighting him and I don’t know why, or what came over me. I couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t see what was happening, I just— Fuck, Case. What if Harris hadn’t left the kitchen? What if he’d been in there? Or if he’d came back before my dad did?” He was failing at the whole breathing thing again. His chest felt tight and his lungs couldn’t pull in enough air. “I can’t do this, Case. I can’t do this. I can’t do this,” he muttered, repeating the words over and over, shaking his head and tucking his barely-burnt hand under his sling. He wasn’t sure what it was he couldn’t do, or even why he thought coming to Casey was a good idea since Casey was probably still pissed at him. He had every right to be. All he knew was that he couldn’t admit it to his dad, and didn’t trust himself or whatever dark corners of his mind had taken over to be alone with Harris long enough to say it to him.

Casey was surprised when Justin pushed into the room but fought to keep it off his face as he closed the door most of the way. He left it open a crack so Justin’d see there was an exit before taking a chair so it wouldn’t seem as if he were blocking his potential escape route. For once, Justin didn’t need any prompting to start spilling and he just folded his arms on the top of the chair and listened as the other tried to explain what'd happened. It didn’t make sense at first but he began to understand it more as Justin started tossing out unanswerable questions. “Klein, how much have you researched about PTSD?” He asked bluntly. He knew Harris had picked up a form of it from his previous kidnapping and knew Justin’d bend the world to be whatever Harris needed him to be, so how could he not recognize the same symptoms in himself? “It sounds like you had a flashback. You dissociated. Something I’m going to guess happens to your boy sometimes?” For a moment he was quiet, trying to figure out what had happened to make Justin go from lost to violent and offered another shrug. “I think if Harris had been in the kitchen with you - he would have realized what was going on. I’m going to guess it was your father grabbing you that fucked you up and made you start swinging and Harris would know better than to touch you until he’d gotten you back out of your head. You wouldn’t have hurt him.” His own hands curled in a need to touch as Justin started to rock mumbling about can’t’s but he just shifted in the chair, swallowing hard. “You can do this. You will do this. Partly because you’re a stubborn asshole and you’ll refuse to let this get you down but mostly because you love that boy in there more than anything. You’re not gonna be the reason he loses anyone else so you are going to figure this out. And I’m here for you. Anything I can do, I will. You want me to sleep in the hallway outside your room, I can. If you want me to stay outside any rooms you’re in with him, I can. But I really don’t think you’d ever lay a hand on him that he doesn’t want.” Pausing again, he rested his chin down on his hands and fought the urge to sigh. Both of them deserved so much more than this. “He wouldn’t hold it against you if you did. I know you’d never forgive yourself and that’s probably actually more of a danger to your relationship than your ptsd. He understands this and you more than I can. You should be talking to him about it and you know it. So why are you here? What can I give you that he can’t besides offering to act as a security guard for you until you’ve healed from your traumas? You didn’t fuck anything up, not with him.”

Justin hated that he knew Casey so well. He hated that he’d seen his friend handle Luna so carefully, and part of him wanted to scream that Casey didn’t need him treat him like a fucking charity case. He wasn’t going to shatter. Except screaming that would probably defeat his point. He just wished he didn’t notice the little things that only another guard would notice. Like the way Casey kept his body language relaxed and non-threatening, and the way that he was careful to not sit between Justin and the door so that he didn’t feel boxed in. The way that he asked— wait. “PTSD?” Justin parroted back at him. The blunt tone, oddly enough, made him relax. But the words didn’t make any sense. “I don’t have PTSD. That’s what soldiers have after coming back from war.” He shook his head vigorously, leaning forward with his good arm resting against his knee. It didn’t make any sense, and now what? Casey thought Harris and PTSD too? “Flashbacks are one thing, but— Dissociating isn’t automatically PTSD. I’m a— I was a guard. Not a soldier. And Harris never was. People have flashbacks, its not PTSD.” Hell, his dad might have PTSD, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. It was too— It just wasn’t right. Part of his brain wanted to believe that PTSD sounded too serious. It was too concrete and terrifying. Whatever was going on with him, it wasn’t that bad. But a larger part reminded him harshly of the panic, the fear, the anger, lashing out, the possibility of hurting his fiancé. Why did Casey have to keep being logical? He knew he needed to hear it; it was why Justin kept coming to him. But fuck, it was hard to hear. Justin’s eyes stayed fixed on a spot of lint on the floor, not responding to Casey’s words, even though each one was sounding more and more like a life sentence, imprisoning him further in his own fucked up mind. He sounded so sure. Like he was a fucking shrink that actually knew what he was talking about. And it all made sense. He didn’t say anything or even look up until Casey suggested— actually had the fucking nerve to say— that if Justin ever did lay a hand on Harris, it’d be fine, Harris wouldn’t hold it against him, and so fucking what if he didn’t?! That didn’t make it ok, that didn’t make it acceptable. Justin clenched his jaw as his eyes snapped up to look at Casey, and he’d never felt such an urge to strangle his best friend as he did at that moment. “Yeah, maybe I should be talking to him,” Justin muttered coldly, doing his best to keep his voice calm. For a moment, part of him wanted to yell, wanted to get angry, but just as quickly, his mind threw up red flags, alarms, everything. He couldn’t get angry. Getting angry led to hurting people, and as much as he kind of wanted to hurt Casey just then, he was more afraid of losing control. Justin stood, dropping his eyes to the floor again and taking a moment to get his breathing and temper under control again before looking back up at Casey. “If it ever came to that, if I ever hurt him, by accident or on purpose or unconsciously or whatever, I hope he holds it against me. I hope he fucking hates me because he should. Just because I’m losing my fucking mind doesn’t mean that he should have to just be fine with my fucked up mind turning me into an abusive asshole. He doesn’t deserve that, he shouldn’t forgive me for it, and he shouldn’t be okay with it.” He clenched his jaw and dropped back onto the end of the end heavily, leaning forward and grabbing at his hair with his good hand. Breathe. Stay present. Breathe. Casey. Paris. Not the basement. Breathe. He wasn’t even sure if any part of him was trying to drag him back to the basement, or if he’d just automatically started connecting anger to the flashback from the kitchen. When he spoke again, it was in an almost civil tone, though he still didn’t raise his eyes from the floor. “So if I hurt him, unconsciously, in some PTSD flashback that you think I’m having, you think he won’t hold it against me. Or that he shouldn’t hold it against me. Would you say that if he wasn’t a guy? If it was reversed, and you were telling me all of this and that you were afraid of hurting Luna, would you expect me to tell you that if you hit her in some PTSD-fueled flashback rage, that it would be fine and she wouldn’t hold it against you?” He finally looked up, levelling a hard look at Casey as he shook his head. “Cause I wouldn’t.”

Casey gaped at Justin for a long moment as he repeated Casey’s words in some kind of shock layered with a shitload of denial. He didn’t think he had PTSD? Seriously? All of them did in various degrees. “PTSD doesn’t require one being a solider, Klein. It’s any trauma - any kind of exposure to actual or threatened death, serious injury, or sexual violation. We’ve all had to deal with the first two more than our fair share and we’re all fucked up from it. There’s no shame in that. Just…look into it. What you find may surprise you.” Like how he checked just about every box and his current explosion was only proving his point more. He’d braced when Justin stood, not willing to spar with him while he was so out of control, but not stupid enough to think Justin wouldn’t start swinging anyway. Silently, he listened as the other ranted about how Harris should hate him until he folded back down onto the bed. And now thoroughly confused Casey. “How is this becoming a gender thing in your head? You aren’t - we’re all off track. You came here declaring you fucked up. But you didn’t actually hit Harris. So technically, right now, nothing between the two of you has been fucked up other than you’re trying to hide from him.” Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, temples beginning to pound from bearing the force of Justin’s rage twice once right after the other. “You’re jumping down a road of what ifs and maybes and possibilities that may or may not come to pass and trying to declare what would happen if they did. But because you’re a stubborn asshole - Harris isn’t Luna. Luna held me being nice to her against me. Harris …” How did he put this delicately? “Has likely developed a desensitization about violence towards him. I wasn’t saying it would never phase anyone if you lashed out at them, but him specifically? He wouldn’t get angry on his own behalf. I’m not suggesting he’d immediately brush everything under the table and it’d all be fine. He’d push you to get help, he’d be concerned, he’d be scared for you - but you declaring it’s all fucked up and that you risk losing everything because of this - that’s what I was trying to dispel. You aren’t going to lose him because you’re human. You don’t have to be 100% cool, calm, collected in order for him to love you. I know being a guard fucked with you and that you feel like you have to suppress all this but he’s not your job. He was a mess in Australia and you still loved him. So why would he not love you now? And hell, since you’re already pissed at me - I’ll go ahead and say it - he probably would love you more so if you’d let yourself be his equal instead of trying to convince him and yourself that you’re perfectly fine. That you’re handling it. That you don’t need help. How weak/pathetic/helpless do you think that makes him feel? That he can’t do the same for you?”

Justin shifted uncomfortably, but just muttered a quiet, “Yeah, okay.” Casey was probably right, and once he looked more into PTSD he’d probably see an exact mind map of everything going on in his fucked up brain. But that didn’t mean he wanted to hear it, or accept it. What did it help anyway, having a name to put to it? Unless there was then a list of recommendations on how to avoid similar flashbacks that could end in him seriously injuring somebody, he didn’t really care much what it was called. He raised his eyes again to set Casey with a hard stare. “Just because I didn’t hit Harris this time when I had some kind of trauma-PTSD field flashback doesn’t make it ok. Am I just supposed to wait around until it happens again and I do hurt him, then I can worry about? It doesn’t matter that I didn’t hit him. I could have, and not even intentionally, not even conscious that I was doing it. If my dad wasn’t ex military I would’ve seriously hurt him. If I’m black out, in some flashback, don’t know what the fuck I’m doing and feel threatened, and somebody grabs me or tries to snap me out of it, I could kill them, and I’d rather not just wait until that happens, if it’s all the same to you,” he snapped. “So yeah, I’m hiding from Harris. Because I’m fucking terrified that the tiniest thing is going to set me off again and I don’t know what I would do to him.” He raised his hand up, brandishing the non-injury in Casey’s face. “I burned myself. Barely. Before this shit, I wouldn’t have even flinched, this was so minor. But this is what set me off and had me back in the basement, thinking my dad was TC and trying like hell to fight him. How am I supposed to just go back and pretend like everything’s okay, and like I’m not going go off like a fucking madman again when something like this is what made me lose it?” Justin dropped his head, leaning his good arm against his knee and just trying to breathe. Why didn’t Casey get this? Yes he was worried about what ifs, but they were fucking terrifying what ifs. And they weren’t unlikely. “Did I tell you I beat Cohen’s kill record?” He asked in the same tone as if he was asking if Casey had heard that it was supposed to rain this weekend. “Case, I scared myself in there. I didn’t have any control. It was like— what’s the thing? Ego or super ego? Id? Whatever that shrinks say is your most basic instincts without logic or reason? It was like that was controlling my entire body. The strongest kind of fight or flight response, and you know my knee-jerk is always fight. And if I’m being perfectly honest, the fact that you think it’s okay to say that Harris is desensitised to violence, so it would be fine, really makes me want to give you a black eye. It doesn’t matter if he’s desensitised to violence because he had a jackass, pathetic excuse for a father. He shouldn’t be. He never should’ve had to deal with that, and just because he might be more likely to forgive me than someone else would doesn’t make that okay and it definitely doesn’t mean that he should forgive me if I ever hurt him. I know that he’d still love me and he wouldn’t hold it against me, he’d understand and be more concerned about me— I know that, okay? What you don’t get is that that makes it worse. It doesn’t make me his equal, it makes me dangerous. He is there for me, and I do need him. But him having a flashback to the basement and me having one are entirely different things. He withdraws into himself, I hurt whoever happens to be unlucky enough to be closest to me. I’m not trying to pretend that I’m fine, but if I just lose it like that again, and he tries to help me— It’s not the same. If I try and pull him back from a flashback, the worst he’ll do if he doesn’t realize it’s me is scream and pull away and curl into himself. If he tried to do the same for me, and I wasn’t conscious enough to know it’s him, the worst I’d do is a hell of a lot worse.” He took a shaky breath and ran his hand over his face. They were getting nowhere. He wasn’t even sure why he’d come to Casey or what he expected his friend to tell him. He only knew that this was one room that it was safe to let go, let himself break and not worry about the consequences. Worst case scenario, if anything set him off, Casey had taken him down a few times in training, and that was without Justin being injured. But as far as actual solutions, he was coming up short, and Casey’s didn’t give him any encouragement. “My dad called Liz. Harris’s shrink from New York. She came out to Australia once. We tried to talk to her in New York, and it didn’t go well, but.” He shrugged his good shoulder. He didn’t know what to do. The safest thing would be for him to sleep in a different room, only be in the same room with Harris when Casey or his dad or Vlad were there, at least until after he’d talked with Liz, gotten some kind of advice or something from her. But even suggesting that would probably scare Harris more, and he knew he couldn’t

Justin convince his fiancé to agree to Casey being around them all the time, or convincing him that if something set Justin off, to go and get his dad or Casey first before he tried to snap Justin out of it, just to make sure someone was around that could physically keep him in check.

Casey felt like he was speaking one language and Justin another. It seemed no matter what left his mouth, Justin would twist it until he could barb it and throw it back. His eyes closed briefly as Justin ranted but what choice did they have? Either he got help or he resisted until he did hurt Harris and then got help. Suggesting as much now wouldn’t get Casey anywhere so what else could he do? Justin was refusing all avenues of help and there was no way this didn’t drive a rift between him and Harris in a time that they needed each other more than ever. Casey had never suggested just wait it out and let it all be honky dory so he didn’t even understand why Justin was coming after him with such vengeance. But he let the other rant it out until he heard movement and opened tired eyes to focus on the tiny burn that set him off. The tiniest things set Harris off too and he found the strength somehow to keep pushing so again, Casey saw no avenue but to suggest actually [i]talking [/i]to his boyfriend. Fiancee. Whatever. But Justin didn’t wanna hear it so he just lifted a weary shoulder. “We all have more red in our ledgers, Klein. Me, Nate, even Ryder. You aren’t as alone on fucked up island as you’re trying to make yourself.” Another hand passed over his face as Justin went off on how it wasn’t right Harris was the way he was and mentioning it didn’t mean Casey condoned it, it was just…a fact. “Maybe I misunderstood you.” He said with a cooler tone than he’d intended. “You walked in stating you fucked up so I assumed that meant you were worried about the state of yours and Harris’ relationship and future. I didn’t mean to condemn you to a life of being afraid of yourself, nor condone what happened to Harris or you or fucking any of us. You’re impossible to talk to right now. Do you realize that? I want to be here. I want to help you yet you fight every word that leaves my mouth. You aren’t ready to talk. You aren’t ready for me to be here.” Falling silent, he gathered his thoughts for a moment before pushing himself off the chair and moving over to swing the door open. “I hope you talk to her, Justin. And more importantly I hope you listen to her because she’s the one that has all the answers for you.” Swallowing against the rising flood, he looked up at the ceiling briefly before fixing his gaze on his remaining best friend. “If there’s just one thing you hear tonight, let it be this - you don’t have to fight anymore. It’s over. You can stop now.” Raising his free hand up to wipe at his cheeks, he swallowed hard, straightening his shoulders. “Apologize to your family for me, for missing dinner, I need to make some calls.”

Harris felt off-balance in a way that was wholly unfamiliar to him. That in and of itself was surprising because he wouldn’t have believed it possible, but today’d been one hell of a roller coaster. His whole world felt shifted, perilously hanging off balance by a couple of degrees or inches or something but he couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was the drug. Shaking his head slightly, he looked up when he heard footsteps but it wasn’t Justin yet so he retreated back to the kitchen under the guise of getting more of something until he heard Justin’s footsteps go into the dining room. Awkwardly, he took his seat next to him, but Justin was barely making eye contact with him. It threw Harris’ world more into a tailspin, having grown used to the little touches and constant attention to make sure he was okay. There’d been a point to this meal once, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d ever thought it’d be a good deal now as he looked down at the red mess on his plate. It made him nauseous just to look at so he switched his gaze to the bread, ripping small pieces off with trembling hands as he listened to the stilted conversation around him. Apology. This had been an olive branch to Justin’s mother but he was too tired and drained to really give any fuck’s at all about what she thought about anything — especially him. He lasted until the end of dinner before turning to Justin with a soft “zheltyy”. He needed…he needed something. A rope, a map, some air - fucking anything that wasn’t this surreal awkwardness. Without really planning it, his feet took him towards the balcony rather than their bedroom though they hesitated right at the threshold. It wasn’t safe. But god, he wanted to see the stars. A star. Any star. So he stepped aside to let Justin scope it out before doing his own scans for danger before stepping out far enough into the dark he could see a few twinkling lights above their heads. A faint smile ghosted on his lips before he turned to find Justin’d taken the solo seat by the table with no room for him. Staring at him a moment, he just sighed and walked back into the house a moment, just long enough to grab the blankets from off the couch and walk back out, tossing one on the table and curling up with the other himself since he wasn’t going to be sharing body heat apparently. Folding his legs underneath him, he curled up and wrapped up, ignoring the faint stinging that seemed to follow his every move before finally fixing a searching glance on his fiancee. “I know you’d rather pretend it never happened and declare yourself fine and in need of no assistance at all but … we need to talk about it.” It changed things now that they could both be jarred out of reality. “How do you feel? Shaky still or are you here?”

Justin wasn’t sure how long he and Casey talked circle around each other. Casey didn’t understand Justin’s panic apparently, and Justin didn’t understand how he was so calm about it. But at some point, his dad was knocking on the partially open door and telling them that dinner was ready. Dinner was the most stressful and anxiety-inducing half hour that Justin had ever sat through. He didn’t know how to behave. His mind wanted to push past, to ignore everything and pretend he was okay, but he didn’t know how. Was there a way to just act like everything was fine? He’d been taught since before he could remember, not only from the agency but form his parents and from his life growing up in the back streets of Boston, that the only person he could always count on, a hundred percent, was himself. The only weapon could count on to protect him was his own body. And both had betrayed him. He felt like a stranger put into a body that was as volatile as a nuclear bomb, not knowing if shifting this way, or thinking that, or touching something, would set him off. Only that something inevitably would. When his father got and started clearing dishes form the table, Justin drew his hand back carefully, barely stopping himself from jerking away when a hand reached for his plate. It took him a moment to register the quiet Russian word, in a distinctly not Russian accent, and wonder why Harris was saying yellow. Until it clicked and he nodded, getting up to follow a couple steps behind Harris. Justin didn’t even look up around them as he stepped outside onto the balcony, instead beelining for the farthest chair in a corner away from Harris. he didn’t even think about it, and as he sank into the chair, he cringed at himself. He opened his mouth to apologize, but closed it again because he didn’t know what he wanted to apologize for. For pulling away, for worrying Harris, for his outburst, for not being in control, for not knowing how to be in control again. He curled into himself, tucking his good arm under his sling and digging his fingers into his side. It was quiet for a few minutes, and when Justin looked around after Harris broke the silence, he realised it was because Harris must’ve gone back inside for blankets. Justin felt something crush in his chest at Harris’s words, and not because he’d hit the nail on the head perfectly, but because he hadn’t. He’d gotten so used to Harris knowing him better than he knew himself and now— but hell, Justin wasn’t himself, so how could he really be surprised that every word Harris was saying was the exact opposite of every thought running through his brain? “I can’t pretend it didn’t happen,” he said quietly, turning to look over the balcony, not really focusing on the stars as much as just not wanting to have to face Harris. “I’m not fine, and I do need help.” He let out a shaky breath and shook his head. “Does it have to be one or the other? I’m still shaky, but I’m still here.” He let out a short, humorless laugh and he looked back at Harris. “I’m still here. Trust me, you’d know if I wasn’t.” His fingers dug tighter into his side at the thought. He was silent for a long minute before he spoke again, warring in his mind between not wanting to worry Harris, and knowing that he was right and Justin needed to talk. His more cynical side finally won out with the thought that if something was going to set him off again, the least he could do was give Harris a heads up. “I’m sorry. I can’t— I don’t know how to do this. I always was able to trust myself, even if I couldn’t trust people outside of the agency, then I couldn’t trust other guards, then couldn’t trust the agency itself— I could at least trust me. To keep you safe, to keep myself safe. And I can’t anymore. I can’t even trust myself not to be the one that hurts you, much less to be the one that can protect you. It’s like this isn’t even my body anymore. I don’t have control over it, and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

Harris wanted to make a quip about writing this day down in history for Justin admitting he needed help and he wasn’t fine but it wasn’t the time or place. It was actually kind of scary that Justin was so low he’d openly admit the things he usually fought tooth and nail against. “I didn’t word it right.” Harris admitted quietly with an embarrassed little shrug he only belatedly realized was hidden by the blanket. “Sometimes I … I’m not here enough to talk about it without jarring myself back that’s um, that’s what I was trying to ask. If you were here enough to talk about it.” His heart throbbed as Justin nearly snarled that he’d know if Justin wasn’t but would he? If Agent Klein hadn’t walked in first and startled Justin - what would have happened? Would he have grabbed Harris and tried to fight off invisible monsters? His fingers were itching to reach out, he [i]needed[/i] to touch but Justin was so far away. He was quiet for a long moment, letting Justin muse about it, trying to figure out what was bothering him most before once again having nothing more to offer than a shrug. “I haven’t found a way to deal or control it.” he admitted bluntly. “I’m not gonna lie, alcohol helped but that’s not really an option.” He fell silent again as he tried to put himself in Justin’s shoes, but it was difficult. He’d only physically lashed out twice - when they had Justin strung up and to kill Marty - but that wasn’t an urge that boiled under his skin like it did for Justin. “I don’t believe you’d hurt me. I’m too small to trigger any kind of threat to you, even if you’re back there, and my voice can’t be distorted into theirs either. You’ll always see me, always hear me, you might grab me and try to defend me from things that aren’t there, but you wouldn’t swing at me like you did your Dad. Your base instinct is always to protect me - flashes of those assholes aren’t going to change that. I know we’re different and we see different things but I’ve never hurt you - you’re what brings me back most of the time.” He curled up tighter, tucking his chin on his knees while drawing in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I wanted so badly for you to understand in Australia. But not like this. I never wanted you to know what any of this feels like. I - I’m so sorry. You uh, you pulled yourself out a lot faster than I did the first time I um, you know. That’s good. Do you remember the things Liz told you to help me? The countdown and that?”

Justin shrugged his good shoulder and didn’t comment. He’d worded too many things not-quite-right on countless occasions. It just felt weird for the roles to be reversed. Instincts screamed at him to flip it back. Be the one comforting Harris, reaching out, searching and failing for the right words but to at least try. But a larger part, the part that had shaken him to his core when he came back to himself in the kitchen, that part kept him rooted to the spot, arms tucked against himself and refusing to move. That part didn’t trust his body or his mind enough to move, to comfort or reach out. “Yeah, ‘m here enough to talk,” he mumbled. It was like he wanted or needed to talk about what he saw, or thought he saw. What he’d thought was happening, and where he’d thought he was seemed pretty obvious from how he’d lashed out. Justin flinched at the mention of alcohol and shook his head. “No. No alcohol, no drugs, none of it. My own mind taken enough control away from me, I don’t need something else do it too.” An instinctual impulse had him raising his eyes up to Harris’s in concern though. “You know the alcohol, I know I seemed like it helped, but. It didn’t. Numbs it maybe, for a little while, but it’s all still there when you sober up.” He shrugged and dropped his gaze again, not wanting or feeling the need to remind Harris that when he sobered up, the problems were still there and Justin usually wasn’t. He’d spent too much time hiding in one of Jer’s pillow forts, or in the makeshift workout room to avoid being around Harris when he was drunk or hungover, only exceptions really being when Harris would seek him out in his inebriated state. Harris’s words snapped him back, and he wasn’t sure that he believe the simple truth Harris seemed to put so much stock in. Wouldn’t he, though? There was always a chance of him hurting Harris if he didn’t have complete control. “Even if I recognize that it’s you, and I’m trying to protect you from things that aren’t there, I could still hurt you. I didn’t register anything in the kitchen. The counters, cabinets, none of it. It looked like and felt like the basement. Open space. If I grabbed you and tried to push you out of the way of something that wasn’t there, I could push you into the wall, over a table, into a mirror— even me thinking I’m protecting you when I’m not all here could end up being dangerous.” He took a breath and tried to let it out slowly, relaxing, but it didn’t help. Harris was apologizing and Justin wasn’t really sure for what, so he stayed silent and just let Harris talk. “Yeah, countdown,” he muttered, not really sure that it would help, considering he hadn’t really been aware enough to count to anything. But Harris was trying to help, and as difficult as it was for Justin to accept, he needed it. He relaxed slightly, dropping his arm from being so tightly wound around his chest to his leg and picking at a loose thread on his pants. “Can you just promise me something?” He asked after a couple minutes. “Well, two things. If it ever looks like I’m not all here, if I flashback again like that, don’t try and reach out or touch me if I don’t see you. If I see you, I think you’re probably right, I’ll try and protect you from invisible monsters or something. But if I don’t see you first, if I don’t recognize that it’s you, I’m afraid my mind will just automatically register you as a threat and I’ll— Just please, don’t. Okay?” He waited a moment, knowing the second request was going to be more difficult and probably get more push back. “Even if I know it’s you and I think I’m protecting you, I still could hurt you, and I can’t do that. So, can you get someone, if that happens again? Go find my dad or Casey or Vlad. Before you try and talk me down, because at least if one of them is there, I know they won’t let me hurt you or them. And I know, you think I won’t hurt you even if I know it’s you, and maybe that’s true. But if I ever did hurt you, I couldn’t live with that. So, if not for your own safety because you don’t think you’d be in danger, then at least for my own sanity, please.”

Harris had to smile a little inwardly. Shaken up and hopeless and yet his boyfriend still found it in him to lecture about the ills of alcohol. Maybe that’d be a conversation for another day when they both felt less like coming apart at the seams. It wasn’t the time to debate the pros and cons of self-medicating. Sighing softly he dipped his head down, letting his eyes close for a moment, trying to will the sandpaper feeling away as he tampered down his own fond exasperation as his boyfriend went on about how even protecting could cause harm and who the fuck cared? Honestly. It’d only bother Justin. “I don’t know how frequent it will be for you. But it’ll be a thing you’ll be able to realize is happening eventually and that’s where the countdown comes in. More as a way to try to shake them off before they really grip you or to ground you when you’re just coming back.” He looked up when he heard movement - even the smallest sound of fabric moving against fabric sounded loud in the night but Justin was just unfolding slightly before beginning to demand promises from him. “I won’t touch you without you knowing it’s me.” He knew all too well what it felt like to mistake loving hands for something else, but he had no real desire to be on the other side of it. The second made him pause because how ridiculous was that? To stop and call for a bodyguard and wait for their arrival before helping his boyfriend? What if he was a danger to himself and had weapons or was lashing out at something that’d lash back? Or was outside and there were strangers and cars? Harris couldn’t leave him there and run back for help. “If the circumstances allow, then yeah, I’ll get someone there for both of our sake’s but I’m not going to put you in danger to run back for someone either. If you could hurt yourself if I left you, I’m not going anywhere until you’re back with me.” Harris wished he could curl up smaller, tighter, or that the position would provide some balm to the aches that weren’t physical. He didn’t talk about this much and maybe he should have pushed it more, but that didn’t matter now. “If a car swerved onto the sidewalk and you tackled me to get me out of its way and I bruised my ribs - would you have the same self-hate and guilt for that as you would if you gripped me too tight or pushed me into a counter? Can you see that trauma is the car and you aren’t in the driver’s seat? You can’t control that and I know it scares you and you want to just lock up in a box so you won’t ever hurt me but I’ll shatter, Jay. I am barely functioning. You know it, your dad knows it, everyone knows it. If you leave me to protect me - you’ll lose me. I need you.” Harris honestly didn’t give a fuck about some possible bumps and bruises - he’d never hold it against the other and he didn’t understand why Justin was making such a big deal of it. He was certain things would have gone differently if he’d walked in first or never left the kitchen in the first place. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of your flashbacks. We don’t know your triggers yet but I’m pretty damn sure sitting next to me outside in Paris isn’t one of them. Will you come closer, please? It’s been a hell of a day for the both of us and I just wanna…I just want you. Please.”

Justin was skeptical about the idea that after a while he’d be able to tell when the flashbacks were happening and be able to countdown to pull himself back, but Harris regrettably had more experience with it than he did. Still, the possibility that they would become a regular enough occurrence that he’d be able to tell made him shift uncomfortably. He didn’t want to another one ever, much less enough that he started noticing the patterns and knowing when it was happening. “Thank you,” he muttered quietly when Harris agreed at least to the first request. It was one thing if he automatically registered Harris as Harris while he was in a flashback, but he was scared of what he would do if he didn’t realize that it was him. He looked up, eyes pleading with Harris at his defiance in giving Justin a solid answer to the second, though. “I wasn’t in control in the kitchen. I’m more worried about hurting you than hurting myself. I’m not saying this in some pretentious asshole way that idiots in action movies say, but my body, my hands are actually lethal weapons. I’ve killed people, and any physical body that can do that, without a mind present enough to control it, is not something you need to be near without somebody else that is physically able to control it if needed. It’s like,” he broke off, searching for an analogy that would make sense. “Like if you found Wolverine right after he broke out of Stryker’s lab. Yes, there’s a conscious and reasonable mind in there somewhere, but getting close enough to try and make him aware of it is a very very bad idea.” And fine, maybe comparing himself to a super powered comic book character was pretentious in itself, but the comparison of his mindset felt appropriate. As soon as the next question left Harris’s mouth, Justin’s response was quick on his tongue. “If the car turned out to be a figment of my imagination, yes I would have the same guilt and anger at myself. Because if I hurt you, trying to protect you form something that’s not even there, you wouldn’t have been hurt in the first place if I could control my own mind and body.” Harris’s words hit him hard, though, and he felt sick. How was he supposed to do this? Pull away, and Harris all but outright stated that Justin would emotionally destroy him, and get too close and he risked physically doing the same. Which was worse? Was there a difference? “I’m sorry,” he muttered quietly, voice shaking slightly. He didn’t know if he felt more relived or nauseous at hearing Harris say that he wasn’t afraid of him. A small part of him wanted to thank Harris for saying it. But the larger part wanted to say you should be. He got up carefully, hardly trusting his own feet, but they followed his silent direction towards Harris, and he sank onto the bench beside him, wrapping his good arm around Harris’s shoulders and tugging him closer. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, words muffled against Harris’s hair. “I just don’t know how to do this. I just want to keep you safe, but I don’t know how to protect you from me. Never had to before.”

Harris listened but held his tongue until Justin defied all odds and actually started moving. His heart rose a little as he sat up, making more room for Justin as the other complied and sat down with him. Before he could think of anything to say, there was an arm around his shoulders, instantly deflating his body and allowing him the first real breath he’s taken all day. Wearily, he tipped over, subconsciously assuming his usual position in Justin’s arms when they were both distraught and giving up the fight against the pinpricks in his eyes and back of his throat. Everything was too much right now and he didn’t know how to deal other to hold on to Justin with two hands and wait. Wait for the ‘better’ and ‘easier’ everyone had promised would come with enough time. Shakily, he dug a hand out of his blanket cocoon to wipe at his nose and eyes as he turned Justin’s words over in his head a few times. “There’s blood on my hands too. So by that logic, I shouldn’t be around myself when I lose control.” Which, ok, might be why he and Casey keep a pretty close eye on him around the clock. Point lost. “We’re a partnership, Jay. I am not going to agree that my life or safety is more valuable than yours. You always do this - try to downplay what you think, feel, your injuries, your everything because you feel it overshadows me and mine and just…stop. Please. You’re struggling, and I’m here for you. I will do what I can to protect both of us but I’m not going to spare myself a few bruises if it means protecting you from causing worse harm to yourself, alright? You aren’t going to get me to agree on that so just…take the compromise. I’ll do what I can to get help while its safe to do so.” He pressed harder into Justin’s good shoulder, rocked by the sudden memories of what Justin was capable of doing to himself and seeing him lying still in a puddle of his own blood. For awhile he just comforted himself by concentrating on every one of Justin’s inhales and exhales and the soft familiar smell that meant [i]home[/i] before drawing up the energy to speak again. “I never saw the Wolverine movies. We only made it through First Class that night. I think. But I’m willing to bet someone saw the danger and loved them anyway and I love you. Liz is on her way and she’ll help us find the ground again. A few hours we were sitting here looking at the sky and saying that there was a chance everything was going to be alright. Let’s not lose that feeling so soon. You’re gonna be okay.”

Justin was tired of the weird disconnects he had with his body. His fingers twitched, at the same time wanting to pull Harris closer, tuck him in tight against his chest, and also being afraid of holding too tightly. So he ended up with his arm just resting loosely around Harris, letting his fiancé decide how close or not he wanted to be. Justin shook his head, even though Harris couldn’t see the movement. “It’s different. Your instinct when you lose control isn’t to fight. It’s to get away, curl in and shut out everyone. The only blood on your hands— Marty had just shot me. He would’ve done worse to you if he’d been able to take you out of there. No one can judge you or think that you did the wrong thing. Besides, that was with a gun. When I say that I’m afraid of myself being dangerous, it’s because I’ve killed people without weapons. Just my bare hands. That and the fact that my instinct when I lose control is to fight, not pull away— that’s why I’m scared to lose control like that again.” It was a lost argument, he could tell that already. And somehow, he felt relieved by it. He was scared of himself, scared of what he could do without meaning to or even realize he was doing it. But Harris wasn’t afraid of him. He should be. But he wasn’t. And Justin wasn’t sure yet if that was devotion, love or idiocy. He figured they’d find out eventually. Justin bit his tongue, debating if he should respond allowed to the comment about him downplaying his own feelings and injuries. This was one of those things that he definitely had a solid answer to, but he wasn’t sure if it was something he was supposed to say out loud. But it made sense to him. Even if both their feelings were the same, yes he would downplay his own, because he knew they hit Harris harder than they hit him. He’d only ever gotten to a place of wanting to give up once through all of it, and that was only because he thought Harris was dead. Harris had been close to that point multiple times, and even now was unofficially on watch, with Casey, Justin and his dad making sure he was never completely alone. And he was trained physically. He’d been hit and beaten repeatedly, usually by his friends and fellow guards during training. So sure, he downplayed his injuries because he knew his limits, and he knew he could handle worse if he had to. Saying it out loud, though… Words that he knew could be interpreted as some twisted belief that he thought Harris was weaker than him, even if he didn’t mean it, didn’t believe it—hell, he knew Harris was stronger than he thought he was, even if he refused to believe it— but there was no way he could figure out how to explain it without it sounding that way. So after a too long silence, he just muttered a quiet, “Ok.” He turned his head sightly to press a kiss against the top of Harris’s head. “We need to fix that,” he said, putting on a weak smile. He tried to muster the same kind of mock horror and enthusiasm that he would have months ago if told that Harris hadn’t seen the Wolverine movie,s but he was just drained. “I love you too. I hope so. I’ve never actually been looking forward to talking to her before. It’s a weird feeling,” he said in a lighter tone. “You’re amazing, you know that?” He said, smiling at his fiancé. He leaned down to steal a kiss, still slightly amazed after so long being both together and apart at the same time, that now he could do that. “We’re gonna be okay,” he muttered, trying more to convince himself than Harris. “So how about we go inside and get you caught up on Wolverine?”

Harris didn’t know what that said about him. “We don’t really know that.” he pointed out quietly. “Only you’ve been there the times I’ve slipped and you haven’t touched me until I gave you the okay. Would I swing at you? Would I find something to beat someone who looked like Marty off or would I just give in again? I don’t know.” Probably the latter. He was weak - he always submitted eventually. The casual talk of what he did made him stiffen and press harder against Justin’s body like that’d take some of the pain of memory away. He didn’t wanna think about what Marty’s plans had been once he’d gotten Harris away from Justin. It didn’t happen so there was no use in letting fear build in his chest and stomach about it. “I don’t judge you. You hurt to protect - there’s no malice in your actions - that’s what makes you different.” To seal his point, he turned as much as his back would allow to press a kiss against the hand on his shoulder. “You kept me and Jer alive. You’re a fighter and I’m a …” Victim? Survivor? “I’m not. We’ll figure out how to make it work, how to keep us both as safe as we can from our own heads.” He’ll find a laptop or wait for Liz to come with her homework and worksheets and books. He looked up at the soft kiss on his head, surprised by it and more so when their mouths met. He leaned into the kiss, having been too uncertain a few minutes ago if he’d get this again to let it go so quickly. Amazing wasn’t a word he’d use - he was just well practiced in being mentally fucked up. And that’s what had him hesitating as Justin invited him in to go watch Wolverine. “Maybe not tonight?” he asked hesitantly. From what he remembered - Wolverine was experimented on, tortured, and Harris wasn’t sure he could watch that just yet. “I’m sorry. But we’ve probably missed out on a lot of new releases on Netflix. We can find something to binge watch for awhile. I’ll make us some tea - unless do you want anything to snack on?” Raising a steady hand he let his fingers brush against the stubble on Justin’s jaw before leaning in for another kiss, just slow and gentle. He didn’t intend it to lead anywhere, just wanted to stay close - connected. He lingered for a few more beats before reluctantly beginning the process of getting back to his feet and heading back to the kitchen. His head was pounding, he needed more than tea, but he didn’t think anybody would allow him that so he just boiled some water, careful to make sure Justin was in their room getting ready first. He found two travel mugs with lids to prevent Justin from feeling the heat or hopefully burning himself before dunking two tea bags in and grabbing the requested snack before freezing. There was something just in the corner of his eye, but he when he turned, there was nothing there. He stood a few moments longer, heart racing, and eyes darting around the apartment, but nothing happened. Must have been a fly or something, so he shook it off, carried on to their bedroom, setting the tea down on their nightstand before digging up the nerve to go into the bathroom briefly, avoiding looking at anything other than what was required to do his business before washing his hands quickly and heading back out to Justin’s waiting arms. The amount of fear and terror he felt on a daily basis was ridiculous and he tried to chide himself for trembling still as he got under the covers and tucked himself into Justin’s side but it didn’t change anything. He was a little shocked that Justin was willing to still share a bed but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth just looked up in time to see a pale lady and an apple. “What’s that?”

Justin wasn’t really sure if that was accurate. The first time they’d tried to shower and Justin touched him, he wasn’t sure how far Harris has been at that point, or if he’d still been semi-aware of reality. Regardless, there was no reason to bring it up. Justin didn’t think there were any kind of indications that Harris would lash out physically, other than maybe to push Justin in an attempt to get away, but not maliciously even in believing he could be Marty. Still, he could practically see the gears turning in Harris’s head, so Justin squeezed his shoulder gently. “It’s not a bad thing, you know,” he said gently. “It’s not weak, or the worst of the two options. I wish my knee-jerk reaction wasn’t to start throwing punches. Hell, if fewer people had that instinctive reaction,” he trailed off with a half-shrug, belatedly realising that he didn’t want to finish the sentence. Did he want to wish that they’d never ended up in this fuck-up of a situation? Objectively, yes. But when he thought too deeply about it, if TC hadn’t existed, if the agency hadn’t, they never would’ve even ended up in the same state, much less the same city or anywhere near the same social circles. And Justin wasn’t ready to put the question to either of them of if they would wish none of it had ever happened. He’d never be ready to pose that question actually, so better to just avoid any and all what-if scenarios. Harris’s hesitant question jarred him back and he nodded. “Yeah, maybe Wolverine would be a bit too much right now,” he conceded. He leaned into the kiss, moving his hand back from harris’s shoulder to trail fingers through his hair. He missed this, just being able to be close, and a small part of his brain was already kicking himself for putting any kind of imaginary barrier between them, even as the annoyingly logical part of his brain chided him for not being careful enough after what happened in the kitchen. But this, this he could do. He could enjoy the closeness and relax for at least a moment. Then it was over and he was pulling himself to his feet, making a last minute request for some kind of chocolate or candy if they had any, because hell, his nerves were shot and whether it would actually help or not, the part of his brain that sometimes felt ruled by a five year old believed it would. After leaning down for another brief kiss, just because he could, he squeezed Harris’s hand gently and left to head down the hall to their bedroom. After spending a couple minutes of fighting with his sling, first trying to get his t-shirt off because it felt stuffy and constricting, then with manoeuvring his laptop onto the bed, he took the sling off and tossed it angrily to the floor. He rolled his shoulder experimentally and stretched his fingers and wrist. As long as he didn’t stretch it up or too far forward, it seemed alright. And he’d managed to not injure himself while sleeping without the sling, so he decided it would be fine. A few minutes later he was scrolling through Netflix, both intrigued by the countless new titles, and starkly reminded of exactly how long they’d been gone. By the time Harris joined him, Justin had settled on one that looked like a good choice. “It’s called ‘Once Upon a Time,’” Justin said, shifting so he could wrap an arm around Harris’s shoulders. “It has good reviews, a lot of seasons so good to binge watch, and looks like a good mix between not-too-gory and not-quite-child’s tv show either. Something about live action disney movies all in one place, I think. And that one girl is in it, uh,” he broke off, silently cursing the loss of his memory bank of useless Hollywood facts. “From House,” he muttered, scrolling to see the main actors names. “Jennifer Morrison, that’s it. She’s good.”

Harrison settled Justin’s chocolate against his side before carefully getting situated under his arm and pressed as close as he could get. It took a moment or two of feeling more warmth than usual to realize Justin was shirtless under his cheek. Lightly, he ran a few fingers over his chest before looking up with a soft smile. “You read the reviews?” he teased. Disney though. He could handle some Disney right now. Magic and happiness. Fairy tales. “That one girl?” He repeated mock-patiently like he’d have any way of knowing what the hell Justin was going on about. “House? Full House?” He turned to see a pic of her in the thumbnail and exhaled a little. “Oh, no. asshole house. Okay. Well, sure. Sounds good to me. Are you comfortable?” They didn’t really talk about how they felt physically, both of them wanting to just pretend those injuries didn’t exist - but he wasn’t sure how comfortable his back was against the sheets. “I missed this.” He confessed quietly as the opening credits began to play. Maybe it was boring when someone asked you how your night was, but in the moment - he was warm and safe and distracted with his favorite person in the world. What more could he ask for?

Justin shrugged his good shoulder. “Uh, no. I just saw it has like four stars out of five or something, so that means it has good reviews, right?” He had to smile a little though, even as he poked Harris in the side for teasing him. “No, MD House. The doctor with no bedside manner. Is this okay? We can watch something else,” he quickly offered, before Harris was agreeing and Justin relaxed a bit more. “Yeah, ‘m good,” he said, turning his head to press a kiss against Harris’s cheek. He let his fingers trail up and down Harris’s arm, part of him wanting to say forget the show, he’d prefer to just stay here like this and not have to try and focus on any storyline or anything. He was happy just like that. But they both needed the distraction, or their minds would begin to wander, and that was always a dangerous thing. So he hit play and settled his head against Harris’s as it started. “Me too,” Justin responded quietly. They definitely needed to amen this a more regular thing. To always make time to just shut out the world, and cuddle in bed while watching something on netflix. Justin was momentarily proud of himself for choosing a tv show with so many seasons. Hopefully it would be good, and they would have many more nights spent binge watching it, just like this, with Harris curled against his chest, both safe and secure right where they should be.

Harris relaxed more against Justin's side at the light touch, subconsciously mimicking it himself on Justin's chest. Tense moments would still it, and the slow ones would start it again until somewhere around the fourth or fifth episode he started losing the ability to retain any information - plot or character wise. Fighting back a yawn, he turned reaching for his cup of tea and taking a few sips before settling back into his spot, cradling it against his own chest. He was exhausted and truly did want nothing more in that moment than to turn into Justin and let the light touches lull him to sleep but he was terrified to close his eyes. "Would it be disrespectful to stay in here today?" Harris asked quietly. "Liz'll be here in the next couple days I'm sure so we won't - I just - I want a day. Just me and you and something resembling peace before we jump into all that. Can we do that?" It was horribly selfish but given their track record for the past few days, maybe it was in everyone's best interest to leave them to their own devices for awhile.

Justin lost count of episodes as he just kept hitting the ‘next episode’ button, or else reaching around Harris for his quickly cooling tea and letting the short timer run out and the next episode start automatically. Justin shrugged his good shoulder at the question. “We can just stay in here. They’ll understand. I’ll go out later to the kitchen and get us some chips or fruit or something, let them know we’re okay so they don’t worry too much.” Actually it was more to the point that he wasn't sure that his dad wouldn’t start knocking on the door sometime soon, suggesting they come out for dinner or otherwise just making sure everything was alright considering how quiet it had been. “Given everything, we’re allowed some peace and quiet and netflix binging.” They could deal with Liz later, and for now at least, Justin was able to relax. He wasn’t as on edge, and didn’t feel close to any kind of anger that might set him off. Though he wasn't even sure that anger would, consider the yelling and throwing of objects that he’d done that morning in the warehouse with Casey. Still, for now, everything was good. It was comfortable, and he wanted to hold onto that for a bit longer.

Harris relaxed minutely as Justin agreed that they could stay in their room for a day. He nodded at the offer to grab fruit or chips muffling his slight surprise that Justin wasn’t pushing for more. “Sounds perfect.” he decided, curling up a little more tightly against Justin like he could nonverbally express his gratitude and relief. As the episodes went by and the sun rose he couldn’t help but point out that Emma Swan was a hell of a lot like the two of them. Stubborn, resistant, determined, resilient - he quite liked her and was surprised because most female protagonists were underdeveloped - boring and used as a love interest mostly but she wasn’t. Most of the characters they were introduced to were fantastic though he was a little heartbroken (no puns intended) when the Sheriff bit it. That was about the point he started to squirm, no longer comforted by staying prone for long amounts of time. It reminded him too much of being chained up. “I gotta get up for a bit.” He admitted before Justin could hit play on the next one, leaning up for another soft sweet kiss. Part of him wanted to stay right there and do much more of that, but he felt so dirty. Sponge baths only worked so well and he was always a little afraid to be close and be touched, like Justin’d be able to feel the grime he felt was clinging to his skin. He got up slowly, stretching as carefully as he could before pacing around the bathroom a few times. He peeked out the window, but drew back, irrational thoughts about spies and snipers flitting through his brain as he turned, tugging slightly at his borrowed clothes. He still had a habit of stealing Justin’s when he could get away with it but he couldn’t really remember if he’d changed recently or not. He tried to in the morning but they blurred together lately. Fuck it. He went into the bags and picked random things to make a haphazard outfit. Once upon a time he had someone who’d shriek and pull the items from his hand and make a big deal about what went with what but that was … he shouldn’t go there. Clothes. He half-turned to offer Justin the first shower but he wasn’t sure if he sat and listened to the running water if he’d get up the nerve again to get in it himself. “I’m gonna try and shower.” He said lightly, but he had images of Emma Swan in his head, making his voice a little stronger. He needed to do this. Images, memories, whatever be damned. “I’ll be quick.” He wasn’t going to ruin their day. He just….needed to get clean before he could let Justin look or touch him like that. So he walked into the bathroom, stalled a bit using the toilet and having a quick debate with himself about trying to shave before he faced two evils. Get naked or turn on the water. Water. Turning the knob, he instinctively jerked back from the spray, lasting all of thirty seconds before his hand shot out to slam the water off, dropping to his knees beside the tub. Harsh ragged breaths left his mouth, but he curled his fingers into his thighs desperately holding on. A dozen heartbeats later he was still in the bathroom in Paris so he reached out, hovering a hand over the dial but went for the body wash they’d been given and the poufy thing instead - quickly just soaping up dry skin as much and as harsh as he could wherever he felt it was safe to use some force before forcing himself to climb in the tub and turn on the water before he could back out. It was [i]cold[/i] and his head was a mess but he managed the two minutes it took to rinse the soap off. Feeling brave, he stepped forward but the first blast of water on his head sent him right back and he was scrambling to get the fuck away and came back to himself ten or fifteen minutes later, huddled and freezing wedged between the toilet and the sink like that’d been a logical hiding place. Shaky but slightly proud, he quickly went to shut the water off, double-check the bathroom for any blood that might have happened to spill in his terror before remembering the stitches were gone and that shouldn’t be a thing anymore and hurrying into his pile of new clothes. His hair was a half-wet disaster but he just ran a brush through it and vowed to grab a beanie before he needed out. Knowing he looked ashen and shaky, he tried to aim a smile at Justin and give a little jittery shrug. “I made it into the tub. Washed the soap off. I just um, I need a few minutes before you - you get close. You can go um, take a shower yourself if you want. I’ll um, coffee and the balcony. I’ll be there when you get out, kay? I’m alright. I just …” He trailed off helplessly, hoping Justin’d understand. He’d been the one to suggest staying in but he needed sunlight and air and to remember where he was. This felt like standing too close to subway lines or something, like one wrong move would bring danger and he couldn’t fight his flee instinct. “I’m sorry.” He grabbed the beanie, jamming it on his head, and peeking into the kitchen to make sure it was empty before grabbing a cup of coffee and letting himself out on the balcony, forgoing the chairs to just stand at the rail and shake as he came down, forcing himself to focus on the sun, the people, the noise, the chill until it felt a little more like he could breathe again. He wanted to want to go in, to be back in bed and ready to resume relaxing with Justin when he got out but the idea of going back into that house made him nauseous. Or anxious. The feelings were pretty synonymous these days so he just waited until he heard footsteps and turned cautiously, hoping it was only Justin and held a hand out, signaling he was ready to be touched again. “I’m still a little keyed up.” he admitted. “Those four walls are … a little suffocating but I don’t know if I can be out there.” He used his free hand to sweep over the city. “So many strangers, so many people who want us dead. And I know they have no idea where we are and that TC has no presence here but I can’t - well, maybe I can’t believe it until I do it. Walk out there to know I can.” It was a dumb idea and asking for a set back probably but he desperately wanted out of the house and if he was going stir-crazy with cabin fever than Justin really had to be.

Justin wasn’t entirely sure that he had expected the not-moving-from-their-room idea to last all day. Actually hadn’t even realized how much he needed to just move until Harris said he needed to get up, and left Justin to sit up and stretch his muscles that were suddenly painfully protesting his refusal to move for the last however many hours. He was surprised when Harris said he was going to try to take a shower. There were warnings, words of caution on the end of his tongue, his mind immediately flashing back to Harris rushing out of the shower in New York and huddling at the top of the stairs. But clearly Harris remembered it too, and he should probably be encouraging Harris to face that, not avoid it. So all he said was, “Ok. I’ll be right here if you need me.” Justin waited until harris was in the bathroom before he stood up, stretching his legs and making his way over to the closet. He’d tried, as some form of a distraction during the first couple days there, to organise and unpack things into the closet, but he’d only gotten as far as putting some clothes into the built in drawer in the closet before he’d given up, and most of those had been worn, washed and ended up thrown into or on top of his duffel bag on the closet floor. He froze, turning around when he heard the rush of water for barely a second before it was shut off again. He debated for a moment before turning back to the closet and trying to focus on picking back through the clothes. Harris knew he was there. That he wasn’t alone. He didn’t need Justin trying to baby him every two seconds. Except that another voice in Justin’s head said that he did. Because he wasn’t alone, and he shouldn’t have to deal with these panics alone. Besides, it wasn’t really babying him. It was just, checking on him. Making sure he was okay. By the time Justin had resolved that and stood up again, the water was back on, and he breathed a little easier. Progress. He was making progress, he was okay. Justin grabbed the first clean pair of jeans and a button-up shirt that were within reach— he’d had enough of fighting with a t-shirt while his arm with in the sling, he could manage buttons easier at least— and sat on the edge of the bed to wait for Harris. For a minute the sound of rushing water was comforting. It meant something, that they were okay, they were getting through this, just little steps at a time. A couple minutes later though, the sound was more disquieting. It was subtle, and something that Justin blamed his guard training for— Lacey and his bright ideas about blocking off one of their senses to make them focus on others, like sound. But the stream of water was too steady. If Harris was in the shower, it should’ve been uneven, the stream of water interrupted by a body blocking the stream. He waited another minute—maybe Harris was getting a washcloth or loofa or something from the other side of the bathroom—but he still only heard the perfect, steady stream of water. Justin stood up and took a couple steps towards the bathroom before stopping. He hadn’t heard a crash, so Harris hadn’t slipped and fell. Other alternative was that he was panicking again, and Justin wanted to go in, to talk him through it— but how would Harris react to that? In New York when he’d been close to a panic attack, Justin had touched him and pretty much pushed him the rest of the way into it. What would he do if Justin forced his way into the bathroom while his mind was back int he basement? What would I do? It was that thought more than anything that had Justin sinking back onto the edge of the bed, eyes fixed firmly on the bathroom door. If Harris lashed out, like Justin didn’t think he would but like Harris had been so certain he would be capable of because he’d killed Marty— Justin still wasn’t sure what would trigger another panic like back in the kitchen. If Harris thought he was Marty and lashed out at him, could that be enough to send Justin back too? For a couple hours he’d been able to ignore it, the feeling of being just a consciousness inside of a body that he didn’t control, but now it was back in full force. Because how fucking useless was he? He couldn’t even try to talk his fiancé down from what seemed like a pretty bad panic attack, as the clock said it had already been nearly ten minutes. Had he had one that had lasted that long? Would it take him longer to pull himself back by himself? Would he be able to? The last question was stupid. Of course he could. He could manage, he was strong enough to. Justin just hated that Harris and to do it alone, all because Justin didn’t even trust himself not to lash out if Harris did. The argument went back and forth in his head, Justin standing up and starting towards the bathroom when he decided he wasn’t afraid of Harris lashing out at him because he couldn't leave him alone, only to turn around and drop back onto the bed when he felt his skin crawling with some consciousness that wasn’t his. That was probably in his head, and he knew that, but even that knowledge didn't make it possible to ignore the feeling. He was doubling back from the bathroom door to the bed for the third time when the water shut off. Justin whipped around, waiting anxiously until the door opened and he started to take a few steps towards Harris. He froze at the words though, and his arm that had been unconsciously reaching out dropped uselessly to his side. “Okay,” he muttered quietly for a lack of anything else to say. “Uh, sure. I’ll see you out there in a few minutes. I love you,” he added before Harris was gone and Justin was left looking from the door to the pile of clothes he had on the bed, to the bathroom that he suddenly didn’t want to go into. He showered as quickly as his injured shoulder would let him, and towered off his hair before getting dressed. After barely any consideration at all if he was being honest, he decided against putting the sling back on, instead reasoning with himself that he could keep it still enough to not cause further injury, and his arm was getting sore from it being in the same position for so long anyway. He was surprised and slightly suspicious about the kitchen and living out to the balcony all being empty. He wouldn’t put it past his parents, Vlad and Casey to be plotting some intervention after Justin’s outburst. They probably should. Justin pushed the thought away and made his way out to the balcony, hovering near the door until Harris held a hand out to him, and he let out a breath, reaching out for Harris’s hand. “Had me worried there,” he admitted, stepping closer so he could lean down to press a gentle kiss against Harris’s cheek. His eyes followed Harris’s hand out to the view over the side of the balcony. The words all made sense, and he’d just opened his mouth to say that it was safe, and he didn't need to worry, before the last sentence mad him freeze. Was he suggesting— Did he— “You want to go out there?” he asked carefully. This was supposed to be amazing. Progress and moving on and all the good things they were supposed to be doing. But some small part of Justin wanted to take Harris’s usual position of hiding from the world. Not the for the same reason. Not because the world was a dangerous place for him. No, because he probably shouldn't be let out around the public until he had his mind and body completely under control. Until he knew what to avoid, what would set him off. Even if he were to accept Harris’s belief that Justin would never hurt him no matter how far gone he was, that didn't hold true for anyone else. What if someone looked a bit too much like Marty? What if they passed by a butcher who was wielding a bloody knife? Or just any knife, really. But Harris needed to do it. It was apparently important to him, and it should be, Justin reasoned. It was the first step of moving on. Conquering fears and all of that. “Okay, we can. But, not just us. My dad, or Casey or Vlad. We don't need to take the whole cavalry, but somebody. Just in case.” He didn’t finish the statement of just in case what exactly. Harris could fill it in with whatever he wanted to, Justin's own version of it was more for other people's safety than theirs, and if Harris’s usual fears held true, then he was worried about the opposite, and Justin didn't need to add more fears on top of those.

Harris watched Justin’s hand come closer firmly reminding himself this was his boyfriend, they were out, and everything was safe. He held still as Justin bent down close -[i]too close[/i]- but he didn’t flinch as lips brushed against his cheek, just forced himself to inhale and watched city life stream by. How was it so easy for them? How was everyone not afraid every second of every day? So much could happen in an instant they had absolutely no control of. Didn’t they know? His eyes were pulled away by Justin going rigid beside him and he found his breath was stuck in his throat now. Clearing it a few times, he shifted uneasily, lifting a shoulder before giving a small shake of his head. “No. I don’t want to go out there. That’s not the right word.” Harris allowed silence to fill the space between them a moment as he once again fought to find a way to translate his crazy into words. “The longer I stay in here, the harder it will be to leave. So much bad as happened from places we felt were safe that I don’t - I don’t even know if I’m afraid of the streets or afraid of staying here or both.” The Australian guards tried to murder everyone in the goddamn safe house, he was kidnapped from one, they were kidnapped again from a hospital - he was just never going to feel truly [i]safe[/i] ever again. “If something were to happen - I need to be able to leave. I can’t get stuck on the stairs or on the elevator having a panic attack if lightening strikes and the building goes up in flames, you know?” Or more likely someone breaks in or goes turncoat on them and they have to flee and he can’t. It was a dumb idea. One that was just asking for trouble and he could read Justin’s discomfort a mile off but they both needed to do this. It’d been a thing they’d pushed on him and El when they first found out about everything, then again on him and Luna, and he knew how this went. “That’s fine. We can bring them. Just um, stay close. If I lose track of you, I’m going to lose it. Which isn’t healthy and blah blah sorry. It is what it is right now.” It was reckless to do this on the heels of the panic still lingering a hair-trigger out of reach but if he didn’t have that fire in his veins he wouldn’t ever do it. “Just a quick walk. Around the block. We can work up from there another day.” Who was he trying to convince? Himself or Justin? It was light out, there were people around, and maybe they were mostly self-absorbed people but it would be noticeable if three to four people were apprehended/grabbed/targeted. Right? Right. “Your Dad and Vlad, if they’re available and willing.” Harris said finally. “Safety in numbers and that. More people would notice if we were being given a hard time and they can block people from both directions if we …if we need a moment or two to get our bearings back and breathe without being bumped into / jostled/ cursed at.” Belatedly, he recalled the chaos in the kitchen and looked back at Justin, gently squeezing his hand. “It doesn’t have to be today. If you aren’t comfortable or you feel off - if it’s too much, that’s fine. We can go another day. Be honest with me - please don’t push your own mental wellness down because this is something I want to do. You’re totally allowed to say no. If you wanna do this - I’ll find your Dad and you rope in Vlad, as soon as we’re ready?” Harris was all for stalling. All the stalls, please and thank you.

Justin just watched Harris try and come up with an answer to the question, and that made slightly more sense once he said it. “Yeah, it’s easier I guess, to say, tomorrow and pretend that it’ll be easier to leave tomorrow.” He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. Well, that was a lie. Harris had already convinced himself. Now it was Justin’s turn. “Nothing’s going to happen,” Justin said gently, squeezing Harris’s hand. “But yeah, we both need to be able to leave when we need to.” Justin was more afraid of something happening if he left and was let around innocent civilians than what would happen if they stayed in the apartment and didn’t leave for a month. People that might look like Marty, or that might glance at Harris the wrong way, or that might approach too fast, bump into Justin from behind, grab him, grab Harris— “Yeah, yeah, quick walk,” Justin muttered quietly enough that he hoped his voice wasn’t shaking. His shoulders relaxed minutely when Harris agreed to his dad and Vlad joining them. They wouldn’t let him hurt anybody if anything happened. But how would it look? Two big guys holding Justin back, while Harris tried to talk him down. People would probably call the cops, and having only one person that could speak French wouldn’t help their case at all. Justin tore his eyes from the fascinating spot on the balcony railing when he felt Harris squeeze his hand. “Today’s fine,” he said with a small smile. “Like you said, the longer we stay in here, the harder it’ll be to leave. Staying in and hiding from everyone out there,” he gestured out over the railing, “isn’t going to make my mental wellness any better. I’ll just be more afraid to go out, and want to keep putting it off more the longer I wait.” He really hated hearing himself speak. Because he knew what he was saying was logical. It made sense, and the best option was to go with Harris. Now. Outside. In public. With protection that would keep him from hurting anyone else. Or himself, since Harris was worried about that possibility as well. But hearing himself say it, he also kind of wanted to punch himself int he face, because he didn’t fucking want to go outside. But he needed to. And Harris needed to. Hell, Justin had already been outside of the house that morning. Not that how that had gone was any incentive to try it again. “I’ll go get Vlad, then.” Before he turned to go back inside, Justin leaned down to press a lingering kiss against Harris’s lips, just because he needed to. He needed the strength, and the small reminder of why he was doing this, and why he needed to keep pushing himself forward. He pulled back and squeezed Harris’s hand gently before dropping it and going to find Vlad. A few minutes later he was in the living room not really paying attention to Vlad tell war stories that would probably be good blackmail material on his dad if he was actually listening, but he just smiled appreciatively when Vlad laughed at one of his own jokes and nodded along as he kept talking. “Are we ready to go?” He asked, looking around when his dad and Harris came back to join them.

Harris knew Justin wasn’t okay with this, what he didn’t know was why he didn’t say as much and put a stop to it. Why was he gritting his teeth and nearly pushing Harris out the door? It didn’t make sense. But he was weakly agreeing that the longer they stayed in and insulated the harder it would be to expose themselves. It’d just been stupid and selfish to suggest doing this today of all days, but it was already out and now Harris couldn’t take it back. Justin’d never let him. So he just nodded as Justin agreed to go get Vlad, leaning into the kiss and lingering for another moment, eyes on the street, trying to build up the strength to get to his feet and go out there. He stopped by the room briefly to grab his iPod just in case before quietly going around the house to try to find where the Kleins were hiding. He wasn’t in the biggest hurry ever to talk to the Mrs. again but it was easy enough to get Dairen’s attention. It was harder to get the words out and express just what he was asking for ‘hey, wanna go for a walk’ just didn’t quite fit what he was asking but he didn’t know what else to say. “We need to get out for a bit.” Harris said finally with a frustrated little sigh. “Not because we want to, per se, but just…the longer we stay here - the more it feels - we just need to be reminded that this isn’t there.” Obviously the company was different, there was light, nobody was being tortured, but how did he explain how trapped he felt staring at the same couple walls? “Justin, um, he’s asking Vlad but I’m asking you - if I need - I don’t know enough Russian to tell Vlad what’s going on in my head. If I need help, or space - if I’m here or there - I just, if you’re not busy. We were just aiming to go around the block or something.” Harris wasn’t entirely sure they’d manage leaving the apartment nor the complex after that, but they were trying. That was progress, right? “Please?” Now that it was becoming a reality, it was becoming extremely daunting. Doubt started to creep in. What the hell was he thinking? Going out there was essentially dangling Iive bait and saying ‘here I am’. He felt conspicuous in his beanie despite not having ever worn one while in captivity before but he still swapped it for a snapback and grabbed one for Justin too, lingering briefly over the thought of what he’d smuggled with him but he didn’t trust himself to carry anything. His startle reaction was too sensitive and he’d be much too likely to hurt someone innocent - he’d just have to trust that the three others would protect him. Because if they didn’t … he shook off the dark thought, meeting up with Justin in the living room again and passing off the hat as he rocked back on his heels, nervously fussing with his own hat, then his sleeves, the words to take it all back dancing on his tongue. This was dumb, dumb, dumb. He couldn’t do this.

Dairen had to admit, he didn’t like how quiet the apartment was. There were too many people in there for it to be complete silence. But he knew that Justin and Harris needed some time, after both of them had had a difficult morning. So he didn’t try to go and pull them out of the room or convince them to talk or anything. He just stayed with Mary in their room, drifting between googling the most recent news to make sure they hadn’t missed anything, and watching a soccer game on mute while Mary was more than determined to lose herself in one of the three books that she’d packed. He was sitting at the desk, tapping his fingers impatiently as he waited for the commercial to end and get back tot he game, when the door opened and he looked around to see Harris. “I’ll be right back,” he said, looking over at Mary, who was giving Harris a cautious smile. Dairen followed Harris back out to the hallway, and was admittedly shocked by the request. Especially after everything that had happened in the kitchen, twice today already, but there was some kind of weird logic to it. If they both wanted to push themselves and go outside, if they thought it would help, Dairen wasn’t going to be the one to pull them back and tell them they were pushing themselves to recover too quickly. “If you’re both sure,” he said carefully. He wasn’t sure how aimlessly walking was going to go though. Harris had a habit of getting too lost in his own head if there wasn’t something keeping him firmly in the present, and after that morning in the kitchen, if Justin wasn’t falling into the same, he would likely be afraid of it anyway. “Let me just tell Mary.” he ducked back into the room, and after a quick, whispered discussion, they agreed that giving the boys a small task to focus on would probably make this short adventure work out better. They came up with a short list of just a few grocery items, mostly consisting of fruits and desserts, and Dairen went back out to join Harris. “Alright, let’s go find Justin and Vlad.”

Justin just had to breathe and trust that his dad and Vlad wouldn’t let him hurt Harris or anyone else. He knew Harris was right. And if he didn’t leave today, he’d keep putting it off. They both would, and they needed this. He’d almost talked himself out of it three times, and only managed not to go and hide their room by reminding himself that it was Harris’s idea, and just voicing the thought aloud was a big step for him. He looked up as his dad and Harris came back in the room, quirking a curious eyebrow at the hat, but he put it on without question and reached out for Harris’s hand. “Are we ready to go?” He asked cautiously, half hoping that his dad would decide to put a stop to the little excursion, but also knowing that he wouldn’t. And probably shouldn’t. They needed to do this. “Yeah, just one thing,” his dad said, unfolding a piece of paper and handing it to Harris. “While we’re out, I thought we could stop at the co-op store and pick up a few things. It’s only about a block and a half down.” Justin leaned a bit closer to Harris to read the list. It had less than half a dozen items, and all of them were things Justin was pretty sure they could survive without. Or that someone else could go get on their own, and who wouldn’t be in fear of having a panic attack and attacking a random stranger. But Justin just bit his tongue and nodded stiffly, muttering a quiet, “Yeah, okay.” They had agreed to go out, was he really going to make a fuss over having a destination to go to? He squeezed Harris’s hand gently. “Are you ready to do this?” He asked in serious tone, wanting to make it clear that if he wasn’t, they could still back out. It wasn’t set in stone, and no one was forcing them out. Free will and all that, and Justin was pretty sure that he’d actually prefer not to be able to freely make this decision. Suddenly it felt easier if someone else had control over that, and he wasn’t ready to examine his new mindset too closely just yet.

Harris was more than a little surprised Dairen agreed without even a moment’s hesitation. Then again, the man was known for his tough love and barrel on attitude so really there shouldn’t be any surprise there. Still, he jumped a little when Justin’s hand slid into his own, breath already starting to pick up and all they were doing was standing in the goddamn living room. The word ‘no’ was on the tip of his tongue but Dairen was saying one moment and holding out something. For a moment Harris couldn’t compute what was going on before he managed to get a shaking hand out and around the paper being offered to him. What was this? The bottom of his stomach dropped out and he instinctively took a few steps closer to Justin’s body at just the thought. Go into a store? There were people and things easily used as weapons and sometimes the whole goddamn store fell down around them. He couldn’t help the whimper that left his lips at the memory so he turned to muffle it in Justin's good shoulder. Quickly he shook his head at the question, trying to press closer to Justin like that would somehow manage to calm his nerves. God, he was going to have a fucking panic attack before he even left the house. He could already hear the ground shaking, glass shattering, people screaming and he let go of Justin’s hand though he didn’t step back to get one of the earbuds up and slam some kind of music into his ear to drown it all out. It took him a few minutes to wrap his head around the fact they were in France now, they weren’t near any tectonic plates - there wouldn’t be another earthquake. Their luck was not that bad. They just had to walk down some stairs, a block and a half, grab half a dozen things, check out and come back. That should be a piece of cake. So why did he want to bolt back to their room and possibly cry for awhile? Slowly he took in a few more breaths, concentrating on the way Justin felt and smelt, comforted by the closeness and familiarity as he tried to rebuild his courage. “Okay. I’m okay.” Reluctantly, he picked up his head, brushing a soft kiss against Justin’s mouth. “Are you ready to go?” His eyes felt a little wet and his breath a little shaky but if he stalled any longer he was going to completely lose his nerve. “Je t’aime.” he whispered, stealing another kiss before pulling himself away and nodding once at Dairen. “Okay. Shopping.” Would it be better or worse if they waited outside while someone else ran in to grab everything? They were easy targets outside but inside was a death trap and he really didn’t know. But he’d deal with that bridge when he got there. Right now they had to leave the apartment and nobody seemed keen to take the first step.

Dairen had been very certain that this would be a good thing. Granted, he didn’t expect the boys to see the list as that immediately. he expected some hesitation, reluctant agreement and maybe an annoyed glare from Justin. But he was sure it was the right thing to do. The list gave them a purpose, a focus that wasn’t panic and what could go wrong. It would also make the walk outside a success. Without something to accomplish, it could easily be a race to get it over with and get back inside with nothing notable to show for it other than the accomplishment of having stepped outside, which he wasn’t sure that Harrison would consider a worthwhile accomplishment. Having a more tangible accomplishment, even if it was just a few groceries in the fridge, was something that could make them feel better about the trip out, like they’d done something useful and had the trophies of fruits and junk food to show for it. So he was completely taken aback when Harris, instead of the slight reluctance Dairen had expect from him, scrambled for his earbuds and music, and refused to move form against Justin’s chest for a good several minutes. At least he wasn’t the only one that didn’t really understand the reaction, because Justin looked just as bewildered even as his arm wound around Harris’s shoulders, and he shot a glare over Harris’s head at Dairen. ‘What?’ Dairen mouthed silently at him. ‘I don’t know,’ was the mouthed response from his son. ‘I was helping,’ Dairen tried to communicate, but wasn’t sure the words came across when Justin just shook his head, and mouthed something that looked suspiciously like, ‘You’re an ass.’ When Harris finally seemed to gather himself enough to look up, Dairen stayed silent and gave them a moment, waiting until Harris looked and nodded at him before he spoke. “We don’t have to go to the store. It’s alright. I’m sorry, I just thought it might help. Giving you some kind of more tangible goal to focus on, but we can just walk around the block if you’d rather. I can go and get anything we need later.”

Justin wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. One minute his dad decided that he was sending them on a grocery run, then Harris was curled against his chest potentially having a breakdown and Justin wasn’t sure why. He curled his good arm protectively around Harris’s shoulders when his fiancé dropped his hand, and held him there while having a silent back and forth with his dad. What had even brought this on? It was a shopping list, with nothing particularly threatening on it. Some fruit and odd junk food items. If it was being around people that Harris was worried about, Justin wasn’t sure why going to a store made that more stressful than passing people on the street which they inevitably would do as soon as they left the building. He pressed a kiss against the top of Harris’s head, and started to mutter some tried and worn words of encouragement before he remembered that Harris had put the earbuds back in, so he just waited until Harris finally lifted him head. He gently returned the kiss, unwilling to answer the question though. “Are you ready?” He returned the question. “We don’t have to do this today, we don’t have to go to the store. It’s alright if you want to wait.” Shopping wasn’t supposed to be this stressful. Hell, walking out the goddamn door wasn’t supposed to be this stressful. But they’d gotten too far past the point of how normal people were supposed to react to everyday situations, and Harris didn’t seem to be intent on staying, so Justin dropped his arm from around Harris to locked their hands together instead and looked up at his dad, nodding towards the door. He seemed to take the hint, and told Vlad in Russian to walk behind them while he walked in front, and led the way out of the apartment. Justin turned to Harris again before following to make sure he was certain about the excursion. “If you want to back out, if you want to turn around as soon as we step outside, or at any point, just say so, okay? We’ll come straight back.”

Harris still had a hand twisted into Justin’s shirt, like that would keep him in this present moment, blinking slightly as first elder than the youngest reassured him they didn’t have to go shopping and realistically he knew that. There was nothing on that list that needed to be gotten right now. But there was going to be a time where they’d have to do this on their own. Shop. Go outside. Interact with society again. He was going to have this meltdown today or next week - that wasn’t going to change - so he just stayed curled close as Dairen explained why he’d come up with the list and task. It made sense, really. Gave them a slightly more substantial goal than ‘make it around the block’. Then Justin was chiming in that they didn’t have to do this but they did. All of them knew that much. Clearing his throat, he looked back at Dairen with a small shake of his head. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry. It’s just um - the last time I was in a store - um, it kinda fell on me.” Biting his lip, he felt a few drops leave his eyes as he raised his free hand to wipe them away and look up at Justin, knowing the other understood what it felt like to be blindsided by those memories. The screaming, the shaking, the fear - it was more than he’d been braced to deal with and had cracked a little. But he had to do this. For both of them. So he just nodded as Justin asked him again if he was ready. He wasn’t ever going to be, but he was determined. Or well, hell he was trying to be determined. His feet were cemented to the ground as he watched Dairen stroll out with baited breath, half-expecting the hallway to blow up or super agent spies to drop from the ceiling. None of that happened. Instead, Justin was meeting his eyes and promising an escape hatch. That as soon as he needed, no matter how far they got, they’d turn back. “You too.” he got out. “You - you say if you can’t.” Barely breathing again, he looked at the doorway then past it where Dairen was patiently waiting then back up at his boyfriend. “Just … just gonna go to the store. Nothing’s gonna happen. Nothing’s gonna happen.” He kept repeating the words in his head, trying to chime out the louder alarms of panic and paranoia and managed to take that step over the threshold. Then the next one and the next until he was once again pausing outside of a doorway only this one held all of Paris on its other side. Once upon a time that was the city that ran through his blood. The place he’d call home if he was given a choice. So he tried to reach deep to feel that familiarity - that comfort of home - and followed Dairen and Justin out. Despite having practice on the balcony, the sound and constant movement of the city overwhelmed him, but that ended up in his favor. He managed the first block or so in a daze, just trying to breathe and learn again how to process so much sensory input. It was like all of his senses had been turned up tenfold and none of them remembered how to coordinate. He knew he should be keeping an eye on Justin - that it was important to remain calm and alert but it was just so much.

Justin felt sick immediately. How could he have forgotten? Of course going out, going to a store of all places would be difficult for Harris. “The earthquake,” he muttered quietly. “I’m sorry, I forgot. Are you sure about this?” He asked again. It was a strange feeling, remembering things like the earthquake. Because as much as adrenaline and panic had been in that moment, the moments following, there hadn’t bene an overwhelming emotion attached to it after Justin’s mind had flipped into guard mode. There was fear, panic, relief, everything afterwards. But when he remembered the actual earthquake, briefly wondered why elevators didn’t affect him as much as going into a store affected Harris, that was the only thing he could attribute it to. When his mind and body switched into guard mode, he didn’t have to think or feel. The only thing Justin remembered being conscious of at that moment was the need to get Ryder out safely. The rest of the emotions came later, but none of them were attached to the elevator or that exact moment when the earthquake hit. The only way he could describe that moment in his mind was just, numb. It was how too many memories felt if he thought about it too hard, and he wondered if that had been the point of the guard training. To keep them from being frozen in inaction because of emotions, by conditioning them to act without thinking when those things happened. Justin shook away the disturbing thought; it was something for another day. “It’ll be fine,” Justin said once it seemed to be decided that no one was backing out of the walk or shopping trip. He nodded at Harris’s request and leaned down to press a kiss against his cheek. “I’ll tell you if I can’t,” he said, surprising himself by the fact that he actually meant the words. Normally they were just words he would say, then push himself through even if some part of his bring thought he was pushing too far. But pushing himself too much before would’ve only meant a physical or emotional expense for him. Now pushing himself too much, too far, could aha much wider consequences. It could actually be dangerous for anyone around them, so Justin had to try and adjust himself to his new reality. The one where he couldn’t trust his own body, and had to pull back far before he reached his limits for fear of snapping or something triggering him and ending up hurting someone. He squeezed Harris’s hand, partially in encouragement, but more to ground himself as they started out of the apartment. Then they were in the elevator, which now was slightly disturbing to Justin in how fine he was with riding it down several floors to the ground, and then they were stepping outside. Justin kept shooting cautious, sideways glances at Harris, not sure if letting I'm stay in silence or trying to get him to talk about Paris and what part of the city they were in would be better. He hadn’t really paid much attention when he’d left with Casey that morning. He knew enough to know that his dad led them down the opposite way of the warehouse, but so many things he hadn’t noticed that morning. Like how the streets were more narrow than back in the states, but the sidewalks were wider. There were actual bike lanes, and when he could see the store up ahead that he guessed the were going to, it looked like a mix between a store and a farmers market. There was a fruit stand set up outside, along with flowers and herbs in tiny planters, and large windows let in light to what looked like a very small store. Justin could see the back of the store before they’d even gone inside, and it maybe had four aisles total. Before going to the doorway though, Justin stopped and glanced over the fruit outside. “Wasn’t there some kind of fruit on the list? We could get stuff to make smoothies too, if you want,” he said, deciding that focusing on their assigned task would be better than asking if Harris was okay. They were here, and they were managing. They could handle this, and questioning their own ability to handle it would probably stress Harris out more. At least, even thinking doubts stressed Justin out more.

Harris snapped wide grey eyes up to Justin’s as the familiar tone broke through the chaos otherwise ringing through his ears. They’d stopped walking but Dairen was still close enough to grab on to if they needed and he could feel Vlad’s eyes carefully sweeping over both them and the area behind them. They were safe. Nothing’d happened. Nothing was going to happen. They were just…outside, buying some things. Part of Harris wanted to break away from Justin and flatten himself against the wall, out of sight, and thus out of danger, but it was easily suppressed for now. He just readjusted and tightened his grip on Justin’s hand, sweating slightly as he remembered they were in public and were two guys holding hands but France tended to be pretty liberal and nonchalant when it came to that kind of thing. So he forced the judgement out of his head and tried to remember what Justin’d just said. Something about fruit. A car horn had him flinching a little closer but he tried to block the sound out and look over the fruit spread out in front of them. He barely recognized the shapes and colors but he knew if he had one more strawberry flavored anything he was going to scream. “Bananas, please. Maybe kiwi or mango if they have that?” Harris wasn’t entirely sure he trusted anything just left out on the street like this but Justin didn’t seem concerned. It would probably be bad for businesses to randomly poison people so maybe this was…this was okay? Maybe? He could try. Giving in to picking fruit though meant letting go of Justin so he could hold the bag for Justin since he really had only one good hand still. The loss of contact made him nervous - more so when he saw Dairen go in to sweep the store real quick before coming back to get them and barely suppressed the desire to fold up into Justin’s side. Instead, he followed reluctantly into the small store, being sure to glance at the store owner and offer a faint ‘Bonjour monsieur.’ as to not be marked rude tourists. Going into the kitchen and opening the fridge or a cabinet had been overwhelming to him of late so this was… Harris almost couldn’t comprehend so much food in one place. He gave each aisle as wide of berth as he could, barely able to do more than nod or shake his head at things being held out to him but he did grab a bag of cheese-y chips and a box of vegan all-natural bars of some sort. He figured protein and fiber was something good that’d make everyone happy and it was sealed twice which made him more confident in eating it. He wanted to walk out as soon as their items were picked but given the language barrier, he figured he needed to stay close. Though he did work up the nerve to tug at Justin’s sleeve and glance around the shop again. “Should we um…we … your Mum?” Whole sentences were not a thing he was capable of anymore but he hoped Justin got the idea anyway. Their attempts at apologizing and expressing gratitude had fallen flat or backfired so maybe a cake or something would work.

Justin tightened his grip on Harris’s hand when a couple walked out of the store, flanked by a couple children babbling in fast French that Justin couldn’t begin to understand. His mind immediately wanted to panic, and his body flinched instinctively away from the children. It wasn’t safe for him to be there. He tried to breathe, the same way he’d learned to talk Harris through. In for three, out for three. Or was it five? In for five, out for five. Those felt like weirdly long breaths. Maybe that was the point. But the weird part was, he was fine. He wasn’t having a panic attack, and as he looked around, he tried to remind himself of that thought. His body just for some reason felt like he should be having a panic attack. Like at any moment, he would flashback and start trying to strangle whoever happened to be unlucky enough to be standing too close to Harris. But he was okay. It was fucking fruit, it wasn’t going to trigger any kind reaction from him. Focus that was all he needed to do. Focus on the task at hand, and not try to look for triggers; he didn’t need to go out of his way to find any new ones. He jumped slightly at the sound of a car horn, but it at least turned his attention to Harris shifting closer to him, and he leaned over to press a kiss against his cheek. He heard the nervous tone in Harris’s voice, and knew it was somehow connected to the food. This was the first time they were seeing food not prepared by trusted hands since they’d gotten out of the basement, and Justin wasn’t planning on stopping his habit of testing both his own and Harris’s food before he ate any time soon, so he just nodded and started picking out the requested items, putting them in the bag Harris was holding. “What’s a flat peach?” He read the name off the small sign and picked up one of the oddly shaped fruits, turning it over in his hand before putting a couple in the bag. “Might as well try them, why not?” He commented. Inside the store was worse. The narrow aisles felt suffocating, and Justin couldn’t help tensing every time someone passed him, not even for the fear of what they might do, but what he might do. It struck him how bizarre the thought was. He was no longer afraid of TC and the agency more than anything and anyone else in the world. He was most afraid of himself. The thought made him feel sick, guilty and also strangely curious as to why Harris still stayed so close to him. Like Justin was a protector instead of the opposite. He pushed the thought away, barely paying much attention as he followed his dad through the store, glancing at the list and grabbing the required items mindlessly from the shelves. He did stop when they walked down the breakfast foods aisle, and grabbed a box of sugar filled cereal, and pointed out a couple different vitamins he used to take months ago when his dad started to pick through the bottles. Justin wasn’t sure if it was habit or because he was concerned that he and Harris weren’t actually getting enough of anything from the amount they’d been eating, but if it was the latter, Justin couldn’t blame him. To be fair, there was a lot the bottles of pills couldn’t do, and their bodies needed a lot of calories that the pills wouldn’t help with at all, but it was something at least. Probably. Justin had completely forgotten about their attempts at apologies for his mom and Casey until Harris mumbled out a half sentence, and he nodded, looking around. “Uh, yeah. We can get her something. Chocolate maybe? Or cupcakes? There was a bakery section over that way.” He wasn’t sure what else they could find in a grocery store, but he walked with Harris to try and find something, stopping briefly at the small display of DVD’s to pick out something for Casey. “We really did miss a lot,” he commented, holding up a new Captain America movie he hadn't even heard of. “This is a good enough apology for Casey, right?” He muttered, more to himself than to Harris.

Harris kept as close to Justin as he could manage without tripping one or both of them. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone, afraid to see reality as much as he was afraid of the instability of his own mind. He couldn’t trust what he saw. But he kept a grip on Justin - his hand, his sleeve, his shirt, whatever he could get to and tried to just breathe. Breathe and keep putting one foot in front of the other. Until Justin’s feet stopped and he looked up to see an unfamiliar rectangle being held out to him. Captain America? “Oh, like X-Men.” he recalled after a moment. “Yeah.” The last strings of his self-restraint were slipping out of his grasp so he shifted weight from foot to foot a moment before gesturing with the hand that was surprisingly heavy. For a moment he blinked, trying to make sense of what he saw, but right. Fruit. He was carrying that. “Um. Macarons.” Fuck. Why couldn’t they just sell them in a box? Swallowing hard and turning his iPod on as loud as he dared in the ear furthest from Justin, he walked up to the cart, though stopped well before one really should. “Bonjour.” As steadily as he could, he ordered one of each of the ones he thought she’d enjoy best before organizing a separate tasting box for Dairen, Casey, and Vlad for all their help. Justin, too if he wanted. Turning, he quickly handed the delicate boxes to the nearest adult, not trusting his shaking hands with them before freezing. Just beyond their shoulders was an aisle of glass and [i]holy shit[/i] he wanted. He took half a dozen steps forward, recalling how muted and quiet his head had gone before and forgetting after nearly a year of being out of practice that they had to once again buy things. They weren’t just provided courtesy of the agency anymore.

#chatzy

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